Category Archives: Quandaries and Rants

Voting with Our Feet (and other essential body parts)

Recent retirees like me get a lot of health-related information—mailers, email reminders, targeted Internet advertising.  Fairly often, these messages tout the benefits of regular exercise. Walking gets mentioned a lot—helps our circulation, requires little special equipment, can be done anywhere, anytime. So, even in the heat of summer, I try to keep up a regular walking routine. Over the past several seasons, I’ve been doing a good bit of more targeted walking, too, participating in protest marches and fundraisers for causes I think are important.  One of those is global climate change; another is voting.

Last September, I joined hundreds of thousands in New York City to draw global attention both to the problems we’re creating with our profligate use of fossil fuels and to possible alternatives, including the low-tech, available-to-nearly-everyone switch to walking more and using our vehicles less. I got a walker’s high moving along with the varied and huge crowd around me, most in comfortable shoes, some with banners, others with slogans on their clothing, some coasting beside us on skates or bicycles, a few in wheelchairs.

This past week, I joined a smaller, more localized crowd in Winston-Salem, North Carolina to draw attention to the start of a federal court case considering the constitutionality of several restrictive 2013 changes in my home state’s voting laws. The weather was sultry—July in North Carolina can wilt even the most stalwart. However, organizers had ordered thousands of bottles of cool water, and we guzzled it down as we listened to speeches and songs before taking to the streets. We wanted to help reinforce the message that the U.S. Constitution has been repeatedly amended to expand, rather than constrict, the franchise. The 15th amendment gave the vote to male former slaves; the 19th enfranchised women; the 26th, ratified in 1971, reduced the voting age from 21 to 18, giving the ballot to 18 to 20 year olds, including young men subject to military conscription.

I’m most grateful that my tramps have so far been voluntary. Nowadays, a huge number of people are walking for more distressing reasons—the number of international refugees and internally displaced persons has reached a level not seen since World War II. In 2014, nearly 60 million people, about 1 in every 125, were in refugee camps or temporary shelters due to wars and ethnic conflicts around the globe. When armed conflict breaks out, many vote with their feet just to survive.

In Isabel Wilkerson’s 2011 award-winning saga, The Warmth of Other Suns, I read that nearly 6 million African-Americans voted with their feet during the period between 1915 and 1970. These participants in the “great migration” left the Jim Crow south for points north and west, pushed out by fear and discrimination, and/or pulled away by the lure of better opportunities and less blatant oppression.

During my lifetime so far, I have not been forced to vote with my feet because of wars or oppression. However, voting with a ballot is a right I no longer take for granted. Recent quantum leaps in the sophistication and prevalence of gerrymandering make it more difficult for me to cast a meaningful vote, as do both subtle and more blatant attempts at voter suppression. Recent U.S. Supreme Court decisions have made “voting with money” more prevalent, an emphasis I find distressing. The problem has gotten too big for any single citizen, candidate or political party to solve on its own.

At the New York City march, some carried placards proclaiming: “There is no Planet B.”  On a less global level, I wonder, if we destroy our country’s democracy, what “plan B’s” await us? Our union has become considerably less perfect over the past decade or so. Perhaps we can reverse the trend—some of us may have to vote repeatedly with our feet in protest marches. We’ll also need to engage our heads, our hearts, our hands, having serious debates about vital issues, registering and voting, resisting demagoguery and pat answers, listening to each other, working together. Let’s keep walking…

 

 

 

An Inconvenient Spotlight–Tiananmen 1989

A somewhat blurry video of an unarmed Chinese civilian approaching a line of military tanks near Beijing’s Tiananmen Square on June 5, 1989 has become iconic for older Western China-watchers. The man wore a white shirt and dark trousers. He carried a small sack in either hand, as if in the midst of a shopping trip. He emerged from a large crowd and stood before the lead tank, maneuvering to stay in front of it as it swung right or left. Finally, the tank stopped. The civilian climbed up onto the tank and tapped on its turret. For a minute or two, he conversed with its driver, presumably asking him to alter course and turn back. After that, “tank man” climbed back down and disappeared into the crowd. Before long, the tanks began rolling again. Few are sure what later happened to tank man.

Parts of what many Westerners know about events at Tiananmen in spring, 1989, exist because the photojournalist who shot the tank man video footage was in Beijing to cover a historic diplomatic event—a meeting between the heads of state of China and the then-U.S.S.R.  He and other journalists shone a spotlight on multiple events that transpired in central Beijing that tumultuous spring. Footage and verbiage about Beijing protests in May and June of 1989 stayed part of Western impressions of China for years afterward. Whenever I’ve traveled in China post-1989, I’ve been cautioned to avoid mentioning Tiananmen. I comply. I’ve heard that security at Tiananmen Square is especially tight around June 4 each year.

The one at-length Tiananmen discussion I’ve had with someone from China occurred around our American kitchen table in autumn, 1994.  Then, our house sheltered my husband and me, our high school aged son, plus a high school exchange student from France and an international exchange teacher from southern China. I’ll call him Mr. Huang. During the period from 1984 to early 1989, we’d had nearly a dozen short and long-term visitors from the People’s Republic of China, but Huang was our first Chinese long-term visitor since the 1989 Tiananmen events.

The evening’s exchange of views was probably prompted by a televised American news clip about the debate over annual renewal of the U.S.’s “most favored nation” trading status with China.  U.S. media coverage nearly always included archived footage of June, 1989 events in Beijing. Huang paid careful attention to the footage and the TV commentary. So did the rest of our temporary international family.

Once the news clip ended, our French visitor commented, “It’s a shame that so many of the surviving protesters had to flee to Hong Kong or overseas. They could have helped a lot with economic development if they’d been allowed to stay and contribute without being threatened or jailed.”

Huang at first said nothing.

“From what we saw on television, there must have been a lot of casualties,” our high school aged son chimed in.

“What did you hear about the protests, Huang?” I wondered, hoping the teenagers might be more diplomatic.

“Not many people died,” Huang informed us. “Most of the ones killed were soldiers trying to put down a counterrevolutionary mob.”

“But most of the demonstrators were students or ordinary citizens,” our son retorted. “And we saw people who weren’t soldiers lying bleeding on the streets. We saw ambulances and stretchers. We heard gunfire.”

“How can you tell what happened?” demanded Huang. “You were thousands of miles away. I was at home in China. What I read in the newspapers confirmed that the soldiers were the brave ones. They were the main casualties. I’m glad not more of them were killed.”

“Your newspapers tell you only what they want you to hear,” responded the young Frenchman. “We saw the tanks and tracer bullets on television in France. We heard the explosions. How can we doubt what we saw and heard with our own eyes and ears? Were you in Beijing?”

“I’ve never been in Beijing,” Huang admitted, “but my father served in the People’s Liberation Army (China’s military) during the 1950’s. He was a brave soldier. He fought hard for our country. Our military would never harm another Chinese unless they were trying to destroy the revolution. Our military serves the people—in Beijing in 1989 they were only doing their duty to restrain counterrevolutionaries who wanted to bring down the government.”

After a few more exchanges, we realized that we would never convince each other. The media reports of the protests and any subsequent crackdowns by our respective communications outlets were selective and diametrically opposed. So were our respective backgrounds. By the end of the evening, all we could agree on was one underlying theme: good governance requires considerable self-restraint on the part of both governments and their citizens.

As media in both the U.S. and China become more invasive and more highly selective, I wonder where any more inconvenient spotlights might shine. Periodic violence erupts in both the U.S. and in China. Tiananmen happened. It had and has consequences.  It haunts those of us in the West (and perhaps in China) who were alive and paying attention when it occurred. However, the incidents leading up to tank man in 1989 are no more all of China than footage of gun murders or police riots in U.S. cities are all of the U.S. 

May all of us find ways to forgive each other and to forgive ourselves.

Earth Day in China

During the several years when I was in China in late April, I never noticed any hoopla about Earth Day, celebrated in the U.S. around April 22.  This holiday, founded by environmentalists in the United States in 1970, has yet to catch on in China.  A couple of times, I’ve broached the subject of environmental activism to some of my Chinese students and colleagues. Over the past generation or so in China, there has been increasing interest in ecological education, as the Chinese economy begins to mature and its natural environment becomes more polluted.

I have mainly benefited from industrial progress in the U.S. for much of my lifetime, so I can find it awkward to discuss “earth friendly” development with Chinese friends.  After I’d given a somewhat glib critique of China’s polluted air at an evening Q&A session several years ago, one younger Chinese colleague retorted:

“Your country spewed great plumes and spurts of toxic chemicals into its air and water for over a century before you began efforts to clean up your dirty industries. What right do you have to criticize us when we’re still just getting started on our development?”

Reaching a consensus on steps our respective governments and cultures can take to reduce our harm to global air and water resources can be tricky.  The trade-offs between economic development and wise resource stewardship are not always obvious.  Citizens in both countries register alarm at some of the damage we’re causing, but what we can do to reduce the harm is not always readily apparent.

Progress toward mutual efforts to reduce greenhouse gas emissions in our two countries got a boost in November, 2014, when Chinese President Xi Jinping and U.S. President Barack Obama signed a historic agreement with ambitious emissions reduction targets for both countries. The U.S. pledged to reduce its emissions by at least 26% below 2005 levels by 2025; China promised to cap its emissions by 2030, and earlier if possible. Greenhouse gases such as carbon dioxide and methane, coming from industrial, residential, and vehicular sources, are leading contributors to air pollution, as well as likely facilitators of global climate change. If early progress is made toward achieving these goals, it will help further advance broader international agreements at a global climate summit to be held in Paris in December, 2015. (You can read more about the U.S.-China agreement at http://www.washingtonpost.com/business/economy/china-us-agree-to-limit-greenhouse-gases/2014/11/11/9c768504-69e6-11e4-9fb4-a622dae742a2_story.html.)

A non-governmental boost toward paying attention to China’s environment came recently from a former CCTV (Chinese state television) reporter, Chai Jing, who in 2015 produced an independent hour-plus documentary about air pollution problems in China. Chai’s TED-style documentary, “Under the Dome,” also provides historical context from different parts of the world. It cites Britain’s “killer smog” of 1952 (4 days of heavy air pollution in December that year that killed an estimated 12,000 people). It also chronicles Los Angeles’s smog problems. In the period just after World War II, smog in Los Angeles was just as dense and harmful as Beijing’s smog is today. A photograph taken of one of L.A.’s freeways on Christmas Eve, 1948, shows extremely limited visibility. Strict emissions standards strictly enforced have lessened smog there, even as the number of vehicles on area roads has increased.

Chai has said she produced her documentary out of concern for her young daughter, who was born with a benign tumor that may have been caused by pollution. Chai’s presentation was posted to the Internet and had received over 100 million views in China before it was removed from Chinese websites.

It may be slightly ironic that two high-profile recent public events in Beijing—the 2008 Olympics and the 2014 APEC summit (Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation), at which Obama and Xi signed their historic agreement—contributed to increasing expectations among Beijingers that cleaner air is possible.  For both events, polluting industries in surrounding areas were temporarily scaled back or shut down entirely.  Motor traffic into the city was severely restricted. Officials wanted to have “blue sky days” while Beijing was in the international spotlight.

When Earth Day comes around this year, I’ll do my part by increasing my efforts to be more sparing in my use of a car.  I’ll invest more in carbon offsets to reduce the impact of my airline travel. I’ll eat lower on the food chain more often.  I’ll revel in the “blue sky days” that still predominate in the part of the United States of America where I live. In addition to personal lifestyle changes, I’ll work harder toward public policy modifications in my town, county, state, and country to help protect the environment. I’ll think of Chai Jing and her daughter, of my own children and grandchildren. Each of us can do something to move toward a more livable planet for future generations of humans.

Born After the War

(“Hiroshima Day”, August 6, is not much celebrated in the U.S., though  I’ve been told that in Japan it is the occasion for solemn remembrances. In 2000, I had a chance to visit Hiroshima and see the A-Bomb dome, the Peace Museum, and the millions of paper cranes, symbols of peace and hope, sent there by school children from around the world. This musing was prompted by that visit.)

On its anniversary a decade ago, I gave a short commemorative presentation about the atomic bombing of Hiroshima–the first use of atomic weapons–on August 6, 1945.  My audience was attentive.  We all squirmed uncomfortably. After the subsequent silence, people began sharing their stories. Some older attendees had known A-bomb survivors personally.  Most remembered exactly what they were doing when they got news of the bombing–like those of my generation remember the JFK and MLK assassinations, or my children remember the Challenger spaceship disaster.

I’ve sometimes felt both gifted and cheated by the timing of my appearance in 1947, when the worst of World War II damage was starting to be hidden beneath sprouting weeds and aid programs, although the aftershocks were felt in the growing belligerence among former allies that later came to be called the “Cold War.”  During a 1950’s period of postwar U.S. uneasiness,  hunts were carried out for Communists, domestic and foreign. Perhaps their existence would help explain why, after our recent great resounding victories, so many felt so empty.

One of my grandfathers, the Rebel one, was also born not long after a war, in 1869. His early childhood was spent in a house occupied by Union troops who’d temporarily expropriated a Southern landscape almost as desolate as postwar Hiroshima.  As his brain softened with age, he sometimes relived that childhood, becoming again the scared white boy who dreaded the “n— down the road who carried a pistol for me.”

Sometimes I wonder about the wisdom of those of us born after wars.  We are often the pampered progeny of parents determined to keep us out of harm’s way. They don’t want us to suffer through what they did.  Laudable as their efforts were and are, there are downside risks. Absent at least some suffering, we are all too apt to blunder through life, expecting all obstacles to be removed, planting the seeds of the next wars by blaming each other when stubborn boulders of prejudice, ego and ideology refuse to budge without great effort.

Jonah’s Dilemma (The Curse of Being Heeded)

Jonah’s Dilemma (The Curse of Being Heeded)

(This entry is based partly on Bible stories I heard as a child, partly on a paraphrase of the original Biblical tale by Anne Herbert that I first read in the 1981 edition of the Whole Earth Catalog.  One of the downsides of being reform-minded is that we often don’t know how to react if/when the reforms we are so passionate about do get implemented.)

The Bible poses thorny problems, new to us over and over.
Take the story of Jonah. As children, we reveled in his adventures–
Being swallowed by a big fish, then spit out, alive
On a faraway shore.  Wow!

It’s not until much later (and sometimes never) that Jonah’s ethical problems
Begin to grab us.  Like the whale’s digestive system, they gnaw at us,
Leaching nourishment into our souls.

Most other Biblical prophets ranted at a reluctant public
Who refused to heed their warnings, getting their just desserts
In due season: being pulled apart by dogs, like Jezebel,
Or exiled to Babylon, like the Jews, or…
We’re pretty good at filling in the blanks.

Jonah didn’t want to rant and rave. He could see retribution coming
For Nineveh, and he did not want to risk being prophetic.

But being a prophet is a calling not dismissed easily.
Despite Jonah’s best efforts at evasion,
He was thrown among the people he was meant to warn.
He stuttered off his message, finding to his great surprise
That his audience was receptive.  What’s more, they were willing,
Even eager, to mend their ways.

They repented.

Which left Jonah in the lurch even worse than being barfed up
By a whale.  Where is the paragraph in the prophets’ manual
That explains what to do with a repentant public?
Jonah had no role models.
He did what most of us do when thoroughly frustrated–
He threw a tantrum, venting much of his stored up
Invective at a God who once again surpasses our
Addiction to pat solutions.

And God replied with a question, an important one:
Is there a possibility that someday, somehow, we, too

Can surpass our addiction to pat solutions?

Job’s Wife

Job’s Wife    –by Jinny Batterson

(written in January, 1998, after viewing an exhibit of
William Blake’s illustrations for the Biblical book of Job)

Sometimes it bothers me
What little mention
I get in the Bible.
The one verse in my voice,
At the beginning
Of Job’s story,
Is shrewish
And nagging:
“Do you still hold fast
To your integrity?
Curse God, and die.”

Had I been around
When the scribes wrote
My husband’s story,
I’d have gently reminded them
How much they were leaving out.

I doubt they’d have listened.
Writers and media folks typically
Want “man bites dog”
Tales, or hyperbole.

Gentleness, quiet persistence,
Lie mainly between the lines
Of Biblical lore.

So we get chapter
After chapter
Of Job’s longwinded
Friends arguing–
Trying to fit
Job and God into
Their own little boxes.

I learned early that both God
And Job were beyond labels,
But the scribes couldn’t
Write that in so many words.

William Blake captured it
Better in picture–
Me bent silent at Job’s feet,
Offering what comfort I could.

Showing in my posture
How much it hurt me,
Too, to lose all,
Especially those children.

I’d carried them in my womb,
Wiped their runny noses,
Shared in their triumphs
And sorrows.

Now I was without them,
Utterly thrust down–
No longer a respected matron
And wife,
But the sorely bereaved
Helpmate of a poor
Hulk of a soul
Covered all over with boils.

Many’s the time I considered
Cursing God, and Job, too,
But I didn’t.

Instead, I cooked gruel
Of the grain we had left;
I washed his feet
With my tears,
And I stayed by him.

While he wrestled
With the pain
And the hard questions,
I struggled, too.

If God’s answer to Job
Came loudly:
“Have you a voice like God,
And can you thunder
With a voice like his?”
The answer I got was so still
And small, it took me a
Long time to hear it.

“No loss is irredeemable,”
God told me, “Be steadfast,
And you will come to understand.”

So I stayed on.
After Job’s repentance,
When he prayed for forgiveness
For his three friends,
You may notice
That Job didn’t have
To pray for me–
I had been praying
With and for him all along.

We had lots of good years
After that.
More children, too.

We rarely took any of them
For granted.
There’s no joy
Sweeter than joy after sorrow.

And I read between the lines
(Women can be good at that)
That the scribes paid me
A compliment the only way they
Knew how–by naming my
Descendants.

As they ended their book,
It’s our latest daughters
Whose names they wrote down:
Jemimah, Kesiah, and Kerenhappuch.

Of course, I love our sons, too,
And I’ve loved Job forever.

And I think it’s a testimony
To feminine strength
That it’s our daughters
Whose names are mentioned–
Who share in Job’s inheritance.

Border Stater

(The initial version of this verse was written to my brother at his birthday–an attempt in the heat of a political season to find some mutual ground.)

It’s somewhat uncomfortable here,
hanging by my heels above this hillside threshing platform.
The harvest is almost in.
All that remains on the plain spread below me
are scattered stalks of overripe rhetoric.
I was raised in a border state–
part Northern, part Southern, part Western, part Eastern.
At home everywhere and nowhere.
I’ve lived in city, suburb, and countryside.
In some things I’m wealthy, in others, poor.
The ability to see from this quirky vantage point
multiple sides of most issues is both blessing and curse.
I avoid panic, knowing that sooner or later
I’ll disentangle myself and again stand upright.
As this cycle nears fruition,
I have confidence that earth will keep its balance,
faith that our human presence will endure,
and hope that one day
we will tend our mutual gardens together in peace.