Last year I when i walked into the bathroom of my bedroom in the castle in which I live for 3 months of the year,something on the glass shower door caught my eye, and I gasped. A small, bright cross had appeared there, hanging in midair.
For a moment, I just stared. This had to be a sign. But of what? Should I return to the arms of holy mother church? Should I sell the shower door on eBay?
Then I realized. This was not a miraculous visit from god. It was a reflection from the new night light I had put on the opposite wall. The light itself looked normal, but its reflection looked…well, divine.
In truth, I hadn’t wanted it to be a miracle. I abandoned Catholicism 45 years ago, and for a long time after that I couldn’t bring myself to walk into a church. Twelve years of Catholic school can make a pagan of anyone. Eventually, I could return to churches to admire the architecture, even to pay a visit to the saint who had helped me get through the horror of adolescence. Saint Therese was like a childhood friend, outgrown but still beloved. It seemed nice to drop in and say hello when I was in the neighborhood. Later, teaching literature courses brought me into intense contact with the beliefs I had long since discarded, but an appreciation for Dante, however deep, didn’t reconvert me. My own thinking over the years has led me into various spiritualities, and I have come to appreciate the more mystical and humane aspects of Christianity. But I am certainly no believer. The cross had startled me for a moment, but so would a heart or an animal face or a flower shape.
Nonetheless, when I came back to the castle this year, I put the nightlight up with certain anticipation, even a slight misgiving: suppose the cross didn’t come back this term? It did. And, may the god of all doubters forgive me, I was relieved. No, I was happy.
It has continued to make me happy throughout the term, and I keep the shower door positioned to catch the reflection. Like the old plush cat I keep on my bed long after the age anyone has any business with cuddle toys, my cross gives me a sense of peace and well being. It doesn’t seem like what it represents, a torture implement for a scary nonconformist. Nor does it seem like the paradoxical symbol of conformity, fear, and inhibition I grew up with.
What it does seem like, I can’t figure out. My cat, my knuffeldier, in that gorgeous Dutch word--that’s no trouble figuring out. But the cross, bane of my child-existence? I don’t get it.
But I love it, I look for and at it whenever I pass the bathroom, I feel reassured by it . I have no impulse to bring the nightlight home with me, even if it would work with American electricity systems, even if I could recreate the position of its reflection. My knuffeldier, he belongs with me everywhere, and follows me loyally. The cross, however, belongs here, in my room in my castle. Maybe it’s the spirit of some knight who once lived here, or of some dragonsouled girl who dreamed of crusades she would fight, boy-disguised and triumphant. Or of all the students who have lived at the castle over the years, whom I have forgotten but never ceased to love.
Or maybe it’s only the reflection of a banal nightlight that keeps away dark dreams. But they are castle dreams, and it is a castle cross. Holy, then, after all.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Monday, October 12, 2009
fetal photos
For starters, let me say that I am fiercely, avidly, utterly pro-choice. I have little doubt that, had I ever become pregnant, I would have had an abortion. No woman should ever have the law, or her financial limits, make the decision of what to do with an unchosen, undesired pregnancy. To that extent, I view with suspicion any action that the “right to life” movement takes.
Periodically the action taken by the opponents of choice takes the form of standing as close to an abortion provider’s venue as possible, holding signs with pictures of aborted fetuses to scare away women going in for the procedure. Most reporting of this, from the moderately liberal to the left, tends to portray these people as fanatics, doing something seriously disreputable.
Maybe. But the reason they are able to be at all effective is that they too often represent the first sight a woman has had of what an aborted fetus looks like. And that, I am convinced, is the fault of society at large.
A bloody fetus is pretty awful looking. Partially that’s because anything removed from inside the body is pretty awful look—an organ, a tumor, even a wisdom tooth. A bloody mass is scary looking.
But add to the bloody mass the knowledge that it was something on its way to being a human being, and at some point, it very logically looks like a human being. That’s a serious addition. A fetus, as they are fond of telling us, isn’t a tumor or an appendix, any more than it’s a baby. It’s a unique entity somewhere between life and not-life. That’s why many women choose not to abort, and it’s why some who do abort later regret it. And when we don’t acknowledge that, and deal with it, we simply empower the image when the anti-abortionists herald it. To be suddenly, starkly reminded of what is in her body and what she is having removed from her body is a hell of a thing for a woman to be confronted with as she is about to implement an often already painful decision. And we have no equally scary image to remind her that women who keep and raise unwanted children sometimes regret what they’ve done, as do women who birth children and give them up for adoption. Once a woman is pregnant, she has very little time to research options and their possible long-term effects on her psyche. There are no dramatic pictures to hold up showing the consequences of maintaining an unwanted pregnancy and raising or putting up for adoption an unwanted child.
What we need to do is to make the whole range of possibilities clear to every schoolgirl, in sex-ed or health-ed or whatever class in school. We need to publish honest literature for teens that their parents or friends can give to them. If that sounds gross, so be it. Any fertile woman can get pregnant, and she needs to know what pregnancy is about in which situations. We can tell her she’ll have free choice, but without adding real, specific information –visual as well as verbal—about what each choice may entail, we haven’t really done our jobs. No amount of preparation can keep away the shock of unwanted pregnancy or of its possible resolutions. But it might help a woman to make the choice she can be comfortable with for the rest of her life. The woman who chooses abortion has a right to know what it means, just as she needs to know what her other options mean. Maybe she’ll be freaked out by those pictures, but if she ends up seeing them for the first time in front of an abortion clinic, she’s more likely to freak out—and very possibly she can be deeply scarred if the first time she sees them is months or years after her abortion. That a teenager may be repulsed and vow never to have an abortion is possible. Equally possible she might feel otherwise a few years later if she finds herself pregnant.
Sadly, we live in a society of verbal and visual euphemisms. We don’t get old; we become seniors. We’re never victims; we’re survivors. Our soldiers are always heroes—regardless of what their actions have been. Occasionally we get the brash figures who like to tell us what it “really” is, and then come up with-- what word is right...counter-euphemisms.....? the in-your-face cruelty and viciousness of a Rush Limbaugh or a reality show contestant. And we’re all vulnerable to it, because we’ve encased ourselves in what we hope are painless evasions. But they aren’t painless; they’re only numbing. They are the pseudo-clothes of the naked emperor. We need that courageous child who tells us that the emperor indeed has no clothes on. And then perhaps reminds us that there’s really nothing wrong with nudity.
Honesty is essential if we are to make real choices. I am convinced that for most women who choose abortions, it doesn’t end up being emotionally easy. That doesn’t mean it’s a wrong choice, or that she wouldn’t suffer more if she made a different choice. Whatever choice any woman makes entails the risk of later regret. I’ve seen the pain of a birth mother years after she put her child up for adoption. And remember that Dear Abby (or Ann Landers) column some years, in which she discussed the reactions from hundreds of readers who answered, anonymously, her appeal for letters from mothers who regretted have children? Though many wrote it to tell her they had never had such regrets, at least as many wrote thanking her for giving them a place to admit the guilty secret that they did regret it, and would never make that decision again. One wonders what would happen in a society in which girls were raised to understand that it was great to have children and great not to have children. We suffer for all the lies of commission and of omission we have grown up with.
So while I dislike the guilt-mongering of the un-violent abortion opponents who confront their victims with horror pictures of bloody fetuses, I dislike far more the power we give to those pictures. I would like to see the day when a young woman, facing such a protester yelling, “Do you know what this is?” can say, sadly but calmly, “Yes I do,” and go on her way to do confidently what she has, with no illusions, chosen.
Periodically the action taken by the opponents of choice takes the form of standing as close to an abortion provider’s venue as possible, holding signs with pictures of aborted fetuses to scare away women going in for the procedure. Most reporting of this, from the moderately liberal to the left, tends to portray these people as fanatics, doing something seriously disreputable.
Maybe. But the reason they are able to be at all effective is that they too often represent the first sight a woman has had of what an aborted fetus looks like. And that, I am convinced, is the fault of society at large.
A bloody fetus is pretty awful looking. Partially that’s because anything removed from inside the body is pretty awful look—an organ, a tumor, even a wisdom tooth. A bloody mass is scary looking.
But add to the bloody mass the knowledge that it was something on its way to being a human being, and at some point, it very logically looks like a human being. That’s a serious addition. A fetus, as they are fond of telling us, isn’t a tumor or an appendix, any more than it’s a baby. It’s a unique entity somewhere between life and not-life. That’s why many women choose not to abort, and it’s why some who do abort later regret it. And when we don’t acknowledge that, and deal with it, we simply empower the image when the anti-abortionists herald it. To be suddenly, starkly reminded of what is in her body and what she is having removed from her body is a hell of a thing for a woman to be confronted with as she is about to implement an often already painful decision. And we have no equally scary image to remind her that women who keep and raise unwanted children sometimes regret what they’ve done, as do women who birth children and give them up for adoption. Once a woman is pregnant, she has very little time to research options and their possible long-term effects on her psyche. There are no dramatic pictures to hold up showing the consequences of maintaining an unwanted pregnancy and raising or putting up for adoption an unwanted child.
What we need to do is to make the whole range of possibilities clear to every schoolgirl, in sex-ed or health-ed or whatever class in school. We need to publish honest literature for teens that their parents or friends can give to them. If that sounds gross, so be it. Any fertile woman can get pregnant, and she needs to know what pregnancy is about in which situations. We can tell her she’ll have free choice, but without adding real, specific information –visual as well as verbal—about what each choice may entail, we haven’t really done our jobs. No amount of preparation can keep away the shock of unwanted pregnancy or of its possible resolutions. But it might help a woman to make the choice she can be comfortable with for the rest of her life. The woman who chooses abortion has a right to know what it means, just as she needs to know what her other options mean. Maybe she’ll be freaked out by those pictures, but if she ends up seeing them for the first time in front of an abortion clinic, she’s more likely to freak out—and very possibly she can be deeply scarred if the first time she sees them is months or years after her abortion. That a teenager may be repulsed and vow never to have an abortion is possible. Equally possible she might feel otherwise a few years later if she finds herself pregnant.
Sadly, we live in a society of verbal and visual euphemisms. We don’t get old; we become seniors. We’re never victims; we’re survivors. Our soldiers are always heroes—regardless of what their actions have been. Occasionally we get the brash figures who like to tell us what it “really” is, and then come up with-- what word is right...counter-euphemisms.....? the in-your-face cruelty and viciousness of a Rush Limbaugh or a reality show contestant. And we’re all vulnerable to it, because we’ve encased ourselves in what we hope are painless evasions. But they aren’t painless; they’re only numbing. They are the pseudo-clothes of the naked emperor. We need that courageous child who tells us that the emperor indeed has no clothes on. And then perhaps reminds us that there’s really nothing wrong with nudity.
Honesty is essential if we are to make real choices. I am convinced that for most women who choose abortions, it doesn’t end up being emotionally easy. That doesn’t mean it’s a wrong choice, or that she wouldn’t suffer more if she made a different choice. Whatever choice any woman makes entails the risk of later regret. I’ve seen the pain of a birth mother years after she put her child up for adoption. And remember that Dear Abby (or Ann Landers) column some years, in which she discussed the reactions from hundreds of readers who answered, anonymously, her appeal for letters from mothers who regretted have children? Though many wrote it to tell her they had never had such regrets, at least as many wrote thanking her for giving them a place to admit the guilty secret that they did regret it, and would never make that decision again. One wonders what would happen in a society in which girls were raised to understand that it was great to have children and great not to have children. We suffer for all the lies of commission and of omission we have grown up with.
So while I dislike the guilt-mongering of the un-violent abortion opponents who confront their victims with horror pictures of bloody fetuses, I dislike far more the power we give to those pictures. I would like to see the day when a young woman, facing such a protester yelling, “Do you know what this is?” can say, sadly but calmly, “Yes I do,” and go on her way to do confidently what she has, with no illusions, chosen.
Friday, July 31, 2009
church, state, and gay marriage
Church, state, and gay marriage
A few weeks ago, the Metro published a column by a writer sympathetic to the gay-marriage opponents. He spoke about their sincere religious beliefs, and then went on to explain what the bible says. It was gently toned but hardly enlightening. What interested me most was his implicit assumption that the sincerity of the religionists’ convictions somehow meant that the rest of us should let them have it the way they want it.
At first I had my usual reaction. They are entitled to their beliefs but not to attempt to enforce those beliefs on society. But something still bothered me about the column. I reread it. There it was: the writer was treating marriage as if it were one institution. And it dawned on me that I had never heard that notion explicitly refuted. The refutation is implicit in all the pro-gay-marriage arguments, and surely it must be spelled out somewhere. But I haven’t seen it. And if I haven’t, surely some others haven’t.
Marriage is not one institution. Once upon a time it was. When the Christian church ruled Europe, when the Holy Roman Emperor took on that title as a claim to his divinely inspired secular power, it was. Even after the Wars of Religion, it was.
But with the separation of church and state, it changed. Marriage was bifurcated into two separate but usually interwoven institutions. There was religious marriage, and civic marriage. Perhaps that was a mistake; perhaps marriage itself should have remained the domain of the church—or, later, of the various religious and social institutions to which people were attached. It might then have taken its place with the rest of the religious rites--ordination of priests, bar-mitzvah’s, first communions—all accepted and respected by the law, but conferring no legal rights or obligations on the citizenry at large.
Obviously, it didn’t happen that way. We have two separate forms of marriage, usually conflated in the public imagination because when it is performed by a religious officer –priest, minister, rabbi— it functions simultaneously as a civil marriage. The fact that the one ceremony performs a dual role is easy to blur and indeed to forget...
Yet we have also long had, and continue to have, legal marriage apart from religion—you go to city hall, or (my personal favorite image) run off in the middle of the night to wake up some befuddled justice of the peace. Legally this procedure confers exactly the same rights as you’d have gotten in a religious ceremony.
Far less frequently, but importantly, it has gone the other way. A couple unable to legally marry goes to a sympathetic clergyperson, and has a wedding ceremony that acknowledges the sacred reality of their union, which remains unacknowledged by the state. A few heterosexual couples have chosen such a wedding, wanting to formally affirm their union without bringing the state into it. And it remains even now the only kind of marriage available to most gays and lesbians.
When the separate functions of marriage get blurred, it’s easy to confuse them and try to keep the ideals of the one entrenched in the other. Marriage is perceived as God-given and god-defined. Within the religious institution, that makes sense. In that realm, the belief in a god with a certain set of rules exists though differently among different religions and different factions within a religion. The God who offers his body and blood in the Holy Communion no doubt wants all marriages to be between one man and one woman (though in spite of the eternity-babblings of less historically astute Christians, even God changed his mind, somewhere between the polygamous Old Testament and the monogamous New one). Followers of that god have every right to insist that a marriage between two men or two women is not a marriage in His eyes. .Canon law may withhold religious sanction of such a marriage.
But in a country that defines itself as a democracy, legal institutions must be equally available for everyone. The divorcee who is not permitted to remarry in her own church may nonetheless be remarried legally. The Catholic priest who leaves the priesthood may be committing a sin in the eyes of a church that views his religious vows as binding for life. He remains in the secular world precisely what he was before, his legal rights unhindered. And in any state, the man who wishes to marry another man may have a hard time finding a cleric who will perform the ceremony. But that is the right of the cleric, as it is the right of the congregation to reject the spiritual validity of the marriage. It is not the right of the government to withhold the legal status from some of its citizens while granting it to others. If marriage is forced to conform to religious beliefs, it has no reason and no right to be a civil institution.
A few weeks ago, the Metro published a column by a writer sympathetic to the gay-marriage opponents. He spoke about their sincere religious beliefs, and then went on to explain what the bible says. It was gently toned but hardly enlightening. What interested me most was his implicit assumption that the sincerity of the religionists’ convictions somehow meant that the rest of us should let them have it the way they want it.
At first I had my usual reaction. They are entitled to their beliefs but not to attempt to enforce those beliefs on society. But something still bothered me about the column. I reread it. There it was: the writer was treating marriage as if it were one institution. And it dawned on me that I had never heard that notion explicitly refuted. The refutation is implicit in all the pro-gay-marriage arguments, and surely it must be spelled out somewhere. But I haven’t seen it. And if I haven’t, surely some others haven’t.
Marriage is not one institution. Once upon a time it was. When the Christian church ruled Europe, when the Holy Roman Emperor took on that title as a claim to his divinely inspired secular power, it was. Even after the Wars of Religion, it was.
But with the separation of church and state, it changed. Marriage was bifurcated into two separate but usually interwoven institutions. There was religious marriage, and civic marriage. Perhaps that was a mistake; perhaps marriage itself should have remained the domain of the church—or, later, of the various religious and social institutions to which people were attached. It might then have taken its place with the rest of the religious rites--ordination of priests, bar-mitzvah’s, first communions—all accepted and respected by the law, but conferring no legal rights or obligations on the citizenry at large.
Obviously, it didn’t happen that way. We have two separate forms of marriage, usually conflated in the public imagination because when it is performed by a religious officer –priest, minister, rabbi— it functions simultaneously as a civil marriage. The fact that the one ceremony performs a dual role is easy to blur and indeed to forget...
Yet we have also long had, and continue to have, legal marriage apart from religion—you go to city hall, or (my personal favorite image) run off in the middle of the night to wake up some befuddled justice of the peace. Legally this procedure confers exactly the same rights as you’d have gotten in a religious ceremony.
Far less frequently, but importantly, it has gone the other way. A couple unable to legally marry goes to a sympathetic clergyperson, and has a wedding ceremony that acknowledges the sacred reality of their union, which remains unacknowledged by the state. A few heterosexual couples have chosen such a wedding, wanting to formally affirm their union without bringing the state into it. And it remains even now the only kind of marriage available to most gays and lesbians.
When the separate functions of marriage get blurred, it’s easy to confuse them and try to keep the ideals of the one entrenched in the other. Marriage is perceived as God-given and god-defined. Within the religious institution, that makes sense. In that realm, the belief in a god with a certain set of rules exists though differently among different religions and different factions within a religion. The God who offers his body and blood in the Holy Communion no doubt wants all marriages to be between one man and one woman (though in spite of the eternity-babblings of less historically astute Christians, even God changed his mind, somewhere between the polygamous Old Testament and the monogamous New one). Followers of that god have every right to insist that a marriage between two men or two women is not a marriage in His eyes. .Canon law may withhold religious sanction of such a marriage.
But in a country that defines itself as a democracy, legal institutions must be equally available for everyone. The divorcee who is not permitted to remarry in her own church may nonetheless be remarried legally. The Catholic priest who leaves the priesthood may be committing a sin in the eyes of a church that views his religious vows as binding for life. He remains in the secular world precisely what he was before, his legal rights unhindered. And in any state, the man who wishes to marry another man may have a hard time finding a cleric who will perform the ceremony. But that is the right of the cleric, as it is the right of the congregation to reject the spiritual validity of the marriage. It is not the right of the government to withhold the legal status from some of its citizens while granting it to others. If marriage is forced to conform to religious beliefs, it has no reason and no right to be a civil institution.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Notes from the ‘60s
In the beginning of this year’s gay pride week, I noticed the front pages of two free Boston newspapers. One announced, to the right of its name, “inside: the official guide to Boston pride 2009.” The other, to the left of its title, suggested “let us be your Pride Guide.” The first paper was the gay-oriented Bay Windows; the second was the general-audience Boston Metro.
Maybe I wouldn’t have noticed this if it weren’t for recent development in my life. Approaching 65, I have chanced to be in touch with several people I haven’t seen in over 40 years—fellow members of Queens College Congress of Racial Equality and of Students for a Democratic Society, who were planning a reunion in conjunction with the college’s commencement ceremonies. Coincidentally, another, unconnected, reunion was happening—this one of the original members of the Gay Liberation Front, which had begun in response to the rebellion of gay men at the Stonewall bar in New York.
I discussed this with a longtime friend, an activist in all three organizations, and we bemoaned the loss of our old selves in what seems to be a post-movement America. “We had hope then,” my friend said sadly.
He was right. We’d had hope, and, sustaining that hope, we’d had faith. “We shall overcome,” we sang, and we believed it. In the ‘60s, we would overcome racism and war-mongering; a few years later we would overcome sexism and homophobia. But we didn’t overcome, and as we grew older our movements seemed to fade. We despaired of the younger generations that seemed to have no room for what we had called, proudly, “the struggle.” They grew up in a society bent on self-destruction that had, increasingly created the tools to succeed--a society that had neatly amputated social conciousness from sophistication. Liberal chic had died out; the sexual revolution given way to a pornographic consumerism. All our symbols had been co-opted and defanged. Che Guevara t-shirts. Ubiquitous images of women “liberated” by upward mobility and a hundred shades of eye liner. Concern over social ills was dismissed with sneering accusations of “political correctness.”
Somehow too we’d lost the clear-cut images of earlier days. We’d revered Guevara as a martyr; ‘we’d chanted of the North Korean leader, “Ho Ho Ho Chi Min; NLF is gonna win!” Now, though our country was still doing things that horrified us, its enemies couldn’t be romanticized. Who could mourn an executed Saddam Hussein, or cheer for Osama bin Laden? We knew who the bad guys were, but who were the good guys?
Further, we had discovered the complexities of our own movements, and of our own human inconsistencies. The “contradictions” dear to leftist theory, had become all too apparent. Gay racists, homophobic feminists, sexist African Americans....multiple conflicts within and among all of the movements. “We have met the enemy and he is us.” We grew old and tired. Many of us simply despaired.
But perhaps the despair has taken too strong a hold. Yes, the enemy is “us.” But so is the ally, the friend, the moral thinker, the questioner. So are the role models and teachers of a new generation of young people in the new century—people spurred to hope by the new presidency.. I ff we didn’t fully succeed, we certainly didn’t fully fail. We have lived to see the Obama candidacy—incredible in itself, astounding in its success. Not the revolution, no. But something that had not—that could not have-- happened before. Six states have gay marriage, and the rest of America is debating it. Abortion, assaulted as it is, is legal.
It isn’t what we thought we would have back in the 60s and 70s. As abortion providers go about their work, they do it in the knowledge that they are risking their lives, that what was done to Dr. Tiller might be done to them. There will be more Matthew Shepards beaten to death for being gay , even as gay marchers yearly celebrate their pride. America’s most important job is filled by a black man, but black men remain disproportionately underemployed and underpaid. Our successes are partial and compromised.
They are nonetheless successes. A friend wrote me in solemn jubilation after the Queens College reunion. One of the speakers had been Representative John Lewis, the lifelong activist who had worked closely with Martin Luther King. He told the group that without them and the work they had done, Barack Obama would not be president today. My friend had lived his life in the effort to change history. Listening to Lewis’s words, he writes, “Only now I realize that I have succeeded in my goal.”
Since I began this article, more things, good and bad and mixed, have happened. One of the most heartbreaking and inspiring is the spontaneous uprisings in Iran. The protesters are quieted now, having been predictably savaged by the government’s thugs. But they know, we all know, they will be back. Maybe they’ll only be knocked down again; maybe they’ll be defeated; maybe they’ll give up and sink into despair. Or maybe not. Maybe it will take years to discover what they have triggered. But in their thousands they marched, publicly, knowing what might happen to them. In the face of such courage, how can we have the gall to despair?
Every movement for social change in history has been attacked, co-opted, betrayed its own ideals—and still left some things better for their existence. The Russian Revolution, the French Revolution, even the American Revolution. The Civil Rights movements and feminist movements and gay movements. If there’s a perfect world, it’s in some sort of afterlife. In our world, we can only have human beings choosing to fight for the betterment of life, in the terms we embrace, in the struggles we embrace, in the daily decisions to help ourselves and others, where we see the need.
So I hang the picture of the Iranian rebels on my wall, and it’s a sort of holy picture, inspiring hope, perhaps a little courage, and even a little faith. They remind me of who I was and who I am, and who I’ve failed to be. They remind me of my old friends, still in the ways available to them trying to change the world. Maybe one day another generation actually will overcome. And we will have been part of the reason.
Maybe I wouldn’t have noticed this if it weren’t for recent development in my life. Approaching 65, I have chanced to be in touch with several people I haven’t seen in over 40 years—fellow members of Queens College Congress of Racial Equality and of Students for a Democratic Society, who were planning a reunion in conjunction with the college’s commencement ceremonies. Coincidentally, another, unconnected, reunion was happening—this one of the original members of the Gay Liberation Front, which had begun in response to the rebellion of gay men at the Stonewall bar in New York.
I discussed this with a longtime friend, an activist in all three organizations, and we bemoaned the loss of our old selves in what seems to be a post-movement America. “We had hope then,” my friend said sadly.
He was right. We’d had hope, and, sustaining that hope, we’d had faith. “We shall overcome,” we sang, and we believed it. In the ‘60s, we would overcome racism and war-mongering; a few years later we would overcome sexism and homophobia. But we didn’t overcome, and as we grew older our movements seemed to fade. We despaired of the younger generations that seemed to have no room for what we had called, proudly, “the struggle.” They grew up in a society bent on self-destruction that had, increasingly created the tools to succeed--a society that had neatly amputated social conciousness from sophistication. Liberal chic had died out; the sexual revolution given way to a pornographic consumerism. All our symbols had been co-opted and defanged. Che Guevara t-shirts. Ubiquitous images of women “liberated” by upward mobility and a hundred shades of eye liner. Concern over social ills was dismissed with sneering accusations of “political correctness.”
Somehow too we’d lost the clear-cut images of earlier days. We’d revered Guevara as a martyr; ‘we’d chanted of the North Korean leader, “Ho Ho Ho Chi Min; NLF is gonna win!” Now, though our country was still doing things that horrified us, its enemies couldn’t be romanticized. Who could mourn an executed Saddam Hussein, or cheer for Osama bin Laden? We knew who the bad guys were, but who were the good guys?
Further, we had discovered the complexities of our own movements, and of our own human inconsistencies. The “contradictions” dear to leftist theory, had become all too apparent. Gay racists, homophobic feminists, sexist African Americans....multiple conflicts within and among all of the movements. “We have met the enemy and he is us.” We grew old and tired. Many of us simply despaired.
But perhaps the despair has taken too strong a hold. Yes, the enemy is “us.” But so is the ally, the friend, the moral thinker, the questioner. So are the role models and teachers of a new generation of young people in the new century—people spurred to hope by the new presidency.. I ff we didn’t fully succeed, we certainly didn’t fully fail. We have lived to see the Obama candidacy—incredible in itself, astounding in its success. Not the revolution, no. But something that had not—that could not have-- happened before. Six states have gay marriage, and the rest of America is debating it. Abortion, assaulted as it is, is legal.
It isn’t what we thought we would have back in the 60s and 70s. As abortion providers go about their work, they do it in the knowledge that they are risking their lives, that what was done to Dr. Tiller might be done to them. There will be more Matthew Shepards beaten to death for being gay , even as gay marchers yearly celebrate their pride. America’s most important job is filled by a black man, but black men remain disproportionately underemployed and underpaid. Our successes are partial and compromised.
They are nonetheless successes. A friend wrote me in solemn jubilation after the Queens College reunion. One of the speakers had been Representative John Lewis, the lifelong activist who had worked closely with Martin Luther King. He told the group that without them and the work they had done, Barack Obama would not be president today. My friend had lived his life in the effort to change history. Listening to Lewis’s words, he writes, “Only now I realize that I have succeeded in my goal.”
Since I began this article, more things, good and bad and mixed, have happened. One of the most heartbreaking and inspiring is the spontaneous uprisings in Iran. The protesters are quieted now, having been predictably savaged by the government’s thugs. But they know, we all know, they will be back. Maybe they’ll only be knocked down again; maybe they’ll be defeated; maybe they’ll give up and sink into despair. Or maybe not. Maybe it will take years to discover what they have triggered. But in their thousands they marched, publicly, knowing what might happen to them. In the face of such courage, how can we have the gall to despair?
Every movement for social change in history has been attacked, co-opted, betrayed its own ideals—and still left some things better for their existence. The Russian Revolution, the French Revolution, even the American Revolution. The Civil Rights movements and feminist movements and gay movements. If there’s a perfect world, it’s in some sort of afterlife. In our world, we can only have human beings choosing to fight for the betterment of life, in the terms we embrace, in the struggles we embrace, in the daily decisions to help ourselves and others, where we see the need.
So I hang the picture of the Iranian rebels on my wall, and it’s a sort of holy picture, inspiring hope, perhaps a little courage, and even a little faith. They remind me of who I was and who I am, and who I’ve failed to be. They remind me of my old friends, still in the ways available to them trying to change the world. Maybe one day another generation actually will overcome. And we will have been part of the reason.
the police officer, the professor, and the president
July 18, 2009 {this is a rewritten version of a post to the New York Times]
I would agree that “stupid” was in fact a stupid choice of words. That we find this startling in an American president strikes me as odd, given the amount of idiotic language and thinking we have heard from presidents over the years. Further, Mr. Obama’s job is to be president, not to be a god. One unfortunate word choice would be a pretty good record for any of us.
For me (white, female) that was his only mistake. Sure, he could have said “no comment.” But why should he? He clarified himself in the beginning, telling us that he did not know all the facts, and that he was a a friend of Professor Gates. By doing this, he told his listeners that he could be wrong, and then went on to give his best analysis under the circumstances.
He did not say that this particular officer was racially motivated. He said indeed that he had no way of knowing that. Importantly, he then said that it inevitably brought up the history of racial profiling.
History matters. It’s there, and it informs all of our actions. More than racial profiling wafts through any incident involving black and white people. Slavery, lynch mobs, the very shade of an African’-American’s skin –the possibility that a lighter-skinned black person is the descendent of a white owner’s rape –it’s there, and with all the progress our country has made, even with the election of a black president, it’s going to be there for a long time, and it is going to emerge in the actions of many white people. That certainly doesn’t mean that a white police officer should never arrest a black person. In itself, it doesn’t say that this particular white officer was wrong in this particular situation. And this is what President Obama was saying.
I felt bad, watching the speech, that the President interrupted himself with a joke--a good and telling joke, by the way--and then didn’t go back to finish his sentence. From the context, it seems clear that he was about to say that if the police got a call about a possible break-in at HIS house, he would want them to do what the police department did--send a patrol car to the house instantly, and see if a break was happening. That might have helped clear the way to an accurate hearing of the remainder of his comment.
There is no use in pretending were color-blind. I f I got into a confrontation with a black woman (II use a woman here to avoid confusion around gender issues), we are both going to be aware of the power issues at hand, of the history surrounding us both, even if the argument is about something having nothing to do with race, and even if I happen to be completely right in the situation. Her own life experiences and her racial history will affect her perceptions, even if she doesn’t want them to. My reaction will be affected by that knowledge. However it plays out, even if we both come out laughing and shaking hands, that’s there. It doesn’t mean I shouldn’t stand up for myself, that as a human being my experience is as valid, my rights as important, as hers. But it would be foolish for either of us, or anyone watching the confrontation or reading or hearing about it, to pretend that race wasn’t, at the very least, a possible factor in it.
Today I watched the police press conference on television. Five white men spoke, and each said that race is not a factor in what police officers do. That visual effect was incredible. No black officers spoke, though a handful was present (though god knows if I were a black cop I’d stay as far away from that conference as I could). They have their own history to defend, and I would imagine that police officers have seen a lot more situations in which someone who appears to be breaking into a house appears that way because he has in fact been breaking into a house. And maybe they would bring that knowledge to a white apparent burglar as readily as to a black one. And they don’t want to be accused of racist actions when they don’t perceive themselves acting racist. But that race history belongs to all of us, and it is ingenuous for whites to be indignant that their actions call to mind actions of many many whites over many many years.
So yes. In spite of his unfortunate choice of one word, I am glad that Obama didn’t hide in a “no comment.” This morning I watched five white men acting as though racism isn’t a reality. I am glad to have watched my black president, after months of what must have been difficult self restraint, address the reality.
How unfortunate that the Sotomeyer hearings are over. We could keep the television on and watch a bunch of white men explain the irrelevance of ethnicity to a “proud Latina woman.” Somehow I find myself flashing back nearly 20 years, to the Clarence Thomas hearings. There too a group of white men attempted to make judgements on the veracity of two African Americans—one, a woman who was talking about being sexually harrassed. This degree of visible white supremacy should remind us that racism is very far from a dead issue.
The president has now acknowledged that he should have found a better word than “stupid,” the Cambridge police have joyfully accepted that admission, the president then phoned the officer involved, and they had an amiable conversation. Then Obama invited both men to visit him at the White House and “drink some beers” together. As I work on this post now, Rachel Maddow has just reported that Professor Gates has accepted the invitation, and it seems likely that the officer too will accept.
I would agree that “stupid” was in fact a stupid choice of words. That we find this startling in an American president strikes me as odd, given the amount of idiotic language and thinking we have heard from presidents over the years. Further, Mr. Obama’s job is to be president, not to be a god. One unfortunate word choice would be a pretty good record for any of us.
For me (white, female) that was his only mistake. Sure, he could have said “no comment.” But why should he? He clarified himself in the beginning, telling us that he did not know all the facts, and that he was a a friend of Professor Gates. By doing this, he told his listeners that he could be wrong, and then went on to give his best analysis under the circumstances.
He did not say that this particular officer was racially motivated. He said indeed that he had no way of knowing that. Importantly, he then said that it inevitably brought up the history of racial profiling.
History matters. It’s there, and it informs all of our actions. More than racial profiling wafts through any incident involving black and white people. Slavery, lynch mobs, the very shade of an African’-American’s skin –the possibility that a lighter-skinned black person is the descendent of a white owner’s rape –it’s there, and with all the progress our country has made, even with the election of a black president, it’s going to be there for a long time, and it is going to emerge in the actions of many white people. That certainly doesn’t mean that a white police officer should never arrest a black person. In itself, it doesn’t say that this particular white officer was wrong in this particular situation. And this is what President Obama was saying.
I felt bad, watching the speech, that the President interrupted himself with a joke--a good and telling joke, by the way--and then didn’t go back to finish his sentence. From the context, it seems clear that he was about to say that if the police got a call about a possible break-in at HIS house, he would want them to do what the police department did--send a patrol car to the house instantly, and see if a break was happening. That might have helped clear the way to an accurate hearing of the remainder of his comment.
There is no use in pretending were color-blind. I f I got into a confrontation with a black woman (II use a woman here to avoid confusion around gender issues), we are both going to be aware of the power issues at hand, of the history surrounding us both, even if the argument is about something having nothing to do with race, and even if I happen to be completely right in the situation. Her own life experiences and her racial history will affect her perceptions, even if she doesn’t want them to. My reaction will be affected by that knowledge. However it plays out, even if we both come out laughing and shaking hands, that’s there. It doesn’t mean I shouldn’t stand up for myself, that as a human being my experience is as valid, my rights as important, as hers. But it would be foolish for either of us, or anyone watching the confrontation or reading or hearing about it, to pretend that race wasn’t, at the very least, a possible factor in it.
Today I watched the police press conference on television. Five white men spoke, and each said that race is not a factor in what police officers do. That visual effect was incredible. No black officers spoke, though a handful was present (though god knows if I were a black cop I’d stay as far away from that conference as I could). They have their own history to defend, and I would imagine that police officers have seen a lot more situations in which someone who appears to be breaking into a house appears that way because he has in fact been breaking into a house. And maybe they would bring that knowledge to a white apparent burglar as readily as to a black one. And they don’t want to be accused of racist actions when they don’t perceive themselves acting racist. But that race history belongs to all of us, and it is ingenuous for whites to be indignant that their actions call to mind actions of many many whites over many many years.
So yes. In spite of his unfortunate choice of one word, I am glad that Obama didn’t hide in a “no comment.” This morning I watched five white men acting as though racism isn’t a reality. I am glad to have watched my black president, after months of what must have been difficult self restraint, address the reality.
How unfortunate that the Sotomeyer hearings are over. We could keep the television on and watch a bunch of white men explain the irrelevance of ethnicity to a “proud Latina woman.” Somehow I find myself flashing back nearly 20 years, to the Clarence Thomas hearings. There too a group of white men attempted to make judgements on the veracity of two African Americans—one, a woman who was talking about being sexually harrassed. This degree of visible white supremacy should remind us that racism is very far from a dead issue.
The president has now acknowledged that he should have found a better word than “stupid,” the Cambridge police have joyfully accepted that admission, the president then phoned the officer involved, and they had an amiable conversation. Then Obama invited both men to visit him at the White House and “drink some beers” together. As I work on this post now, Rachel Maddow has just reported that Professor Gates has accepted the invitation, and it seems likely that the officer too will accept.
Friday, October 31, 2008
palin and women
so this spam from mccainland tells me that hillary clinton's female supporters and other women are complaining that obama's ad in which gov. palin is depicted winking at the camera is sexist.
now, i've been a feminist for 40-something years. true, i've also been a [shudder] leftist, so i'd be unlikely to vote for mccain in any case. but i would love for him to have picked a worthy republican woman as his running mate--someone i could disagree with but whose intelligence i could respect. we need that image in this unquestionably male-dominated world of american politics.
palin is shrewd, and she's loaded with personality. but she doesn't come near the intelligence a vice president [which is to say, a potential president] needs. she's uninformed about things a third grader should know. and she gets---well, . the reason the dem's used that picture of her winking is that she bloody winked! i have no doubt that had a male candidate winked for the camera, they'd have used that too. it's . i would hope that all clinton supporters know that hillary clinton wouldn't act like a valley girl.
no, the real sexism is from mccain and whatever advisers foisted the governor on him. did they really think all women would vote for a woman simply because she was a woman, regardless of her politics, her intelligence, and her demeanor? she's feisty and pretty, and she has several child, one of whom is a down's syndrome baby that she chose to have. that's cool. that's nice. but it doesn't offer a reason to vote for her as vice president.
her politics are not pro-woman, or at least not pro-less-than-rich woman. and her scope of knowledge is not such that she would be able to handle the job of president with any of the skill demanded of that job. indeed she has made a mockery of the presidential campaign and of professional women.
obama is male, and i don't know how deep his committment to women's issues go. but he's intelligent, informed, and more of a feminist than gov. palin. and he knows how to pick a vice president who could, if need be, do the job of governing the country.
women have been relegated to the "cute" for far too long. i'm sure palin earned her Miss Alaska title. but she's not fit to be Madame President.
now, i've been a feminist for 40-something years. true, i've also been a [shudder] leftist, so i'd be unlikely to vote for mccain in any case. but i would love for him to have picked a worthy republican woman as his running mate--someone i could disagree with but whose intelligence i could respect. we need that image in this unquestionably male-dominated world of american politics.
palin is shrewd, and she's loaded with personality. but she doesn't come near the intelligence a vice president [which is to say, a potential president] needs. she's uninformed about things a third grader should know. and she gets---well, . the reason the dem's used that picture of her winking is that she bloody winked! i have no doubt that had a male candidate winked for the camera, they'd have used that too. it's . i would hope that all clinton supporters know that hillary clinton wouldn't act like a valley girl.
no, the real sexism is from mccain and whatever advisers foisted the governor on him. did they really think all women would vote for a woman simply because she was a woman, regardless of her politics, her intelligence, and her demeanor? she's feisty and pretty, and she has several child, one of whom is a down's syndrome baby that she chose to have. that's cool. that's nice. but it doesn't offer a reason to vote for her as vice president.
her politics are not pro-woman, or at least not pro-less-than-rich woman. and her scope of knowledge is not such that she would be able to handle the job of president with any of the skill demanded of that job. indeed she has made a mockery of the presidential campaign and of professional women.
obama is male, and i don't know how deep his committment to women's issues go. but he's intelligent, informed, and more of a feminist than gov. palin. and he knows how to pick a vice president who could, if need be, do the job of governing the country.
women have been relegated to the "cute" for far too long. i'm sure palin earned her Miss Alaska title. but she's not fit to be Madame President.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
A BRIEF BIOGRAPHY OF BARACK OBAMA
There have been so many things said by GOP folks at so many different times that people can get confused. Thus I am putting it all together in a chronological tale. Of course, I can't vouch for the accuracy of any of it--but then, neither can the GOP...
Barack Obama was born sometime around 1960. I have not heard the Republicans cite the date, so I don't know it. However, it is enough to know that he was born way after Senator McCain, and thus lacks enough experience to be president. He was born before Governor Palin, but he still has less experience because he has never seen Russia from his window.
Little Barack was named Obama because it was his father's last name and also because it looked and sounded like the name of someone who would attack America 40 years later. His middle name was chosen because his prophetic-if-evil parents wanted to pay tribute to the man who would one day be very good at hiding weapons of mass destruction and who was easy to mistake for the one who would attack America because they both came from the same general area. Witnesses at little Barack's christening reported that he grinned and gurgled his approval when the minister spoke these names.
When he was 8, Barack joined the terrorist Weather Underground. It was there that he first met and began palling around with Bill Ayers. As Barack carefully wrapped his little fingers around the bomb he was building, Ayers made a promise to the the lad. "When you grow up, I will invite you to sit in my living room so that I can make you president of the United States."
They became briefly estranged a few years later, when little Barack, at the advice of his minister, Reverend Wright, was converted to Islam and became an arab. (This, however, has recently been argued by Senator McCain, who said that Obama was not an arab, he was a good man. Thus the English language has acquired a new antonym, the opposite of "good" no longer being "bad," but "arab.") His conversion naturally expanded his penchant for terrorism, since, as anyone who has never read the Koran knows, all Muslims like to kill people. All arabs also like to kill people. Indeed, all Muslims are arabs, and vice versa.
As he grew older, Barack began to evolve even more subversive ideas. Billionaires should be taxed more than poor people, he said. This caused his enemies to accuse him of wanting to spread the wealth. He also fought against people named Hockey Mom or Joe Six Pack, and he told a man named Joe the Plumber that he would not raise his income tax if he became president and Joe the Plumber bought his own plumbing business. This was a shrewd promise because it turned out that Joe wasn't really a plumber and wasn't going to buy the business and never paid taxes anyway.
Eventually Obama got bored with being a Muslim socialist, and there was no Weather Underground any more, so he hooked up with a group called ACORN which was dedicated to inventing voter names and thus destroying democracy.
Later he decided to run for president in order to tax everyone who earned more than 22cents a week and to destroy people like Joe the Plumber who just wanted a piece of the American Dream.
This is all I know about Senator Obama, but there are 18 days to go before November 4, so Senator McCain and Governor Palin and their friends may give us some more exciting facts about the person no one knows, that one there, or "the real Barack Obama."
Barack Obama was born sometime around 1960. I have not heard the Republicans cite the date, so I don't know it. However, it is enough to know that he was born way after Senator McCain, and thus lacks enough experience to be president. He was born before Governor Palin, but he still has less experience because he has never seen Russia from his window.
Little Barack was named Obama because it was his father's last name and also because it looked and sounded like the name of someone who would attack America 40 years later. His middle name was chosen because his prophetic-if-evil parents wanted to pay tribute to the man who would one day be very good at hiding weapons of mass destruction and who was easy to mistake for the one who would attack America because they both came from the same general area. Witnesses at little Barack's christening reported that he grinned and gurgled his approval when the minister spoke these names.
When he was 8, Barack joined the terrorist Weather Underground. It was there that he first met and began palling around with Bill Ayers. As Barack carefully wrapped his little fingers around the bomb he was building, Ayers made a promise to the the lad. "When you grow up, I will invite you to sit in my living room so that I can make you president of the United States."
They became briefly estranged a few years later, when little Barack, at the advice of his minister, Reverend Wright, was converted to Islam and became an arab. (This, however, has recently been argued by Senator McCain, who said that Obama was not an arab, he was a good man. Thus the English language has acquired a new antonym, the opposite of "good" no longer being "bad," but "arab.") His conversion naturally expanded his penchant for terrorism, since, as anyone who has never read the Koran knows, all Muslims like to kill people. All arabs also like to kill people. Indeed, all Muslims are arabs, and vice versa.
As he grew older, Barack began to evolve even more subversive ideas. Billionaires should be taxed more than poor people, he said. This caused his enemies to accuse him of wanting to spread the wealth. He also fought against people named Hockey Mom or Joe Six Pack, and he told a man named Joe the Plumber that he would not raise his income tax if he became president and Joe the Plumber bought his own plumbing business. This was a shrewd promise because it turned out that Joe wasn't really a plumber and wasn't going to buy the business and never paid taxes anyway.
Eventually Obama got bored with being a Muslim socialist, and there was no Weather Underground any more, so he hooked up with a group called ACORN which was dedicated to inventing voter names and thus destroying democracy.
Later he decided to run for president in order to tax everyone who earned more than 22cents a week and to destroy people like Joe the Plumber who just wanted a piece of the American Dream.
This is all I know about Senator Obama, but there are 18 days to go before November 4, so Senator McCain and Governor Palin and their friends may give us some more exciting facts about the person no one knows, that one there, or "the real Barack Obama."
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