Good, and Now Back to Work: Avoiding Cynicism and Overconfidence in the Age of Obama by Tim Wise

Another entry from Tim Wise's blog.

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Good, and Now Back to Work: Avoiding Cynicism and Overconfidence in the Age of Obama
by Tim Wise

Tonight, after Barack Obama was confirmed as the nation's president-elect, I looked in on my children, as they lay sleeping. Though they are about as politically astute as kids can be, having reached only the ages of 7 and 5, there is no way they will be able to truly appreciate what has just happened in the land they call home. They do not possess the sense of history, or indeed, even a clear understanding of what history means, so as to adequately process what happened this evening, as they slumbered. Even as our oldest cast her first grade vote for Obama in school today, and even as our youngest has become somewhat notorious for pointing to pictures of Sarah Palin on magazines and saying, "There's that crazy lady who hates polar bears," they remain, still, naive as to the nation they have inherited. They do not really understand the tortured history of this place, especially as regards race. Oh they know more than most--to live as my children makes it hard not to--but still, the magnitude of this occasion will likely not catch up to them until Barack Obama is finishing at least his first, if not his second term as president.

But that's OK. Because I know what it means, and will make sure to tell them.

And before detailing what I perceive that meaning to be (both its expansiveness and limitations) let me say this, to some of those on the left--some of my friends and longtime compatriots in the struggle for social justice--who yet insist that there is no difference between Obama and McCain, between Democrats and Republicans, between Biden and Palin: Screw you.

If you are incapable of mustering pride in this moment, and if you cannot appreciate how meaningful this day is for millions of black folks who stood in lines for up to seven hours to vote, then your cynicism has become such an encumbrance as to render you all but useless to the liberation movement. Indeed, those who cannot appreciate what has just transpired are so eaten up with nihilistic rage and hopelessness that I cannot but think that they are a waste of carbon, and actively thieving oxygen that could be put to better use by others.

This election does indeed matter. No, it is not the same as victory against the forces of injustice, and yes, Obama is a heavily compromised candidate, and yes, we will have to work hard to hold him accountable. But it matters nonetheless that he, and not the bloodthirsty bomber McCain, or the Christo-fascist, Palin, managed to emerge victorious.

Those who say it doesn't matter weren't with me on the south side of Chicago this past week, surrounded by a collection of amazing community organizers who go out and do the hard work every day of trying to help create a way out of no way for the marginalized. All of them know that an election is but a part of the solution, a tactic really, in a larger struggle of which they are a daily part; and none of them are so naive as to think that their jobs are now to become a cakewalk because of the election of Barack Obama. But all of them were looking forward to this moment. They haven't the luxury of believing in the quixotic campaigns of Dennis Kucinich, or waiting around for the Green Party to get its act together and become something other than a pathetic caricature, symbolized by the utterly irrelevant and increasingly narcissistic presence of Ralph Nader on the electoral scene. And while Cynthia McKinney remains a pivotal figure in the struggle, the party to which she was tethered this year shows no more ability to sustain movement activity than it was eight years ago, and most everyone working in oppressed communities in this nation knows it.

It's like this y'all: Jesse Jackson was weeping openly on national television. This is a man who was with Dr. King when he was murdered and he was bawling like a baby. So don't tell me this doesn't matter.

John Lewis--who had his head cracked open, has been arrested more times, and has probably spilled far more blood for the cause of justice than all the white, dreadlocked, self-proclaimed anarchists in this country combined--couldn't be more thrilled at what has happened. If he can see it, then frankly, who the hell are we not to?

Those who say this election means nothing, who insist that Obama, because he cozied up to Wall Street, or big business, is just another kind of evil no different than any other, are in serious risk of political self-immolation, and it is a burning they will richly deserve. That the victorious presidential candidate is actually a capitalist (contrary to the fevered imaginations of the right) is no more newsworthy than the fact that rain falls down and grass grows skyward. It is to be properly placed in the "no shit Sherlock," file. That anyone would think it possible for someone who didn't raise hundreds of millions of dollars to win--at this time in our history at least--only suggests that some on the left would prefer to engage politics from a place of aspirational innocence, rather than in the real world, where battles are won or lost.

So let us be clear as to what tonight meant:

It was a defeat for the right-wing echo chamber and its rhetorical stormtroopers, foremost among them Rush Limbaugh, Sean Hannity and Glenn Beck.

It was a defeat for the crazed mobs ever-present at McCain/Palin rallies, what with their venomous libels against Obama, their hate-addled brains spewing forth one after another racist and religiously chauvinistic calumny upon his head and those of his supporters.

It was a defeat for the internet rumor-pimps who insisted to all they could reach with a functioning e-mail address that Obama was not really a citizen. Or perhaps he was, but he was a Muslim, or perhaps not a Muslim, but probably a black supremacist, or maybe not that either, but surely the anti-christ, and most definitely a baby-killer.

It was a defeat for those who believed McCain and Palin would be delivered the victory by the hand of almighty God, because their theological and eschatological vacuity so regularly gets in the way of their ability to think. As such, it was a setback for the religious fascists in the far-right Christian community whose belief that God is on their side has always made them especially dangerous. Now, having lost, perhaps at least some of these will be forced to ponder what went wrong. If we're lucky, perhaps some will suffer the kind of crisis of faith that often prefaces a complete nervous breakdown. Either way, it's nice just to ruin their Young-Earth-Creationist-I-Have-an-Angel-on-My-Shoulder day.

It was a defeat for the demagogues who tried in so many ways to push the buttons of white racism--the old-fashioned kind, or what I call Racism 1.0--by using thinly-veiled racialized language throughout the campaign. Appeals to Joe Six-Pack, "values voters," blue-collar voters, or hockey moms, though never explicitly racialized, were transparent to all but the most obtuse, as were terms like "terrorist" when used to describe Obama. Likewise, the attempt to race-bait the economic crisis by blaming it on loans to poor folks of color through the Community Reinvestment Act, or community activists like the folks at ACORN, failed, and this matters. No, it doesn't mean that white America has rejected racism. Indeed, I have been quite deliberate for months about pointing out the way that racism 1.0 may be traded in only to be replaced by racism 2.0 (which allows whites to still view most folks of color negatively but carve out exceptions for those few who make us feel comfortable and who we see as "different"). And yet, that tonight was a drubbing for that 1.0 version of racism still matters.

And tonight was a victory for a few things too.

It was a victory for youth, and their social and political sensibilities. It was the young, casting away the politics of their parents and even grandparents, and turning the corner to a new day, perhaps naively, and too optimistic about the road from here, but nonetheless in a way that has historically almost always been good for the country. Much as youth were inspired by a relatively moderate John F. Kennedy (who was, on balance, far less progressive than Obama in many ways), and much as they then formed the frontline troops for so much of the social justice activism of the following fifteen years, so too can such a thing be forseen now. That Kennedy may have been quite restrained in his social justice sensibilities did not matter: the young people whose energy he helped unleash took things in their own direction and outgrew him rather quickly in their progression to the left.

Tonight was also a victory for the possibility of greater cross-racial alliance building. Although Obama failed to win most white votes, and although it is no doubt true that many of the whites who did vote for him nonetheless hold to any number of negative and racist stereotypes about the larger black and brown communities of this nation, it it still the case that black, brown and white worked together in this effort as they have rarely done before. And many whites who worked for Obama, precisely because they got to see, and hear, and feel the racist vitriol still animating far too many of our nation's people, will now be wiser for the experience when it comes to understanding how much more work remains to be done on the racial justice front. Let us build on that newfound knowledge, and that newfound energy, and create real white allyship with community-based leaders of color as we move forward in the years to come.

But now for the other side of things.

First and foremost, please know that none of these victories will amount to much unless we do that which needs to be done so as to turn a singular event about one man, into a true social movement (which, despite what some claim, it is not yet and has never been).

And so it is back to work. Oh yes, we can savor the moment for a while, for a few days, perhaps a week. But well before inauguration day we will need to be back on the job, in the community, in the streets, where democracy is made, demanding equity and justice in places where it hasn't been seen in decades, if ever. Because for all the talk of hope and change, there is nothing--absolutely, positively nothing--about real change that is inevitable. And hope, absent real pressure and forward motion to actualize one's dreams, is sterile and even dangerous. Hope, absent commitment is the enemy of change, capable of translating to a giving away of one's agency, to a relinquishing of the need to do more than just show up every few years and push a button or pull a lever.

This means hooking up now with the grass roots organizations in the communities where we live, prioritizing their struggles, joining and serving with their constituents, following leaders grounded in the community who are accountable not to Barack Obama, but the people who helped elect him. Let Obama follow, while the people lead, in other words.

For we who are white it means going back into our white spaces and challenging our brothers and sisters, parents, neighbors, colleagues and friends--and ourselves--on the racial biases that still too often permeate their and our lives, and making sure they know that the success of one man of color does not equate to the eradication of systemic racial inequity.

So are we ready for the heavy lifting? This was, after all, merely the warmup exercise, somewhat akin to stretching before a really long run. Or perhaps it was the first lap, but either way, now the baton has been handed to you, to us. We must not, cannot, afford to drop it. There is too much at stake.

The worst thing that could happen now would be for us to go back to sleep; to allow the cool poise of Obama's prose to lull us into slumber like the cool on the underside of the pillow. For in the light of day, when fully awake, it becomes impossible not to see the incompleteness of the task so far.

So let us begin.

Here, Here and Now: Phenomenology of Being Foreign

I wrote this for my History of Lit. Theory and Criticism class. We attended a poetry reading by noted poets Natasha Tretheway and Paul Muldoon. The experience was nothing short of wonderful. Stamp my forehead with "Paul Muldoon Fan Forever."

. . . . .

What struck me about Paul Muldoon wasn’t something he said during his poetry reading, rather, it was something that was said about him after the session. An individual (who I shall henceforth call Tom, because I simply cannot remember his name anymore) said that he was surprised to find that Muldoon was more “Americanized” than he thought he would be. Curious, I asked him to qualify what he meant with “Americanized.” Tom said Muldoon sounded Americanized, and it had something to do with his vowels. So I asked him if I sounded Americanized and he said yes. It went off-tangent from there, but I’m guessing he said that because of my consonants. No, really. I personally think that my vowels sometimes give my nationality away (that is, if my looks aren’t obvious enough). Words like “amen” I pronounce as “a-men” and not “ay-men” or “aa-men” (although I do say “po-tay-toe” and not “po-taa-toe.”) It’s a nuance that a lot of Americans miss, probably because there are so many existing accents in this country. But to my trained (read: foreign) ear, there is a perceptible difference.

I open with this little anecdote, and the sub par linguistic introspection that followed suit, because I don’t think that Muldoon is Americanized at all, at least not exactly in the way that Tom explained. I can still hear Muldoon’s distinct Irish lilt, even though I could understand every word he said (which doesn’t often seem to be the case with the other Irish people I know.) But more than whether or not Tom and I agree that Muldoon sounded American, what it more interesting is how Tom and I understand “Americanized” differently. Granted that Tom didn’t really put much thought into his notion of Americanized, I can’t help but think that what Americanized (or insert-nationality-ized) means goes beyond the superficial level of accents.

As far as I’m concerned, Muldoon isn’t Americanized because he spoke of “anseo,” Joseph Mary Plunkett Ward, pubs, and secret camps. His poems are about people, places, and memories that portray a lingering kinship with Ireland. It is not simply because he was born there, or that his father was a typical blue collar worker, or the fact that they have bad teeth because their water did not have fluoride. He is not just from Ireland, he is, and forever will be, of Ireland, the country that shaped him. Ireland begat him. Everything – from his values, his quirks, even that interestingly unique hairstyle – speaks of his Irish-ness, and his poems wonderfully reflect this.

It is difficult to wrap my mind around Muldoon’s alleged Americanized-ness. 

To this non-American-who-is-also-often-called-Americanized, the ability to speak English in such a way that Americans will find it easy to understand –- while certainly a compelling piece of evidence –- does not necessarily guarantee Americanized-ness. At least not in the sense I know. Belief and value systems trump accent, no matter how (im)perfectly American it is.

Case in point: Muldoon opened his reading with Anseo. I initially thought he meant “Anne Shaw” and I thought it was odd that they would use someone else’s name to signify their presence. This misinterpretation of this Irish term is inconsequential, and I mention it only because, if anything, it is indicative of my mild acculturation to America. On the other hand, “anseo” reveals Muldoon’s brazen Irish-ness. From being a term that he associates with his youth:

“When the master was calling the roll

At the primary school in Collegelands, 

You were meant to call back Anseo 

And raise your hand

As your name occurred.

Anseo, meaning here, here and now, 

All present and correct,

Was the first word of Irish I spoke” 

(Anseo, lines 1-8); 

To a term that signified an individual’s presence and readiness to join the efforts to stand behind the political and social ideals of their native land: 

“I last met Joseph Mary Plunkett Ward 

In a pub just over the Irish border.

He was living in the open, 

in a secret camp 

On the other side of the mountain.

He was fighting for Ireland, 

Making things happen

How every morning at parade

His volunteers would call back Anseo

And raise their hands

As their names occurred” (29-35, 39-42).

“Here, here and now” becomes something more than a signifier of presence in school. It becomes a statement of belief, of readiness, of willingness to remain in the fight for what Ward and his companions believe. Muldoon, in one poem (in three stanzas!!!), was able to evoke the nostalgia of childhood, the emerging identity of a rebellious youth, and the passionate dedication of a citizen who understands his role in his society. That Muldoon can go through these stages, with accuracy and conciseness, is sheer genius. This is absolute, unadulterated, unabashed admiration speaking, but I can say this also because these stages resonate with me. I am a citizen of a country where people still die if they are on the wrong side of the political fence, a country whose ideals are slowly be eaten away by colonial mentality, a country so far away. I, too, am reminded of days when the most important thing about being in school was, well, being in school. I also remember how school allowed me to become more politically and socially aware. I remember going to my first protest in my Catholic school uniform and my enthusiastic participation in EDSA 2. I remember those days as I look at my own frustrations at being here, so far away from home, not knowing enough but wanting to do something; knowing so much, but not being able to do anything. If anything, the frustration at being here and the yearning to go back shall forever keep me from fully embracing the notion that I, too, am Americanized.

This is precisely why I cannot accept the idea of Muldoon being Americanized. His poems speak too much about Ireland, and even when they do not directly speak of Ireland, I hear it being spoken. His poems begin with something seemingly mundane, but by the end of the poem, I am left feeling raw. I am reminded that I am also a transplant, trying desperately to deal with this new society.

In The Sightseers, Muldoon, yet again, takes his readers on a journey from the mundane to the poignant. The poem describes a benign childhood memory that is coupled with political strife. What begins as a simple ride to see the new roundabout ends with a painful memory that is distinctly Irish.

“Uncle Pat was telling us how the B-Specials 

had stopped him one night somewhere near Ballygawley 

and smashed his bicycle 

and made him sing the Sash and curse the Pope of Rome. 

They held a pistol so hard against his forehead 

there was still the mark of an O when he got home”

(The Sightseers, lines 9-14)

His words are simple yet descriptive. The flippant way he describes that memory -– culminating in an O-mark on a forehead -– does not belie the gravity of what had happened. The O-mark, a reminder of the horrendous experience of being at the business end of a gun, is also the reminder that he is alive. Things could have been much worse than having a ridiculous O on the forehead.

Yes, Muldoon has spent a good portion of his adult life in a foreign country but this does not take away from his Irish-ness. Juxtaposition almost always accentuates one because of its difference from the other. If it’s any indication, I never really felt this Filipino -– whatever that means -– back home. I am now proudly, adamantly, and almost-brattily Filipino and mostly because I live, not just in America, but in West Michigan. As far as racial juxtapositions go, I think I’m all set. In perhaps the same way, Muldoon’s presence in America underscores his Irish-ness, and while his English has become more understandable to Americans, it certainly does not take away from his Irish-ness.

Yes, I am well aware of the tone of defensiveness. Tom actually made a good point, and the reason he gave is one that is shared by many Americans I have met since moving here. And here lies the rub: if I were to acknowledge that Muldoon is Americanized, then I have to acknowledge that I, too, have become Americanized. And that is something that I simply cannot do –- must not do -– because my guilt will have none of it. I simply cannot declare myself Americanized, because I am still too Filipino at heart, others’ opinions of my accent notwithstanding.

National pride and national identity do not figure in a zero-sum equation with quasi-acculturation. This I know, and I keep telling myself that it’s OK to be here, that I can fight for my country from here, that I will eventually go back home. But to be back home, to be with my people…there is no way I can explain how exponentially better that would be. Instead, this is a statement of inequality, where my Filipino-ness will always -– always -– be greater than my alleged American accent.

“Here, here and now” then becomes a phrase that is painfully beautiful and beautifully painful to me in so many levels because I am here. Not there. My “here” has changed. My “there” has changed. But my accent does not determine my Filipino-ness and neither does my location. So I may be here now, but I will be there soon enough.

For the Love of Two Stephens: Greenblatt and Colbert

I actually had the honor and the pleasure to attend Stephen Greenblatt's lecture here in my school. He's brilliant really: funny, intelligent, and amazingly approachable. *Mega crush alert!* He panders to my Electra sensibilities like you wouldn't believe. *goofy smile*

His lecture was on what he and Charles Mee have been working on: the Cardenio Project. Through the project, he and Mee reveal the cultural mobility of Story. I can try explaining it, but no one can do it as well as Greenblatt himself, so go read about it when you have the time.

We were required to make a paper on his lecture, and because he was so inspiring, *swoon again* I got an A! I made a Filipino version of Cardenio, revealing the hybridity of current Filipino culture, a result of being colonized for many years.

Anyway, here he is in The Colbert Report with another Stephen that I hugely adore. He discusses how McCain and Obama can be likened to several Shakespearean characters. See? Funny, intelligent, and great looking. My perfect nerdy matinee idol. LOL!. :-)

Of Flowing Rivers, Paddling Ducks, and Dancing Sunlight

The building where my classes are held sits on the banks of the Grand River. To see the river, I have to face the East, so I don't get to see the sunset. My building is not that high, but it's high enough to block the dying rays of the sun from fully hitting the river. In between buildings though, there is a sliver of sunlight that slips through -- and that's what I see now, dancing on the still-swelled-with-rain river's surface.

The river flows to the north, but the light stays in one place and even if it's not moving, the sunlight engages in a dance. On this patch of light sits a duck, serenely paddling towards the south. It isn't going anywhere really. It just sits there and paddles constantly so that he maintains his position under the sun.

River flowing to the north.

Sunlight loosely firm in front of me.

Duck calmly paddling to the south.

Duck's legs frantic underneath.

This constant moving without going anywhere, the panic under the calm.

All this unfolding in front of me, all this unfolding inside of me.

Wait, the duck just flew away.

9/24/2008
6pm

Worth Remembering: John Cleese's Revocation of American Independence

This made the rounds a few years ago when Bush was re-elected. Aside from it being hilarious, I think it should also give us pause. Hopefully Americans won't make the same mistake. ;-)

Now go put your tongue in your cheek and read on. John Cleese coming at you...

To the citizens of the United States of America: in light of your failure to elect a competent President of the USA and thus to govern yourselves, we hereby give notice of the revocation of your independence, effective today.

Her Sovereign Majesty Queen Elizabeth II will resume monarchical duties over all states, commonwealths and other territories. Except Utah, which she does not fancy. Your new prime minister (The Right Honourable Gordon Brown, MP for the 97.85% of you who have until now been unaware that there is a world outside your borders) will appoint a minister for America without the need for further elections. Congress and the Senate will be disbanded. A questionnaire will be circulated next year to determine whether any of you noticed. To aid in the transition to a British Crown Dependency, the following rules are introduced with immediate effect:

1. You should look up revocation in the Oxford English Dictionary. Then look up aluminium. Check the pronunciation guide. You will be amazed at just how wrongly you have been pronouncing it. The letter ‘U’ will be reinstated in words such as ‘favour’ and ‘neighbour’, skipping the letter ‘U’ is nothing more than laziness on your part. Likewise, you will learn to spell ‘doughnut’ without skipping half the letters. You will end your love affair with the letter ‘Z’ (pronounced ‘zed’ not ‘zee’) and the suffix -ize will be replaced by the suffix -ise. You will learn that the suffix ‘burgh’ is pronounced ‘burra’ e.g. Edinburgh. You are welcome to respell Pittsburgh as ‘Pittsberg’ if you can’t cope with correct pronunciation.

Generally, you should raise your vocabulary to acceptable levels. Look up vocabulary. Using the same twenty seven words interspersed with filler noises such as “like” and “you know” is an unacceptable and inefficient form of communication. Look up interspersed. There will be no more ‘bleeps’ in the Jerry Springer show. If you’re not old enough to cope with bad language then you shouldn’t have chat shows. When you learn to develop your vocabulary then you won’t have to use bad language as often.

2. There is no such thing as “US English.” We will let Microsoft know on your behalf. The Microsoft spell-checker will be adjusted to take account of the reinstated letter ‘u’ and the elimination of -ize.

3. You should learn to distinguish the English and Australian accents. It really isn’t that hard. English accents are not limited to cockney, upper-class twit or Mancunian (Daphne in Frasier.) You will also have to learn how to understand regional accents - Scottish dramas such as Taggart will no longer be broadcast with subtitles. While we’re talking about regions, you must learn that there is no such place as Devonshire in England. The name of the county is Devon. If you persist in calling it Devonshire, all American states will become shires e.g. Texasshire, Floridashire, Louisianashire.

4. Hollywood will be required occasionally to cast English actors as the good guys. Hollywood will be required to cast English actors to play English characters. British sit-coms such as Men Behaving Badly or Red Dwarf will not be re-cast and watered down for a wishy-washy American audience who can’t cope with the humour of occasional political incorrectness.

5. You should relearn your original national anthem, God Save The Queen but only after fully carrying out task 1. We would not want you to get confused and give up half way through.

6. You should stop playing American football. There is only one kind of football. What you refer to as American football is not a very good game. The 2.15% of you who are aware that there is a world outside your borders may have noticed that no one else plays American football. You will no longer be allowed to play it, and should instead play proper football. Initially, it would be best if you played with the girls. It is a difficult game. Those of you brave enough will, in time, be allowed to play rugby (which is similar to American “football”, but does not involve stopping for a rest every twenty seconds or wearing full kevlar body armour like nancies.) We are hoping to get together at least a US Rugby sevens side by 2005. You should stop playing baseball. It is not reasonable to host an event called the ‘World Series’ for a game which is not played outside of America. Since only 2.15% of you are aware that there is a world beyond your borders,your error is understandable. Instead of baseball, you will be allowed to play a girls’ game called rounders, which is baseball without fancy team strip, oversized gloves, collector cards or hotdogs.

7. You will no longer be allowed to own or carry guns. You will no longer be allowed to own or carry anything more dangerous in public than a vegetable peeler. Because we don’t believe you are sensible enough to handle potentially dangerous items, we will require a permit if you wish to carry a vegetable peeler in public.

8. July 4th is no longer a public holiday. November 2nd will be a new national holiday, but only in England. It will be called Indecisive Day.

9. All American cars are hereby banned. They are crap and it is for your own good. When we show you German cars, you will understand what we mean. All road intersections will be replaced with roundabouts. You will start driving on the left with immediate effect. At the same time, you will go metric with immediate effect and conversion tables. Roundabouts and metrication will help you understand the British sense of humour.

10. You will learn to make real chips. Those things you call French fries are not real chips. Fries aren’t even French, they are Belgian though 97.85% of you (including the guy who discovered fries while in Europe) are not aware of a country called Belgium. Those things you insist on calling potato chips are properly called crisps. Real chips are thick cut and fried in animal fat. The traditional accompaniment to chips is beer which should be served warm and flat. Waitresses will be trained to be more aggressive with customers.

11. As a sign of penance, 5 grams of sea salt per cup will be added to all tea made within the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, this quantity to be doubled for tea made within the city of Boston itself.

12. The cold tasteless stuff you insist on calling beer is not actually beer at all, it is lager. From November 1st, only proper British Bitter will be referred to as beer, and European brews of known and accepted provenance will be referred to as Lager. The substances formerly known as American Beer will henceforth be referred to as Near-Frozen Knat’s Urine,with the exception of the product of the American Budweiser company whose product will be referred to as Weak Near-Frozen Knat’s Urine. This will allow true Budweiser (as manufactured for the last 1000 years in Pilsen,Czech Republic) to be sold without risk of confusion.

13. From November 10th, the UK will harmonise petrol (or Gasoline, as you will be permitted to keep calling it until April 1st 2005) prices with the former USA. The UK will harmonise its prices to those of the former USA and the Former USA will, in return, adopt UK petrol prices (roughly $6/US gallon- get used to it).

14. You will learn to resolve personal issues without using guns, lawyers or therapists. The fact that you need so many lawyers and therapists shows that you’re not adult enough to be independent. Guns should only be handled by adults. If you’re not adult enough to sort things out without suing someone or speaking to a therapist then you’re not grown up enough to handle a gun.

15. Please tell us who killed JFK. It’s been driving us crazy.

16. Tax collectors from Her Majesty’s Government will be with you shortly to ensure the acquisition of all revenues due (backdated to 1776.)

Thank you for your co-operation and have a great day.

John Cleese

Muslim-Christian Relations

As some of you might know, my family has roots in Iligan (in Mindanao, way down south, near Cagayan de Oro). My grandparents have since returned and decided to retire there. They now live in our ancestral home which sits just a few meters by the sea. Their home is beautiful and serene, and I always look forward to the chance to spend time with them over there. They spend six months there and roughly the same time here in the US. While there, my Nana writes for the local newspaper.

Right now, the situation is a little scary. Those of you back home would probably know more about the conflict between the Muslims and the Christians and know to what extent this political crap affects those in Mindanao. For us though, the extent of our knowledge does not go far beyond the fear for our grandparents' lives.

But they're staying because that is their community. The people for them are not just Muslim or Christian - they are their neighbors.

Here is her take on what has been going on and they intend to make things better:

IF SO…THEN WHAT?
by Dette Pascual

First Steps

What does one do when faced with a heavy burden that sees no immediate relief in sight?  Wise men say, "Take small steps, one day at a time."

This is what the "Save Muslim-Christian Good Relationships" movement is about. Per Mindanao Scoop (Aug. 31), "The movement, led by Hadji Abdullah Dalidig and other respected and prominent Muslim civic leaders in the cities of Iligan and Marawi, seeks for peaceful ways of resolving the conflict precipitated by the now-notorious MOA-AD issue. A simultaneous development was the peace dialogue on Aug 21 of the Ulama, Imams, Bishops of Iligan and Marawi, priests and laity and political leaders.This was followed by an Aug. 30 meeting of top leaders of Iligan City, Lanao Sur and Norte which they called 'Peace Summit and Drafting of a Peace Covenant.' "

So while those in the national government continue to debate on the best action to take on the Mindanao crisis, the local people are quietly working to restore the harmonious relationships that Muslims and Christians have had for such a long time in the two Muslim/Christian  provinces of Lanao. Being in ground zero, with their lives and their family's lives at stake, these people have focused on what is really important: Relationship with one another, and respect for each other's God. Unlike what is heard from some quarters in Manila, there is no talk of war. Instead, what is voiced is a need for a structure in which to dialogue, listen to one another in a face to face communication. It is a monumental  task. The harrowing experience in terms of loss of lives, grief, anger, vengeance, is still there.

Yet one must start somewhere. The situation calls to mind the birds in Iligan that I have been observing for a year now. When we decided to retire here,  my husband put up a bird feeder,  like what we had in our garden in Santa Barbara. But unlike the birds over there, no bird came to the feeder. It seems the birds here are more wary. They flit from tree to tree. They chirp. They look. But none came near the bird feeder. Why?

Then one day, I saw a little boy passing by holding a sling shot and looking up to the trees in our garden. "Aha! There's the answer," I told myself. The birds are afraid to feed because someone has been hunting them down. Once hurt, it is hard to make them trust human beings. I told my theory to my husband, who joked  that the bird feeder which I painted blue and white, with shutter windows and a picket fence, looked "stateside." Maybe we should build a nipa hut. But I told myself that there was no way I was going to give up that bird feeder.  I enjoyed painting it and if I say so myself, I think it's cute. Besides, to be practical, if we make it with bamboo and nipa, a single rainstorm with strong winds will blow that house away. So I told myself, "Patience!" Relationship must be built on friendship and trust, and the first step was to talk to that little boy with a sling shot.

So I waited for that boy by the beach, then started a conversation. Where did he live? Did he go to school? What grade? etc. When he was comfortable with me, I told him that I liked birds. Did he? He said yes. Then I asked  what he learned in school about birds. "They are our friends," he parroted. "They eat insects." "So,"  I said, "Why do you hunt them?" He smiled shyly, the sling shot was gone, and I found a friend .

But that was not enough. The birds were still wary, until one was brave enough to peek inside the bird house and took a peck at the seeds inside. Then he flew away. In the afternoon, he came back, took another peck, flew away again. Days later, others came. Today, birds come in and out of that birdhouse, happily chirping and eating. They got so crowded, that my husband added 3 more bird feeders. And every time we put in the feeds, we get a full house in all of them. Ah, what simple joy the singing of  birds bring to our everyday world. The friendly relation did not happen in a day. Not even weeks. It took months.

It takes patience and time to build up a trust that has been lost. In the case of the Mindanao conflict, it will take years. So much of the past intrudes on the present. Both sides, Christians and Muslims, are hurting. The military, caught in the middle, and following orders, suffered  loss of lives too. But  is there any other alternative? We do not have the luxury of dreaming new dreams. The immediate task is to restore the peace that was in place, but was rudely interrupted by the sudden burst of violence. Like the story of the birds, we take one step at a time.  

White Privilege

A friend of mine "introduced" me to Tim Wise and that's how I was able to see this article that he wrote. He was so nice to personally give me his permission to reprint this here (*kilig*). Check out the rest of his stuff (especially This is Your Nation on White Privilege) and learn a thing or two. This guy's good.

. . . . . . . .

Explaining White Privilege (Or, Your Defense Mechanism is Showing)
September 18, 2008, 7:52 am

Sigh.

I guess I should have expected it, seeing as how it's nothing new. I write a piece on racism and white privilege (namely, the recently viral This is Your Nation on White Privilege), lots of folks read it, many of them like it, and others e-mail me in fits of apoplexy, or post scathing critiques on message boards in which they invite me to die, to perform various sexual acts upon myself that I feel confident are impossible, or, best of all, to "go live in the ghetto," whereupon I will come to "truly appreciate the animals" for whom I have so much affection (the phrase they use for me and that affection, of course, sounds a bit different, and I'll leave it to your imagination to conjure the quip yourself).

Though I have no desire to debate the points made in the original piece, I would like to address some of the more glaring, and yet reasonable, misunderstandings that many seem to have about the subject of white privilege. That many white folks don't take well to the term is an understatement, and quite understandable. For those of us in the dominant group, the notion that we may receive certain advantages generally not received by others is a jarring, sometimes maddening concept. And if we don't understand what the term means, and what those who use it mean as they deploy it, our misunderstandings can generate anger and heat, where really, none is called for. So let me take this opportunity to explain what I mean by white privilege.

Of course, the original piece only mentioned examples of white privilege that were directly implicated in the current presidential campaign. It made no claims beyond that. Yet many who wrote to me took issue with the notion that there was such a thing, arguing, for instance that there are lots of poor white people who have no privilege, and many folks of color who are wealthy, who do. But what this argument misses is that race and class privilege are not the same thing.

Though we are used to thinking of privilege as a mere monetary issue, it is more than that. Yes, there are rich black and brown folks, but even they are subject to racial profiling and stereotyping (especially because those who encounter them often don't know they're rich and so view them as decidedly not), as well as bias in mortgage lending, and unequal treatment in schools. So, for instance, even the children of well-off black families are more likely to be suspended or expelled from school than the children of poor whites, and this is true despite the fact that there is no statistically significant difference in the rates of serious school rule infractions between white kids or black kids that could justify the disparity (according to fourteen different studies examined by Russ Skiba at Indiana University).

As for poor whites, though they certainly are suffering economically, this doesn't mean they lack racial privilege. I grew up in a very modest apartment, and economically was far from privileged. Yet I received better treatment in school (placement in advanced track classes even when I wasn't a good student), better treatment by law enforcement officers, and indeed more job opportunities because of connections I was able to take advantage of, that were pretty much unavailable to the folks of color I knew growing up. Likewise, low income whites everywhere are able to clean up, go to a job interview and be seen as just another white person, whereas a person of color, even who isn't low-income, has to wonder whether or not they might trip some negative stereotype about their group when they go for an interview or sit in the classroom answering questions from the teacher. Oh, and not to put too fine a point on it, but even low-income whites are more likely to own their own home than middle income black families, thanks to past advantages in housing and asset accumulation, which has allowed those whites to receive a small piece of property from their families.

The point is, privilege is as much a psychological matter as a material one. Whites have the luxury of not having to worry that our race is going to mark us negatively when looking for work, going to school, shopping, looking for a place to live, or driving for that matter: things that folks of color can't take for granted.

Let me share an analogy to make the point.

Taking things out of the racial context for a minute: imagine persons who are able bodied, as opposed to those with disabilities. If I were to say that able-bodied persons have certain advantages, certain privileges if you will, which disabled persons do not, who would argue the point? I imagine that no one would. It's too obvious, right? To be disabled is to face numerous obstacles. And although many persons with disabilities overcome those obstacles, this fact doesn't take away from the fact that they exist. Likewise, that persons with disabilities can and do overcome obstacles every day, doesn't deny that those of us who are able-bodied have an edge. We have one less thing to think and worry about as we enter a building, go to a workplace, or just try and navigate the contours of daily life. The fact that there are lots of able-bodied people who are poor, and some disabled folks who are rich, doesn't alter the general rule: on balance, it pays to be able-bodied.

That's all I'm saying about white privilege: on balance, it pays to be a member of the dominant racial group. It doesn't mean that a white person will get everything they want in life, or win every competition, but it does mean that there are general advantages that we receive.

So, for instance, studies have found that job applicants with white sounding names are 50% more likely to receive a call-back for a job interview than applicants with black-sounding names, even when all job-related qualifications and credentials are the same.

Other studies have found that white men with a criminal record are more likely to get a call-back for an interview than black male job applicants who don't have one, even when all requisite qualifications, demeanor and communication styles are the same.

Others have found that white women are far more likely than black women to be hired for work through temporary agencies, even when the black women have more experience and are more qualified.

Evidence from housing markets has found that there are about two million cases of race-based discrimination against people of color every year in the United States. That's not just bad for folks of color; the flipside is that there are, as a result, millions more places I can live as a white person.

Or consider criminal justice. Although data from the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration indicates that whites are equally or more likely than blacks or Latinos to use drugs, it is people of color (blacks and Latinos mostly) who comprise about 90 percent of the persons incarcerated for a drug possession offense. Despite the fact that white men are more likely to be caught with drugs in our car (on those occasions when we are searched), black men remain about four times more likely than white men to be searched in the first place, according to Justice Department findings. That's privilege for the dominant group.

That's the point: privilege is the flipside of discrimination. If people of color face discrimination, in housing, employment and elsewhere, then the rest of us are receiving a de facto subsidy, a privilege, an advantage in those realms of daily life. There can be no down without an up, in other words.

None of this means that white folks don't face challenges. Of course we do, and some of them (based on class, gender, sexual orientation, disability status, or other factors) are systemic and institutionalized. But on balance, we can take for granted that we will receive a leg-up on those persons of color with whom we share a nation.

And no, affirmative action doesn't change any of this.

Despite white fears to the contrary, even with affirmative action in place (which, contrary to popular belief does not allow quotas or formal set-asides except in those rare cases where blatant discrimination has been proven) whites hold about ninety percent of all the management level jobs in this country, receive about ninety-four percent of government contract dollars, and hold ninety percent of tenured faculty positions on college campuses. And in spite of affirmative action programs, whites are more likely than members of any other racial group to be admitted to their college of first choice.* And according to a study released last year, for every student of color who received even the slightest consideration from an affirmative action program in college, there are two whites who failed to meet normal qualification requirements at the same school, but who got in anyway because of parental influence, alumni status or because other favors were done.

Furthermore, although white students often think that so-called minority scholarships are a substantial drain on financial aid resources that would otherwise be available to them, nothing could be further from the truth. According to a national study by the General Accounting Office, less than four percent of scholarship money in the U.S. is represented by awards that consider race as a factor at all, while only 0.25 percent (that's one quarter of one percent for the math challenged) of all undergrad scholarship dollars come from awards that are restricted to persons of color alone. What's more, the idea that large numbers of students of color receive the benefits of race-based scholarships is lunacy of the highest order. In truth, only 3.5 percent of college students of color receive any scholarship even partly based on race, suggesting that such programs remain a pathetically small piece of the financial aid picture in this country, irrespective of what a gaggle of reactionary white folks might believe.**

In other words, despite the notion that somehow we have attained an equal opportunity, or color-blind society, the fact is, we are far from an equitable nation. People of color continue to face obstacles based solely on color, and whites continue to reap benefits from the same. None of this makes whites bad people, and none of it means we should feel guilty or beat ourselves up. But it does mean we need to figure out how we're going to be accountable for our unearned advantages. One way is by fighting for a society in which those privileges will no longer exist, and in which we will be able to stand on our own two feet, without the artificial crutch of racial advantage to prop us up. We need to commit to fighting for racial equity and challenging injustice at every turn, not only because it harms others, but because it diminishes us as well (even as it pays dividends), and because it squanders the promise of fairness and equity to which we claim to adhere as Americans.

It's about responsibility, not guilt. And if one can't see the difference between those two things, there is little that this or any other article can probably do. Perhaps starting with a dictionary would be better.

*U.S Federal Glass Ceiling Commission, Good for Business: Making Full Use of the Nation's Human Capital. (Washington DC: Bureau of National Affairs, March 1995); Fred L. Pincus, Reverse Discrimination: Dismantling the Myth. (Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2003), 18; Roberta J. Hill, "Far More Than Frybread," in Race in the College Classroom: Pedagogy and Politics, ed. Bonnie TuSmith and Maureen T. Reddy. (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press), 169; Sylvia Hurtado and Christine Navia, "Reconciling College Access and the Affirmative Action Debate," in Affirmative Action's Testament of Hope, ed. Mildred Garcia (Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 1997), 115.

**U.S. General Accounting Office, 1994. "Information on Minority Targeted Scholarships," B251634. Washington, DC: U.S. Government Printing Office, January; Stephen L. Carter, "Color-Blind and Color-Active," 1992. The Recorder. January 3.

I do not have

...the testicular fortitude to stop caring, not feel disappointed, and be brave about it. Well, I do not have the required gonads, period. If I did, then I'd make like a worm (or fish? or both? or WHATEVER?) and go and reproduce on my own then. Sigh.

 Another failed month. Stupid effing ovaries. Back to the drawing board. Gah.

Atty. Ansky

I had a sort of debate just moments ago about the ills of Philippine society, and one of my online buddies tangentially touched on the topic of being a lawyer (or at least choosing not to be one anymore.)

Moments after that rather heady conversation, I was feeling a bit forlorn. As a true testament to the serendipitous nature of life (well, my life, at least...) I then saw my friend Law's blog entry that showed me this article from the Philippine Daily Inquirer. It's an article that Ansky wrote when she passed the bar exams after taking it for the second time. I love this part of what she wrote:"I...saw the need to help people, and I realized how being a lawyer is one of the better paths to do that. I could volunteer in nongovernment organizations to help the poor, preserve the environment, defend the rights of orphans and abused women."

Thank you, Ansky. You just allowed me to still keep believing that the Philippines still has reason to hope.

Accidental lawyer finds true path to her soul
By Anna Patricia R. del Castillo
Philippine Daily Inquirer
First Posted 01:55:00 09/07/2008

(The author took the bar exams for the second time in September 2007. She wrote this article right after she took her oath last April. But the Inquirer timed its publication for the bar exams taken during the four Sundays in September (the first one starts today). We are running the article with the 2008 bar examinees in mind and in memory of the lawyer who excitedly found the road less taken. Atty. Del Castillo died on June 21.)

MANILA, Philippines — In the Philippines, when you say you’re a lawyer, people react in different ways. You sometimes get respect or deference, sometimes a bit of awe. There are of course those who treat you with suspicion, or even hate. Remember that most popular of all Shakespearean quotations? “The first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers.” (Henry VI, Part II, Act IV)

What’s all this about being a lawyer anyway? Is it your entrance ticket into a world of men bound by rules, codes, laws and statutes? In real life, lawyering means entering into a vast network that includes business, entertainment, technology, environment and practically everything else. A lawyer must become that proverbial jack-of-all-trades. Except that a lawyer must be master of one thing. He or she must know “the rules” or “the laws” that bind us together as a community, as an organization, as a society.

This is a tough job requiring years of preparation. First, as a law student, when you have to read and comprehend a multitude of laws and cases, and then learn to analyze them. After law school, you must learn to apply them to the real world, the world outside the law school library or the study room.

But first, you must pass the bar exams. The bar is the one test that you must pass to join that elite club of people who append “Attorney” to their names. It’s a test the republic requires to ensure that an officer of the court we call a “lawyer” or an “attorney” has indeed studied the law for years, and is capable of representing the interest of other people usually referred to as “clients.”

Like a doctor, the lawyer holds lives and livelihoods in his hands. You can’t let just anyone do this kind of work without first testing him to find out whether or not he really knows what he is doing. Thus we have the bar, a series of gruelling tests taken during the four successive Sundays of September.

A typical bar Sunday consists of a seven-hour exam with a two-hour break for lunch. You are made to answer mostly essay-type questions, although multiple-choice questions may also be included.

One can’t take the bar exams without first going to law school. To get into law school, you are required to have finished an undergraduate course; that serves as your pre-law course. Your undergraduate degree must have the prescribed units in the social sciences, languages, philosophy, among others. After that comes the four years in an accredited law school and then the law diploma. Then you prepare for the bar. Other eligibility requirements include certifications attesting to one’s good moral character, and of not having been charged or convicted of any crime.

Armed with the required degrees and other eligibility requirements, you then embark on an unimaginable number of hours of reading and preparing for the test itself. If you are not dedicated to the law, or at least interested in it, passing the bar might be one big and difficult hurdle.

That is what happened to me.

I studied law with apathy and nonchalance. In college, I acted as if it was not the beginning of my real “life” as an adult, or that it would spell out my future. Of course, I know better now. But in those days, I was just into partying, partying and partying.

The only reason I took up law was because both my parents are lawyers. I took up political science in college as a pre-law course. I had a little interest in the law in the beginning, but the path towards fulfilling my dreams through being a lawyer was not that clear.

In hindsight, I see now that to go into law, you need a well-defined, clear-cut desire to do so. You have to want it passionately. Eight years ago there weren’t any interactive websites where you could research and choose your course from any educational institution. As I found out, there isn’t enough time and there aren’t enough resources in the world to help you find that perfect course. After college, I took up law in one of the finest law schools there is, the one where my parents also obtained their law degrees.

A born crammer

My basic attitude didn’t really change that much in law school. I went out a lot hanging out with friends on so-called “gimmicks.” But of course, I had to work hard, working myself to death during exam time. I also had to put it together, just enough to make it through the “roasts” (or those “massacre recitations”).

Six months after graduation from law school, I took the bar. Being a born crammer, I knew I had to be serious and work like crazy all those six short months. I asked around and the usual schedule was to read at least a hundred pages a day, which meant at least 10 hours of reading and listening to review lectures daily. I did all these. But when the bar results came out, my name wasn’t on the list. I was devastated.

People who cram and get by start to think that they’re smarter than others. I was one of them. When I flunked the bar, I realized I wasn’t that smart after all. Working yourself to death for six months wasn’t enough. I realized I had wasted eight years of my life.

Flunking the bar made me see there was no clear path in my life. My future suddenly became hazy and uncertain, and I seemed to be starting anew on an uncharted path. I was faced with many questions. Should I continue studying and take the bar again? Should I just begin a new career path, a whole new life where I would be in charge?

I began to understand the meaning of failure and hardship and of destiny—the role that we play in our own lives, and the role of God in it. God gives us all the freedom we want, but there’s also responsibility that goes with it. If I did take the road to a new career path, the older, wiser and tougher me knew I would be faced with many new challenges and possibilities of failure as well. It was a scary thought, but it was also exciting.

Allergic to failure

However, I couldn’t resist a second try at the bar exams. First of all, I had all this knowledge and facts swimming around my head from taking the bar exams. Second, I knew that being allowed to take the bar again would be some sort of blessing. I already had the advantage over the others since I would have studied twice, thrice, or even four or five times more than those taking it for the first time. Third and most important of all, I was “allergic” to failure, and I knew I had to redeem myself by passing the second time around. So I took the bar again.

I studied like mad. The rest of the world faded away, and there was just me and my books. Officially, I wasn’t a crammer anymore since I had studied most of this stuff the first time around. I tried to understand every book I read, and prayed hard that I would remember what I read and retain the knowledge. Somewhere along the way, I began to find myself.

One day, while studying till the wee hours, I suddenly began to cry. It was self-pity, and the realization that I had never worked so hard in my life. Studying for the bar is the toughest thing a person can do because it takes over your whole life and requires all your concentration, energy and patience. It makes you forego any other desire for months, deny yourself all pastimes, hobbies and recreation, and abandon all meaningful relationships. It requires everything that you can give, and more.

When I say I found myself, I mean, it was as if I went around the world, across the universe, and found myself back home, with myself, with my soul. It was the inner me that could not be defined by my likes or dislikes, or those cliché definitions of the meaning of love that one reads in a Hallmark greeting card on Valentine’s Day.

That almost superhuman effort of preparing for the bar exams the second time around made me find my real self. Despite the fact that I had almost no interaction with other people for months, this me that I found was the me-alone, and also the me-in-relation to others. A philosopher might call it “the existential me.”

‘Forever me’

When I found myself, there was no turning back, no return slips for defective goods, “no return, no exchange.” I found the “forever-me.”

D-Day finally came. Since I didn’t pass the first time, my confidence was shaky and my composure precarious. I held it together and answered fast and concisely, wrote legibly, and prayed as I never prayed before in my entire life.

After the exams, it was difficult to determine whether I would pass or not. The bar is like that—so uncertain, so many possible answers, and only one correct answer. I waited six long months. Finally, the results were released. My classmates and friends found out before I did. It was moving how they seemed more ecstatic and more excited than I was.

If passing the first time was like one long congratulatory party, passing the second time was a big sigh of relief. It is reclaiming your confidence, trusting yourself again, and finally, believing that all this was meant to happen. It meant getting on the right path again and finding your friends and loved ones still there. It’s finding your life again waiting for you.

One with my soul

Everyone says later that it was meant to happen. But do I really believe that? It does mean that I had a lot more to learn before getting to where I am now. All the reasons and the confluence of events, all the whys and wherefores of Robert Frost’s road less taken would eventually reveal itself in time.

For me, I guess I had to grow up and be one with my soul, that almost mythical rite of passage we thought we only read in great literature, but which is part of everyone’s life. What happened to that teenage girl who only thought about what to wear and which party to go to? She realized that life is all about choices. Now it’s which book to read, how to schedule her activities for the day. Still the same giggly immature girl, but now in her 20s, and somehow different in many respects.

At last I discovered that being a lawyer was my true path although at the start I was just going with the flow, like floating downstream in a river. When I finally began to find myself, I related to and understood the world more. In a way I became more caring but also more responsible and emphatic in my views.

I also saw the need to help people, and I realized how being a lawyer is one of the better paths to do that. I could volunteer in nongovernment organizations to help the poor, preserve the environment, defend the rights of orphans and abused women.

Government work was also another option open to me as a lawyer. I could promote policies that could help people and preserve those places on earth where the environment has been abused. And even in private practice, I could handle cases and contribute directly to improve the lives of my clients.

I do realize now that being a lawyer creates a peculiar and unique sense of power and responsibility that I wouldn’t have had in any other career. It’s really the beginning of a new life. Now that I’m a lawyer, I want to express a very special thanks to my parents. I also want to thank everyone who helped me along the way. I could never imagine I would be so excited to embark on this new voyage, to begin my life again and change the world.

My Strange Comfort in That Which Cannot Be Explained

I normally don't talk about my faith as much as I talk about my political beliefs. It isn't really because of shame as much as it is because my faith is admittedly too precarious for me to talk about. I have never been one to choose religion over faith, and so I would appear too liberal to "non-believers" (ugh, I hate that term...these people still believe in something, just not God - proof eternal that we live in a predominantly theist society that does not necessarily embrace those who are different...), at the same time appear too wishy-washy for those who are still burning with religious fervor.

But I see a lot of people blog about their faith and I really am moved by their vigor - almost envious even. There seems to be a resurgence of religion in the youth (especially in the Philippines) and I am really pleased. But I grew up with this "religion" and honestly, I don't feel compelled to write about it as much because (and this'll sound really bad)...I've been there and I've done that way before it was in vogue. (Told you it will sound bad.) I know that's wrong, and I'm working on that. Read on...

But it's one of those blah days. I slept for almost 10 hours last night, and instead of waking up fresh-faced to see the new morning, all I wanted to do was crawl back into bed and sleep-sleep-sleep. I am overcome with such tiredness that it's almost scary. There are a lot of things going on right now and I haven't really been dealing with them by choice. There are too many things to do and frankly, I don't have time to be sad. But it's all catching up, and I'm feeling it all right now. So now I am compelled to talk about my faith.

A lot of people ask me why the title of my site is credo quia absurdum. A little background then:

I dated a man who was a Catholic-who-became-an-atheist-who-then-became-a-Christian (how C.S. Lewis, no?). In the course of our relationship, I came to know a lot of atheists who eventually became very-very-very good friends of mine. Up to this very day, I consider these friends closest to my heart.

One of the perks of having such individuals as friends is the lively "debates" we get into. Because of those, I did a lot of introspection. There was a period in my life when I was not searching for God as much as I as reflecting on the tenets posed by most organized religions. I read up on all these other religions not so much to convert as much as to understand where they were coming from and to somehow find a common thread.

What I realized from all my readings is that there can be no real debate between atheists and theists. (Just really-really-really lengthy conversations that end with much laughter, love, and understanding...and beer.) Atheists prove through logic, theists do not prove at all, but believe through faith; yes, even if it is illogical, strange, and absurd. Hence, credo quia absurdum. I believe (precisely) because it is absurd. I choose faith over logic, I choose strange over normal, I choose absurdity over sense.

Now you all know how anal I am and how I need everything clear and explained and in order. But this inexplicable aspect of my life actually brings comfort. I do not want to explain or prove God's existence as much as I want to experience it. I don't tell other people to convert as much as I want them to find out more about God when they see how I live my life. I know I fail to do that in so many ways, but it isn't about my failure as much as it is about God's success.

So there. I'm not going to apologize for not wearing my faith on my sleeve. I'm too much of a tax collector than a pharisee anyway. I choose to practice my faith in silence and hope that my silence can shut down the noise that my demons keep making. Some people say I do not talk about my faith enough...but look at the title of my site. I do proclaim my faith, every single day. But I am also a work in progress and I shall leave the proselytizing to the experts. And I'm not going to apologize for embracing my faith over my logic either.

My comfort is in this inexplicable wonder called Jesus and I am nothing without this absurdity.

Comfort in Your Strangeness
by Cynthia Alexander

Woke up this morning
I was staring at the ceiling cracks and road maps and highways and landscapes
I have seen
I have been
to places far and deep in my mind only to find
comfort in Your strangeness

Of moving shadows when I call the wind by name
rushing firewater in the dark of a cloud
I have seen
I have been
to places far and deep in my mind only to find
comfort in Your strangeness

We are slaves to the crimes we commit
in fits of passion
we shame
We are nothing, we are nothing, we are nothing, we are nothing
But the dust on Your feet
Dying to be born again
Singing ether, water, fire, singing earth, singing air
I have seen
I have been
to places far and deep in my mind only to find
comfort in Your strangeness
I have seen
I have been
to places far and deep in my mind
only to find
comfort in Your strangeness

A Little (Language) Respect

My friends and I were playing Cranium the other day and one of the words that came up for play was "Sudoku." One girl pronounced it "sow-doo-khow" and the other team proceeded to attempt to spell the word backwards (it was part of the game.) Of course, the other team didn't get it right. When they didn't get it right, I asked that that round be voided because, well, "sudoko" wasn't pronounced correctly - hence the confusion in trying to spelling it out (backwards.) That round was voided and we all went back to playing (and we eventually won, harhar) but it really made me think...

Which brings me to my point. Words have origins and we should always respect the way it was intended to be pronounced. "Sudoku" is a Japanese word. I mean, as far as foreign languages are concerned, Japanese pronunciation is already pretty easy to grasp - simple syllables, that's all they are! It should be pronounced "soo-do-koo." If your tongue just simply cannot bend in the way it's supposed to, acknowledge the fact that you are mispronouncing the word - or at least try to get it right. Don't simply "Westernize" the pronunciation and expect everyone to just understand you or (worse) follow suit.

While we're on the subject:

1. It's "ha-ra-KI-ri," not "harrrri-kirrrri." (Word: harakiri.)
2. It's "GOOS-tav," not "gus-tav." (Word: Gustav.)
3. It's "San-DO-val," not "SAN-do-val." (Word: Sandoval.)
4. It's "Na-va-RE-te," not "NA-va-ret." (Word: Navarrete.)

...and so on and so forth. I'm sure you can also think of your own examples. A little language respect is all I ask. Is that too much to ask?