Anything but the best?

   Poor Martin O’Malley. He was all but ignored in Sunday evening’s Democratic presidential primary debate, with the moderators addressing question after question to the red-hot front-runners, Hilary Clinton and Bernie Sanders.  The Maryland governor was pretty much left saying “But what about me?” while no doubt many viewers asked, “Who is that guy?” Indeed, he would have been relegated to the second-tier debate for low-polling candidates, as in the Republican contest, except he would have nobody to debate (although, as I was reminded by an article in today’s L.A Times, there are many Democratic and Republican presidential candidates we don’t hear about). 

   This really is too bad – not only for O’Malley but also for the rest of us Democrats left with a shaky slate just over a week before the primary races begin. 

   Don’t get me wrong.  I am all for Sanders.  I love his vow to fight the big-money powers that be and for truly universal healthcare and college.  I am all for his socialistic ideals, standing up for the rest of us.  I feel the Bern.

   But can this self-avowed Socialist win in November?  Really?  When I went to a political forum a few years ago in Claremont, a well-respected scholar in this relatively progressive community was loudly booed when he tried to say that Socialism was perhaps worth pursuing. 

   Maybe things have changed since then, but I’m not seeing it.  Sanders talks about revolution, and it would really take a revolution for him to win the presidency.  I’m sorry to say that those of us who do these sorts of revolutions don’t have a good track record.  Look at Occupy Wall Street.  Occupy what? you ask.  Exactly. 

   November isn’t that far off.  And I don’t see a lot of college students, other than the usual scrubbed-face die-hards with their researched noon speeches, getting fired up over an old man, even a fiery,  radical one, like they did over voting for the first black president.  I would love to be proven wrong on this.  Another thing – and this is a big thing these days – is that Sanders looks like a deer in the headlights when the topic is foreign policy.  (Yes, Donald Trump doesn’t know much about foreign policy, but he certainly doesn’t look like a deer in the headlights when spouting off about it – not that this is a good thing, but it certainly has been effective.)

   And then there’s Hilary.  She may be so hot that we’re on a first-name basis with her, but I’m concerned about us getting dragged down by all her baggage, at least until November, if not afterwards.  I’m not just talking about the e-mails, whether she can be trusted, Bill’s womanizing, the dynasty factor, blah, blah, blah. Wasn’t Hilary so exhausted after her time as Secretary as State that she hid out for months, not sure at all about returning to public service? Will she be up for another four or eight years most likely to be even more grueling, all the more so in these bitterly partisian times? What about Bill, with his well-known heart problems?  What if he has a heart attack and dies while Hilary is in office?  It will already be tricky having (former president) Bill Clinton as our first First Gentleman. 

   Maybe this is just so much late-night obsessing – again, I’d love to be proven wrong.  O’Malley may or may not be the ideal candidate.  I’m just saying it’s too bad he was never given a chance and we now don’t get much of a choice.  We need all the choices, viable choices, we can get, especially when the opposition is so passionate and behaving in such an extremist and volatile way.

Shelter in a (and another and another) storm

   “Seeing that he was okay, she went on her way.  Soon after, the running water had crashed the curb and began spilling across the sidewalk and into Lopez’s encampment.”

   It has been raining a lot.  At least for Southern California.  (My friend visiting from Vermont chuckled over how people here are alarmed about the inclement weather.) So far, so good – the great El Nino, with its promise of much-needed precipitation, appears to be panning out and like clockwork, with these first big storms coming in early January.

   One recent morning, I went on my weekly marketing trip.  It was raining a bit, more like a heavy sprinkling.  Nothing like the downpour that I looked out my living room windows at a few hours later, lasting much of the afternoon. I was lucky. 

   Yes, I am lucky.  Not only did I get out when the rain wasn’t too bad, I have a nice living room from which I can watch the rain, whether it’s a heavy sprinkle or a drenching downpour. 

   At least, I’m not like Felipe Flores Lopez, who Los Angeles Times columnist Steve Lopez wrote about during the first week of El Nino storms.  The columnist visited Mr. Lopez after a nun e-mailed him about the homeless man’s set-up under a bridge: “Hi, I photographed this fellow. His little ‘home’ is unbelievable.  Attached are photos.”

   One can raise questions, as I certainly can, about whether this is romanticizing homelessness, and this isn’t the first time I’ve seen it.  In any case, Mr.  Lopez did have quite a set-up, complete with table and chairs, cupboards and a double bed with a box spring and mattress and a clean white comforter. On top of his dresser sat a little Christmas tree with red decorations. 

   It was quite a set-up, except when it wasn’t, except when, during the columnist’s visit, the rain came and washed it all away.  There is a dramatic photograph accompanying the column of Mr.  Lopez climbing atop his bed, trying to keep it from floating away.

   In a sense, Mr. Lopez was/is lucky.  He was crafty and scrappy enough to put together “his little ‘home.’” And he told the columnist that he knew a place where he could build a new camp that wouldn’t get washed out.   But he is only one of 44,000 homeless people in Los Angeles County. 

   It is said that this is the capitol of homelessness, with the country’s most homeless people, largely because of – ironically now – the mild weather.  Many, unlike Mr. Lopez, are mentally ill or disabled, and many have severe substance abuse issues. 

   Also, as discussed in an adjacent news article, many are stubborn and don’t want to leave their encampments, even with dire warnings and threats of flooding, etc. There are numerous reasons for this – they don’t want to lose a pet, they want to keep their possessions where they are, they don’t like the rules and regimen in a shelter, etc.  There is also pride.  When Steve Lopez offered to buy him lunch, Mr.  Lopez not only declined but, “[a]s the rains picked up and the water rose, he whipped up a fine meal or burritos and set glasses of water on the kitchen table.”

   What are we to make of all this?  How do we deal with all these folks living in such a dire, unsafe and unhealthy situation, even as local and state officials scramble and argue and contradict each other over what to do?  After a woman saw Mr.  Lopez get flooded out, she gave him a dry jacket.  But how many of us are like the woman who, before the rain got bad, “[s]eeing that he was OK…went on her way?”

   How many of us go on our way when we see the homeless out on the street? 

   And I am totally against laws against camping, sleeping in public – laws that criminalize homelessness.  But, when all else fails, when push comes to shove, doesn’t being in a jail cell with meals – if such was available - for a night or for a day or two sound better than being left out in a storm? 

More light, more light

   In my last column, I mentioned that we need all the light we can get this holiday season.  This is the topic of my Claremont Courier column out today and which follows. 

   (I’ll be doing some traveling and resting in the next weeks.  I may or may not post in the next 3 or 4 weeks.  Here’s hoping for a new year full of light.)

 

                SEEING THE LIGHTS IN CLAREMONT

   She said she had to buy more lights.  Her family had gotten their Christmas tree, and it turned out that one of their strands of lights was not working. So she had to go out and buy a new string of lights to put on the tree. 

   That’s what we always do.  Every year, it seems, we get out the Christmas lights and plug them in, excited to see them glow and sparkle, and at least one strand or part of a strand doesn’t go on.  It was working last year, but now, suddenly, for some reason that nobody knows, no glow, no sparkle, nothing.  There is usually a quick trip to the store to get more lights. 

   Because we can’t not have lights.  Because we need all the lights we can get.

   We need all the lights we can get when it has gotten dark and cold and when everything out there is not so far away. 

   We need all the lights we can get when Claremont is in the headlines and live on the 11:00 news because of unrest. The University of Missouri and Yale University and other colleges, most far away in other states, aren’t the only schools with student protests and furor over a lack of diversity on campus.  Racial strife isn’t just an issue in other cities and other states, out there, far away.  Not when students at Claremont McKenna College protest, with one going on a hunger strike, saying that black and other minority students don’t feel welcome and included on the campus and the dean of students resigns.  And not when the protesting students subsequently received threats and felt compelled to stay off campus, missing classes. 

   When the worst terrorist attack on American soil since 9/11 and the deadliest mass shooting since the rampage at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut, three years ago, has taken place, leaving 14 dead and 21 injured, half an hour away in San Bernardino, we certainly need all the lights we can get.  That the December 2 attack took place at a training and holiday potluck for county health workers in a rented room at a services center for the developmentally disabled and that the Muslim married couple who carried it out were part of the community – the husband was a county health worker - and were inspired by radical Islamic State extremists and turned out to have an arsenal of high-power gun, ammunition and bombs in their Redlands house and rented sports utility vehicle is the stuff of dark, chilling nightmares. 

   This was a most deadly attack that could have happened anywhere – not just in iconic or resonant big-city places like New York City and Paris – and it happened a short drive away, a dozen or two exits, down the freeway.  (Who knew that San Bernardino and Paris, not Perris, would constantly be mentioned in the same sentence – and for this reason!)

   As story after story comes out, revealing horrific details and also plenty of injustices and outrage, amid all the bright red and green and silver and gold ads for holiday gifts and accessories, we sure do all the lights we can get.

   In Claremont, there are lights, lights that we can see, shining in the dark and providing some warmth in the chill now closing in on us. 

   We see the lights shining in the way Claremont is taking in and embracing the Kanjou and the Wawieh families, who recently fled after their homes and lives were destroyed in war-ravaged Syria.  Both families have been enrolled in ESL classes at the Claremont Adult School, and the Wawieh children are attending Claremont High School and Mountain View Elementary School.  Fouad Wawieh and his family have been living at a motel in Pomona, as seen in a recent front-page feature in the Los Angeles Times, but will soon receive housing through the Claremont Interfaith Council (CIC).

   “This is really something we cherish a lot, as part of this community, to have the support and level of encouragement from all faiths in support of these families,” said CIC President Bassam Badwan at a meeting at the Islamic Center of Claremont in Pomona.  This sentiment was echoed by Congresswoman Norma Torres, noting that she was a “little girl that came to the U.S [who] would have never imagined herself as a member of the U.S House of Representatives.” As she said at the meeting, “This is...a community that embraces people when they want to come to the U.S.  They want to participate in our culture, and they want to live in peace like the rest of us.”

   The lights shine bright here when LaVerne Cox, speaks at C.M.C, closing out the Fall series of talks at the Athenaeum.  The actress, best known for her role on Orange is the New Black, spoke about the challenges of being black and a transgender woman.  There have been plenty of hardships in her life, being an outsider in her black community and in terms of gender, yes, but her confidence and flair made it clear that she is more than a survivor.

   Ms. Cox’s appearance two weeks ago was no doubt scheduled months in advance, but her message that anyone and everyone can thrive and be their true selves in community was all the more appropriate as the semester was ending. 

   The lights shining here were also seen as the fearless Krista Carson Elhai and her fearless Claremont High School theater students put on The Laramie Project this month.  The play by Moises Kaufman and members of the Tectonic Theater Project is based on interviews with the citizens of Laramie, Wyoming, where, in October, 1998, Mathew Shepard, an openly gay college student, was beaten and left for dead, tied up on a fence in the cold, isolated rural area. 

  No, this wasn’t a cheery holiday show, and it dealt with mature topics with mature language, but it showed the importance of understanding and compassion, of everyone being heard, of the notion of “live and let live” that the Laramie citizens take pride in. The students brought much feeling to this message, perhaps more so than in other productions I’ve seen of the play.  Even more remarkable is that this wasn’t the first time Ms.  Elhai directed the play at the high school; I saw it there not too long after it was first produced.

   We certainly see the lights in teachers like Ms. Elhai, who have brought out the best in us – teachers like Rosemary Adam, who taught English and creative writing at the high school and who died last month.  There has been a remarkable amount of remembrance of “Madam Adam” – she delighted in pointing out that this was a palindrome – in these pages, and I’ll just say they’re all true. 

   I knew I was in for a treat even before I was had her for both Manuscript Writing for Publication and Short Story and Poetry when I first went to the high school.  My sister talked about her standing in front of the class and declaring in that husky, boom-boom voice, “You will write!” I loved the way she trusted and pushed me, even though I was a mystery in my wheelchair and with my difficult speech, and I went on to take other classes from her, including creative writing through the adult school after graduating from college. Still later, she encouraged me to keep trying when I was in a rough patch. 

   That’s still good teaching today, as we keep our lights, all the lights we can get, shining in the dark. 

Light and forgiveness

   I was at a retreat a couple weeks ago, and one of the facilitators mentioned an origin story or concept held by the native people of Hawaii.  I found it quite compelling and attractive. 

   According to this myth, we are all born with a bowl full of light, pure light. Over time, the bowl collects dirt and stones, sins and resentments, and, with this clutter, the light gets murky and dim. From time to time, we need to clean out the bowl, go at it with a hose so that the dirt and stones dislodge, getting rid of the clutter so that the bowl and its light are clear, pure once again.

   As simple and obvious as it is, reflecting what many of us have heard and have been taught in other more sophisticated, perhaps confusing, intimidating ways, I love the image of taking a hose, perhaps a water-pik, and cleaning our souls, cleaning out our souls, ever so thoroughly and carefully. I like to call it spiritual hygiene. 

   Much of the dirt that gets into our bowl and many of the stones that come to block the light are anger and resentments.  Being angry at others (and ourselves) and holding grudges and judgment really gets in the way of the light, leaving us in the dark.  Even before leading to violence and war, anger and resentments drains us of energy.  As Nelson Mandella said, “Resentment is like drinking poison and hoping it will kill your enemies.”

   A key to clearing this clutter is forgiving. When we forgive, when we let go of anger and judgment, when we are able to feel that someone isn’t bad – or that we aren’t bad – because of something they or we have done, we are able to be free, released in the light.  But this isn’t easy, because it means admitting that some part of our thinking – that he is completely evil because he robbed me, that I’m a hopeless case because I eat donuts when I shouldn’t – is wrong.  We don’t like being wrong, and to many, compromise is a dirty word. 

   One of my favorite things about the holidays is the display of lights.  This is often called the season of light, and we need all the light we can get in this time of mass shootings, police brutality, debate over refugees and an abundance of angry, fear-driven rhetoric.  We need our bowls of light, full of light, uncluttered and undimmed.

Taking a step back to see the steps forward

   This recent column of mine was published in the Claremont Courier days before Claremont McKenna College’s Dean of Students, Mary Spellman, resigned after students protested – complete with a hunger strike (albeit barely for 24 hours) - over the college not doing enough to make minority students, including gay and transgender students, feel welcome and at home.  The tipping point came when Ms. Spellman said, in response to a essay in the student newspaper, that she would work to serve those who “don’t fit the CMC mold.” Read this, and you’ll see that change does happen but slowly and often with stops or steps back. 

 

           WOMEN BRINGING CHANGE TO THE WORLD, CLAREMONT

   Sonia Sotomayor wanted to get up close and personal.

   “I wish we could be closer to the audience,” the U.S Supreme Court Justice told Amanda Hollis-Brusky, assistant professor of politics at Pomona College, as they began their conversation in Bridges Auditorium a couple weeks ago.  “It feels so far away up here.”

   They did look quite isolated and small as they sat in their chairs on a small area rug with a Pomona College banner as a backdrop among the potted plants on the huge, otherwise empty stage.  It didn’t help that the orchestra pit separated them, like a mote, from the huge audience that had gathered there. 

   Justice Sotomayor got her wish.  After Professor Hollis-Brusky engaged with her on several questions, the Associate Justice, one of the most important, most influential people in the nation, was “released to the people.” She excitedly explained from the stage that she was doing something that her security people doubtlessly didn’t like, and then there she was, walking among the audience, not unlike Phil Donahue.  Except that she was answering questions. 

   The students and the questions they asked were pre-selected, so, yes, it was all a bit scripted and without surprise (no ranting and embarrassing, on-the-spot questions here). Nevertheless, there was something remarkable about this most powerful official who makes decisions that impact all of our lives, walking among us, shaking hands and touching shoulders, having her picture taken with those asking questions, like a dear, kind aunt, as she answered questions with patience and ease.  She could have called a student “mija,” and this would have been no surprise as Professor Hollis-Brusky looked on in wonder. 

   Which was exactly the point.  As she writes about in her memoir, My Beloved World, she comes from a very average background, which included everyday problems like poverty and diabetes.  She also writes about how her life has been far from average – one could say it has been extraordinary – with her being a Hispanic woman from a poor neighborhood ending up on the highest court of the land. It is important to her, no doubt, that she be seen as a person like any of us.  And that any of us can accomplish great things. 

   Sometimes, more often than not, accomplishing great things means simply doing one’s best, making the best of oneself, despite some or many ugly odds.  And this is even more evident in a more intimate setting than the imposing Big Bridges, where it’s a bit easier to get up close and personal. 

   Like the Athenaeum at Claremont McKenna College, which this Fall has continued to feature women who get a lot done, making life better for themselves and others, even though being told they can’t or shouldn’t.  That they’re sharing their stories and being cheered at what was once a men’s school, remembered if not still known as the more conservative, jock college in Claremont, is all the more remarkable. 

   I’m not just talking about women like Nina Tandon and Kris Perry and Sandy Stier. Ms.  Tandon is one of those rare women in a important, top role in science, as the CEO and co-founder of EpiBone, the world’s first company growing living human bone for skeletal reconstruction.  The other two, Ms.  Perry and Ms.  Stier, were plaintiffs, along with a gay couple, in the Proposition 8 case that wound up before the Supreme Court (a circle nicely coming to a close here in Claremont with Judge Sotomayor’s visit just over a week later). It could be argued that these women and their causes or paths are prestigious and not so surprising features at the Athenaeum. 

   I’m talking about women who are doing surprising, radical, perhaps uncomfortable work.  These women are the last to be expected to speak out at a formerly jock school and are doing everything they can to work against such institutions and thinking.   

   One was Toshia Shaw, who not only runs W.I.N.G.S (Women Inspiring Noble Girls Successfully) but grew up abused, a victim of human trafficking and sexual slavery, like the women and girls the organization assists.   She told her story, in very intimate and harrowing graphic terms – quite up close and personal, indeed - of being demeaned and harmed and repeatedly told that she was powerless and would come to nothing.  She talked about fighting her way out of this nightmare and getting the inspiration and courage to help others who find themselves in the same situation. 

   Speaking out and making a lot of noise, a lot of uncomfortable, challenging noise, is what Olivia Gatwood and Megan Falley are all about.  Performing as Speak Like a Girl, they unloaded an hour of sharp-edged, R-rated (some may say X-rated) poetry and rapping.  It definitely wasn’t the usual, after-dinner Athenaeum fare. 

   Ms.  Gatwood and Ms.  Falley didn’t hold back at all in reciting their poems, alternating with one another and also doing so in tandem.  Their in-your-face style mirrored their urgent, passionate lines about being judged on looks, about wanting and forever trying to be perfect or more perfect, about living in a culture in which rape is accepted as normal, even okay.  There was at least as much humor, along with plenty of f-bombs, as there was outrage and desperation. 

   Like I said, it wasn’t the standard after-dinner, Athenaeum fare, and some might not see it, still, as the standard C.M.C fare.  But sometimes it takes someone not being standard – a Supreme Court judge answering questions while walking among the audience, women telling stories and slamming about being raped and abused - to open our eyes and maybe make things better.