As some of you might know, I am now living in Frankfurt, Germany, where I am managing a project to deploy ERP software across our supply chain.

As I sit here today writing this, I am in a little town in Switzerland called Zug, which is near Zurich, where our corporate headquarters is located. Our office overlooks Lake Zurich and the train station, and the office, the town, and the surrounding area is a vision of Swiss efficiency (I only reset my watch, and assume that it is correct, when I come to Switzerland).

I drove here from Frankfurt yesterday – a fun trip south which is mostly across the German autobahn… that provides the gut-crunching possibility of “speed-limit-less” travel. That being said, as far as I can tell, my rental Ford Fiesta is incapable of going much faster than 110 mph, and often it seems like that is standing still in comparison to the BMW’s that roar past at speeds that must be approaching 200 miles per hour. I took a quick picture of the road as I entered Switzerland… this country is like Narnia. I haven’t seen a sky like that collide with rolling green hills since Jerash in Northern Jordan overlooking the Golan Heights – I have a picture of Jerash somewhere… I’ll have to find it because it looks just like this.

This is the first generally relaxing and planned-ahead “trip” I’ve had with TWI… that being said… it was planned Monday afternoon and off I was on Tuesday morning.

I have traveled to so many locations since February 1st that I find it sort of shocking, and this trip has so far been pleasant in comparison by leaps and bounds. Since 2/1/2010 I have been to (in order): Dubai, Kuwait, Istanbul, Bishkek Kyrgyzstan (recently in the news but it was peaceful when I was there), Switzerland, Germany, Portland Maine, Charlotte NC, Denver CO, Swedesborro NJ, Cincinnati OH, back to Charlotte NC, back to Portland Maine, and back to Germany. Including this most recent drive to Zug, I think that adds up to about 25,000 miles of travel in about 75 days, or 333 miles per day.

I am looking forward to a trip to London over the weekend, my first “leisure” travel since Alana and I’s road trip in January.

So all is going very well work-wise but it has been quite a crazy two and a half months. I have found it exhausting and lonely but fascinating and constantly stimulating  - a bizarre but infinitely interesting combination of adventure and work. The people I work with are absolutely top notch and the company looks after its people 110%.

So all is well on my end – It’s been great to hear from so many people who are interested in moving to Lebanon… although I find that just absolutely bizarre. My flatmate in Beirut tells me rent has doubled since I left… perhaps as Nick predicted the yuppies might be headed to Beirut… crazyness. When I think back to his and I’s first trip there in the fall of 2007 when Hezbollah occupied downtown and the Armored Personnel Carrier outside of our hotel had its 50 cal machine gun pointed up at our balcony, I just can’t believe the stories I’m hearing about how tourism has taken off there. It still made me smile though when CNN listed Beirut as one of the 10 “most dangerous cities in the world” this past week.

My love to you all back home – stay in touch!

I will be traveling extensively across Europe, Asia, and the Middle East for the next year – if you live in Frankfurt, Zurich, Istanbul, Dubai, Kuwait, or Kyrgyzstan, I would love to hear from you, as I will bouncing around that part of the world extensively. For those of you who are wondering, yes, the plan is to be back in Beirut by the fall.

The last six months have been a wild ride – Last time I posted it was October 6th and I think I was in either Jordan or Charlotte. It was with some consideration that I decided to discontinue this blog, but it was clear that blogging shouldn’t be a priority now that I have to direct all my attention to a new and difficult job. I will be sure to keep personal notes, however, and I am more than willing to share where I am and how things are going, if you’re interested.

Feel free to contact me at anytime using this form if you have questions, thoughts, or whatever!

I’ll recap, quickly, what’s happened over the past month and a half. In late August, I approached the NYC Lebanese Consulate, requesting a proper visa to go back to Beirut on, so that I could arrange for work papers and legalize my status in Beirut. They stamped my passport and sent it back to me.

Upon arrival at the airport in Beirut, I was barred from entering the country, and I went to Jordan. A wide range of people did their very best for me, but at the end of the day, it was to no avail.

I have booked my flight back to America, and will spend the next three months or so in Charlotte, NC, working for PayStream Advisors on an integrated communications project – I am blessed to have the opportunity to finish what I started with PayStream, and it is truly a lucky stroke to have things line up time-wise.

Taking stock of the past month, I notice two things. First, it is apparent that the ground moved too quickly, this time, beneath me, to respond. I got caught on the wrong end of a bureaucratic stamp, and there was no way to flex around the problem. Second, as a learning experience, this was a good thing – I realize now that I took this situation far too personally, and allowed it to get under my skin. As someone who would like to spend the next five years or more overseas, I’ve got to learn that luck is not always going to go in my favor, and disasters are unavoidable.

In terms of actually just growing the heck up and getting on with it, I definitely noticed that I was in profoundly serious need for an event like this. I did not do a good job of securing a proper safety net in the event that something went wrong with my paperwork, nor did I move towards a place quickly where I could emotionally accept what was happening. Indeed, I did quite the opposite – I convinced myself that things would work out, and, as I said before, I took the whole situation personally, which was a dire mistake. When it didn’t work out, I did nothing but fight it. This was a serious mistake but one I’ll learn from.

In Arabic, there are two terms which tend to govern the general thought process of many people in the Middle East. On the one hand is Insha’Allah, and on the other is Mash’Allah. The former means, “God Willing,” pointing to future events, and the latter means, “God Wills it,” pointing to the present. I would like to venture the following: Somewhere between God’s relationship with the future and the present, lies everything else – Indeed, it is here that we make our stand for sorting out what we have control over.

We need not take this from a religious or spiritualist perspective – merely acknowledging that there is so much beyond our control, b0th in the present, and the future, gets to the heart of these statements. Indeed, recognizing that there are billions of other people and so many other forces acting in tandem to our own actions and choices, is to recognize just how little control we have, and how important it is to exercise our capacity to act when it is possible, and therefore necessary, to do so.

This is perfectly encapsulated in the age-old prayer, “grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference.” Where does that wisdom come from? I can only say, as someone who is as young as I, that it comes not from theoretisizing, but from experience. And experience is something I lack. I lack it in spades.

But I am pleased to say that, for what it’s worth, this was an experience that I’ll relish, although I don’t know how I’ll pay back the debts I’ve accumulated from this episode.

Gosh! What a month. I have to say it was not pleasant, but it was what it was. I’m still standing, still breathing… I wasn’t able to shift my weight on this occasion. And, to the ire of several people who I know have my best interests in mind, I even managed to lash out at the American government… something I probably should not have done.

Well, consider this my apology… and also my very specific statement that I’m not giving up. I am not.

I look forward to getting back on American soil – I guess that makes me a bit of a hypocrite… but whatever the case is, I’ll move forward and I won’t wallow in it.

Take care all – this will be my last post on Some Guy in Lebanon until I manage to get back… if I manage to get back. Thanks for reading – to those I’ll see soon, I can’t wait to see you.

As a parting… gift… or whatever, as they are my favorite places in Beirut and the spots I’ll miss the most, here is a picture of Cafe Rawda, of Andre and Captains Cabin. Naz is in there too

And as always, I’m in debted to a good friend for his help. It’s time to take my little Middle Eastern sideshow on the road, leaving Amman, Jordan, for Dubai. I’ll be there in two weeks.

I can’t even begin to thank everyone who has done their very best to get me out of this jam with the Lebanese General Security. Hopefully, come January or February, I’ll be back in Beirut with flying colors, ready to take on the world again.

In the meantime, I must go hibernate, and see what I can see, in that city built on sand they call Dubai. Perhaps I’ll do a little indoor skiing while i’m there…

To my family, and to my friends, thank you so much.

I’d like to take this opportunity to thank one more group of people – the employees/owners of Liquid, the coffeeshop and second home of mine on Second Circle, in Amman. Here’s a picture of the store, Ahmad, and me. I would have been infinitely worse off if it wasn’t for this place… 

But it seems that there is no solution to my problem in Lebanon. For reasons I don’t understand, I am not allowed entry, not even to collect my things and empty my bank account. A work permit is the only option, but I cannot make that option work, for now.

So now I’m truly in diaspora… and it’s amazing to know what that feels like. Whatever it is that the Lebanese government assumes I’m up to, at least I know I’m not. I have infinite reasons to be upset, but for some reason, finally, after losing my cool for a few hours, I am strangely at peace with everything.

Thank you Amman for your help – And thank you Lebanon. Hopefully, somehow, I’ll see you soon.

At least I can now tell a heck of a story!

A quick remark – I would like to take this moment to bring to light the pathetic response of the American Embassy in Beirut when I called them to let them know what was going on. Their response, “We can do nothing because Lebanon is a sovereign nation and it’s their call,” was as laughable as it was infuriating.

We all know that it is American money and aid that pays for Lebanon’s roads, medical support, and much more. We all know that American tax payer money was instrumental in the arrangement of the last election. We all know that American money paid for Israeli smart bombs used in the 2006 war, and we all know that American money now pays for rebuilding the infrastructure that Israel destroyed. Don’t tell me you can do nothing – That’s what you told the Marines you sent here to die.

So – to those of you at the American Embassy, thanks for nothing. If only I was a Senator’s son! Imagine! But no, I’m just some guy in Lebanon. I would venture to guess I do more in a day to extend American goodwill than the State Department accomplishes in a year. Your lack of action that night is disgusting, as I sat in a lonely airport terminal for 12 hours, awaiting a flight to Amman.

People always ask me why I don’t register with the Embassy – Why I don’t go there, why I have nothing good to say about American foreign policy. Well, let me tell you – I have met several people who work for various European embassies in Amman, and they are all were shocked to hear that you would do nothing for your own citizen in such dire straits. Money for bombs, bridges, and votes, but not a second thought for a tax payer.

But I have taken this experience to heart, and I know now to never expect anything from my government – neither social security nor the slightest inkling of help when I’m stranded thousands of miles from home. It’s a wonder I pay taxes at all – just remember who pays for your armored SUV’s and your cushy life up on that hill, let alone for the men who protect you. Next time you buy a drink in Gemayze, just think about where your paycheck from comes as well.

In the meantime, I am reading The Age of the Unthinkable by Joshua Cooper Ramo – I can’t recommend it enough. It’s about the need to respond asymmetrically to today’s problems, and about the nature of Complexity Theory and its relationship to a world where information, decisions, and money move at the speed of light. He points out the extraordinary improvement in the movement of data – in the past one hundred years, the speed at which data moves has improved by 1,000,000,000%!

Anyways, it appears I will be back in Beirut early next week, thanks entirely to friends in Beirut. Though I blame the Consulate in New York for giving me the wrong information, I understand that they are operating within the context of Immigration policies that are fluid – Indeed, calls to various Lebanese agencies has revealed disbelief – No one can believe this happened and everyone seems to have a different reason, and I can accept that. But I am sorely disappointed with my own government’s response – We can invade countries, fund rebels, and buy elections. But for some guy in Lebanon, it’s “tough luck.” Thank you – lesson learned.

What a summer. What an extraordinary, incredible, lovely, indescribable summer. Hopefully not too-indescribable, or it would be hard to articulate it in this post…! And now it’s over, and tomorrow I get on a plane and fly back to Beirut. As my business partner Oni Kabir put it to me this evening, “It’s amazing how full circle things feel.”

I couldn’t agree more.

Let’s take a moment to reflect on the past year – 365 days ago I was working at the Portland Lobster Company and gearing up to fly to Lebanon, with literally zero plan besides to intern at the Daily Star. I was also painting houses. Hey, don’t knock it – It paid the bills. But I was staring out into a future that I’d no idea how to envision – In 45 days I’d be getting on a plane for Beirut, praying that Nick would, in fact, be at the terminal to receive me (he was).

9 months later I returned to the United States for vacation, initially planning on being here for a 30 days. However, as my grandmother had major surgery over the winter and wouldn’t be in Maine until late August, it was important (and fantastic) to stay for another three weeks to see her. And so my return date morphed to September 11th (I didn’t choose the date).

I’d like to reflect on that date for a moment – September 11th doesn’t need an introduction. It is a day that will long be remembered in horrifying imagery as America was attacked in an unprecedented terrorist incident. On that day, it seemed, the long arm of Middle Eastern politics, upheaval, and affairs, reached out far across the seas, as Saudis, financed by oil profits, and under the nose of one of America’s key allies, obliterated our sense of security and isolation. Suddenly there was an enormous realization that America did not stand alone in a vacuum. There was a new interest in the Middle East – People took Arabic in unprecedented numbers, and our President and our foreign policy took a new interest in the region, often for the worse. It is impossible to deny that September 11th awakened me to an interest in the Middle East, as well.

American interest had its many disasters, including, obviously, the Iraq war, the disastrous financing of Fatah in Gaza, and a blind eye to Arab dictatorships, new allies in the “War on Terror,” as they brutally cracked down on moderate Muslim democratic movements. But it had one interesting moment – Bush loudly backed the “March 14″ coalition in Lebanon when it streamed into the streets in 2005 to protest Syria’s occupation of the country following the assassination of Rafic Hariri. I will not attribute the entire thing to American foreign policy, but it is hard to deny that, in an ocean of failure, this was one bright spot for the post-September 11th American agenda. It paved the way for my life now.

That I am therefore flying back to Beirut on the 11th of this month only adds to an overall feeling that this trip has allowed me to “bring full circle” so many things.

So I’d like to do a quick recap over the past two months- sorry if I leave anything out!

July

I arrived on July 16th exhausted – I’d been up for three days straight because I’d had a lot of business to attend to before I left Beirut – Also, my flight left early in the morning of the 15th and I was afraid I’d sleep through my alarm. Landing in New York, I don’t remember feeling anything other than how big everything looked – Especially the highways and the airport. I think that all of Downtown Beirut (which I define, for those of you who know, as the box made by Hamra to Gemayze, up to the top of Monot and then across to Verdun, then back down to Ras Beirut and the sea) could fit in John F Kennedy International Airport! And to really drive the point home, I don’t think I left that box more than 10 times in the 9 months I lived in Beirut!

Getting back to Maine was wonderful – I took Jet Blue and I remember the only “astonishing” moment of my whole trip in terms of going from Lebanon to America: Satellite TV on the Jet Blue plane in every seat. ESPN! Comedy Central! While I fly! The moment passed, thank god.

I spent the rest of July driving the hot Mustang convertible I rented from the 7/16 to 8/16 (pictured to the right), complete with enormous sound system, but since it rained nearly every day of July I didn’t get much of a chance to use it until August. Didn’t matter – it was still great. It was wonderful to see Mariah Daily and Whitter Lewis get married shortly on arrival.

Those first two weeks of July were jarring – Parties in Small Point, where I was suddenly one of the oldest people there (especially as many of my generation had not yet arrived) produced a serious existential crises, which you can read about here: Some Guy in Lebanon Part 1. July was still wonderful, however, as mom and I stayed first at the Curtis house, and then Bumma’s – July was a quiet time – Lots of reading was done, lots of lounging around, and working on client projects. It was great to see people as they started to filter in, especially as they were people I’d grown up with… And then, suddenly, things took off as August arrived.

August

On August 1st, the weather suddenly drastically improved and wave after wave of folks arrived in Small Point. Small parties and gatherings turned into an endless string of beach days and nights, sailing, cliff walking, and cocktail parties. My favorite thing about Small Point started to materialize – very quickly a ‘sixth sense’ of ‘where people are at’ kicked in, as did an ever-growing need to see each other, to smile, to drink, to laugh, to watch the moon come up and then the sun go down, and then to howl at both, only to see the sun come back up again. Pictured to the right was one of those wonderful mornings when we all watched the sun rise up over the water. Below is all of us from the roof watching as the sun basked Head Beach in a beautiful glow at 6am.

It seemed as if, out of nowhere, flotillas of boats were being lashed together to watch the sun set, and the clinking of glasses filled with vast amounts of gin and tonic had become the anthem-song of August 2009.

Soon I moved in with Brady at his wonderful house on the Harbor, where endless afternoons sitting by the pool and watching the boats roll in and out became the norm. During this time I turned 25, as did Nick, and we both decided to host our party a few days later.

That “few days later” fell on a Friday, as our birthday party was unleashed on Shell Beach, completely equipped with music, dancing, bar, and bonfire. Many faces I hadn’t seen in ages turned up – I won’t speak for anyone but myself, but I had enough fun to last until next year.

It was great to meet Sarah and Josh, or “Thunderbolt” and “Fergie,” Chef and Sous Chef (respectively) at the Club, including a great night out at Portland bars with them. John Herrigel and Ben Lewis received the thumbs up that they will be running the Summer School next year! Other highlights included reggae at Peaks Island with Emma, Isaiah, and Tim Short-Lee – playing many rounds of chess with Nick at his family’s beautiful home – an amazing pool party at Brady’s – a fast but fun trip to DC to see Leigh, Kris, Devlin, and Alex Steele, and meet up with Oni to talk business – Brady and company’s incredible SPSS play “How to Eat Like a Child” – and so so very much more.

The end of August was of course characterized by the sadness of people leaving, but also the arrival of Maine’s best weather, as well as a few other surprises.

Here are the rest of the photos from the month:

September

Late August and early September brought me and mom back to the Curtis house, spending time with my grandparents – my grandmother (thanks to God) seems more fit than ever – medicine these days is unbelievable!

Sometime in late August or early September I saw my other grandmother, who seems equally fit as ever, while getting a new passport in Boston (lost the old one… then found it after I got a new one…) and had a great afternoon with her. She even made me Kabab, on the advice of her Lebanese hair dresser, and it was delicious.

Everything seemed to get well wrapped up in September – I finally felt that I had caught up on sleep, seen my family and friends, and done everything I wanted to do and all the realizations about my future that I wanted to have. I ended my trip this past week by finally finding peace with an angel, who will be traveling to Nepal this next year and following her dreams, as she should. I wouldn’t trade this past week, month, or year for anything in the world – I have nothing left to do now but smile smile smile.

Epilogue

So what is America to me, having been back for two months? I have traveled its highways, experienced its high speed internet, and enjoyed its Atlantic breezes. It was great to see my friends, who I love, and my family, who I also love. It was obnoxious to be so close to its politics, as they seem to have become horribly stilted, but I still feel the country is in good hands. To me, America is the beautiful, boisterous place where I was born, and where I’m proud to say I’m from. I love this country, and I’ll miss it.

But my home is over seas, and that’s just the way it’ll stay for a while. I have no regrets, and I’m excited to see what the seeds I’ve planted in Beirut will grow into.

I don’t know when I’ll be back next – I’d love to say I’ll be back next summer for a month, and I think it’s possible – but only God knows. Going back to Lebanon is going back to my home – My apartment, my friends, my work, my life. I’m looking forward to working with LAU, with other clients, and settling back in.

Maybe my arrival will herald a newly formed government! Who knows, stranger things have happened.

Some guy from America could move to Lebanon, with no plans, come home after 9 months self-employed, and then go back again with a smile on his face, stretching ear to ear.

But I have an awful, frightful, terrifying secret that I must get off my chest – I had never seen Casablanca all the way through. Only in bits and pieces, here and there. I know, it’s sad.

However in retrospect, I’m sort of glad I hadn’t – At least this way nobody could accuse me of trying to, well, you know, be Humphrey Bogart.

I guess I’ll just have to be more careful now. That pained expression I get when I’m talking about women I’ve loved over many rounds of scotch at 4 in the morning in any dive in Hamra? Well, now you can assume it’s just my way of pretending we still live in a world where one can run guns to the resistance in Ethiopia and pretend that, if it’s said a smoke-filled-bar where the men speak Arabic and the women speak French, it makes one a protagonist. Only in the movies, I’m afraid – although, it seems, love still finds a way to hurt us more in real life than on celluloid.

Rick's Cafe, Casablanca

No matter. There’s something magical about the movie – I think it’s sort of incredible that it was filmed prior to the American invasion of North Africa. I think that the character of Rick and the love triangle, and his actions, must have had an enormous impact on the American viewer at the time. The movie does not scream “love triumphs over all.” If it did that, it’d just be foolishness. Instead it says, “love is a uniquely free thing. Fascists don’t feel love, rebels feel love. Bar men feel love. France feels love, and God dammit, Americans feels love. And the only people who aren’t having any fun are the Nazi’s, and we’d best keep it that way, because we’d rather be in more pain from love than not love at all.” The movie beautifully orchestrates the viewer into a position where they must equate rebellion, intellectualism, sympathy for the underdog, good music, gorgeous women, and smokey saloons with love, the opposite (an absence of love) with the Nazi’s. The Fascists are here to take your fun and your love, and by God, if even this drunken angry murdering love-struck chain-smoker can do the right thing, why can’t we all?

I was rather harsh on Americans in my last post, I admit. I am prone to that. It’s perhaps fair to say that the emotional orchestration of the American isn’t so bad after all when it’s done with such flair. Hard to say – Let’s just say that the slippery slope begins after the Nazi gets shot in the chest. All in the name of love!

I admit, watching Casablanca this evening, just twelve days before I am scheduled to return to Beirut, put a great many things in perspective. Not the least of which is the fact that I couldn’t help but feel a parallel to my recent love life. I’m happy I hadn’t seen the film all the way through until tonight, and I’m happy I took the time. It was too much fun, and I felt at home.

Perhaps there is a “Karma’s cafe americain” on the the horizon. Just, Karma, one favor – I just can’t understand why everybody kept drinking ‘champagne cocktails’ the whole movie – please don’t serve those. Ever.

This picture popped up on Reddit yesterday, with the comment “This takes guts.”

The picture immediately moved me for a number of reasons, and so I posted it to my Facebook Profile with the following comment:

if you can understand that 95% of americans look at this picture and feel more terrified of the man with the flag than the man with the assault rifle, then you will understand the root of the problem, the conceptual basis of racism (and its implicit …self-justification), and the reason behind american acquiescence to apartheid

This started a spirited discussion, with a commenter remarking:

My understanding of the “root of the problem” (let me know if you agree with this interpretation): for those Americans who are not Arab or Muslim, an Israeli soldier has never and will never pose any threat to them or their identity. A small subset of Palestinian nationalists are associated with groups who preach hatred toward Americans and wish to… do harm to Americans. Many of the people who fear the nationalist more probably are racist, but as a white, Christian American, you could ask yourself, “Who out of these two people is more likely to dislike me on the basis of my superficial identity?” if they know nothing of your personal opinions. Similarly, who would you be more afraid of in Compton, an armed white police officer or an African-American man with black nationalist paraphernalia? The issue is that people are evaluated collectively rather than as individuals, but this is so deeply ingrained in our psyche that it’s hard to avoid.

So how do you move forward?

I was not satisfied with that, and so responded:

the reason that americans’ don’t feel threatened by the man with the gun, either personally or on the level of ‘identity,’ is because they are one and the same. an american can’t feel threatened by anyone who would brandish a weapon against a palestinian, because on a self-justifiable level, that’s the only thing that makes sense. the american … attitude towards the israeli-palestinian reality is that, on looking at this picture, they don’t see one man with a gun and one man with a flag, but one man with the gun, standing between the one man with the flag and his terrorist cohorts, and oblivion. an american will look at this picture and feel threatened *on the behalf* of the man with the gun, because he represents the wall between ‘us and them.’ that’s because he’s white, wearing a soldier’s uniform, and brandishing a weapon that looks like the ones we see ‘our boys’ with in movies. a palestinian, on the other hand, would look at this picture and see an unarmed man standing up against a heavily armed man, one who they know cannot be held accountable for his actions. a palestinian looks at this picture and sees an allegory to his own existence.

so no, i disagree. if a black man in compton sees a white police officer, he sees whatever he sees (and i’m not black and i don’t live in compton so i won’t presume to know what that is…). i, however, know that if i was in compton and i saw that white cop, i’d feel that he was there to help *me.* and as an example, no matter how ‘enlightened’ anyone is, in his book ‘blink’ malcolm gladwell demonstrates that all white people will respond that way. regardless, the racism implicit in that gut-reaction is the belief that the white police officer is there for a good reason. he’s armed for a good reason. he can respond with force based on government authority, and for good reason.

the american looking at this picture doesn’t notice at all its explicit imbalance. he believes that the soldier is there for good reason, is armed for good reason, and is needed to maintain the barrier between the scary looking dark skinned man, and the West.

the american doesn’t just empathize with the soldier and fear the arab. the american *is* the soldier, and for that reason is incapable of empathizing with the arab.

The commenter responded:

the worst of what people do is what generates the most media attention. thus, americans learn about terrorist attacks by palestinians and become afraid of them as a group. people throughout the muslim world learn about american drones bombing wedding parties in afghanistan and are filled with generalized anger towards americans. the media doesn’t … help things, but they play on the way our minds work, and if you don’t personally know someone on “the other side,” it’s hard to break through those mental barriers. this is why getting to know you, will, is important in changing the perceptions of people in the middle east without much personal exposure to americans, and also why it is necessary that the average american gets to know one of the “scary dark people” as a person rather than a stereotype. your existence, sir, is validated

At this point we were obviously not getting very far, and probably in agreement, but because I am a jerk and this was my Facebook wall, I demanded the last word:

one in one hundred people i meet in the middle east are ‘filled with generalized anger towards americans.’ one in three americans i meet are “afraid of them (i assume you mean arabs) as a group.” it has nothing to do with terrorism or attack drones or media or anything. it’s the simple fact that americans feel that anyone on the wrong end of a … white soldier in green fatigues with an american-made weapon is, by definition, at fault and to be feared. feared to such a degree as to deem it an immediate threat. more threatening than the things that really hurt them, like usurious bank loans, or cancer, or drunk driving. i would venture that it’s not the media that programs the american to assume that the israeli is right and the palestinian is wrong – it’s the simple fact that calling into question the existence of the israeli soldier, let alone his actions, would expose the american to existential questions he or she is unwilling to ask. such as, “what does my support of the soldier and my fear of the arab, say about the ethics and morals i have as a human being.”

I think the important thing here to remember is that in this picture, it is the Israeli, not the Palestinian, that is armed, but to most of the West, it is the Palestinian who inherently looks scarier, even if the person knows nothing about their conflict, because he is of darker skin than the soldier. This has been proven in a number of studies, often referenced by Malcolm Gladwell in his books Blink, The Tipping Point, and Outliers. Even people of darker skin are proven to have this prejudice.

Well fine – But what is even more curious is that, in this case, the self-justification that immediately arises if the viewer knows anything about the conflict. If that is the case, then the viewer, if they are (as is likely the case if they are American) sympathetic to the Israeli cause, will say to him or herself “well of course the Israeli must be armed, the Palestinians are so mean looking and scary!” And they do not stop to question the moral issue at hand. At what point is it reasonable to assume that an unarmed man is more terrifying than an armed man, solely on the basis on prejudice? We do this all the time – we take guns out of the hands of citizens (as in the case in countless states, counties and municipalities), but we don’t question that police should be armed. Or, as the commenter points out, we feel less threatened by white police (even if we are not white) then blacks dressed as militants, and we support the police officer’s right to be armed, and to use deadly force, and are frightened if the black man is.

Of course that means that we have made a value judgment that the police officer (and the Israeli soldier) is armed because the opposition is so scary, but we fail to question the system of thought that leads to the value judgment – That is, that the police officer and the soldier are empowered by a state that is controlled by the very people that find the opposition threatening, thus completing a nice little bit of circular reasoning that ultimately grants power to the strong and stigmatizes the weak. The moment the weak choose to resort to violence in an effort to destabilize this unjust relationship between the powerful and the police, the stigmatization becomes even more justified, inevitably to the degree that the weak becomes a terrorist, and therefore may be fought, “without prejudice,” no matter how prejudicial the conflict really is.

Yet no one can deny the degree to which I unconsciously feel his presence in everything that I do – It was his friendship with Nick’s Great Uncle, Governor Sumner Sewall, that led him to purchase Ropes End in Small Point, leading not only to my long and formative time at the Small Point Club, but also to Nick’s inevitable suggestion that “Lebanon would be a nice place to move to, don’t you think?” And I would like to believe that, if genetics or heritage plays a part in anything, the instinct in my mind that immediately agreed to leave my cushy work-from-home job in consulting for the great unknown on the other side of the world was part and parcel of the instinct that led my grandfather to agree to everything that his family and country asked of him, no matter how bureaucratic (like founding the Federal Aviation Agency) or life-threatening (like dog fighting in bi-planes), and everything in between.

I’ve had conversations with various members of my family, as well as people who knew him, trying to get to the heart of the man – It’s as if I have a ghost that haunts me, determining an extraordinary amount of my life and my decisions. Well if I am to be haunted, I suppose there are far worse ghosts to do the haunting!

And just when I felt that following in his footsteps might have led me right off a cliff (see my last post), two things happened.

First, I began to reassess and reevaluate a statement that my grandfather made about General Curtis, that is – “The thing about my father is that it was simpler to be a hero in his times.” On one hand, I agree that this is true – He was born at a time that allowed him to fight in two world wars, as well as participate in the development of Eisenhower’s America and the golden years of Kodak. On the other hand, I’m sure my grandfather knows full well that his father’s life transcended his era – The distinction, the key element of that transcendence, is at the heart of what I would call the most interesting of personality traits: To live a life that is as unpredictable as it is executable. To leave college and steam off for France prior to America’s entry into the first World War was unpredictable, but was also the hallmark of many men of his day. But the key, it seems, to his success, was in execution. This is what made what otherwise might have seemed ‘rash’ choices become the clearest and most obvious of paths for him to take. Looking at memorials of his life, it is clear that while (perhaps many) others could approach his successes by making spectacularly unpredictable decisions in their life, only a few possess the capacity to execute plans that do more than just make those decisions viable in the long term – they  ultimately make them success stories. And when a man possesses that trait in times of war or times of immense corporate or governmental development (he lived and thrived through all of these) he will be constantly called to put that trait to good use, and will be consistently recognized for it.

But I sincerely believe that anyone can be heroic in the style of my great grandfather if they possess the capacity for success in unpredictable ways by flawless execution, regardless of the times they live in. If I am to inherit the consequences of his life’s path, and potentially also inherit the world he helped shape, to truly capitalize I must also seek that level of flawless execution, regardless of the world around me.

Second, right on cue, shortly after publishing my last post, my mother received a package in the mail from her parents, containing many old pictures and memento’s from her earlier years, along with pictures of me and my brother when we were young boys. These were treasures from our past, and it was wonderful to have them – but for me, the most important piece was a small leaflet tucked unassumingly between two pictures of Ned, my mother, and I, in Europe over a decade ago: The program for my great grandfather’s funeral. In it is his eulogy that my grandfather wrote. Reading it now is a revelation – if only I could accomplish half the things he did with his life, I’d die with great peace of mind.

In the interest of educating my few readers as to the footsteps I’m following in this crazy life, and hopefully I am not offending any member of my family by doing this, I would like to share this document – this testament to my great grandfather, the man who has had such a huge impact on my life and my personality, despite the fact that I never knew him and can barely remember meeting him.

So – here goes:

Edward Peck Curtis – Remembrance of a Valiant Life

“And walk with Kings – nor lose the common touch”

These words form Kipling’s “If” give some insight into the extraordinary man that my father was. He walked with kings, and presidents, and statesmen, and they welcomed him as one of their own, knowing his true worth.

And yet until last week I couldn’t go downtown without a cop at the Four Corners, or a Kodak Office receptionist, or a liqour store clerk, or the dry cleaner, asking me, “How’s your Dad? Tell him I say ‘Hi’, will you?” And I would, and he would recall prior meetings and conversations with each of them.

Medals and honors and awards came to him in profusion, and for the most part he wore them lightly. The Distinguished Service Cross he valued – that was for valor in combat and he knew the cost that went with it. But ask him how he won his second Croix de Guerre and he’d tell you, “Oh, some silly French Major got drunk and fell in the Seine and I pulled him out” – which may well have been true.

For titles he cared not a whit. One of his favorite stories was about going to the Baltic Provinces in 1919 with U.S. Commissioner Jack Gade. He was Gade’s deputy, but the appointment was a last minute offer and the only slot left in the approved table of organization was that of chauffeur.

“Sure,” said Curtis, “I’ll be chauffeur,” and off they went to Latvia, where he would mind the store while Gade was roaming about the provinces. He would send cables back to the State Department describing the local situation and he would sign these cables “Curtis for Gabe.” This practice finally brought forth a plaintive query from then Secretary of State Henry G. Lansing: “Lansing to Gade. Why your chauffeur signing cables?”

What is it that defined my father? The editorials speak of style and grace, and this is true, but does it consist of? It seems to me that three very special qualities came together in him:

The fist was commitment and dedication to the job at hand. The first to volunteer in two World Wars; always ready to take on the tough assignments so long as he believed in them; never seeking appointment for its own sake (he turned down at least two cabinet offers, feeling that others were as qualified as he); but undaunted by challenge when he knew he was uniquely suited for the post; never did he fail his country or community when they need him.

The second was an extraordinary sense of what was appropriate and fitting. A small thing, perhaps, but always a concern. The paper reported, for instance, that he only called President Eisenhower “Ike” between the war and the White House: it was always “General” before and “Mr. President” afterwords. And how fitting, and how complete, that he should have died three days before the birth of his second great-grandchild – and he knew that she was here. One thinks of Ogden Nashe’s poem:

“When I remember bygone days
I think how evening follows morn
So many I loved were not yet dead
So many I love were not yet born.”

And the third quality was that marvelous gift of cheerful irreverence that marked so much of what he did. He knew and followed President Eisenhower’s maxim: “Always take the job seriously, never take yourself seriously.”

I remember 20 years ago when Debba was confirmed in this church at the height of the crises between Eastman Kodak and the FIGHT organization, in which the church played no small role. It happened that I was ushering that Sunday, and as I passed the plate he put in a $20 bill and, in a stage whisper that I don’t suppose was heard more than ten or fifteen pews away, said, “Not a penny for FIGHT!!”

If you go to St. Paul’s Cathedral in London you will find a simple marble plaque in the crypt that reads “Si monumentum requiris, circumspice” - if you seek his monument, look about you. And it is of course dedicated to Christopher Wren, that great architect of the Cathedral and so much else of London after the fire.

If you seek my father’s monument, you will not find much of bricks and mortar or lasting name. There are some: Curtis Hall at Eisenhower College (he was not stranger to failure); a line on the Collier Trophy in the Smithsonian commemorating the aware he got as Special Assistant to President Eisenhower when he authored the study that led to the establishment of the Federal Aviation Agency; the Edward P. Curtis Award for Excellence in Undergraduate Teaching at the University of Rochester (that he truly valued, since it kept him in touch with the best of those who teach our young); but there are many lesser men who have left greater superficial monuments to their name or at least their fortunes.

Yet, if you seek his monuments, you have not far to look:

When you fly in safety, remember Ted Curtis.

When you think of tyranny overthrown and democracy triumphant in two World Wars, remember Ted Curtis.

When you think of the golden age of Hollywood in 1930′s and the man who sold them every inch of film they ever shot, remember Ted Curtis.

When you think of committed service to country and community across an incredible number of fields and ventures, remember Ted Curtis.

When you think of devotion to family – to parents, and sister and wife and children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren, remember Ted Curtis.

When you think of cheerful bravery and courage – not just the kind that leads you to volunteer for a solo flight fifty miles behind enemy lines to bring back vital intelligence about the German retreat at the battle of Argonne, but also the kind of courage that makes you step forward time and time again to take on the job others didn’t want or didn’t recognize as something that had to be done, and the kind of bravery that characterizes your every battle, even that dreadful conflict no man can win against – old age and death – remember Ted Curtis.

And finally, over and beyond all these other things, when you think of the nature and the meaning and the values of friendship, remember Ted Curtis.

There was never a man so blessed with such a richness and diversity of friends, and if I were to begin sharing those tales with you we’d be here past midnight. So let me settle for one story (apocryphal, but no less true for that). It was once written that if you were to truly appreciate this man, you would have to go to the farthest corners of the earth, by jet plane and bus and jeep and camel, and finally on foot, until you were up in the hills way back of beyond. And there, it was said, you would find a cafe, and you were to stand at the mouth of this cave and call into it “I’m from Rochester.” And a voice would come out of that cave and reply, “Say ‘Hi’ to Ted Curtis for me, will you?”

And so, on behalf of my mother and my sisters and all our family, I say welcome and thank you to all of you who have come for the last time to say “Hi” to Ted Curtis. We very much hope that all of you will join us across the street at Eastman House immediately after the service for a reception and a chance to share old tales and happy memories.

How can we sum up the life of this astonishing man and his extraordinary accomplishments? My words are inadequate, but perhaps at the end I might share with you two bits of poetry that seem to me to sum up both what he did, and what he was. And one of these is my choice, and one is his.

Mine first – again from Kipling, the last stanza of his eulogy to Lord Roberts, British soldier and statesman who died in France in August 1914 on the eve of that great war that was to change the world and the lives of generations of men, beginning with my fathers’s. And Kipling wrote:

“Yet from his life a new slife springs
Through all the years to come
And glory is the least of things
That follow this man home.”

And finally, at the very end, his choice, from Hilaire Belloc:

“From quiet homes and first beginning
Out to the undiscovered ends
There’s nothing worth the wear of winning
But laughter, and the love of friends.”

Amen

Edward P. Curtis, Jr.
St. Paul’s Church
Rochester, New York
March 23, 1987