It's hard not to be thinking about Katrina these days. I just visited over at Majikthise where Lindsay loaded up her photos of NOLA and Baton Rouge from last year. NPR has been dominated by reminiscings of Katrina and where things stand. Even my textbook for Intro to WS rewrote the introduction to include an analysis of the FEMA and Gov't failure to respond to Katrina and its aftermath.
What still haunts me about this episode from our very recent past is the simple truth that had the victims--those left behind in NOLA--of Katrina been middle-class White people, the government failure would have never occurrred. Racism.
This weekend my little town is holding a Community Unity day to draw attention away from the KKK, who are doing their thing on the battlefield. One of the posters reads that this day is committed to celebrating diversity. I don't doubt this intention. I just wonder what it means to my little town to celebrate diversity and how much of an effort will be made to forge a community that will not let the less fortunate be left behind in a tragedy. I hate to be the skeptic . . .
How immune are any or our towns--large or small--to the crushing and dehumanizing forces of institutionalized racism? Sure, most of the town will gladly show up to protest the overt forms of racism that only fringe groups still celebrate. But to what extent will most supporters of this unity day actually fight or act concretely to transform the the lives of impoverished in our community--African-Americans, Latinos, emigrees from Russia or Bosnia, etc. Pushes for economic development price most working people out of housing in the borough. NCLB programs penalize students who are struggling to learn English. Health Insurance is unobtainable for most working class people. Well paying jobs are scarce for people who didn't get a good education. Schools underserve the most needy populations. The list is so long and unfathomable that most people give up and choose to fight the obvious: the KKK.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Useful Longing
I was recounting a short story that I recently read in the New Yorker to friends last night and figured I would write about here since they seemed to appreciate the insight. The story is called "How Was it to Be Dead," by Richard Ford. Spoilers ahead, so if you are dying to read this story first, then read my post later.
The story revolves around the reappearance of a man who walked out on his wife and children after returning from Viet Nam. He winds us an arborist on Mull (Scotland). "Wally's trauma, fear, resentment, and elective amnesia had carried him as from the Chicago suburbs, from his wife and two kids . . ." Wally returns by way of a website dedicated to finding him and asking him to return home for his parents 60th wedding anniversary. His wife--who has longed believed him dead and subsequently remarried--quite happily--walks into the house to find him. The story is narrated by the second husband and the drama revolves around Sally's decision to invite Wally to stay with her and the narrator. By the end of the story, it is clear that Sally is going to leave her happy marriage for Wally, move with him to Mull, and even admits that she doesn't think she loves him anymore.
The narrator, with some distance from the sting of being left by Sally for Wally, reflects on her fate: "I feel, in fact, a goodly tincture of regret for Sally. Because even though I believe that her sojourn on Mull will not last so long, by rechoosing Wally she has embraced the impossible, inaccessible past, and by doing so has risked or even exhausted useful longing . . ."
I can't explain exactly why I find this idea of useful longing so powerfully captures something very real about our lives, but my suspicion was confirmed when I shared this idea and saw how well it resonated with my friends. Perhaps not all of us, or many of us, still long for some inaccessible past, but I do. Better yet, I think I have had the fortune--although it is most likely not fortune but survival from enough pain--to leave the impossible, impossible. What we long for, it seems to me, is something that never really was in the first place. It is a fantasy we construct to represent what we might have been or had. It does seem true that this longing is also something quite invigorating, as long as it remains that . . .
The story revolves around the reappearance of a man who walked out on his wife and children after returning from Viet Nam. He winds us an arborist on Mull (Scotland). "Wally's trauma, fear, resentment, and elective amnesia had carried him as from the Chicago suburbs, from his wife and two kids . . ." Wally returns by way of a website dedicated to finding him and asking him to return home for his parents 60th wedding anniversary. His wife--who has longed believed him dead and subsequently remarried--quite happily--walks into the house to find him. The story is narrated by the second husband and the drama revolves around Sally's decision to invite Wally to stay with her and the narrator. By the end of the story, it is clear that Sally is going to leave her happy marriage for Wally, move with him to Mull, and even admits that she doesn't think she loves him anymore.
The narrator, with some distance from the sting of being left by Sally for Wally, reflects on her fate: "I feel, in fact, a goodly tincture of regret for Sally. Because even though I believe that her sojourn on Mull will not last so long, by rechoosing Wally she has embraced the impossible, inaccessible past, and by doing so has risked or even exhausted useful longing . . ."
I can't explain exactly why I find this idea of useful longing so powerfully captures something very real about our lives, but my suspicion was confirmed when I shared this idea and saw how well it resonated with my friends. Perhaps not all of us, or many of us, still long for some inaccessible past, but I do. Better yet, I think I have had the fortune--although it is most likely not fortune but survival from enough pain--to leave the impossible, impossible. What we long for, it seems to me, is something that never really was in the first place. It is a fantasy we construct to represent what we might have been or had. It does seem true that this longing is also something quite invigorating, as long as it remains that . . .
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Sex and Women=Still the Dark Continent of Our Thought
Obviously abortion and abortion politics preoccupy me at the moment. I have been thinking, in particular, about the following three comments that were posted in response to the Joplin Globe articles.
"Yes, a woman has a choice. But that choice comes before the act is done. A woman has the choice to abstain (which in those days I believe was the general practice) and today there are all sorts of pills and devices to keep a woman from getting pregnant. But once the act is done, her choice should end. The good doctor was a murderer and should not be praised for what he did. What has happened to the morals of this society?"
sad