center-of-right

This year—or perhaps more accurately, this election cycle—I’m trying something new. During my most recent move, as I was going through all the various paperwork to live in a new place, I did something I’ve never done before. I registered as a Democrat.

For years, I’ve considered myself devoted to a nigh-Aristotelian mean-between-the-extremes way of doing ethics. Or, again more accurately, I have been devoted to the principle that I can learn from everyone in the world, and in particular that everyone in the world has valuable contributions to make to political discourse. I still believe everyone has wondrous things to teach me. But when I look at the social structures at play in our country, I do not see this principle extending to the political sphere.

More and more I find myself having to tune out far-right rhetoric as nonsense. I’m not talking about sound bites taken out of context and spun into jabs; I’m talking about going back to the sources, paying attention to the words that were said and the full setting in which they were said, and still not making any sense out of them. I’m talking about consistent distortion of facts and theories, twisting them beyond reasonable interpretation to fit them into specific schemas, which independently appear hopelessly parochial and short-sighted. I’m talking about the self-supporting structures of a community that considers itself besieged, and thus shutters itself in instead of reaching out, and retreats farther and farther into extremist positions that do more to uphold the particular community in its ill-informed convictions than benefit the nation as a whole.

On the other side, I see the left acting Christianly. I see them considering larger groups than just their immediate selves, or family, or church. I see them adopting those who have suffered in their lives, regardless of what positions such persons may have held previously (and more often than not, it seems that people who sat firmly on the right switch to leftist advocacy when they suddenly and unexpectedly find themselves in the place of those who formerly were “other”). From a non-religious perspective, I see them planning for the future, examining what is known and what may be guessed, not to be alarmist but to be prudent.

In addition, I see well-supported arguments, for example, that our current president holds positions that, up until ten years ago, would have placed him as a moderate Republican. Meanwhile the right demonizes him as an unprecedented “socialist” and “totalitarian” (without, I might add, commensurate support for their claims). Hard to take the claims of the right seriously in such a case.

In short, I became a Democrat because apparently that’s how one remains a centrist in the U.S. of A. these days. Many of you probably already assumed I was a Democrat. If so, then I guess I made the right choice. But I want you to know that it’s not because I’m an academic, or because I live in the Northeast, or because I’ve abandoned my Southern roots. It’s because I’ve weighed both sides, tried to stay in the middle, and determined that this is where I have to be.

Republican friends, you know I love you dearly. I know you’re thoughtful and good; I know you’re looking for what’s best for the people you care about. But I have trouble believing you look any farther than your immediate circle. Take a look at my political views on Facebook—as public a forum as I’ve ever stated them, apart from here—they read “the point is to get people to cooperate and to live well together.” Maybe you think that’s where my leftist roots started. But it’s still true; I still believe society exists for the benefit of the people in society. That means all people, and you haven’t convinced me that that’s where your interest lies. Please start basing your stances on the totality of what our nation must consider, and not just on what fits your personal worldview. Expand your world before you fear what is beyond it. And please, please stop nodding sagely when someone quotes philosophy almost directly from Ayn bloody Rand as though it were the height of political perspicacity.

Democratic friends, if I bear the same name as you now, don’t think I want to toe any party lines. You still have work to do in listening to your political rivals and understanding what they have to share that is of value. You, also, have to stop knee-jerk reactions to positions that may seem foreign to your ideology. Unity is stronger than diversity. So how do we forge e pluribus unum? It is not enough to reject tradition, reject authority, or reject the homogeneity it seems our political opponents would offer. The society that I have insisted exists for the benefit of its citizens does not exist without continuity. It will not do to twist the hearts of George Washington or Thomas Aquinas until they bleed. We must respect the statements made by our political, intellectual, and theological forebears, and consider the follow-ups made by our contemporaries, to see what it is that matters to them and how that can be woven into our view of American society, which is not ours alone.

I don’t think I’ve switched my allegiance to the left. I think that, in this country, the left has been forced to encompass the center, because the right has abandoned it as the enemy. I am not the only one who thinks this way. But I am the only one who can decide how I will vote. Until I have cause to side with a Republican candidate, I will vote Democratic.

marriage equality in NY

This post is a little unusual for me, but I’ve just recently realized what kind of affirmation I’m willing to publicly make on such a divisive political issue. On Facebook I posted a link to this article with the comment “Looking forward to seeing this get passed.” A friend wrote, “Not sure… (and not judging), but are you for or against gay marriage?” Here was my response.

Short answer: For.

Longer answer: I'm for marriage. I'm for giving people the right to choose their life partner and closest kin. I'm against bigotry and parochialism. I'm against rhetoric that amounts to unsubstantiated prophecies of doom. I'm for recognizing that we have much to learn, and have learned much, about sexuality and our own prejudices. I'm for treating our fellow citizens with respect. I'm for faithfulness and holiness in relationships. I'm for encouraging and supporting committed partnerships. I'm for making this intermediate step in our society's inclusiveness (not permissiveness) and equality (not special treatment). I believe that if we fail at this step (by which I mean the broader movement to recognize same-sex marriages, not just today's vote), it will make many people's lives worse, and our country's struggle to continue to be a land of freedom will be harder.

I'm for passage of the Marriage Equality Act.

how we watch and struggle, and now we live in hope

The weather here has been, if not fickle, at least suspicious lately. Monday was a glorious balmy day, and by Tuesday morning the snow and freezing rain had returned. This is no unfamiliar experience to anyone living in a northern temperate region, but it led to an image this morning that prompted some thinking.

Yesterday evening it was just warm enough to rain, but the temperature dropped slightly overnight. You know what that means: ice accumulating thickly on the branches of trees. Outside our apartment is a large shrub, which normally stands some ten or twelve feet tall. This morning its branches were bowed so low that they covered the sidewalk on the way to the bus. As far as I know, the freezing rain was not such that trees were damaged (I experienced the gravest such damage in Memphis’s 1994 ice storm). This bush simply couldn’t hold up to the burden placed on it. It would be fine once the weight was lifted, but for the moment it was struggling and thereby inhibiting my own passage.

I thought about the shrub as I walked to the bus, and how it reminded me of a person leaning over in harsh labor. So many people feel and have felt a weight almost as physical as the ice on the bush pressing them down. They may break, or they may just need for the time of oppression to pass. And while their burden remains, the world is held back in its progress. It seems a silly thing to think on the oppressed in such a trite manner while looking at a bush, but the analogy sprung to mind. Perhaps the rest of these thoughts will justify what appeared to be idle musing.

Historically, religion (at least its political side) has been used as a tool for power and oppression. I can think of two ways in which this happens. First, as a “trump card”: this order is the way God established it, and by God we (the rulers) will uphold it, even if that means dehumanizing the rest of the populace. Second, as a sedative, Marx’s “opiate of the people”: there’s no need to worry about bettering your life here and now, because the afterlife has a much greater reward waiting for you. I am sorry for this. I am sorry that words of hope led to feelings of resignation. I am sorry that divine order has been co-opted and misconstrued to pervert divine justice. To my brothers and sisters throughout the world and throughout time who have suffered at the hands of my church or governors who claimed to speak on its behalf, I am sorry. Your burden should have been lifted by those who should have been serving you. And now, in our silence, we may be pressing down on that yoke when we should be aiding you.

I just spent some time searching for Christian human rights organizations. Not surprisingly, many of them are devoted to helping Christians around the world who are persecuted for their beliefs—and there are many places where this happens. I applaud their work, and I pray that God will protect his people. Finding general human rights organizations that are Christian-based took some more doing. But I did find the International Justice Mission, whose information page includes the following paragraph:

In the tradition of abolitionist William Wilberforce and transformational leaders like Mother Theresa and Martin Luther King, Jr., IJM’s work is founded on the Christian call to justice articulated in the Bible (Isaiah 1:17): Seek justice, protect the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead for the widow.

To illustrate their work, here is their “Justice Agenda” for 2008:

• Protecting vulnerable women and children from illegal property seizure
  
• Protecting vulnerable women and children from sexual violence and rape as a risk factor to AIDS
  
• Securing citizenship documentation for vulnerable populations
  
• Building a justice system that protects children
  
• Working to end slavery by increasing perpetrator accountability
  
• Fighting trafficking of women and children through capacity building and training

These are goals I can support wholeheartedly. I had not heard of this group before tonight, but I want to find out more about what they do and how I can help. Does anyone want to join me?

refresh Thy people on their toilsome way

One has to wonder, as one gets older, whether one is simply becoming more interested in the political process, or whether this time around is actually more interesting than the analogous events in the past. During previous election years, I would hardly have given any heed until after the major parties had chosen their candidates. But this time the entire nomination process has been charged and vibrant and visible. A collection of historic conditions have brought intense scrutiny to this early part of the season, particularly on the Democratic side. I heard on the radio the morning of Super Tuesday that many network producers were treating it in their scheduling like the ultimate reality show (a special boon since the writers’ strike was still on). Now the votes of Ohio, Texas, Vermont, and Rhode Island are being counted, and it seems the furor will continue, as the support of Clinton and Obama remains relatively balanced. I am still afraid, though I think not in the same way as the pundits and analysts, that the more protracted this battle is, the more vicious it will become, and the more difficult it will be to heal any hurt and divisions it may cause. I can pray that the competitiveness will have a strengthening effect on our national dialogue, as well as our resolve to act justly as a country. So far, the campaign seems to have been about as civil as one could hope. May it remain so, so that when we emerge, having chosen based on our consciences and our candidate’s convictions, we are again a whole country, ready to speak with each other and with the world around us.

where to go part 6

On Monday night, Hannah’s family and I went to the Lyric Opera in Chicago to see Doctor Atomic, by John Adams. This is a recent opera, premiered in 2005 in San Francisco, about the first test of the atomic bomb; Chicago is presenting a revised version of the work. Major characters include the physicist J. Robert Oppenheimer, his wife Kitty, his colleagues Edward Teller and Robert Wilson, and General Leslie Groves. Both Adams and the librettist/stage director Peter Sellars were present at the performance and took a bow at the curtain call.

The setting is June 1945, a month after V-E day but still a long while before V-J day. The bomb is hoisted onstage towards the end of the first act and remains present throughout the second act. (Compare the images from the article about the test and the article about the opera, linked above; the bomb looks exactly right.) The introduction of the bomb to the stage leads into the emotional (and, in a sense, Shakespearean) climax of the work, Oppenheimer’s soliloquy based on the text of John Donne’s Holy Sonnet XIV. This poem has long held deep import for me, and it’s somewhat surprising that I haven’t mentioned it here before:

Batter my heart, three person’d God; for, you
As yet but knocke, breathe, shine, and seeke to mend;
That I may rise, and stand, o’erthrow mee,’and bend
Your force, to breake, blowe, burn and make me new.
I, like an usurpt towne, to’another due,
Labour to’admit you, but Oh, to no end,
Reason your viceroy in mee, mee should defend,
But is captiv’d, and proves weake or untrue.
Yet dearely’I love you,’and would be loved faine,
But am betroth’d unto your enemie:
Divorce mee,’untie, or breake that knot againe;
Take mee to you, imprison mee, for I
Except you’enthrall mee, never shall be free,
Nor ever chast, except you ravish mee.

It is well-known that Oppenheimer struggled with the consequences of creating an atomic weapon. He later recalled being mindful of a passage from the Bhagavad Gita immediately after the test was completed: “I am become death, the destroyer of worlds.” The whole first act of the opera portrays the moral struggle of the physicists—and the fear they held that all might go awry. In the staging of this aria at the end of the first act, at the phrases “to another due” and “betrothed unto your enemy”, Oppenheimer is kneeling and gestures back to the horrible globe suspended upstage. Whether or not Oppenheimer was religious (I don’t think he was), this shift from the devil to the bomb (by extension, the quest for violent power?) as enslaver was striking. (Some sources indicate that Adams and Sellars intended Oppenheimer to be a Faustian character.) I was reminded of the image from Asimov’s short story “Hell-fire”, where the face of the devil appears in a photo of a nuclear explosion. (The story is more of a position paper than a narrative, and essentially only lasts long enough to present this image.) Oppenheimer writhes under the text “knock, breathe, shine” and again at “break, blow, burn”. He flings his arms over his head in surrender at “o’erthrow me”. These small gestures were just a tiny contribution to a marvelous piece of dramatic music (which is much harder to describe than physical movements, and which I heartily recommend hearing whenever possible). I wish I were a baritone, so that I could sing it sometime.

It was not, however, the opera as a whole nor this musical setting in particular that prompted me to post this. It was the reference to a letter by Leo Szilard, read in the opera by Teller and included with a petition to be sent to President Truman:

Many of us are inclined to say that individual Germans share the guilt for the acts which Germany committed during this war because they did not raise their voices in protest against these acts. Their defense that their protest would have been of no avail hardly seems acceptable even though these Germans could not have protests without running risks to life and liberty. We are in a position to raise our voices without incurring any such risks even though we might incur the displeasure of some of those who are at present in charge of controlling the work on “atomic power”.

I’m not sure I agree with Szilard’s conclusion (or “inclination”) regarding the German people’s guilt. But this kind of situation keeps happening. We are again at a time when governments are acting in ways that are at best incautious and at worst reprehensible (I am concerned most particularly with ours at the moment), and the question of how culpable we are as citizens again arises.

I am appalled at the duplicitousness, arrogance, and incivility of our national behavior. Forget our unflagging support for Israel, which seems determined to uphold unstable and unfriendly relations with its neighbors. Forget the opportunism that accompanied the invasion of Iraq, or whether we should even have gone there. These are matters about which I know little, and which as far as I know could be justified or at least comprehended. Here are the actions to which I object: that we seem to have entered Iraq precipitously, with little idea of what to do afterwards, so that it now is smoldering in unrest and terror; that we cannot bring ourselves to acknowledge the rules of combat and the proper treatment of prisoners, so that we find words to excuse torture and means to obstruct due process (viz. Gitmo); that we frighten and abuse even ourselves with the threat of further terrorism if we fail to comply with arbitrary and superficial ways of addressing the problem. (Another blog last year phrased it well: “It’s easy to defend against what the terrorists planned last time, but it’s shortsighted.”)

In principle, these actions have been in the name of security and self-defense, but in practice they have mainly appeared to be displays of a kind of national Übermenschheit. During a recent gathering at my apartment, we pulled out a collection of Dr. Seuss’s political cartoons from World War II. Many are still relevant. I indicate in particular October 1, 1941, in which “America First” tells a tale of destruction of foreign children, but with the comforting moral that the listeners suffer no loss. We have lost much—I cannot rightly say whether it has just been in the last decade or over the last half-century—even on our own soil, even after 9/11. We have lost dignity and respect. We have lost soldiers. We have betrayed trust. I remember how after the attacks of September 2001 I wanted nothing more than to see and hear my president speak to rally our country. But they did not merit this thrashing about that we have done, like some wounded monster. Even if we had lost nothing material in the last seven years, we must seek the welfare of those “foreign children” and pay heed to their humanity. As Donne has written elsewhere, “[A]ny man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind.” May we, please, return to the fundamentals of civilized life, and act in such a way that our consciences will be clean and our world will indeed be safer.

please, please let Congress be smart about this

An op-ed piece in yesterday’s New York Times led me to learn about the proposed Lautenberg–Lott bill, S. 294, which since January 16 has been in the Senate Commerce, Science, and Transportation Committee. Its purpose, in short, is to improve the state of Amtrak (see Wikipedia article for more information) so that it can provide better public transport. I am a strong believer in public transportation, and the U.S. is far behind Europe in providing good, regular, comfortable train travel. Service between major cities has spotty coverage. As for high-speed trains (defined as reaching speeds of at least 125 mph on conventional rails), France has the TGV between multiple major cities, but the U.S. has only Amtrak’s Acela route from Boston to Washington, D.C. (Seems like the best place to start, but only a start.) From a technological point of view, the TGV broke its own speed record just this week, at 574.8 kph (357.2 mph), while the Acela putters along at a top speed of 150 mph. Now, the U.S. is a larger country than France, and it’s arguable that Americans need to travel by airplanes more often. But for distances less than 400 miles (not quite the length of the Acela line), once one accounts for all the trouble of getting through airports, train travel takes about the same amount of time; it’s also consistently cheaper and less stressful. (The distance from Paris to Marseille is about 485 miles; the TGV covers that in three hours, and the train stations in Paris and Marseille are both closer to the center of town than the airports are. Three hours is the time it takes me to drive the 200 miles from Memphis to Nashville.)

The two major forms of transport in the U.S. right now seem to be automobiles and airplanes. Both have their uses—cars for very short distances, planes for long. As I began arguing in the previous paragraph, trains fulfill a vital intermediate role. (I could also talk about the importance of good intra-city public transport, i.e., city buses, but let me deal with one level at a time.) Trains seem to have been long out of favor with many Americans, but several concerns have recently underscored their importance: pollution and fuel availability at the level of cars, and security at the level of planes. All reports on last year’s train travel show that it was a record year in terms of income and number of passengers.

What would happen if a luxury six-hour train ride for the 720-mile trip from New York to Chicago appeared, for less than the cost of a plane ticket? (Taking into account intermediate stops, that would just barely be a high-speed rail trip.) The shortest flights last from two to two and a half hours, and with the needs to arrive early at the airport, to pick up luggage afterwards, and to deal with airport pedestrian and vehicular traffic, plus the fact that you’re sitting on a plane for (at least) three hours, not the most comfortable place to be, you see that such a train ride becomes very appealing.

On a less grandiose scale, what if I could go from visiting my parents in Memphis to my brother in Nashville via train instead of driving? When I’m with one or the other, I’m not likely to need the extra car that driving to my destination would provide. Gas prices now mean that trip by car costs me $50, and there’s no reason a train shouldn’t cost less than that. So why would I want to drive? (Incidentally, there’s currently no Amtrak service to Nashville at all.) I could take the bus, and I have, but a train would be more expedient, and use less fuel (at least, if it runs on electricity as most European trains do). Plus, trains don’t get stuck in traffic.

… except when they do. One of the major points of the op-ed piece to which I referred at the beginning is that too many passenger trains are getting delayed by freight trains. Apparently the current legal code provides “preference” for passenger trains over freight trains, but in such a way that’s nearly impossible to enforce. I was fortunate not to have such a problem on the overnight train I took from Memphis to Chicago last December, but as I was searching for the ticket, I definitely saw warnings on Amtrak’s website that trips might be signficantly delayed on certain routes due to freight movement. Part of the Lautenberg–Lott bill would provide oversight of passenger train performance, and give greater authority to the Surface Transportation Board for handling priority disputes, for purposes of improving performance. I doubt train travel will become popular until it is demonstrably more reliable than air travel (“as reliable as” won’t be sufficient), so I strongly approve of any measures to improve performance.

It’s interesting to me that this issue came up in the news right now, because during our recent travels Hannah and I were discussing how great it would be if the U.S. had a train system like France’s or Switzerland’s. (Not Italy’s; that one is substantially dirtier, less comfortable, and less reliable. We may already have them beat in quality, although not likely in amount of service.) It’s clear to me that no effort to increase and improve train travel in the U.S. will succeed without either government support (Amtrak itself was created by Congress, and is essentially run by the government) or the participation of some already-existing large transportation company (such as airplane manufacturers, which would otherwise have strong reason to act against the interests of train travel). I hope today’s practical, social, and visionary forces will bring about this much-needed balance in American public transport.

(Also check out the National Association of Railroad Passengers: narprail.org.)

(Should I also point out that Lautenberg is a Democrat, Lott a Republican, and the rest of the bill’s co-sponsors also include a mix of senators from both parties? That’s even more heartening, given how sharply divided most issues have been recently.)

where to go part 4

I don’t know what to say. Things have gotten worse in Guinea. Conté has declared the country to be in a state of siege, and is entirely ignoring the fact that it is his appalling leadership, self-absorption, and reliance on sycophants that have provoked the violent unrest. Martial law has been in effect since Monday. The International Crisis Group has issued a strongly-worded assessment of the situation and list of recommendations for all parties involved, including ECOWAS (the Economic Community of West African States), the African Union, and the international community (the U.S. and France in particular). Anything more I could say would just be repeating the Friends of Guinea reporting, so I recommend you look there for a summary of news reports.

I never imagined this happening. But I guess the potential has always been there. Where do we go from here? What possible recourse do we have other than to pray the demonstrators, the looters, the government, and the military will shore up what’s left of decency and find a better solution than ceaseless turmoil?

where to go part 3

This isn’t about the strikes in Guinea (which look like they may begin again, incidentally). It’s about the strike happening here in Marseille, with a parade of protesters marching at this moment down the Boulevard d’Athènes and the Cours Julien, starting from the train station, and going presumably all the way to Castellane, if not further. I would have remained entirely oblivious to it had I not gone out to do some errands this morning. On my way back, I noticed the strange traffic flow and the red flags with yellow symbols flying and the early rumblings of a voice on a loudspeaker. So instead of taking a shortcut home, I walked up to the Place des Capucines, where the head of the parade was just about to get underway.

Protest rallies are great places to obtain flyers about all sorts of causes. I got four, and I don’t think I got everything available. The principle one is entitled 8 février : Toutes les raisons d’être dans l’action et la grève (All the reasons to be in action and on strike). The umbrella organization in this activity is the CGT (Confédération générale du travail) of the Bouches-du-Rhône. You can find “Toutes les raisons” as a Word document on their website. Today the call was sent out to all public employees to join in the strike and demonstrations. And, as you can see from the pictures below, many different groups are represented.




If you go to the main CGT page for all of France, you find that this is in fact a nation-wide campaign. The complaints are both that salaries are insufficient (the demand is that the minimum be raised to 1500€, presumably per month) and that jobs are being destroyed, not created, while the population (especially here in Marseille) is growing. The unions are addressing the European Commission, seeking increased security, increased salary, and increased availability of public services.

You might also notice what is marked on those red flags that caught my attention. The Jeunes Communistes took the occasion to make an appearance, which is where my second flyer came from. The header on one side declares “Avec les communistes : unir, lutter, vaincre!” (“With the communists: unite, fight, vanquish!”) I was particularly interested by their discussion, in a single sentence, of contemporary French politics: “By imposing, with incessant propaganda, the rivalry between Nicolas Sarkozy de Naguis-Bosca and Marie Ségolène Royale as the political issue, they leave us to believe that we will have no other solutions except to choose between a dangerous reactionary and a pale conservative. LIE!!!” And they present their candidate, Marie-George Buffet, along with their demands: the sharing of wealth, power, and information. Not a bad presentation, overall. Sufficiently and simultaneously indignant and informed.

The third flyer came from supporters of Roland Veuillet, a teacher and active union member who has been on a hunger strike for 47 days. From what I can gather, in 2003, during a proctors’ strike in Nimes, he “opposed” the school’s (apparently illegal) practice of placing older students in charge of watching the exams. (I haven’t found exactly by what means he opposed this.) Soon afterwards, he was sanctioned by the minister of education De Robien, and was relocated to Lyon. I’m taking all this information from the materials of Veuillet’s supporters, so I have no idea what the other side of the story is, but the hunger strike is real. Several students and other teachers have joined this strike in solidarity at one point or another.

The remaining flyer was less ambitious. Just half a page, printed on one side only, it declares, “Housing is not just the problem of the homeless!” Then it speaks of drawing on public funds to build “social housing” (“logements sociaux”) and improving rights of tenants. The language of this flyer catches my attention; they use the phrase “Exigeons” rather than “Nous exigeons”—that is, “Let us demand” rather than “We demand”, effectively supporting their claim that solving this problem shouldn’t be left to those we’d like to believe are the only ones it affects.

Strikes are painful. They wouldn’t really be effective if they weren’t. France is well-known for frequently having strikes of one form or another. Somehow, in the States, we’ve avoided most of the pain of these events in recent times. (I’ve heard some opinions on why this is the case, but I don’t think I should bring them up here.) I know I’ve been traveling at times when some part or another of an airline’s necessary workers were striking (I think it was the luggage handlers), and I hardly noticed any difference at all—the main thing was the flyers that appeared. But a well-managed strike can bring everything to a standstill. They’re a method of either asserting power or trying to grasp it. Such power may well be merited, and I suspect the causes are usually just. I doubt I’ll ever be in a situation where I’ll have to go on strike with a union. Before today, I hadn’t thought about it. But I believe if the time came, there are conditions under which I would join in approvingly, either for the sake of ameliorating the state of my fellow workers or in protest of an outrageous policy or action. I wish these times weren’t necessary. But that goes back to how the world doesn’t really change, injustice remains, and we have to keep fighting collectively and individually to stamp it out.

where to go part 2

The strikes in Guinea were ended at the beginning of last week. The union leaders apparently felt the government had met sufficiently many of their demands. But the news stories since then tell that Conté has not named a new prime minister to start taking some responsibility for the nation, as he had agreed to do. Peace Corps Volunteers’ blogs tell of hanging out in Bamako, waiting to hear if they’re going to get to go back. I still doubt it. I briefly hoped when the strikes were over, but I’m back to my skepticism.

where to go from here?

Peace Corps Guinea was evacuated this week. I’ve been anticipating this for a while. It still upsets me. The Volunteers are now in Mali, hanging out, waiting to see if the turmoil will blow over and they can go back to their sites, or if things will get worse and they’ll have had their services yanked out from underneath them. I don‘t know what to expect or hope for. But now that the Volunteers are out of the country, I suspect it’ll be a while before PC goes back. Côte d’Ivoire was evacuated shortly after I ended my service in Guinea; over the previous year, if I recall correctly, there had been a couple of in-country evacuations, i.e., the PCVs gathered in Abidjan. But once they were moved to Accra, Ghana, that marked the end. They haven’t been back since.

Some background: things in Guinea are bad. They weren’t good when I was there, and they have steadily declined since. Inflation and unreliable salaries have made both gasoline (hence transport and travel) and rice (hence eating) almost entirely unattainable. The state of affairs is blamed on President Lansana Conté, who for his part doesn’t seem to have had his country’s best interests in mind. He came to power in 1984 via a military coup following the death of the first president, Sékou Touré. He was officially elected in 1993, under a constitution that was supposed to limit the president to two five-year terms. But I recall November 2001, when a “national referendum” vote removed these term limits, allowing Conté to run again in 2003. I remember hearing the stories of soldiers watching people’s votes, and telling them, if they voted against the proposal to remove the limits, “Are you stupid, or did you just forget what to mark?” (We need to take the problems with voting in the States seriously, but we should also recognize how incredibly fortunate we are to have as reliable a system as we do.) Conté is a diabetic and has been taken to Paris multiple times while in a coma, and I don’t think anyone expected him to live out a third term. Problem is, no one knows who’ll fill the vacuum when he leaves, either by passing away or by finishing out his term.

On January 10, a “general strike” was begun, which as far as I can tell means just about everyone stopped working. No teaching. No bauxite mining (which is Guinea’s primary source of income). No transport. PC admin gathered up the PCVs from up-country, because (as you’ll all be grateful to know) Peace Corps really does make great efforts to care for its Volunteers. But things got bad before that. I found a blog by a current Volunteer, serving in Siguiri, which is one of the towns where I visited some friends during my service. She tells the events of when the street protests reached Siguiri on Tuesday. She reports that two people died in those protests. Many more have died in Conakry. Everyone in the country is suffering and stagnating and scraping by in this awful, awful situation. I taught over 200 students there, some of whom are probably at universities now.

You can find more about the strike, including the reasons for it and the terms to end it which the union leaders published, by looking at the Friends of Guinea blog, linked in the sidebar.

I’d like to say more, but I don’t think there’s anything we ordinary people can do Stateside (or even from here in France, former colonial power in Guinea), except perhaps petition for the president to step down? How on earth would that work? And even though that’s what most of the people of Guinea seem to want, it’s certainly not a good or sufficient solution. But I’m writing about this because the events really upset me and I feel the need to bring them up. I hate the state of affairs across most of sub-Saharan Africa. I’ve said to many people before that it seems somehow the colonizers convinced the entire continent that black people are inferior to white people. And the divisions among tribes and the selfishness of the rulers exacerbate what are already miserable situations. I will vouch that the people of Guinea are generous and rich in culture, but they are also frustrated. They do not see justice, and they do not see progress. The strike is a symptom of a nation deeply troubled, but it is also becoming a new source of destruction. How do we escape from this vortex?

politics on my daily commute

At the corner of Warren and Hanshaw in Ithaca, Robert Rich posts signs on the fence outside his house. Many of them pose questions: “Can a secretive government be an honest one?” “Is ‘Stay the course’ a plan or a prayer?” “Is it even conceivable that we oppose a ceasefire?” Rich bills himself as The Sine Man, and recently began adding the address of his blog to the signs.

The bus route I take to school each day passes by this intersection. I have seen that the signs have been subjected to various kinds of vandalism. Very occasionally they are broken; more often terse, dogmatic replies are spraypainted over the original messages. I have wanted to take pictures of these vandalised signs, perhaps title the photos “Dialogue”, which of course is very rarely what they evoke.

If you check out Rich’s blog, you’ll see that he also has a link to an opposing viewpoint: The Anti-Sine Man. Both of these websites present their perspectives carefully, and I think they provide fruitful occasions for discussion.

I am not a political person, by which I mean I do not find politics inherently interesting. More often, frankly, I find the behavior of those embroiled in politics appalling. But I have previously acknowledged the importance of politics, when well carried-out, so I provide these links for those who may know better than I how to work to improve the situations under discussion, and for myself so that I may continue to stay aware.

Two more blogs on Middle East politics I’d like to mention. The first is Informed Comment, by Juan Cole. This blog is of particular interest in academe, because Cole is a professor of history and one of the (apparently growing) number of academics who use blogging to have direct influence outside of their own fields, perhaps even a bit of fame in the culture at large. The Chronicle of Higher Education recently (in the July 28 issue) had an article on this general trend and Cole’s case in particular. He was recently turned down for a faculty position at Yale, despite the recommendations of two departments, and speculation ensued as to whether his blog was part of the reason for the rejection. In any case, I have not had time to examine much of his writing, but from a cursory reading the title of the blog seems well-chosen. Lots of references, lots of well-reasoned commentary.

If you prefer more spleen in your political discourse, you may want to check out the satirical Olive Ream. Again, I have not had time to read much of this, but it is a forum for those who would like to use wit to comment on world events. The author also appears well-informed on the relevant news and issues. Don’t expect the same kind of clean language as the other blogs have, if that sort of thing concerns you. I am intrigued by how political humor (e.g., Doonesbury) can treat topics both substantial and trivial in a way that resonates with those “in the know”, educates those who are more ignorant (that’s usually where I fall), and generally amuses both camps.

Øieblikket Part 2

In the last couple of days, the following lines have come to mind, and I realized it would have been most appropriate to include them in my last essay on time. From William Blake's “Auguries of Innocence”:*

To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour

I had always assumed, since hearing these lines in high school, that they were the end of a sentence, perhaps the end of the poem. But I was surprised when I looked them up and found that they are the opening lines of the poem. And I was even more surprised to find what follows. It is not some mystical jaunt; most of the rest consists of couplets essentially instructing the reader in various ways to take care of the world and its creatures. A few selections:

A dog starvd at his Masters Gate
Predicts the ruin of the state
A Horse misusd upon the Road
Calls to Heaven for Human blood

He who shall hurt the little Wren
Shall never be belovd by Men
He who the Ox to wrath has movd
Shall never be by Woman lovd

A truth thats told with bad intent
Beats all the Lies you can invent

The Babe that weeps the Rod beneath
Writes Revenge in realms of death
The Beggars Rags fluttering in Air
Does to Rags the Heavens tear

He who shall teach the Child to Doubt
The rotting Grave shall neer get out
He who respects the Infants faith
Triumphs over Hell & Death

Nought can deform the Human Race
Like to the Armours iron brace
When Gold & Gems adorn the Plough
To peaceful Arts shall Envy Bow

Blake finds a completely practical meaning to the apparently mystic notion that a grain of sand can hold the universe: respect. All the worth of the world is poured into each and every living being you encounter. He does not say it here, but I suspect he’s thinking of our being made in God’s image. This is not mere confusion of scale, but a reflection of what we know, when we take the time to consider such things, about ourselves (for we know our own worth) and morality (for we know how dreadfully important it is to treat others properly). In the middle of the poem, immediately following the lines about truth and lies, Blake turns from the particular to the general:

It is right it should be so
Man was made for Joy & Woe
And when this we rightly know
Through the World we safely go
Joy & Woe are woven fine
A Clothing for the Soul divine
Under every grief & pine
Runs a joy with silken twine

I was even more struck by the content of the poem because it highlights the importance of using the moment well, as I was discussing in my previous essay. This topic has arisen also in several conversations I’ve had with friends over the last week, some occasioned directly by my essay, others by world events. For hardly anywhere is the moment more important than in the world of politics.

In each of my (lamentably infrequent) forays into studying history, I have become more convinced that people do not change. Individuals change, and cultures change, but the middling ground of “human nature” does not. (I call human nature “middling” because it affects both individual and cultural behavior, and seems to provide a link between those two.) Politics will always be necessary to manage the gap between cultural forces and individual lives, and it must do so by taking into account the immediate situation.

I will relate a story here, which is relevant to the current political state, and which also is an archetypical example of how great an impact a moment can have. Two conversations in the last week have led me to tell my experience of September 11. That was a day when the whole world was changed in an instant, and you knew it. I think my experience was different enough from that of most people I know that it bears retelling here.

In the summer of 2001, I was halfway through my Peace Corps service. Classes were not due to start until late September, so I was planning a trip to the capital, Conakry, to work on my secondary project: providing lab materials to the school. Guinea is about five hours ahead of New York time. In the early afternoon of the 11th, after lunch, I was getting ready to take a nap (as one generally must do while living in Africa). Just before lying down, I had BBC playing on my shortwave radio, and I heard unclear reports about a plane having hit the World Trade Center. No one knew what was happening at the time, and at that point it was still assumed that a poor pilot of a small private plane had had a terrible accident. Unfortunate, I thought, and turned off the radio.

Four hours later, the proviseur (analogous to the principal) of the school I taught at was visiting my hut to write letters for me to take to Conakry. As he was preparing the letters, I turned the radio back on.

Chaos.

By that point, the towers had collapsed. Reporters on the scene were managing to describe something of what was going on—but what was going on was panic and horror. The sounds in the background were awful. For ten minutes I stood over my radio, the proviseur writing at my desk, and I tried to listen and learn what had occurred, while translating what I heard into French for the proviseur’s benefit. He was silently stunned and incredulous. How could either of us have expected a routine meeting to become the occasion of such terrible news? Finally, I insisted on leaving to find my sitemate, another Volunteer who was teaching English at the school.

She was cleaning her hut. She had not had the news on; she was listening to music. Still in shock, I told her she must turn the radio on. And we sat and listened.

The world had changed.

My most desperate desire at that moment was for more connection to Americans in general, and to the immediate events in particular. We would not leave town to meet other Volunteers for another day or two. Our search for more information took us to the compound of the diamond mining company Rio Tinto. In Kérouané, our village, Rio Tinto has an office and a compound, where we had occasionally been invited for dinners as fellow expatriates. (Their staff come from various nations of the Commonwealth—the United Kingdom, South Africa, Australia, etc.) They had a satellite TV. We rushed across town on our bikes to find out if they would let us watch. Once we found someone we knew, we had difficulty explaning what was happening. How do you tell someone in the middle of an ordinary workday that Washington and New York City have been attacked? A bit perplexed, he gave us permission to go in and watch. A little while later, he came and joined us to find out what we were talking about. We spent the evening watching news and replays.

I know many people have said those images looked unreal, like scenes from a movie. That’s not how I saw them. To me, they conveyed a truth that I couldn’t believe. My mind refused to accept that it was seeing what it saw. Nothing changes that much that quickly. No one has the power to alter or end that many lives that completely. Yet they did.

Not all of the Volunteers in Guinea learned of the attacks that day. I know of at least one who didn’t hear until a week later. She had been traveling in Côte d’Ivoire, and while she was crossing back into Guinea, one of the border guards asked, “Did you know your country is under attack?”

For about a month, it seemed, we were fully galvanized and unified. We would brook no discord, and we needed to mourn, to act, to pray, all at once. Nor were we alone; the world was with us. An editorial in Le Monde declared “Nous sommes tous Américains.” Of course our friends in our villages supported and grieved with us, but even when we went to the regional capital of Kankan, people would stop us and say, “Are you Americans? We are all touched by what happened to you, and we are saddened and sorry.” Incidentally, we lived in a heavily Muslim region.

This is how it seemed from overseas. I’m sure the situation was more complicated here.

The world may have changed that day, but people did not. The last five years have borne away the unity which was forged so quickly, and divisiveness and acrimony seem to rule. It is worse in some nations other than our own. I cannot bear to retell the stories I have read recently about the battles between Israel and Lebanon, or of Sunnis and Shi’ites and vendettas. A friend asked me last weekend, among several other “on-the-spot” questions, what I thought of the situation in Iraq. After substantial thinking, and relating the story above, I answered (not very well at the time) that I don’t believe any military can stop the hatred there. There is no reason, no rationality behind that hatred. They and we urgently need diplomacy of the finest kind, and that is not what the situation is getting. I admire those who serve in our military, and I mean them no disrespect, but I think Blake was right that it is no honor to us that “Armours iron brace” is necessary.

So I come back to politics. But I have said enough about these matters. I am the world’s least qualified person to discuss diplomacy in the Middle East. I know the importance of politics, however, for it is what gives civility to the horrendous state of relations that people seem naturally to attain.

At the other end of the spectrum from a moment that fills the world with sorrow, and no less important than it, is a moment that fills an individual with joy. A friend of mine was baptized this weekend. I have never seen a live childbirth, but I have witnessed this second birth many times. It is awesome every time. It is, in fact, one of the most beautiful sights I have beheld. To watch God’s family in Christ growing. To gain a new spiritual sister or brother.

I was not able to witness this friend’s baptism, but I know she received it with excitement, a bit of trepidation, and happiness. Anyone who remembers their baptism (I am among them) can tell you that it is a sharp moment, full of anticipation and longing and thankfulness. I do not mean to say that baptism is the advent of salvation. That is an entirely different theological discussion. But in that moment, you know you are sealed by God. You have confessed your willingness to join a worldwide, timewide family, and that family accepts you marvelously. As the hymn says, “How precious did that grace appear the hour I first believed!”

In this case, the baptism is especially wonderful, because a year ago my friend did not believe in God at all, or only hardly. She and I have talked about the difficulties of believing, and about how religion cuts to the marrow of the self, reaching mind, heart, and spirit. Of all the things I do with friends, worship is the most important, and I am thrilled to be able to join another in praising God.

I am often amazed that what a person experiences most intimately and intensely is precisely what is most universal among humans—such as love and faith, or unfortunately also hate and doubt. It seems a great joke of God that our individuality can only lead us to our commonality. Because He has chosen to order things that way, Blake is not mistaken that eternity lies in an hour.

* I have followed The Norton Anthology’s practice of printing the poem as Blake printed it, without editorially adding punctuation or changing spelling and capitalization.