MLK Day

January 16, 2012
Today I took a number of foreign exchange students, mostly Muslims, to an MLK event sponsored by the Minneapolis Park Board at Powderhorn Park Community Center, located in one of the most multi-cultural areas of the city. I asked them if they had ever heard of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. in their native countries and what they knew about him. I also asked the students to be observant of the attendees and to see who sat with whom at the tables.

All the students had heard of Dr. King in their native countries, many had listened to his "I Have a Dream" speech and were aware of his efforts to help black people. They observed the people at the event were mostly white and that blacks tended to sit together.

The Community Center was filled with people and a free meal of fried chicken, collared greens, corn bread, rolls, rice and beans was served to the hundreds in attendance. The program consisted of an African drummer, hip-hop dancers, a folk singer, an Aztec dance group, a gospel group, and Powderhorn Park's drum corps. The performances were excellent. The only program reference to Dr. King was a question to the audience as to how old Dr. King would be today (83), answered by one older person, and for the entire audience to shout, "Happy Birthday, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr".

After the program I gathered the students to recap the event and give my thoughts on what Dr. King meant to me. I said that Dr. King's achievements were not through political office, but through non-violent means of raising people's awareness of injustices done to others and being able to organize people who shared his vision of inequality.

On my way home, it struck me that MLK Day may have become a chance for some to talk about togetherness, free food, entertainment, or a day off from school to go on a long weekend trip. As for Dr. King's "Dream", it seemed more of a dream than ever before.

Time for the Sublime

July 2, 2010
I am coming to realize one of the effects Samoa has had on me is to understand more fully that a hurried, hectic lifestyle, does not leave time for the sublime. For to appreciate the sublime, you must have time, time of leisure, time to contemplate those things which are not obvious or even seen, but sensed.

How we American Peace Corps Volunteers ridiculed and mocked Samoans for their seemingly lack of desire to "advance" themselves. How they rejected our efforts to "educate" them into the ways of our global world. Oh, how we thought we understood them. Oh, how blind we were not to see that they knew about the sublime.

I have taken to walking, at first for exercise, now to let my senses and mind wander to sample my surroundings. The beauty of birds signing, of young mothers pushing their babies in perambulators, a woman digging in her garden, the roar of jet planes overhead, a Mexican mother struggling with her groceries and two small children as she gets off the bus, this is the glory of it all!

To appreciate the sublime takes time, leisure time, time which earns no money, produces no goods, has no destination. It is time only some malcontents, artists, very wealthy, cloistered monks, elderly, and Samoans seem to set aside to enjoy the sublime. For the rest of the world, flat screen TVs, iPods, and stress are the rewards for time.

Wisdom

12/28/09

Over the past two years I have played over 2,000 the games of two-suite Spider Solitaire. My combined winning percentage has increased from about 20% to its current 41%. How can this be?

To increase the combined winning percentage means I have to win at a percentage rate considerably higher than cumulative average. Since the computer theoretically deals the cards randomly, I must be aware of some patterns in the cards, which enable me to increase my chances of winning. Against this backdrop is the fact my brain has been losing 5,000 neurons a day since I was 20 years old, or about 87,600,000 brain cells. I must be learning, as I am getting dumber. Wisdom.

Turning 68

11/28/09

A good book, coffee, warm bathrobe, your mother's afghan, a bowl of mini frosted shredded wheat.

Today is my 68th birthday. Sixty eight is just one of those birthdays of little importance or significance. It is not a prime number, square root, nor does it mark getting a driver's license, being able to buy liquor legally, a new decade. It has no hidden occult meanings, double andante, or even a tee hee. It is like Pooh Bear. It just is. But that is what makes being sixty eight such a wonderful experience. It just is. Something to enjoy the essence of being.

A person can't get enough of "just is's" in life.

Limbo

10/4/09

I am in a state between here and there, this and that, just floating aimlessly, knowing where here and there are or this and that is, but not moving towards anything. The pressure to do something is counteracted by being surrounded by lights stuck on red. I can't remember ever being in limbo while in Samoa where even doing nothing was a part of doing something. Now, as I await word from the Peace Corps as to whether I shall be selected for a post in Bulgaria, I am doing nothing while awaiting something.

Tsunami,Typhoon,Earthquake

9/30/09

News bulletins screaming of horrific natural disasters can hardly convey the suffering and aftermath of the events on people's lives. Sometimes you are swept into the disaster. Sometimes you have just escaped its wrath and are stuck with the burning mental images of people you know caught in the maelstrom. You are thankful. You are helpless. You can only write to yourself to relieve your conscience.

Samoan Tsunami
The full affects of the earthquake miles beneath the sea and its resultant wall of water may not be known for weeks. Already the news is of familiar places and people I may have known being washed away by the sea. The death toll continues to mount as we learn about no warnings being sounded in time, the low lying nature of the seaside villages, and of people being killed by a second wave as they followed the receding first wave to gather trapped fish in the lagoons.

Manila Typhoon
A heavy rain hit Manila during my recent visit there last month causing vast areas of floating sewage and garbage. I can only describe Manila as a cesspool of humanity. I have no idea what is the condition of those with whom I ate bulat and drank beer; of those who work so hard to have their lives dramatically altered by fate; of those who call this place home.

Lost

9/14/09

We all know the terror of being lost, but being lost and not being aware you are lost is a condition which can only strike terror in the minds of others. Alzheimer's is such a condition. To search for a person with Alzheimer's, who a few moments before seemed lucid, is an experience edging on panic. Such an event is what happened today on the St Paul Bike Tour, only the found "Lost" person enjoying the subsequent night's sleep.

I wonder whether Alzheimer's is a distinct condition or a more obvious manifestation of a condition from which we all suffer. Each of us lives within our own rational world, yet the behavior of others makes little sense to our own way of thinking. Maybe we all are "Lost" in a sea of our own cognition.

The Myth of Stress

07/24/09

Myth is a belief not based on reality. The belief is so strong as to override what some may consider common sense. Unreality becomes transformed into reality. We all have our myths to help us explain what we otherwise cannot. One can laugh at the “ridiculous” myths of others until you find yourself to be an “other”. So what is stress if nothing more than an imagined force? Samoans and other Oceanic cultures don’t even have a word for it.

Self-Limiting Illness

07/15/09

Our Samoan Peace Corps Medical Officer uses the term, “self-limiting illness” to describe a number of medical conditions not requiring her immediate attention. These illnesses include a list of infections, diarrhea, colds, low-grade fevers, etc. Each volunteer has a medical kit containing over-the-counter drugs, a first aid kit, manual, and asked to be patient before calling her 24 hour cell phone. As I am suffering from a “self-limiting” flu, her words linger in my brain.

It is difficult to imagine an American doctor using the term “self-limiting”. Both the doctor and we are culturally conditioned to take action. “I don’t care what you do, just do something” are our words. So, the doctor does. We happily give our insurance card; the doctor happily looks at the bank account. Our illness either goes away, or prolonged and made more tolerable, or we die. At least, something is done.

In nature and for those living close to it, there are few sickly creatures, for death comes quickly to the infirmed. It is the manner of all things. What difference does one day, or one year make against the eons of time? I know the answer to the question. Yet, all within me cannot accept its conclusion.

Cost of Stuff

07/10/09

Some Peace Corps Volunteers upon returning home express disgust with American’s seemingly wanton consumption of material resources. I feel they may be confusing who we are with greed. To me it is not that we are consumers of stuff, but that we are consumed by stuff.

Stuff is who I am as an American. It defines me. It is as much a part of me as my politics, philosophy, behavior, and family. To understand me, or American culture, I think one needs to understand the importance of stuff.

My fourth or fifth rake is broken by carelessness of the people who took it without my permission. It is not the absence of a rake that pisses me off, but the casual disregard about telling me, or replacing it. When I find out about it, a simple “Please forgive me” is the only effort for compensation.

The cost of the rake is not what angers me. Samoans don’t understand, it is “my rake”. It is a part of me you have violated. Don’t they realize they have crossed a sacred cultural divide?

Well, I just have to live with my cultural baggage, as they have to live with theirs. Maybe that is this Peace Corps adventure

Help the Poor

06/24/09

“Help the poor” is or was a phrase used during my Halloween Days growing up in Detroit. For Halloween it was clear, you took from the person who had it to help the person in need, namely yourself. But what happens when roles are reversed and you are asked to “Help the poor”?

The conceptual gulf between those who give and those who receive is huge. It is like getting candy. The recipient should be grateful for getting anything, even if they wanted a Snickers bar and got an apple instead. As the donor, you want a blessing, a sign of gratitude, or even a simple “Thank You” to acknowledge your generosity. The problem lies in that neither the recipient nor the donor ever feels the transaction was fair. The recipient didn’t get what they wanted or needed and the donor feels unfulfilled. As a result, gifts such as traffic lights, which are disregarded and new markets, which are unfit for either buyer or seller, happen all the time; both parties trying to make the best of good intentions.

As I ponder my Peace Corps mission and live among the poor, I grabble with the question of just what do the poor want from the rich. Certainly people will take “stuff” when it is offered, but stuff without the recognition of a person’s dignity is just that, “stuff”. Dignity comes without any strings attached to it. People want to be appreciated for who they are, what they believe, and their way of life, not who you are. Giving without preconditions is a large order. Maybe the only reward is internally; you tried your best to “Help the Poor”.

Tattoo Mystique

06/12/09

There is an aura about a tattoo, private to the owner, and maybe baffling to those without one. Just why a person would paint their body is as varied as the patterns of ink gun imprints. The mystique lies in the permanency of that ink.

Tattoos are meant to communicate, but mostly to the wearer than the observer. The message works it way through your skin, even if the wearer cannot see it. Henna, t-shirts, bumper stickers, and billboards are for fads and the cause d’jour. Tattoos are forever.

Not all tattoos conjure warm thoughts. If you are contemplating one, here is my advice:
Never refer to a living person. Angelina Jolie learned the hard way about that rule.
Be sober and solitary. Tattoo orgies are dangerous affairs.
Don’t use a tattoo to vent a grotesque fetish, vendetta, or political cause.
Sayings in English, Oriental, Arabic, Hebrew, or any other foreign language have a way of being either passé or will be misinterpreted by someone.
Religious symbols remain, faiths change.
Tattoos feel like sunburn. Start small. Big sunburns can really hurt. Don’t let the process scare you.
Make sure the tattoo is important to you.

Now go and get one.

I’m Ready

06/11/09

There was a time when I couldn’t say, “I’m ready”, but now I can. Now is the time for me to leave Samoa. I have never been busier, never felt so much more to do, never felt better about sustainability for some of my projects, and never more in control of what I am doing. It can’t get much better, but the hard part of saying “goodbye” still remains.

A Song to Myself

05/19/09

This blog started as a Song to Myself. It is nice to know others may enjoy it and use their minds to picture this adventure. The fiction created may be more or less exciting, more or less noble, or more or less difficult than it actually is. The reality doesn’t matter, for what we imagine, is. For who can truly experience the life of another?

Walt Whitman expresses it better than I.
“Each man to himself, and each woman to herself, is the word of the past and present, the true word of immortality;
No one can acquire for another- not one,
No one can grow for another- not one.

The song is to the singer and comes back most to him…
And no man understands any greatness or goodness, but his own, or the indication of his own.”

100 Years

05/10/09

Today marks the 100th anniversary of my father’s birth. Born of serf parents in a central Russian wheat field, his words still reverberate. He remains alive in my mind and memory even after his funeral nineteen years ago. We live, he said, as long as others care to think and remember us. Memories eventually fade but the resultants of our deeds last forever.

Jumping to Conclusions

04/16/09


We all seem to keep repeating the same mistake of assuming the worst when we should be the best or allow our biases to fill the gaps of the unknown.

Some young boys were selling banana chips to Christa, Jara, and me while walking around the village. Jara paid for five bags and the boys handed the chips to him. Since we didn’t want to carry the chips, I told the boys in Samoan to put them on my porch. Upon returning, there were no chips. I knew these to be good boys, but we laughed about being had. When going to sleep, Jara found the chips safely put under the sheets on his side of the mattress.
For months I have been fuming about a missing plastic cone used to make filtered coffee. I was convinced it was stolen during my visit to the U.S. Alas after retrieving some stuff from under my bed; there it was where I had put it so it would not be stolen.

Null Days

04/09/09

Null days are not dull days. They are filled with activity. However, when you think about them, it is as if they never happened. The days pass so quickly even milestones become blurred. Plants grow taller, young girls develop breasts, and you have more wrinkles, so something must be happening during that blink of father time’s eye.

Sense of Finality

03/25/09


There are times when “The End” means more than words on celluloid. They are the moments when reality overwhelms the romantic notions of evermore. The inevitability of change, the cycle, the alpha-omegas are abstractions until the sense of finality grips you.

Religion

02/08/09

I rotate between Iva’s six churches and am visited by various missionaries. I wonder what they might all have in common. The only unifying theme to me is their religion answers the unanswerable, answers so unknowable they must be based on faith, myth, or fantasy.

As I watch people prostrate themselves, each devoted to their own special dogma, I wonder if Karl Marx wasn’t right when he described religion as the opiate of the masses or another philosopher who stated that if God didn’t exist, man would create one. Maybe the dream state of opium isn’t bad or fantasies about the unknowable or unattainable. Maybe the issue is when faith, myth, or fantasy is accepted as reality, but then again, if they weren’t, how could religion exist?

State of Mind

02/07/09

The events of the past several weeks has put me face-to-face with the shortcomings of others, maybe those of my own, to place me in a mental glen. Weaknesses in others can be depressing at a time when you expect courage and leadership. The village mayor, my host father, is the timid, unsure person he has always been, the President of the Women’s Committee is the arrogant, domineering person she has always been, and the Peace Corps staff remain without the ability to be anything but employees. I am still I. Then why do I feel the way I do? People haven’t changed; I haven’t changed. Maybe what has changed is my own expectation of others and myself to be more than we actually are.

From some of my past blog entries, you may have sensed the importance I place on expectations. My own expectations are what I expect reality to be. I base my life on these perceptions. When what actually happens doesn’t turn out to be what I expected, I can either blame others for disappointing or myself for not really knowing much at all, for being fallible.

My relationships with some are strained, never to be the same again. With others new relationships are emerging and with them new expectations of what the next six months have to offer.