(Dad, Nate, local Berlin news crew)
Monday, November 09, 2009
Sunday, November 08, 2009
ruminating on the wall
I've been thinking about Germany lately, and the 20th anniversary, tomorrow, of the fall of the Berlin Wall, and the ensuing demise of the Iron Curtain and the Soviet Union and the Cold War and the world as we knew it, that world of the Evil Empire.
Slate Magazine ran a fascinating piece the other day on the mundanities behind the initial border openings (missed phone calls, misread government memos) on November 9th of 1989.
The New York Times ran a Then & Now piece today, and a small collection of poems, Berlin poems, Wall poems:
"Then the inspiration to build walls facing in!
Reservation, concentration camp, ghetto,
finally whole countries walled in, and saved were we
from traitors who'd dare wish to flee our within."
-C. K. Williams
"When the wall came down I was distracted. By what?
A man I loved and longed for?
A self integrating so slowly most days I hardly knew who I was?"
-Marie Howe
Ten years ago, in the spring of 1999, I was working at the University of Pennsylvania Bookstore and semi-surreptitiously reading as many books as I could. One that's stayed with me all these years, the one I perhaps found most haunting, was Tina Rosenberg's The Haunted Land: facing Europe's ghosts after Communism. She wrote compelling stories of resistance and dissidence in Poland and Czechoslovakia and Germany, and how that resistance played out, became integrated into a post-Communist world, once those Eastern Bloc regimes collapsed. But even more compelling, to me at least, were her stories of how easy, how seemingly necessary, it sometimes was to be complicit in one's own repression. These post-war Eastern European countries, unlike most dictatorial regimes, demanded of its citizens full political participation, whether that meant attending endless political rallies and marches and meetings or spying on relatives and friends and neighbors. As Jane Kramer wrote in The Politics of Memory, "With 300,000 informers, the Stasi was not so much a mirror of East Germany; to a large extent, it was East Germany."*
My family was in Berlin for Christmas a month and a half after the Wall first opened. My father regaled us with stories of JFK's infamous "Ich bein ein Berliner" speech and took us off to see Checkpoint Charlie and the opening of the Brandenburg Gate and took a sledgehammer to the Wall. I have a notebook somewhere, or perhaps not any longer, with pages full of the graffiti I copied down from the western side of the Wall that December. The eastern side was blank, empty, the people of course having been kept away from it by armed guards. We brought back to New York a bag of chunks and chips of the Wall to give to friends and family, though this bag, too, has probably gone astray in the twenty years since.
I don't have any of the Wall anymore, though I remember poring over the pieces we took away, hunting for the perfect one, the one with the brightest bit of colored spray paint (sea green or stormy blue or a deep firey red), the one with the most legible fragment of writing (ghosts of this demarcation point between two worlds).
"They sentenced me to twenty years of boredom
For trying to change the system from within
I'm coming now, I'm coming to reward them
First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin
I'm guided by a signal in the heavens
I'm guided by this birthmark on my skin
I'm guided by the beauty of our weapons
First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin"
-Leonard Cohen, First We Take Manhattan
Other interesting reads:
The day Checkpoint Charlie came back to haunt me
Berlin Wall's fall inspires us still
Berlin Wall as a piece of history: too-good riddance?
*The Stasi was East Germany's version of the Secret Police. After Germany's reunification in 1990 legislation was passed that opened up the Stasi files to the public, so that people could see their own files and possibly learn who had been spying on them. Turned out pretty much everyone was spying on pretty much everyone else -- 300,000 informers, in a country of a mere 16 million people.
Slate Magazine ran a fascinating piece the other day on the mundanities behind the initial border openings (missed phone calls, misread government memos) on November 9th of 1989.
The New York Times ran a Then & Now piece today, and a small collection of poems, Berlin poems, Wall poems:
"Then the inspiration to build walls facing in!
Reservation, concentration camp, ghetto,
finally whole countries walled in, and saved were we
from traitors who'd dare wish to flee our within."
-C. K. Williams
"When the wall came down I was distracted. By what?
A man I loved and longed for?
A self integrating so slowly most days I hardly knew who I was?"
-Marie Howe
Ten years ago, in the spring of 1999, I was working at the University of Pennsylvania Bookstore and semi-surreptitiously reading as many books as I could. One that's stayed with me all these years, the one I perhaps found most haunting, was Tina Rosenberg's The Haunted Land: facing Europe's ghosts after Communism. She wrote compelling stories of resistance and dissidence in Poland and Czechoslovakia and Germany, and how that resistance played out, became integrated into a post-Communist world, once those Eastern Bloc regimes collapsed. But even more compelling, to me at least, were her stories of how easy, how seemingly necessary, it sometimes was to be complicit in one's own repression. These post-war Eastern European countries, unlike most dictatorial regimes, demanded of its citizens full political participation, whether that meant attending endless political rallies and marches and meetings or spying on relatives and friends and neighbors. As Jane Kramer wrote in The Politics of Memory, "With 300,000 informers, the Stasi was not so much a mirror of East Germany; to a large extent, it was East Germany."*
My family was in Berlin for Christmas a month and a half after the Wall first opened. My father regaled us with stories of JFK's infamous "Ich bein ein Berliner" speech and took us off to see Checkpoint Charlie and the opening of the Brandenburg Gate and took a sledgehammer to the Wall. I have a notebook somewhere, or perhaps not any longer, with pages full of the graffiti I copied down from the western side of the Wall that December. The eastern side was blank, empty, the people of course having been kept away from it by armed guards. We brought back to New York a bag of chunks and chips of the Wall to give to friends and family, though this bag, too, has probably gone astray in the twenty years since.
I don't have any of the Wall anymore, though I remember poring over the pieces we took away, hunting for the perfect one, the one with the brightest bit of colored spray paint (sea green or stormy blue or a deep firey red), the one with the most legible fragment of writing (ghosts of this demarcation point between two worlds).
"They sentenced me to twenty years of boredom
For trying to change the system from within
I'm coming now, I'm coming to reward them
First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin
I'm guided by a signal in the heavens
I'm guided by this birthmark on my skin
I'm guided by the beauty of our weapons
First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin"
-Leonard Cohen, First We Take Manhattan
Other interesting reads:
The day Checkpoint Charlie came back to haunt me
Berlin Wall's fall inspires us still
Berlin Wall as a piece of history: too-good riddance?
*The Stasi was East Germany's version of the Secret Police. After Germany's reunification in 1990 legislation was passed that opened up the Stasi files to the public, so that people could see their own files and possibly learn who had been spying on them. Turned out pretty much everyone was spying on pretty much everyone else -- 300,000 informers, in a country of a mere 16 million people.
Friday, November 06, 2009
'there was the cove and the smooth shallow water...'
From Chaim Potok's The Promise:
There was the cove and the smooth shallow water with the tall trees of the shoreline breaking the force of the wind and Michael lying on his back reading the clouds. There was the cove and the birds high overhead and the clouds white against the deep blue of the sky and the whisper of the wind through the trees, a loud whisper that was a roller coaster roar, and the sensation of dropping into the night.
"We are at war, friend. Didn't you know we are at war?"
Danny said nothing.
"The enemy surrounds us. The evil forces of secularism are everywhere. Look under the bed before you say the Kriat Shma at night. Look under the bed before you pray the Shacharit Service in the morning. And while you're at it check the books on your desk and look in the typewriter and close the window because they come in with the wind. Did you know they come in with the wind?"
"All right," Danny said quietly.
"The hell it's all right. We become like dead branches and last year's leaves and what the hell good are we for ourselves and for the world in a mental ghetto. The hell it's all right."
Danny said nothing. There was a tense silence.
"I'll survive," I said.
He was quiet.
"If I can have another cup of coffee."
He smiled then and got slowly to his feet.
"One derives great moral strength from a cup of coffee," I said.
"Kosher coffee," Danny said.
"Yes, of course. Kosher coffee. Of course."
We talked over the third cup of coffee, about ourselves, about the past, and there was silence and more talk and silence again and more talk. That was the best cup of all, that third cup of coffee. It took us a very long time to drink it.
Then I was putting on my coat and hat and we were standing at the door.
There was the cove and the smooth shallow water with the tall trees of the shoreline breaking the force of the wind and Michael lying on his back reading the clouds. There was the cove and the birds high overhead and the clouds white against the deep blue of the sky and the whisper of the wind through the trees, a loud whisper that was a roller coaster roar, and the sensation of dropping into the night.
"We are at war, friend. Didn't you know we are at war?"
Danny said nothing.
"The enemy surrounds us. The evil forces of secularism are everywhere. Look under the bed before you say the Kriat Shma at night. Look under the bed before you pray the Shacharit Service in the morning. And while you're at it check the books on your desk and look in the typewriter and close the window because they come in with the wind. Did you know they come in with the wind?"
"All right," Danny said quietly.
"The hell it's all right. We become like dead branches and last year's leaves and what the hell good are we for ourselves and for the world in a mental ghetto. The hell it's all right."
Danny said nothing. There was a tense silence.
"I'll survive," I said.
He was quiet.
"If I can have another cup of coffee."
He smiled then and got slowly to his feet.
"One derives great moral strength from a cup of coffee," I said.
"Kosher coffee," Danny said.
"Yes, of course. Kosher coffee. Of course."
We talked over the third cup of coffee, about ourselves, about the past, and there was silence and more talk and silence again and more talk. That was the best cup of all, that third cup of coffee. It took us a very long time to drink it.
Then I was putting on my coat and hat and we were standing at the door.
Thursday, November 05, 2009
also in the news, or, so this is what happens when you bomb the LSAT
Acquaintance Tristan Taormino interviewed in the Weekly Alibi on her up and coming participation in Albuquerque's Pornotopia film festival, and how she got there.
Wednesday, November 04, 2009
Tuesday, November 03, 2009
'these streets will make you feel brand new...'
I came home to an empty apartment tonight, at least aside from a particularly grumpy feline greeting me at the door. Last year, a year ago today, I came dashing home after closing up the library to throw on a pot of soup, get beer in the fridge, and open up my door to a cohort of dear friends. We spent the evening trading voting war stories, exalting in each other's and the world's excitement as the night wore on and Obama pulled ahead, some of us brought to tears when his meteoric rise to the White House became official.
This Election Day is different, of course, and somewhat less exciting in terms of the political world. I assume Bloomberg won handily though I have not been watching the incoming election results. I am waiting to hear about Referendum 71 in my adoptive home state of Washington, and Maine's Question 1.
I headed out a little early this morning, voted before work (still love those old voting machines we've still got here in New York, and was pleased that the little old ladies manning the sign-in table for the 77th Election District found my name with a little less prompting than usual this time around).
I came home tonight to an empty apartment and a grumpy cat, but also to a bouquet of flowers (shades of orange and pink and cream) waiting cheerily for me on the kitchen island. I came home missing an incredible man who has recently become unexpectedly central to my world after years of being somewhat peripheral, on the far side of the country, and who left for Europe today with an open-ended ticket.
But I also came home thinking how lovely it is that this man seems to have grown fond of my adoptive hometown and the small life I've built within it. This city of mine, prone to its fits of quirkiness and beauty and tolerance and frustration and violence and resiliency, has been for many years now central to me, and rediscovering it through his eyes, in all his newness to this place, has over these last weeks made me love it, and him, all the more.
And just for the record, as in years past, New York remained last year one of the most Democratic cities in the country:
NYC 2008 General Election Results
Total votes: 2,641,669
Obama/Biden: 2,073,915
McCain/Palin: 524,774
Other: 42,980
This Election Day is different, of course, and somewhat less exciting in terms of the political world. I assume Bloomberg won handily though I have not been watching the incoming election results. I am waiting to hear about Referendum 71 in my adoptive home state of Washington, and Maine's Question 1.
I headed out a little early this morning, voted before work (still love those old voting machines we've still got here in New York, and was pleased that the little old ladies manning the sign-in table for the 77th Election District found my name with a little less prompting than usual this time around).
I came home tonight to an empty apartment and a grumpy cat, but also to a bouquet of flowers (shades of orange and pink and cream) waiting cheerily for me on the kitchen island. I came home missing an incredible man who has recently become unexpectedly central to my world after years of being somewhat peripheral, on the far side of the country, and who left for Europe today with an open-ended ticket.
But I also came home thinking how lovely it is that this man seems to have grown fond of my adoptive hometown and the small life I've built within it. This city of mine, prone to its fits of quirkiness and beauty and tolerance and frustration and violence and resiliency, has been for many years now central to me, and rediscovering it through his eyes, in all his newness to this place, has over these last weeks made me love it, and him, all the more.
And just for the record, as in years past, New York remained last year one of the most Democratic cities in the country:
NYC 2008 General Election Results
Total votes: 2,641,669
Obama/Biden: 2,073,915
McCain/Palin: 524,774
Other: 42,980
Sunday, November 01, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
politics as usual II
Oh New York, how easy it is to love you, but also how easy it is to be disgusted by you, especially when it comes to politics.
We've got a city-subsidized* brand new $1.5 billion baseball stadium already falling apart (and already in violation of ADA compliance regulations) brought to us by companies either linked to the Mob or under indictment. It's always so heartening to know where our tax money goes.
We've got Bernard Kerik, once upon a time NYC Police Commissioner, close friend to one Rudolph Giuliani, and George W. Bush's nominee for Secretary of Homeland Security, now being indicted on 16 counts of conspiracy, corruption, tax fraud, and mail fraud, and facing jail time pending his upcoming trial.
We've got a mayor who, drunk on the glory of elected office, saw fit to overturn New York's term limits in order to run for a 3rd term, spending millions upon millions of dollars in a race in which he's been consistently well ahead in the polls ("blowout" is the term currently being bandied about as a probable outcome of next week's election), and bringing in the aforementioned Giuliani, race-baiter and fear-monger extraordinaire, to campaign on his behalf. As a friend of mine recently put it, "Right, if you're already winning, why piss off half your constituency by bringing in the fascist?"
All in all, I'm still not decided on who I'll vote for come next Tuesday morning (and all you loyal readers know how much I love to pull that lever). It seems poor Thompson is a lost cause at this point, but it's bound to be low voter turnout and it'd be nice to see Thompson at least give Bloomberg a run for his money.**
*"In 2006 the New York Yankees were given about $1.5 billion in tax benefits and public funds for the building of a new Yankees Stadium. Over $500 million was direct cash and tax relief."
**Bloomberg's taking a lot of flak these days about how much money he's blowing through on this campaign alone ($85 million and counting) and cumulatively on all of his campaigns ($250 million and counting), though it's also been pointed out that $250 million is about what was spent on the latest Harry Potter movie. It is, granted, an insane amount of money, and renders the whole election process arguably up for grabs to the highest bidder. But still, doesn't it seem a little perverse to compare it to the cost of a movie? $250 million to run one of the biggest cities in the world for twelve years compared to $250 million for a few hours' entertainment? And the first one is the one worth condemning? Really?
We've got a city-subsidized* brand new $1.5 billion baseball stadium already falling apart (and already in violation of ADA compliance regulations) brought to us by companies either linked to the Mob or under indictment. It's always so heartening to know where our tax money goes.
We've got Bernard Kerik, once upon a time NYC Police Commissioner, close friend to one Rudolph Giuliani, and George W. Bush's nominee for Secretary of Homeland Security, now being indicted on 16 counts of conspiracy, corruption, tax fraud, and mail fraud, and facing jail time pending his upcoming trial.
We've got a mayor who, drunk on the glory of elected office, saw fit to overturn New York's term limits in order to run for a 3rd term, spending millions upon millions of dollars in a race in which he's been consistently well ahead in the polls ("blowout" is the term currently being bandied about as a probable outcome of next week's election), and bringing in the aforementioned Giuliani, race-baiter and fear-monger extraordinaire, to campaign on his behalf. As a friend of mine recently put it, "Right, if you're already winning, why piss off half your constituency by bringing in the fascist?"
All in all, I'm still not decided on who I'll vote for come next Tuesday morning (and all you loyal readers know how much I love to pull that lever). It seems poor Thompson is a lost cause at this point, but it's bound to be low voter turnout and it'd be nice to see Thompson at least give Bloomberg a run for his money.**
*"In 2006 the New York Yankees were given about $1.5 billion in tax benefits and public funds for the building of a new Yankees Stadium. Over $500 million was direct cash and tax relief."
**Bloomberg's taking a lot of flak these days about how much money he's blowing through on this campaign alone ($85 million and counting) and cumulatively on all of his campaigns ($250 million and counting), though it's also been pointed out that $250 million is about what was spent on the latest Harry Potter movie. It is, granted, an insane amount of money, and renders the whole election process arguably up for grabs to the highest bidder. But still, doesn't it seem a little perverse to compare it to the cost of a movie? $250 million to run one of the biggest cities in the world for twelve years compared to $250 million for a few hours' entertainment? And the first one is the one worth condemning? Really?
Sunday, October 25, 2009
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