Porn Royalty

The route I take home from work passes by a house that is brightly decorated for Christmas each December. Last year, along the 100 foot fence lining the yard, the phrase “Jesus, the Reason for the Season” was written with lights. At the very end of the fence, however, was a large statue of Santa Clause emerging from a chimney and burdened with the requisite sack of toys. This juxtaposition of seemingly contradictory “reasons” for the season (setting aside “reasons” such as harvest festivals, the winter solstice, the birth of Mithra, not to mention capitalism/consumerism) I find amusing, and perhaps even unsurprising. Like so many of the stated values and actions that are justified with Christianity, the “reasons” for the season expressed by the owners of that home are varied and incompatible, and the homeowners are likely not even aware of those incompatibilities. And I think that’s why I have such a problem with the influence and power of “Christianity” in the United States.

This past holiday season, the same house had a new message. It was supposed to read, “A New Born King.” (Santa was conspicuously missing this year.) Instead, however, some of the lights had gone out, and were never noticed by the homeowners. The message read, “A New Porn King.” Now I’m not sure if that was a statement about the occupant of the house having launched a career in the entertainment industry, or merely a(n) (un)fortunate glitch in the wiring, but it’s definitely a celebration I could get into.

Resolving to Make Daily Resolutions

This New Year’s Eve, as I look back on 2006 and look forward to 2007, I know that I am better than I was on 31 December 2005, that I have made progress on my personal journey through life. One year ago, I wrote about how I’m somewhat disappointed by the idea of resolutions made in earnest on New Year’s Eve and then abandoned by the 15th of January. Instead, I want self-reflection and self-consciousness to be a part of my daily life. How good might the world be if we all made self-reflection and self-consciousness a part of our daily lives?

In 2006, I came closer to this goal than in the year preceding it. For 2007, I resolve to get even better about my own self-awareness on a daily basis. There are many specific goals, dreams, and objectives that are part of my resolution to be more self-aware—-the usual sort of stuff: exercise more regularly, eat better; as well as the perhaps not so usual: learn to play my recorder. But ultimately, if on 31 December 2007 I can look back and feel that I am better than I was on 31 December 2006, if I am more of who I want to be and am expressing and experiencing more of what I value, then I have succeeded, even if only by the smallest measure. Today, 31 December 2006, I can say with confidence that I have succeeded this past year. And that’s a good thing.

Happy New Year to all.

Homeward Bound, I wish I weren't

They say one can never go home again. I've never believed this platitude. I do believe one can go home again, it's just that home is never the same and never as we expect or desire it to be. And that's OK.

But what happens when one doesn't in fact want to go home again?

Anniversaries

We tend to think of anniversaries as happy events—weddings, birthdays, and the like—and perhaps it’s good that we do. But there’s nothing inherently good and happy about an anniversary. Anniversaries merely mark the moment of an event, both good and bad events, happy and sad.

It’s been one year since Ms. Clover left. I still miss her and feel her absence sharply—today more than other days. She had a profound impact on my life and I feel love for her as deeply today as I did one year ago, and the eleven years before that.

Here’s to you Mama Cat. You’re not forgotten.

The Post Where SHmonkey Muses About the Rain

An early fall rain on a Sunday afternoon in September makes the already shortening days seem dark and wintry. But the heat of the day and the sound of rumbling air conditioners tells me it’s not yet time to pull out the sweaters. I have given in on one point though and slipped into my house shoes that I only wear November through February rather than go barefoot.

The power of nature is subtle today. No wind, lightening, or rolling thunder. Just water coming down and down and down. The rain is steady and straight, filling the space between me and other objects, yet just as intangible as that space. It washes clean my path, my porch, my car, the air itself. But can it wash my soul?

Five Final Visits

Last night, SHmonkey told Skajlab about a game he came up with at the office: if you knew you were soon to die, but could revisit five places you had already been to, what would those five places be? Skajlab was the first to post his list, but here is SHmonkey’s, in no particular order:

Café du Monde, New Orleans, LA
Café du Monde is one of SHmonkey's all time favorite places. When Katrina hit New Orleans, it was the first place SHmonkey mourned (aside from all of the people and animals). SHmonkey was saddened to know that its long streak of continuous operation without closing was broken by the evil Katrina. SHmonkey was also thrilled to hear that Café du Monde re-opened within weeks of the hurricane--one of the first places to be back in business. SHmonkey has spent many afternoons at the Café with wonderful dear people—Skajlab, Minerva, Blanche—watching the world go by in Jackson Square. Thanks go out to SHmonkey's assistant, a Katrina evacuee, who brought SHmonk a gift pack from Café du Monde this week and reminded him of how much he loves the place (and thus inspiring this game).

Black Forest Café, Prague, Czech Republic
The Black Forest Café is just down the road from the castle in Prague and very close to Golden Lane. Skajlab and SHmonkey spent a wonderful cold afternoon there sipping hot coffee. SHmonkey has rarely felt happier or more content.

Tecolote or Plaza Café, Santa Fe, NM
SHmonkey loves the entire city of Santa Fe, which seems odd to him since he's generally a big city monkey. SHmonkey has been to Santa Fe numerous times—always with great friends (Skajlab, LaRango, Minerva), which may explain his affection for it. Each trip to Santa Fe includes stops at these two cafes, where some of the best food is served in the mountain air.

Lake Front, Milwaukee, WI
After more than 22 years apart, nothing can change SHmonkey's affection for his most beloved location in his beloved hometown. You can take the Bohunk-Kraut out of Milwaukee, but you can’t take Milwaukee out of the Bohunk-Kraut.

Hawksnest Beach, St. John, USVI
Simply because it is likely the most beautiful place SHmonkey has ever been.

In the running for the second five:

Miyajima Island, Hiroshima-ken, Japan
Coit Tower, San Francisco, CA
Stonehenge, Salisbury, UK
Greenwich, UK
Miedzy Nami Café, Warsaw, Poland

What are your five?

We All Scream for Ice Cream

Good news for the loyal hedgehog subjects of the British Crown. The British Hedgehog Preservation Society, along with the Scottish SPCA has, after several years, successfully lobbied McDonald’s to change the design of the McFlurry ice cream container. It seems that hedgehogs are attracted by the smell of the ice cream in discarded McFlurry containers. On crawling into the containers, the hedgehogs become trapped only to die of starvation and dehydration.

In a bow to animal protection, McDonald’s has now introduced a re-designed McFlurry container with a smaller opening—a hole too small for the hedgehog to enter, but big enough to get the ice cream out. As one who cuts apart my plastic six pack rings to save the birds, and who won’t release a helium-filled balloon so as not to choke a whale, I am very happy. Now if only we could get McDonald’s to bow to human protection and cease business completely, we’d all be better off. This week it was announced that despite recent efforts at educating the public about the dangers of obesity, the already fat populace is getting fatter. I’m sure there’s some overweight glutton somewhere pissed off that he now has to slow down his consumption of the McFlurry due to the smaller opening all in the name of protecting a hedgehog. I just hope that overweight glutton isn’t me!

The End of the World as We Knew It

It’s the end of an era. Just like when Rachel moved out and Chandler moved in. The International Astronomical Union of Nerds has declared that Pluto no longer fits the definition of a planet.

I for one am deeply saddened at Pluto’s demotion. The very foundations of my knowledge and understanding of the universe have been shaken. Pluto not a planet. How can it be?

Since the early 70s, when I first learned about space, I have “known” there to be nine planets. Pluto was my favorite (with Saturn a close second). Pluto was the underdog planet, the smallest, most distant, and most recently discovered. Pluto was the “and sometimes Y” of the solar system, the oddball, the black sheep. Pluto was lonely out there at the margins of the solar system, never having been visited by human beings or even a human-built space craft, and likely never to be visited. Pluto needed my love and affection.

The smallest Styrofoam ball attached to the longest wooden dowel on my model of the solar system represented Pluto. I always painted it in my favorite color because of Pluto’s underdog status, in the hopes that Pluto would get the recognition it deserved, and perhaps not feel second-best to the other planets (Yes, like the astronomers, SHmonkey too is fairly nerdy having personified both numbers and letters, in addition to planets, while growing up. Fours were stupid, nines were mean, sevens were cool—and their characteristics changed based on the other numbers they kept company with.).

And now, of all the indignities, Pluto has been kicked out of the planetary family all together. Dear Pluto, you will forever remain close to my heart. I will now look at the solar system kits in the craft stores (yes, I still look at them wistfully—see comment above regarding SHmonkey’s nerdiness) and date them based on whether they contain eight or nine planets (much like I date maps and globes based on whether or not they display a Soviet Union, a Yugoslavia, Rhodesia, etc.), and I will refuse to buy a model that fails to contain a Pluto out of loyalty (it should be noted that I do buy up-to-date maps out of political pragmatism, but I do appreciate the old ones as novelties).

Who's Watching Now?

The news today is that the White House’s domestic surveillance program is in fact much larger than first thought. It seems the government has been creating a huge database of phone records on millions and millions of Americans. These records are gathered from the various phone companies around the country, and while they don’t involve wire tapping and voice records, they do include data on who we call, when we call them, and how often we call. This project of record gathering has been going on since the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks.

Now, of course I am aware that phone companies keep records of our phone calls, just as libraries keep records of the books we borrow, video stores keep records of the films we rent, and so. But there is something vastly different when our government, the state itself, establishes a huge, permanent, and searchable database of the calls private citizens make. Why is there not a greater outcry against this system? Our fundamental rights to privacy and free speech are being violated, and we’re losing what distinguishes the American experiment. I for one am horrified.

Don’t think for a minute this blog isn’t also watched, or that someone, somewhere isn’t keeping track of the URLs and IPs you visit.

Knowledge Isn't Always a Good Thing

Just yesterday, at my corporate job, one of my fellow employees sent an email to the entire office listing a website whereupon entering an address, a list of registered sex offenders in the area surrounding the address is returned, complete with photos. The email came with the following message:

“[X] and I don't have any kids, but if and when we do, I think this site would be pretty useful and scary.”

The email closed by inviting our office staff to visit the website and check out their local areas. This email was then replied to by numerous other employees thankful for the URL, as well as by one employee who suggested we all enter the addresses of our high schools to check on “that teacher everyone always wondered about.”

I resisted the urge to go to the site out of curiosity because I don’t want to give the organization any site traffic, and I won’t be listing the site here. Setting aside the fact that this is a completely inappropriate use of company resources, I do have to comment on the rampant fear of “sex offenders” that has developed in recent years.

In the interest of full disclosure, I am a liberal. That being said, I think the issue of sex offender registration is ridiculous and functions to breed unnecessary fear and unwarranted self-righteousness. The term “sex offense” covers a wide-ranging set of crimes, not all of which are equal. Included in this category are heinous crimes involving sexual abuse of children to be sure, but also included are “crimes” of eighteen year olds having sex with seventeen year olds, and adult men or women participating in sexual activities with willing minor partners who are fully aware of what they’re doing.

What good does it do anyone to know where registered sex offenders live? At what point do we stop the witch hunts and allow people who have paid for their crimes to go on with their lives. (These comments clearly constitute the liberal part of my post. And yes, I’m aware that just because an individual has served time in jail, paid fines, and attended some sort of counseling doesn’t mean the individual is rehabilitated and no longer a threat.)

I firmly believe that the panic I’ve seen about knowing where sex offenders live is more about parent’s willingness and perhaps desire to hand over the rearing and protection of their children to the larger society. It’s the same argument for censoring books, television shows, and many other things. Rather than be an engaged parent who looks after his or her child and monitors what the child is exposed to, many parents seem to want to require that society create a kind of insulating bubble around all children, and then the parent can be relieved of responsibility.

Knowing that a sex offender lives down the street or next door does not protect children from anything nor does it excuse parents from their responsibilities. What about all of the sex offenders who are not registered? What about the sex offenders who have never been caught and therefore don’t have records? If I had children (and I wish I did), I would want my child to know how to handle himself or herself around any kind of threatening person. I would want my child to understand how the world really operates, and I would want to prepare and equip my child to engage that world fully, rather than live in fear.

Dreaming

In the haze of that place between being awake and sleeping, I saw you heading for the door.

“You going out now?”

“Yeah, I’m going out.”

You were wearing a loose summer shirt, short sleeves, un-tucked, and pair of light-colored khakis. You had on that straw hat you don’t often wear, and were sporting a well-groomed beard. You looked just the way I like you to look.

I could see you talk to the native woman, the woman who always told us where to go and how to keep safe. You crossed the ravine and began walking along the field to meet to man who would take you to where the danger is.

It was only then that my fog cleared and I realized you where going without me. I leapt from the makeshift bed in the living room of our German hosts and ran out the door, still in my underwear and barefoot. The morning light was soft, the air still sweet from the cooler night.

I couldn’t remember why we came here, what we hoped we could accomplish, or why today I had stayed in bed. I could see you on the other side of the ravine, walking quickly so as not to be late. In my panic, I realized facing the danger with you was more important than self-preservation. I began running and calling your name, my voice hoarse from lack of use. I ran and ran, calling for you, your straw hat bobbing in the distance. My lower body covered in mud from the damp earth, my face just as wet from tears and screams. I began to gain on you. My calls finally reached your ears and you turned. Seeing me, you paused. I crossed the ravine, ran the few feet between us, and grabbed you in my arms.

“Never leave without saying goodbye,” I sobbed.

You held me at arms length and smiled.

Waiting

Each time I have to wait for a train to pass, I watch the windows of the compartments for my father’s face. I imagine that traveling by passenger train must be romantically pleasant—rich upholstered seats and walls (always in deep red), people dressed well in an “old world” sort of way, men reading newspapers, women flipping through literary magazines.

Most often, the trains look old and run down, graffitied and dirty. The passengers inside look even more run down—tired, weary from the day, the week, the month, the endless years of riding those trains and waiting. Waiting to get to where they’re going. In the morning, waiting to get to work, where they wait for the day’s end to wait for the trains to carry them home again. The expressionless faces at the windows expressing unconscious dreams that the interminable waiting were over, and yet not knowing what they would wait for if they believed they had a choice.

I wait too. Wait for the train to pass and the gates to rise so that I can continue on, and wait for something else. Each time I have to wait for a train to pass, I watch the windows of the compartments for my father’s face. My father has been dead for years now, and he never rode trains, but I never stop expecting that I’ll see him there, riding and waiting.

It Doesn't Pay, and Probably Never Has

Last Sunday (8 January 2006), the Dallas Morning News reported that nearly half of area high school football coaches are paid twice what teachers are paid. In some areas, coaches were paid 248% percent of the average teacher salary. Does anyone find this shocking? How can we honestly pay lip service to improving education in the United States when teachers are so utterly disregarded (and yes, I realize I’m taking a local situation and applying it to the entire nation, but sadly I believe the circumstances in the Dallas/Ft. Worth area are mirrored across the country).

Before I spend too much time screaming from my soap box, let me state for the record that I do support athletics in the public education system (as well as art, music, vocational training, and any number of other subjects outside of the usual list of academic subjects). I view these “non-academic” subjects as crucial, important, and perhaps even essential to the full development of students.

That disclaimer being made, let me get back to my rant—FOOTBALL COACHES BEING PAID MORE THAN TWICE WHAT TEACHERS ARE PAID. What is the rationale for this situation? I’ve heard all of the platitudes about non-intellectual skills that sports gives to individuals such as a healthy competitive spirit and teamwork (see my comments above about valuing athletics in the public education system). But football is one sport among many and
football coaches serve an extremely limited, all-male set of students.

Do our school districts pay coaches so well so that schools can have winning teams? But what good does that do other than school spirit (valuable, yes, but is it worth 248% what teachers make)? Football programs within the public education system don’t generate revenue for school districts like they do for colleges and universities—that isn’t and shouldn’t be their goal.

I’m tired of hearing how teachers are some of the most valuable and valued resources in our country. My response is “put your money where your mouth is!” Teaching is hard labor, and it continues to get harder. Low salaries are demoralizing and often impossible to live on. Meanwhile expectations keep rising while respect for teacher’s authority over curriculum and their classrooms dwindles. As a teacher of higher education, I am often shocked at the sense of entitlement my students have. I am shocked when parents phone me about their adult children and attempt to bully me into changing my policies and requirements. I cannot begin to fathom how much more difficult these situations are for primary and secondary-level teachers. The power now sits with students and parents, as well as administrators, not with the teachers. Is it any wonder that teaching as a profession is not appealing? What are the rewards? A personal glow of self-satisfaction only goes so far—it doesn’t pay a mortgage (if one is even accessible), it doesn’t pay for holidays to recover from burnout, it doesn’t pay for the pathetic excuse for health insurance that teachers get (at least in Texas), and it certainly doesn’t pay for sizable contributions to a personal IRA so that teachers can retire in comfort.

I realize that public education is a complicated and complex institution in the United States, and that it’s not simply a matter of raising teacher salaries. But this report is a slap in the face to every educator who gets up every morning to spend the day with other people’s children, who dedicates himself or herself to carefully planning and delivering lessons, who spends personal time outside of their work day writing curriculum and grading work, and who often spends portions of their meager incomes for books and other supplies needed to do their jobs successfully.

Be It So Resolved

Today is the day to make resolutions, to reflect back on past resolutions, take pride in those kept and resolve to do better on those broken or ignored. Shouldn’t resolutions be something we take stock of on a daily basis though—things we reflect on and strive for each day as part of our own personal evolution? After all, how is tomorrow really any different from today? Saturday becomes Sunday, December thirty-first becomes January first. The year changes, yes, but conceptually the change is no different than the change from November thirtieth to December first. Yet we give this shift tonight so much influence and meaning. We toast it, we stay up late to usher it in, we take the day off, we resolve to make changes, to be better, and to do better. But wouldn’t our personal development be more successful and more meaningful if we took a moment to reflect daily, a moment to resolve to do and be better each day? Then we wouldn’t need to make lists of resolutions to be posted on the refrigerator only to soon be buried by other miscellany held in place with magnets. On the eve of each new year we could take a break from resolving and take pleasure in knowing we are better than yesterday, last week, last month, last year, and that the processing of being and getting better is our continuous path into the future.

Oh the (In)Humanity

I freely admit that I have been, and probably continue to be naïve and overly idealistic when it comes to my ideas of justice, equality, and human rights. But I don’t care. I think idealism is entirely appropriate when considering human rights and something that we should strive for, even if the whole time we admit that the perfection inherent in idealism is impossible to achieve.

I grew up believing, again admittedly naively, that the United States was at the pinnacle of supporting, defending, and promoting human rights. As I matured in my thinking, I came to understand that the United States is not and never has been perfect in its promotion of all things good. To believe it to be so is to be a blind patriot—unwilling to critique the shortcomings of one’s nation, and even, perhaps, unwilling to strive to be better. How would my belief that the US was right and good because I’m an American be any different than citizens of the former Soviet Union believing their system was right, or Iranian citizens believing their system is right? We/I need to be more objective and critical when it comes to issues like justice, and human rights. These things supersede nationalism.

I have been deeply disturbed of late over what seems to be regular lapses in the United State’s stated commitment to human rights: our treatment of the elderly and poor needing medical care, our treatment of victims of disaster, the Abu Ghraib scandal, the issue of torture, the ongoing issue of prisoners at Guantanamo and other secret prisons in Eastern Europe and who knows where else—how long can this list go on? Today in the morning papers, I was deeply disturbed to read that United Nations inspectors have decided not to inspect the US prison at Guantanamo because the US refuses to allow inspectors to interview prisoners privately. UN inspectors charged with checking on rights abuses around the world by the UN Human Rights Commission had been invited to inspect Guantanamo by the US. Privately interviewing prisoners is regarded as standard operating procedure. The UN experts have said that interviews monitored by the US would “undermine the principles” of seeking to provide neutral, independent assessments of respect for human rights. Let us also not forget that the inmates at Guantanamo are being held has “enemy combatants,” a category of prisoner the US regards as not possessing the same rights as prisoners of war under the Geneva Conventions.

UN experts have wanted to visit Guantanamo since 2002. Earlier this year they said they wanted to go because they had reliable reports that inmates at Guantanamo had been tortured, and many of these allegations had come to light from the US’s own declassified government documents. The UN says that it is, “particularly disappointing that the United State government, which has consistently declared its commitment to the principles of independence and objectivity of the fact-finding mechanisms, was not in a position to accept these terms.” I am particularly disappointed as well, and I firmly believe that we all should be so. The US government must be held accountable.

To date, the US has only allowed the International Committee of the Red Cross to have unsupervised access to prisoners at Guantanamo. Sounds good, right? Unfortunately, the Red Cross’ reports are confidential and only submitted to the detaining power. UN reports would be made public.

If the US is truly committed to defending human rights, then it must open access to prisoners at Guantanamo, and elsewhere. It must clearly and directly denounce torture. It must admit its own shortcomings and commit itself to correcting those shortcomings and to doing better in the future. Yes this view is idealistic and perhaps naïve, but I firmly believe it is necessary.

All Animals are Equal, But Some Animals are More Equal than Others

Frank Deford, senior contributing writer at Sports Illustrated magazine, has an essay every Wednesday on NPR’s Morning Edition. I am quite a fan of Deford’s essays. His thinking is insightful and his writing is quite good. His perspective on the world of sport goes beyond the usual scores, rankings, and stats to examine the whole culture of sport within our culture.

Today, however, I must take issue with his essay. Today, Deford wrote about a growing horse slaughtering industry in the US. According to Deford, there are currently three horsemeat processing plants in the United States where horses are slaughtered and their meat exported to Europe and other areas of the world. Deford is offended by this fact, not only because he personally finds the thought of eating horse meat both literally and figuratively unpalatable, but also because, according to Deford, horses, unlike cows, pigs, and sheep, are physically different making the slaughtering process cruel and inhumane.

It’s no secret that not only am I a vegetarian, but I’m also extremely empathetic, particularly when it comes to animals. That being said, I generally don’t have a problem with people eating meat, at the same time that I hope the slaughtering process is done as humanely as possible. I do, however, have a problem with Deford valorizing horses over other animals. I don’t find the consumption of horsemeat to be any more or any less offensive than the consumption of other animal flesh. Deford equates the eating of horsemeat with the eating of cats and dogs. But at its most fundamental level, there is no real difference between eating cow meat and eating cat meat, despite the fact that cats and not cows are generally kept as pets. If animals are to be slaughtered and consumed, I hope they’re all treated humanely. Furthermore, there seems to be a matter of utility to this issue. If horsemeat can be used as food for people who want it, then why not use it as such? It seems to me to be related to issues of resources and recycling. There are after all thousands of cats and dogs euthanized in this country everyday. I’m not suggesting that all unwanted animals should suddenly be used as food products, but let’s not start creating classes of animals whereby some are worthy of reverence and respect while others can so easily be sent to market. If it’s so easy to rank animals, is it any wonder that we haven’t been able to eliminate inequalities among human beings based on race, class, sex, sexual orientation, religion, and so many other characteristics?

Will it be Black Tuesday?

Today, the state of Texas is voting on a proposed amendment to the state constitution banning marriage between same sex individuals. I have been thinking about this day and dreading it in a way, but I’m not entirely clear as to why the dread. Texas outlawed gay marriage through legislation several years ago and that law didn’t seem to affect me in the same way the proposed constitutional amendment has. I think I’m only now beginning to sort it out.

The language of the amendment goes far beyond merely banning gay marriage. In effect, the amendment would prohibit “this state or a political subdivision of this state from creating or recognizing any legal status identical or similar to marriage,” thus the state would be barred from granting any legal protection or recognition to any sort of same sex relationship. In addition, the amendment is so broadly worded so as to make it possible for mutually agreed upon legal contracts (wills, power of attorney agreements, medical directives, etc.) to be challenged and quite possibly overturned. What’s left then, in a material sense, is that any relationship other than a single man/single woman partnership seeking legal protection must go to the trouble to hire a lawyer, spend hundreds (possibly thousands) of dollars to establish a set of legal rights far more limited than those granted through marriage (at the cost of $41.00 for a license), and then those legal rights could still be ruled null and void.

Despite these very real, material, functional repercussions of the amendment, they are not what disturb me most. I am most bothered by the idea that this ban is being entered into the state constitution. I have long valued the structure of a constitution as a framework for laws and social organization. I believe the US constitution fairly successfully functions as such, and should, rightfully so, be difficult to amend. As an American, I believe in the rights of justice, freedom (including the right to self-determination), and equality for and of all people, and it is a constitution’s job to protect these rights. By amending the Texas constitution to ban gay marriage, and for that matter any legal recognition of same sex partnerships, the state of Texas is building discrimination into its organizing document. This fact, above all else, disturbs me and frightens me.

How does one fight against this sort of discrimination? How can Texas, or any government and people, institutionalize injustice? How is it possible that some individuals (many in fact) can view my life and my partnership as threatening? How can those same people so easily and comfortably not only deny what I believe to be basic rights, but also make it impossible for individuals of the same sex to make agreements between themselves? What are our rights, then? If this is the environment I have to live in, then I don’t want to be here. But who wins then?

Día de los Muertos

Today is Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead), a holiday of sorts in Mexico to remember and honor the dead (also All Soul’s Day according to the Roman Catholic calendar). Living in the Southwest for the past twenty years, I have become more and more aware of this day and more and more fascinated by it. On Día de los Muertos, the graves of loved ones are cleaned and decorated, family and friends keep watch through the night at the gravesites, and ofrendas (altars) are created to honor and welcome the dead. The ofrendas are decorated with skeletons, sugar skulls and other symbols of death, as well as flowers, candles, personal belongings from the dead, photos, and food to feed the souls of the deceased who return on this day to visit.

When my father died five years ago, I began to create an ofrenda in his honor each year. It seemed a more personally compelling way to remember him than the annual memorial mass at the Catholic church my mother hosts. The ofrenda is personal and intimate to me, and in putting it together each year, I feel connected to my dad. While I believe our spirits/souls only exist in our living bodies, it is nice to think that the spirit of my dad comes to see the altar I create for him each year.

On his altar you can see a photo of him and me in a public garden in our hometown. That photo is a happy memory for me and is one of my favorites of my dad. The pocketknife and rosary that my dad carried in his pocket everyday are also there as well has his high school class ring. There are edible treats and a glass of one of his favorite liqueurs.

Also on the altar is a photo of Mila (short for Milagro, "miracle" in Spanish), Clover Leaf’s little daughter. I nursed Mila through a difficult kittenhood before she left to live a wonderful life with my best friend Kris. Mila died several years ago after a developing kidney disease. A lock of her fur is on the altar and there are some kitty treats and kibble alongside the edible treats for my dad.

In past years others who have touched my life have made the altar in the first year after their deaths: Mark’s mom Joan, Kris’ dad Wayne, and Theo. But it’s first and foremost for my dad.

Halloween 2005

Happy Spooky Day

Shock(ing) and Awe(ful)

This morning, driving into work, I was physically and emotionally sickened by NPR’s report of how Manadel al-Jamadi died at the hands of the CIA in Abu Ghraib prison nearly two years ago. John McChesney, the NPR reporter, had obtained classified CIA documents detailing eyewitness accounts of al-Jamadi’s treatment in Abu Ghraib. It seems al-Jamadi died as a direct result of torture.

News of torture out of Abu Ghraib is not new, and I’m not so naïve as to believe that torture doesn’t exist in many forms throughout the world. But I am deeply disturbed by the mounting number of incidents of torture perpetuated by the United States, and the ways in which the US government justifies the use of torture. I grew up believing that freedom, liberty, equality, and justice were values lying at the very core of America—that these values above all else defined America and set it apart from less-enlightened nations. What’s more, I grew up believing these values were rights not by virtue of citizenship, but by virtue of one’s humanity, and that this reasoning was behind the United States’ efforts to spread democracy and freedom. I also believed the United States operated in such a way so as to defend and preserve these rights among all people worldwide and to recognize the essential humanity of all people. I recognize that this perspective is grand and likely overly idealistic, but I am also deeply saddened and disturbed at the realization that the United States operates counter to its own principles, and does so on what is becoming a regular basis.

I’m not attempting to be an apologist for Manadel al-Jamadi. He may very well have a been a “bad guy.” But I cannot allow myself to believe inhumane behavior in light of someone else’s inhumanity is acceptable. To do so would destroy something in me that is at my very center. I’m above that, and better than that, and I want my country to be too.