As just about everyone knows this week marks the fifth anniversary – strange concept in this case – of the war in Iraq. About 140 people gathered on the Plaza to acknowledge this devastating, stupid, illegal, immoral and totally unnecessary blunder. Most of us know by now whom the murderous miscreants were who are responsible for this disaster, and the real reasons why we’re in this mess today. Astoundingly there are some who still support this mad adventure that has proved so profitable for the war-mongering industries and the oil companies. One of them is even running for president. Don’t look now Alice, but we’re about to drop into hundred-year-deep hole if this Mad-hatter gets his hands on the wheel of state.
Back on the Plaza home front the vigil proved a successful gathering – protest signs a-waving, car horns beeping in approval, and a general congeniality and solidarity among the throng. There was even a bit of street theater provided by longtime activist and anti-war stalwart Mike Smith. Mike decided to call attention to the war and occupation that has cost so many lives and so much treasure – estimates range in the trillions – and from which repercussions will be felt for decades. Bush and Cheney and the other principals responsible for this deadly insanity have burdened our children, grandchildren and generations to come with a debt load that may never be repaid. It is only now with the nation’s economy going into a recession that may last for years that the results of this war are coming home to roost.
So Mike decided to make a statement and deliberately get himself arrested in a minor act of civil disobedience. Yes, this can be considered a token gesture and its efficacy can be questioned. But symbolic or not it’s not an easy thing to do and not without some risk. No one else joined in this symbolic action including this reporter. I did accompany Mike’s legal observer, Betty Ann Spencer, to the local police station that held Mike for about a half hour, cited him, and let him go. He rejoined the vigil. Anyone who thinks it’s easy to take a principled stand, get arrested and handcuffed by 4-5 burly policemen, and taken in a squad car to sit alone in police custody should try it sometime. Token or symbolic gesture, it takes guts.
Mike had prepared a statement as to why he was taking this action, which says in part: “I am committing civil disobedience and bearing moral witness in the tradition of Thoreau, Gandhi, and Martin Luther King, Jr., by breaking a law of our government [blocking the flow of traffic]. I am acting out of love and compassion for the members of our armed forces; my sorrow for the suffering of the people of Iraq; my respect for our Constitution, and love of my country.” *Editor’s note: Mike’s full statement can be seen at the end of this column.
=====
Town follies
There are certain personalities that exude a kind of arrogance not based on any particular accomplishment, achievement or outstanding personal characteristic This was the defining demeanor of a member of the public who mouthed a distasteful little sermon at last Wednesday’s council meeting. The perpetrator’s name is irrelevant as is the man himself – an individual of absolutely no standing or significance in this community who used his 3-minutes for public comments to attack City Councilman Ken Brown on purely personal, completely unsubstantial grounds. The man’s comments did not address any issue, large or small, that has come before the council or is a matter of interest to the public at large. Nothing, zero, zilch was uttered critical of the policies, procedures, programs or services of the City Council, or anything within the jurisdiction of that political agency. Just a personal attack about clothing style, personal “grooming”, and a perceived attitude of the councilman toward other than his constituents. And in cowardly fashion the speaker left the room before hearing any response from the council.
And here is where it really gets interesting. Instead of nailing this guy, who didn’t even have the guts to state his full name, Mayor Joann Sanders let him rattle on, and said absolutely nothing. Not a word of admonition that this was a purely personal, ad hominen attack related to no council business whatsoever, or that protocol requires all public pronouncements to be directed to the sitting mayor, not to individual council members or city staff. No, the mayor sat dumb, inscrutably silent; never objecting to the personally insulting remarks or cautioning the speaker that he was way, way out of line.
In point of fact, Robert’s Rules of Order, which is the protocol employed by the council, states: “All remarks must be directed to the Chair [in this case the mayor]. Remarks must be courteous in language and deportment – avoid all personalities, never allude to others by name or to motives!”
Now it’s true that there is practically no matter within the realm of city business and affairs that members of the public cannot address, but no city council will entertain vicious, personal attacks of its members or other members of the public. In over 20 years of council watching I’ve never seen anything like this allowed or brooked. But Mayor Sanders sat mute, and in fact let the speaker go over the allotted 3-minutes, and at the conclusion thanked him for his remarks – yes, you heard that right – and without a word went on to the next speaker.
Amazing, and not in any grace-ful way.
Perhaps the mayor let this verbal mugging go on because the man was ostensibly coming to her defense because she’d received a lousy grade in environmental conservation and public accessibility by Sonoma County Conservation Action (SCCA), which has been grading all the city councils, and the board of supervisors in Sonoma County for many years on these criteria. It’s not possible to divine Ms. Sander’s thinking or reasoning as to why she let her pathetic paladin get away with dumping on Brown, and all his constituents to boot, but it speaks volumes as to her fitness and capabilities as a city council person. You see, the speaker had couched his assault on Brown by “grading” his strictly personal characteristics.
Just as she irresponsibly, irrationally and unilaterally launched into an annexation of the Springs, Sanders showed the same lack of deliberate thought, careful consideration and measured judgment in dealing with an outlandish situation. This and other such actions on her part calls into question her ability to function in a political system that at minimum requires the capacity to see beyond one’s ego and personal ambitions.
When it came time for council comments three members, not including Brown, voiced their displeasure about the public speaker’s comments, but Mayor Sanders had no words of redress or admonishment to offer. Brown, in a show of remarkable restraint, did not dignify the personal attack with a reply.
In light of full disclosure: I’m a friend of Ken Brown’s and have been for 20+ years, but I’d write the same about any council member who was attacked in this craven manner, like him/her or not. I think that those who know me, friend or (political) foe, would back that up. A sizeable majority has elected Ken Brown for three terms. I believe that anyone who knows him will agree that he’s one of the most accessible politicians Sonoma has ever had – to any and all, liberal or conservative – often to the dismay of some of the more hard-nosed liberals like me.
=====
*WHY CIVIL DISOBEDIENCE - MIKE SMITH
“LAST WEEKEND AT THE "WINTER SOLDIER" GATHERING IN MARYLAND VETERANS OF THE IRAQ OCCUPATION TESTIFIED OVER THREE DAYS ABOUT THEIR EXPERIENCES IN THE MILITARY AND SERVING IN IRAQ AND AFGHANISTAN.
IN 1971 VIET NAM VETERANS TESTIFIED IN THE FIRST "WINTER SOLDIER" CONVENTION ABOUT THEIR EXPERIENCES IN VIET NAM. IN THE SUBSEQUENT CONGRESSIONAL HEARING VIET NAM VETERAN JOHN KERRY ASKED HIS ELECTED REPRESENTATIVES..."WHO WILL BE THE LAST TO DIE FOR A MISTAKE?". THE VIET NAM WAR WENT ON FOR ANOTHER FOUR YEARS!
FIVE YEARS AGO, MANY OF US STOOD ON THIS PLAZA PROTESTING THE START OF THE IRAG INVASION. I JOINED 18 OTHER SONOMANS IN A SYMBOLIC ACT OF CIVIL DISOBEDIENCE AGAINST THE BEGINNING OF OUR GOVERNMENT’S ILLEGAL, IMMORAL, AND UNJUST WAR.
FIVE YEARS LATER ALMOST 4,000 MEN AND WOMEN OF OUR ARMED SERVICES HAVE GIVEN THEIR LIVES, THOUSAND MORE HAVE BEEN MAIMED AND CRIPPLED AND OVER ONE MILLION CITIZENS OF IRAQ HAVE DIED. OUR ECONOMY IS IN RUINS. OUR PEOPLE LACK JOBS, HOUSING, HEALTH CARE, AFFORDABLE EDUCATION, AND A HEALTHY ENVIRONMENT. GEORGE BUSH AND DICK CHENEY HAVE NOT BEEN IMPEACHED FOR THEIR LIES, ILLEGAL ACTS, AND ASSAULTS ON OUR CONSTITUTION.
I AM COMMITTING CIVIL DISOBEDIENCE AND BEARING MORAL WITNESS IN THE TRADITION OF THOREAU, GHANDI, AND MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR., BY BREAKING A LAW OF OUR GOVERNMENT. I AM ACTING OUT OF LOVE AND COMPASSION FOR THE MEMBERS OF OUR ARMED FORCES; MY SORROW FOR THE SUFFERING OF THE PEOPLE OF IRAQ; MY RESPECT FOR OUR CONSTITUTION; AND LOVE OF MY COUNTRY.
I AM ALSO CALLING FOR THE THREE PRESIDENTIAL CANDIDATES AND OUR ELECTED REPRESENTATIVES TO IMMEDIATELY CALL FOR A CONGRESSIONAL "WINTER SOLDIERS" HEARING TO TAKE DIRECT TESTIMONY FROM THE BRAVE MEN AND WOMEN WHO HAVE EXPERIENCED THE TRUTH OF THE IRAQ WAR.”
Monday, March 24, 2008
Monday, March 10, 2008
On Writing
Lately I’ve been asked by friends or acquaintances what I’m doing – what I’m up to. It’s a standard greeting, not meant to pry, and usually draws a brief run-down of my exceedingly mundane exploits.
“Oh, not that much,” I say. “Working around my place, helping Zoe with college applications, doing a little writing.” At this point my voice usually trails off. Sometimes I’m asked what I’m writing about. My general response is, “Different things. You know, the usual political stuff. I’m even playing around with fiction.” Occasionally there’s some interest around the ‘fiction’ part, but if pressed further I usually dodge the answer.
I do this avoidance dance for two reasons: One, because I really believe that talking about one’s writing when it’s ongoing takes the energy away from it, as well as the impetus to continue with it. I know it works that way with me. The second reason is that often I don’t know what I’m going to write until I start to do it. Often I don’t go into it with a game plan. I’ll just go with the thoughts that arise and see where it goes.
If I were to answer the “doing” question truthfully though, I’d say, “Mostly I’m spending my time writing. There are other things I’m attending to, but mostly I’m writing.” I haven’t had the courage to say this because it seems too lazy, arrogant, cerebral, self-important, effete, indulgent, and half the other descriptors in the dictionary. So I’m stuck mouthing a phony answer, and avoiding talking about what it is I’m really doing. Here’s what I would say to the question if I could manage to do it in just a couple of sentences.
I’m writing. I’m a writer. That’s what I do a good deal of the time. It doesn’t mean anything in saying this other than stating the activity I’m most engaged in. It doesn’t suggest that I’m any good at it, or that the writing is good, bad or indifferent. That’s for others to judge. It’s just something I do the way other people garden, or play golf, or go fishing or paint pictures. As for the reasons I do this, that’s another part of the story.
Dialogue with myself
One reason I write is that it’s fully absorbing. Paradoxically it both takes me out of myself, and at the same time puts me into myself more deeply. When I’m writing I am totally focused on the thoughts that come up, and then the ensuing challenge to express these thoughts as accurately and succinctly as possible. That’s the game, and I’ve been captivated by it from early on. The writer gets caught up in the thinking-writing process, and for brief periods the egoic “I” or “me” is on hold, or out of the office so to speak. Breaking free of the watchful, almost always present “me” is liberating. It frees me from the presence of that hovering critical observer.
At the same time, because writing stimulates the thinking process, it gives the writer the chance to find out shat he/se really thinks about something. For instance I’ve found out that I don’t know what I truly think about something until I’ve given it a lot of thought. We all voice our opinions about things – politics, relationships, cultural conditions, entertainment, what-have-you – often and freely. But I wonder if most of what we have to say on these matters is really what we think, or merely what we’ve adopted from what others think; people whose opinions bombard us from TV, radio and print. Are we just parroting the thoughts of others we respect or admire and passing it off as our own? How much of what we mouth as our opinions, our thoughts on some matter, is the result of finely attuning to our own thoughts – finding out through close examination what it is we really think about some matter? My guess is, very little.
So for me an important function of writing is finding out what it is I truly think about something by taking the time to think about the arguments and merits of the matter and working it out on paper. It doesn’t necessarily mean that the outcome is some brilliant conclusion – often that’s not the case. Too often it leads to further indecision and the realization I don’t know enough to form a conclusive opinion.
And that’s the seemingly contradictory nature of writing, for me: A way to lose myself and a way to find myself.
The critic
Another reason I write is to give voice to the critic: To voice my dissent, dissatisfaction, dismay and disgust with so much I see going on all around. I write because I feel compelled to comment on the scene. I’d say it in the poetry of songs if I could, but I can’t. I don’t have that talent.
I write to voice my disapproval about how things are and why I think it should be different. Anger and frustration are the usual motivators, and I’m egotistical enough to think I have something of value to say. About ten years ago I began writing a newsletter commenting on the local scene in Sonoma, and mouthing off about the local issues of the day. A small number of friends (5-6) joined me in this endeavor.
Writing and publishing the newsletter brought me in contact with some of the local policy makers and others of some influence in our little town, and I got a closer look at some of the behind the scene goings on. It provided a crash course education in the workings of the local power structure. Not that it will come as news, but what became markedly clear was how much sway the local paper had in generating and manipulating public opinion.
Like almost all communities ours has power brokers, generally based on the strength of their wallets, and how entrenched they are on the basis of longevity in these here parts. This filters down in turn to those who feed off these individuals’ dealings in the usual parasitic relationships that commonly abound. Other players of note are elected politicians who affect matters by forming policy and the regulations to back it all up. Occasionally even bureaucratic hired hands such as city managers have managed to cut a formidable swath, but they come and go more frequently whereas city councils and rich families seem to last interminably.
The newsletter publication provided me a platform for regularly shooting my mouth off about the local scene, its kabuki culture, and what was not being reported in the local paper. It also gave me a pulpit, albeit self-ordained, to voice my comments on the issues, events and human follies being played out far beyond the borders of Sonoma. This is where I began to try and hone the craft of commentary and essay writing. I’m still at that pursuit.
I don’t really know what it is that so drives me to respond to what I read, hear or see going on around me, but it is absolutely compelling. I don’t think I could not do it for very long. I think it’s an addiction that starts innocently enough with an occasional letter to the editor of some paper, but gradually and insidiously gets you hooked to the point where you have to comment in writing about something every day. Fortunately this addiction doesn’t cost very much, so my family is not going without food or clothing as a result. Well, maybe not all the clothes that would satisfy an 18 year-old daughter.
Finally, though not completely, my compulsory writing is equivalent to a dog marking its territory. It says, “I am here, of this time and place. This smell/thought is me. If you come into my territory you’ll have to deal with me. I am here; woof, woof.”
Writing is my way of marking my stay and passage on Earth. I’ve no delusions that I’m anything but a most ordinary person of no outstanding qualities or characteristics whatsoever. But even though I don’t consider myself special in any way, I’m still inexplicably driven to express as truthfully as I can how I interpret and therefore experience this journey of a lifetime.
I’ve little doubt that what I have to say in this regard is of much interest to other than a relative few, and that’s an optimistic assessment. Nonetheless there is this urge to put the thoughts and feelings down in some form – words in my case – for others to see.
Billions of us humans infest this planet, and from a certain aerial distance we seem nothing more than ants. Yet because we are each endowed with the faculty of self- awareness and self-reflection we experience our lives in a personal way. How we interpret and understand the world and our experiences in it is subjective, based on the sum of these experiences and those things – people, ideas, circumstances, etc. – that we’ve come into contact with and been influenced by.
We may be nothing more than swarms of ants, but each and every one of us is a package of experiences and stories uniquely our own. It’s this I want to convey. Maybe all of us ants want to tell our stories: This is what happened to me; this is how I see it; this is what it feels like to me. I expect that’s true, and I think we do it in ways other than writing it down. But that’s how this one does it. In answer to your question.
“Oh, not that much,” I say. “Working around my place, helping Zoe with college applications, doing a little writing.” At this point my voice usually trails off. Sometimes I’m asked what I’m writing about. My general response is, “Different things. You know, the usual political stuff. I’m even playing around with fiction.” Occasionally there’s some interest around the ‘fiction’ part, but if pressed further I usually dodge the answer.
I do this avoidance dance for two reasons: One, because I really believe that talking about one’s writing when it’s ongoing takes the energy away from it, as well as the impetus to continue with it. I know it works that way with me. The second reason is that often I don’t know what I’m going to write until I start to do it. Often I don’t go into it with a game plan. I’ll just go with the thoughts that arise and see where it goes.
If I were to answer the “doing” question truthfully though, I’d say, “Mostly I’m spending my time writing. There are other things I’m attending to, but mostly I’m writing.” I haven’t had the courage to say this because it seems too lazy, arrogant, cerebral, self-important, effete, indulgent, and half the other descriptors in the dictionary. So I’m stuck mouthing a phony answer, and avoiding talking about what it is I’m really doing. Here’s what I would say to the question if I could manage to do it in just a couple of sentences.
I’m writing. I’m a writer. That’s what I do a good deal of the time. It doesn’t mean anything in saying this other than stating the activity I’m most engaged in. It doesn’t suggest that I’m any good at it, or that the writing is good, bad or indifferent. That’s for others to judge. It’s just something I do the way other people garden, or play golf, or go fishing or paint pictures. As for the reasons I do this, that’s another part of the story.
Dialogue with myself
One reason I write is that it’s fully absorbing. Paradoxically it both takes me out of myself, and at the same time puts me into myself more deeply. When I’m writing I am totally focused on the thoughts that come up, and then the ensuing challenge to express these thoughts as accurately and succinctly as possible. That’s the game, and I’ve been captivated by it from early on. The writer gets caught up in the thinking-writing process, and for brief periods the egoic “I” or “me” is on hold, or out of the office so to speak. Breaking free of the watchful, almost always present “me” is liberating. It frees me from the presence of that hovering critical observer.
At the same time, because writing stimulates the thinking process, it gives the writer the chance to find out shat he/se really thinks about something. For instance I’ve found out that I don’t know what I truly think about something until I’ve given it a lot of thought. We all voice our opinions about things – politics, relationships, cultural conditions, entertainment, what-have-you – often and freely. But I wonder if most of what we have to say on these matters is really what we think, or merely what we’ve adopted from what others think; people whose opinions bombard us from TV, radio and print. Are we just parroting the thoughts of others we respect or admire and passing it off as our own? How much of what we mouth as our opinions, our thoughts on some matter, is the result of finely attuning to our own thoughts – finding out through close examination what it is we really think about some matter? My guess is, very little.
So for me an important function of writing is finding out what it is I truly think about something by taking the time to think about the arguments and merits of the matter and working it out on paper. It doesn’t necessarily mean that the outcome is some brilliant conclusion – often that’s not the case. Too often it leads to further indecision and the realization I don’t know enough to form a conclusive opinion.
And that’s the seemingly contradictory nature of writing, for me: A way to lose myself and a way to find myself.
The critic
Another reason I write is to give voice to the critic: To voice my dissent, dissatisfaction, dismay and disgust with so much I see going on all around. I write because I feel compelled to comment on the scene. I’d say it in the poetry of songs if I could, but I can’t. I don’t have that talent.
I write to voice my disapproval about how things are and why I think it should be different. Anger and frustration are the usual motivators, and I’m egotistical enough to think I have something of value to say. About ten years ago I began writing a newsletter commenting on the local scene in Sonoma, and mouthing off about the local issues of the day. A small number of friends (5-6) joined me in this endeavor.
Writing and publishing the newsletter brought me in contact with some of the local policy makers and others of some influence in our little town, and I got a closer look at some of the behind the scene goings on. It provided a crash course education in the workings of the local power structure. Not that it will come as news, but what became markedly clear was how much sway the local paper had in generating and manipulating public opinion.
Like almost all communities ours has power brokers, generally based on the strength of their wallets, and how entrenched they are on the basis of longevity in these here parts. This filters down in turn to those who feed off these individuals’ dealings in the usual parasitic relationships that commonly abound. Other players of note are elected politicians who affect matters by forming policy and the regulations to back it all up. Occasionally even bureaucratic hired hands such as city managers have managed to cut a formidable swath, but they come and go more frequently whereas city councils and rich families seem to last interminably.
The newsletter publication provided me a platform for regularly shooting my mouth off about the local scene, its kabuki culture, and what was not being reported in the local paper. It also gave me a pulpit, albeit self-ordained, to voice my comments on the issues, events and human follies being played out far beyond the borders of Sonoma. This is where I began to try and hone the craft of commentary and essay writing. I’m still at that pursuit.
I don’t really know what it is that so drives me to respond to what I read, hear or see going on around me, but it is absolutely compelling. I don’t think I could not do it for very long. I think it’s an addiction that starts innocently enough with an occasional letter to the editor of some paper, but gradually and insidiously gets you hooked to the point where you have to comment in writing about something every day. Fortunately this addiction doesn’t cost very much, so my family is not going without food or clothing as a result. Well, maybe not all the clothes that would satisfy an 18 year-old daughter.
Finally, though not completely, my compulsory writing is equivalent to a dog marking its territory. It says, “I am here, of this time and place. This smell/thought is me. If you come into my territory you’ll have to deal with me. I am here; woof, woof.”
Writing is my way of marking my stay and passage on Earth. I’ve no delusions that I’m anything but a most ordinary person of no outstanding qualities or characteristics whatsoever. But even though I don’t consider myself special in any way, I’m still inexplicably driven to express as truthfully as I can how I interpret and therefore experience this journey of a lifetime.
I’ve little doubt that what I have to say in this regard is of much interest to other than a relative few, and that’s an optimistic assessment. Nonetheless there is this urge to put the thoughts and feelings down in some form – words in my case – for others to see.
Billions of us humans infest this planet, and from a certain aerial distance we seem nothing more than ants. Yet because we are each endowed with the faculty of self- awareness and self-reflection we experience our lives in a personal way. How we interpret and understand the world and our experiences in it is subjective, based on the sum of these experiences and those things – people, ideas, circumstances, etc. – that we’ve come into contact with and been influenced by.
We may be nothing more than swarms of ants, but each and every one of us is a package of experiences and stories uniquely our own. It’s this I want to convey. Maybe all of us ants want to tell our stories: This is what happened to me; this is how I see it; this is what it feels like to me. I expect that’s true, and I think we do it in ways other than writing it down. But that’s how this one does it. In answer to your question.
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