Balm for the soul: A prayer in the Pentagon

I am truly disturbed by the state of affairs since Charlotteville. The world feels less safe, less predictable. I grew up during the Cold War, and under threat of 'terrorism'. And I truly thought we were beyond that. Apparently not. So I was reminded of this poem, which I read as a child at school. It is from the same anthology, New Inscapes, edited by Robin Malan, and published by Oxford University Press, 1986.


by Robert Dederick

NINE
planets, Sir, endlessly circle, Sir,
one yellow star among Sir's galaxies:
Pluto Neptune Venus Jupiter
Saturn Uranus Mercury Mars and this-
this watered and this aired this favoured one
where all that crawl and swim and fly and run
that drove and swarm and herd and flock are in
with tooth and leg and lung and claw and fin
created clothed and colored are by Sir

EIGHT
colors (counting white) Sir's rainbow makes

when whiteness on Sir's broken waters breaks
arched over tidal blue and branching grey
and grazing green and foaling brown down and away
with gorsing yellow glow and honeyed hay
and petalled blush and mottled winging whirr;
the limpid eyes each of Sir's colors wakes
dark-irised are and cleared and curved by Sir

SEVEN
tossing seas Sir's pent-up lands divide
where silver shoals in aching green-ness glide
turn suddenly and dart and flatly lie
break surface plunge and from each other hide
and stare as though by staring they aver
what sweet surprise had widened each wide eye
that once looked early on creating Sir

SIX
senses there were then in us who were
salt-tasting all along salt-scented shore
who felt crust cool and looked on shrinking sea
and heard gull-cry on draining estuary
and found back of these five a something more:
a sense of self and back of self - Sir

FIVE
fingers (counting a thumb) were what
we mostly were aware of as we fought
Sir's elements and cleared Sir's forests and sought
creation-wise new metalled ways to go
by spinning wheel and wing off runway. So?-

FOUR
quarters of our world began to grow
too few and of Sir's yellow star we thought
equations scribbled bubbled in retort
distilled its hot explosive secrets. So? -

THREE
questions pose themselves now as we wait:
did Sir not know how to end what Sir began?
Or could we choose? Or did Sir always plan

TWO
hands of ours to bring us soon or late
bent to destroy what hands of Sir's had wrought

ONE
day when we and all our world are brought to

NOUGHT?

Charlotteville and confronting whiteness

America. 2017. pic.twitter.com/idE2JK8Jtn

— Shaun King (@ShaunKing) 12. august 2017

I have come to the conclusion that this blog is a kind of therapy for me. A place to think aloud. Now, yes, you are probably right - I should just get a therapist and yes, does the world need yet another white voice? No. On the other hand, as a white person coming to grips with the inherent racism in Western society (my society) and not to mention white supremacy, not to mention because I am "stuck" here in Norway and so cannot go join a march somewhere in the US (nor am I engaged in such a manner as to be aware should someone here in Oslo be taking such an initiative, something I would be inclined to organise if I myself were an organiser, yes, yes, excuses, excuse).

Anyway, let me continue. My mind is, well percolating on the events in Charlottesville, Virginia and the USA at large (including their stooge-in-chief) and there is just so much which can and should be said (and a few thing which probably should not).

Inspired by Zizek, I am trying to not get distracted by leaves or even trees when there is a wicked forest we have to deal with. So, for example, blaming Trump is just stupid. Yes, he has emboldened the monster to come out of hiding, but truth is that Clinton would simply have chopped off the head of the hydra (presumably) and the beast would go back into hiding (and if you know about hydras, you will get that analogy without further explanation). Like Zizek implied, some beasts must be dealt with (see my previous post) in the open.

Secondly, it will be typical white supremacy if the death of a white woman actually contributes to the recognition that there is a problem. But at this point I am starting to feel that better that than the alternative if this actually does contribute to realising what we are in fact dealing with. The resilience of our ability to avoid and forget is however perhaps the only human quality comparable to our general stupidity (ref. Einstein attributed quote: "Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I’m not sure about the universe").

He said he would 'Make America Great Again.'#Charlottesville pic.twitter.com/BQd1jyhbyv

— James Melville (@JamesMelville) 12. august 2017

I have now posted two tweets with pictures, which in conclusion I want to make some observations about, which I feel kind of sum up what we as whites need to chew on, but in particular whites in the USA.

With respect to the first picture, there are three things that strike me:
1. The Nazi salute(s) on the right of the picutre;
2. The red, so-called kleagle KKK robe being worn by the guy behind the policeman; and
3. the poster being held by the guy on the right, which is both Anti-Semitic and goes as far as to quote New Testament scriptures to justify this.

With respect to the second twitter, note that these participants consider it entirely acceptable and even appropriate to wield a Nazi Swastika and the Confederate flag in tandem.

Let all of this sink in.

I have a thousand problems with these two images, but the one which outrages me the most is the one where there is a clear and unmistakable part for Christianity in this situation. You who claim you love Jesus Christ of Nazareth and support the stooge-in-chief, take a good long hard look at yourselves, and preferably also your Bibles. Because something is, well, just a tad awry, and as you guys would claim: 'it ain't the Bible'. (Will leave it at that for now).

This must be roundly condemned by all who do not want to be associated with these unmistakable and egregious symbols. And we whites living in other parts of the world should not fall into the trap of seeking to merely 'other' the whites in the USA. Last time it was it's worst, it was us. The TV, entertainment and technology we enjoy are from this country. We need to be more considered in our response to it, because truth is, it is not as far removed from our white and Western lives as we would like it to be at this moment.

Home

by Warsan Shire

no one leaves home unless
home is the mouth of a shark
you only run for the border
when you see the whole city running as well

your neighbors running faster than you
breath bloody in their throats
the boy you went to school with
who kissed you dizzy behind the old tin factory
is holding a gun bigger than his body
you only leave home
when home won’t let you stay.

no one leaves home unless home chases you
fire under feet
hot blood in your belly
it’s not something you ever thought
of doing
until the blade burnt threats into
your neck
and even then you carried the anthem under
your breath
only tearing up your passport in an airport toilets
sobbing as each mouthful of paper
made it clear that you wouldn’t be going back.

you have to
understand,
that no one puts their children in a boat
unless the water is safer than the land
no one burns their palms
under trains
beneath carriages
no one spends days and nights in the stomach of a truck
feeding on newspaper unless the miles travelled
means something more than journey.
no one crawls under fences
no one wants to be beaten
pitied

no one chooses refugee camps
or strip searches where your
body is left aching
or prison,

because prison is safer
than a city of fire
and one prison guard
in the night
is better than a truckload
of men who look like your father
no one could take it
no one could stomach it
no one skin would be tough enough

the
go home blacks
refugees
dirty immigrants
asylum seekers
sucking our country dry
niggers with their hands
out
they smell strange
savage
messed up their country and now they want
to mess ours up
how do the words
the dirty looks
roll off your backs
maybe because the blow is softer
than a limb torn off

or the words are more tender
than fourteen men between
your
legs
or the insults are easier
to swallow
than rubble
than bone
than your child body
in pieces.
i want to go home,
but home is the mouth of a shark
home is the barrel of the gun
and no one would leave home
unless home chased you to the shore
unless home
told you
to quicken your legs
leave your clothes behind
crawl through the desert
wade through the oceans
drown
save
be hunger
beg
forget pride
your survival is more important

no one leaves home until home is a sweaty voice in your ear
saying
leave,
run
away from me now
i dont know what i’ve become
but i know that anywhere
is safer than here

Photo: Facebook - "and when I leave, be sure I did my best to stay"
poem: https://www.amnesty.ie/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/home-by-warsan-shire.pdf

Random musings

Remember this? I remember actually understanding and perhaps rather reluctantly, tending to agree with Zizek on this. As I understood it, his reasoning was that Trump is so bad that he might be just the shock treatment that the system needs to actually make the necessary steps to improve. It was radical and certainly somewhat counter-intuitive for many of us, but I begrudgingly have to admit it made sense. Now I find myself wondering if his view was not a bit optimistic (dare I say it?), perhaps even naive?

How do I come this conclusion? For the simple reason that it is simply too easy to demonise Trump, and so he has become the representation of the system, while he too is simply just a product and symptom of it. Kicking him out of the presidency is not going to solve the problem. It simply takes us back towards status quo, in all its manifold glory. From the religious right embodied in Mike Pence to the Democrats on the so-called left.

Trump has a sturdy group of supporters who will probably support him no matter what. Just as European countries have a small, but significant proportion who support their right wing parties. I suspect we will keep stumbling on for some time yet one way or another.

Having said which, a respite from Trump would be nice.

Black Lives Matter

Probably the most profound learning and growing experience I have had the past few years has been that of the Black Lives Matter movement.

I was doing my Masters degree in Edinburgh, and although already on the way, thanks to a South African friend who was at that stage posting lots of stuff on Facebook which played a huge role in educating me about white supremacy (although that term has gained much more traction since then).

I remember Michael Brown, Freddie Gray, Tamir Rice, but perhaps it started with Trayvon Martin. And it has not stopped since. I can name quite a list without too much effort: Sandra Bland, Rekia Boyd, Eric Garner, Philando Castile, Akai Gurley, Walter Scott etc. etc. There are too many.

Let me take a step back: I am a white South African. I grew up in Apartheid South Africa. I am an English South African, whose father faithfully voted PFP though out my childhood, and who was horrified when my friends admitted their parents actually voted NP. But never politically active. My mother, you may be wondering, did not vote in South Africa. She remained a Norwegian citizen for the duration of her forty plus years of living in South Africa and I like to joke that her most notable anti-apartheid protest was to ensure that both her children received the most Norwegian names conceivable.

She did however have a picture of a crying black girl in the house, and as adults she told us that she had intended that we would ask why she was crying. That would be the basis on which to explain apartheid to us. we never asked. I was not actually one to ask questions. Rather I observed the world around me and came to my own conclusions. Funny thing is, while I may have barely scratched the surface, I was never way off either. I realised that black South Africans lived differently. I pieced it together that it was wrong. And I was born with an inherent sense of fairness which told me it was wrong. Very, very wrong. And so I felt uncomfortable in my own skin as my awareness of the world around me grew. And I dared not think too deeply and suppressed the need for answers as a form of protection. I made good use of my white privilege.

But I remember so clearly the moment it all changed. I was living in Norway for a few years in the early nineties and I came across Steve Biko's book, I write what I like, in the library. So I took it out. Before reading it, I paged through the pictures in the book and my glance fell upon one photo, which seemed a bit more familiar, and the name was certainly a shock. It was someone I knew and respected. Could I even be so bold as to call her a friend? Yet, she had been detained by police and even tortured. And suddenly Apartheid became so much more real to me. And I was ashamed. I was so ashamed of being a white South African.

To cut a long story short, that shame pursued me for many years, until the freedom of discovering that Black Lives do indeed matter. That may seem like a paradox of sorts to you, but let me explain. I am a racist. Of course I am. I grew up in Apartheid South Africa, how could I not be? Even my parents efforts to raise me more non-racist than many of my peers could not escape that. I was a product of my society. And therein lies the freedom. Unlike the myth that racism is a personal foible, the idea that racism is a structural and institutional reality which churns us all out makes perfect sense. It is not something I chose any more than a black person chose to be born in South Africa. BUT that in no way lets me off the hook, far from it. Let me repeat that: far from it.

The Bible says that "For everyone to whom much is given, from him much will be required; and to whom much has been committed, of him they will ask the more" (Luke 12:48b). So we who are white living in a racist system have been given much, no doubt about it. And it is not about. being a white saviour, again, perish the thought. (Quick disclaimer: I grew up in a christian home and spent my entire childhood in that sub-culture. I remain an ardent admirer and dependent of Jesus himself, "christians", not so much, to put it mildly. Thankfully, there are exceptions.) So to speak in the terms of that sub-culture: white saviours are in my view akin to 'idolaters' and those who understand what I mean by that will also understand the consequences that image implies.

Rather we whites need to check our privilege. We need to stop erasing the voices of the rest of the world. We need to sit down and with time learn how and, quite importantly, when to use our privilege to amplify their own voices. We need to voices of justice and equity and restoration. There is so much I could write I suspect. But I am still learning.

And now, with social media and the internet, there are so many "opportunities" to speak. Whether one will be heard in the cacophony of what is 2017, is another question. There are opportunities to learn to write books, feature articles, blogging, ad nauseum. But it occurred to me: am I not just another white "Becky", wanting to be heard. Are there not enough of us? There is a fine balance to be found between taking space and being a voice for change and justice. So this is the question I am grappling with now.

Please join me on this journey.

Trump's Law #2

He's been at it again.

Trump's Law #1

For every tweet (or action), there is an earlier entirely contradictory tweet.

Identiy based on external factors

"Beyond Economics: Fears of Cultural Displacement Pushed the White Working Class to Trump" -- Well, duhhttps://t.co/cve7AFaMRT pic.twitter.com/KXRmLuTdxo

— Lord Keynes (@Lord_Keynes2) 11. juni 2017

I grew up in South Africa in the 80s. I remember figuring out for myself at some point that for white South African men, their identity was very much based on what they did (or didn't do). Even then I thought this was fairly dangerous, though obviously I could not tell you why. If this same performative gender is one of the factors which has contributed to the rise of right-wing populism in, at least, the USA and Great Britain, then it may have even greater significance than I realised.

About time I read Judith Butler.

Dear Family member that I un-friended today

I will concede that I am not surprised that I finally did it. It was a bit abrupt, but that also does not surprise me. It has nonetheless given me a new appreciation for the idiom: the straw that broke the camel’s back.

We have been on the outs for quite a long time now, and if memory serves, the last time we chatted on Facebook was prior to the US elections November last year. I have done my best to avoid you as we seemed incapable of a conversation which did not end in some kind of conflict and suspected that you have done the same. Except that it turns out you lurk around my sister’s Facebook page, because voilá, there you were. In a conversation which had nothing to do with you and with a person you have never met in your life who I was in a snarky conversation with. Whereupon you “liked” his statement. Nothing more, but 'twas sufficient. It was stupendously passive aggressive. The details are irrelevant. It felt like a physical slap in my face. It was a deliberate decision on your part to read the post in its entirety and a conscious effort to insert yourself into that conversation, even if it was a mere clearing of your throat. And that was the moment I knew. And while I am most definitely provoked and will be mulling over this result for the rest of today, at the same time I am aware that I register no sadness. It has been such a long time coming that it was simply that sound when a door closes properly. Not of the key turning, but the latch falling into place.

What makes it so wrought with significance is that you are one of the few people I have really connected to in my life. I do not connect with many people. I can chat to just about anyone (or I could before) and there are even those who think I am an extravert, but the truth is that there are only a very, very select few who I really value in my life, to whom I have felt a real sense of connection. They are very precious to me. Some have disappeared with time, or the connection has disappeared with time, but this in no way alters the fact that they are in a special category in my life. And among my family, you have been one of a very, very few in that category. And the severing of that connection is painful. And you are the only person who has moved from that category to an even smaller group of people whom, simply put, I do not like.

As I have absolutely no intention of sending you this letter, but am writing it entirely for therapeutic purposes (even if I do put in on my blog), I can think aloud about how we actually ended up here. This is not a step I take lightly. Far from it, and that is why I am working through it in my head. As if doing a post mortem may prevent it from happening again. Not that I would be any the wiser as to ensure a different course.

For most of my life I suspect that I have been a mystery to myself. But over my adult life I nevertheless have developed some amazing self insight (if I say so myself) which has stood me in good stead with friends and loved ones. I like to think that you have benefited from that, the fact that I can remember the last time we went out when I was visiting is proof of that, as I am not known to remember such events unless they make a mark on my soul as it were. And yet something happened. I know you have had a tough time the last few years. You showed yourself to be a very tough cookie and an amazing mother. I have great respect for you! But at the same time, on another level it all started with the extreme vitriol towards muslims. I tried to call you on it as gently as I knew how. It only seemed to make you more stubborn. We discussed it and I remember feeling quite overwhelmed by what I experienced to be the hardness of your heart. At that point the connection was at risk. I remember that feeling well, it too made a mark on my soul and was the beginning of the path which has brought us here.

Then there was Donald Trump. Donald Trump as a concept, let alone the person, has certainly made a mark on my soul. The fact that so many people who claim to love and worship Jesus Christ of Nazareth and call themselves christians have chosen to support him and blindly so has made a mark on my soul. A scar.

And you are among them.

One of the mechanisms which has given me most insight into myself the last few years has been the Myers Briggs Type Indicator. I was quite entranced from the get go, but had to reach the point where I did not allow it to become a predictor of me as well as an indicator. Such things can become an excuse for behaviour, but also an explanation. And I have always been one to be dissatisfied until such time as I had a sufficient explanation, including for my own reactions. Within that framework I come out as INFP - Introverted Intuitive Feeling Perceptive. These types are called dreamers and mediators. We are idealists and thus nor especially pragmatic. The key feature is that we are value-driven. We dream of making the world a better place and those values are our North star. Obviously the details of such values differ between each of us, but it took me a nano-second to recognise the most important value in my life: fairness and justice. Long before I knew any of this I was concerned about that. You could say I am quite anal about it to be honest. And I dare anyone to say that is a bad thing, even if it does by no means make me a likeable person in every situation. I could elucidate on the downside, but this letter is too long as it is. Anyway, in this context - right wing conservatism is my bête noire. Donald Trump is an anathema to me. And not only do you support him, you support him blindly and irrationally. The issue of abortion becomes the alpha and omega (instead of Him who truly is the Alpha and Omega) and the born are valued as rubbish in your eyes. Abortion and fear of Islam becomes a justification for authoritarianism which for me denies the value of each individual as the creation of the God we both two apparently serve and love. But no matter how big God is, we cannot both be right.

Christians who support Donald Trump are therefore completely inexplicable to me. Those values to which my being is anchored are so violated by this that I am simply unable to find my bearings within a christian context at this point of my life. Since the election of Donald Trump I have become completely overwhelmed and I even feel that my resilience has been undermined. Unless I find my bearings again, I am aware that I may face real challenges in the future.

This brings us to you. That moment when I realised that you had inserted yourself into a situation which had nothing to do with you. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. And I knew you had to go. Not only have you, up to this point, betrayed, violated and trampled on those values which are integral to who I am, as a family member, you sided with a complete stranger against me.

And Facebook being what it was - you clicked on like. And I navigated myself to the appropriate place after a few second’s reflection and clicked on unfriend. And thus such small motor movement in one’s hand have such consequences.

I wish you well. Really. But I am not value added in your life I think and nor you to mine. I am a poor actor these days and could not be bothered to try. If I know you at all, I think you might appreciate the honesty. I even sent a short message rather than just disappearing. You have responded but I doubt I will read it to be honest. I am too afraid that it will twist the knife. And though I am not sad, it is not without pain. No, this is a painful, but necessary decision. Both of us, I suspect, need to heal.

So only time will tell what happens next for either of us. We are on different paths. But stay well. We are both in His hands anyway. I hope you find peace and joy, as I am sure that you want the same for me.

MO.

postscript 16 August
I suddenly realised recently that the moment I clicked on 'unfriend' was the moment I had gone through all the stages of grief, and reached 'accept'. I am glad that it was in fact such a long process to grieve the end of the friendship, it means that it was as important to me as I suspected. It was just that one thing that happened which made me realise that I had reached that point.

Worth remembering even this June 4th

In memoriam. #june4 #毋忘六四 pic.twitter.com/WGHtV10eZG

— eileen chengyin chow (@chowleen) 4. juni 2017

I can so relate!

Q&A - 2017 version

So I did this in 2011, and was wondering to what extent my answers have changed, so here goes:


When were you happiest?
2011: The years I lived in Geneva, somehow I made sense then...
2017: I have been happiest when not living in Norway and South Africa it turns out. It is still true about Geneva, but also loved living in Edinburgh and even the six months in Nairobi, despite some trying aspects were amazing.

What is your greatest fear?
2011: Not having anyone to talk to or laugh with
2017: Never finding home

What is your earliest memory?
2011: Standing in my cot, waiting for someone. (Always thought it is ironic!)
2017: No older memories have emergied...

What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?
2011: My impressive ability to not do anything
2017: being a thinker and not a doer

What is the trait you most deplore in others?
2011: When people can barely have a conversation without explaining everything to you as though you are newborn...
2017: (Was I thinking of mansplaining then?) There is much I deplore at the moment, but nevertheless, to break it down to a mere trait? WIll need some reflection.

What was your most embarrassing moment?
2011: Still remember to this day crawling into the lap of some poor gentleman at church, thinking he was my father! Was probably four or five.
2017: The most recent comes to mind: sent out the wrong e-mail without my boss's changes reflected. Not good.

Property aside, what's the most expensive thing you've bought?
2011: Etro bag I saw in a window in Rome - still surprises me but I do not regret it. (Yet to every buy property!)
2017: Some art I bought in Nairobi may have come close, but I do not remember the price of the Etro bag any more.

What is your most treasured possession?
2011: My ipod probably...
2017: My ipad...?

What would your super power be?
2011: knowing the future
2017: being right

What is your favourite smell?
2011: Freshly ground coffee
2017: Good smells out in the world.

If you could bring something extinct back to life, what would you choose?
2011: my idealism
2017: my ignorance (Ignorance is bliss after all)


What is the worst thing anyone's said to you?
2011: "you're not"
2017: yip, still that

What does love feel like?
2011: Rather lovely. (stealing Roger Moore's words on this one)
2017: I wish I knew ;)

Have you ever said "I love you" and not meant it?
2011: Don't think so...
2017: It's complicated

Which living person do you most despise, and why?
2011: I may despise someone in a particular circumstance, but usually I try to find compassion for them too.
2017: Donald Trump. ('nuff said, no?)

Who would you invite to your dream dinner party?
2011: At this precise moment in time - just good friends would be a dream :-)
2017: This week: Nancy Fraser

If you could go back in time, where would you go?
2011: Absolutely no idea...
2017: Anywhere where it would be miraculously easier for me to live what I consider a meaningful life. Totally fiction of course.

Which word do you most overuse?
2011: "bored"
2017:

What has been your biggest disappointment?
2011: Waiting for the right guy to come along!
2017: things have just not ended up quite the way I hoped

How do you relax?
2011: Listen to music apparently
2017: Listen to music while surfing Facebook, Twitter or today, blogging

How often do you have sex?
2011: At present, I don't!
2017: What's that?

What is the closest you've come to death?
2011: Leaving the house while living in South Africa? (Not very close really :-)
2017: no closer methinks

What single thing would improve the quality of your life?
2011: A social life
2017: a pet

What is your greatest achievement?
2011: Not giving up
2017: still haven't given up

What keeps you awake at night?
2011: Thinking
2017: yip

What song would you like played at your funeral?
2011: Take my hand Precious Lord
2011: yip

How would you like to be remembered?
2011: I would be happy to be remembered!
2017: Yip

What is the most important lesson life has taught you?
2011: It could have been worse :-)
2017: Yip

So much for that. Not that much of a difference after all! I am after all of that age when I think I am just becoming more myself.

Source: I'm Not That Kind of Christian (Facebook)

Dave Allen on Religion