Dear Mr. President,
Today I've been thinking a lot about walls. Right now it feels like it's about 1,000,000 degrees in my apartment, so, while wondering what to write to you, I got more than a little agitated. I know what I want to write. I want to write about PM Netanyahu's visit. But writing to you about foreign policy is a lot like banging my head against a wall. I write, impassioned and angry and sometimes in tears. I feel better. I print or copy the letter, address the envelope and affix postage. I wait. Weeks later, I receive a form letter from your office thanking me for writing. I hold this form letter in my hands as the headlines scroll up my screen. More people are dead. Or arrested. Or homeless. Or starving. And we welcome the Israeli Prime Minister and assure the world that our policies of absolute support will continue. And the IRS hands out tax breaks to donations that support the very settlements we claim to have stopped. And I bang my head a little more hopelessly, each day.
But walls are not just for banging one's head in frustration. Walls keep us safe from the elements, they support roofs, they keep us warm and sheltered and make caves or holes in the mud more like homes. There are a number of walls in Gaza that have been knocked down over the past few years. Knocked down by bombs, knocked down by bulldozers and knocked down by nature. But still, the material to rebuild them is forbidden. But because cooking spices have been permitted through, the Israeli government is praised for their efforts. The list of banned items may be shorter, but normalcy, or the kind of economic stability that would help create a stable society, are still too threatening to be permitted past the checkpoints.
And still other walls are only to divide. To divide people from other people, to divide land and power and resources, to confine or exclude or dominate. Sometimes they make a nice canvas. I've even heard these walls make great projector screens, in a pinch.
Don't worry about that dull thumping noise, Mr. President. Even when it's 1,000,000 degrees, and I'm hopeless and frustrated and so angry I could cry, I still live on the side of the figurative Wall that allows me to live inside my walls and bash my head against them. I'm one of the lucky ones.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Day 187- Man hands
Dear Mr. President,
In high school, they called me man hands. It sounds cruel, but it was sort of an endearment. I do have big hands. The people who love me best still call me this, occasionally, and I love them for it. But it started earlier than that. It started when I was 4 years old and saw The Neverending Story. I promptly convinced my mother to cut off my long golden curls so that I could look like Atreyu. When my older sister told me Atreyu was a boy, I was pretty skeptical; I identified with the character enough to believe that he must be female, like me. After that, it was being the only girl on the soccer field at recess, or picked first for kickball because, as a 5th grader, my 5'+ frame and size 9 shoes made me awkward and strange, but damn good at kicking a ball. These days, I work in a physical, occasionally dangerous and adrenaline-filled job. While my supervisor is female, she acknowledged to me that I'm the first woman to apply in a long time. So, I suppose, she and I work what some would call a man's job. I don't want to be a mother and I don't want to be some one's wife, but I like romantic movies and make-up and Jane Austen novels as much as the next girl. What does this make me?
Abnormally masculine, according to Pediatric endocrinologist Maria New, of Mount Sinai School of Medicine and Florida International University. That my aspirations for a life outside of motherhood, marriage and so-called feminine traditions are traits some (ironically, female) doctors would attempt to prevent in utero is kind of horrifying. Considering my upbringing, watching my parents come home from the same work, with the same weapons and tools, knowing that my mother worked just as hard as my father, had more education, made more money than him, outranked him and still had to come home and be responsible for the domestic chores while he relaxed in front of the TV, maybe my abnormality isn't genetic so much as experience? Of course, my father and stepmother tried hard to break me out of my tomboyish tendencies, forbidding certain masculine clothing, encouraging and even emphasizing the importance of cosmetic beauty. But I never outgrew it. I'm not dainty or delicate. I don't aspire to be. I can't change this, any more than I could change the size of my hands. Even my handwriting (as the unfortunate readers of your mail must surely be aware) is undeniably masculine.
If my parents had been given the choice, if they had been offered a pill to take with prenatal vitamins that ensured them a "normal" daughter, would they have taken it? How does a parent justify making decisions about a person's disposition, their preferences and temperament, the things that make up their personality, all without their consent? I think that science is pretty awesome, that genetics and the prenatal prevention of disease are important and fascinating fields. But reading about this research and the reasoning used to justify it, I can't help but wonder who gets to decide what is a problem, an abnormality that needs correction or prevention, and where the checks on that kind of power could possibly come from. What's feminine today is different than 24 years ago, and by the time children receiving this treatment reach their own adulthood, I'm sure it will be even more so. That 4 year old girl who looked back at me from the mirror as our mother cut our hair and turned us into a warrior, she could have grown up to be anything, a mother, a Supreme Court nominee, even a pediatric endocrinologist. So far, all she's become is a loss prevent agent and blogger, a chronically opinionated and ambitious young adult with giant hands. But I'd hate to think that, even before she was born, there could have been a medically sanctioned definition of what the correct choice would be.
Girls of all ages have a role model in Elena Kagan, so thank you for nominating her to the bench. I believe that her life's work is no less valuable than any children she might have born, instead. I am grateful for her and for all of the other abnormal women who have come before me. They have made the world safer for women like me, and improved it for all of us- even Dr. New. I'm not promising that I'll cut my hair to look more like her, but, if she gets a luckdragon name Falkor, it may be cause to reconsider.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
In high school, they called me man hands. It sounds cruel, but it was sort of an endearment. I do have big hands. The people who love me best still call me this, occasionally, and I love them for it. But it started earlier than that. It started when I was 4 years old and saw The Neverending Story. I promptly convinced my mother to cut off my long golden curls so that I could look like Atreyu. When my older sister told me Atreyu was a boy, I was pretty skeptical; I identified with the character enough to believe that he must be female, like me. After that, it was being the only girl on the soccer field at recess, or picked first for kickball because, as a 5th grader, my 5'+ frame and size 9 shoes made me awkward and strange, but damn good at kicking a ball. These days, I work in a physical, occasionally dangerous and adrenaline-filled job. While my supervisor is female, she acknowledged to me that I'm the first woman to apply in a long time. So, I suppose, she and I work what some would call a man's job. I don't want to be a mother and I don't want to be some one's wife, but I like romantic movies and make-up and Jane Austen novels as much as the next girl. What does this make me?
Abnormally masculine, according to Pediatric endocrinologist Maria New, of Mount Sinai School of Medicine and Florida International University. That my aspirations for a life outside of motherhood, marriage and so-called feminine traditions are traits some (ironically, female) doctors would attempt to prevent in utero is kind of horrifying. Considering my upbringing, watching my parents come home from the same work, with the same weapons and tools, knowing that my mother worked just as hard as my father, had more education, made more money than him, outranked him and still had to come home and be responsible for the domestic chores while he relaxed in front of the TV, maybe my abnormality isn't genetic so much as experience? Of course, my father and stepmother tried hard to break me out of my tomboyish tendencies, forbidding certain masculine clothing, encouraging and even emphasizing the importance of cosmetic beauty. But I never outgrew it. I'm not dainty or delicate. I don't aspire to be. I can't change this, any more than I could change the size of my hands. Even my handwriting (as the unfortunate readers of your mail must surely be aware) is undeniably masculine.
If my parents had been given the choice, if they had been offered a pill to take with prenatal vitamins that ensured them a "normal" daughter, would they have taken it? How does a parent justify making decisions about a person's disposition, their preferences and temperament, the things that make up their personality, all without their consent? I think that science is pretty awesome, that genetics and the prenatal prevention of disease are important and fascinating fields. But reading about this research and the reasoning used to justify it, I can't help but wonder who gets to decide what is a problem, an abnormality that needs correction or prevention, and where the checks on that kind of power could possibly come from. What's feminine today is different than 24 years ago, and by the time children receiving this treatment reach their own adulthood, I'm sure it will be even more so. That 4 year old girl who looked back at me from the mirror as our mother cut our hair and turned us into a warrior, she could have grown up to be anything, a mother, a Supreme Court nominee, even a pediatric endocrinologist. So far, all she's become is a loss prevent agent and blogger, a chronically opinionated and ambitious young adult with giant hands. But I'd hate to think that, even before she was born, there could have been a medically sanctioned definition of what the correct choice would be.
Girls of all ages have a role model in Elena Kagan, so thank you for nominating her to the bench. I believe that her life's work is no less valuable than any children she might have born, instead. I am grateful for her and for all of the other abnormal women who have come before me. They have made the world safer for women like me, and improved it for all of us- even Dr. New. I'm not promising that I'll cut my hair to look more like her, but, if she gets a luckdragon name Falkor, it may be cause to reconsider.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Monday, July 5, 2010
Day 186- GMO life
Dear Mr. President,
Genetically Modified food certainly sounds unappetizing. On a visceral level I don't like GMO crops; I don't trust the companies that produce them and I don't believe the the effects of consuming them are fully understood. That being said, my sister is a doctor who earned her PHD studying plant genetics and hybrids. She now works for a company that, in the course of its work with impoverished nations, funds the use of these crops to fight starvation and malnourishment. We've often talked about these crops and she's a believer in the benefits that some of them provide.
Still, I'm uneasy. I can't fully explain or quantify my hesitation about GMO crops, except to say that it is directly related to the huge profits enjoyed by Monsanto and other agricultural companies. It isn't that I think organic, non-GMO food is raised or sold without any expectation of profit, it's that there is a certain obscenity to this kind of wealth, in that it makes the few who enjoy it and many more who depend upon it desperate for its preservation. I think Ayn Rand would probably slap me, (or maybe kill me and cut me into small pieces) if she were alive, for equating wealth and immorality, but she was never going to be my biggest fan, anyway. It isn't fair to assume that because a company makes money it is immoral, but when I see the things that the banking and financial companies did to make their huge profits, or the oil companies, I see a pattern of exploitation, manipulation, dishonesty and disregard for safety, social and environmental risks. It appears, to an admittedly casual and ignorant observer, that to achieve such a combination of profit, power and size, a company has to make ethically dubious decisions. At the very least, I doubt that my health, or the planet's, is a higher priority for these companies than their bottom line. Which makes me nervous, considering how blindly our system depends up on them, and the lack of transparency we allow them to operate with.
But I think every one should get to make that decision for themselves. Which is why I hope that, especially in light of the recent Supreme Court decision, the USDA will insist upon clear labeling of all GMO food & products containing GMO ingredients. Allowing consumers to make up their own minds about what they buy and what they eat is essential to our individual freedoms, our obligation to protect ourselves and our planet. This will also make companies like Monsanto more accountable to consumers; allowing the market's invisible hand to keep them just a little more honest. I think that's a solution even Ayn Rand could get behind.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Genetically Modified food certainly sounds unappetizing. On a visceral level I don't like GMO crops; I don't trust the companies that produce them and I don't believe the the effects of consuming them are fully understood. That being said, my sister is a doctor who earned her PHD studying plant genetics and hybrids. She now works for a company that, in the course of its work with impoverished nations, funds the use of these crops to fight starvation and malnourishment. We've often talked about these crops and she's a believer in the benefits that some of them provide.
Still, I'm uneasy. I can't fully explain or quantify my hesitation about GMO crops, except to say that it is directly related to the huge profits enjoyed by Monsanto and other agricultural companies. It isn't that I think organic, non-GMO food is raised or sold without any expectation of profit, it's that there is a certain obscenity to this kind of wealth, in that it makes the few who enjoy it and many more who depend upon it desperate for its preservation. I think Ayn Rand would probably slap me, (or maybe kill me and cut me into small pieces) if she were alive, for equating wealth and immorality, but she was never going to be my biggest fan, anyway. It isn't fair to assume that because a company makes money it is immoral, but when I see the things that the banking and financial companies did to make their huge profits, or the oil companies, I see a pattern of exploitation, manipulation, dishonesty and disregard for safety, social and environmental risks. It appears, to an admittedly casual and ignorant observer, that to achieve such a combination of profit, power and size, a company has to make ethically dubious decisions. At the very least, I doubt that my health, or the planet's, is a higher priority for these companies than their bottom line. Which makes me nervous, considering how blindly our system depends up on them, and the lack of transparency we allow them to operate with.
But I think every one should get to make that decision for themselves. Which is why I hope that, especially in light of the recent Supreme Court decision, the USDA will insist upon clear labeling of all GMO food & products containing GMO ingredients. Allowing consumers to make up their own minds about what they buy and what they eat is essential to our individual freedoms, our obligation to protect ourselves and our planet. This will also make companies like Monsanto more accountable to consumers; allowing the market's invisible hand to keep them just a little more honest. I think that's a solution even Ayn Rand could get behind.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Day 185
Dear Mr. President,
Happy 4th of July. Here in Seattle, it's gray and raining, which is neither surprising not particularly disappointing when you consider the beautiful green life it supplies. I hope that you're having a relaxing day in a more july-appropriate climate. Yesterday I wrote about my conflicted emotions regarding independence day, and today I'd like to keep things short, to enjoy the assembled company who, friend and stranger alike, remind me that there are plenty of things about Americans with celebrating.
So, I'm sorry for the short letter. I'm grateful, especially tonight, for all the Americans who are working to serve our county, making this lovely, relaxing celebration possible for me. Thank you, Mr. President.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Happy 4th of July. Here in Seattle, it's gray and raining, which is neither surprising not particularly disappointing when you consider the beautiful green life it supplies. I hope that you're having a relaxing day in a more july-appropriate climate. Yesterday I wrote about my conflicted emotions regarding independence day, and today I'd like to keep things short, to enjoy the assembled company who, friend and stranger alike, remind me that there are plenty of things about Americans with celebrating.
So, I'm sorry for the short letter. I'm grateful, especially tonight, for all the Americans who are working to serve our county, making this lovely, relaxing celebration possible for me. Thank you, Mr. President.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Day 184- Privilege
Just as this day serves as a reminder of the immeasurable bravery of those who have made America what it is today, it also renews in us the solemn duty we share to ensure our Nation lives up to its promise. We must not simply commemorate the work begun over two and a quarter centuries ago; we are called to join together, hoist their mantle upon our shoulders, and carry that spirit of service into tomorrow
President Barack Obama, July 2, 2010, Message regarding Independence Day
Dear Mr. President,
Two years ago, on July 4th, I was not feeling particularly patriotic. The group of travelers I was with had just arrived in a small Palestinian village after a full day of hiking; several people were sick, we were all hot and exhausted, and, while the village offered us the same legendary Palestinian hospitality that we'd received in other villages, there was an undercurrent of tension and sadness. The night before, in the darkness, IDF soldiers had arrested several young boys known to have been friends with another boy, already arrested for throwing rocks at a tank. Some of the boys had been very young, and no one knew when, or even if, they would be returned to their families. It was hard, that night, to feel anything but sadness at the situation my country had helped create and continued to perpetuate for these people.
I don't lie awake at night afraid of the soldiers coming. I don't worry about the door breaking down, or tear gas or bullets or bombs. Even the airport security seems like a breeze, by comparison. I am grateful for this security, these protections, and for the history of those rights we celebrate on Independence day. But I am a lucky one. I live in an America that still recognizes the paramount importance of these rights. Many of my neighbors, because they have dark skin, do not live in this America. Many of my fellow citizens have these rights violated, still. Even more undocumented immigrants in this country are kept from these basic rights because they were not born here. Untold numbers of so-called enemy combatants in Guantanamo bay and in military prisons around the world are denied these rights as a matter of policy. In places like Palestine, and Egypt, and Saudi Arabia the echo of America's foreign policy is the deprivation of these rights by regimes we call allies. Still greater in number are the people living in countries like Iraq and Afghanistan where these rights are a distant dream, a pretense for the wars that have brought them nothing but suffering and destruction.
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.
All men. Not just those rich, white and lucky enough to have been born here. All men. Tonight I will lie awake wondering at the possibility of a world that reflects more completely the mighty ambitions of the founding we celebrate tomorrow. I don't think it is a lack of patriotism, on my part, to look at our current state and see all of the promise yet to be fulfilled. I am lucky, and grateful, to be an American citizen of privilege, and I can think of no better use for that privilege than to demand that the same be given to all.
Happy 4th of July, Mr. President.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
President Barack Obama, July 2, 2010, Message regarding Independence Day
Dear Mr. President,
Two years ago, on July 4th, I was not feeling particularly patriotic. The group of travelers I was with had just arrived in a small Palestinian village after a full day of hiking; several people were sick, we were all hot and exhausted, and, while the village offered us the same legendary Palestinian hospitality that we'd received in other villages, there was an undercurrent of tension and sadness. The night before, in the darkness, IDF soldiers had arrested several young boys known to have been friends with another boy, already arrested for throwing rocks at a tank. Some of the boys had been very young, and no one knew when, or even if, they would be returned to their families. It was hard, that night, to feel anything but sadness at the situation my country had helped create and continued to perpetuate for these people.
I don't lie awake at night afraid of the soldiers coming. I don't worry about the door breaking down, or tear gas or bullets or bombs. Even the airport security seems like a breeze, by comparison. I am grateful for this security, these protections, and for the history of those rights we celebrate on Independence day. But I am a lucky one. I live in an America that still recognizes the paramount importance of these rights. Many of my neighbors, because they have dark skin, do not live in this America. Many of my fellow citizens have these rights violated, still. Even more undocumented immigrants in this country are kept from these basic rights because they were not born here. Untold numbers of so-called enemy combatants in Guantanamo bay and in military prisons around the world are denied these rights as a matter of policy. In places like Palestine, and Egypt, and Saudi Arabia the echo of America's foreign policy is the deprivation of these rights by regimes we call allies. Still greater in number are the people living in countries like Iraq and Afghanistan where these rights are a distant dream, a pretense for the wars that have brought them nothing but suffering and destruction.
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.
All men. Not just those rich, white and lucky enough to have been born here. All men. Tonight I will lie awake wondering at the possibility of a world that reflects more completely the mighty ambitions of the founding we celebrate tomorrow. I don't think it is a lack of patriotism, on my part, to look at our current state and see all of the promise yet to be fulfilled. I am lucky, and grateful, to be an American citizen of privilege, and I can think of no better use for that privilege than to demand that the same be given to all.
Happy 4th of July, Mr. President.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Friday, July 2, 2010
Day 183- All at once
****Update for those of you who don't read my facebook or Chev's: Chev is totally fine and safe, the Peace Corps volunteers are only being evacuated from the Northern regions of Burkina Faso, and so they will be reassigned to southern villages that are safer. Yay for good news!
Dear Mr. President,
I have a soft spot for certain "celebrity" chefs. Jamie Oliver. Molly Wizenberg and, perhaps ironically, given his position on all things vegetarian, Anthony Bourdain. While at work, I glanced through a few passages from Bourdain's latest book, Medium Raw, in which he expresses his inexplicable mix of dislike and respect for Alice Waters. Bourdain, who himself insists upon fresh, organic food for his own family, has several problems with the way Waters has advocated these practices for all Americans. His first problem is with the reality of modern farming, which he, perhaps correctly, insists could not be simultaneously organic, sustainable, and affordable. His next contention, that few Americans want to do the hard work that kind of farming requires and must therefor rely upon immigrant labor or machines to do it for them, reminded me of two articles I'd stumbled upon lately. The first was a Freakonomics piece by James McWilliams on fair trade coffee and economic reality, and the second was an interview with a United Farm Workers of America VP Erik Nicholson discussing agricultural practices, in which Nicholson asserts that the convergence of sustainable small farms, labor and immigration issues make any real progress politically problematic.
Reading these pieces and contemplating the many ways that reality frustrates idealism, I realized that this issue is more than just labor and immigration and sustainability; it's healthcare and our energy future and our environmental policy. What we eat, how we produce our food, will involve and impact every major (and especially contentious) domestic policy issue we face. I was once again reminded of how overwhelmed I felt in Costco the other day, sure that all of my good intentions were for nothing. I don't see how we can possibly remake our entire agricultural system in the image of Waters' utopian ideal, but neither do I have quite so cynical a perspective as Bourdain. We may not have a surplus of Americans willing to return to agricultural labor, at least not the way it is now or has been done in the past, but it isn't as though all Americans are strangers to hard labor. I, for one, (and I doubt very much that I'm alone in this) would much rather have tended fields or picked fruit than toiled away as a food service employee for all the years I spent in unskilled positions. The problem is simultaneous change. We need more people to grow food that is safer and more nutritious, for themselves and for their communities, and to do that we need more people to work in agriculture, and to do that we need to have better wages and working conditions, which means the use of pesticides and factory farming practices would have to change. Immigration, food prices, import and export practices, the environment; everything would be affected. Everything would have to change at once for any of it to work, and I've lived too long to believe that we're capable of that.
So will organic, sustainably grown food continue to be a luxury for the rich, or favorably located, or fervently committed, forever subject to the economic realities that link scaling up these practices with the degradation of the very principles they were founded upon? I want to believe that we can reform ourselves, but I don't know that I, or you, or even Alice Waters, has the solution. In the last few days, I've seen major discussions on healthcare, immigration, energy and environmental policies from the White House, and so I know that your administration still has faith that we can make the necessary changes in all of these areas. For myself, I don't imagine that the solution lies in regressing to the practices that once sustained us; our society has become far too urban, far too disconnected from the land our food comes from to ever fully revert back to the kind of farming I associate with John Steinbeck's novels. I think our best hope is yet to be discovered, but that it will require us all to involve ourselves, however unappealing some may find it, in the sources of our food and to demand better conditions for the people who provide it for us.
Anyway, on Monday I'll be putting myself to the test and see how well my rhetoric stands up against reality. More on that, to come.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Dear Mr. President,
I have a soft spot for certain "celebrity" chefs. Jamie Oliver. Molly Wizenberg and, perhaps ironically, given his position on all things vegetarian, Anthony Bourdain. While at work, I glanced through a few passages from Bourdain's latest book, Medium Raw, in which he expresses his inexplicable mix of dislike and respect for Alice Waters. Bourdain, who himself insists upon fresh, organic food for his own family, has several problems with the way Waters has advocated these practices for all Americans. His first problem is with the reality of modern farming, which he, perhaps correctly, insists could not be simultaneously organic, sustainable, and affordable. His next contention, that few Americans want to do the hard work that kind of farming requires and must therefor rely upon immigrant labor or machines to do it for them, reminded me of two articles I'd stumbled upon lately. The first was a Freakonomics piece by James McWilliams on fair trade coffee and economic reality, and the second was an interview with a United Farm Workers of America VP Erik Nicholson discussing agricultural practices, in which Nicholson asserts that the convergence of sustainable small farms, labor and immigration issues make any real progress politically problematic.
Reading these pieces and contemplating the many ways that reality frustrates idealism, I realized that this issue is more than just labor and immigration and sustainability; it's healthcare and our energy future and our environmental policy. What we eat, how we produce our food, will involve and impact every major (and especially contentious) domestic policy issue we face. I was once again reminded of how overwhelmed I felt in Costco the other day, sure that all of my good intentions were for nothing. I don't see how we can possibly remake our entire agricultural system in the image of Waters' utopian ideal, but neither do I have quite so cynical a perspective as Bourdain. We may not have a surplus of Americans willing to return to agricultural labor, at least not the way it is now or has been done in the past, but it isn't as though all Americans are strangers to hard labor. I, for one, (and I doubt very much that I'm alone in this) would much rather have tended fields or picked fruit than toiled away as a food service employee for all the years I spent in unskilled positions. The problem is simultaneous change. We need more people to grow food that is safer and more nutritious, for themselves and for their communities, and to do that we need more people to work in agriculture, and to do that we need to have better wages and working conditions, which means the use of pesticides and factory farming practices would have to change. Immigration, food prices, import and export practices, the environment; everything would be affected. Everything would have to change at once for any of it to work, and I've lived too long to believe that we're capable of that.
So will organic, sustainably grown food continue to be a luxury for the rich, or favorably located, or fervently committed, forever subject to the economic realities that link scaling up these practices with the degradation of the very principles they were founded upon? I want to believe that we can reform ourselves, but I don't know that I, or you, or even Alice Waters, has the solution. In the last few days, I've seen major discussions on healthcare, immigration, energy and environmental policies from the White House, and so I know that your administration still has faith that we can make the necessary changes in all of these areas. For myself, I don't imagine that the solution lies in regressing to the practices that once sustained us; our society has become far too urban, far too disconnected from the land our food comes from to ever fully revert back to the kind of farming I associate with John Steinbeck's novels. I think our best hope is yet to be discovered, but that it will require us all to involve ourselves, however unappealing some may find it, in the sources of our food and to demand better conditions for the people who provide it for us.
Anyway, on Monday I'll be putting myself to the test and see how well my rhetoric stands up against reality. More on that, to come.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Day 182- Control
Dear Mr. President,
I'm a control freak. I like to be in control of myself, my emotions, and the things that happen around me. Psychologically, this is probably due to the amount of time I spent feeling not in control of what what happening to me or what I was feeling as a child. I recognize that this is often problematic, as I can't control things like Al-Qaeda, or a person's access to a phone, or the time difference between here and Africa. My best friend, who has been in Burkina Faso for only a little more than a week, is being evacuated with the other Peace Corps volunteers. I'm assuming that this is related to the AP story I read earlier today, describing kidnapping threats from AQIM against westerners in Mali and northern Burkina Faso, though this is only speculation. Before she was evacuated, my friend was able to send me a text from a borrowed phone, and assure me that she is OK.
That was 9 hours ago. I have no reason to believe that she is not still safe, but, of course, my lack of control over the amount of information I'm receiving has me anxious and worried. Her friends and family have had sort of a phone circle going, making contact for the sake of our own comfort, as no one has any new information yet. It's funny the way that fear changes us. I've been angrier about this than I ever expected to be. Al-Qaeda's ability to disrupt and terrorize with just a threat is so frustrating. Also, while I believe that the wars we're fighting, the prisons we've built, and the murders we have sanctioned, ostensibly intended to keep us safe from these threats, are actually making the world more dangerous for Americans, I have no clear idea of what a solution would look like. I don't have any respect for the rhetoric, methods or goals of Al-Qaeda, but I do not believe that its members are wholly irrational beings, or that American foreign policy is not responsible for much of the antipathy that generates more Al-Qaeda members. What is most upsetting is that the people who will ultimately suffer in all of this are not the members of Al-Qaeda or the men making the decisions they find so objectionable, but those soldiers, civilians and volunteers like my friend who are caught in between.
I know that the US government will do everything in its power to make sure that my friend and the other volunteers are kept safe, or brought home, and I am grateful for this. I hope that it also finds a way to make more of the world safe for Americans who travel and work abroad- a goal that no amount of military might can achieve. We can't always help the way the Al-Qaedas of the world feels about us, but, speaking as a control freak, I think we'd win a great deal more good will if we accepted that there are some things we can't, and shouldn't, try to control.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
I'm a control freak. I like to be in control of myself, my emotions, and the things that happen around me. Psychologically, this is probably due to the amount of time I spent feeling not in control of what what happening to me or what I was feeling as a child. I recognize that this is often problematic, as I can't control things like Al-Qaeda, or a person's access to a phone, or the time difference between here and Africa. My best friend, who has been in Burkina Faso for only a little more than a week, is being evacuated with the other Peace Corps volunteers. I'm assuming that this is related to the AP story I read earlier today, describing kidnapping threats from AQIM against westerners in Mali and northern Burkina Faso, though this is only speculation. Before she was evacuated, my friend was able to send me a text from a borrowed phone, and assure me that she is OK.
That was 9 hours ago. I have no reason to believe that she is not still safe, but, of course, my lack of control over the amount of information I'm receiving has me anxious and worried. Her friends and family have had sort of a phone circle going, making contact for the sake of our own comfort, as no one has any new information yet. It's funny the way that fear changes us. I've been angrier about this than I ever expected to be. Al-Qaeda's ability to disrupt and terrorize with just a threat is so frustrating. Also, while I believe that the wars we're fighting, the prisons we've built, and the murders we have sanctioned, ostensibly intended to keep us safe from these threats, are actually making the world more dangerous for Americans, I have no clear idea of what a solution would look like. I don't have any respect for the rhetoric, methods or goals of Al-Qaeda, but I do not believe that its members are wholly irrational beings, or that American foreign policy is not responsible for much of the antipathy that generates more Al-Qaeda members. What is most upsetting is that the people who will ultimately suffer in all of this are not the members of Al-Qaeda or the men making the decisions they find so objectionable, but those soldiers, civilians and volunteers like my friend who are caught in between.
I know that the US government will do everything in its power to make sure that my friend and the other volunteers are kept safe, or brought home, and I am grateful for this. I hope that it also finds a way to make more of the world safe for Americans who travel and work abroad- a goal that no amount of military might can achieve. We can't always help the way the Al-Qaedas of the world feels about us, but, speaking as a control freak, I think we'd win a great deal more good will if we accepted that there are some things we can't, and shouldn't, try to control.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
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