Four Seasons

It’s been hot here in Colorado lately. Not unusual for the season, I’ll agree. Not like the 120 °F that they’ve reached in spots to the west of us (even in temperate Southern California, wow!) but for us, reaching 100 degrees is pretty unusual. That’s what we had a day or two ago in Denver and then today… well, more on that later.

I remember summers in Virginia, where I grew up. What I remember is sweat. When it starts it never seems comfortable to me, though it’s doing the work of cooling me off, setting me up for the next cool breeze. Maybe I should be more appreciative, but it just makes me feel slow, and dank, and awkward. Once when I was a kid, I remember…

Summer. Sweat.

I was never so gangly and sweatful and dumb
As on that day when a new cousin came to see us.
A second cousin Mama said, family up from Tennessee.
I was seven and she was too but she was older, by far.

“What do you do around here?”
“I dunno. Play I guess.” Stupid answer, so stupid! Why did I say that?
She sat with the grownups and they all talked.
Her hair was golden, shiny, curled. After a while, bored, I went out to play.

Outside, Tommy came over and we chased each other,
tag-I-gotcha no-ya-didn’t until breathinghard sweatstreaming we paused,
swiping at the little grimy sweat beads that catch up dirt in the creases of your neck
and you can roll them out with your fingertips.

Afternoon sun glaring, heart pounding hot, leaning over hands braced on knees, sweat.
They all came out to her daddy’s car, cool as lemonade. “Bye now, y’all come see us.”
Such a bright smile, like my mother’s.
We never did go down to Tennessee.


Then comes the fall. One November, when Stormy and I were working in Bulgaria, I noted about the change in seasons that the month “started off with windy bright days that sent confused little eddies of dry brown leaves skittering noisily around the sidewalks in a panic.” 1

Fall. The Wind.

“Why so fast, Wind, what’s the need
For such ruthless, restless speed?”
Trees are frightened, some may fail,
Overcome by autumn’s gale.

Straining, bracing, they resist
Yielding to your brutal fist.
They whose leaves were high and fair
Stand naked now, denuded, bare.

Running, fleeing, leaves fly free
Through the streets ahead of me.
Hiding, huddled, by the stair,
Some dry leaves cower, shiv’ring, scared.

A moment’s rest, a heavy sigh
And then a prowling gust comes by.
“Aha! I found you! Now you’re done!”
Frantic, frenzied, out they run.

This day will bring no rest for trees
Or leaves, or me, out in the breeze.


And then today (remember it was extra hot a few days ago!) this is what we woke up to. Snow on trees

It reminded me of a story, a little fable I’ve told before2

Winter. The Snowflake.

“Tell me the weight of a snowflake,”
The tiny black coalmouse said.
Taken aback, the dove thought it over,
And puzzled, she tilted her head.

“Why it’s nothing more than nothing,” she cooed,
“As light as an angel’s kiss.”
“Well then, I have a marvelous story to tell,”
Said the coalmouse. “One still night like this,

“I sat by the branch of a fir tree,
As many a time I had done.
Then softly and dreamlike in silence
A small snowflake fell. I said, ‘One.’

“Then idly I counted a million
And two million more, making three.
Then hundreds of thousands to seven
Each one on the branch of my tree.

“I almost lost track in a flurry
But I had a big job to do.
Three million sev’n hundred and forty-
One thousand, nine hundred and fifty-two.

“Each one safely settled and rested
Until with a SNAP! loudly heard
The three million sev’n hundred forty-
One thousand, nine hundred and fifty-third

“Broke the branch and so they all tumbled,
With one added flake down they slid.
Its weight was just nothing and nothing you said,
But see what that one snowflake did.”

The dove pondered this for a moment;
A quiet insight had its birth.
“Perhaps there is just one voice lacking
To finally bring peace to the earth.”

— Poem based on the story Also Sprach der Marabu, by Kurt Kauter (1913-2002)


Stormy and I lived for years and years in places where it seemed there were no seasons, or at least they were subtle, or muted. When we moved to Bulgaria it made us remember our childhoods, and the regularity of seasonal change, the lessons that come from knowing that things will not always be as they are. The lessons of preparing for the next season, like the lesson the ant tried to teach the grasshopper. “Winter survival” was what they called the preparation for the reality of the barren bitter cold. Enduring the winter was made bearable by the promise of spring, and the festivals anticipating the season were as much a part of the yearly cycle as planting and harvesting in their times. The anticipation of the season of wondrous new growth reached a peak on March 1, with the Baba Marta holiday 3 and the return of migrating storks to their nests. The season of renewal…

Spring. The Sprout.

Pushing, straining hard
Through dark damp unyielding earth.
Sunlight! I love you.

 

Robert E. Lee Statue: Virginia Governor Announces Removal of Monument

It had to be done. Not only the Lee monument but all those Confederate statues.1 I wrote in 2017, “As the saying goes, take it as you will, ‘They’re history.’” 2

Two years after arriving, reluctantly, at the realization that the Confederate statues in my old home town would have to be removed, I revisited Richmond and was a little surprised they were still there. I drove along Monument Avenue, circling the statues in their roundabouts. I walked around the lovely park up on Libby Hill overlooking the James River, with its stately granite column honoring Confederate soldiers and sailors. People were out strolling, some resting on benches. There were no signs of graffiti, no other signs of strife. People, Black and White, greeted me as they walked by under the gaze of the bronze soldier standing relaxed, as if weary, atop the column.

Protesters gather around the statue of Confederate General Robert E. Lee on Monument Avenue in Richmond, Virginia A large group of protesters gather around the statue of Confederate General Robert E. Lee on Monument Avenue near downtown Tuesday, June 2, 2020, in Richmond, Va. Steve Helber / AP (Click on photo to go to AP story on NBCNews.com)

Yesterday I watched the memorial service for George Floyd. It was a ceremony of respectful reflection on his life by his family and others who knew him. It was also an expression of determination and resolve to force changes to systemic American injustice, far stronger than the “We Shall Overcome Some Day” of years past. It was a church moment, one different from the other church moments3 punctuating the turmoil that has defined these days of disruption.

Just last week I wrote about Trump’s Covid-19 response, and trying to get the nation to pull together in spite of him (The Value of Hatred). In doing that I was criticized for not being sensitive to the systematic oppression of Black people. Things I wrote about Trump were interpreted in light of the President’s (later) actions and statements on the demonstrations following the brutal killing of George Floyd. There’s no point now in trying to explain what I was trying to say about hatred and how it is so destructive in handling the pandemic, but I was not writing about George Floyd. Well, that was then. Covid-19 is no longer at the top of the headlines, and now our attention is focused on racial justice. So let’s turn to that.

It’s about time.

The depth and extent of racial injustice in America is not misunderstood. It is ignored.

If you condemn the protests and do not condemn the cop slowly choking George Floyd until he died, you are ignoring the cause. If you think protesters are looters and window smashers, you are ignoring not only the cause of the protest but the reality of the protest. Protesters and looters are not the same people. Looters came in cars to take advantage of the situation. In Minneapolis, the epicenter of the unrest, almost all of those arrested for looting were from out of state. *[Edit: See 6/7/2020 comment] Many of those arrested were identified with White supremacy groups. If you condemn the violence when protest got “out of control” did you ignore the fact that there were as many White people as Black people involved? Not that it changes anything, but where was your angry voice when Philadelphia “celebrated” their Super Bowl win in 2018? Stores were looted, cars were overturned, street lights were toppled. People set fires, fought with each other, and damaged property to the extent of millions of dollars. Oh, that was different. You might also be ignoring video evidence of the police provoking peaceful protesters in the current protests. Your Mom’s old question of “Who started it?” does no more good now than it ever did. “See what a scourge is laid upon your hate… ”

“… All are punished.”

Does a burning police car upset you more than police killing a man by kneeling on his neck? If it does, is it because you are sure it will never happen to you? And is that because of your skin color?

If you’re White like me and you want to do something but don’t know what to do, here’s a list. (Thanks, Sid. I hear you.) 75 Things White People Can Do for Racial Justice. Read the whole list, then pick one to start. By the way, you don’t have to be a White to do these things; it’s just that the list is made for us because we need to catch up.

The Value of Hatred

I read an article in our local newspaper, headlined “Stop the malicious, divisive hatred of Trump during this unprecedented pandemic.”1 It’s here, if you want to read it. It will probably make you mad. If it doesn’t then most of the comments from readers will make you mad. It didn’t make me mad. It got me to thinking about some of my friends, some of my dearest friends, who have been overcome and controlled by blinding hate. They cannot think of the President of the United States without being immersed in a burning, seething rage. I have other friends whose rage centers upon the former President. He’s out of office, but the hatred burns just as hot.

President Donald Trump is accompanied by Dr. Anthony Fauci, director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases, left, during a tour at the National Institutes of Health in Bethesda, Md., on Tuesday, March 3, 2020. (Doug Mills/The New York Times)

Sure, Trump actively pursued the fiction that it would all go away as the virus started to spread, because if it took hold it would hurt him politically. Sure, he locked the door on Chinese immigration, “after the burglar was already in the house.” (Remember though, how he was criticized as racist for doing that at all, rather than for doing it too late. Damned if he did and damned if he didn’t.) Sure, he said that he had no responsibility. Sure, he chose to blame China, the World Health Organization, the White House Pandemic Office after he dismantled it, the former President, and then later the governors, the medical establishment, and anybody else in sight. He does stuff like that, Haven’t you come to expect it? He’s a jackass. But hate? What good does that do? Who does it hurt? Weren’t you in church when they covered that?

Did you read that article, by the way, the one I mentioned at the top? Never mind, here’s the heart of it:

He may be suffering from narcissism and adult attention deficit disorder. But the nonstop, vicious, hatred of the president, during a time of national crisis, is simply wrong.

I am reminded of the “Not My President” people. Not your President. Who, then, is? Denial has consequences, almost invariably destructive. Hatred as a motivation works out badly for all desired outcomes except destruction. Destruction, in this case, of our system of government from the top down. You want to talk about blame? You want to lay it on Trump, that incompetent, bloviating, self-centered Toddler-in-Chief? Hate him for his incompetence and for what he is? If you satisfy yourself by doing that you’re stuck in a dead-end alley. Hating him won’t make things better. Here, more from the article:

Dr. Anthony Fauci and President George W. Bush, among others warned about it in 2005. Bill Gates gave a stern warning in 2015. Such an event would require massive stockpiles of protective gear, ventilators, and ICU beds. It would take years to accumulate this stuff. Yet despite the warnings, for decades no president, no congress, no governor, or mayor did much of anything at all to prepare for it. By the same token, the governing boards of our nation’s roughly 6,100 hospitals failed to prepare for it. It caught us all off-guard, but certainly not unaware of the distinct possibility of its arrival. There was no way that in a span of a month or two Trump, or anyone else, could have made up for those years of inaction.

In January, February and into early March Dr. Fauci and other experts were assuring us that the “the risk is low.” Trump believed him, and so did House Speaker Nancy Pelosi who as late as February 24 was urging San Franciscans, to come to Chinatown and that “everything is fine here.” No one, not even Fauci, had a crystal ball.

Will it ever be possible for our tortured system of government to return to being functional? It must. Surely this aberration hasn’t made the ideals impossible: the ideals of a free people living in a democracy, working and living together, being productive in industry and congenial in leisure. It can never work if we are separated from each other by hate. Hate won’t fix it.

When I started writing in this space a few years ago my focus was on Eastern Europe, and Bulgaria in particular. Well, our topics have drifted through an epoch of change, and shifted inexorably back home. We’ve talked about refugees (a lot), and racism, the Greek economy, Crimea, Confederate statues, capitalism and democracy, and threw in some poems too. If you’re curious about Bulgaria though, I can tell you that they’re “past the peak” on the Covid thing. So is, famously with their near-eradication of it, New Zealand. (You can google “coronavirus statistics by country” and get a little interactive chart.) In terms of new cases per day, Taiwan is down to about zero, as is Japan. Hong Kong is pretty much over it, though heaven knows they’ve got enough other problems now.

What do these countries have in common? I think a big part of their success is that each one has a disciplined population. Here in the Land of the Free, people don’t line up quite so readily when the government starts barking orders. That Freedom thing, you know… it’s a conundrum. In the effort that it took to win World War II (as told in rose-colored retrospect) Americans pulled together in a way that we can’t imagine now. They worked together, toward a common goal.

Hate won’t move us in that direction, not one small step. Working for good, hatred has no value. None.