Here Comes Memorial Day...Again

I published the post below in 2009. I planned to write a new one this year, but when I read the old one, I realized I didn't need to. The old one still applies. Obviously, some of the statistics have changed: there are now more dead, more very seriously wounded, 22 service-men and women now commit suicide daily, veterans still not receiving adequate physical and mental health care, more veterans and their families living in or near poverty, more homeless veterans, and more unemployed and under-employed returning veterans.

As I explain below, many Americans don't know that Memorial Day honors the military dead, while Veterans Day honors the military living. It seems to me that except for waving flags and exclaiming "We support the troops!" most people don't do a damn thing to honor the military, whether living or dead. And I also think the best way we as citizens, and the government that sends men and women off to war, could best honor the dead is by doing a whole lot better for the living. It doesn't matter whether we support current or past wars (Vietnam veterans are still suffering greatly) or even think some of our veterans committed horrific acts. They were either drafted or signed up (a) because they believed they were doing right by the USA or (b) had no where to go in civilian life and thought the military could give them a skill or an education that would prepare them for a productive, self-supporting civilian life afterwards, and in the meantime they were being brave and useful.

This country is severely messed up in a lot of ways and these problems are serious and have no easy solutions. But without a doubt, how/why/when we go to war, then how we treat our returning warriors, is one of the sickest situations we need to deal with. So, on Monday, May 25, 2015, by all means say a prayer or a respectful atheistic thank you to and for the dead. But more importantly, find some time this summer to write to your Senators, Congressional Representatives, and the President and let them know you want to see vastly improved benefits and services of all kinds for living veterans. The dead don't need our showy, basically meaningless tributes. But the living need and deserve our respect, our appreciation, and all practical support and privileges our humongous Defense budget can provide.
                                ____________________________
Having just watched the 20th annual National Memorial Day Concert on PBS, I feel compelled to say: let us indeed remember and honor those military men and women who died in defense of this country, from the Revolutionary War over 200 years ago to yesterday in Iraq and Afghanistan. But let us also add some genuine meaning to the putrid schmaltz that comprised the majority of this holiday special by creating a new standard for patriotic pride, one that advocates peace and diplomacy, and demands that our government also honor those who fought and managed to survive, by giving them all the medical care & therapy, financial benefits, education & training, housing, family assistance, and anything else they need or want, because no matter how much they get, it’s still much less than they deserve.

I understand that because we are in the midst of active war on two grisly fronts, it is appropriate on Memorial Day 2009 to acknowledge living veterans – particularly those severely wounded and those (largely) intact who have served in our current wars. That said, one of my longstanding civic pet peeves is that so many flag-waving Americans don’t know the difference between Memorial Day and Veterans Day, so let me make that distinction clear for anyone who may be confused.

Memorial Day, formerly known as Decoration Day, was first commemorated in 1868 to honor the military dead of the Civil War and continues to be the holiday that honors all war dead, held on the last Monday of May each year. Veterans Day, formerly known as Armistice Day because it commemorated the end of World War I on November 11, 1918, is the day we honor military veterans (war survivors) of all wars in which Americans participated, and it is held on November 11th each year, no matter what day of the week it falls on. For decades, both holidays have been primarily viewed by the oh-so-patriotic populace as occasions to go shopping, and, in the case of Memorial Day, participate in cook-outs and start wearing white for the summer.

My grandfather was a wounded veteran of World War I and received several medals. My father was a Merchant Marine veteran of World War II, during which he survived two major fires on two different oil tankers. My uncle is a WWII Navy veteran who served in the Pacific. And over the years, I’ve had friends who served in the Army, Navy and Marines, including a lesbian who was drummed out of the Navy during a gay witch-hunt in the 50s. I may be a 60s peacenik, but I have never disrespected war veterans, and, I’m proud to say, was never among those who greeted returning Vietnam War veterans with shouts of “baby killers!”

Throughout history, some wars have been morally necessary, others were totally contrived for cynical, often purely economic reasons. But all of them wounded and/or killed persons who (very often) voluntarily put themselves in harm’s way, because they believed they were doing something essential in defense of their country and the values for which it stands. This is true of the military personnel of all countries, whether they’re our allies or our enemies. And for a while, there were Rules of War, a perhaps oxymoronic concept that said “this form of brutality is allowed, but this other form is not.” Among those rules at various times were Don’t Kill Civilians, Don’t Attack Hospitals and Schools, and Don’t Torture Prisoners of War. I think it can be fairly said that the gloves have been off on all those fronts for some years now, and America is hardly alone in this regard.

But to return to the purpose of Memorial Day: one of the great ironies of modern warfare is that battlefield medicine has been so enormously improved, many of those who would have died of horrendous injuries in wars gone by are now patched up sufficiently to make it home, only to endure countless surgeries, tortuous physical rehab, and existence of either lifeless vegetation or grossly limiting disability. Is this progress or torment? I imagine that those with severe, lifelong injuries have different opinions; unfortunately for them, many of them can't tell anyone what their true wishes are.

It’s worth noting here that (as of April 2009, per About.com) 4,278 military personnel have so far died in Iraq and Afghanistan; and 31,215 have been wounded, most of them severely and 20% with completely life-altering brain or spinal injuries. Salon.com reports that 30% of returning troops develop serious mental/emotional problems within 3 to 4 months of their return, and 140 veterans of the Army alone have committed suicide – a trend that is increasing by all accounts. It is also worth noting that through mid-2009, $800 billion has been spent on the Iraq and Afghanistan Wars and President Obama recently requested another $76 billion. It costs over $300,000 per year to deploy one soldier. All facts worth remembering this Memorial Day.

One of the few musical moments in tonight’s concert that didn’t prompt me to roll my eyes with nausea or despair came from country music singer Trace Adkins. He sang a beautiful, plaintive song called “`Til the Last Shot’s Fired,” the chorus of which says: Say a prayer for peace/For every fallen son/Set my spirit free/Let me lay down my gun/Sweet Mother Mary, I’m so tired/But I can’t come home/`Til the last shot’s fired. Let’s honor the war dead – and the war survivors – by finding a way to fire the last shot; to finding new and better ways besides war to stop tyranny and other ills in their insidious tracks.

Je Suis Martin

For nearly two weeks – which in today’s 24-hour-news-cycle essentially makes the horrific events in Paris old news – I’ve been trying to write my “Je Suis Charlie” post, but it just wasn’t coming out right. I knew Je Suis Not Charlie, but I couldn’t properly explain why.

Of course I’m an ardent supporter of free speech even (sometimes especially) when it offends some people, and, I’m as sickened as anyone else by violent, self-righteous, self-serving Islamist Extremist terrorism. I also completely understand why millions of people in France and millions around the world wanted to express their outrage with a spirit of “Je Suis Charlie” support.

Still, however symbolic rather than sincerely specific that battle cry may be, I just couldn’t and still can’t get with it. But when I awoke today, Martin Luther King Jr. Day (for some a Day of Service, for others a Day of Shopping; yes, there are now King Day sales), I knew I had the right words within me.

I am infuriated that The Whackjob Brothers believed they had the right to murder the staff (and others) of a satirical newspaper for the “crime” of disrespecting the Prophet Mohammed and equally infuriated that their brother-in-arms felt entitled to invade a kosher supermarket and kill people for the “crime” of being Jewish. I’m glad they themselves were killed by police and I hope when they reach whatever afterlife they were so looking forward to that the Prophet Mohammed screams “Not In My Name!” and banishes them somewhere for eternity before they get to defile their quota of 72 virgins.

What Je Suis is opposed to hateful, violent intolerance. Je Suis also against religious and atheistic orthodoxy, and not knowing the difference between sophomoric, vulgar insult and sophisticated religious/political satire. Have you seen any quantity of the cartoons published by Charlie Hebdo? Take a look. For the most part, they’re disgusting and say nothing. The French have long been regarded as the global arbiters of style but nobody’s perfect. Let’s not forget that several generations of them adored Jerry Lewis and we have them to thank for the endurance of post-WWI mime.

People have the right to be disgusting and say nothing, and nobody has the right to kill them for it. Still, it’s worth noting that before the terrorist attack, Charlie Hebdo (which has been disgusting and saying nothing about all religions and politics since the 1970s) had a niche readership for its weekly print run of 60,000 copies. The issue published after the attack sold six million, obviously out of free speech solidarity. You gotta love the irony of that.

Quotations by smart people are one of my favorite things. Two at the top of my list are: “Who would you be and how would you behave if there were no praise and no blame?” (Quentin Crisp, about how he shaped his identity), and, “You can’t fight fire with fire, you have to fight fire with water,” (Martin Luther King Jr., on why he believed non-violence could triumph over violence).

Terrorism shows us the darkest side of who people are willing to be and behave if they don’t give a damn about what anyone thinks of them (especially when they're certain they're right). Terrorism also makes us wonder if the calming water of non-violence really has the power to defeat the scourge of terrorism. I think it may if an assortment of non-violent actions are employed.

For starters, the U.S. should get out and stay out of Muslim countries and let the chips fall where they may; our military presence helps nothing. Second, France and other countries with marginalized Muslim communities must bring them into the national fold through vastly improved education, economic opportunities, and the removal of discriminatory laws. If Muslim women want to wear their headscarves, let them. That's hardly the same thing as trying to impose Sharia law.

Most important, the vast majority of moderate Muslims who are also the vast majority of Jihadist victims must find the courage to stand up and speak out and, as they did in Paris, tell their crazies “Not In My Name!” until it finally sinks in. The world community must identify and remove Extremist sources of funds, weapons and day-to-day survival. Public relations (propaganda) on a massive, cooperative scale must counter recruiting and radicalizing efforts. Last but not least, the world community must use its best information technology to cut off the information technology of terrorists. And when/where necessary, spies and intelligence services everywhere should covertly kill terrorists. A little violence will, unfortunately, be necessary. It's like with Nazis. The water of non-violence will get you just so far.

Before ignorance, hatred, fear and violence took Martin Luther King Jr. from us all, he was beginning to talk about the undeniably connected dots of racial oppression, exclusion, poverty, ignorance, addiction, nutrition, anger, despair, injustice, and a huge rift in communication between disparate communities. On this day of celebrating his work, hope, dreams, and faith, it would be very helpful if we could enlarge our own capacities for those same strengths. That is what might ultimately defeat American racism. And maybe it can play a major role in defeating international Islamic terrorism, too.

In my best moments, Je Suis Martin. May we all be Martin together.

Solutions

It’s a cool, dry, late Sunday morning here in New York City and if I had the emotional strength, I could be watching the major, weekly political talk shows (Meet the Press and such) that are no doubt now taking the “long view” perspective on Tuesday’s election (in 21^st century time, that’s five days later instead of five minutes later). But I have my own long view perspective, and, I’ve received several emails over the past few days offering very specific approaches to what ails us as a nation, the contents of which I want to share with you. They show that there is hope, there are things everyone can do.

My own perspective is that what will happen legislatively over the next two years is anybody’s guess, because the Republicans are not going to stop being who they are – although it appears that the less wildly crazy wing of the party seems to now be in charge. But their core allegiance to the rich and corporate, and their inbred lack of understanding and concern for everyone and everything else, remains intact.

The President, while being genuinely willing to negotiate and compromise – which he has been willing to do since Day One, while the Republicans have been busy hating him and obstructing everything he’s tried to do – is, I believe, also more intent on pushing forward with the things he actually believes in, the things he hasn’t heretofore been very aggressive about, to the consternation of his Progressive base. So what will actually happen is a crap shoot and will no doubt be interesting and aggravating to watch.

Fortunately, there are people out there, people with actual political power, who see some opportunities for Democrats (legislators and ordinary citizens alike) to get their act together and begin to articulate a cohesive message as they move through the molasses-paced 2016 campaign that has already begun, with a simple and sensible agenda.

My first email came from the Progressive Change Campaign Committee, which published an op-ed on the political website, The Hill, entitled “Route to Power for Democrats: Big Ideas,” which espouses the reasonable, progressive, Sen. Elizabeth Warren agenda of “taking on Wall Street, reducing student debt, and expanding Social Security benefits,” as a primary message that all practical working people can get behind.

The second message came from Sen. Bernie Sanders, whose primary message is that the influence of Big Money in politics (a privilege for the rich so smoothly sanctioned by the Supreme Court’s legitimization of the democracy-busting Citizen’s United fundraising operation) must be eradicated. He also stresses that the enormity of Income Inequality, which pits the tiny but extraordinarily wealthy Billionaire Class (several hundred families holding 95% of the nation’s wealth) against the rest of us (that famous, or infamous, 1% vs. 99% equation) must be balanced with significant tax reform, a stronger labor movement, and a federally-increased minimum wage.

To increase public involvement in and support for this agenda, one of the many things Sen. Sanders is doing is proposing that Election Day be made a Federal Holiday called Democracy Day to promote the meaning and importance of democracy and the vital role that ordinary folks play in it by voting (and making it easier to vote because as a federal holiday, people will get a paid day off from work). He has proposed a bill and created a petition that you can sign.

Last but not least came a wonderful article by one Mark Morford published in San Francisco’s SFGate entitled “The Best Worst President Ever,” which strives to explain why much of the middle and upper classes have come to embrace the Republican Big Lie that Barack Obama is the “worst President ever.” No one can deny that the President has made mistakes and is not a perfect person or a perfect President (no human is perfect!). But many people are willing to entirely dismiss his considerable accomplishments for both political – and racist – reasons. This is a good and important read. 

Indeed, if you click on all the links in this blog post you will learn a lot more about how progressive Democrats and Independents (and maybe even secretly-rational Republicans) can work from this important point forward to avoid the United States of America turning into a full-scale oligarchy disaster.

A Complicated Independence Day

I slept through much of the day – and evening – of July 4^th. I had no plans and it had been an exhausting week of shocking events (the Hobby Lobby decision, the hateful demonstration against three busloads of frightened, stranded, children)  that made me question (hardly for the first time!) what it is that we continue to celebrate every Fourth of July. During the few hours I was awake, I asked myself if I loved my country, if I even liked my country, and I couldn’t respond with a clear yes or no. That freaked me out.

My mother’s parents were both Jews who, when they were still very young, emigrated from Eastern Europe in the years before World War I (that’s 1 not 2). They didn’t come together, they met here. They became citizens and my grandfather served in the First World War. My father, and his father before him, came here from the West Indies. They too became citizens. I don’t know what my grandfather did except work for the Chunky Candy factory in Brooklyn for all of his working life in the U.S. For the record, they all came here legally.

My father worked as a Merchant Marine from the time he was a teenager and during  part of that career he served for the U.S. in WWII and barely escaped from fires on two oil tankers. Later, he was a waiter and wine steward on several trans-Atlantic ocean liners, including the S.S. America and S.S. United States. During his many years at sea he saw a great deal of the world.

When my mother insisted he get a job on land and not be away from home for great lengths of time, he became a skycap for TWA. He schlepped luggage for 25 years, but the job gave my parents cheap-sometimes-free flying for a lot of international vacation travel. So when my father told me, several times from my teens into adulthood, that despite all its problems America was the greatest country in the world, I had to at least in part believe that, because I couldn’t deny his intelligence or experience. 

Studying history was one of my father's hobbies; he knew 150 million Native Americans had been killed in the process of creating America and he didn't negate that any more than Slavery. But he also knew that history was riddled with powerful nations taking over less powerful ones and killing or enslaving the indigenous people or anyone who objected. He grew up in the British West Indies. He understood the violent, dishonorable food chain of nation-building. Yet he still loved America as it was and all it had the capacity to become. 

But my parents didn’t live to see the 21^st century. They didn’t live through the terrorist attacks of 9/11 and watch that experience make the country frightened, angry, and hostile ever since. They didn't see new communications and manufacturing technology change everything. They didn't see our environmental destruction and indifference start to come home to roost. They didn’t see the Republicans, a fraternity of stodgy businessmen, turn into a hateful Party committed to reversing civil, voting, and women’s rights.

They didn’t endure the Great Recession of 2008 that nearly tanked this country and has left us still sorely damaged. They didn’t see the national Legislature become deliberately obstructionist in response to the first Black US president, adding constant racist insult to political injury from Day One. They didn’t live through this country’s two longest, incredibly expensive, and ultimately pointless wars.

And my family of immigrants didn’t watch this nation of immigrants despise immigrants because they had sneaked in rather than wait their legal turn, the nation’s hatred even extending to those who came here as little kids or who now are escaping to here on their own as young children, because life in their countries has become too horrible and dangerous to endure.

My parents didn’t live to see us re-evaluate America’s Founding Fathers who, while undeniably brave, bold, revolutionaries, were also largely rich, slave-owning land-holders. They didn’t watch contemporary government screw over military veterans; see many politicians and a great many citizens become rabid fundamentalists and deniers of science in the name of religion; or witness Congress purposely declare War on the Poor instead of War on Poverty, not to mention being governmental leaders who don’t believe in government.

My mother, who had several serious ailments and skimped on her meds because they were so expensive, didn’t live to see something resembling universal coverage be denigrated and sabotaged by politicians who feared it more than disease.

To be honest, part of what saddened me yesterday was that I didn’t have a cookout to attend or anyone with whom I could go watch the fireworks (I love fireworks), even though I dislike and disapprove of the way we’ve turned every national holiday of social and historical importance into an occasion to party and shop.

But mostly, I was and still am preoccupied with how America has stepped back. I’m angry with the Supreme Court and Congress; I’m concerned that it took our smart, idealistic President six years to realize those shitheads in Washington are never going to work with him; and I’m very worried that this year’s elections will bring even more irresponsible nutjobs into national power and give “lame duck” terrible new meaning for the next two years. Papa, I wish you were here.

Old Passover, New Passover

Tonight, Jews around the world will gather with family and friends to celebrate one of Judaism’s three most important holidays, Pesach, which translates as Passover. They will share the traditional Passover dinner, a seder. There will be a seder at The White House, once again. President and Mrs. Obama have held seders there since the President took office, and it is a non-political event: personal friends and staff only. The Obamas are the only First Family to honor this Jewish tradition.

As detailed in the Old Testament’s Book of Exodus (chapters 1-15), Passover commemorates the escape from ancient Egypt of “a nation of Hebrew slaves.” For about 100 years (give or take...), Biblical scholars and archeologists have argued about whether or not The Exodus (said to have been led by Moses and lasted 40 years in the desert), really happened, where it happened, and how many people were involved – although the archeologists acknowledge that only a fraction of ancient sites have been found (many of them having been destroyed over the ages) and only a fraction of those have been minimally excavated.

The estimated head-count of The Exodus (from religious and secular sources) varies from approximately 600,000 men, women and children to anywhere from one to three million. But whether or not the Exodus actually occurred, it has been regarded as real and holy by Jews for thousands of years – including the world’s most famous Jewish rabbi (teacher), Jesus Christ, whose holy Last Supper was a seder. This is why Passover and Christianity’s Holy Week (from Palm Sunday through Good Friday and Easter) are religiously/historically linked. Speaking of which, here’s a bit of Americana trivia: Abraham Lincoln was assassinated on April 15, 1865 – the first night of Passover, which always begins on the 15^th of the Jewish month of Nissan (usually April). (Jewish holidays traditionally begin the night before, which is why the 15th is considered the first day.)

Passover celebrates a number of other things and there are many rituals and traditions. But most important is Passover’s celebration of freedom from bondage, from slavery, which may be why, his sensitivity and respect for others aside, Passover is meaningful to our country’s first African American president and his wife, who is a direct descendant of American slaves.

So, while Jews along with non-Jewish relatives and friends celebrate Old Passover, it is urgent to remember that a New Passover is desperately needed, because slavery is alive and sick as ever worldwide, including here in the USA. Now it’s called by other names: human trafficking, sex trafficking, indentured servitude, debt bondage, attached labor, restavec: it amounts to the same thing. Slavery.

When people are held against their will, prevented from moving about freely, forced to live in disgusting, horrible conditions, beaten and tortured, forced to do unspeakable things (like making an eight year old girl have sex with more than 20 men a day), are bought and sold like inanimate objects, and are paid nothing for the misery they endure, they are slaves. And there are 21 to 30 million slaves in the modern world, suffering terribly and serving as the backbone of a $32 billion (annually) industry.

The U.S. has 60,000 slaves, ranking us 134 out of 162 countries with slaves. Many of these are women, teens and very young girls who are trafficked for sex (men and boys, too). So we’re not #1 in the slave business – India has 14 million and 4% of Mauritania’s population of 3,796,141 is enslaved – but how many is okay? Anywhere? For any reason? This is 2014!

I genuinely wish all of you happy holidays. I’m sure you and your families and friends deserve them. While our lives may not be the nightmares of slaves, many still-so-called-middle-class and working class Americans have been struggling since Katrina, Sandy, other natural disasters and the 1%-created Great Recession of 2008. I don’t have what I used to or live like I used to. But I am very grateful for my life as it is, because so many people have it so much worse.

I encourage you to keep today’s slaves in your hearts, thoughts (and prayers, if you’re so inclined) this holiday season. Then, as soon as you can, do some Internet research about modern day slavery and get the full awful picture. Figure out what you can do to help. It may start with simple things like not buying certain brands or shopping in certain stores. It may include contributing to an NGO or non-profit you trust to help support active work on the ground around the world.

But most of all, be aware of this issue and talk about it with others. And keep an eye on the people around you – your apartment building, your neighborhood, your place of work. If you see something or someone that doesn’t look right, feel right, call the cops. One or more of America’s 60,000 slaves or their slave masters may be somewhere near you. Don’t look away. Look trouble or evil in the eye and do what you can.

If our religious observances or secular social consciences mean anything, this has got to be  part of it, doesn’t it?

Contemplating Valentine’s Day

I think it’s fair to say that, generally speaking, men don’t like Valentine’s Day and women do. Men don’t like feeling pressured to be excessively romantic and having to express their emotions, not to mention spending money. Women like it when men are mushy, especially if they usually aren’t, and getting to hear a sometimes-rare “I Love You” is a thing of joy. And we like getting flowers and chocolate; gifts, period. I believe lesbians feel the same as straight women about Valentine's Day, but their relationships are usually more touchy-feely than straight relationships anyway. I can't speak for gay men.

The best Valentine’s present I ever got was a shipment of filet mignons from Omaha Steaks. It felt very sexy to be the kind of woman who inspired a gift of raw meat. His card was restrained, but since we had only been dating for six weeks when Valentine’s Day rolled around, I didn’t mind. I gave him a shirt – pedestrian, I know, but I couldn’t afford a gold cigarette case. My card to him was one with the photo above in which I wrote a correspondingly sexy message inside. Both of us were pleased.

Some people, men and women, straight and gay, reject Valentine’s Day because they view it as a Capitalist conspiracy among the greeting card, flower and candy industries (which, in the business of marketing, would be considered a clever “cross promotion”). I think that’s rather cynical and humorless, even if it’s become true. However, historically, Valentine’s Day dates back to Ancient Rome, 270CE, when an imprisoned priest was martyred by Emperor Claudius II for falling in love with his jailer’s daughter and sending her a letter signed “from your Valentine.” Priests weren't celibate yet, but those old Romans didn't like Christians, so he couldn't win for losing either way.

What is now an annual holiday is also connected to a Roman spring fertility festival and evolved into a Day of Romance by the 14^th Century. Printed Valentine cards made their U.S. debut in the mid-1800s and traditional gifts were already chocolate and flowers, particularly red roses: the Roman symbol of love and beauty. The Valentine’s Day tradition endured and is celebrated in the US, England, Canada, France, Mexico and Australia, among other countries.

Like many women, I enjoy Valentine’s Day when I have a man in my life and don’t when I don’t. I don’t this year, but I’m not feeling bummed out. This country is in such a state of turmoil, division, anger, want, greed, and need (I really think America is having a nervous breakdown) that I welcome anything pleasant and that celebrates love when hate is going around like the flu.

I painfully miss affection and believe the lack of it is truly unhealthy. There was a study many years ago that separated a bunch of babies in an orphanage or hospital or some such into two groups. One group got a lot of holding, fondling, kissing, cuddling, etc. and the other group got none. The untouched group constantly cried and fussed, ate and slept poorly, and were just cranky little miserables all the time. The coddled group was the complete opposite. I don’t think this changes as we grow up, especially when we mature into sexual beings, as well.

And some kind of love and affection is, I believe, markedly important for the aging and elderly. I wouldn’t be surprised if some future study discovered a connection between a lack of affection and the development of severe depression and even Alzheimer’s and other forms of dementia. I don’t think it takes scientific genius to figure out that when people aren’t touched for extended periods, they literally lose their minds; affection is as basic a need as food, water, clothing, and shelter.

So, this Valentine’s Day, I’m thinking lovely thoughts. I’m remembering how lucky I was to have had a very loving, affectionate mother, and, how sweet it was when I had certain men in my life (others provided the emotional sustenance of a rock). I’m remembering my half-aunt Mildred (long story…) who, after many years of being widowed, had the courage to marry a second time at the age of 66 (and the even greater courage to divorce him at 76). 

I’m happy for everyone I know – and even those I don’t – who are fortunate to have a Valentine, and I wish all of you a happy, loving Valentine's Day. For those of you who don't have a significant other but want one, I hope you find one soon. And because I haven’t given up hope, I’m thinking positively and looking forward to my own next one. This fat lady ain’t singin’ yet.

The Tower is Closing

For the past couple of months, I’ve been weighing the pros and cons of ending this blog, which I started in August, 2007.  In the end, I’ve decided the pros outweigh the cons – so this is my final post.

This blog has given me a chance to express my ideas, concerns and opinions and giving up this opportunity was a big “con” in my consideration.  However, I’ve never done the enormous amount of personal and technical work necessary to bring this blog to the attention of a larger audience, and I don’t feel like doing it now.  But by not doing it, I’ve increasingly felt that I’ve just been sporadically and inconsistently screaming into an unhearing void, and what’s the point in continuing if I’m not going to do the work to promote/market Views From the Tower?  For me, the final answer is that there is no point, so it’s time to end it.

That said, I very much appreciate that those of you who have been following this blog took the time to do so, and some of you have often taken the time to send me private emails of response: much praise and sometimes disagreement.  All of it was gratifying, encouraging, and gave me the sense that I wasn’t entirely screaming into an unhearing void.  Thank you very, very much.

As a writer, I certainly intend to keep writing.  I’m working on a mystery novel, something I’ve always wanted to do.  In a way, given my politics, it amuses me and reminds me of the time in the 70s that Eldridge Cleaver moved to Paris and became a pants designer.  But I’m no Eldridge Cleaver and also have no delusion that I’ll become a modern Agatha Christie.  I just want to have some fun (and maybe make a little money).  I haven’t had a lot of fun as a writer and now seems like a good time to do it.  Equally important, I abandoned my relationship with The Tarot about ten years ago and I want to reclaim it.  It enriched my life when I had it and I want that connection again – and that’s a study/practice that takes time.  You may or may not understand what this means, but suffice it to say The Tarot is important to me and that’s reason enough for me.

In general, having turned 60 earlier this year, I’ve been giving a lot of thought to time – time past, present and future.  And December is annually the month in which I give the most thought to time: it’s filled with holidays I no longer celebrate with family and friends; it’s the end of one year and the birth of a new one; and I’m reminded of what was lost in Decembers past.  John Lennon, who was murdered at the age of 40 in December 1980, would have been 72 this year.  His five-year-old son who was left fatherless turned 37.  A dear friend of mine, Stuart Franklin, died in December 21 years ago.  Had my mother and father survived their 70s, they would be 89 and 90 now – a misery I’m glad they were spared, but I still miss them terribly.

I also think about the meaningful, functional time I have left.  I don’t have oodles of it.  Over the past few months, arthritis has settled in my left shoulder, wrist and hand.  Over the past few years, my teeth have started screwing up.  My right knee is prone to slipping out from under me.  My hearing, especially in my left ear, has greatly diminished.  My home and daily routine are both a mess and hugely dysfunctional.  I need the time to get these things together and bring some peace and order to the rest of my time.

So again, my thanks, and my best wishes to all of you, as well as my hope that you have the opportunity to do what you wish and need to do with your time.  Also, Happy Holidays and Happy New Year.  Here’s hoping the future brings better times for us all.

On Turning Sixty

Today is my 60^th birthday.  This means something to me.  I know there are lots of people who are indifferent to birthdays, who barely celebrate them, who say “age is just a number,” but I’m not one of them.  You can dismiss anything by saying “it’s just a:” number, movie, story, whatever; all that does is give you an excuse for not having feelings about it, and I believe in having feelings about everything.  There are also folks who hate their birthdays and won’t tell their age, because each passing year makes them feel increasingly ancient and freaks them out.  I understand how they feel, but I’m not one of them, either.

All my birthdays matter to me, especially the milestones – meaning 18, 21, 65 and anything that ends in 0.  I took 30 and even 40 in stride.  Fifty was a little wobbly, but I was a little wobbly in general; my 50s were a lost decade (I don’t care to go into why, just take my word for it).  But 60 is unique.  It doesn’t just mark the start of a new decade, it’s the true start of growing old.  This feels peculiar, because emotionally I’m still about 18.  This doesn’t mean I still feel the zest of youth, but rather, that I haven’t fully matured in some way.  If I didn’t have some sense of the wisdom that’s supposed to come with age, I’d feel like a complete moron, but fortunately, I do, so I just feel kind of…stunned.

At the same time, I also feel a sense of renewal.  This may be my last totally compos mentis decade, as well as the last one in which my lifelong bad habits haven’t totally caught up with me (of course, that remains to be seen), and I have a keen desire to make the most of it.  But I’m not aiming for Grand Old Age.  I think people live entirely too long these days.  I’d rather die than live to be in my 90s –  and I’m confident that I will…

People tell me I don’t look my age, but they’ve been saying that since I was a kid.  Today, they mean I look younger.  But when I really was younger, I always looked “older and more mature” than my age.  This was often a pain in the ass, like having to take my birth certificate to the movies in order to get the children’s price, or the time I was in 6^th grade, sitting on the front steps of the school waiting for Lunch to be over, and a school aide said “you can’t wait for your child here.”  “But I am a child here!” I replied, dismayed.

But the “you don’t look your age” thing got tired when I was 22 and after being in a minor car accident, a witness described me as “tall, big, curly-haired, about 40.”  After that, I gave up trying to figure out how old I was perceived to be or give much of a damn about it.  Although, I went to the doctor yesterday for a full check-up (not deliberately timed to coincide with This Occasion) and when I told the technician who was checking my vitals that I’d be 60 today, she gave me a big sympathetic smile and said “Well, bless your heart!” which, as you may know, can mean anything from Congratulations to Fuck You, depending on the speaker’s feelings (and whether or not you’re in the south).  It just made me feel old.  And it didn’t help to find out that I’ve shrunk an inch.  I was 5’6” for decades.  Now I’m 5’5”.  So I feel old and short.  This part of turning 60 sucks.

But there is a good part.  I feel more free.  I feel more worthy of the respect I always deserved but didn’t feel worthy of.  I appreciate my accomplishments and feel less guilty about my shortcomings.  I have numerous regrets, which haunt me, but I know that’s pointless.  I’m more in touch with anger I’ve had forever but never acknowledged – and as a result, I feel more forgiving (of myself and others).  I also feel a much greater sense of gratitude about the people and things I have in my life, as well as more content and comfortable about my “circumstances” – which aren’t great, but could easily be a hell of a lot worse.

And I feel, finally, fully accepting of who and what I am.  I’ve also made my peace with the idea that some of the confusion, fear, and uncertainty I’ve felt all my life I may never resolve, and it’s okay; there’s nothing wrong with not being able to answer all of your own (let alone Life’s) questions.  It doesn’t mean I won’t still ponder them, but I’ve lost my sense of urgency about understanding them.

This afternoon, I will get a manicure and bake myself a birthday cake.  Tonight I’ll order in sushi and break open the bottle of sparkling wine I never bothered opening on New Year’s Eve.  I’ll be alone, but I don’t feel melancholy about it, which I did for awhile leading up to today; ultimately, it was my choice.  Today I feel at peace with myself, and even (however momentarily) with the world gone mad we live in.  All in all, I’m okay.  Which is good to be able to say at 60.

Celebrating King

Yesterday, January 15th, was the late Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s actual birthday.  Had he managed to live to the present, he would be 83.  For several reasons, I feel deeply motivated to write this year’s first Tower post about Dr. King, his influence on my life, and my less-than-happy feelings about his status in the present as well as the recently-dedicated King Memorial in Washington DC.

I was 16 when King was murdered on April 4, 1968 at the age of 39.  I’ve never forgotten (or entirely recovered from) the sense of loss, rage and helplessness I felt in response to what the King Family and many others (including the jury of a 1999 wrongful death suit) believe was a government conspiracy.

In addition to grief and anger, there were countless poignant moments in the initial wake of the assassination: for the nation, for the black community, within the civil rights movement, and in the lives of individuals.

The moment that occurred in my family was this: my [white] maternal grandmother, a poor, uneducated Russian-Jewish immigrant who, more than 50 years after emigrating to America could still barely speak English, was living with my parents and me at the time.  The night of the assassination, my folks and I were going to a neighborhood [activist] church for a memorial service and my grandmother said she wanted to go with us, because “he was a good man; this is a bad thing.”  At her funeral, my [black] father told this story, saying how moved he had been that this woman who had literally never set foot in a church in her life, willingly went and stood, linking arms with us, weeping and singing We Shall Overcome.

This year is the 25^th anniversary of the federal holiday.  In the spirit of this occasion, I am consciously grateful to have lived when King lived, to have witnessed his work to combat the racism he so deeply understood lessens America’s greatness and impedes its progress.  And I still marvel at the courage and foresight he displayed (and the criticism he endured, even from his colleagues in the movement) when he broadened his message to include opposition to the Vietnam War and the destructive, enormous poverty in America, both of which he viewed as essential components of championing non-violence, justice and economic equality.

Martin Luther King, Jr. certainly deserves to be lauded as a great African-American icon.  But it has long pissed me off that, even to this day, he is not commonly recognized simply and truly as a great American by all Americans.  It is a telling, distasteful reminder that racism is still very much alive and well that he is not regarded as such by the general public – meaning white people, a considerable number of whom, both ordinary citizens and federal legislators, fought for years against establishing the King holiday, then, years later, doggedly opposed having a King Memorial in the nation’s capitol.

And that Memorial, which was supervised by a racially-diverse committee and should be a handsome, inspiring tribute, is instead a peculiar structure that is quite unattractive: carved out of a massive slab of white granite, barely resembles him (among other incorrect features, King’s signature mustache is hardly-visible or just plain missing ), and displays what many critics regard as an inappropriate (and heavily edited) King quotation.

The designer has had the chutzpa to “explain” that the quote problem was because of space limitations.  But what can possibly justify a design that didn’t incorporate sufficient space for a longer, much better and intact quote?  Dr. King wrote numerous books and countless hundreds of speeches and sermons – and this was the best they could come up with?  It makes me wonder just how much that diverse committee actually knew about King, his work and his writings.

Which brings me to my primary King-related pet peeve.  Aside from his 1963 March on Washington “I Have a Dream” speech; his “Mountaintop” sermon, delivered the night before he died; and his book, Letter From a Birmingham Jail, many Americans of all ethnicities (particularly contemporary youth) are sadly unfamiliar with the content, even existence, of King’s extensive body of written work.  In essence, to the general public, King’s legacy has been reduced to a postage stamp’s worth of information, not unlike that about Honest Abe Lincoln and his log cabin, and George Washington’s chopped cherry tree.

I do rejoice today in the life and work of Martin Luther King, Jr., as well as the brave, tenacious efforts of his widow, the late Coretta Scott King.  I also applaud the subsequent individual and collective accomplishments of their children.

But the country’s general understanding of black history seems to consist of this inadequate picture of Dr. King, along with the fact that George Washington Carver did marvelous things with peanuts; Madam C.J. Walker was the first to invent and market black hair care products; and Rosa Parks wouldn’t change her bus seat.  Most people don’t even know that in 1872, feminist Victoria Woodhull and abolitionist Frederick Douglass were the presidential/vice presidential candidates put forth by the independent Civil Rights Party.

It is my great hope that from this day forward, there will be an ever-increasing interest, understanding and appreciation for all that Dr. King achieved and espoused, because it has enormous pertinence to present-day America – as well as a considerable increase in the public’s familiarity with the much wider world of black history.  Until that happens, we as a people will never fully “overcome.” 

Contemplating Thanksgiving

It seems to me that, over time, liking Thanksgiving has become politically incorrect and it pisses me off.  I presently know people (and knew others in the past) who hate Thanksgiving, because they feel it’s an insult to the memory of Native Americans who were culturally brutalized, materially ripped off and physically destroyed practically to the point of extinction by Europeans who came here in search of their manifest destiny.  And of course, all that is true.

More recently, people object to Thanksgiving as a celebration of gluttony.  “We have a holiday where we stuff food into other food,” Bill Maher (an unapologetic non-foodie) once said.  (I guess no one’s had the heart to tell him that there are many dishes that involve stuffing food into other food.)  Maher also criticized Thanksgiving on the grounds of history, saying (and this is the quote as I can best remember it):  “It’s just so us in our denial of our true history to celebrate the one nice moment we had with the Indians.  It’s like a date rapist saying, ‘Let’s not dwell on that, let’s think about the lovely dinner we had earlier in the evening’.”

Nonetheless, I’m not ashamed to say that I love Thanksgiving and have since childhood.  It was always my favorite holiday – partly because it meant wonderful food (I am an unapologetic foodie), but mainly because it was a non-religious holiday, which I greatly appreciated in dealing with my awkward bi-religion/bi-racial circumstances.  And I adored the Thanksgiving Day Parade – in the years before TV producers decided it would be a good idea to add corny, lip-synched entertainment in front of an entrance to Macy’s, which has since rendered the parade unwatchable.

I have no recollection of being taught in school that Indians were bad.  In fact, I have a clear memory of a happy fourth grade Thanksgiving play in which I recited a portion of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s endless epic, The Song of Hiawatha while another kid played a tom-tom drum: “By the shores of Gitche Gumee / By the shining Big-Sea-Water / Stood the wigwam of Nokomis / Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis.”  That’s all I remember and I’ve since learned that the poem bears no relation to any Indian history whatsoever.

Indeed, the classic Thanksgiving myth isn't true, either.  Members of the Mashpee Wampanoag Tribe were not invited to the Pilgrims' "First Thanksgiving," which the transplanted Brits thought of purely as a harvest festival, not a special occasion of giving thanks.  The Indians basically crashed the party -- but politely, bringing substantial food to share.

Anyway, I digress.  America’s actual history with Indians was never mentioned in our elementary school history books (for obvious reasons…) – except for that nice dinner we had with them earlier in the evening.  For that matter, our history with the Indians, along with the detailed brutality of slavery and the World War II national encampment of the Japanese (legal immigrants, second-generation-American-born Japanese and others) was left out of the curriculae too.  Remember, this was the 50s to mid 60s and books offering corrected, expanded history didn't yet exist below the college level.

No, what taught me that Indians were bad were movie and TV westerns in the 50s and 60s, because the Indians were always ablaze with war paint, whooping and swooping down on settlers and pioneers to scalp them, burn their homes, forts and wagons, and steal white women.  It wasn’t until I discovered Buffy Saint Marie in my early teens and later read Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee and saw the film Little Big Man that I learned the horrible truth about what white European Americans did to Native Americans.    

However, none of this has lessened my love of turkey with gravy, dressing, sweet potatoes and pumpkin pie.  Perhaps this means I’m putting my stomach ahead of my politics, to which I say: "Ahh, not really; please pass the cranberry sauce."  Besides, being introduced to these new arts and history sources came about the same time that I realized the contemporary Thanksgiving has nothing to do with Pilgrims and Indians and all that came after.  It’s about gathering with friends and family if possible, but whatever the circumstances, genuinely acknowledging the blessings and tender mercies in our lives.

And it’s about the food.  And it’s about football.  And it’s about the prelude to Christmas which, for most people, thank goodness, has no more to do with the birth of Christ and Christianity’s crazy, bloody history than Thanksgiving is about Pilgrims and Indians.  Mass majority Christmas is about the food and Christmas trees and Christmas presents and Christmas music, both secular and religious.  I was in a big choir in high school and every year we sang the “Hallelujah Chorus,” which was wonderful to be part of (I was still an angelic first-soprano) and delightful to hear.  So I guess my point is: lighten up ya’ll.  We have little enough to celebrate these days, and if we choose to delight in these traditional holidays in our own, somehow-meaningful way, that's a good thing.

This Thanksgiving, I’ll be alone – for the first time by choice.  I won’t have to travel or dress up and I'm not doing much cooking, but sweet potatoes will be involved.  I won’t watch the parade or football.  What I will do is sleep late, then look for the original Miracle On 34^th Street on TV.  I’ll light two Yahrzeit candles, one for my departed loved ones -- and one for the Indians.  I’ll think about and speak out loud what I’m grateful for and offer thanks to the general universe for my largely good fortune.  I will have a Happy Thanksgiving and hope you do, too.

The Purim Principle

Last night, March 19^th, marked the beginning of Purim, a Jewish holiday regularly held shortly before Passover, the major spring Holiday. Passover gets lumped with Easter, the way Chanukah gets lumped with Christmas (even though the holidays have nothing in common) by well-meaning folks who want to give Jews semi-equal time during the major Christian seasons. But Purim is a stand-alone Jewish holiday which, it is my impression, is enjoying renewed importance among the growing population of contemporary observant Jews. For the record, when I was growing up, my Jewish mother and grandparents paid no attention whatever to Purim. I had heard of it, but it wasn’t a part of my life. And when I was studying Judaism as part of my training for the Interfaith ministry, I don’t remember much attention being paid to Purim – but to be honest, there was a lot of stuff covered about many faiths that I can’t now recall. So my education continues.

I’m very pleased to learn about Purim, because it appears to be a holiday that embraces intellect, compassion, political savvy, and outreach to others for a variety of reasons. Since I’m not knowledgeable about Purim and don’t see the point in synthesizing good critiques written by others, I want to direct you to two Purim posts on The Huffington Post today: “The Whimsy, Confusion and Hope of Purim” by Arnold E. Eisen, chancellor, Jewish Theological Seminary, and, “Forget God, Drink Responsibly, and Save the World One Person At a Time” by Brad Hirschfield, rabbi, author and expert on religion and public life. I hope you’ll take a moment and read these.

In a superficial nutshell, Purim is about celebrating what’s good in your life, not whining about what’s bad, being of service to others, and giving your relationships with family and friends the attention and respect they deserve. This is an important message for me, because even though I often and sincerely count my blessings, I could no doubt be certified as a professional whiner and I haven’t been of any meaningful service to anyone over the past couple of years. When you’re essentially a recluse, that kind of shit frequently happens. Similarly, I haven’t been giving the relationships in my life the attention they deserve, a bitter irony, as loneliness and isolation are two of my biggest beefs.

I thought it was interesting that just shortly before knowledge of Purim swam into my ken, I got an email from my friend Nadine Hack, who is presently executive-in-residence at the International Institute for Management Development (IMD) in Switzerland. She recently placed a post on her company blog, beCause Global Consulting, entitled “Relationships: Connecting and Reconnecting,” in which she says: “The most profound relationships form and sustain when you connect deeply and then continue to nurture those connections, whether in personal or professional contexts.” In her work she’s teaching about “creating and sustaining highly relational engagement of [a business’] internal and external stakeholders.” I’m holed up here in the Tower always feeling abandoned while I do very little to nurture my extended group of connections. I didn’t know what to say in response to her post.

But yesterday I came across an article in the New York Times, “Don’t Call Me, I Won’t Call You,” which says that not only are people ripping out land-line telephones in their homes in droves, relying exclusively on cells, people aren’t calling each other anymore just to chat; they’re texting and emailing to convey information. Phoning someone to chat is now considered invasive and rude, both personally and in business. I was aghast. It’s true, I only receive calls from a small corps of people, but I thought that demonstrated the collapse of my personal life, I didn’t know it was a cultural trend. Since I’ve been in the midst of bemoaning the death of the art of conversation, this was not so much a surprise as another kick to my psyche’s stomach.

I realize the world has changed enormously over the past ten years. The post-9/11 reality has become The New Normal: paranoid, fast-paced, highly competitive, less of a concept of privacy but a decreasing lack of intimacy, very high tech social interaction, increasing religious observance, increasing economic divide, decreasing social amenities, decreasing family cohesion, the dumbing-down of everything…etc. For me, this is personified by a TV commercial for audio-books that I’ve seen several times. It begins with a harried man saying, “I love reading books but who has the time?” We’ve become a society ever-more focused on doing rather than being, and it appears that most folks don’t have the time for the things that civilize and sustain – like chatting on the phone or reading a book! I’m not a happy camper. I have no place in this brave new world, yet here I am, hanging about on the edges.

So, if celebrating Purim can give us both the opportunity and the skill to slow down, party, connect, find reasons to be cheerful, and make time to be aware of and help others, maybe this is a holiday we should secularize so that everyone feels welcome in the groove. We could call it “Stop and Smell the Roses Day.” Think about it. I’ll give you a call.

Out With the Old, In With the New

I find myself considerably out-of-sorts this New Year’s Eve. If you’re a regular Tower reader (thank you!), you’ve no doubt noticed that I’ve been ignoring this blog; I haven’t done anything for Blogcritics in about a month, either. It’s hard for me to write about national/world affairs that I’m normally passionate about, or other subjects that generally interest me, when I’m in a funk and feeling as if I don’t particularly care about anything. My apologies if I’ve disappointed you.

My mood aside, I feel inclined to end 2009 – a year I’m not going to miss – by adding one final post here, and will, hopefully, return to Blogcritics soon, too. I’m supposed to be writing an ongoing feature on broadcast journalism, but the content of the news over the past couple of months has been too dispiriting for me to stand back from and analyze.

In the past, for many, many years, I used to spend New Year’s Eve assessing the pros and cons of the past year, and will take this opportunity to do so again tonight. On a personal level, 2009 really wasn’t too bad: no major illnesses or injuries; I maintained this blog (for the most part), and began to reach beyond it by hooking up with Blogcritics and Twitter – all that was good. A few personal, health, financial and legal issues, but nothing I couldn’t/can’t handle. I do count my blessings and concede they are many; it’s really churlish of me to complain, but I can’t help feeling as I do.

The big story for me, as it was for millions of others, was watching Barack Obama and the Democratic Congress become a bigger and bigger disappointment with each passing day: bad decisions/legislation, no decisions/legislation, lack of vision, gridlock, broken promises; and a newer, bigger, even more senseless war. I went into the year with such a sense of hope and excitement, only to have that enthusiasm dashed. Did all this happen because Obama was insincere from the start, or, because despite his best intentions, the enormity of the problems he faced, combined with rabid opposition from the other team and a fractious lack of cooperation from his own, made any other result impossible? I guess 2010 will provide greater indications.

Then there was that pile-up of deaths of notable figures. This happens every year, but 2009 took some especially special people – and not just the big names we can all cite off the tops of our heads, but lesser-known yet vitally-important people; the arts and sciences took especially significant hits in 2009. And I won’t even go into detail about The Economy: everybody suffered in one way or another.

Looking ahead, I can’t at the moment muster up any really positive hopes for the new year, but the one thing that can always be relied on is that there will be both pleasant and unpleasant surprises, for each of us individually and all of us collectively. One of the few things I’m pleased about right now is that the first decade of the new century is over (I say this with a knowing nod to those who believe that won’t actually be the case until 2011…); we’ve survived it. And from hereon in we can stop saying “two thousand…whatever” and start saying “20…whatever.” I like the sound of that better and it reminds me that when I think of the 1900s, I have to remember how different each decade was from the one before and the one that followed, sometimes for better, sometimes for worse, but so much happened in the 20^th century; the world changed wildly throughout it. Change is always hard, but sometimes (resist them though I do) the new things really are better.

What can we look forward to in 2010 and the new decade? I’m psychic, but I don’t know (for those of you who don’t believe in spooky stuff, I should explain that even people with extraordinary intuition and perception can’t read the future like a map; it doesn’t work that way). So I’m hoping that both the year, the decade and I will all turn out better than I feel tonight.

I also hope that your own hurts will heal, your own fears will go unrealized; that your positive plans will pan out and all surprises will be pleasant ones.

All we can do is hope for the best, try our hardest, and roll with the punches. That’s what endings and beginnings are all about, always, regardless the year or decade or century, who’s in charge, who lives or dies. That’s life. So Happy New Year to all and to all a good night.