This Is Who We Are?

SURELY AMERICA, AND AMERICANS, ARE MORE THAN ONE PRESIDENTIAL VOTE

Photo by Anatol Rurac on Unsplash

“That’s not who we are!”

It may have been the most repeated phrase of political speeches — particularly among Democratic candidates — from the moment Donald Trump was officially named the standard bearer of the Republican party last summer.

The phrase morphed, after the recent election, into a new and perhaps applicable form: “This is who we are.” I heard it repeated, on November 6, in anger and through tears.

But perhaps it’s a little early to declare our national identity. Perhaps we’re still, as we have happily been for centuries, an amalgam of shapes, sizes, colors, opinions and origin stories. Even if a majority of us voted to install, as our leader, a man utterly abhorrent to the rest of us.

Does that mean — because he is a vulgar, misogynistic, narcissistic, adulterous felon incapable of compassion or other human virtues — that we are also defined in those terms? That this is, indeed, Who We Are?

I think not.

Whichever way you voted, you’re still who you were on November 5, right? A regular human being full of contradictions and complexities. That holds true for the American citizenry, as far as I can tell. So the rush to define “us” in one grim-group term is, it seems to me, premature.

recent article in the New York Times bore a headline proclaiming that the victory “tells us who we are.” I respectfully disagree.

Very few Americans voted for Donald Trump because of the characteristics listed above, despite the fact that they are universally known. Here are just a few of the fellow citizens who voted Republican, and why. Some were pictured in the Times story, others are pulled from other reports.

A woman in a hijab believed Trump’s promise that he “will end the Israel-Hamas war.”

A man from storm-damaged Western NC believed Trump will “take better care of citizens who don’t have homes.”

A man in New Orleans voted Republican for the first time in many years, he said, because he blamed the Democrats for letting inflation get out of hand. He acknowledged that he and his wife both held good jobs and were making more money that four years ago (the reporter asked,) but said he felt weighed down by the struggle to get ahead and believed Trump when he said he was “going to fix things.”

A Muslim man in Pennsylvania blamed Biden for enabling Netanyahu’s genocidal actions and thus had to vote for Trump.

A first-time voter in Arizona believed illegal immigrants were going to take away his job, and that Trump would “solve the immigration crisis.”

A woman in Ohio believes that “Ukraine is not our business,” and said Trump “will end that war.”

Another North Carolinian believes Trump will “protect us and keep us out of future wars.”

A woman in Georgia feels vaccine mandates violate personal freedoms.

(Interestingly, I have not yet read of one person who voted Republican out of a desire for a national abortion ban, something I greatly fear.)

Were any of these fellow citizens concerned about our next president’s vulgarity, utter immorality, felony convictions or common cruelties? Just asking such a question would have created hostility in a nanosecond.

But the fact that you and I perceive Donald Trump as unfit and would disagree with most (or all) of the above arguments does not make us ‘better,’ and certainly does not make us ‘right’ in the national eye. It only makes us part of the complicated mix of a democracy.

Democracy really does die in darkness, and it will take all of us to keep the lights on. You and me and every one of the above. Because all together, all of us in the mix — this is Who We Are.

There’s work to do.

Haunted by History on November 6, 2024

REMEMBRANCE, IF YOU’RE OLD ENOUGH, CAN BE PAINFUL

Photo by Kedar Gadge on Unsplash

I was born in 1933. So, rather infamously, was the Third Reich.

Though I was out of the U.S. at the time — busy getting born in Brazil to my educational missionary parents — authoritarianism (German style) and I grew up together. That was about all we had in common; German citizens suffered and died in concentration camps or suffered in lesser ways under tyranny while I enjoyed a carefree childhood in small-town Virginia.

My good fortune was thanks to my parents having realized that a global upheaval was coming and thus given up a life they loved — my dad, helping start a college in Porto Alegre that still exists; my mother, teaching music and dance to preschoolers — to bring their four daughters back to the U.S. I was incredibly lucky to have had those insouciant years.

But here is one of my earliest memories:

My father appeared, in what seemed the middle of the night, beside the double bed I shared with my sister Mimi. We were about 4 and 6. He woke us very gently and carried us, one in either arm, downstairs to where our mother sat in her traditional armchair with her traditional darning. He deposited us at her feet, in front of the Philco radio.

There was crowd noise, cheering I think, crackling from the radio, and voices speaking a language we didn’t understand. My father said, simply, that someone was going to speak, that it was a man who would cause terrible trouble in the world and he wanted us to hear what a madman sounded like. Soon the cheers grew, and the man began to speak.

It was Adolph Hitler.

We listened for probably less than five minutes before we were picked up and returned to our bed; we immediately fell asleep.

I don’t remember the conversations we had at breakfast the next morning and in the days that followed. But I remember understanding the lesson my father wanted us to learn. We didn’t know the words, but we had heard the message. It was a message of anger, hatred and grievance — delivered by a man seeking to take control of his country and the world.

Here is why I am haunted by that memory:

For the past eight years I have heard the same message, this time delivered in a language I understand. Anger, hatred of my fellow citizens — as well as fellow humans seeking refuge — grievance for all things not aligned with the shouter’s own aims. Some sweeping and some incredibly petty. Threats of retribution for those perceived grievances. Vulgarity.

Four years ago I thought it might go away, as I and millions of other Americans chose a kinder, gentler voice.

But rather than ceding power as had peacefully been done since the beginning of our democracy, the would-be autocrat clung to his anger, hatred and grievance. And like the authoritarian nearly a century ago he was able to draw support from countless fellow citizens — good and bad — and to feed the anger and the hatred.

I am braced for four years, should I live so long, of our freedoms being chipped away, our venerable institutions weakened or taken over, our free press silenced, our leader’s perceived enemies punished, our beautiful planet desecrated, our hallowed traditions of decency and accountability demolished. I plan to join forces with all those who will stand against these things happening. But I know, because he’s told us, that such are his plans.

I recognize the voice.

Diwali: Ancient Festival We Need Today

CELEBRATING LIGHT, PEACE AND LOVE

I was invited to join some friends for the San Francisco Brahma Kumaris’ Diwali celebration, and to light a candle for peace.

It strikes me we can use a dose of Diwali in the USA today. The ancient Hindu festival of lights is celebrated by many religions — and my lovely Brahma Kumaris friends always welcome this Presbyterian.

So we listened to songs and soft music on the harp (Sr Kyoko is a spectacular harpist) and we exchanged Om’s and Om Shanti’s (gentle expressions of peace) and shared delicious vegetarian food and a great deal of friendship and hope.

The graceful Victorian home of Brahma Kumaris SF was ablaze in light for the season and the celebration. 

Briefly, Diwali is a reminder that peace is possible, that love wins, and that light will always overcome darkness. Sometimes, notably in times of political upheaval, it’s easy to forget these truths.

Om shanti.

Remembering Dianne Feinstein

SOME OF THE LATE SENATOR’S FAVORITE THINGS GO UP FOR AUCTION

“You really need to come see this,” texted a friend. She was right.

Dianne Feinstein’s jewelry — presumably just a selection of it — and a few paintings, sculptures and pieces of memorabilia will be auctioned on October 8 by Bonham’s in Los Angeles. You might want to bid on something.

I met the late senator several times around town, but we didn’t exactly move in the same circles. When I arrived in San Francisco in 1992, though, some of the earliest tales I was told were of the horrific day in 1978 when Mayor George Moscone was assassinated at City Hall, along with Supervisor Harvey Milk. Feinstein, then President of the Board of Supervisors, made the announcement to the world.

She quickly became San Francisco’s first female Mayor, and was reportedly a very popular one. Despite losing a race for governor in 1990, she soon afterwards (in 1992) became California’s first female senator — and kept that spot, through five re-elections, until her death last year.

Feinstein had an eye for art, and a particular fondness for scenes of the American west. You can pick up one or two on October 8:

(The Hetch Hetchy Valley by Frank Henry Shapleigh; this & all other photos by the Author)

There are also some pretty spectacular jewels in this auction. In 2003, according to her Wikipedia page, Feinstein was ranked the fifth-wealthiest senator, with an estimated net worth of $26 million. The daughter of a prominent surgeon, she was married to neurosurgeon Bertram Feinstein until his death in 1978; two years later she married investment banker Richard Blum.

So I suspect it wasn’t hard for her to afford a few baubles.

Personally, I lean more toward lighter-weight accessorizing, which is probably just as well. I checked out a few prices in the auction catalog; not for the flea market shopper (which I am.) It’s fascinating, though, to see the assortment of jewels the always impeccably dressed senator had at her disposal.

Or to wonder how and where the very rich keep their jewelry. Diamonds in one vault, rubies in another? Pearl earrings in drawer A, necklaces in drawers B and C according to length or number of strands? Emeralds and sapphires below the color-coordination chart perhaps. Turquoise in a separate cabinet set aside for western-wear occasions. Jaw-dropping values aside, it would take the organizational know-how of a true stateswoman — which Feinstein unquestionably was — to keep a collection this vast at the ready for the week ahead.

If I were going to be bidding, however (don’t worry) the bit of memorabilia I might want to take home is this one:

A calligraphic manuscript by Mark Alynn Kokott (#717, hand-lettered) dated October 5, 1984. Est $200-$300.

__________ … __________

Share a thought! While I always love to write, and hope you enjoy the read, it’s often the conversation that’s the best. I hope you’ll scroll down a ways and leave a comment.

Oh the Glory of the Hand-Written Word

POLITICAL OR PERSONAL, HANDWRITING CARRIES ONE HEART TO ANOTHER

(Author photo)

In case you missed it, World Letter Writing Day (not to be confused with December’s National Letter Writing Day) slipped into history for another year on September 1.

Letter writing itself is pretty much history. Gone the way of the stone tablet, the parchment declaration & the delicious — sometimes ominous — pale yellow print-out of Western Union’s peculiar font.

Nothing, though, will ever replace the personality of handwriting — the proper, affectionate warmth of Mom; that assertive, authoritative message from Dad. The handwritten letter brought its writer into your heart.

(Author photo)

Even Activate America and Vote Forward know this. Letters (or postcards) to voters go from your pen to voters’ hearts. Sometimes moving those of a few swing state folks.

Get personal. Get political! Pick up a pen and celebrate the power of handwriting.

Well Chosen Words

A VERY BRIEF OBSERVATION ON THE U.S. SUPREME COURT

. . .AND TIMES WHEN CHIEF JUSTICE ROBERTS DOESN’T GET THE FINAL SAY

Photo by Reuben Juarez on Unsplash

The Supreme Court gets the last word. Usually.

After the court essentially turned presidents into kings with its recent presidential immunity decision, the three dissenters made known just how strongly they dissented. So strongly, in fact, that Chief Justice Roberts chastised them for being — well, dissentious.

Which later brought this rebuke of the Chief Justice by law professor Sherrilynn Ifil (in a conversation with MSNBC’s Rachel Maddow.)

“If you’re burning down the house,” Ifil suggested, “don’t get mad at those who call it arson.”

What You Don’t Know . . . Might Hurt Others

WORD OF THE DAY: ANASAGNOSIA

Photo by Daniele Levis Pelusi on Unsplash

“He doesn’t know he’s sick,” a friend said this morning; “he simply can’t separate fantasy from reality. It’s called anasagnosia.

The friend was referring to a politician who will remain nameless, but I think it may be a national malady. By definition anasagnosia is “a neurological condition in which the patient is unaware of his or her neurological deficit or psychiatric condition.”

Or maybe, reality. For exampIe, I have a habit of getting national news from the print edition of the New York Times, from PBS and NPR and a few left-leaning TV channels. But at least twice a week I watch another major TV channel favored by those of a more conservative mindset. It presents a narrative that makes perfect sense, and most days bears absolutely no relation to anything I’ve gleaned from the sources above.

(If you get your national news from social media, well, bless your heart. There’s no hope for you.)

To be clear, there is nothing humorous or satiric about anasagnosia. In the realm of mental illness it applies to many of the worst diagnoses.

But half the country, I think, may be suffering from it. (Pick whichever half you like.) A changed, hopeful future can emerge from a dangerous present. And scary past. But which past, and which future? Are half of us blind to our blindness? 

If there is relief, before mid-November, I’m not sure what it might be. But for the mentally healthy there is, at least, a treatment: Work to support your reality. Write letters, send postcards. Speak softly but carry a copy of the Constitution. Vote.

And be kind to the other half.

We’ve Seen This War Movie Before

WHAT HAPPENS WHEN DESPOTS DO WHATEVER THE HELL THEY WANT

Photo by Laurentiu Iordache on Unsplash

I was six years old when Germany invaded Poland and World War II began. I don’t want to see another one.

If a big country is given permission to invade its smaller neighbor and “do whatever the hell it wants . . .” that’s the way World War III will begin. I’m sorry we have a popular politician — a man who never knew war, never served his country in the military, never knew hardship or had to work for a living and cannot understand the concept of loving one’s neighbor — now cheering for autocrats around the world and wanting them to do whatever the hell they want to the powerless.

The powerless are seldom all bad, weak or soulless; tomorrow we could be them.

Power corrupts, as wise folks have long said; absolute power corrupts absolutely. I’m sorry we have a popular politician who wants — and whose followers want him to have — absolute power. Given the power to do whatever the hell he wants, I don’t expect him to love his neighbor — or to care one iota for anyone but himself — which seems to be his pattern.

I remember Germany’s invasion of Poland not because I was a precocious six-year-old but because my parents drummed the evils of autocracy into my sisters and me almost daily over those years. Democracy, we believed and I still do, requires doing whatever seems best rather than whatever the hell some nut case wants.

Among my earliest memories is that of being gently carried downstairs in the middle of the night because my father wanted my sisters and me to hear what a destructive madman sounded like. It was Hitler on the short-wave radio. The message of those childhood days was that we were safe, we were fortunate to live in a democratic free society, and our country would not let any autocrat do whatever the hell he wanted. My father, a compassionate man with language skills the politician in question lacks, would have used different phraseology. The politician in question is, IMHO, another destructive madman.

It is heartbreaking to watch my country, which throughout my long lifetime has welcomed the tired, the poor and the immigrant masses, now tilt towards becoming a country willing to turn its back on them all. And as for our allies — well, this popular politician is encouraging his followers to let our allies’ bigger neighbors do whatever the hell they want to them too — as long as his strongman heroes stay in power.

I remember Pearl Harbor, when my country entered that last World War, and the kamikaze pilots who knowingly turned themselves into suicide bombs because their autocratic emperor led them to believe this was the brave and honorable thing to do. And I remember D-Day and V-J Day and V-E Day and the eventual end to a terrible war that cost untold loss and suffering to brave and honorable military men and women along with millions of innocents.

I remember dark times for my country’s democracy in the years that followed, when it was threatened by extremists driven by fear or a thirst for power or both. Democracy always survived, and nobody was allowed to do whatever the hell he wanted without suffering consequences. The politician in question knows nothing of all that. Having no interest in history, he also knows nothing of its mistakes, or of the lessons history could teach him.

Such as: war is hell. Democracy is fragile but worth preserving. And if humankind is to realize its humanity, no one should consider it his right to do whatever the hell he wants.

Humankind wants, instead, kindness.

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In grateful memory of Aleksei Navalny