Suniemi

Speak What We Feel: It’s President’s Day

2010-02-15T23:16:00.001-05:00

Ted Kennedy and my brother Brett,
originally uploaded by marlinex.

When Ted Kennedy passed away this summer, I intended to write something about the reactions that surrounded the news of his death. Old criticisms and judgments were aired again. As always, everyone had a quick opinion. Chappaquiddick was rehashed, his drinking, and his flaws were all revisited. But watching the people line the streets to Arlington cemetery, and listening to his former colleagues, from both parties, recount with genuine warmth their experience of his friendship, and understanding just how completely accomplished he was a a legislator, it was a little hard to square so many views of him. As if it were possible.

I developed a deeper appreciation for his endurance and his humility. Again, mostly conveyed by the stories about him. When he was a senior senator to his older brother Bobby, and they were sitting through an excruciatingly long hearing, the story goes, Bobby asked how long they would have to sit there. And Teddy apparently said, as long as it takes. One retrospective played the interview that probably lost him the presidential nomination in 1980. When asked why he wanted to be president, he didn’t really have an answer. He didn’t know.

His death felt like a departure from an era when we perhaps it wasn’t quite so completely clear how important strong leadership was going to be to all our lives. The latter part of his life was a real study in persistence. it would have been easy enough to leave political life. After he lost the nomination or, hell, after RFK was assassinated. But he didn’t. After Chappaquiddick most of all. And I have to say, to continue to serve as a legislator, despite that grave error, and not be destroyed by it, really is remarkable. Because he must have known people would forever judge him by it, and yet that didn’t deter him.

Right after Christmas Ayatollah Hossein Ali Montazeri died in his sleep at the age of 87, and hundreds of thousands of Iranians turned out for his funeral, in protest against the regime he routinely and resoundingly criticized and to honor him. Somehow I began to equate the two vastly different men, who were confident enough to chang their minds as need demanded, and bridged and united generations through their long public lives. The Ayatollah had been mentored by the Ayatollah most American of my generation forever identify with Iran, Ayatollah Khomeini. At first Montazeri endorsed his leader’s policies. But he never really intended Iran to be an islamic state -- ruled by religion. He had hoped Islam would simply advise. And later, he became critical not only of the tyranny he saw, but of the stupidity and repression he had not banked on affecting his people so deeply. He publicly regretted the taking of hostages that so horrified us here when it happened. My particular favorite was his comment about Iran being known for its ridiculous fatwahs, right after the fatwah against Salman Rushdie was made.

I write this on President’s Day because without the restraint and clarity of one man, we might not have had a president at all. Instead of a king that is. George Washington rejected the idea that he be made king. That is not something Napoleon could do. The story is that when King George heard that he had rejected the idea and was retiring to Mount Vernon, he said, "If he does that, he will be the greatest man in the world."

And then there is our current President, who last month delivered probably one of the most blunt, and highly charged state of the unions in our history. Which brings me back the longevity and consistency of Ted Kennedy and the Ayatollah. Both of them had serious detractors. Both were highly imperfect, but neither let that imperfection dissuade them from taking on the responsibilities of leadership. And to some extent and in different ways for both, wrestling with the fear of death as they did so.

I hope that Obama does not content himself with a one term presidency, or aim to get as much done as he can and then get out. I could see how appealing that would be. I personally tend to want to run from situations in which people don’t want to hold up their end of the deal. And there is clearly a dearth of leadership in the other branches of government, just as there seems to be everywhere.

And it is the one thing we need more than anything. The president can’t do it alone. It was eery how so close to his state of the union we learned that Howard Zinn passed away. Though not an elected leader, he was some one who always spoke as he felt and not as he should. He questioned and he held to account. And he persisted. He also had a long career and I bet he influenced Obama.

The undercurrent to all this, what probably seems pretty disconnected reflection, is that people who should know better, or at least feel the burdens of responsibility more than its pleasures, are only saying what they think people want to hear. Some are conscious of it. Some are not. And refuting false arguments doesn’t really get us anywhere. A dining room table doesn’t hear reason. I guess whatever semblance we had of an old and worthy guard is leaving, and look what happened in the race to fill Kennedy’s senate seat.

The men that set the parameters and framework for our country were not always able to marry the high rhetoric of their ideals with reality. Jefferson is the best example of this. But there have been some men, presidents or not, who have. And we need more. What is sad about reflecting on all this, is that Obama is the only man in a strong leadership position I feel I can put in this context: he sought out leadership, understands its responsibilities, has deep intelligence, is not afraid to reveal that he learns as he goes, and has integrity. Leaders learn. Leaders do what is needed. Despite his flaws, and in light of what our options were and the pickle we’re in, I am glad he is our president. But I would feel so much better if i didn’t sense how much he seems to stand alone.

“The weight of this sad time we must obey;
Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.
The oldest hath borne most; we that are young
Shall never see so much, nor live so long.” --King Lear, 5: 3.: 322-325

Confusion in the Ranks: Boycott Nazis rally -- 1933 and 2009.

2009-09-13T10:42:00.003-04:00

Boycott Nazi Germany rally,
originally uploaded by rosewithoutathorn84.

On the bus home from a concert yesterday, a small group of protestors that had flooded the mall boarded it with me. They carried anti Obama and anti- health care reform bill signs and wore slogan buttons on their t-shirts and you could see the American flags sticking out of their camera bags. Homemade signs rested in the aisle and on their laps. It's not an unfamiliar sight in DC, someone exercising his or her freedom of speech. It shows initiative.

Mostly their signs read, "Don't spend our money", "Personal freedom not free health care", "we will be heard". Fine. There were, however, two signs calling Obama a socialist, and one demanding that we keep America free from Nazism.

OK. The photo posted with this blog shows probably one of the earliest massive anti Nazi protests, protests that took place in the United States before we entered WWII. Organized by Jewish civic organizations, which had already enjoyed about 100 years of relative political freedom and prosperity in this country, they were effective and clear attacks on Nazi Germany's policies and treatment of Jews and other minorities.

So, large portions of the US population were organized and critical of Nazi Germany early on, seventy to eighty years ago. These same civic groups, most of whom were Jewish, also protested treatment of the Jews in Russia, under the Czar in the early 20th century. They were not shy. Many, though not all, of these groups had socialist affiliations. There were a lot of tensions in these civic groups early on. But there was never any question of fascism and socialism co existing in one group or even within the heart of one person. There was never any blending of Nazism--fascism, a form of totalitarian government--and socialism, as we understand it. If in fact “we” do.

In fact during the 1930's one of the most tragic conflicts of Europe--prior to WWII--was between the Fascist Falange and the Spanish republicans-- fascism vs. democracy--within Spain. That war attracted international support for the Republicans from individuals and socialist groups in Europe and America. The Republicans made the mistake of trusting the communists. I should probably state clearly here that the Republicans of Spain in the 1930's were absolutely not politically conservative. All this happened before WWII. The republicans failed and General Francisco Franco assumed dictatorship of Spain until his death in 1975.

I should say here that Communism in Russia was also a form of totalitarian government. It just wasn't fascism.

I am just saying. There are no more real Nazis, other than a few blonds hiding out in South America, hopefully on walkers and oxygen. If they had, in their Nazi lives, nothing to do with socialists it is more likely than not that they actively persecuted and killed them. There are still real socialists though. And we do have an upsurge in neo- Nazis. And to find those in the United States you might actually want to look deep deep inside the growing anti-Obama hate groups out there.

Calling Obama a Nazi was just a simple a way to empower with deluded and emotional self-righteousness many who might not otherwise have protested to protest. Barney Frank was right, how do you respond to such mis-informed misguided (and emotional) outbursts?

With facts. With history. And by refusing to acknowledge the validity of their mental associations. Because I can't really call it thinking.

And look, there were so many citizens gathered for a clear articulated purpose… in 1933.

Possibility and The Public Option: Breakfast at Bethesda Naval Hospital

2009-09-03T10:28:00.002-04:00

Hospital,
originally uploaded by M.V. Jantzen.

The TV was tuned to CNN, angled in the far left corner of the cafeteria toward all of us there, facing in the same direction, toward it. We sat eating, backs to the cash registers and the buffet where I picked up the watery scrambled eggs, fresh fruit and weak tea. The President was holding a press conference from Africa sometime shortly after 9 am. I was surrounded by officers, enlisted, out-patients, and families visiting loved ones shipped home to the hospital from Iraq or Afghanistan. American citizens of all races and ages. Sitting across from me was mother in fatigues calming her agitated son.

In the middle of this health care fiasco we call a debate, in which democratic processes and opportunities are high jacked by complacence and ignorance, I think about the people eating breakfast with me at Bethesda. Those town hall meeting disruptions that may have ensured a public option is taken off the table, were not only small minded histrionic and fear mongering, but they prevented effective discussion about our options.

Both of my parents have undergone major surgery at Bethesda Naval Hospital over the past two years. Both have benefited extensively from the government’s investment in health care for the military. My Dad is a retired naval officer. Though the hospital is crowded at times, and the ICU where Dad recovered from a really difficult surgery left a lot to be desired, you have to remember that surgeons and nurses are also being deployed to Afghanistan and Iraq on a regular basis. Resources and people are stretched thin.

But back when my Dad had surgery the recession was not even really foreshadowed. And what registered with me then were the crowds of guys missing limbs waiting for prescriptions on the second floor. And all this youth around me putting itself in harm’s way for opportunity – for an education, for travel, to expand their sense of the world and what is possible for them. At least you could sense that self confidence and optimism in many. And the question I ask myself is why do we ask these kids to take on so much risk for those opportunities? People join the military to challenge themselves, to grow, and to increase their options. (Those who aren't trying to escape a criminal record but that's another story).

What’s really behind the fear of a public option in health care? What do privately insured individuals really have to lose? This inability to respect each individual’s right to health and well being is strange to me. Polls seem to show that people don’t mind on one level that we have 46 million uninsured men women and children out there. As long as it’s not me, as long as it doesn’t affect my insurance premium, let chips fall where they may.

That morning I experienced a confluence I am sure I have yet to fully grasp. Something else converged with sensing around me young people who enlist and risk their lives for an education and opportunity and our inability to fully get behind the idea that everyone has a right to health care. There is another aspect of this issue that has pretty much gone under the radar. It’s not just the unemployed who go without health insurance, but individuals who make choices to pursue work or careers in which access to health insurance is not necessarily a part of the package. I wonder how many people would have made different choices had they thought their basic needs could have been met while they opted for something more in line with their talents and abilities. What subtle shifts might there have been in our culture and society?

But that’s a big what if. And I think the bigger question for me is why do we make a game of issues that profoundly affect all our lives? A game that allows many to fall into the hands of political ideologues with little respect for genuine discourse and possibly contempt for the very people they wind up and send out to disrupt what discourse there is. We deserve better. But we have to believe it, and try to understand what we risk if we get caught up in contentiousness and reactionary thinking.

I am indebted to the military. I benefited from extensive travel early in my life. I have seen first hand evidence of the fact that it is, for the most part, a meritocracy. It was the first national institution that racially integrated. Women, whether we like or not, are now fighting in battle along side men. It is also an institution through which a large part of our population directly connects to the greater world.

So with that in mind, as I listened to the first African American President of the United States greet the world from Africa, in that setting, waiting for good news about a family member, I had to ask myself in what other ways we can offer opportunity, educate, and uplift individuals and take care of and respect the lives of our citizens. And I see in this question about health care reform, these other questions latent. Just as when I heard this statement from President Obama’s address to the Ghanaian Parliament, I heard something equally applicable to us:

“This is the simple truth of a time when the boundaries between people are overwhelmed by our connections. Your prosperity can expand America's prosperity. Your health and security can contribute to the world's health and security. And the strength of your democracy can help advance human rights for people everywhere.”

Abode of Peace: Brunei Negari Darussalam

2009-07-28T06:41:00.005-04:00

One humid morning in November of 1997 I emerged from the Brunei airport to a wall of heat not unlike what we usually have in DC in July. At the time forest fires were raging all over Indonesia, though the smoke was not yet apparent it would eventually roil through the sky at sunset and muddy the monsoon that would hit before I left. Brunei, resting as it does effectively on the tip of the island was not experiencing fires itself.

In was in the July of 1997 that the British handed over Hong Kong to the Chinese. I would go to Hong Kong for a few days once my meeting in Brunei ended. For a variety reasons the experiences I had in Brunei has been bouncing around in my memory. The details of it are still vivid. Almost as vivid as strange and almost titillated concern some expressed before I visited. Brunei is, after all, a strict Muslim, teetotalling misogynistic culture, I was told. And it was not all that long was not all that long before my visit that a beauty queen accused the sultan of Brunei of effectively holding her as a sex slave within the complex I was going to be visiting. And my flight in from Singapore had been eye opening.

As the only western woman in first class, one in which western business men were busy getting their final drink on for what might be months, I was a little uncomfortable. Though the food was amazing, the airline attendants gorgeous and in exquisite batik uniforms, it was a little frightening. A state of anxiety lingered for me, for a while and hit a real crescendo when I was later told that alcohol was being consumed in one of the meeting participant’s rooms where we were staying. As I said, we were staying at a large clubhouse—a sort of pleasure palace.

The little details really stuck in my memory. The way that canned fruit and instant coffee were highly prizes. The surprise of cutting open of a huge stinky spiky durian fruit only to taste its sweet custard. Finding out that the noodles I had just consumed were in fact shredded jellyfish. Noticing from my hotel window the pasty-sunburned short wearing unhappiness of the British military wives. The way the sun set in through the high forest fire clouds in a sickly yellow glow. That Chinese cuisine was the haute food for the country, though Chinese natives, even second and third generation, even as productive business owning citizens, did not have the same rights as native Bruneians.

My female greeter at the airport was Chinese and took visible pride in the broad concrete suburbs she drove us through. Over the course of my first day and a half there I learned how oil and gas money had been flooding into the country for over a generation. As a result college was free. Everyone could own a house and a TV. But that it was not a democracy. I wished I could talk with the people who refused these amenities and stayed primitive houses perched on stilts over the water. On top of some of which perched TV antennas.

In the 1960’s the British handed the rule of Brunei over to the then Sultan. But he did not, as promised, convene a parliament. The people, as they tend to do in such situations, rose up in revolt, not particularly bloody, but vehement. But by treaty the Brits had to suppress it. So they did. The leaders were imprisoned or fled to China. The building intended to house a parliament eventually became a museum devoted to the life of the current sultan. It housed the gilded carriage and armor for the horses that lead him to his coronation.

One of the highlights of our visit was a trip to a theme park. The tips of the iron fence were solid gold. The sidewalks to it marble. On a large jetting fountain a Michael Jackson video was projected to our misunderstood amazement. I heard about the merits of censoring Internet access. I walked with a British oil executive who wept in the twilight when he remembered the failed revolt he had been helpless to assist over 30 years earlier.

It gets a little fuzzy. I was glad to leave. The royal princess I worked with had maybe 30 solid gold chains around her neck resting on the tail ends of her headscarf. I thought it was garish. But I remember her asking me if I lived with my family, if I lived alone, was I married? And learned later that women wear all their gold jewelry there because they can be divorced at a moments notice and can only leave with what they have on. Even princesses. There was something sleepy and stifling about being there.

Just as there was something bracing and electric about Hong Kong. The morning I arrived there people lined up outside of banks and far out onto the sidewalks. Many were in from the provinces and sat with thermoses and with chickens in cages. On that first evening as I walked by the water dividing the city, a motorboat sped by with Chinese guards manning machine guns. That was the only overt sign of the recent take over. Yet there were as many westerners as there were Chinese in the restaurants and bars I went to alone. I saw them jogging. Going to Starbucks.

This summer the Chinese were in Washington for talks with the administration. They felt empowered to criticize our financial and economic policies. They openly considered about divesting themselves of US currency. We are in a worldwide, not just an Asian economic meltdown. The concept of worldwide climate change has finally developed deep acceptance in this country. We have an articulate deeply intelligent and committed president saddled with one of the most complex and tenuous situations in our history.

I think of us as having awoken from a troubled sleep. It feels as though we remembered something we forgot by electing Barack Obama president. But I remember the disquiet I felt returning home in 1997. It felt then that though things seemed relatively well at home, there was something not thorough about how we viewed ourselves, as though we were too complacent.

I spent months researching the history of Brunei, Hong Kong and the other places I visited on that trip. I learned how the different methods and personalities of British diplomats and governors helped shape those places. Fostering economic independence and discipline in one region, manipulating royal families in another. One resulting in stability and prosperity and the other in political stagnation and in one instance a total royal bloodbath. I tried to figure out why I was so affected by it. The details were so different but the sense of disconnectedness familiar. I thought about studying political theory. I applied to school in the UK. I thought about how we shape our society. I tried to write about my trip. I couldn’t.

Over ten years later, I now have this sense that the only complete or real peace I can have when thinking about these things is in the midst of a questioning. When it comes to ways of looking at the world, relationships between people and all the things that influence them, ideas, institutions, attitudes it all seems so much less real than it could be. Maybe the peace I want is acceptance. Seeing our situation for what it is. Personal, political, and for many right now, economic strain are the rule. But no matter what happens, or how disempowered or empowered we feel, we can use what happens if we keep questioning. And I think questioning ourselves and the way we look at things is the surest way to begin to clearly see our situation.

If I could wish anything for people in this country now, it would be the ability to question. And the wish to think things through – to consider the ways in which we all need to step up to the plate and appreciate what we do have and find ways to ensure our freedom and democracy is preserved. There is no obvious treaty compelling us to hold our peace. But it does often feel like we as a public have bargained away or autonomy and possibilities for a security that turned out to be illusion. But that requires the willingness to converse, to listen and to really look at where we are. We seem to want to either blame or vilify the president and the administration by way of excuse and without thinking. Or we want to stay in our somewhat safe frame of reference without considering ways we can more consciously participate. Participate as families, as individuals, and people working in the world and connected to one another, however you believe that we are.

One morning after the monsoon hit in Brunei, I tried to share one of the few truly beautiful things I experienced there – the first call to prayer. There were two mosques on either side of the city. It sounded as though muezzins of each were calling and responding to one another through the rain. Try as he might on the other end of the phone that same friend couldn’t hear the song. Only the steady wall of rain that spattered my hand as I held the phone receiver to the open window in that small country at the top of Borneo, Brunei Negari Darussalam, or in English, Abode of Peace. And I wanted to go home.

The Laurel Tree

2009-03-07T09:37:00.001-05:00

He knew it might be hesitation that she showed,
and wore it as a heavy cloak through his pursuit.
Discreet, tense, his lowered eyes half closed in silence
were once full as a room the sun danced in.

Over his lifted smile, his eyes smoothed toward her
like a hand in invitation over a seat poised
between sadness and anger.

No one knew from what she hid with such dread;
a thin consuming flame that would leave her altered,
His intent chest wide as a bird of prey lowering its wings.

Whatever it was it left her in the open trembling,
like a branch suddenly relieved of weight.

Her flight seemed only to confirm
her terror, rendering her inhuman at last
giving her a perfect and preserving beauty
he had not foreseen.

And only he ever imagined
that it had come upon her with a quiet steadiness
and purity she hadn’t known. This desire
Falling heavy, steadily, and with a startling
Fullness that froze her there in her shivers
until she seemed to raise herself to capture it
exposed to its surprising intimacy like that
of starlight of midnight blossoms pale and close

of his hand later entering and taking
from her the silver leaves
for the wreathes he gives to those
who shaken, still ringing with unrealized desire,
return to an uncertain silence in which at least
they may sing.

Psyche's Lamp

2009-03-07T09:24:00.000-05:00

I became afraid of the spell curving over us
in the company of others who shouldn’t see it
as they figured themselves in the areas
that should be left free.

I have been afraid or what you would
Or wouldn’t do. And you have.

But I remember you speaking
as if to yourself
but to me.

Your eyes blazed for me
Out of your body
Like fireflies back-lighting
The hand cradling them
That wanted to show them
Without risking their freedom.

I know you remember
How your face hovered over me.
Your eyes were open as you kissed
My hot forehead, my cheeks.

I did want you to stay that way
Though I hadn’t asked for it
As I didn’t ask you to leave
the door open to the night
or for you to pull me to your breast
your arms beneath mine spread to hold
What I’d forgotten could be loosed
from disappointment, expectation
dreams.

Even as you sat at the edge of the bed
Taking in the room, my upturned face
Even as you collected yourself from me

Your gentle hand held my arm firm
Not as if for comfort
But as if to see if you could feel

What you had reached for
Inexplicably appearing
And disappearing
Right before you
In the enormous dark.

Guercino's Venus Mars and Cupid

2009-03-07T09:18:00.000-05:00

The postcard is too small for you to see
Lucid in oily detail, Cupid’s unrelenting gaze.

Over the intent line in his supple lips
the clear whites of his eyes draw his arm out

to aim the arrow. His belly round beside
Venus’ finger pointing at us, at the area,

elusive to us, where she needs the dart released.
She seems pleased. Her other hand resting

on the quiver out of her child’s reach.
She handed it to him. Naked, she seems to float

in yellow satin and holds Mars arrested—come
upon their game raising the murky curtain

safely carapaced in silver armor. He is bewildered
and flirting with rage. Taller than them, braced

and ready to retreat to the confused free sky
and the fortress behind him. Was he there for Cupid’s

ominous swing outward? Turning the arrow’s tip
into a single blank yet threatening slit of paint. I can’t

tell whether all the pain implied or doled out on his way
here, to this moment, impressed him with some faint

compassion. Or what makes him flushed. Perhaps
he knows whether he is equipped for the constancy

or sorrow I always hope accompanies all that we inflict.