The world is in crisis. There is no denying that. This morning, I was rocking my daughter to sleep listening to the My Two Hands by Ben Harper & Jack Johnson and I started to cry. I am no uber-macho man, but I am also not some crybaby. I could no longer keep it in. My daughter was born on the 8th of July, and the war in Lebanon started on the 12th, ever since I have been an emotional mess. One second I am beyond happy and the next I am miserable. I feel like we are losing control of what it is we are here to do. I am using the pronoun we on purpose. I think the more we think in the we, one humanity, the closer we will come to some kind of easing of our collective pain.
I couldn’t sleep last night, surprisingly not because my daughter was up, but because I was saturated with the news of Lebanon, Qana to be specific. So I got up to read some Blogs. I found one written by a woman I have been sparring with on the Israel issue. She had written an exhaustive account about the right for Israel to exist. My first reaction after reading the whole thing, was so what? So these people were promised by God (one I don’t even believe in by the way) to this land and now they murder for it. I found myself wanting to refute many of the points she had made. I wanted to cite references about the scars of French colonialism on the region, the creation of Lebanon as a Christian outpost, the division of Syria, the concept of a Pan-Arabia, and how that has been made impossible by both Israel and the Untied States, and so on, when I realized that none of these arguments matter. These types of arguments focus on the wrong things. We could go back and forth forever, sure the Jews deserve to live in a homeland, sure the Arabs deserve not to be treated like animals, but as soon the arguments become dichotomous, and we see each other as us and them, we have lost the battle. We have to find a way to bring the human race back together. However, naïve, childish, or idealistically that may sound. There are no Jews or Arabs. There is only us. You cannot murder your own blood. Until we can see this, we will not have peace.
I grew up singing along to songs like John Lennon’s Imagine. The idea of imagining no countries, nothing to kill or die for, and no religion too, imagine all the people living life in peace, makes sense to me. It has since I was seven. But somewhere along the way, the cynicism and jaded worldview has made me feel that thinking in this way is naïve or idealistic. Me and people like me are categorized as bleeding hearts and dreamers. But as soon as we give up our childish hopes and dreams for peace, then we are doomed to be led by our own rage and hatred. Peace is only possible through love. Love for ourselves, our neighbors, and most importantly the love for our enemies. I am starting to finally learn that love, true love, and in turn peace, can only be possible when we discard the concept of blame.True justice only comes about when we eradicate sides. Once we stop blaming the “other” we will realize that anything that harms our neighbors, in turn harms us. We will have no choice but to be just when we love others as we love ourselves. We have allowed our synagogues, mosques, and churches to teach us that each tribe is the chosen one. But I refuse to let that simplistic vision of god become a barrier to true peace. The more I have traveled and lived amongst other cultures, the more I see that we have more in common than differences.
Sitting in the dark room with my little girl this morning, holding back my tears, I realized that maybe I need to go back to my ideals. Working with the International Socialist Organization in New York a few years ago, I found that people on the far left often lose face of the humanity involved in our fight for justice. We have to remember why we argue and debate. We have to remind ourselves of the beauty we are fighting for. Politics has a way of calcifying our emotions and making us hunker down for battle. I have lost myself in arguing for a side too many times. Last night as I watched the events in Qana something in me snapped; I felt such anger and hatred toward Israel. How could people commit these crimes, I kept asking myself? And later when I read the post about the right for Israel to exist my rage continued.
I had made the mistake of thinking that one side was right. The point, I think, I am trying to make through this meandering post, is that the impetus for conflict is thinking that there are two opposing sides, and if we believe this to be true, we will see that the road to peace is unifying the two sides. The path to peace will show us that we truly are one. And no amount of choosing sides, dishing out blame, or moral superiority will bring about peace, until we see the traits of our enemies in ourselves.
This is not easy. Regular readers of this blog will have noticed that every few weeks, I will write a post similar to this in different words, because I am trying to come to terms with my anger. But I honestly think this is the only way. Love your enemy, simple as that.
This is the song I was listening this morning at four am, as the rain hit the windows, and the orange light bounced off Kaia’s face:
Two Hands
I can change the world
With my own two hands
Make it a better place
With my own two hands
Make it a kinder place
With my own two hands
With my own
With my own two hands
I can make peace on earth
With my own two hands
I can clean up the earth
With my own two hands
I can reach out to you
With my own two hands
With my own
With my own two hands
I'm going to make it a brighter place
With my own two hands
I'm going to make it a safer place
With my own two hands
I'm going to help the human race
With my own two hands
With my own
With my own two hands
I can hold you
With my own two hands
I can comfort you
With my own two hands
But you've got to use
Use your own two hands
Use your own
Use your own two hands
With our own
With our own two hands
With my own
With my own two hands
This song, My Two Hands, is by Ben Harper and can be found on his album Diamonds on the Inside or sung as a slower version duet with Jack Johnson on the Curious George Soundtrack.
July 31, 2006
July 27, 2006
Poetry Thrusday- July 27th
I realize that the rules at Poetry Thursday are a bit lax, but this week I am stretching them to their limit. Instead of a poem, I have submitted an excerpt from a short story I have been working on forever. The theme this week is food, and I have stuck with that, well sort of, and I really want to share it with some readers. I promise not to be so lazy next week and drop the prose for the more conventional poetry. In my defense, please remember that good prose should be poetic and conjure the same imagery and emotive quality as a well-written poem.
Here is a little haiku about mangos as an appetizer:
saffron robed teardrop
all elbows and soft breast skin
i suck out your juice
Here is an excerpt from the yet untitled story:
One could argue that a vegetarian, who feels the need to butcher a snake and eat its heart, may be a hypocrite. But aren’t we all trumped by our weakness and failures occasionally? How long are we expected to be lead on the leash of our making? How long before the animal inside each one of us is no longer threatened by the vows and rules of morality with which we construct the bars of the cages we trap ourselves in? My cage had become stifling and my mission that night was to finally allow the beast freedom, so I chose to not only open the door wide, but to deconstruct the very idea of the cage I had built. I chose to no longer fight the creature I had spent years subduing. I chose to no longer deny its existence. I chose to surrender.
My actions and experiences, from the time I could remember, had always been crafted into plots, stanzas, and scenes. Something about a vault of stories, deposits in a sense banks made me feel like I was living life the way it should be lived, not with regret or hesitation, but with honesty even if that honesty proved to be illusory. I needed experiences, because I liked the idea that years later, while exchanging small talk with people I detested at cocktail parties I never wanted to attend, I could say that I had eaten a cobra while in Vietnam. This single act would make them realize that there were people in the world living much fuller lives than their own. I lived life for the stories it presented, and for the satisfaction it gave me knowing that I was not only the reader of these stories, but also the writer.
“Do you know a place that serves snake?” I hadn’t heard my voice since the morning, and it sounded foreign, as if it had been initiated from a place outside of myself, and I was merely being used as a conduit to transmit its message. “A restaurant? Snake heart?” After first acting out the beating of a heart beneath my shirt, I then let out a hiss and did my best to slither.
After a few consultations, the price negotiated, and the directions written down, I was on the back of a bike rocketing out of the Old Quarter of Hanoi, and headed across the river, over a bridge to a web of alleys and dissolving streets. With eyes closed, I held out my arms like wings or a crucifixion and smiled.
Once again my quixotic expectations and the actuality of the environment were inconsistent. Where I wanted a sordid space, a den of debauchery, I found a quaint restaurant with a friendly, well-dressed staff. I made my way to a chicken wire pen filled with fifteen cobras and another with pythons. The cobras averaged six feet apiece.
“You choose snake.”
An old man wearing pink faded shorts and nothing else, poked the pile of reptiles, smiling at me through a set of incomplete, blackened teeth. Hopping from side to side like a recently rewarded ape; he seemed pleased that I was there and sharing this experience with him. He gestured for a cigarette furthering our newly formed bond.
“How much are they?’ I asked. With my voice still coming from outside, I did a decent job of corralling a semblance of a reality. I chain-lit another cigarette and examined the snakes, conscious not to get too close because, however disjointed everything had become, I was aware they could kill me.
While driving over on the bridge, I had been content to die, but I was having second thoughts when so close to the very beings that could administer that sentence.
“Cobra, four hundred.” The animated man was holding one by the tail as it swung back and forth like the wooden toy snakes sold in every Chinatown the world over. I took a drag of my smoke and leaned back; the snake was in striking distance. I exhaled a pillow of smoke and pointed to the less sensational pythons entangled in the other pen.
“Three hundred!” He was wielding two snakes, one in each hand.
“I’ll take that one,” I said, pointing to the six-foot cobra inches from my face, “and a beer please.”
From that moment on, the man was all business. The strings that had him bouncing like a puppet were severed, and his smile vanished as he pounced on the snakes head, pinning it to the ground. Brandishing a large rusted knife, he pierced the snake’s smooth skin, deflating it in the process. He made a three-inch incision to its underside into which his fingers disappeared, revealing themselves moments later with a small lump of flesh. It was red, beating, bleeding, alive. The rest of the animal lay on the ground like a discarded sock, a redundant silhouette.
Next, he punctured the dying animal again, this time a bit lower. I was surprised to see him still gripping its head tightly. Was he afraid it could still attack? Even with its beating heart sitting in a bowl near my feet. He emptied the serpent of a green fluid, while showing off his gap filled smile. Comparing the rhythm of the snake heart with my own, it was difficult to tell which one was pounding with more fervor, the muscle thrashing for life, or the hysterical one watching it fail.
A young waiter wearing a crimson bow tie quickly led me upstairs to an empty but pristine dining room. A table was waiting for me: ice cold beer, ashtray, fresh basil, onions, chili peppers and a variety of sauces. Seconds later, the heart and bile were brought to me with an empty shot glass, and another glass filled with a frothy red liquid on the tray. Instructed to put the heart into the bile and shoot it down, I grabbed my chopsticks and attacked it.
It jumped. It was still alive. I tried again and again and again, till I finally had it pinned between my two sticks. Plunging it into the green fluid, I took a sip of water and downed the bile, heart and all. Eating its flesh wrapped in spring rolls, and its skin deep-fried I drank its blood, a warm creamy juice, much like milk. The beast within began to slither from its cage. I was disappearing, and soon it would take over and the Hanoi night would be its playground. The sun had set and darkness enveloped the city.
Author's note: As always any critical comments are appreciated
Here is a little haiku about mangos as an appetizer:
saffron robed teardrop
all elbows and soft breast skin
i suck out your juice
Here is an excerpt from the yet untitled story:
One could argue that a vegetarian, who feels the need to butcher a snake and eat its heart, may be a hypocrite. But aren’t we all trumped by our weakness and failures occasionally? How long are we expected to be lead on the leash of our making? How long before the animal inside each one of us is no longer threatened by the vows and rules of morality with which we construct the bars of the cages we trap ourselves in? My cage had become stifling and my mission that night was to finally allow the beast freedom, so I chose to not only open the door wide, but to deconstruct the very idea of the cage I had built. I chose to no longer fight the creature I had spent years subduing. I chose to no longer deny its existence. I chose to surrender.
My actions and experiences, from the time I could remember, had always been crafted into plots, stanzas, and scenes. Something about a vault of stories, deposits in a sense banks made me feel like I was living life the way it should be lived, not with regret or hesitation, but with honesty even if that honesty proved to be illusory. I needed experiences, because I liked the idea that years later, while exchanging small talk with people I detested at cocktail parties I never wanted to attend, I could say that I had eaten a cobra while in Vietnam. This single act would make them realize that there were people in the world living much fuller lives than their own. I lived life for the stories it presented, and for the satisfaction it gave me knowing that I was not only the reader of these stories, but also the writer.
“Do you know a place that serves snake?” I hadn’t heard my voice since the morning, and it sounded foreign, as if it had been initiated from a place outside of myself, and I was merely being used as a conduit to transmit its message. “A restaurant? Snake heart?” After first acting out the beating of a heart beneath my shirt, I then let out a hiss and did my best to slither.
After a few consultations, the price negotiated, and the directions written down, I was on the back of a bike rocketing out of the Old Quarter of Hanoi, and headed across the river, over a bridge to a web of alleys and dissolving streets. With eyes closed, I held out my arms like wings or a crucifixion and smiled.
Once again my quixotic expectations and the actuality of the environment were inconsistent. Where I wanted a sordid space, a den of debauchery, I found a quaint restaurant with a friendly, well-dressed staff. I made my way to a chicken wire pen filled with fifteen cobras and another with pythons. The cobras averaged six feet apiece.
“You choose snake.”
An old man wearing pink faded shorts and nothing else, poked the pile of reptiles, smiling at me through a set of incomplete, blackened teeth. Hopping from side to side like a recently rewarded ape; he seemed pleased that I was there and sharing this experience with him. He gestured for a cigarette furthering our newly formed bond.
“How much are they?’ I asked. With my voice still coming from outside, I did a decent job of corralling a semblance of a reality. I chain-lit another cigarette and examined the snakes, conscious not to get too close because, however disjointed everything had become, I was aware they could kill me.
While driving over on the bridge, I had been content to die, but I was having second thoughts when so close to the very beings that could administer that sentence.
“Cobra, four hundred.” The animated man was holding one by the tail as it swung back and forth like the wooden toy snakes sold in every Chinatown the world over. I took a drag of my smoke and leaned back; the snake was in striking distance. I exhaled a pillow of smoke and pointed to the less sensational pythons entangled in the other pen.
“Three hundred!” He was wielding two snakes, one in each hand.
“I’ll take that one,” I said, pointing to the six-foot cobra inches from my face, “and a beer please.”
From that moment on, the man was all business. The strings that had him bouncing like a puppet were severed, and his smile vanished as he pounced on the snakes head, pinning it to the ground. Brandishing a large rusted knife, he pierced the snake’s smooth skin, deflating it in the process. He made a three-inch incision to its underside into which his fingers disappeared, revealing themselves moments later with a small lump of flesh. It was red, beating, bleeding, alive. The rest of the animal lay on the ground like a discarded sock, a redundant silhouette.
Next, he punctured the dying animal again, this time a bit lower. I was surprised to see him still gripping its head tightly. Was he afraid it could still attack? Even with its beating heart sitting in a bowl near my feet. He emptied the serpent of a green fluid, while showing off his gap filled smile. Comparing the rhythm of the snake heart with my own, it was difficult to tell which one was pounding with more fervor, the muscle thrashing for life, or the hysterical one watching it fail.
A young waiter wearing a crimson bow tie quickly led me upstairs to an empty but pristine dining room. A table was waiting for me: ice cold beer, ashtray, fresh basil, onions, chili peppers and a variety of sauces. Seconds later, the heart and bile were brought to me with an empty shot glass, and another glass filled with a frothy red liquid on the tray. Instructed to put the heart into the bile and shoot it down, I grabbed my chopsticks and attacked it.
It jumped. It was still alive. I tried again and again and again, till I finally had it pinned between my two sticks. Plunging it into the green fluid, I took a sip of water and downed the bile, heart and all. Eating its flesh wrapped in spring rolls, and its skin deep-fried I drank its blood, a warm creamy juice, much like milk. The beast within began to slither from its cage. I was disappearing, and soon it would take over and the Hanoi night would be its playground. The sun had set and darkness enveloped the city.
Author's note: As always any critical comments are appreciated
July 26, 2006
Introducing: Voices
I have started a new writing project which I am tentatively calling Voices. Not to sound crazy, but ever since the invasion of Lebanon by Israel, I have been hearing the voices of all the people suffering in the wars that seem to be taking place in every country in the world right now. The voices are often those of children, but sometimes they are of adults as well.
So I simply sit at the computer and let the voices come out through me. It feels as if I am giving the voiceless a voice. I feel that fiction has always played the role in connecting all of us to the human experience. I am not hear to say that I know what these people must be going through, but by sitting and allowing myself to be in their shoes for sometime, I hope to connect to something important, something that people who are reading can ponder and hopefully do something about. I feel that by allowing ourselves the opportunity to feel the pain of our brothers and sisters, maybe, we will become less numb to it. While watching the headlines and reading news stories, all I can feel are that these ordinary lives are being shatter, for what appears to be no reason. I compare these events to my life, and see how I would react, what would I feel, what would I say, what would I think about? What I write are the answers to these questions.
I hope you find them moving, honest, and non-partial. After writing so many political posts, I feel that these personal accounts may do more in getting people to truly see what is happening. Please share them with people and link them here to the Intrepid Flame. Who knows when the voices will stop; maybe they can become a nice little collection of stories. I have labled each post as Voice: (title). If you like what you read please read archives.
Thanks for reading
So I simply sit at the computer and let the voices come out through me. It feels as if I am giving the voiceless a voice. I feel that fiction has always played the role in connecting all of us to the human experience. I am not hear to say that I know what these people must be going through, but by sitting and allowing myself to be in their shoes for sometime, I hope to connect to something important, something that people who are reading can ponder and hopefully do something about. I feel that by allowing ourselves the opportunity to feel the pain of our brothers and sisters, maybe, we will become less numb to it. While watching the headlines and reading news stories, all I can feel are that these ordinary lives are being shatter, for what appears to be no reason. I compare these events to my life, and see how I would react, what would I feel, what would I say, what would I think about? What I write are the answers to these questions.
I hope you find them moving, honest, and non-partial. After writing so many political posts, I feel that these personal accounts may do more in getting people to truly see what is happening. Please share them with people and link them here to the Intrepid Flame. Who knows when the voices will stop; maybe they can become a nice little collection of stories. I have labled each post as Voice: (title). If you like what you read please read archives.
Thanks for reading
Voices: Afraid Of The Sky
This was meant to be the best summer ever. I am going to high school next year, and my cousin from New York was to visit until then. I had gotten us both jobs as lifeguards, and my mother said we could finally get our ears pierced. I was promised an iPod for my birthday, and I could invite boys for the party. This was all until the first rocket hit our neighbor’s house.
I live in Haifa and nothing will ever be the same here. We spend twenty hours a day crammed in our bomb shelters because it is impossible to know where the bombs will land. It is a very strange feeling to be afraid of the sky. My friend’s uncle was killed two weeks ago and now she rarely speaks. She just stares at the door rocking back and forth. I am trying to be strong for my little brother, but my mother often breaks down in tears as the men argue the politics of the situation. We share the shelter with other families in our apartment building and every one has an opinion. The US is using Israel to do its dirty work, Hezbollah must be routed and killed because the Arabs are animals, we should never have left Lebanon. The talks go on for hours, until finally someone tells the to shut up and soother their children. They talk and talk, but it doesn’t seem like any of them have any answers. The stench of their cigarette smoke and bad breath make it hard to pass the time.
My birthday came and went, needless to say no presents, my cousin stayed in New York, and as for the lifeguard job, I never see the sun. I haven’t slept through the night since this started. I dream that I am walking down the street: everything is as it was before. I can smell the sea, and the trees are green and luscious. My brother is by my side and eating ice cream, when suddenly everything turns white, he drops my hand and when I open my eyes, we are standing near a hole made by falling the rockets. They hit everyone but us. We are left alone in a sea of caterers as the smoke rises. There are no sounds, there is nothing. The world is empty.
We hear on the radio that our government is doing all it can to stop the rockets from falling. They are dropping bombs on the people of Lebanon. It seems idiotic to me that you can stop people from firing rockets by dropping bombs, but I am just a girl what do I know. They are getting Israel’s revenge they say, but here in Haifa, we sit bomb shelters and wonder if there might not be a better way to bring about peace. I was excited to begin high school, now it doesn’t seem to matter. The summer drags on, as we wait, not really sure what it is we are waiting for.
I live in Haifa and nothing will ever be the same here. We spend twenty hours a day crammed in our bomb shelters because it is impossible to know where the bombs will land. It is a very strange feeling to be afraid of the sky. My friend’s uncle was killed two weeks ago and now she rarely speaks. She just stares at the door rocking back and forth. I am trying to be strong for my little brother, but my mother often breaks down in tears as the men argue the politics of the situation. We share the shelter with other families in our apartment building and every one has an opinion. The US is using Israel to do its dirty work, Hezbollah must be routed and killed because the Arabs are animals, we should never have left Lebanon. The talks go on for hours, until finally someone tells the to shut up and soother their children. They talk and talk, but it doesn’t seem like any of them have any answers. The stench of their cigarette smoke and bad breath make it hard to pass the time.
My birthday came and went, needless to say no presents, my cousin stayed in New York, and as for the lifeguard job, I never see the sun. I haven’t slept through the night since this started. I dream that I am walking down the street: everything is as it was before. I can smell the sea, and the trees are green and luscious. My brother is by my side and eating ice cream, when suddenly everything turns white, he drops my hand and when I open my eyes, we are standing near a hole made by falling the rockets. They hit everyone but us. We are left alone in a sea of caterers as the smoke rises. There are no sounds, there is nothing. The world is empty.
We hear on the radio that our government is doing all it can to stop the rockets from falling. They are dropping bombs on the people of Lebanon. It seems idiotic to me that you can stop people from firing rockets by dropping bombs, but I am just a girl what do I know. They are getting Israel’s revenge they say, but here in Haifa, we sit bomb shelters and wonder if there might not be a better way to bring about peace. I was excited to begin high school, now it doesn’t seem to matter. The summer drags on, as we wait, not really sure what it is we are waiting for.
July 24, 2006
Self-Portrait as_________Week Four:
Water (in its pure form) is a tasteless, odorless substance that is essential to all known forms of life and is known also as the universal solvent. It appears colorless to the naked eye in small quantities, though it can be seen to be blue in large quantities or with scientific instruments. An abundant substance on Earth, water exists in many forms. It appears mostly in the oceans and polar ice caps, but also as clouds, rainwater, rivers, freshwater aquifers, and sea ice. Water in these bodies continuously moves through a cycle of evaporation, precipitation, and runoff to the sea. Clean water is essential to human health and in many parts of the world it is in short supply.
About 72% of the fat free mass of the human body is made of water. To function properly, the body requires between one and seven litres of water per day to avoid dehydration, the precise amount depends on the level of activity, temperature, humidity, and other factors.
That is the science of water courtesy of Wikipedia. Here is the poerty of it.
For this week’s Self- Portrait Challenge, I have chosen my Self-Portrait as WET.
I feel most alive when I am wet. Whether it is swimming in a pool, the ocean, walking in the rain, or taking a shower, my body makes more sense when it is wet. Ever since I was a kid, summers have meant swimming, sprinklers, and bronzing skin dotted with droplets of water. Still today my day does not feel complete until I have had my shower. When living in Africa without running water, I learned to better appreciate the wonder of water and how life without it can be much more difficult and less enjoyable.
When wet, I feel as if my skin disappears and my 72% of water is merging with the H2O in the atmosphere. Some people say that they prefer the cold weather because you can bulk up, but if it is hot you can only get so naked. These people do not understand the magic of wetness. To observe water and truly understand its role on our planet is to better understand the universe. So take a look at an ocean, a cloud, a river, or a droplet falling from your faucet. Of course what better way to learn from water than to be wet!
July 23, 2006
Voices: The Scars Of War Run Much Deeper Than A News Headline:
She has started to wet the bed. She is nine years old. Her eyes have become distant and she hasn’t smiled for three days. Her voice is hoarse from screaming throughout the night. She wakes up shaking. There is no water to wash her sheets and her room has begun to smell like urine: a sharp, sweet stench. The power has been out for three weeks, and the heat is unbearable. The windows in the kitchen have been blown out by the sound of the bombs that fell four days ago. The flies are relentless throughout the day. Your little one, he is four, will not leave your side. His clothes are filthy, but the water must be conserved. The car lays beneath the rumble. No way to make money now or even escape. Everything is five hundred times more expensive: gasoline, food, soap, and candles, but there is so little money that it doesn’t seem to matter.
Sometimes you pray that a bomb will fall on the house and end this. Then at least maybe she will be at peace.
Sometimes you pray that a bomb will fall on the house and end this. Then at least maybe she will be at peace.
Voices: Dear Writer Of The Leaflet That Fell From The Sky,
The ground is littered with the pieces of paper you dropped warning us to leave. Each sheet says that if we stay we are complicate with Hezbollah, and we will be punished accordingly. They tell us that it is in our best interest to flee, move away, leave. But I want to ask, where are we to go? How does one pack up a life and move it someplace else. These towns you destroy from up high in your American made jets, are our homes. We have built these communities with our blood and sweat for years. We are not living in a traveling circus tent that can be pulled down within minutes and moved to the next venue. Our children go to school here, we have our farms and businesses here; we spend our time with our neighbors and families here. How can we simply pack these things into the trunk of a car and move them. What of our sick, our elderly, our children? Shall we go to Beirut? Syria? Where will we be safe from your rage and arrogance? What kind of person drops warnings telling people to abandon their homes and then destroys the very roads and bridges they are to use for escape. We have heard you are bombing all trucks on the roads. How are we to move? There are few cars. Gasoline is in short supply. Shall we simply walk away into the wilderness? Is that what you are asking your people to do? If you are afraid of Hezbollah rockets, why not move the people of Haifa to other places? If it is so easy to simply leave, why do you not heed your own advice?
Tell us where is it safe for us to go? We hear their governments are evacuating thousands of foreigners. Who will come save us from your terror? Where is our cruise ship sitting in the harbor? Are we to simply crawl away from our lives and leave our homes to be destroyed? Are our lives not worth as much as American, French, or British citizens.
Can you see us in your jet fighters? Or are you too high up? Can you se us on your televisions sets? Or are you too far removed? The headlines call this a “crisis,” but this is more than that; we are the victims of a massacre. The world has abandoned us. Our Arab neighbors under the thumb of the Americans ignore us as we perish in our own homes. Where is Egypt? Jordan? Syria? We have learned the hard way that there is no international community. There is Israeli and America. We tell our children to be strong. There is no help coming; we are alone.
Please remember that no leaflet telling us to move will make us disappear. Please do not play the gentle giant. If you are going to murder innocent people admit to it. Do not sit in the safety of your government rooms and pretend to worry about the victims of your bombs. If you want us dead, let the bombs drop, the world obviously does not care, but do not patronize us with your humanity. We see in the eyes of our children and the blood that runs in our streets that you have none.
Tell us where is it safe for us to go? We hear their governments are evacuating thousands of foreigners. Who will come save us from your terror? Where is our cruise ship sitting in the harbor? Are we to simply crawl away from our lives and leave our homes to be destroyed? Are our lives not worth as much as American, French, or British citizens.
Can you see us in your jet fighters? Or are you too high up? Can you se us on your televisions sets? Or are you too far removed? The headlines call this a “crisis,” but this is more than that; we are the victims of a massacre. The world has abandoned us. Our Arab neighbors under the thumb of the Americans ignore us as we perish in our own homes. Where is Egypt? Jordan? Syria? We have learned the hard way that there is no international community. There is Israeli and America. We tell our children to be strong. There is no help coming; we are alone.
Please remember that no leaflet telling us to move will make us disappear. Please do not play the gentle giant. If you are going to murder innocent people admit to it. Do not sit in the safety of your government rooms and pretend to worry about the victims of your bombs. If you want us dead, let the bombs drop, the world obviously does not care, but do not patronize us with your humanity. We see in the eyes of our children and the blood that runs in our streets that you have none.
July 21, 2006
I Believe The Children Are Our Future
I recently found these photos of young Israeli girls signing bombs that were to be sent into Lebanon. My emotions ran the gamut from anger, disgust, disbelief, pity and shame. I was immediately distraught and confused as to what type of parent would first of all let their children near live bombs, but then would also encourage them to sign the very tools that would kill other children. After reading the range of comments on this blog I started to think. Someone brought up the point that the other side is using children to fuel this conflict as well. I realized that this conflict is beyond merely politics at this point. Generations of children have been, and are being taught and brainwashed to hate on both sides. If we want a lasting peace, we must start with them. I know this all sounds a bit Whitney Houston, but the children really are our future.
Take a look at these children and tell me, how can they grow up and work for peace if these are the lessons their parents, their teachers, their leaders are teaching them.
Israeli girls singing bombs
Young boys in gaza ready for the next generation
In other news, someone from the UN has finally called what is happening a War Crime, now if only Israel could be prosecuted.
The United Nations’ top human rights official said Wednesday that the killing and maiming of civilians under attack in Lebanon, Israel and Gaza and the West Bank could constitute war crimes.
“The scale of killings in the region, and their predictability, could engage the personal criminal responsibility of those involved, particularly those in a position of command and control,” said Louise Arbour, the high commissioner for human rights.
How sad is it though that we all know nothing will ever be done. It kind of makes the whole idea of the Geneva Convention moot. It is kind of ironic that these laws were established after WWII, and now the biggest victims of that war are the perpetrators of crimes against humanity.
Take a look at these children and tell me, how can they grow up and work for peace if these are the lessons their parents, their teachers, their leaders are teaching them.
Israeli girls singing bombs
Young boys in gaza ready for the next generation
In other news, someone from the UN has finally called what is happening a War Crime, now if only Israel could be prosecuted.
The United Nations’ top human rights official said Wednesday that the killing and maiming of civilians under attack in Lebanon, Israel and Gaza and the West Bank could constitute war crimes.
“The scale of killings in the region, and their predictability, could engage the personal criminal responsibility of those involved, particularly those in a position of command and control,” said Louise Arbour, the high commissioner for human rights.
How sad is it though that we all know nothing will ever be done. It kind of makes the whole idea of the Geneva Convention moot. It is kind of ironic that these laws were established after WWII, and now the biggest victims of that war are the perpetrators of crimes against humanity.
July 20, 2006
Poetry Thursday- July 20th
This week’s Poetry Thursday prompt is: SEX
I have been thinking about this prompt all week, and realized I have rarely, if ever, written on the topic of sex. The more I thought about it, the more I realized how hard it was for me to write about sex. I thought back to all the sexual experiences I have had, and I had a really hard time picking one to focus on. I had finally decided to simply copy a Bukowski poem, when I thought it would be best to at least give it a shot. So I sat down and simply started to type. Halfway through, I realized that this side of my sexual past may not paint me in the best light, after all my mother occasionally reads this blog, but these acts of self gratification are a part of my past, and as a poet I feel it is important to be honest about the role they played in my sexual life. I tried not to paint the picture in any sort of judgmental light. You decide:
we are all lonely
you are hard
before the door is locked.
the smell of disinfectant
and cum soaked floor
not a deterrent.
get your quarters in line
eight usually does the trick,
unzip
insert
lick lips.
even here
exposed
and degraded
forged intimacy
makes the space bearable.
beyond the flecked glass
under the clumsy lights
they languidly
sway their pale hips
pinching their nipples
like bored chimpanzees.
one shuffles toward you
looking over her bony shoulder
talking to the other one.
eye contact
a smile smears across her face
though she is tired
perhaps hung-over
you stoke faster
the barrier dropping
she starts to walk away
insert more quarters
you are breathing harder.
she is up to the porthole now
you are connected
she slaps her ass
leaving an evaporating scarlet smudge
her pinky is in her mouth.
outside it is daylight
in here there are no clocks.
her cunt is dry and neglected
like leather
or
bark.
she rubs faster
then slowly
you are in sync.
her lips quiver
her eyes sparkle
she is a great actress.
the doorknob rattles
an old man peaks in
a quarter falls into the pool
of other people’s fantasies
you cum
but when you look up
she is gone and you are alone
in the darkness.
the only light
an orange slot that
says insert quarter
Author’s note:I realize that 2% of poetry is inspiration and magic, while 98% is hard work, revising, revising and revising. The poems I post here for Poetry Thursday are not finished products, but first thought best thought first drafts. I hope to use this forum to motivate me to produce drafts that I can work with to produce better crafted work. I would appreciate any comments and feel free to critique actually craft points, such as word choice, rhythm, tone etc... Please be constructive about what works and what doesn’t work, but please keep in mind these poems are not meant to be read as finished work. I would appreciate if you would stay polite, but I don’t always need to hear the poem is “good” or “bad” please try and tell me why. Thanks in advance; I am so excited to be a part of this forum.
I have been thinking about this prompt all week, and realized I have rarely, if ever, written on the topic of sex. The more I thought about it, the more I realized how hard it was for me to write about sex. I thought back to all the sexual experiences I have had, and I had a really hard time picking one to focus on. I had finally decided to simply copy a Bukowski poem, when I thought it would be best to at least give it a shot. So I sat down and simply started to type. Halfway through, I realized that this side of my sexual past may not paint me in the best light, after all my mother occasionally reads this blog, but these acts of self gratification are a part of my past, and as a poet I feel it is important to be honest about the role they played in my sexual life. I tried not to paint the picture in any sort of judgmental light. You decide:
we are all lonely
you are hard
before the door is locked.
the smell of disinfectant
and cum soaked floor
not a deterrent.
get your quarters in line
eight usually does the trick,
unzip
insert
lick lips.
even here
exposed
and degraded
forged intimacy
makes the space bearable.
beyond the flecked glass
under the clumsy lights
they languidly
sway their pale hips
pinching their nipples
like bored chimpanzees.
one shuffles toward you
looking over her bony shoulder
talking to the other one.
eye contact
a smile smears across her face
though she is tired
perhaps hung-over
you stoke faster
the barrier dropping
she starts to walk away
insert more quarters
you are breathing harder.
she is up to the porthole now
you are connected
she slaps her ass
leaving an evaporating scarlet smudge
her pinky is in her mouth.
outside it is daylight
in here there are no clocks.
her cunt is dry and neglected
like leather
or
bark.
she rubs faster
then slowly
you are in sync.
her lips quiver
her eyes sparkle
she is a great actress.
the doorknob rattles
an old man peaks in
a quarter falls into the pool
of other people’s fantasies
you cum
but when you look up
she is gone and you are alone
in the darkness.
the only light
an orange slot that
says insert quarter
Author’s note:I realize that 2% of poetry is inspiration and magic, while 98% is hard work, revising, revising and revising. The poems I post here for Poetry Thursday are not finished products, but first thought best thought first drafts. I hope to use this forum to motivate me to produce drafts that I can work with to produce better crafted work. I would appreciate any comments and feel free to critique actually craft points, such as word choice, rhythm, tone etc... Please be constructive about what works and what doesn’t work, but please keep in mind these poems are not meant to be read as finished work. I would appreciate if you would stay polite, but I don’t always need to hear the poem is “good” or “bad” please try and tell me why. Thanks in advance; I am so excited to be a part of this forum.
July 18, 2006
Self-Portrait as_________Week Three:
About a year ago, I discovered a website called Wooster Collective and ever since then, it has inspired me on an almost daily basis with various street art from around the world. One of the forms of street art I like the most is the stencil.
A few months ago, I took this self-portrait of my wife and I in Paris, I heighten the contrast, printed it, and then cut out a stencil and spray painted it on my oil paint art box.
Due to procrastination, being busy, and life in general, I have not had time to do many more stencils, but I hope to try an get a few more done in the coming months. Who knows? Maybe if I am brave enough, I can paint one on a wall.
So for this week’s Self-Portrait Challenge here is my Self-Portrait as a Stencil
Here is the original
and the in between
A few months ago, I took this self-portrait of my wife and I in Paris, I heighten the contrast, printed it, and then cut out a stencil and spray painted it on my oil paint art box.
Due to procrastination, being busy, and life in general, I have not had time to do many more stencils, but I hope to try an get a few more done in the coming months. Who knows? Maybe if I am brave enough, I can paint one on a wall.
So for this week’s Self-Portrait Challenge here is my Self-Portrait as a Stencil
Here is the original
and the in between
Gush Shalom A Voice of Reason from the Belly of the Other Beast
I guess there is an Israeli Anti-War movement. Check out Gush Shalom
This article in particular The Real Aim
This article in particular The Real Aim
Operation Peace for the IDF
We seldom here from any sort of left-wing or anti-war voice from Israel. I guess this is because the media may not want us to know one exists. Instead, we are led to believe that every Israeli is a radical Zionist settler hell bent on destroying Arabs, but I found this wonderful voice of reason in the usually one-sided voice of Haaretz:
Operation Peace for the IDF
By Gideon Levy
Every neighborhood has one, a loudmouth bully who shouldn't be provoked into anger. He's insulted? He'll pull out a knife. Spat in the face? He'll draw a gun. Hit? He'll pull out a machine gun. Not that the bully's not right - someone did harm him. But the reaction, what a reaction! It's not that he's not feared, but nobody really appreciates him. The real appreciation is for the strong who don't immediately use their strength. Regrettably, the Israel Defense Forces once again looks like the neighborhood bully. A soldier was abducted in Gaza? All of Gaza will pay. Eight soldiers are killed and two abducted to Lebanon? All of Lebanon will pay. One and only one language is spoken by Israel, the language of force.
The war that the IDF has now declared on Lebanon and before it on Gaza, will never be considered another "war of no choice." Let's save that debate from the historians. This is unequivocally a war of choice. The IDF absorbed two painful blows, which were particularly humiliating, and in their wake went into a war that is all about restoring its lost dignity, which on our side is called "restoring deterrent capabilities." Neither in Lebanon nor certainly in Gaza, can anyone formulate the real goals of the war, so nobody knows for sure what will be considered victory or an achievement. Are we at war in Lebanon? With Hezbollah? Nobody knows for sure. If the goal is to remove Hezbollah from the border, did we try hard enough over the last two years through diplomatic channels? And what's the connection between destroying half of Lebanon and that goal? Everyone agrees that "something must be done." Everyone agrees that a sovereign state cannot remain silent when it is attacked within its own borders, though in Israel's eyes Lebanese sovereignty was always subject to trampling, but why should that non-silence be expressed solely by an immediate and all-out blow?
In Gaza, a soldier is abducted from the army of a state that frequently abducts civilians from their homes and locks them up for years with or without a trial - but only we're allowed to do that. And only we're allowed to bomb civilian population centers.
The painful steps taken in Gaza, which included dropping a one-ton bomb on a residential building, or killing an entire family of seven children under cover of darkness in Lebanon, killing dozens of residents, bombing an airport, cutting off electricity and water to hundreds of thousands of people for months were a response lacking any justification, legitimacy or proportion. What goal did it serve? Was the soldier released? Did the Qassams stop? Was deterrence restored? None of that happened. Only lost honor was supposedly restored, and immediately the next evil wind showed up, this time from the north.
Two more soldiers were abducted and it was clearly proven that the deterrent power was not restored, while IDF failures repeated themselves. How does one erase those searing failures? On the backs of innocent populations. In Lebanon, the situation is more complicated. There is no Israeli occupation and no justification for provoking Israel. If Hezbollah is so worried about its Palestinian brethren, it should have first of all done something for the hundreds of thousands of refugees living in camps in Lebanon in conditions that are just as bad as those under the Israeli occupation, before it grabbed soldiers in their name.
But does the fact that Hezbollah is a cynical organization that exploits the misery of Palestinians for its own purposes justify the disproportionate reaction? The concept that we have totally forgotten is proportionality. While we're in no hurry to get to the negotiating table, we're eager to get to the battlefield and the killing without delay, without taking any time to think. That deepens suspicions that we need a war every few years, with terrifying repetition, even if afterward we end up back in exactly the same position.
The war we declared on Lebanon has already exacted from us, and of course from Lebanon, too, a heavy price. Did anyone give any thought to the question whether it should be paid?
Everyone knows how this war begins, but does anyone know how it ends? Heavy casualties in the Israeli rear? A war with Syria? A general war? Is it all worth it? Look what a new rookie government can do in such a short time.
Behind the operations in Lebanon and Gaza is the same foolish idea about pressure on the population leading to political changes that Israel wants. In the history of the Israeli-Arab conflict, that concept has only led us from one disaster to the next. We "cleansed" southern Lebanon of Palestinians in 1982, and what did we get? Hezbollahstan instead of Fatahland. Hamas won't fall because Gaza is in the dark, and not even because we bombed the Palestinian Foreign Ministry building at the weekend - another nonsensical move; Hezbollah won't be smashed because the international airport in Beirut has been put out of commission.
Israel once again is not distinguishing between a justified war against Hezbollah and an unjust and unwise war against the Lebanese nation. The camouflage concealing the war's real goals was ripped off by this defense minister, who says what he means: "Nasrallah is going to get it so bad that he will never forget the name Amir Peretz," he bragged, like a typical bully. Now at least we know that Israel went to war so that the name Amir Peretz is never forgotten. It's the war for the perpetuation of the name Peretz and the blurring of Dan Halutz's failures. And to hell with the cost.
Operation Peace for the IDF
By Gideon Levy
Every neighborhood has one, a loudmouth bully who shouldn't be provoked into anger. He's insulted? He'll pull out a knife. Spat in the face? He'll draw a gun. Hit? He'll pull out a machine gun. Not that the bully's not right - someone did harm him. But the reaction, what a reaction! It's not that he's not feared, but nobody really appreciates him. The real appreciation is for the strong who don't immediately use their strength. Regrettably, the Israel Defense Forces once again looks like the neighborhood bully. A soldier was abducted in Gaza? All of Gaza will pay. Eight soldiers are killed and two abducted to Lebanon? All of Lebanon will pay. One and only one language is spoken by Israel, the language of force.
The war that the IDF has now declared on Lebanon and before it on Gaza, will never be considered another "war of no choice." Let's save that debate from the historians. This is unequivocally a war of choice. The IDF absorbed two painful blows, which were particularly humiliating, and in their wake went into a war that is all about restoring its lost dignity, which on our side is called "restoring deterrent capabilities." Neither in Lebanon nor certainly in Gaza, can anyone formulate the real goals of the war, so nobody knows for sure what will be considered victory or an achievement. Are we at war in Lebanon? With Hezbollah? Nobody knows for sure. If the goal is to remove Hezbollah from the border, did we try hard enough over the last two years through diplomatic channels? And what's the connection between destroying half of Lebanon and that goal? Everyone agrees that "something must be done." Everyone agrees that a sovereign state cannot remain silent when it is attacked within its own borders, though in Israel's eyes Lebanese sovereignty was always subject to trampling, but why should that non-silence be expressed solely by an immediate and all-out blow?
In Gaza, a soldier is abducted from the army of a state that frequently abducts civilians from their homes and locks them up for years with or without a trial - but only we're allowed to do that. And only we're allowed to bomb civilian population centers.
The painful steps taken in Gaza, which included dropping a one-ton bomb on a residential building, or killing an entire family of seven children under cover of darkness in Lebanon, killing dozens of residents, bombing an airport, cutting off electricity and water to hundreds of thousands of people for months were a response lacking any justification, legitimacy or proportion. What goal did it serve? Was the soldier released? Did the Qassams stop? Was deterrence restored? None of that happened. Only lost honor was supposedly restored, and immediately the next evil wind showed up, this time from the north.
Two more soldiers were abducted and it was clearly proven that the deterrent power was not restored, while IDF failures repeated themselves. How does one erase those searing failures? On the backs of innocent populations. In Lebanon, the situation is more complicated. There is no Israeli occupation and no justification for provoking Israel. If Hezbollah is so worried about its Palestinian brethren, it should have first of all done something for the hundreds of thousands of refugees living in camps in Lebanon in conditions that are just as bad as those under the Israeli occupation, before it grabbed soldiers in their name.
But does the fact that Hezbollah is a cynical organization that exploits the misery of Palestinians for its own purposes justify the disproportionate reaction? The concept that we have totally forgotten is proportionality. While we're in no hurry to get to the negotiating table, we're eager to get to the battlefield and the killing without delay, without taking any time to think. That deepens suspicions that we need a war every few years, with terrifying repetition, even if afterward we end up back in exactly the same position.
The war we declared on Lebanon has already exacted from us, and of course from Lebanon, too, a heavy price. Did anyone give any thought to the question whether it should be paid?
Everyone knows how this war begins, but does anyone know how it ends? Heavy casualties in the Israeli rear? A war with Syria? A general war? Is it all worth it? Look what a new rookie government can do in such a short time.
Behind the operations in Lebanon and Gaza is the same foolish idea about pressure on the population leading to political changes that Israel wants. In the history of the Israeli-Arab conflict, that concept has only led us from one disaster to the next. We "cleansed" southern Lebanon of Palestinians in 1982, and what did we get? Hezbollahstan instead of Fatahland. Hamas won't fall because Gaza is in the dark, and not even because we bombed the Palestinian Foreign Ministry building at the weekend - another nonsensical move; Hezbollah won't be smashed because the international airport in Beirut has been put out of commission.
Israel once again is not distinguishing between a justified war against Hezbollah and an unjust and unwise war against the Lebanese nation. The camouflage concealing the war's real goals was ripped off by this defense minister, who says what he means: "Nasrallah is going to get it so bad that he will never forget the name Amir Peretz," he bragged, like a typical bully. Now at least we know that Israel went to war so that the name Amir Peretz is never forgotten. It's the war for the perpetuation of the name Peretz and the blurring of Dan Halutz's failures. And to hell with the cost.
Wooster Does it Again
This pictures was found on Wooster Collective check out their site for more great street art.
The sticker says: "Your conversation is being monitored by the U.S. government courtesy of the US Patriot Act of 2001. Sec. 216 of which permits all phone calls to be recorded without a warrant or notification."
Photo snapped by Chris on High Street in Columbus, OH. Source: CrimethInc
The sticker says: "Your conversation is being monitored by the U.S. government courtesy of the US Patriot Act of 2001. Sec. 216 of which permits all phone calls to be recorded without a warrant or notification."
Photo snapped by Chris on High Street in Columbus, OH. Source: CrimethInc
Summer Rain
I found this on From Gaza, With Love it was written by Mona El-Farra. Please check out her Blog, she seems to be a very brave, smart and dedicated woman:
Since the capture of the Israeli soldier, Gilad Shalit, the Gaza Strip has been subjected to a large scale military operation, what Israel calls SummerRain. Because Israel bombed our power plant, and we need electricity to pumpwater, most of Gaza now has no access to drinking water. In the heat of oursummer, rain would be a blessing.
To the outside world it might seem like an easy decision for Palestinians:let the soldier go and the siege will end. Yet for us Gazans, even in theface of this extreme violence, another decision comes, not with ease, butwith resolve. Shalit is one solider who was captured in a military operation. Today, 122 Palestinian women and 400 children under 16, are inside Israeli prisons. They deserve their freedom no less than Shalit. Their families mourn their absence no less than his family. So while we suffer Israel's Summer Rain, most Gazans, want the soldier held - not harmed, only held -- until our women and children are released.
We will pay a high price, long after the bombing has stopped. I am already starting to lose track of days and nights, of how many bombs have dropped. Since the main power plant was destroyed, we have had to live with no electricity. What we get is patchy, an hour or two at most, just enough to recharge our laptops and mobile phones so that we do not lost all touch with
each other and with the outside world.
As a physician, I fear for the hospitals, for our patients. Twenty-two hospitals have no electricity at all. They have to rely on generators. But the generators need fuel to run and our fuel supplies are running dangerously low. We have enough for a few days at most. But our borders are completely sealed so no fuel can get in. Hundreds of operations have been postponed. The lives of patients on life support machines, children in intensive care, renal dialysis patients and others are threatened because there is no power. Our pharmacies were already nearly empty because of the closed borders and economic sanctions inflicted on us. What little supplies were left have gone bad because they needed to be refrigerated.
More than 30,000 children suffer from malnutrition today, and this number will increase as diarrhea spreads because of the limited supply of good clean water and high rates of food contamination.
As a mother, I fear for our children. I can see the effects of the continuous sonic booming and artillery shelling on my daughter. She is 13 years old and she is restless, panicked. She is afraid to go out, yet frustrated because she can't see her friends. When the Israeli planes break the sound barrier, which they do at all times of the day and night, the sound is terrifying. My bed shakes tremendously. My daughter usually jumps into bed with me, shivering with fear. Then both of us end up crouching on the floor. My heart races, yet I need to pacify my daughter, to make her feel safe. Now she knows that we need to pacify each other. She feels my fear. When the bombs sound, I flinch and scream. I can't help myself. I
am a doctor, a mature, middle-aged woman. But with the sonic booming, I become hysterical. I am only human after all, and we all have our threshold for fear and pain.
This aggression will leave scars on the psychology of our children for years to come. Instilling feelings of fear, anger and loss in our children will not bring peace and security to Israelis.
Many of us in Gaza believe that Israel's Summer Rain was pre-planned, that Shalit's capture is being used as a pretense. Israel attacked Gaza within hours of a national consensus accord signed by Fatah and Hamas, an accord that could have led to negotiations between Palestinians and Israelis. Yet Israel knows that for negotiations to succeed it would have to give up its
desire to maintain control of Palestinian land and resources. We in Gaza believe that the goal of Israel's military campaign against us is not Shalit's release. The goal is to bring down our elected government and to destroy our infrastructure, and with it our will to secure our national rights, even on the small pieces of land that remain to us. Though we do not now live with ease, we live with resolve. Until the world pressures Israel to recognize our rights in our land, and to pursue a peace that gives freedom and security to both peoples, we both will continue to pay the price.
Since the capture of the Israeli soldier, Gilad Shalit, the Gaza Strip has been subjected to a large scale military operation, what Israel calls SummerRain. Because Israel bombed our power plant, and we need electricity to pumpwater, most of Gaza now has no access to drinking water. In the heat of oursummer, rain would be a blessing.
To the outside world it might seem like an easy decision for Palestinians:let the soldier go and the siege will end. Yet for us Gazans, even in theface of this extreme violence, another decision comes, not with ease, butwith resolve. Shalit is one solider who was captured in a military operation. Today, 122 Palestinian women and 400 children under 16, are inside Israeli prisons. They deserve their freedom no less than Shalit. Their families mourn their absence no less than his family. So while we suffer Israel's Summer Rain, most Gazans, want the soldier held - not harmed, only held -- until our women and children are released.
We will pay a high price, long after the bombing has stopped. I am already starting to lose track of days and nights, of how many bombs have dropped. Since the main power plant was destroyed, we have had to live with no electricity. What we get is patchy, an hour or two at most, just enough to recharge our laptops and mobile phones so that we do not lost all touch with
each other and with the outside world.
As a physician, I fear for the hospitals, for our patients. Twenty-two hospitals have no electricity at all. They have to rely on generators. But the generators need fuel to run and our fuel supplies are running dangerously low. We have enough for a few days at most. But our borders are completely sealed so no fuel can get in. Hundreds of operations have been postponed. The lives of patients on life support machines, children in intensive care, renal dialysis patients and others are threatened because there is no power. Our pharmacies were already nearly empty because of the closed borders and economic sanctions inflicted on us. What little supplies were left have gone bad because they needed to be refrigerated.
More than 30,000 children suffer from malnutrition today, and this number will increase as diarrhea spreads because of the limited supply of good clean water and high rates of food contamination.
As a mother, I fear for our children. I can see the effects of the continuous sonic booming and artillery shelling on my daughter. She is 13 years old and she is restless, panicked. She is afraid to go out, yet frustrated because she can't see her friends. When the Israeli planes break the sound barrier, which they do at all times of the day and night, the sound is terrifying. My bed shakes tremendously. My daughter usually jumps into bed with me, shivering with fear. Then both of us end up crouching on the floor. My heart races, yet I need to pacify my daughter, to make her feel safe. Now she knows that we need to pacify each other. She feels my fear. When the bombs sound, I flinch and scream. I can't help myself. I
am a doctor, a mature, middle-aged woman. But with the sonic booming, I become hysterical. I am only human after all, and we all have our threshold for fear and pain.
This aggression will leave scars on the psychology of our children for years to come. Instilling feelings of fear, anger and loss in our children will not bring peace and security to Israelis.
Many of us in Gaza believe that Israel's Summer Rain was pre-planned, that Shalit's capture is being used as a pretense. Israel attacked Gaza within hours of a national consensus accord signed by Fatah and Hamas, an accord that could have led to negotiations between Palestinians and Israelis. Yet Israel knows that for negotiations to succeed it would have to give up its
desire to maintain control of Palestinian land and resources. We in Gaza believe that the goal of Israel's military campaign against us is not Shalit's release. The goal is to bring down our elected government and to destroy our infrastructure, and with it our will to secure our national rights, even on the small pieces of land that remain to us. Though we do not now live with ease, we live with resolve. Until the world pressures Israel to recognize our rights in our land, and to pursue a peace that gives freedom and security to both peoples, we both will continue to pay the price.
July 16, 2006
Israel Is Insane
I can no longer remain silent on the Israeli War in Lebanon. Everyday, I sit and watch the news, then I read more accounts on the Internet, and I feel sick with disdain for what is happening. I remember reading about the first time Israel invaded Lebanon in 1982, wondering how the world could sit back and let “The Bulldozer” Ariel Sharon orchestrate the massacres of tens of thousand of people in refugee camps, but now that I am actually living it, I feel more helpless.
I read somewhere that the definition of insanity is when one attempts to get different results by committing the same act. So by that definition Israel must be insane. Since its inception they have wanted to eliminate terrorist forces by collectively punishing who ever they deem responsible, thus creating more the very terrorist they are trying to destroy. I could sit here and write about the atrocities that occurred back in 1982, but I will recommend the book Fateful Triangle by Noam Chomsky to do that. Instead, I want to explore the idea whether Israel really wants peace or not.
Karl Marx said that the ideas of the ruling party become the ideas of the world. And nowhere is that more apparent than watching CNN and BCC. The idea of Israel as victim is being played out at farcical repetition, as one of the most powerful military forces in the world systemically cripples a nation and kills civilians, they are being lauded as the victim.
Could you imagine if Basque separatist from France kidnapped two Spanish soldiers and Spain subsequently bombard the airport in Paris as well as power stations, roads, and major bridges. What would the world do?
Sorry, I let my emotions get the better of me. The question I asked earlier is if Israel, the victim, truly wants peace, what are they doing about it? Peace cannot be achieved through force. Violence is the antithesis of peace. The actions of the state of Israel are not of a nation who wants peace, but one who needs to go to some anger management classes. It seems that the War on Terror has simply become Terror.
I may be simplifying the issue, but I think it is important to ask ourselves, what are the root causes of terrorism? Why are Hezbollah and Hamas so popular? And more importantly why doesn’t Israel learn that no amount of force will eradicate the causes of why people are angry. Let’s say they destroy every member of Hezbollah, if that is their true intentions, can they not see that another force will replace them. There will be no peace until there is justice. If we want to eradicate terrorism, we must enter Gaza and Southern Lebanon, not with tanks but with hope. Israel needs to help rebuild Gaza and give it support. Help educate the masses, give them opportunities, give them jobs, not wall them into highly dense ghettos and refugee camps.
Peace begins with the desire to help your enemy not destroy them. I am not a religious man, but I think Jesus said something about loving your enemy. Members of the Israeli government come on the TV and say that any democracy in the world would defend itself, and all they want is peace, but I ask how can this be achieved when you are waging a war on two fronts.
Yes, the kidnapping of the three soldiers is a crime, but so is holding of thousands of Palestinian prisoners for years with no trials. And does the “kidnapping’ of soldiers on a highly militarized border, justify the destruction of an entire country. Over 100 innocent Lebanese civilians have already been killed. Not to mention the thousands of people scarred by the nature of war. It is easy for us to sit here and watch what is happening on the news, but imagine being a child in Beirut. Israel needs to take a long hard look in the mirror and see what it wants to achieve with these acts of state terrorism. Because as we speak there are young men, fuming with anger as their homes are destroyed, ready to join what ever force that will avenge their fallen brothers. Would they not be better served as friends?
I claim that Israel does not want peace. The people may want a solution but their government is betraying their wishes. They are still clinging to the idea of the greater Israel as drawn up by the early Zionist architects. The people of Israel are being used by greater powers to bring Syria and Iran into a larger war to redraw the Middle East. I for one am tired of the Israeli government playing the victim, only to lash out with extreme state terrorism, at innocent people not responsible for the crime of the day. If Israel wants peace it must find a new way of achieving it, bombing your neighbors doesn’t seem to be working.
I read somewhere that the definition of insanity is when one attempts to get different results by committing the same act. So by that definition Israel must be insane. Since its inception they have wanted to eliminate terrorist forces by collectively punishing who ever they deem responsible, thus creating more the very terrorist they are trying to destroy. I could sit here and write about the atrocities that occurred back in 1982, but I will recommend the book Fateful Triangle by Noam Chomsky to do that. Instead, I want to explore the idea whether Israel really wants peace or not.
Karl Marx said that the ideas of the ruling party become the ideas of the world. And nowhere is that more apparent than watching CNN and BCC. The idea of Israel as victim is being played out at farcical repetition, as one of the most powerful military forces in the world systemically cripples a nation and kills civilians, they are being lauded as the victim.
Could you imagine if Basque separatist from France kidnapped two Spanish soldiers and Spain subsequently bombard the airport in Paris as well as power stations, roads, and major bridges. What would the world do?
Sorry, I let my emotions get the better of me. The question I asked earlier is if Israel, the victim, truly wants peace, what are they doing about it? Peace cannot be achieved through force. Violence is the antithesis of peace. The actions of the state of Israel are not of a nation who wants peace, but one who needs to go to some anger management classes. It seems that the War on Terror has simply become Terror.
I may be simplifying the issue, but I think it is important to ask ourselves, what are the root causes of terrorism? Why are Hezbollah and Hamas so popular? And more importantly why doesn’t Israel learn that no amount of force will eradicate the causes of why people are angry. Let’s say they destroy every member of Hezbollah, if that is their true intentions, can they not see that another force will replace them. There will be no peace until there is justice. If we want to eradicate terrorism, we must enter Gaza and Southern Lebanon, not with tanks but with hope. Israel needs to help rebuild Gaza and give it support. Help educate the masses, give them opportunities, give them jobs, not wall them into highly dense ghettos and refugee camps.
Peace begins with the desire to help your enemy not destroy them. I am not a religious man, but I think Jesus said something about loving your enemy. Members of the Israeli government come on the TV and say that any democracy in the world would defend itself, and all they want is peace, but I ask how can this be achieved when you are waging a war on two fronts.
Yes, the kidnapping of the three soldiers is a crime, but so is holding of thousands of Palestinian prisoners for years with no trials. And does the “kidnapping’ of soldiers on a highly militarized border, justify the destruction of an entire country. Over 100 innocent Lebanese civilians have already been killed. Not to mention the thousands of people scarred by the nature of war. It is easy for us to sit here and watch what is happening on the news, but imagine being a child in Beirut. Israel needs to take a long hard look in the mirror and see what it wants to achieve with these acts of state terrorism. Because as we speak there are young men, fuming with anger as their homes are destroyed, ready to join what ever force that will avenge their fallen brothers. Would they not be better served as friends?
I claim that Israel does not want peace. The people may want a solution but their government is betraying their wishes. They are still clinging to the idea of the greater Israel as drawn up by the early Zionist architects. The people of Israel are being used by greater powers to bring Syria and Iran into a larger war to redraw the Middle East. I for one am tired of the Israeli government playing the victim, only to lash out with extreme state terrorism, at innocent people not responsible for the crime of the day. If Israel wants peace it must find a new way of achieving it, bombing your neighbors doesn’t seem to be working.
Baby Mania to leave Intrepid Flame
As you may have noticed, Intrepid Flame has been taken over by Baby Mania. While this time is beyond exciting for me, I do not want this blog to spread itself too thin. With the whole poetry/art aspect and the politics, I feel that there is no room for baby here at the Flame. But as you all know, I am not so callous as to ignore my primal paternal instincts. Seeing that my little one is on my mind 24/7, I have established a place all her own.
It is meant to be a place where I can share pictures and stories with friends and family, but since many of the readers here at Intrepid Fame have shared their well wishes, I thought I would let you take a peak into her life as well. If you have any parental advice please feel free to leave it there.
Time permitting, I will try and return to some un-baby related posts here at the Flame. This whole Israeli War is wreaking havoc on my mentality stability at the moment. I find myself seething with anger as I watch them destroy a sovereign nation as the world does nothing, one moment, and then I am cooing and cawing Kaia the next. It is surreal, but hey this is the complex world of human emotions.
In the mean time, if the world is getting too hard too take, stop of at Dear Kaia
It is meant to be a place where I can share pictures and stories with friends and family, but since many of the readers here at Intrepid Fame have shared their well wishes, I thought I would let you take a peak into her life as well. If you have any parental advice please feel free to leave it there.
Time permitting, I will try and return to some un-baby related posts here at the Flame. This whole Israeli War is wreaking havoc on my mentality stability at the moment. I find myself seething with anger as I watch them destroy a sovereign nation as the world does nothing, one moment, and then I am cooing and cawing Kaia the next. It is surreal, but hey this is the complex world of human emotions.
In the mean time, if the world is getting too hard too take, stop of at Dear Kaia
July 14, 2006
Poetry Thursday- July 13th
This weeks Poetry Thursday asked:
To find humor in poetry. Perhaps you chose to approach this idea by sharing a funny poem that you love or introducing others to a poet whose work is humorous. Or maybe you wrote a humorous poem yourself — or one that has an element of humor to it.
After spending some time thinking about what I find funny, I was left blank. So I let my mind drift and fall wherever it felt comfortable. With the news of the impeding war Israel is launching in Lebanon, the train terrorism in India, and the war in Iraq as the backdrop to the birth of my daughter, I felt overwhelmed with emotions. So I wrote this poem. Is it funny? I am not sure. It feels strange to be so happy and content, but then to hear the news. It all feels absurd, and absurdity is one of the definitions of humor? Is it not?
hu·mor
sometimes it all pours in at once.
someone asks for something laughable
something amusing;
somewhere armies advance
bombs drop
induce laughter
a voice pleas:
amidst her screaming
she shits all over my leg.
sometimes it all pours in at once.
someone asks for something laughable
something amusing;
somewhere the trains explode
ear drums shatter
perceive,
enjoy,
express what is amusing:
she squints in sun light
and jams thumb into mouth.
sometimes it all pours in at once.
someone asks for something laughable
something amusing;
somewhere the ground shakes
voices break down doors
it’s comical,
incongruous,
absurd
this temporary state of mind.
this sudden, unanticipated whim.
makes us laugh
not knowing if we should.
Author’s note: I just wanted to state that I realize that 2% of poetry is inspiration and magic, while 98% is hard work, revising, revising and revising. The poems I post here for Poetry Thursday are not finished products, but first thought best thought first drafts. I hope to use this forum to motivate me to produce drafts that I can work with to produce better crafted work. I would appreciate any comments and feel free to critique actually craft points, such as word choice, rhythm, tone etc... Please be constructive about what works and what doesn’t work, but please keep in mind these poems are not meant to be read as finished work. I would appreciate if you would stay polite, but I don’t always need to hear the poem is “good” or “bad” please try and tell me why. Thanks in advance; I am so excited to be a part of this forum.
To find humor in poetry. Perhaps you chose to approach this idea by sharing a funny poem that you love or introducing others to a poet whose work is humorous. Or maybe you wrote a humorous poem yourself — or one that has an element of humor to it.
After spending some time thinking about what I find funny, I was left blank. So I let my mind drift and fall wherever it felt comfortable. With the news of the impeding war Israel is launching in Lebanon, the train terrorism in India, and the war in Iraq as the backdrop to the birth of my daughter, I felt overwhelmed with emotions. So I wrote this poem. Is it funny? I am not sure. It feels strange to be so happy and content, but then to hear the news. It all feels absurd, and absurdity is one of the definitions of humor? Is it not?
hu·mor
sometimes it all pours in at once.
someone asks for something laughable
something amusing;
somewhere armies advance
bombs drop
induce laughter
a voice pleas:
amidst her screaming
she shits all over my leg.
sometimes it all pours in at once.
someone asks for something laughable
something amusing;
somewhere the trains explode
ear drums shatter
perceive,
enjoy,
express what is amusing:
she squints in sun light
and jams thumb into mouth.
sometimes it all pours in at once.
someone asks for something laughable
something amusing;
somewhere the ground shakes
voices break down doors
it’s comical,
incongruous,
absurd
this temporary state of mind.
this sudden, unanticipated whim.
makes us laugh
not knowing if we should.
Author’s note: I just wanted to state that I realize that 2% of poetry is inspiration and magic, while 98% is hard work, revising, revising and revising. The poems I post here for Poetry Thursday are not finished products, but first thought best thought first drafts. I hope to use this forum to motivate me to produce drafts that I can work with to produce better crafted work. I would appreciate any comments and feel free to critique actually craft points, such as word choice, rhythm, tone etc... Please be constructive about what works and what doesn’t work, but please keep in mind these poems are not meant to be read as finished work. I would appreciate if you would stay polite, but I don’t always need to hear the poem is “good” or “bad” please try and tell me why. Thanks in advance; I am so excited to be a part of this forum.
July 13, 2006
Self-Portrait as_________Week Two:
The moment that will apparently change my life forever has finally come, and it has already changed it dramatically. My first child, a beautiful little girl, was born this last Saturday, and I am a new dad. People are right, this feeling is like nothing I have ever experienced before. The love, the worry, the fear, the warmth, the comfort all wrapped up in a crying, farting, spitting, cooing, little bundle is both overwhelming, but also very satisfying. So for this weeks challenge I have submitted:
My Self-Portrait as a new dad!
I hope to start a new blog soon with my thoughts and experiences on fatherhood. But in the meantime, I spend much of my time either changing diapers, walking around shhhing, or simply staring at this new miracle.
To see other people's portraits click here
My Self-Portrait as a new dad!
I hope to start a new blog soon with my thoughts and experiences on fatherhood. But in the meantime, I spend much of my time either changing diapers, walking around shhhing, or simply staring at this new miracle.
To see other people's portraits click here
July 9, 2006
July 6, 2006
Poetry Thursday
Another great site I have found to keep me motivated and inspired to produce some artwork is Poetry Thursday. For more info on this project check out the link in the side bar. In the mean time here is my first poem:
consequence
it is worrisome to consider
we are no more than these words.
beyond their meanings
animated flesh
gradually failing
evaporating dusk
becoming night
within this verse
we smolder
ready to burn
consequence
it is worrisome to consider
we are no more than these words.
beyond their meanings
animated flesh
gradually failing
evaporating dusk
becoming night
within this verse
we smolder
ready to burn
Self Portrait Challenge
I recently found this great site called Self Portrait Challenge. For more info click here or check out the link in the side bar.
My first challenge is: Self portrait as … [insert word here - a metaphor for your life]
I chose Self Portrait as selfless
I have recently been reading a lot about the idea of selflessness. I don’t mean selfless as in generous or kind, but the idea of no self, the idea that neither our bodies, minds, feelings nor perceptions are separate, that we, all beings, are in fact one large self. We suffer when we try to separate ourselves from each other and claim to have an independent self.
One includes all, and all include one.
This portrait is me as all and all as me, in the form of this tree in my backyard:
My first challenge is: Self portrait as … [insert word here - a metaphor for your life]
I chose Self Portrait as selfless
I have recently been reading a lot about the idea of selflessness. I don’t mean selfless as in generous or kind, but the idea of no self, the idea that neither our bodies, minds, feelings nor perceptions are separate, that we, all beings, are in fact one large self. We suffer when we try to separate ourselves from each other and claim to have an independent self.
One includes all, and all include one.
This portrait is me as all and all as me, in the form of this tree in my backyard:
July 4, 2006
Posting For Peace
In any struggle, you need determination and patience. This determination will dissipate if you lack peace. Those who lead a life of social action especially need to practice mindfulness during each moment of daily life.
Peace and compassion go hand in hand with understanding and non-discrimination. We choose one thing over another when we discriminate. With they eyes of compassion, we can look at all of living reality at once. A compassionate person sees himself or herself in every being. With the ability to view reality from many viewpoints, we can overcome all viewpoints and act compassionately in each situation. This is the highest meaning of the word reconciliation.
Reconciliation does not mean to sign an agreement with duplicity and cruelty. Reconciliation opposes all forms of ambition, without taking sides. Most if us want to take sides in each encounter or conflict. We distinguish right from wrong based on partial evidence gathered directly or by propaganda or hearsay. We need indignation in order to act, but indignation alone is not enough, even righteous, legitimate indignation. Our world does not lack people willing to throw themselves into action. What we need are people who are capable of loving, of not taking sides so that they can embrace the whole of reality.
Thich Nhat Hanh
This post is in affiliation with Posting for Peace@ Glenda In the Land of Oz
She said: I would like to invite all of you who support ending the war to join with me (and others that I hope to arm wrestle) to join in a project I call Posting for Peace.
Just put Posting for Peace in your headline banner on the 4th of July and write something about why you are against the war, or post a drawing, or a photo. Whatever peace means to you. Be creative!
Please let me know if you are interested in this and I'll add your link to my post.
I post for peace for her:
Peace and compassion go hand in hand with understanding and non-discrimination. We choose one thing over another when we discriminate. With they eyes of compassion, we can look at all of living reality at once. A compassionate person sees himself or herself in every being. With the ability to view reality from many viewpoints, we can overcome all viewpoints and act compassionately in each situation. This is the highest meaning of the word reconciliation.
Reconciliation does not mean to sign an agreement with duplicity and cruelty. Reconciliation opposes all forms of ambition, without taking sides. Most if us want to take sides in each encounter or conflict. We distinguish right from wrong based on partial evidence gathered directly or by propaganda or hearsay. We need indignation in order to act, but indignation alone is not enough, even righteous, legitimate indignation. Our world does not lack people willing to throw themselves into action. What we need are people who are capable of loving, of not taking sides so that they can embrace the whole of reality.
Thich Nhat Hanh
This post is in affiliation with Posting for Peace@ Glenda In the Land of Oz
She said: I would like to invite all of you who support ending the war to join with me (and others that I hope to arm wrestle) to join in a project I call Posting for Peace.
Just put Posting for Peace in your headline banner on the 4th of July and write something about why you are against the war, or post a drawing, or a photo. Whatever peace means to you. Be creative!
Please let me know if you are interested in this and I'll add your link to my post.
I post for peace for her:
Happy Birthday America
It’s Fourth of July morning, and I am not on a long weekend holiday or at a huge barbeque. I am, in fact, in Kuala Lumpur; my wife is asleep, and today is the due date of our first child, however the doctor thinks she will be late. Although, I moved away from the States because I cannot handle living in the land of the free right now, there are things I love about “home.” In the spirit of positivity and good will, I have decided rather than write up a scathing post about the evils of America, I would instead make a list of the things that make me love her. So many people have accused me of hating America, because I am constantly pointing out the brutal actions of its government that I often need to demonstrate why I love the place.
Here’s why I love ya’. (This list is no particular order)
The freedom:
to read anything,
say anything,
be anyone,
dress in any way.
San Francisco
Henry Miller
Jack Kerouac
Malcom X
Tie Dye
John Steinbeck
Sunday mornings during football season
Live music
Bob Dylan
Berkeley
Miles Davis
mid-week day baseball games
NYC soft pretzels
Abbie Hoffman
Eugene Debbs
Americans tend to be very frank and unpretentious
Fredrick Douglas
Hunter S. Thompson
Hip-Hop
National parks and wide-open spaces
Every time I meet an American overseas, it feels like we share a secret. We are both proud and guilty at the same time. Whatever the emotion, I feel connected. That feels nice.
Charles Bukowski
The Beat Generation
Martin Luther King
Stanley Kubrick
Jimi Hendrix
When I walk the streets I feel like I own the place, where as when in foreign countries I have to worry not to offend
Tupac Shakur
Rock N’ Roll
Donuts
New York City
Star Wars
Most people know how to drive and are courteous (Try driving in Asia!)
Slurpees
There are toys in the cereal
I can say that George W. Bush is a total idiot and not be executed (not yet at least)
Redwood Trees
Big Sur
Broadway
Jazz
The Blues
Stand-Up Comedy
NYC subway
Les Paul guitars
Writing this list proved to be much more difficult than I thought. I tried to find things about authentic American culture that I can relate to, but it seems to be getting more and more difficult. Seeing that I am a vegetarian, pacifist, things like BBQ’s and Nascar seem superficial and insubstantial. So many facets of our culture seem commercial and/or militaristic. But I wanted this to be a positive post so I digress.
I have driven across the nation on two occasions, and I have seen a lot of the culture has to offer, both good and bad. But as I sit here in Malaysia, after two years of being away from her shores, I can honestly say that I miss the feeling of walking the streets of New York or San Francisco. At the end of the day those places show us that there is a hope for us as a nation. They show us what America could be. I do not take pride in our nations ignorance, arrogance, or our bigger means better mentality, but America is more than that. The very progressive ideals of places like San Francisco and New York City are what make America whole.
What my list proves is that the thing I love most about America is the fact that I am free to defy America. The freedom of dissent is what truly makes America a beautiful place. The fact that there is not only one culture, but that there are many, and we are trying to make this nation work together is a beautiful thing. This is our America too. So while the red states wave their flags, cheer the president, and stuff their faces with beef, on this our nation’s birthday, I applaud the fact that we, the thorn in their sides, have a stake in this land too. It is our nation too, and we will fight for her. We will speak out when we see injustice because we believe in the idea that all men are created equal. We believe in liberty and justice for all. We will walk the streets: tattooed and pierced, gay and straight, black and white, burning the flag, chanting THIS IS WHAT DEMOCRAY LOOKS LIKE. Because we are Americans too and we can. Our freedom cannot be defended with a machine gun, but with our voices and our refusal to silence them. Until those rights are taken from us, I will not give up on America.
Happy Birthday America! I will not be home any time soon, because the world is too big a place to explore, but your dream is safe in my heart. One day I hope we can make it come true.
Here’s why I love ya’. (This list is no particular order)
The freedom:
to read anything,
say anything,
be anyone,
dress in any way.
San Francisco
Henry Miller
Jack Kerouac
Malcom X
Tie Dye
John Steinbeck
Sunday mornings during football season
Live music
Bob Dylan
Berkeley
Miles Davis
mid-week day baseball games
NYC soft pretzels
Abbie Hoffman
Eugene Debbs
Americans tend to be very frank and unpretentious
Fredrick Douglas
Hunter S. Thompson
Hip-Hop
National parks and wide-open spaces
Every time I meet an American overseas, it feels like we share a secret. We are both proud and guilty at the same time. Whatever the emotion, I feel connected. That feels nice.
Charles Bukowski
The Beat Generation
Martin Luther King
Stanley Kubrick
Jimi Hendrix
When I walk the streets I feel like I own the place, where as when in foreign countries I have to worry not to offend
Tupac Shakur
Rock N’ Roll
Donuts
New York City
Star Wars
Most people know how to drive and are courteous (Try driving in Asia!)
Slurpees
There are toys in the cereal
I can say that George W. Bush is a total idiot and not be executed (not yet at least)
Redwood Trees
Big Sur
Broadway
Jazz
The Blues
Stand-Up Comedy
NYC subway
Les Paul guitars
Writing this list proved to be much more difficult than I thought. I tried to find things about authentic American culture that I can relate to, but it seems to be getting more and more difficult. Seeing that I am a vegetarian, pacifist, things like BBQ’s and Nascar seem superficial and insubstantial. So many facets of our culture seem commercial and/or militaristic. But I wanted this to be a positive post so I digress.
I have driven across the nation on two occasions, and I have seen a lot of the culture has to offer, both good and bad. But as I sit here in Malaysia, after two years of being away from her shores, I can honestly say that I miss the feeling of walking the streets of New York or San Francisco. At the end of the day those places show us that there is a hope for us as a nation. They show us what America could be. I do not take pride in our nations ignorance, arrogance, or our bigger means better mentality, but America is more than that. The very progressive ideals of places like San Francisco and New York City are what make America whole.
What my list proves is that the thing I love most about America is the fact that I am free to defy America. The freedom of dissent is what truly makes America a beautiful place. The fact that there is not only one culture, but that there are many, and we are trying to make this nation work together is a beautiful thing. This is our America too. So while the red states wave their flags, cheer the president, and stuff their faces with beef, on this our nation’s birthday, I applaud the fact that we, the thorn in their sides, have a stake in this land too. It is our nation too, and we will fight for her. We will speak out when we see injustice because we believe in the idea that all men are created equal. We believe in liberty and justice for all. We will walk the streets: tattooed and pierced, gay and straight, black and white, burning the flag, chanting THIS IS WHAT DEMOCRAY LOOKS LIKE. Because we are Americans too and we can. Our freedom cannot be defended with a machine gun, but with our voices and our refusal to silence them. Until those rights are taken from us, I will not give up on America.
Happy Birthday America! I will not be home any time soon, because the world is too big a place to explore, but your dream is safe in my heart. One day I hope we can make it come true.
July 2, 2006
Ability To Analyze
I recently received the following comment:
You tend to really analyze this stuff and give both sides of the story. That's rare in the blogosphere anymore.
I was so pleased that I felt the need to expand on the thought further:
This ability to analyze did not come easily. I have spent years ranting and raving against what I perceived to be a monolithic enemy. Years of always aligning myself with a side and arguing for it passionately have left me exhausted. There is nothing easier than having an opinion. Reading blogs has only elucidated this fact for me more clearly. We bloggers take an issue and find the side that feels right for us and align ourselves with like-minded individuals, but we lose touch with why the issue was important in the first place.
In the past I constantly found myself becoming extremely attached to my opinions. I still do it some extent, but now I am trying to see what arguments look like from the other side. If we do not practice arguing both sides of an argument, our own arguments will become insulated and ineffective. There is nothing easier to sit here and say that I am:
Pro-choice
Anti-War
Vegetarian
Anti-business
Socialist
Anti-death penalty
Non-violent
The list is endless...we always end up on a side, if we allow ourselves to.
But only choosing a side does nothing to bring about change. We must expect more from our values, and the only way to do this is to allow ourselves to see other people’s points of view. Anything else is insecurity. The hardest part of being open-minded is that most people do not return the favor, and so we become frustrated and defensive. But we feel that our thoughts have merit and can stand on their own, then we shouldn’t feel the need to defend them.
Something, I have found extremely useful in not becoming entrenched in my own mind is that I am starting to understand that it is not a good idea to split the world into concepts like right or wrong, or good or bad. Creating this type of dichotomous world only forces us to attach ourselves to a side. We must see the world and the issues in it as a whole. If we feel we are always right, then how can we listen to the other side? But if see the world not as a choice between good and bad, we will see that we can reduce conflict and hopefully work toward cooperation. In order to achieve this collaboration, we need understanding. And understanding comes from listening and not choosing a side.
It’s funny. I sound quite confident here, but these ideas are very fresh to me too. In fact, I am shaping them as I type now. I guess I am tired of arguing the same points repeatedly. I mean how many times can I debate the Israeli Palestinian conflict? As soon as we feel we are right, the other side becomes wrong. And suddenly every Israeli becomes the enemy. When in fact that should never be the case. It is this type of thinking that brings more conflict. If I were to pick a side, I would pick the Palestinian, but is alignment helping to bring peace to the very people I wish peace for? One has to look and see why the Israelis act the way they do. Just as the Israeli must ask themselves, why is it that men are blowing themselves up on our busses? To truly understand, we must ask question. We may not find answers, but the very act of questioning brings more understanding.
So now what? I am not sure. I guess we simply debate, argue, question, and try to be open-minded. I think on the left we see ourselves as more open-minded, but sometimes it would behoove us to sit back and see exactly how much we are listening. This is not easy, and I am not saying that we should give in and stop the fight against injustice. I am simply saying that I don’t believe the world is in the state it is in because some people are good while others are bad, or that we are right and they are wrong. The world is in the state it is in because we do not listen. We do not understand. I for one am finally starting to understand this very simple lesson. So thank you for noticing my newly found open-mindedness. I hope it lasts. I hope it is contagious.
You tend to really analyze this stuff and give both sides of the story. That's rare in the blogosphere anymore.
I was so pleased that I felt the need to expand on the thought further:
This ability to analyze did not come easily. I have spent years ranting and raving against what I perceived to be a monolithic enemy. Years of always aligning myself with a side and arguing for it passionately have left me exhausted. There is nothing easier than having an opinion. Reading blogs has only elucidated this fact for me more clearly. We bloggers take an issue and find the side that feels right for us and align ourselves with like-minded individuals, but we lose touch with why the issue was important in the first place.
In the past I constantly found myself becoming extremely attached to my opinions. I still do it some extent, but now I am trying to see what arguments look like from the other side. If we do not practice arguing both sides of an argument, our own arguments will become insulated and ineffective. There is nothing easier to sit here and say that I am:
Pro-choice
Anti-War
Vegetarian
Anti-business
Socialist
Anti-death penalty
Non-violent
The list is endless...we always end up on a side, if we allow ourselves to.
But only choosing a side does nothing to bring about change. We must expect more from our values, and the only way to do this is to allow ourselves to see other people’s points of view. Anything else is insecurity. The hardest part of being open-minded is that most people do not return the favor, and so we become frustrated and defensive. But we feel that our thoughts have merit and can stand on their own, then we shouldn’t feel the need to defend them.
Something, I have found extremely useful in not becoming entrenched in my own mind is that I am starting to understand that it is not a good idea to split the world into concepts like right or wrong, or good or bad. Creating this type of dichotomous world only forces us to attach ourselves to a side. We must see the world and the issues in it as a whole. If we feel we are always right, then how can we listen to the other side? But if see the world not as a choice between good and bad, we will see that we can reduce conflict and hopefully work toward cooperation. In order to achieve this collaboration, we need understanding. And understanding comes from listening and not choosing a side.
It’s funny. I sound quite confident here, but these ideas are very fresh to me too. In fact, I am shaping them as I type now. I guess I am tired of arguing the same points repeatedly. I mean how many times can I debate the Israeli Palestinian conflict? As soon as we feel we are right, the other side becomes wrong. And suddenly every Israeli becomes the enemy. When in fact that should never be the case. It is this type of thinking that brings more conflict. If I were to pick a side, I would pick the Palestinian, but is alignment helping to bring peace to the very people I wish peace for? One has to look and see why the Israelis act the way they do. Just as the Israeli must ask themselves, why is it that men are blowing themselves up on our busses? To truly understand, we must ask question. We may not find answers, but the very act of questioning brings more understanding.
So now what? I am not sure. I guess we simply debate, argue, question, and try to be open-minded. I think on the left we see ourselves as more open-minded, but sometimes it would behoove us to sit back and see exactly how much we are listening. This is not easy, and I am not saying that we should give in and stop the fight against injustice. I am simply saying that I don’t believe the world is in the state it is in because some people are good while others are bad, or that we are right and they are wrong. The world is in the state it is in because we do not listen. We do not understand. I for one am finally starting to understand this very simple lesson. So thank you for noticing my newly found open-mindedness. I hope it lasts. I hope it is contagious.
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