Dear Mr. President,
While there may be a few who have forgotten why, exactly, so many of us disapproved of the policies of President Bush, I am certainly not among their number. The former President's recent publicity tour promoting his memoir has provided ample opportunity for him to remind us all why we were so glad to see the sunrise on January 20, 2009. I understand his need to tell his version of events, to make the case for his decision and attempt to persuade many of us to forget the things we knew. I have tried to give the former President the benefit of the doubt. I believe that his Presidency, for all of its many, many mistakes, occurred during some of the most difficult years in modern American history. (The role those mistakes played in said difficulties is certainly not inconsiderable.)
Still, listening to his attempts to defend his record is difficult. A man who basically avoided the press and refused to justify or explain any of his decisions while in office manipulating the incredibly short-term memory of many Americans (and especially of the media) is difficult to watch. I may be so upset that little short of a war crimes tribunal will actually satisfy my need to see President Bush answer for his crimes, but certainly the situation warrants more than the softball questions of Matt Lauer. I have to question my desire to see the former President interrogated. On a practical level, it would be entirely unproductive. No one tortured under his orders will be healed by seeing him answer questions. No one made homeless, injured or killed by the inept handling of Hurricane Katrina will be restored. No one laid off during the recession will be reinstated.
I think my desire to see President Bush explain himself comes from my suspicion that his worldview entirely justified the decision of his Presidency. Because I cannot imagine a world where what he did (and failed to do) is acceptable, I need to understand his perspective. And so, while I will not read his memoir, I will continue to follow his media appearances in an attempt to understand how, exactly, he sleeps at night.
One day, years and years from now, I hope that you will also write a memoir of your time as President. I enjoyed your first two books immensely, and I think that, even if I struggle with your justifications for the decisions I don't agree with, I will at least appreciate the quality of your writing.
(And I'm certain you won't go with quite so insipid a title, if only because it doesn't seem possible.)
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Showing posts with label Dreams From My Father. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dreams From My Father. Show all posts
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Day 128- Mom (part 1)
Today and tomorrow's letters are going to be connected, both because I think my mom is so awesome that I want to write two letters about her, and I'd like to spend tomorrow with her, not working. Today's letter will be completed before midnight and tomorrow's will be written just after, so I apologize for the short space between posts, and the relatively "fluffy" letters. I'll be back to real politics on Monday.
Also, check out the Mother's day event Michelle Obama hosted this week at the White House, if you're interested.
Dear Mr. President,
My mother is an amazing woman. She's raised three girls, worked her whole life to help others, for years serving our community as a police officer, specializing in helping children and victims of sexual assault. She certainly deserves more than just a day of celebration. I know you understand the important role that mothers play; I enjoyed your writing about your own mother in Dreams from my father, and your obvious respect for the First Lady shows how much you continue to appreciate the difficult job of raising children. My own mother has taught me countless things; she's prepared me for life as an adult by emphasizing self-sufficiency, education, and accountability. I think she would have liked to pass on more of her predilection for cleanliness and organization, but at least I got her eyes, her political leanings, and her sense of humor.
Tomorrow my sisters, brothers-in-law, and I are taking our mother to a baseball game. We don't get together as often as we should, even though we live relatively near one another. We all work, different hours and different days, we all commute, and my youngest sister has a young son to take care of as well. These excuses make it easy for us to go weeks, even months, without getting together. When I lived in DC, my mother would send me little cards every month or so; some had newspaper articles she thought I'd like to read, others were signed from all of the family cats. It made me feel close to her, despite the times zones that separated us. Now that we work in the same city, it's sad how little time we actually spend together.
My mother reads everything she can about you and your family, and especially admires your wife a great deal. I think she'd like it if I told you a bit about her. She's as remarkable as any woman; her story is unique and incredibly commonplace. She grew up in Michigan, the middle of 5 children, and wanted to become a teacher. She's great with children and animals, she's compassionate, brave, and sarcastic. Also, she can't watch the news without arguing with or yelling at the TV. I don't know her nearly as well as I'd like. She's made me the person I am today; I'm grateful to her for all of the wisdom and courage she's instilled in her children.
Mr. President, you've often spoken out for the importance of equal pay for women; you've worked to improve our education, health care and other social services, and you've appointed female role models like Hillary Clinton and Sonya Sotomayor. Thank you, for your commitment to our mothers, and the mothers of generations to come.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Also, check out the Mother's day event Michelle Obama hosted this week at the White House, if you're interested.
Dear Mr. President,
My mother is an amazing woman. She's raised three girls, worked her whole life to help others, for years serving our community as a police officer, specializing in helping children and victims of sexual assault. She certainly deserves more than just a day of celebration. I know you understand the important role that mothers play; I enjoyed your writing about your own mother in Dreams from my father, and your obvious respect for the First Lady shows how much you continue to appreciate the difficult job of raising children. My own mother has taught me countless things; she's prepared me for life as an adult by emphasizing self-sufficiency, education, and accountability. I think she would have liked to pass on more of her predilection for cleanliness and organization, but at least I got her eyes, her political leanings, and her sense of humor.
Tomorrow my sisters, brothers-in-law, and I are taking our mother to a baseball game. We don't get together as often as we should, even though we live relatively near one another. We all work, different hours and different days, we all commute, and my youngest sister has a young son to take care of as well. These excuses make it easy for us to go weeks, even months, without getting together. When I lived in DC, my mother would send me little cards every month or so; some had newspaper articles she thought I'd like to read, others were signed from all of the family cats. It made me feel close to her, despite the times zones that separated us. Now that we work in the same city, it's sad how little time we actually spend together.
My mother reads everything she can about you and your family, and especially admires your wife a great deal. I think she'd like it if I told you a bit about her. She's as remarkable as any woman; her story is unique and incredibly commonplace. She grew up in Michigan, the middle of 5 children, and wanted to become a teacher. She's great with children and animals, she's compassionate, brave, and sarcastic. Also, she can't watch the news without arguing with or yelling at the TV. I don't know her nearly as well as I'd like. She's made me the person I am today; I'm grateful to her for all of the wisdom and courage she's instilled in her children.
Mr. President, you've often spoken out for the importance of equal pay for women; you've worked to improve our education, health care and other social services, and you've appointed female role models like Hillary Clinton and Sonya Sotomayor. Thank you, for your commitment to our mothers, and the mothers of generations to come.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Day 91- Census Day
Hey all, it's Census Day! If you haven't filled out your 2010 census form, do so! It's fun, painless, and important!
Dear Mr. President,
My roommates and I have already filled out our census form, it providing us with one evening of jokes and giggles about which traditional family role each of the four of us represented. We're an odd sort of household, four unrelated early-20-something females; one white, one Guatemalan, one Puerto Rican-Irish, and one Hidatsa-Mandan, all in a two-bedroom fifth-floor apartment. We hail, respectively, from a small town, an island state, a big city, and a foreign military base. We attend Art school, Massage school, and State University. We're respectively Catholic, Wicca, Atheist, and, well, whatever I am. We all have very different dreams.
One of the surprising things that unites us is the role our grandparents played in our upbringing. Each of us was brought up by our grandmothers, either because our parents had to work or were unable to provide stable homes. My own grandmother watched my sister and I after school while our parents were at work. She cooked us dinner, helped us with homework, and entertained us with stories from her childhood adventures living on a ranch in Wyoming. We loved her and feared her and often suspected she might be a little bit crazy. I think of her now, not as she is, slowly losing her grasp on the present in an assisted living facility in Nebraska, but as she must have been before I knew her; young and feisty and terribly brave. She never went back to school after the 8th grade, because the United States entered WWII and she had to stay home to help out. She adopted two sons and lost her husband to a car accident, surviving the kind of poverty that widows in every society through history have known.
My roommates' grandmothers are the stuff of myth; one is still working full-time yet still seems to know whenever her grandkids need her for groceries, new shoes, advice or a good scolding. One has adopted her grandchildren as her own, facing the difficulties of being a parent all over again, passing her strength and her compassion on to the next generation. These women helped shape us into the women we have become. Our upbringing, much like our current family of four, was never traditional or reflected in what popular culture taught us normal looked like. We learned early, as your own unique upbringing must have taught you, as well; there is no such thing as a 'normal' family.
This is why I am glad that the White House, in observance of Census Day, made sure to point out the unusual makeup of the first family, noting that Sasha and Malia's grandmother lives with you in the White House, complicating your own census form. I'm sure that, for all of the uniqueness and opportunity of being First Daughters, the girls are glad (and lucky) to have the constancy and guidance of their Grandmother at home.
Thank you, Mr. President, for reminding us that all American families need to be counted today, regardless of their eccentricities.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Dear Mr. President,
My roommates and I have already filled out our census form, it providing us with one evening of jokes and giggles about which traditional family role each of the four of us represented. We're an odd sort of household, four unrelated early-20-something females; one white, one Guatemalan, one Puerto Rican-Irish, and one Hidatsa-Mandan, all in a two-bedroom fifth-floor apartment. We hail, respectively, from a small town, an island state, a big city, and a foreign military base. We attend Art school, Massage school, and State University. We're respectively Catholic, Wicca, Atheist, and, well, whatever I am. We all have very different dreams.
One of the surprising things that unites us is the role our grandparents played in our upbringing. Each of us was brought up by our grandmothers, either because our parents had to work or were unable to provide stable homes. My own grandmother watched my sister and I after school while our parents were at work. She cooked us dinner, helped us with homework, and entertained us with stories from her childhood adventures living on a ranch in Wyoming. We loved her and feared her and often suspected she might be a little bit crazy. I think of her now, not as she is, slowly losing her grasp on the present in an assisted living facility in Nebraska, but as she must have been before I knew her; young and feisty and terribly brave. She never went back to school after the 8th grade, because the United States entered WWII and she had to stay home to help out. She adopted two sons and lost her husband to a car accident, surviving the kind of poverty that widows in every society through history have known.
My roommates' grandmothers are the stuff of myth; one is still working full-time yet still seems to know whenever her grandkids need her for groceries, new shoes, advice or a good scolding. One has adopted her grandchildren as her own, facing the difficulties of being a parent all over again, passing her strength and her compassion on to the next generation. These women helped shape us into the women we have become. Our upbringing, much like our current family of four, was never traditional or reflected in what popular culture taught us normal looked like. We learned early, as your own unique upbringing must have taught you, as well; there is no such thing as a 'normal' family.
This is why I am glad that the White House, in observance of Census Day, made sure to point out the unusual makeup of the first family, noting that Sasha and Malia's grandmother lives with you in the White House, complicating your own census form. I'm sure that, for all of the uniqueness and opportunity of being First Daughters, the girls are glad (and lucky) to have the constancy and guidance of their Grandmother at home.
Thank you, Mr. President, for reminding us that all American families need to be counted today, regardless of their eccentricities.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Day 68- Courage & Consequence
Dear Mr. President,
As an author, I'm sure you appreciate the challenges of writing honestly, and well, about yourself and your own experiences. Many authors attempt to do this, but I think very few succeed. Today, another example of such an attempt goes on sale. Last night, (really, only a few hours ago,) I was putting out Karl Rove's new book for display. Mr. Rove's book, Courage and Consequence was bound to pique my curiosity. For one thing, the title suggests that Karl Rove, in an attempt to broaden the appeal of his book, targeted the "Jane Austen" demographic, a group of readers rarely sought after by the publishers of political memoirs. Additionally, the blurb on the back of the book describes Rove's as, "a life spent in political combat and service to country, no matter the costs." I'll grant that as Deputy Chief of Staff, Mr. Rove served his country; the language used in the book, however, seem to indicate that Mr. Rove believes he has sacrificed himself for his country, somehow, and I fail to see the evidence supporting such a contention.
For the time being, as I am still a seller of books, I believe that every one, even Karl Rove, has a right to have their story told. No matter what my profession, I will always oppose censoring or suppression, even the voices of those that I disagree with. The smug, self-satisfied, extreme close-up of Mr. Rove's face on the cover of this book, however, tests this conviction more than any author since Robert Spencer. Whenever books like this come out, where the author is so clearly trying to retell a familiar story in a way that casts them in a more forgivable role, I always wonder how many minds they really feel they will change. Most of the people who buy this book will already agree with everything Mr. Rove has to say. A significant portion of rest will only be picking it up to find their name in the index. I can't imagine Rove will win over many skeptics.
If anything, I am most surprised at my own reaction to the publication of this book. I get angry, fiercely angry at the account Mr. Rove gives, casting President Bush as the misunderstood hero. I think I am angry because it doesn't seem fair that the conservative spin machine has extended so far into my bookstore, instead of keeping to the talk radio and TV news as I feel it should. I think I am angry because I am afraid that I might not be completely right, that Mr. Rove may have reasonable, even valuable perspectives on things I am unwilling to hear, as they may threaten my own beliefs. I'm not sure what the most productive way of dealing with these feelings might be, but for now I've settled with photocopying his face off of the cover and plastering it all over my boss's office. Mature, it is not, but at least I feel a bit better.
After your own time in the White House is finished, will you write another memoir, Mr. President? You seem to be more inclined toward writing as an end in its own, which is likely why your books sell so well and are so enjoyable to read. If you do, I hope you are able to bring the frankness of your first two books to your reflections on life in the White House.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
As an author, I'm sure you appreciate the challenges of writing honestly, and well, about yourself and your own experiences. Many authors attempt to do this, but I think very few succeed. Today, another example of such an attempt goes on sale. Last night, (really, only a few hours ago,) I was putting out Karl Rove's new book for display. Mr. Rove's book, Courage and Consequence was bound to pique my curiosity. For one thing, the title suggests that Karl Rove, in an attempt to broaden the appeal of his book, targeted the "Jane Austen" demographic, a group of readers rarely sought after by the publishers of political memoirs. Additionally, the blurb on the back of the book describes Rove's as, "a life spent in political combat and service to country, no matter the costs." I'll grant that as Deputy Chief of Staff, Mr. Rove served his country; the language used in the book, however, seem to indicate that Mr. Rove believes he has sacrificed himself for his country, somehow, and I fail to see the evidence supporting such a contention.
For the time being, as I am still a seller of books, I believe that every one, even Karl Rove, has a right to have their story told. No matter what my profession, I will always oppose censoring or suppression, even the voices of those that I disagree with. The smug, self-satisfied, extreme close-up of Mr. Rove's face on the cover of this book, however, tests this conviction more than any author since Robert Spencer. Whenever books like this come out, where the author is so clearly trying to retell a familiar story in a way that casts them in a more forgivable role, I always wonder how many minds they really feel they will change. Most of the people who buy this book will already agree with everything Mr. Rove has to say. A significant portion of rest will only be picking it up to find their name in the index. I can't imagine Rove will win over many skeptics.
If anything, I am most surprised at my own reaction to the publication of this book. I get angry, fiercely angry at the account Mr. Rove gives, casting President Bush as the misunderstood hero. I think I am angry because it doesn't seem fair that the conservative spin machine has extended so far into my bookstore, instead of keeping to the talk radio and TV news as I feel it should. I think I am angry because I am afraid that I might not be completely right, that Mr. Rove may have reasonable, even valuable perspectives on things I am unwilling to hear, as they may threaten my own beliefs. I'm not sure what the most productive way of dealing with these feelings might be, but for now I've settled with photocopying his face off of the cover and plastering it all over my boss's office. Mature, it is not, but at least I feel a bit better.
After your own time in the White House is finished, will you write another memoir, Mr. President? You seem to be more inclined toward writing as an end in its own, which is likely why your books sell so well and are so enjoyable to read. If you do, I hope you are able to bring the frankness of your first two books to your reflections on life in the White House.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Day 20
Dear Mr. President,
I'm just about finished with Dreams From My Father. I'm not usually such a slow reader; I confess that, while I've been enjoying the story, I've felt uncomfortable reading anything that isn't breaking news this week. It was a guilty pleasure, today while babysitting, to return to your beautiful narrative.
I'll be taking my own journey to discover family members later this year. I've recently reconnected with part of my family in the Midwest, people I've never met or haven't seen since I was a child. As important as it is for me to see my grandmother, the abundance of aunts, uncles and cousins I'm sure to meet there intimidate me. I'm so thoroughly conditioned for urban life that even spending last Sunday in my suburban hometown barely an hour away was practically visiting a foreign land. How am I going to survive Nebraska? Where every one owns a car and the idea of finding good Indian, Thai or even decent espresso seems laughable. I'm probably going to have to cover up my tattoos. I'm definitely going to have to listen to country music. I think they probably have vegetarian check stations at the border, making people eat a piece of steak before they let them in.
All right, I'm mostly kidding. And, to be honest, my fear of visiting the Midwest is more about disappointing my relatives than of culture shock. I'm told that this part of the country is "real America." What if it is just as foreign to me as I fear it will be? What does that say about my American-ness? This was a bigger issue under President Bush. On election night, my best friend and I wandered into a 24-hour QFC and giddily took picture of each other holding up arugula, gleefully celebrating the notion that America was somehow made safe for our elitist-organic-whole-foods-liberal lifestyles. America may now have enough room for us and our way of living, but it did not change my family, who by blood and marriage have forged a right to judge me that others do not posses. And we all have to make peace with our origins, be they in Nairobi or Nebraska City.
I'm impressed with the courage you demonstrate in revealing the challenges of your journey, the honesty in the way you discuss your disappointments and theirs, and the genuine affection so many strangers can have for one another. It gives me hope for my own journey. Also, I feel like you've opened yourself up more honestly than any other President. Perhaps this is only an indication of your complete lack of presidential ambitions at the time. Regardless, it reminds your readers of your humanity, in the face of our often unreasonable expectations. Tonight I'm planning to stay up until I'm finished with the book, and I have to say I'm sorry that it's ending.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
I'm just about finished with Dreams From My Father. I'm not usually such a slow reader; I confess that, while I've been enjoying the story, I've felt uncomfortable reading anything that isn't breaking news this week. It was a guilty pleasure, today while babysitting, to return to your beautiful narrative.
I'll be taking my own journey to discover family members later this year. I've recently reconnected with part of my family in the Midwest, people I've never met or haven't seen since I was a child. As important as it is for me to see my grandmother, the abundance of aunts, uncles and cousins I'm sure to meet there intimidate me. I'm so thoroughly conditioned for urban life that even spending last Sunday in my suburban hometown barely an hour away was practically visiting a foreign land. How am I going to survive Nebraska? Where every one owns a car and the idea of finding good Indian, Thai or even decent espresso seems laughable. I'm probably going to have to cover up my tattoos. I'm definitely going to have to listen to country music. I think they probably have vegetarian check stations at the border, making people eat a piece of steak before they let them in.
All right, I'm mostly kidding. And, to be honest, my fear of visiting the Midwest is more about disappointing my relatives than of culture shock. I'm told that this part of the country is "real America." What if it is just as foreign to me as I fear it will be? What does that say about my American-ness? This was a bigger issue under President Bush. On election night, my best friend and I wandered into a 24-hour QFC and giddily took picture of each other holding up arugula, gleefully celebrating the notion that America was somehow made safe for our elitist-organic-whole-foods-liberal lifestyles. America may now have enough room for us and our way of living, but it did not change my family, who by blood and marriage have forged a right to judge me that others do not posses. And we all have to make peace with our origins, be they in Nairobi or Nebraska City.
I'm impressed with the courage you demonstrate in revealing the challenges of your journey, the honesty in the way you discuss your disappointments and theirs, and the genuine affection so many strangers can have for one another. It gives me hope for my own journey. Also, I feel like you've opened yourself up more honestly than any other President. Perhaps this is only an indication of your complete lack of presidential ambitions at the time. Regardless, it reminds your readers of your humanity, in the face of our often unreasonable expectations. Tonight I'm planning to stay up until I'm finished with the book, and I have to say I'm sorry that it's ending.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Monday, January 11, 2010
Day 11
Or "The enemies of Success"
Dear Mr. President,
Today I prepared the books that will be released tomorrow morning for their displays. One of them (which actually comes out today) is Mark Halperin and John Heilemann's Game Change. I am unspeakably giddy about reading this book (though it will have to come after Dreams From My Father and The Audacity of Hope) as the 2008 election is one I would happily relive. Sadly, the other book that caught my attention is called, (with a truly admirable amount of subtlety and nuance) The War on Success. Maybe I'm being judgmental, maybe I should look past the bullet holes on the cover, the Conservative Book Club recommendation, and the quote on the back that actually suggests any reader not inspired by the books "has already surrendered to the enemies of success." I won't lie, I'm probably not going to look past those things. According to the subtitle, you, Mr. President, are an "enemy of success", and I wonder how you feel about that. Surely, you've been called more ridiculous and more insulting things, but is there really a significant portion of the population who believes that their president doesn't want them, his citizens and constituents, not to succeed? Significant enough to convince some one to write a book about it, and a number of others to agree to publish it?
The world is a mind-boggling place, sometimes. Working in a bookstore, I encounter a wide spectrum of readers, and while I often find myself puzzling over those buying books by Glenn Beck or Robert Spencer, I suppose that there is a place for every kind of book. Today I had a woman angrily return a book I'd suggested she read. It was The Iron Cage by Rashid Khalidi. She is traveling to Israel soon, and was looking for "a more balanced" perspective on the conflict with Palestine than what she knew from her "crazy orthodox" relatives. I don't know this woman well enough to know what balanced means to her, but she seemed interested in hearing from a Palestinian perspective, and so I suggested Mr. Khalidi's book, as I respect him as an intellectual. I warned her that I was quite strongly in support of a free Palestine, and that Khalidi was considered, by some, to be quite radical in his opinions. I also encouraged her to visit the West Bank on her trip, as I feel first-hand experience will offer the most "balanced" idea of what it is like to live in Palestine. I didn't get a chance to ask her what about the book made her so angry, but I try to keep my political views away from my conduct at work. (I confess, when Vice President Cheney used to come into my store in DC, I would excuse myself from the sales floor to avoid an encounter. Some jobs aren't worth keeping silent.)
When I logged on my laptop during my lunch break, however, I saw something that may explain the woman's anger. Cnn.com's headline is "Sources: Israeli shelling kills three in Gaza". This headline runs beneath a photo of armed men in ski masks, the black bands of Islamic Jihad around their foreheads. On December 26, three men were killed in Nablus. Their story did not make headline news on CNN. The photos of these men, and their mourning families, can be found (along with their names) here, in a story by Bridget Chappell. If these men had been militants, it is presumed, they might have made the front page at CNN.com. All 6 were killed by the IDF, all 6 were people with names and families. Why is it that the only image most of America will see is of faceless figures carrying automatic weapons? In the mainstream American media, Palestinians are rarely depicted as anything besides terrorists or statistics. That, I must conclude, is why my customer was so angry that I would dare suggest she read something written by one.
Clearly, I'm just as much of a hypocrite. I may actually have to give The War On Success a chance, now.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Dear Mr. President,
Today I prepared the books that will be released tomorrow morning for their displays. One of them (which actually comes out today) is Mark Halperin and John Heilemann's Game Change. I am unspeakably giddy about reading this book (though it will have to come after Dreams From My Father and The Audacity of Hope) as the 2008 election is one I would happily relive. Sadly, the other book that caught my attention is called, (with a truly admirable amount of subtlety and nuance) The War on Success. Maybe I'm being judgmental, maybe I should look past the bullet holes on the cover, the Conservative Book Club recommendation, and the quote on the back that actually suggests any reader not inspired by the books "has already surrendered to the enemies of success." I won't lie, I'm probably not going to look past those things. According to the subtitle, you, Mr. President, are an "enemy of success", and I wonder how you feel about that. Surely, you've been called more ridiculous and more insulting things, but is there really a significant portion of the population who believes that their president doesn't want them, his citizens and constituents, not to succeed? Significant enough to convince some one to write a book about it, and a number of others to agree to publish it?
The world is a mind-boggling place, sometimes. Working in a bookstore, I encounter a wide spectrum of readers, and while I often find myself puzzling over those buying books by Glenn Beck or Robert Spencer, I suppose that there is a place for every kind of book. Today I had a woman angrily return a book I'd suggested she read. It was The Iron Cage by Rashid Khalidi. She is traveling to Israel soon, and was looking for "a more balanced" perspective on the conflict with Palestine than what she knew from her "crazy orthodox" relatives. I don't know this woman well enough to know what balanced means to her, but she seemed interested in hearing from a Palestinian perspective, and so I suggested Mr. Khalidi's book, as I respect him as an intellectual. I warned her that I was quite strongly in support of a free Palestine, and that Khalidi was considered, by some, to be quite radical in his opinions. I also encouraged her to visit the West Bank on her trip, as I feel first-hand experience will offer the most "balanced" idea of what it is like to live in Palestine. I didn't get a chance to ask her what about the book made her so angry, but I try to keep my political views away from my conduct at work. (I confess, when Vice President Cheney used to come into my store in DC, I would excuse myself from the sales floor to avoid an encounter. Some jobs aren't worth keeping silent.)
When I logged on my laptop during my lunch break, however, I saw something that may explain the woman's anger. Cnn.com's headline is "Sources: Israeli shelling kills three in Gaza". This headline runs beneath a photo of armed men in ski masks, the black bands of Islamic Jihad around their foreheads. On December 26, three men were killed in Nablus. Their story did not make headline news on CNN. The photos of these men, and their mourning families, can be found (along with their names) here, in a story by Bridget Chappell. If these men had been militants, it is presumed, they might have made the front page at CNN.com. All 6 were killed by the IDF, all 6 were people with names and families. Why is it that the only image most of America will see is of faceless figures carrying automatic weapons? In the mainstream American media, Palestinians are rarely depicted as anything besides terrorists or statistics. That, I must conclude, is why my customer was so angry that I would dare suggest she read something written by one.
Clearly, I'm just as much of a hypocrite. I may actually have to give The War On Success a chance, now.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Day 7
Dear Mr. President,
Reading about you and your father is difficult for me, as it reminds me of my relationship with my own father, which I have conducted without your grace or self-awareness. I was raised by women, scolded and shaped as a person by my mother, my grandmother, my sisters and by the wisdom of so many teachers. My father lingers as a specter in my memory, not absent, at first, but certainly not present. Men in my early life were large and loud, they lived in comfortable chairs in front of the TV; set dressing for the defined, complex female characters to interact with. Men were manifestations of will, their anger hung in the room like a cloud, their favor elated me, their participation in activities or conversation lent importance and gravity. I grew up never resenting this, playing with the boys at recess and having slumber parties with the girls, never concerning myself with the differences in roles that were so obvious in adults.
You arrived in New York with your father's letter, full of the instructions to find your place that you, at the time, found inadequate. I read this and cast about in my memory for what "dime store advice" my father had sent me into the world with, and I can recall none. Instead, I enter the world fearing men, while at the same time searching each one for the unconditional love I feel is somehow owed to me still. (I'm sure even the most casual student of psychology would cite writing to you as a manifestation of this absence, as well.)
I've grown up in an age where "feminist" has, unfortunately, come to mean something militant, angry, inherently anti-man and, by extension, anti-traditional woman, as well. I grew to consider myself a feminist without ever feeling comfortable with the connotations, aware of the inherent sexism in many aspects of our society, but unwilling or unable to offer any practical alternative. When the nomination race for the 2008 election began, I initially supported John Edwards, as I'd been impressed after meeting him at a book signing, and excited by his proposal to forgive student loan debt. (The subject of another letter, but certainly a proposal worth considering.) After the race narrowed to just you & Mrs. Clinton, I read the Op-Ed that Gloria Steinem wrote in support of Clinton and felt, (as I'm sure Steinem intended,) that it was almost traitorous for me, as a feminist, not to support Clinton. This was a fleeting feeling, as I found myself drawn to the tone of your campaign, unimpressed with her tactics, and generally reluctant to support a candidate with her unconditional-to-the-point-of-unreasonable support for Israel. Did this make me bad feminist? Did I owe it to generations of suffragists to submit to the higher calling of electing a female president? Or did they, in fact, struggle to free me from this?
Sometimes it seems like life is a series of conflicts, falsely characterized as Good vs. Evil. Men vs. Women. Black vs. White. Republican vs. Democrat. Christianity vs. Islam. As I've matured, I've learned to reject these teams as constructions, attempts to unconditionally divide me from some people and bind me to others. These teams are safe, easy, even, at times, expedient. There are days when it still feels like a game, interacting with men, playing by their rules, striving for the approval or love that they define and they control. But I don't think that this applies all men.
Today I watched my nephew, who is one and a half, and the first male baby to be born in my immediate family. He, too, has spent his early life being raised by women, women like me, who lack a clear idea of what a good man is. Are we equipped to raise this child alone? Can we give him enough examples of who he wants to become? Luckily, he has a caring and responsible father figure, recently introduced, but happy and eager to show little Asher what a good man is. I am so grateful for him, and for the number of positive male influences I have had throughout my life. This gratitude reminds me to check my sweeping characterizations of gender, or my fear of a passing male figure on the street at night, reminds me to judge people as individuals and not as reflections of or upon any larger group.
On my arm, I have a few lines by Elizabeth Cady Stanton; "in that solemn solitude of self, that links us with the immeasurable and the eternal, each soul lives alone, forever." She spoke about self-reliance, about not ceding our ability to defend or support ourselves to any other, not because they cannot always be trusted, but because they cannot always be there to protect us. Not our parents, or our mates, or our families, or even our government. Learning to reconcile this self-reliance with the companionship we all need is where life gets difficult and complicated. You, sir, are a role model for my nephew, a figure I hope he one day aspires to be like, not because you are the perfect mythological figure of Manhood, but because you have reconciled the power of your position with the humanity that limits us all. Thank you, for that.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Reading about you and your father is difficult for me, as it reminds me of my relationship with my own father, which I have conducted without your grace or self-awareness. I was raised by women, scolded and shaped as a person by my mother, my grandmother, my sisters and by the wisdom of so many teachers. My father lingers as a specter in my memory, not absent, at first, but certainly not present. Men in my early life were large and loud, they lived in comfortable chairs in front of the TV; set dressing for the defined, complex female characters to interact with. Men were manifestations of will, their anger hung in the room like a cloud, their favor elated me, their participation in activities or conversation lent importance and gravity. I grew up never resenting this, playing with the boys at recess and having slumber parties with the girls, never concerning myself with the differences in roles that were so obvious in adults.
You arrived in New York with your father's letter, full of the instructions to find your place that you, at the time, found inadequate. I read this and cast about in my memory for what "dime store advice" my father had sent me into the world with, and I can recall none. Instead, I enter the world fearing men, while at the same time searching each one for the unconditional love I feel is somehow owed to me still. (I'm sure even the most casual student of psychology would cite writing to you as a manifestation of this absence, as well.)
I've grown up in an age where "feminist" has, unfortunately, come to mean something militant, angry, inherently anti-man and, by extension, anti-traditional woman, as well. I grew to consider myself a feminist without ever feeling comfortable with the connotations, aware of the inherent sexism in many aspects of our society, but unwilling or unable to offer any practical alternative. When the nomination race for the 2008 election began, I initially supported John Edwards, as I'd been impressed after meeting him at a book signing, and excited by his proposal to forgive student loan debt. (The subject of another letter, but certainly a proposal worth considering.) After the race narrowed to just you & Mrs. Clinton, I read the Op-Ed that Gloria Steinem wrote in support of Clinton and felt, (as I'm sure Steinem intended,) that it was almost traitorous for me, as a feminist, not to support Clinton. This was a fleeting feeling, as I found myself drawn to the tone of your campaign, unimpressed with her tactics, and generally reluctant to support a candidate with her unconditional-to-the-point-of-unreasonable support for Israel. Did this make me bad feminist? Did I owe it to generations of suffragists to submit to the higher calling of electing a female president? Or did they, in fact, struggle to free me from this?
Sometimes it seems like life is a series of conflicts, falsely characterized as Good vs. Evil. Men vs. Women. Black vs. White. Republican vs. Democrat. Christianity vs. Islam. As I've matured, I've learned to reject these teams as constructions, attempts to unconditionally divide me from some people and bind me to others. These teams are safe, easy, even, at times, expedient. There are days when it still feels like a game, interacting with men, playing by their rules, striving for the approval or love that they define and they control. But I don't think that this applies all men.
Today I watched my nephew, who is one and a half, and the first male baby to be born in my immediate family. He, too, has spent his early life being raised by women, women like me, who lack a clear idea of what a good man is. Are we equipped to raise this child alone? Can we give him enough examples of who he wants to become? Luckily, he has a caring and responsible father figure, recently introduced, but happy and eager to show little Asher what a good man is. I am so grateful for him, and for the number of positive male influences I have had throughout my life. This gratitude reminds me to check my sweeping characterizations of gender, or my fear of a passing male figure on the street at night, reminds me to judge people as individuals and not as reflections of or upon any larger group.
On my arm, I have a few lines by Elizabeth Cady Stanton; "in that solemn solitude of self, that links us with the immeasurable and the eternal, each soul lives alone, forever." She spoke about self-reliance, about not ceding our ability to defend or support ourselves to any other, not because they cannot always be trusted, but because they cannot always be there to protect us. Not our parents, or our mates, or our families, or even our government. Learning to reconcile this self-reliance with the companionship we all need is where life gets difficult and complicated. You, sir, are a role model for my nephew, a figure I hope he one day aspires to be like, not because you are the perfect mythological figure of Manhood, but because you have reconciled the power of your position with the humanity that limits us all. Thank you, for that.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Day 3
Dear Mr. President,
"She was a foreigner, middle-class and white and protected by her heredity whether she wanted protection or not." You wrote this, of course, about your Mother in Indonesia when you were a young boy, but you might have written this sentence about me. I had wanted to delay, as long as possible, the mention of my experiences abroad in these letters, if only because I fear the stigma attached to the region would somehow undermine the opinions I hold.
Two summers ago I was fortunate enough to travel through the West Bank. I was not there as an activist, or as a volunteer, though certainly there were elements of each involved in the trip, I went as a tourist. It seems strange, but we Americans are uniquely qualified to consume, offering economic stimulation even when we have no practical skills. At least shopping in Palestine made me feel less guilty. The group I traveled with on a long walk in the footprints of Abraham came from America, Germany, Canada, Brazil and all over Palestine. I was the only white American traveling alone, and felt distinctly this unasked-for protection that you describe. People were so perplexed by my presence there, and I entered the country with far less resistance from the Israelis than my companions, even those with American passports, due to their Arab or Indian heritage.
My suburban, middle-class upbringing in a place like Seattle, where water is excessive and cheap and everywhere, where racial and class tension is muted, where liberalism and its assumed tolerance and respect for differences in all of us is wholly unremarkable, could not have prepared me for the injustice, the institutionalized racism, and the struggles of everyday life that I witnessed in Palestine.
Mr. President, I suspect that many of my letters this year will be about Palestine and our policies toward that part of the world. I did not expect to find myself connecting so personally with your own family's experiences abroad, or I would not have mentioned it now. The way you describe power, the nakedness of it in places like Indonesia and its hidden, more modest (perhaps, even, more dishonest) manifestations in America, resonates with how I feel about Palestine. I do not see the world as a cast of heroes and villains, a place of good and evil, but instead as a constant struggle with the kind of power you described and those who would abuse it. That imbalance seems to be the cause of human suffering in myriad forms. For now, I will keep reading and wonder how it is that we have come down so decidedly on the side of that power, of the abusers and the oppressors, so many times through our nation's history and, more importantly, every day in Palestine?
Thank you, Mr. President, for thinking about this question.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
"She was a foreigner, middle-class and white and protected by her heredity whether she wanted protection or not." You wrote this, of course, about your Mother in Indonesia when you were a young boy, but you might have written this sentence about me. I had wanted to delay, as long as possible, the mention of my experiences abroad in these letters, if only because I fear the stigma attached to the region would somehow undermine the opinions I hold.
Two summers ago I was fortunate enough to travel through the West Bank. I was not there as an activist, or as a volunteer, though certainly there were elements of each involved in the trip, I went as a tourist. It seems strange, but we Americans are uniquely qualified to consume, offering economic stimulation even when we have no practical skills. At least shopping in Palestine made me feel less guilty. The group I traveled with on a long walk in the footprints of Abraham came from America, Germany, Canada, Brazil and all over Palestine. I was the only white American traveling alone, and felt distinctly this unasked-for protection that you describe. People were so perplexed by my presence there, and I entered the country with far less resistance from the Israelis than my companions, even those with American passports, due to their Arab or Indian heritage.
My suburban, middle-class upbringing in a place like Seattle, where water is excessive and cheap and everywhere, where racial and class tension is muted, where liberalism and its assumed tolerance and respect for differences in all of us is wholly unremarkable, could not have prepared me for the injustice, the institutionalized racism, and the struggles of everyday life that I witnessed in Palestine.
Mr. President, I suspect that many of my letters this year will be about Palestine and our policies toward that part of the world. I did not expect to find myself connecting so personally with your own family's experiences abroad, or I would not have mentioned it now. The way you describe power, the nakedness of it in places like Indonesia and its hidden, more modest (perhaps, even, more dishonest) manifestations in America, resonates with how I feel about Palestine. I do not see the world as a cast of heroes and villains, a place of good and evil, but instead as a constant struggle with the kind of power you described and those who would abuse it. That imbalance seems to be the cause of human suffering in myriad forms. For now, I will keep reading and wonder how it is that we have come down so decidedly on the side of that power, of the abusers and the oppressors, so many times through our nation's history and, more importantly, every day in Palestine?
Thank you, Mr. President, for thinking about this question.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Day 2
Tonight I actually said the words, "No, I can't go out, I have to work on my blog." OK, this is going to be a bigger commitment than I anticipated. Also, I got around to buying stamps which are surprisingly expensive. At first I thought that I would send e-mails, but ultimately decided on letters because it seemed more "authentic" (Whatever the F that means) and more egalitarian. But this is false! Stamps are expensive! Oh well... Also, my handwriting looks like an angry 3rd grader's.
Today's Letter:
Dear Mr. President,
Today I started Dreams From My Father. I was struck by the poetry of your writing style. As a bookstore employee, I may not be the most discerning reader, but I certainly read enough to appreciate the rare quality of your words. I am not as picky about what I read as I am about food, for instance, as a trashy sci-fi novel every now and then probably won't rot my brain as effectively as high-fructose corn syrup, but I find myself more often drawn to fiction, as it is usually more beautiful prose than nonfiction. Your book seems to be proving me wrong in this assumption. Thank you for that.
I watched your address from Saturday online. CNN.com ran it under the headline, "Obama promises justice for Christmas terror plotters," which I found rather off-putting. It brought to mind the false "War on Christmas" that O'Reily and his ilk are so fond of using to divide Christian and non-Christian Americans. I was happy to see that this was not a phrase you used in your speech. After listening to you, I read up on Yemen a bit, as it is not a country I'm comfortably informed about. In reading about the 2004 civil war and 2009 escalation of the insurgency, I felt ashamed that this was completely new information for me.
I think you did a good job of reminding us who the enemy is, however, I feel like this speech also spent too much time focusing on the offensive tactics we were taking militarily and through the intelligence agencies. Yes, there is a childish part of all of us that wants to hear words like "punish" and "justice", but you mentioned the poverty many Yemeni people suffer as well, without expanding upon that idea or even drawing the connection between people suffering and militant groups like Al-Qaeda. That's an important point- a truth that is difficult to admit and impossible to impart to those that will not hear it, but it is essential to understanding the type warfare we ought to engage in.
I guess my point is that, maybe we as Americans should also resolve to learn something about Yemen in 2010?
Anyway, Mr. President, good speech. Not your best, but it got the job done. Thank you for your continued efforts to keep our country safe, and may that job get easier in the coming year.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Today's Letter:
Dear Mr. President,
Today I started Dreams From My Father. I was struck by the poetry of your writing style. As a bookstore employee, I may not be the most discerning reader, but I certainly read enough to appreciate the rare quality of your words. I am not as picky about what I read as I am about food, for instance, as a trashy sci-fi novel every now and then probably won't rot my brain as effectively as high-fructose corn syrup, but I find myself more often drawn to fiction, as it is usually more beautiful prose than nonfiction. Your book seems to be proving me wrong in this assumption. Thank you for that.
I watched your address from Saturday online. CNN.com ran it under the headline, "Obama promises justice for Christmas terror plotters," which I found rather off-putting. It brought to mind the false "War on Christmas" that O'Reily and his ilk are so fond of using to divide Christian and non-Christian Americans. I was happy to see that this was not a phrase you used in your speech. After listening to you, I read up on Yemen a bit, as it is not a country I'm comfortably informed about. In reading about the 2004 civil war and 2009 escalation of the insurgency, I felt ashamed that this was completely new information for me.
I think you did a good job of reminding us who the enemy is, however, I feel like this speech also spent too much time focusing on the offensive tactics we were taking militarily and through the intelligence agencies. Yes, there is a childish part of all of us that wants to hear words like "punish" and "justice", but you mentioned the poverty many Yemeni people suffer as well, without expanding upon that idea or even drawing the connection between people suffering and militant groups like Al-Qaeda. That's an important point- a truth that is difficult to admit and impossible to impart to those that will not hear it, but it is essential to understanding the type warfare we ought to engage in.
I guess my point is that, maybe we as Americans should also resolve to learn something about Yemen in 2010?
Anyway, Mr. President, good speech. Not your best, but it got the job done. Thank you for your continued efforts to keep our country safe, and may that job get easier in the coming year.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
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