POLITICS – Page 30 – Don't Gel Too Soon

AN INCONVENIENT TRUTH AND OUR FUTURE

OK. So I’m way behind a lot of people – including the Oscars voters, in finally seeing Al Gore’s An Inconvenient Truth. It’s a horrifying presentation, scary and fascinating. As a video producer I’m knocked out by the craft that makes such a dry topic so interesting. As some one who’s always been politically involved, I’m mortified that this film still needs to exist and bewildered that I haven’t been more drawn into this issue. It sounds crazy, but I’ve always been so obsessed with human rights and civil rights, education and integration, war peace and poverty, that I kind of left all this to someone else.

You can’t watch this film, though, and remain untouched. A friend says that the research is too new, that other "natural" phenomena come in cycles and that we haven’t had time to be certain that this is not just part of the next one. I respect this woman enormously but I watched this film, thinking of her, and of the power of modern technology compared to the "natural" impact that generated previous cycles and I can’t make myself believe that this isn’t an emergency.

I read a lot of science fiction, and much of it is dark and apocalyptic. Resource wars, water wars, data wars — it is the future that causes the pain. But it’s also the future that’s made by us – and if even half of this film is true, we are permitting what appears to be a horrific future to emerge, despite our ability to prevent it. I’ve followed Al Gore a long time. I remember his honorable environmental advocacy all the way back to his days in the House. He’s for real, using his position in the world to turn this huge air craft carrier of an issue around. In his film, he uses the history of the smoking issue (More Doctors Smoke Camels ads that ran just after the first Surgeon General’s Report) ont he dangers of snoking, to prove that we can change minds.

He’s won the Nobel Peace Prize for his commitment and impact. Some say the Nobel committee is just poliical and that this is a lefty-gesture. But I say hats off. Where else do we have political leaders consistently leading on an issue that has no personal reward, where the only "up side" is that we might stop cooking our planet? I haven’t seen any latery.

FALL INTO THE GAP? ARE THOSE CUTE CLOTHES REALLY MADE BY ENSLAVED KIDS?

I am still trying to get my mind around these child labor stories surrounding the Gap. I understand about globalization and outsourcing or whatever we’re calling it now, but, for heaven’s sake, the Gap isn’t even CHEAP! What kind of markup is involved here? I also understand that the Gap says they didn’t know about the conditions these kids were facing, but with all the use of cheap labor in the developing world factories it seems to me extra vigilance is required- on the part of retailers AND consumers (that’s us.)

There are good arguments on both sides of the concept of paying less in countries where the whole economy requires less, but these children, if reports are to be believed, were all but completely enslaved. Slaves! There’s no economic relativism that’s going to justify that. Or any other ism.

Somehow it’s worse when it’s the Gap — of the cool clothes and commercials. And horribly ironic that they, who made such a splash with commercials by the late, wonderful UN child advocate Audrey Hepburn, are whether mindfully or just carelessly, part of what seems to be something that violates everything she (and we hope, most of us) stands for. At some point we are going to have to decide how much we’re willing to compromise. These stores have democratized taste and style but it may be that the tools to do that are, themselves, the most expensive thing of all.

HOW OLD ARE YOU? WHO ARE YOU CALLING A ELDER?

We live in a community where many of our closest friends are well under 40 – several the ages of our sons. Because we are culturally united, age isn’t such a big deal, which is strange. I’ve always identified very strongly as a Baby Boomer. Born in the first year of the cohort, I cherish the experiences and adventures and acknowledge the shared rages and disappointments that bind us. Even so, I’m struggling with my place.

There’s a group of bloggers led by Ronni Bennett, a wonderful writer and observer, through her blog Time Goes By – and she’s working to build a community she terms "Elder Bloggers."

I hate it. Hate it. I admire Ronni; I’ve always been OK with where I stand in age and presence but this is tough. I can’t decide if I’m being immature and clinging to a world I don’t belong in or I just don’t have the same sensibility. I moved online in the early 90s, I read science fiction and love Harry Potter; I listen to all kinds of music; I cherish every experience. When my kids were little I often felt I had more in common with their teenage babysitters than with the parents of many of their friends.

It’s not that I deny my age — or my friends who are peers. Or my responsibilities. I’ve had a successful career raised great, honorable and capable kids. It’s that I cherish the energy, openness and curiosity of those whose lives are more ahead of them than behind. I remember maybe 20 years ago when a friend of mine was about to take her youngest son to college. Eyes welling up, she said something over lunch that day that still haunts me. "It used to be that everything in my life was about beginnings, now it seems that most of it is about endings." It was a devastating moment. I swore I would never feel like that.

It’s no battle really. It’s my nature to be curious — I have a short attention span and, as my blog header says, "There’s always more." Remaining open is easy. Realizing that it’s sometimes time to surrender some options is harder — even, or maybe especially, stupid ones like clothes. I have a "style." It took years to develop – not on purpose just by trial and error. Often, I was in the fashion moment. I went through the 80s in leggings and tunics and arm-loads of black rubber bracelets. Oh and Reebok high-tops and thick saggy socks. And that was at work!

One day though, you begin looking at those cool of-the-moment clothes with the thought "I wish I were young enough to wear those" instead of "wow how much is that one?" It’s never said out loud (or at least not by anyone you’d listen to) – you just kind of know it. A friend of mine with daughters says it happens to moms with girls much earlier because, as she put it "you don’t want to look like you’re competing.") I, however, resisted as long as I could, then surrendered (except for jewelry and shoes, of course.)

Music too. I was in the loop until hip hop, then got shoved pretty far into the margins. My kids send me music now – from Great Big Sea to Jack Johnson to Green Day and I’m grateful. But these days I don’t even know who many of the Top Ten folks are — and don’t care.

That doesn’t make me an elder though. Or a grown-up. Just a responsible adult, defined by nature and interests, not age. So Ronni – I’m with you with great admiration as you bring all of us together and continue to build the world’s coolest Boomer+ blogroll. But the title — the title — not for me my girl. At least……..not yet.

CARE ABOUT 2008? READ THIS BOOK – THE ARGUMENT BY MATT BAI

I have three half-finished posts saved as DRAFT right now but Saturday, all day, I read this book and I want to talk about it. You need to read it too. Matt Bai, the very smart political correspondent for the New York Times Magazine , and author of my favorite piece about the 2004 elections, WHO LOST OHIO? writes about the Progressive wing of the Democratic Party in the period after the 2004 election. He has a great narrative style – it’s like reading a novel. There are real characters, and intrigues and hubris and everything.

I really care what happens to our country and am so often troubled by the way that those with whom I most agree chose to engage the rest of the nation (Yes Mr. Colbert, the nation.) There’s so much at stake. Our choice of things we want to happen — and how we propose and describe them – is critical to whether we earn the right to make them happen. Do we spend too much time thinking about the elections themselves– and not enough about the policies to be implemented if we win? How do we talk to/with our fellow Americans and what do we say? What do we know about what they want – and do we care enough?

Matt has provocatively portrayed a political dialog that’s doesn’t deal with these questions nearly enough — as well as the "adventure story" of how we got here. I’m being vague on purpose — you really need to read this yourself. It’s quick, fun, smart, useful and very important.

THOREAU, JOHN HARVARD AND WHO I WAS (OR…WHO WAS I?)

You have to love New England in the fall. This is Walden Pond, retreat of Henry David Thoreau, where I spent Friday morning. Morra Aarons of BlogHer and Women and Work and Joan Blades of Moms Rising let me tag along on their wanderings, including a walk all the way around the pond. It was a remarkably appropriate location, since Thoreau, pretty much a rebel in addition to his fame as a thinker, is an inspiration to so many. So are these two. I kept thinking about him as I listened to Morra and Joan talking about the future of women – and policy – and motherhood.

Joan has done something remarkable: she’s launched Mom’s Rising to obliterate policy inequities toward mothers. Much of what Moms Rising seeks is built upon an acknowledgment of the special requirements that working moms face: the freedom to stay home with a sick child, to have equal access to jobs whether parents or not, and to live integrated lives. According to Joan – in the past decade or so we Americans have added 500 hours a year to our working days. That makes it harder than ever to integrate being a decent mothers and with the responsibility to support our families.

My generation was often either skeptical about motherhood or terrified to advocate for these issues because they could give men reasons to deny us equality in work, salary, promotions and benefits. Now, through the vision of Moms Rising, these issues are moving toward unabashed prominence — no apologies necessary. It’s difficult to describe the gratitude I feel — both for what they’re doing and for the fact that they can. When my kids were little, asking for time off to care for a sick kid was scary; what would they say not only in the front offices but also around the water cooler? We had to be so circumspect. Today’s advocates are brave and skillful as they work to move policy forward; it’s a good feeling to know that the battles we fought then have advanced the argument and legitimized advocacy by moms for moms.

It was a day for thinking, I guess. I met Morra at the Harvard Square subway station. As I stood waiting for her there, I felt such a rush of nostalgia and — almost — sadness. Cambridge to a young student is a place full of promise — a chance to become excellent in a community of excellence. I used to come in from my own college in western Massachusetts and just revel in it all. Today I hit an ambush moment – I saw that young woman (me) running around in big scarves and wild hats and colored tights and antiwar buttons — making trouble and having a blast. I’m grateful for that. But I also know now that for everything we achieve – we miss something else. Part of growing up is coming to terms with what we’ve accomplished — and what we haven’t. And emerging from a subway station to a youthful landmark seldom visited can bring it all back at once.

That’s another reason for my gratitude about Moms Rising — another generation of activism pushing the boundaries my friends and I pushed out so far ourselves.

So thanks and hats off – to my sisters who came before, to Morra and to Joan for a wonderful morning, to Joan for launching this very inspiring crusade and to all the mothers who’ve joined the fight.

ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! HOW WE TRIED TO STOP THE WAR

This morning I attended a briefing by NYT Political Reporter Matt Bai; he was speaking on his new book The Argument: Billionaires, Bloggers, and the Battle to Remake Democratic Politics. It’s a thoughtful, exciting look at American politics – very original. Although if you’ve read his stuff you know that’s no surprise.

I was taking notes, so I headed the page with the date – and was stunned. It was a memorable day, at least for me.

Remember the Vietnam War? Or at least all the stories you’ve been told about it? Today, October 15th, is the 38th anniversary of one of the major demonstrations against that war — after the chaos of 1968 and the election of Richard Nixon: the Vietnam Moratorium.

Described as the largest demonstration in US history, it was quite a day. Astonishingly, Richard Nixon went to the Lincoln Memorial — in secret, in the middle of the night — to talk to the demonstrators camping out on the grounds there. Not astonishingly, hundreds were tear-gassed and rounded up — many on the way to class at George Washington University, and some, like my now-husband, on the way from his office to lunch.

This website from SMU quotes Steven Ambrose:

“Tens of thousands of protesters marched around the White House on October 15th; across the country, in every major city, tens of thousands attended antiwar rallies. It was, by far, the largest antiwar protest in US history. Altogether, millions were involved. There was little or no violence. Most disturbing to Nixon and his supporters, the Moratorium brought out the middle class and
the middle-aged in in very large numbers”.

Yeah the middle class was there – and people even older than I am now. It made a lot of noise and got a remarkable amount of attention. Jerry Rubin and
Abbie Hoffman showed up, on bail from the Chicago Seven trial, and pulled
off wigs to show that their hair had been shorn, like Sampson, by their Chicago jailers.

Of course the war didn’t end. Years later an alleged Soviet spy told an interviewer that the demonstrations had been a dead give-away to the Russians that the US could not sustain the effort. Who knows? It was just one more huge event in many efforts to make the war go away.

I have just read that one of the leaders of SDS and one of my favorite thinkers, Todd Gitlin, in his new book, has urged today’s activists to learn from what went wrong then. They’d better. For all we tried to do, we never got where we wanted to go and we left a legacy of polarization that still provides fodder for opponents in the culture wars. It was a noble effort and probably helped demonstrate anti-war sentiment but now, in these times, we need a new way to do that. It’s intriguing that two highly-regarded thinkers like Bai and Gitlin are both looking at the future of Progressives at the same time — just a year before the next presidential election.

What do you think? What should we have learned from the battles of the 60s — and of the early years of this century? What do we still have left to find out?

Breast Feeding, Facebook and How Could This STILL Be Going On?

My son is 32 years old. The first two weeks of his life he lost a pound and a half. I just didn’t seem to have enough milk and there was no one – no lactation consultant or nurse-practitioner or even another other mom to ask for help. (This was Manhattan in the 70s; there was a lot of anti-natalism and many of my friends literally asked "Do you really want to be pregnant?"&nbsp) When I finally went to to the pediatrician he told me I had to supplement the nursing with formula. It felt like such a humiliating sign of maternal failure before I had even begun. Soon after, the milk ran out altogether.

I wish I could describe the tears, the guilt, the sense that I’d damaged this lovely, lovely child for life. I was, after all, hurting his development and immune system. And bonding. And who knew what else?

So when I read about the breast-feeding explosions on Facebook (and I have a Facebook page and admit I really like it, which makes it worse) or Delta Airlines, all these years later and still happening, I’m doubly sad. These attitudes add to the stress that inhibits milk production and I know how stressful nursing can be, especially in the beginning. I know the devastation when it fails. I know the almost unanimous research about the advantage of breast-feeding these new little people, and I believe the "it takes a village" theory enough to feel that it’s everybody’s responsibility to help kids grow up healthy and secure. That’s why I’m here among the nursing moms my kids’ ages. They’re strong and inspired and right on the money. The capacity to nourish an infant is a privilege and a right. And natural. And in no way anything but lovely. I mourned for so long the loss of it for my own children. I still do.

Magic – Bruce Tells the Truth – Where’s the Rest of It?

Life is complicated. One day things are great; the next day someone you love breaks an ankle and faces weeks on crutches; another battles heartbreak and demons. One day you’re lifted high in celebration; the next, angry and resentful. One day you’re lost in silence – the next you’re listening to Bruce Springsteen warn you to "carry only what you fear" then enchant you with a wistful "Girls in Their Summer Clothes."

I would have bought Magic sooner or later — if it has Bruce’s name on it, it’s on my iPod. But my son’s endorsement sent me straight to Amazon right after its release. When The Seeger Sessions came out I played it for hours – over and over. It just lifted you up out of your chair (or the driver’s seat.) Magic needs more attention; it’s got a lot to say. No courting froggies or underpaid sailors here. What there is instead is a mournful, painful set of stories: political and personal. They describe feelings I’ve struggled to express: anger, disappointment, anxiety over the future.

Not much more to say except that I once saw Springsteen tell Bob Dylan "You were the brother that I never had." He is the diary I never had. In Bruce’s real-life anthems, you can find huge parts of my life. I was a lawyer’s daughter in a steel town. The football heroes and Dairy Queen cowboys of my teen years were the boys of Springsteen’s New Jersey. All so familiar: the longings of Thunder Road, the nostalgia of No Surrender .

Every time I hear the lines "Now I’m ready to grow young again, And hear your sister’s voice calling us home, Across the open yards" I can see it. The yard outside our house, the hill up to the neighbors and their tire swing, dusk in the summer when my sister really did call and we tore down the hill, sweaty, dirty and happy as hell.

I don’t want to feel just as connected to these angry, disappointed words, but I do. It’s not just aging, knowing that childhood summers are long gone. It’s the reality of the times he’s describing – so much the way I’ve experienced them without the capacity to express what I feel. Not the only thing I feel — but as usual he’s speaking for a part of me. This time though, instead of being grateful, I’m just so so sad.

A NEW YEAR, A 36th WEDDING ANNIVERSARY, A LOT TO THINK ABOUT

Tonight begins Rosh Hashanah – the New Year celebration that launches the holy season of the Days of Awe that continues until Yom Kippur – the Day of Atonement. It’s also a huge day for me – in more than one way. Rick and I were married 36 years ago today. On a boat on the Monongahela River. We’ve been through a lot – maybe more than most couples – but we’ve hung on and we’re reaping the rewards of a shared history. So to have this remarkable landmark fall on the eve of a holy day of renewal is really something.

This is another anniversary, too. Our third living an observant life. We first came here for Rosh Hashanah services 4 years ago, met our remarkable rabbi and began the journey that has led us to a new, moving, inspiring, frustrating, challenging, occasionally painful, sometimes completely uplifting life. We share new feelings, new friends, new aspirations to goodness and a sense of God, new challenges and inspirations. AND we’re still sharing them with each other. That too is remarkable.

Now as we move toward observance of these days, toward prayers and meals and friends and — especially joyful – a visit from one of our sons and his girl friend, I am both grateful and anxious. We are supposed to think about debts and obligations, sins and redemption. I still carry a painful family resentment – toward someone I love but who has hurt me deeply and , I suspect, believes that I hurt her. I need to deal with this but am still struggling to figure out how. But I know I will – that I must. That’s the other gift of this season – a confrontation with the personal flaws that impede our prayers and our happiness. My dear one, if you read this, know how much I love you and that we will find our way past this – I promise.

To those who have offered us so much guidance and support, with whom we’ve had such fun and such meaningful prayers (and meals – and visits) I wish you the gift of as much goodness as you’ve brought us – an enormous deluge of joy. To our dear rabbi and his family a special thanks for being our gateway to this new life and all that it has meant.

And to Rick, my partner, love and best friend, eternal gratitude to you for your courage and determination, love and generosity, talents and humor and incredible incredible soul. Happy anniversary. Thanks for the memories, the adventures, our amazing children, and this astonishing, still emerging journey. L’shana tova.

SHARING FRIENDS, BUILDING BRIDGES

These two little guys, Josiah (in the closet) and Noah (in the doorway) just met each other. That didn’t bother them, of course. Five minutes after they met, which was about ten after seven this morning, they had each grabbed a push toy and taken off down the hall, leaving their moms to get to know each other.

Josiah’s mom, Anna, is very dear to me. Once our neighbors, she and her husband moved back home to Atlanta once this sweet young man arrived. They’ve got great family and childhood connections here in the land of the peaches so it’s only fair, but we miss them like crazy. I’ve loved having this trip to see their new house and the life they’ve built here because seeing it and knowing it’s right for them makes it a little easier that it’s not near us.

Noah (now don’t get confused – I mean Noah in the picture though Josiah’s father is also named Noah) is the son of my friend Liza – also a blogger and good, good friend. I introduced the two moms; I don’t seem capable of not doing such “you two should REALLY know each other” matchmaking, and it made me so happy to be with them and their boys. Somehow it’s easier to be far from them if they’re near each other.

I’m supposed to be the wise older friend but I’ve mourned Anna, Noah and Josiah’s departure almost daily – happy for them and so so sad at their absence from our old movie weekends and quick last-minute meals. We’re wealthy in our friendships and deeply grateful for the families who have become part of ours, but loving one friend doesn’t mean you don’t miss another one. So it was a real joy to be with them and to know I’m leaving them richer for having met one another. See you soon my sisters.