19. How the mighty have fallen

If you do not change direction,
you may end up where you are heading.

Lao Tzu

 

How the mighty have fallen!

2 Samuel 1:27

 

Eastman Kodak filed for bankruptcy today. Seems amazing, but it's been coming. While much of the analysis in the media will focus on competition from Japan in the 1980s, a failure to shift successfully from film to digital, and the sinking U.S. economy, it's true that other companies have been able to adapt to changing situations. My professional photographer husband remarked, "I could have told them what they needed to do twenty-five years ago: listen to their customers. They were such an incredibly arrogant company."

5.

Cynicism salves the pain of unrealized hope. If we convince ourselves that nothing can change, we don't have to risk acting on our dreams. But the more we accept this, the more we deny core parts of ourselves. We deny even the possibility that our choices can matter….

As the poet and essayist Lewis Hyde points out, [cynicism] becomes "the voice of the trapped who have come to enjoy their cage." Accordingly, we might think of a modern cynic as someone who's given up all hope of finding a door, much less a key. And we might remember that there are better ways to live.

from Soul of a Citizen: Living With Conviction in a Cynical Time, by Paul Loeb, St. Martin's Press, 1999. Read the whole excerpt here, at Earth Island Journal. Thanks to Chris Clarke for the link.

Time to Celebrate!

So sweet, and so reluctant! Hope you're anticipating New Year's Eve and the New Year more than Manon. We're having dinner with friends, and, I hope, going to bed shortly after midnight. See you in 2012!

 

Coping with Societal Change

You know, I wish we could all sit down over tea and talk about the issues raised by the "Feral Capitalism" post and in the comments. I think we'd find that we agreed on many points. Immigration is, to me, an issue separate from the riots, though there are cross-threads. I don't think anyone has suggested that the British rioters were mainly immigrants, but that the lack of jobs is attributable in some measure to the influx of immigrants as well as offshore manusfacturing. And I certainly hope no one is saying that immigrants are, somehow, worse or more neglectful parents. From my own experience in both America and Canada, the opposite might well be true. Immigrants are among the hardest-working people in these societies, whether we are talking about students, fast-food workers, shop-keepers or doctors, precisely because they have come for freedom and opportunity, expect to work hard, and do not have a sense of entitlement.

Among my own close friends, all of whom have tried hard to be good parents, the majority of the children have thrived but there are some who have gotten into genuinely serious trouble, floundered, made a series of very bad decisions, or had difficulty with substance-abuse. Others have suffered from depression and mental illness, seemingly from a variety of causes, one of which is anxiety caused by an inability to cope with the pressures of modern life as adults. Several of these young adults have had problems with managing anger and frustration. "Tough love", counseling, and medication have all helped, but even these have failed at times. Parents who must work outside the home, and are often raising children alone, without the extended families and neighborhoods and churches that used to form the basic structure of social life, cannot possibly counter all the influences to which a child or young adult today is subjected, and cannot protect them from the fears, anxieties, and uncertainties to which we are all subject and from which we all suffer to one degree or another! Violence has come much closer in the West, both in reality and through the media and technology. Parents are primarily responsible for teaching children right and wrong, that is certain, but they themselves have to have a decent childhood where they learned respect and were themselves respected, and to have internalized a personal value system and the skills for passing on. Meanwhile, all around us are examples of people who are seemingly rewarded with wealth and fame for their talent, perhaps, but also for their greed, corruption, and flagrantly consumptive habits; some children are much more susceptible to these pressures than others.

And ever since Watergate, I think we've all grown more aware of the hypocrisy and unfairness that seem part and parcel of politics, government, and institutions. I knew a lapsed Catholic businessman, who used to repeat, "I was taught differently, and try to behave differently, but I've learned that nice guys finish last." In a world where acquisition of money and possessions is a primary goal, who is arguing effecively with that? As religious belief and attendance decline — as a result, partially, of the hypocrisy of the church, the abuse scandals, and its failure to adapt and speak effectively to modern men and women — one wonders, actually, why more people don't lie, cheat, and steal. In secular life, one can run up debts and declare bankruptcy with impunity. How many people nowdays believe they'll be accountable in an afterlife, let alone in this one, for breaking the ten commandments, if they even have an idea what they are?

There is a whole constellation of reasons why social values and a sense of participation and fairness have broken down in our societies. My reason for writing the previous post was to try to go deeper than the "bad parenting" answer and ask WHY — and let's stick to white anglo-saxon culture, since there is no evidence that I've seen to blame these riots on immigrants. In my own WASP family, which has been in the U.S. since the first boats arrived from England, there have been people who've contributed a lot to society and some who have not. Those who have, have fought in the wars and farmed the land and taught in the schools and volunteered in churches and organizations, and raised "decent" children. Yet, like Jean, I feel no sense of entitlement or earned privilege as an American, none whatsoever. I feel incredibly fortunate to have been born free and to have had loving parents who gave me a good education and continued to love and encourage me. I know now that this is far more rare than it should be, but I refuse to judge other people. Instead, I want to try to understand, and to share what I've been given — especially the love and understanding — with those who don't have the same.

My husband's family came only one generation ago from the Middle East and Armenia, escaping persecution and seeking education and opportunity. They worked hard, just as my ancestors did when they came here from England. If we had had children they would have been browner than I am, just as the world is gradually growing browner. That's fine with me. I have no attachment to some notion of "American" culture, nor can I even define it: unlike the Tea Partiers, who have a much narrower view, to me American culture is this rich melting pot that results from immigration, mixed cultural contact, and intermarriage. I do not believe in cultural, racial, religious, sexual, ethnic, ancestral or economic superiority; I really do believe all people are created equal and have an absolutely equal right to "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness." Perhaps that's a liberal attitude that's easier to sustain in North America but, after all, it is the founding principle. The difficulty of carrying it out and remembering it ought to be painfully obvious by now, only 235 years into the experiment of American democracy.

The desire for freedom from oppression of all kinds, coupled with the possibility of movement, means that people are going to seek new homes and to mix, and that there will be a subsequent dilution of so-called cultural purity, as well as a loss of ethnic identity in the new homeland. These separate purities, which in their original form gave rise to tribes and nations, have been a source of imperialism, oppression, genocide and war, as well as unique and rich founts of literature, art, cuisine, dress, customs and rituals. No longer separated by geographic boundaries, or even by time and distance, we can neither hide from each other, nor suppress our natural curiosity and hunger for what we see on the other side of the mountain, ocean, desert or river — or, for that matter, the barbed wire or constructed wall. Human beings will always seek freedom, equality, and a better life for themselves and their children.

Living among the French in Quebec, as part of its English-speaking minority and as one immigrant member of an urban society filled with other immigrants from all over the world, has made me much more conscious of how a small isolated group can feel their unique culture is threatened. (Immigration to Canada is not guaranteed, there is a point system and a long process that must be followed.) But the dark reverse side of cultural preservation is racism. Each society has to decide what matters most, and where their true values ultimately lie: are there ways to offer freedom, openness, asylum, and opportunity and welcome the cultural richness which enhances life, encouraging participation in the society as a whole, while also preserving an existing culture and language? (Shall we ask the indigenous peoples of North America what they think about that?) In Quebec, when some racist (anti-Muslim, most recently) sentiment came to the surface, the whole society engaged in a debate and year-long process with appointed commissioners, because as a nation we wanted to acknowledge the problem of cultural preservation vs. immigration and deal with it openly. I think this will be an ongoing discussion, because it is generally agreed here that racism is unacceptable, immigration is desireable, French culture is valuable, and that we have to find ways of negotiating between the resulting tensions and fears.

Social and economic frustration; changes in values and behavior; loss of the familiar and precious; the breakdown of family and community support and increasing isolation of the individual; the omnipresent influence of technology and media; the diminishing reward of education and hard work; corporate and governmental corruption and greed; violence moving closer to us: these are very difficult issues, and I think we've already recognized here that they are interrelated. I'm glad we can talk about them and try to trust each other.

Feral Capitalism

OK, a rare rant.

This morning I got a note from a Canadian friend with whom I often discuss politics and religion. He was sending me a link to an article by David Harvey, professor at CUNY, about the British riots, where he picked up on the Daily Mail's phrase "nihilistic and feral teenagers" and wrote about the larger phenomenon he calls "feral capitalism." This was my reply to my friend:

I was appalled by (Archbishop of Canterbury) Rowan Williams' remarks to the House of Lords, and even more surprised that The Guardian, of all places, lauded what he said.

"Feral capitalism" is a perfect phrase for what we're seeing. We are so free to talk about "bad parenting" and "criminality" while our governments bomb innocents, rob billions of dollars from the economies to pay for their wars, send all the available manufacturing jobs offshore, and allow millionaires and giant corporations to evade taxes while cutting social services — and then are astonished when people who have nothing take the things they want, the same things that are touted daily in mass advertising and the media and give prestige in a society that cares mainly about consumption and wealth. What, exactly, are criminality and morality, I'd like to ask? Shall we go back to the Book of Kings and see what's written there? Perhaps Williams ought to read the prophets as well as the Gospels in addition to Dostoyevsky and Marx!

Then too, we seem astounded to discover large segments of the population who are basically nihilistic. We already know that 50% or more of the people don't vote. They already don't feel they are part of this "society" we're defending; they were dropped from it long ago, especially in class societies like England. In the U.S., which I don't often defend, at least poor kids have a chance of moving up; fewer doors are barred, and rising from poverty through education and hard work is a narrative built into American culture — look at Bill Clinton — such people are not successfully discriminated against by people with titles or inherited wealth. I can't help but feel that a backdrop of royal wedding excess, Olympic fever, as well as the constant barrage of media messages have contributed. Michael Adams' charts of trends in North American social values, in his books like "Fire and Ice" show this very clearly and disturbingly.

David Harvey writes:

Thatcherism unchained the feral instincts of capitalism (the “animal spirits” of the entreprenuer they coyly named it) and nothing has transpired to curb them since. Slash and burn is now openly the motto of the ruling classes pretty much everywhere.

This is the new normal in which we live. This is what the next grand commission of enquiry should address. Everyone, not just the rioters, should be held to account. Feral capitalism should be put on trial for crimes against humanity as well as for crimes against nature.

Sadly, this is what these mindless rioters cannot see or demand. Everything conspires to prevent us from seeing and demanding it also. This is why political power so hastily dons the robes of superior morality and unctuous reason so that no one might see it as so nakedly corrupt and stupidly irrational.

But he does go on to point out places where instances that give hope for change. In my lifetime, the "Powers and Principalities," to use Walter Wink's phrase, have only become more powerful, into which the institutional Church is inextricably entwined, so it is hard to imagine the process reversing. I too am appalled by mindless rioting and looting, especially by children, but I am not surprised, not at all.

I was not poor myself, but grew up among the rural poor, and have lived most of my life in mixed neighborhoods where I've interacted daily with disenfranchised people. People whose lives include education, love, opportunity, mentors, expectations, and hope cannot apply their standards to those who have none of those things.

A very small example: I've always grown flowers, both in front of my house and in the backyard. Every year, I'd lose some of the front flowers to poor local children wo lived in Section 8 housing down the street. Once when I saw two girls heading down the street with the hands full of bright tulips, I followed and caught up with them. They stopped, chagrined, and I asked them why they had taken the flowers. "Because we wanted them," one said, with perfect honesty. "Because they're so pretty," said the other, "and we don't have anything like that at home." I told them they could always have some flowers to pick, if they'd ring the doorbell first and ask rather than just taking them. They said fine, and did that.

I don't tell that story to excuse the behavior of the rioters and looters, simply to say that the inequalities have grown far too great, and that "because I wanted them" is a very basic rationale for the non-thinking, impulsive behavior we've just witnessed. Bad parenting or failed education are, of course, huge factors, but in my opinion they're not the end reason but further symptoms of a much deeper underlying problem. These phenomena don't arise out of a vacuum, but against a cultural background of savage, rampant capitalism where great crimes by the powerful — from the highest institutions to the richest individuals, often in collusion with one another — are not only unpunished, but rewarded.

Obama’s Al-Arabiya Interview: Amazing

(Addendum: for those who don't know his background, here's a little bit more on George Mitchell, who was instrumental in brokering peace in Northern Ireland. Full bio.

He was born on Aug. 20, 1933, in Waterville, Me., where his father
was a janitor at Colby College and his mother worked nights in a
textile mill to support their five children. His mother was an
immigrant from Lebanon, and his father, an orphan of Irish ancestry,
was raised by a Lebanese family./In his youth,  Mr. Mitchell served as an altar boy in the
Arabic-language Maronite Catholic church in Waterville, and in later
years said he still retained a few words of Arabic.

Yesterday, President Obama gave an interview to Al-Arabiya TV. I went there as soon as I heard the news, this morning, and read the full transcript and I am quite astounded – I thought he might gradually move toward articulating this position, but for him to state it right at the outset signals an entirely new start, coming from a deep understanding of the region and the interrelationships between the conflicts we're seeing. It also takes a lot of courage, because there is going to be serious blow-back against this approach, both domestically and from the hardliners in Israel. Internationally, I think we will see relief, and skepticism that will gradually be won over – the comments following the transcript are interesting in that regard. If he can hold to this approach, it will defuse the power of the nay-sayers and of the extremists. Personally, I am thrilled both by what is being said here, and by the timing of this interview and Mitchell's immediate deployment and the signal these actions give. It's the best we could hope for.

I'd urge anyone who is interested to read the entire transcript on Al-Arabiya's English language website.

(excerpt)

THE PRESIDENT:…And so what I
told him (George Mitchell) is start by listening, because all too often the United States
starts by dictating — in the past on some of these issues –and we don't
always know all the factors that are involved. So let's listen. He's going to
be speaking to all the major parties involved. And he will then report back to
me. From there we will formulate a specific response.

Ultimately, we
cannot tell either the Israelis or the Palestinians what's best for them.
They're going to have to make some decisions. But I do believe that the moment
is ripe for both sides to realize that the path that they are on is one that is
not going to result in prosperity and security for their people. And that
instead, it's time to return to the negotiating table.

And it's going to
be difficult, it's going to take time. I don't want to prejudge many of these
issues, and I want to make sure that expectations are not raised so that we
think that this is going to be resolved in a few months. But if we start the
steady progress on these issues, I'm absolutely confident that the United
States — working in tandem with the European Union, with Russia, with all the
Arab states in the region — I'm absolutely certain that we can make
significant progress...

I do think that
it is impossible for us to think only in terms of the Palestinian-Israeli
conflict and not think in terms of what's happening with Syria or Iran or
Lebanon or Afghanistan and Pakistan.

Inauguration Journal: Epilogue

A letter to Teju Cole:

Dear Teju,

Well, the euphoria is behind us and the hard work just beginning. I’m
sorry you weren’t able to be in Washington, to experience the crowd and to feel
more American than you’d probably admit to. On the other hand, I suspect you
would have felt a part of yourself standing to the side, as I did. I didn’t
find the inauguration as moving as election night, nor did I share the intense
catharsis so many people there seemed to feel. I guess I was aware of something else
out there, outside the security fences ringing the Mall, kept at bay for that
one day but still malevolently present on the periphery. Here we were, a crowd
of tree-huggers and children of slaves, old draft dodgers and peaceniks, and the
poorest of the poor – a mob of outcasts and sinners for sure – who for this day had been passed graciously through the gates to stand as witnesses on the frozen
turf of this symbolic home-ground of democracy.

And yet the memory returned, of another frigid day, not long ago in New York,
when we were herded into pens rather than being allowed to march in protest of
the soon-to-be Iraq War, controlled by mounted police, snipers on the rooftops
and helicopters overhead. And how many others in that inauguration throng had marched
in Selma, or endured the dogs and water cannons and rat-infested jails – those
lucky ones who didn’t suffer worse? During Vietnam our photos had been taken,
our names put on lists, our passive bodies carried out of college
administration buildings.

The forces that held the hoses and threw the tear gas
canisters and shot the students have not, by any stretch of liberal imagining,
vanished just because someone who seems familiar and sympathetic has taken
over the chief office of the land.

This is no time to be naive.

After the election, Teju, you wrote that to you “there's nothing sadder
than what Jesus called ‘white-washed sepulchres.’ You wondered about the “psychic
weight of the more than 600,000 people we've sent to an early grave in Iraq,” and
the plight not just of the middle class, but of the truly poor. I wonder too.

I wondered about it on this trip as we drove past some of New York’s
high-security prisons, part of a system that now houses 1 in every 100 male
Americans – and 1 in 8 of all black Americans. What kind of karma is being
generated not only by Guantanamo, but by our own domestic prison worlds behind
the razorwire and moats? Or in the military hospitals where returning veterans
who’ve lost limbs, spouses, and sanity languish, mostly forgotten by fans singing God Bless America during the
seventh-inning stretch? I also think about the fact that in my 56 years of privileged white life I've only had two close friends who were black – you and one other – and the unspoken fact that some white Washington-area residents stayed away from the inauguration simply because they were afraid.

But the flags, the bands, the banner-strewn facades, the pat phrases about American exceptionalism – my God, I’m sick to
death of nationalism! Ultimately, the rhetoric has to change past those things
“every senior politician has to say,” as the media puts it. Maybe there’s a
chance it will. Maybe one day there will even be room for some humility, some
remorse, some redemption.

(click for large view)

Walking home from the inauguration on the eerily-empty highway, we
ended up walking right through the deserted parking lot of the Pentagon, past
the Pentagon Memorial on the side where the plane hit, and finally up the hill past Arlington National Cemetery. From the rise
there, crowned by the new Air Force memorial, you see an ironic panorama: the
rows and rows of white military grave markers on the left, the fortress-like Pentagon of the generals and admirals on
the right, and in-between, a gleaming white phallic symbol.

The problem is that I’ve seen too much in my lifetime, and it’s broken down my
idealism…not into cynicism, which is like death, but into realism about both
human nature and political cycles. Our capacity for greed and violence is as
boundless as our capacity for love, and I sometimes see those being the two
weights in blind Justice’s balance. We fall in love, and out of love; the
scales swing one way and then the other. Incrementally, society has become
somewhat more humane over history but for every step toward freedom, liberty, equality and
compassion there are opposing forces willing to fight to the death to hold onto
the status quo.

The day after Obama’s election, we received quite a few emails from
friends saying, in different ways, “you can come back now.” I understood
where that was coming from, and appreciated the sentiment, but we didn’t leave our birthplace because of one man, but because of the pervasive values and choices of a society. The ascendancy of another, far better man isn’t going to make us abandon
our new home in this gentler, more self-reflective place where we feel able to be citizens of the world and not merely of one nation, even though I am and always will be American, and want to do my part. I fervently
hope his keen intelligence and deep convictions about right and wrong
will be able to withstand the battering he’ll begin to receive from those
hell-bent to resist change. The look on his face, as he came down that corridor
toward the sunlight and the waiting crowd on Tuesday, is for me the most haunting image from the day. He gets it, but do we?

love,

Beth

Reflections on the Inauguration

 All the photographs in this article are by J.; please visit his slideshow portfolios, washington 1 and washington 2, to see images from the entire day.

Tuesday morning, we left Alexandria, Virginia at 7:30 am and took a bus – the
only allowed road traffic on the highways and bridges – into Washington.
The driver let us off at 14th and C. Walking with a gathering multitude — families and friends holding onto each
other’s coats to avoid being separated,  elderly
people, some clearly very poor, wrapped in blankets; disabled people in
wheelchairs decorated with flags and Obama paraphernalia — we made our way to
the Mall and the security checkpoint, where we were scanned, patted down
apologetically, and waved through by cheerful officers.

For the next couple of hours, Jonathan took photographs from
a vantage point on one of the huge stands that held an array of loudspeakers. People
with cameras approached his coveted perch and asked if they could switch with
him for a few minutes, or if he’d take a photo of them with the flag-draped
Capitol behind them. I helped one elderly
black gentleman climb up the slippery metal, and held his feet while he snapped
a few photographs. Back on the frozen ground, he thanked me, and said he was
from New York City. “That’s my grandson,” he told me, gesturing proudly toward
a boy who stood near us. “I’m going to be 80 this year – the same age as Dr. King.”

“Did you march with him?” I asked.

“I certainly did.”

“He’d be happy today,” I said.

 He nodded gravely: “That
he would.”

On the huge video monitors on the edges of the Mall,
members of a children's choir recited bits of American poetry. One of them spoke the words of Emma
Lazarus’s poem engraved on the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty: “Give me your tired, your poor/ Your huddled masses yearning to breathe
free…”

That’s who we are today, I thought. Tired, many of us poor,
and all of us yearning to breathe free. 
I looked around and smiled: but if we’re huddled, it’s only against the
cold. The people thronging the Mall were not giddy, as on the night of the
election. Now they waited patiently, with a certain soberness – the daunting
reality facing the new president had sunk in over the intervening weeks – but there was definitely joy, anticipation, and a sense of shared witness and shared pilgrimage: the constant question was "where are you from?" and the answer, "Los Angeles," "Iowa," "Memphis," was often followed by the words, "I just had to be here."

Near me, a burly first aid worker knelt in front of an elderly woman in a wheelchair and massaged her frigid feet before putting thermal packs in her shoes. "Is that better, dear?" I heard him ask. The choir began singing "Amazing Grace," and a lot of the people around me joined in. I did too, and suddenly found myself wiping my eyes.

The crowd was patient, but they were alert and reactive. When Ted Kennedy appeared on the TV screens, everyone
cheered. Senator Joe Lieberman was hissed. John McCain and the past presidents,
including George Bush, Sr., were greeted with polite applause. The biggest
cheers of the day, other than those for the Obamas, were for Bill Clinton. But
when George Bush, Jr.  and Dick Cheney
made their entrances, loud boos swept the Mall – unreported by the television
media, but certainly heard by everyone on the podium.  The lack of reporting about the size of
demonstrations,  and the depth of
American dissatisfaction and dissent, had been among the most frustrating facts
of the past eight years, while the administration’s appearances in front of dwindling
audiences were carefully-orchestrated and televised. On this day, however, that
dissatisfaction was going to be heard.

So, too, was the crowd’s overflowing joy. When the caravan
of Secret Service vans and Obama’s limousine drew into sight, cheers rippled
all along Pennsylvania Avenue up to the Capitol, and people ran forward to try
to catch a glimpse.  The cheers for the
Obama children, the new First Lady, and the President-elect were deafening.

Somewhat reluctantly, people bowed their heads during Rev.
Rick Warren’s prayer; some even turned their backs, protesting this nod to the
Religious Right.

But everyone was riveted during the oath of office. Afterwards,
the young black woman in front of me turned to her companion, tears running
down her cheeks, crying, “At last! Finally I can say President Obama!” We all turned and hugged our neighbours, crying
and laughing in relief, happiness, and incredulity: the country had its first
black President – a man who was about to pledge to turn the country around.

During the President’s address the crowd listened
attentively.  The comments near me were
soft: “He’s got a good heart;” a few “Amen, brother”s; a surprised “He’s really
giving it to him!” when Obama repudiated the past administration’s policies.
The speech signalled a clear break with the past; the difficulty of the task
ahead; the need for all of us to contribute; and the desire to extend America’s
hands in friendship and peace toward the world. “For all his oratorical skills,
I think Obama ultimately wants to be known as a doer, not a speaker,” reflected
one observer afterwards. The new President's inaugural address – simple and direct, without many
rhetorical flourishes, would seem to back that up.

There was no question about the historical significance of
the day in the struggle for racial equality, and the high number of gay and
lesbian couples, people of other ethnic groups, Native Americans, and women in
the crowd indicated how much this milestone meant to other minorities. But it
was also the end of eight devastating years. The moment when Bush's helicopter
lifted off and the cry went up from all those throats was something I'll never
forget. It wasn't until later that I realized, bizarrely, that it had reminded
me of that endlessly-replayed moment of toppling the statue of Saddam Hussein.
In that case, still photographs later revealed that what had looked like an
enormous crowd had actually been a staged event. But on Tuesday, the jubilation
and relief couldn’t have been more real. As the departing helicopter flew down
the length of the National Mall, millions and millions of people cheered,
jeered, danced, sang, and raised their arms wide in a universal gesture of
freedom. This president who, with his colleagues, had betrayed America’s core
values at home and abroad, was finally leaving and we, the people, had replaced
him with someone who felt like one of us. 
Everywhere, the same phrase was repeated, "Finally — I can breathe
again! I can breathe!"

The crush of people leaving the Mall and trying to get home
or to the parade route was even greater than in the morning. The buses back to
Alexandria weren’t running yet at all, so we decided to walk. Somewhere on the
bridge over the icy, wide Potomac we walked for a while with an older black man.
He limped and carried a cane, and told us he was a cab driver. “I mean no
disrespect,” he said, “but I am glad to see these men gone. They’ve done so
much damage; I really feel they should go to jail for what they’ve done.” His
gentle voice deepened: “They did it for their own profit… and were arrogant about it, while ordinary people
lost everything, including their hope.”

It was a long drive back to Montreal. About halfway up,
outside New York City, we stopped at a highway 
service area. In the large fluorescent-lit restroom, hung with warning
signs like ‘Ladies, Watch your Pocketbooks!”, and “All Employees Must Wash
Hands!” a middle-aged black woman, stooped beyond her years, shuffled across
the floor, sweeping bits of paper into a long-handled dustpan.  I went out and approached one of the
fast-food counters, where another woman, only twenty or so, stood waiting for
customers. “Could you make a latte that’s half regular and half decaf?” I
asked.

“No,” she replied, in the defeated low voice I’ve sadly heard in poor black workers all my life. “We can’t do that.”

“I’ll have a tea then,” I said. “Small is fine.” My chest
constricted as she turned away to fill my order. I wanted so badly to give her
some of what I'd received, and had no idea how.

“That’ll be a dollar-thirty” she said.

I pulled out a bill and the change and handed it to her. “I’m on my way
back from Washington,” I tried, the words tumbling out into the space between
us. “From the inauguration yesterday.” She looked at me, startled, the
recognition dawning that I was trying to tell her something.  I met her eyes and said, “It was a wonderful day.”

Slowly, shyly, she broke
into a broad smile. “Yes,” she said, finally, but in a much stronger voice, “Yesterday
was a really good day.”

“For all of us, I hope,” I said firmly.

She handed me the tea across the counter, and for a moment
we locked eyes.

“Thanks very much,” I said, nodding, and turned to go, my
eyes suddenly brimming with tears.

Inauguration Journal: Monday

Over breakfast with our dear friends G. and L. in Potomac, watching the snow falling and juncos and wrens hunting for food beneath the rhododendrons beyond their sunporch, we asked if they'd ever attended an inauguration. Both of them were Washington lawyers for many years, and they've spent most of their lives in the capitol area and quite involved with the government; G. even clerked for one of the Supreme Court justices after graduating from law school.

They smiled. "Oh yes," they said, "we went to Clinton's second inauguration. We just decided to go on the spur of the moment, and drove into Washington – did we park on Pennsylvania Avenue? No, that's right, we found a garage just off it, and walked over. The crowd was maybe six people deep, and suddenly there was Clinton's limousine, and it stopped and he got out, not too far from us – we were all waving, and he was right there. We watched the whole thing."

All the papers seem to be trying to dissuade people from attending, and nearly all the locals we've talked to look at us like we're crazy. The media keeps insisting that the "record crowds" who've come from "all across America" are here so they can say, one day in the future, "I was there." For some of them, maybe that's the case, but you know, I think that statement reflects a certain inside-the-beltway cynicism, and denies the depth of feeling that has drawn so many people to the city to witness this event. Maybe I'm wrong; it's one's thing I hope to find out tomorrow.

I don't think you get in a car and drive thousands of miles just to collect a trophy experience you can tell your grandchildren about. You don't wait for hours or stand in the cold with tears running down your face in order to brag about it later. This isn't the SuperBowl, nor is it a Madonna concert; I think it is more like a pilgrimage, and the media perhaps is simply too jaded to understand or talk about its spiritual component. People are here because they feel something has changed,  something that they've never seen in their lifetimes, and that they've had a part in that change. It's not just about Obama, and it's not just about race, but it is very much about taking a further step on the road to freedom.

Inauguration Journal: Sunday

After a long (11 hour), but interesting and chatty drive down here yesterday, we got a good night's sleep and spent this morning with J.'s brother and sister-in-law at their Quaker meeting in Fairfax County, Virginia. The historic meeting house sits on a small parcel of land bordering a large Army base – an irony that's of course not lost on any of the members, and also borders George Washington's extensive Mount Vernon lands. Several tall white oaks shade the building, along with the largest holly tree I've seen outside England, and the ground is covered with the bristly seedpods of sweetgum trees. Beyond the meeting house is a graveyard that goes back to the 1849 gathering of the community and continues up to the present.

It felt somehow appropriate to begin our visit by sitting in silence for an hour with these fifty Quakers, many of whom work for various Washington agencies or non-profits, thinking with them about the new leadership and about peace. Only a few rose to speak during the hour; one woman said she had been considering how she had participated in mocking the outgoing president during the past eight years, as a coping strategy, and wasn't very proud of that. She mentioned learning recently that he had had a sister who died when they were both children, but George had not been allowed to participate in the ritual or the mourning. "How do we know how he was affected by that, especially his language ability? There is so much we don't know – and it reminds me of the need to try to be compassionate toward everyone, even those whose behavior we cannot understand." I try to stretch myself in that direction too – it isn't always easy.

During the hour, I wasn't really trying to formally meditate, and watched my mind ranging over many topics. I thought quite a lot about Anglican worship – what I love about it, and yet how much I miss this kind of shared silence, contemplation, and simplicity. Still, I felt quite far away from insight, or even prayer, until the last few minutes when another woman rose and suggested we might reflect a little less on the hope we place in our leaders, and a little more on how each of us can further the cause of peace. It is, of course, the question that causes many of us to despair, because our efforts seem so futile.

"How can I be peace?" I asked myself.

"You must start by stopping the violence you do to yourself." The answer formed in my mind with the immediate, silver clarity I recognize as truth. I may be calm and compassionate toward others, but I'm still capable of tormenting myself, though less so than when I was younger and didn't pick up on it as quickly. The insight was correct: it's what I most need to work on. Our greatest chance of affecting others positively occurs in our immediate circles of friends and associates, but the effect we can have is always limited by what's inside ourselves.

I think this is something that distinguishes Obama from most of his predecessors: he is someone who not only knows himself, but is on the way to mastering himself. When the world saw him speak on election night, he seemed happy but not triumphant, and he spoke with great seriousness. The old Anglican prayer about "comforting the suffering, and shielding the joyous"  speaks to that human need for balance – the opposite of what many of us experience, and even seek, in our emotional lives. This gravity and equanimity in the face of whatever comes is hard-won in life; not many people ever have it, because it takes both insight and work.

As Shunryu Suzuki said in a chapter of Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind, we polish a tile not because it is possible but because it is impossible, and still we should do it. In an article I read about Obama's spiritual life, written when he was running for the Senate, he acknowledged as much, saying it had taken the first forty-eight years of his life to figure out what seemed important to base one's life upon, and he expected he would be devoting the next forty-eight to trying to live what he had learned so far.