anti-war – Don't Gel Too Soon

Big Birthday Memory #9: Remembering JFK: 44 Years and 2 Days After the Kennedy Assassination

On the campaign trail. I would have given anything to be that kid.

NOTE: As I approach my 70th birthday, I’ll reprise a milestone post here each day until the end of May. Today – from November 24, 2007.

Thanksgiving Day was the 44th anniversary of the assassination of John Kennedy. I didn’t want that to be my holiday post, though, so I’m writing about it today.** I was a senior in high school when our vice-principal, Mr. Hall, a huge scary guy (and football coach) came onto the intercom and announced, his voice breaking, that President Kennedy had been shot, and had died. I remember standing up and just walking out of my creative writing class. No one stopped me – or any of the rest of us. We wandered the halls in tears, then went home, riding the school bus in tears. I remember the next morning, taking the car out and just driving around — running in to my friend Jack Cronin on his drugstore delivery route – and standing on McClellan Drive in his arms as we both wept. I remember, Jewish girl that I was, going to Mass at St. Elizabeth’s Church that Sunday just to be with the people of his faith. I cried for four days.

Years later, working on the TODAY SHOW 20th anniversary of the funeral, I remember all of it rushing back as we cut tape and realized as adults what a gift Jacqueline Kennedy had given the nation through the dignity and completeness of the funeral. I know that many younger people find the Kennedys a little bit of a joke, thanks partly to the Simpsons, but it’s not possible to describe the grief and trauma of those days. Or the gratitude we all felt for his presence — and the profound nature of the loss.

Though only 13, I had the great good fortune to attend the Kennedy Inauguration, traveling all night on the train with my mom to sit in the stands near the Treasure Building and watch the parade go by. We stood outside the White House at the end of the parade, in the last of the blizzard, and watched him walk into the White House for the first time as president. I’d seen the culmination of all the volunteer hours my 13-year-old self could eke out to go “down town” and stuff envelopes — to respond to the the call to help change the world.

It seems so pathetic now; the loss not only of JFK but of his brother, so beloved by my husband that he’s never been the same since 1968, the loss of Dr. King and Malcolm X, the trauma of Vietnam and all that followed, later of the shooting of John Lennon, even. It seemed that all we’d dreamed about and hoped for – worked for – was gone. How could we have been so romantic – so sure that we could bring change? Believed it again in 1967 and 68 as we worked and marched against the war, for Eugene McCarthy or Bobby Kennedy, for civil rights and for peace, for better education and environmental policies, for rights for women, gay Americans and so much more. Most of us haven’t stopped but the American media obsession with America’s loss of innocence emerges from the pain of those weeks.

Now, to me, even the idea of innocence seems a bit — well — innocent. In our case, innocence came largely from a combination of lack of experience and of knowledge. We didn’t know that we stood for the take over of Central American countries and the support of Franco and Salazar as well as the Marshall Plan and remarkable courage and commitment of World War II. We were too close to the WWII generation to have the historic separation that’s possible today. So was much of the rest of the world: in Europe, South America, Africa — all over the world — the Kennedys had won hearts and minds. It’s almost impossible to imagine in light of our standing in the world today. And that’s part of the grief too. Even though much of the anger at the US outside Iraq is based on a warped version of political correctness, we know the experience of riding from the glory of having “liberated” Europe through the Marshall Plan and the glory of the Kennedy outreach to the rest of the world. Personally and publicly, John Kennedy validated all that we wanted to see in ourselves – all that we wanted ourselves, and our country, to be. And today, despite all the revelations of the years since, 44 years and two days later, that’s still true.

Margot Adler Sang at My Wedding

Margo in the foreground; that's me in the back. — Margo in the foreground; that’s me in the back.

It was 1971. The song – no surprise to anyone who was young then, was Last Night I Had the Strangest Dream, Ed McCurdy’s anti-war anthem. We knew we couldn’t get married in the middle of the war that had defined much of our lives without acknowledging it, and the song was the perfect way. Margot was amazing, her voice clear and passionate; people even cried as we two 20-somethings stood, mid-ceremony, and Margot sang. She had a great voice, had actually been a music person forever, and attended the famed Music and Art High School in Manhattan.

We met cute. A friend brought her into the Senate Radio-TV Gallery, just off the press balcony overlooking the Senate. Reporters wrote their spots there, and there was a small studio where Senators could come and make statements for the cameras. I didn’t know Margot, but her Pacifica Radio friend knew she had a question that any pal of Margot’s would have loved.

“Pacifica (the progressive, listener-supported NY-based FM radio station) wants to hire me to cover the White House. I’ve just come back from Cuba where I was helping the Venceremos Brigade harvest sugar cane. Will that be a problem?”

This was Richard Nixon’s White House she was asking about. You can imagine my answer.

It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

From then on, until I left Washington with the man who is still my husband, our adventures were many, and varied and intense. The moment that rises to the top though, is a small one, very Margot – precise and painful.

We had seen Love Story, the shameless, sentimental, “Love means never having to say you’re sorry” Love Story. (Yeah, I know, but everyone went – even politicos like us.) She was quite upset, more than I would have thought – and I never go by Mt. Sinai Hospital on Fifth Ave without remembering it. “What I hated most” she said, “was the scene on the street outside the hospital where my mother died. It was like they threw it in there to make the whole thing extra painful.”

It’s a small story but it always stayed with me. Along with the time we came to NY after we had moved to Palo Alto so Rick could finish school. We were staying with her and we walked in and there in the front hall was her altar. It was the first time we learned of her decision to follow her Wiccan self and it was such a weird way to find out. She kind of said “Well I couldn’t just put it in a letter, right?”

She was, of course, a brilliant reporter and writer and thinker. She was fun and alive and full of curiosity and political brilliance and personal warmth and charm. I hadn’t seen her in a long time, but this week, she’s very much with me, along with the memories of that day, and of course, this song.

The Vietnam Moratorium, 40 Years Ago Today

It wasn’t that long ago – not really. Thousands of us singing “All we are saying, is give peace a chance” on the Mall in Washington. It all started when Sam Brown, David Hawk, David Mixner, Marge Sklenkar, John Gage and other peace luminaries, many of whom were veterans of the failed McCarthy and Kennedy campaigns, decided to call a “moratorium on the war in Vietnam” and ask everyone to come to Washington to support it. It was a great idea: a kind of strike against the war, but with manners.

And 250,000 came, followed by at least 500,000 exactly a month later, during the November Moratorium that followed. But on this day, a manageable and peaceful crew assembled. My memories of the day are scattered. I worked for CBS News by then and my job was to keep track of the march, marchers and plans for all the peace activity going on in the capital. There was plenty, in a wide spectrum of militancy and affect.

I wish I could describe for you some of the more radical “peace houses” I visited; collectives with tie died cloth covering the windows and mattresses on the floor – working for a much tougher way to oppose the war.

Organizers and participants in this march , though, slept in church basements and the homes of local people who made room for them. Everyone who lived in Washington didn’t have a spare bed or couch – or inch of space on the floor. You know this, but just to remind you, listen to what the BBC says about that time “in context:

American combat troops had been fighting the Communist Viet Cong in Vietnam since 1965.

Some 45,000 Americans had already been killed by the end of 1969. Almost half a million US men and women were deployed in the conflict, and opposition to the war was growing.

The Moratorium for the first time brought out America’s middle class and middle-aged voters, in large numbers. Other demonstrations followed in its wake.

I guess that song is what I remember most – that, and members of the Chicago 7, out on bail as they awaited trial, addressing the crowd and pulling off wigs to show how their jailers had cut off all their hair. For some reason, I can still see that – it felt to me like such a violation. A less than friendly observer asked me later “How did you like what they did to “your friends” huh? They weren’t my friends; I barely knew them, but the question was a punch in the gut. So many things stood for other things then. Long hair on men meant rebellion and outlier.

Anyway, it’s yet another 40 year anniversary and I didn’t feel that I could let it go un-noted.

If you have never heard the Lennon song “Give Peace a Chance” here are John and Yoko singing it with a crew of friends during a peace “bed in” in, I believe, Amsterdam. Happy Anniversary

SELLING THE PENTAGON, SELLING THE WAR IN IRAQ, SELLING THEIR HONOR

In 1971, when I worked at CBS News in Washington, the network
aired a documentary called The Selling of the Pentagon. The Museum of Broadcasting website says: "The
aim of this film, produced by Peter Davis, was to examine the increasing
utilization and cost to the taxpayers of public relations activities by the
military-industrial complex in order to shape public opinion in favor of the
military." The Congress tried to cite CBS for contempt – it was
a real drama. In his book The Place to Be, my mentor
Roger Mudd tells the whole story better than I ever could – he was the
correspondent on the award-winning program. Despite all that happened,
there was real satisfaction in knowing that the film had made a difference –
that our defense dollars would go to protect and support our soldiers, not a
military PR campaign.

Ah, but like all good news, it was short-lived. Maybe not too short – we
made it to 2008 — but the whole thing is back – and because it’s about Iraq
and Guantanamo this time, not just some recruiting and appropriations
manipulation, it’s far more malignant.

Sunday, the New York Times reported on the courtship of
those military "experts" who show up on the TODAY SHOW and NIGHTLINE
and CNN to tell us the facts behind our country’s military initiatives.

To the public, these men are members of a familiar
fraternity, presented tens of thousands of times on television and radio as
“military analysts” whose long service has equipped them to give authoritative
and unfettered judgments about the most pressing issues of the post-Sept. 11
world.

Hidden behind that appearance of
objectivity, though, is a Pentagon information apparatus that has used those
analysts in a campaign to generate favorable news coverage of the
administration’s wartime performance, an examination by The New York Times has
found.

The effort, which began with the buildup to the Iraq war and continues to this day, has sought to exploit
ideological and military allegiances, and also a powerful financial dynamic:
Most of the analysts have ties to military contractors vested in the very war
policies they are asked to assess on air.

Those business relationships are hardly ever
disclosed to the viewers, and sometimes not even to the networks themselves. But
collectively, the men on the plane and several dozen other military analysts
represent more than 150 military contractors either as lobbyists, senior executives,
board members or consultants.

Of course, this one is a little different – these
guys are consultants to the media, and while the Pentagon enables their
"expertise" and offers the heft of the tours of Guantanamo and classified briefings, their money comes from their lucrative consultancies with military vendors, not from the Pentagon directly. But think about it. If we really
were manipulated; if the arguments for the Iraq war were as flawed as we now believe, then these consultants — follow the bread crumbs — are at least partly responsible for the attitudes that permitted the war to take place and discouraged many of those who might have stopped it
I don’t know about you, but when I hear stories
about Abu Ghraib and the things that
were done in our names, and think of how little I’ve done to instigate change,
resting instead on the actions of my youth. I think about all the Germans who
said the "didn’t know" what was going on. I don’t mean that a
few soldiers, none of whose leaders has been prosecuted and who are taking the
rap for things that went way beyond them — are the equivalent of Nazi
Germany. That would be stupid and facile. What I am saying is that
the horrible things that emerged from this war are on all our heads – and that
these guys whose testimony to us via countless talking head interviews
legitimized what was going on, enabled it all.

The reason I started with The Selling of the
Pentagon is that it’s such a lesson. Whatever change we help to
implement won’t last – Abolitionist Wendell Phillips was
right when he said that "eternal vigilance is the price of
liberty." In 1971 the documentary outraged Americans who
demanded change. Today we still recall the events at Abu Ghraib the same
way – with a deep and painful sense of outrage. Once again, on our watch
this time, bad things have been done in our names.
Once again, dissemblers reign. The consequences of their betrayal,
whether the story is true or not, are tragically visible. Once again —
our hearts are broken. Once again – we must share the blame for what
happened there.

Once again, whatever is left of our better angels
looks warily about, frightened, silenced, sad and ashamed.

FIVE YEARS IN IRAQ – A BIRTHDAY – AND MEMORIES OF VIETNAM

The amazing Queen of Spain, Erin Kotckei Vest, wrote yesterday about her son’s 5th birthday and the war in Iraq, realizing that our country has been at war for his entire life. It’s a moving and troubling meditation on the length and malignancy of this war. Take a look.

It was strange to read — someplace between echo and deja vu. My older son was born the night Cambodia fell; I went back to work at CBS News the night Saigon fell (foreign desk – overnight) and his younger brother was born 2 days after the Iran hostages were taken. We always knew how many days old he was because Walter Cronkite ended every newscast with "that’s the way it is, the xyz day American hostages have been held in Iran."

I remember nursing Josh during the horrible last days of the Vietnam war, when they were trying to get orphans out of the country. One evening at the very beginning of the effort, 78 kids died when their plane crashed. To this day I remember sitting in a chair, feeding this weeks-old child, watching the broken bodies of some else’s children flung around the crash site, and just dissolving.

I don’t know if it helps or hurts that this is not the first time; although in so many ways it is the worst. As horrible as the country was during Vietnam, we had our collective rage. As this picture shows, we also had the innocence that placed carnations
in the barrels of National Guard guns as they kept us at bay. And we had each other; the opposition to the war, while fractious and divided, essentially understood its unity and its shared issues. Because we’d had teach-ins and gone home and argued with our parents and had to face down counter-demonstrators at marches we had become somewhat tribal – which was bad in some ways but held us together.

The current administration, in my mind, has made it so much more painful to try to bring change; the worst part being that they should have learned enough from Vietnam not to do it this way!!! Not original but as I read Erin’s heartfelt post, about her son and about all those in her family serving or having served in Iraq I got angry all over again. Last time it was arrogance on the part of people like Robert McNamara, but they did not have a Vietnam to look back on and strive to avoid. They had the model of World War II, the post-war failures that led to the Soviet occupation of Eastern Europe for so long, the Marshall Plan and all the other "good wars" and American generosity that informed the very bad decisions they made. These guys today have had all Vietnam to instruct them and still did this to us.

That’s why this election is so important. If we had had decent leadership five years ago we might be funding decent learning disabilities programs and well-baby clinics and alternative energy research and, if necessary, wars we DO need to fight instead of burdened by a debt that could very well still be with us when Erin’s birthday boy is in college.

CALIFORNIA DREAMIN’ – SAN FRANCISCO SCENES YOU MIGHT HAVE MISSED

We’re here to visit our remarkable,wonderful sons and having a lovely time – hence the virtual radio silence here. Some things though, you need to share – even during a family vacation.

First of all, you always know when you come to San Francisco that you’ll see things that might elude you elsewhere, but this one is spectacular even for the capital of Blue State America. This little guy is wearing a shirt that says "Don’t pat me, I’m working." He’s apparently an assistance animal but we were damned if we could figure out what he was assisting in doing… besides wheeling through Chinatown making friends.

Lucky Revolution Vegan Chinese Restaurant (outside of which the Monkey rolled past us.) Great combination fried rice and hotpot eggplant, too

This is the site of Dave Eggars‘ tutorial project 826 Valencia, now expanding to other cities. Author of A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, founder of McSweeney’s publishing and The Believer magazine, he’s built a place to effectively teach writing and communication to underserved kids. It’s embarrassing to wander in, thinking oneself fairly cool for knowing to come here — and to discover — a gift shop! Clearly Eggars and his crew have built something very attractive — and become a tourist attraction.

One block from 826 Valencia and across the street, this blast from the past — windows jammed with anti-war and other political messages. This is not, of course, limited to San Francisco, especially these days, but it just seems so at home here.

Yesterday my husband announced that he had a surprise for me – and dragged me out of the hotel for breakfast. Next thing I knew, we were aboard a cable car for the first time since somewhere around 1971, right after we got married and came to Stanford for him to finish school. It was a great ride on a rainy morning.

We passed this – the top of Lombard Street, San Francisco’s zig-zaggiest.

And ended up here – at the famous Buena Vista Cafe. Famous as the place that invented Irish Coffee, across the street from the end of the cable car line and just above Fishermen’s Wharf, it’s a true landmark a place we used to love. It was so great to return and sit by the window watching this city’s every-changing tourist scene. On this corner, it could still have been 1971 when we first came here. There’s something lovely about a return like this especially when it’s a gift. My sweet husband triumphant once again… 36 years after our first visit!

More pix soon. Goodnight for now.

REMEMBERING JFK: 44 YEARS AND 2 DAYS AFTER THE KENNEDY ASSASSINATION**

Years later, working on the TODAY SHOW 20th Anniversary of the funeral, I remember all of it rushing back as we cut tape and realized as adults what a gift Jacqueline Kennedy had given the nation through the dignity and completeness of the funeral. I know that many younger people find the Kennedys a little bit of a joke, thanks partly to the Simpsons, but it’s not possible to describe the grief and trauma of those days. Or the gratitude we all felt for his presence — and the profound nature of the loss.

As a 13-year-old, I had the great good fortune to attend the Kennedy Inauguration, traveling all night on the train with my mom to sit in the stands near the Treasure Building and watch the parade go by. We stood outside the White House at the end of the parade, in the last of the blizzard, and watched him walk into the White House for the first time as president. I’d seen the culmination of all the volunteer hours my 13-year-old self could eke out to go "down town" and stuff envelopes — to respond to the the call to help change the world.

Now, to me, even the idea of innocence seems a bit — well — innocent. In our case, innocence came largely from a combination of lack of experience and of knowledge. We didn’t know that we stood for the take over of Central American countries and the support of Franco and Salazar as well as the Marshall Plan and remarkable courage and commitment of World War II. We were too close to the WWII generation to have the historic separation that’s possible today. So was much of the rest of the world: in Europe, South America, Africa — all over the world — the Kennedys had won hearts and minds. It’s almost impossible to imagine in light of our standing in the world today. And that’s part of the grief too. Even though much of the anger at the US outside Iraq is based on a warped version of political correctness, we know the experience of riding from the glory of having "liberated" Europe through the Marshall Plan and the glory of the Kennedy outreach to the rest of the world. Personally and publicly, John Kennedy validated all that we wanted to see in ourselves – all that we wanted ourselves, and our country, to be. And today, despite all the revelations of the years since, 44 years and two days later, that’s still true.

**IN ORDER TO OBSERVE SHABBAT, THIS POST WAS COMPOSED ON NOVEMBER 22ND AND POSTED AUTOMATICALLY ON SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 24TH.

Military Americans and the Rest of Us

REPOSTED FROM VOX – 8/08:
The National Military Families Association is an old client of mine and today I’m meeting their former CEO for lunch. She and I had hoped to use her site and some of the “women’s” content sites to begin to bridge the chasm between military and non-military families. Who if not the women would be capable of that? I had just read Absolutely American: Four Years at West Point, a wonderful book about West Point and leadership so was particularly interested in removing the stereotypes and isolation suffered by the military in my formative, actively anti-war youth.

We were unable to interest most of the women’s sites into doing anything without payment though; it was quite sad. When I think of 9/11 and of the Iraq War – and remember how my parents used to talk about the “GIs” and their position in the world during World War II, it’s particularly unfortunate that we now have a “military class” that is separate from the rest of us in so many ways – and whose parents and children were also likely to be military — so much so that we’re worlds apart.

Today Oliver Stone told the Washington Post that he thought combat experience “softens you, if anything. It makes you more aware of human frailty and vulnerability. It doesn’t make you a coward, but it does teach you. ” Yet, as he noted in this interview, none of our current political leaders has any combat experience at all.

I know we need to end this division, but I have two sons and what seems sensible in the abstract is horrifying in the concrete. I have many friends whose kids have gone to live in Israel, for example, and they seem to accept the fact of their sons’ military obligation with equinimity but I don’t know if I could. And I”m not sure if it’s the scars of Vietnam and even more recent futile endeavors or rank selfishness on my part….

More later.