Americana, writ large

Today is the biggest day in American sports for many, the Super Bowl. It’s what distinguishes Soccer from Football. It always amuses me to hear Europeans try to claim that Soccer players are better athletes than American Football players. No, they are better actors. That’s about the end of that story. I would love to see some of those skinny-ass Europeans try to play one quarter of American Football. I think then they really would be crying, unlike the crocodile tears that are shed on the pitch on any given day. There was a moment when I actually thought I respected Soccer, but living in Italy and watching the histrionics, no thanks. Watching Cricket in India, now that was an eye opener.

However, today is about the Ravens and the 49er’s.

Two team names that epitomize America in a nutshell. The former is named after the quirky poem by Baltimore native, Edgar Allan Poe, and the second is the name of the gold-diggers of the 1800’s, trying to make their name and carve out a piece of history by hook and by crook in the American West.

No two teams could be more iconic about America than these two at this moment. Poe, America’s “bad boy” poet, was the Johnny Depp or Marlon Brando of his time. French, and I repeat FRENCH poets, looked up to him as the harbinger of new poetry to come.

As for the 49er’s it was that gold fever that fueled the trans-continental railroad and the infamy of Chinese labor and the exploitations of Manifest Destiny.  And, yet, that is what makes the United States of America what it is. It is riddled with contradictions, it is the land of extremes, it is the land of opportunities and missed opportunities, the land of the American Dream and broken dreams. It is the land of Poe and the Gold Diggers.

So, how fitting is that?

High Noon, Not so OK

2012 may not have been the end of the world, but 2013 already looks to be a year of challenges, both for me on a microcosmic level and for the world at the macro. My homeland is no exception. In fact, from afar, it seems rather in disarray, but, as we may learn from the past, things always seem in disarray. It is only later analysis that makes sense of the Chaos.

In sports, the tarnished career of Lance Armstrong, once the world champion and icon of a sport, leaves little question that cycling is a very, very dirty sport with no winners and mostly hampered by scandal and hypocrisy. The obsession now instead of Tebow (which I predicted would end as it did), it is the “catfishing” hoax of Te’o. As the NFL playoffs near closure today, Michael Crabtree, the star receiver of the San Francisco giant, the 49er's, is embroiled in yet another sexual assault case by a star athlete.

However, as big as sports is in America, that is not what has my country divided, despite the media attention. It is the obsession with guns that once again has come to the theatre of the absurd. Following the shooting massacre of 20 kids and 6 adults in Connecticut, there have been measures suggested for gun control. This is gun control, not abolition of guns, as the far-right sees it. The second amendment is always invoked and misinterpreted by such people, for it is in the time of militia that every one has the right to bear arms, not just to go into movie theatres and kindergartens with assault rifles.

Extreme conspiracy theory monger Alex Jones went nuts on Piers Morgan’s own show, whom Jones petitioned to have deported, because Morgan had voiced his opinion about guns. What Jones forgot is that before the number Two comes One, meaning, the 1^st Amendment gives one the right to free speech unless it does harm.

Yesterday, at “high noon,” there was a “guns across America” rally. High Noon? Seriously people? Last evening I went to see Gangster Squad, a movie riddled with gunfire. During the movie, I found myself thinking, “wow, America has changed so much since the 50’s.” But, then, walking towards my bus stop, having time to think, I realized, “no, they just dressed differently.” It is still all about guns. Who has them, who doesn’t. How they are used, for “good” or for “evil.” Nothing has changed, The gun has remained the same, however.

Whenever there is a shooting in America, and they happen with shocking regularity, many gun-toting wannabe vigilantes will say, “if I had been there, I would have shot the bad guy down, but I can’t carry my .357 Magnum because of the goddamned pinko, liberal faggots in power.” Ok, Mr. Harry, and when the “good guy” cops come and everyone is waving a 45 or brandishing a Belgian SCAR assault rifle, whom are they to shoot???? It would be high noon at the OK Corral, and the result would be the ending of Reservoir Dogs. Everyone is dead. No good guys, no bad guys. Everyone is dead.

While recently driving from New Mexico, back to Texas with my young daughter when we were visiting the States again, we stopped at the border, at a gas station just inside the New Mexican State line. As I was in the bathroom two men were complaining that the government would not stop at guns, but would soon ban silverware and steering wheels (I kid you not, that’s how absurd it got), because “steering wheels could be used as lethal weapons.” The second, a burly Texan responded, “I just wish I could kill the half of the population that voted the son-of-a-bitch back into office.” And they left. Yep, back at “High Noon” at the Corral.

I personally have never owned a gun, something that has shocked many people here in Europe. In college, a friend of mine and I took a road trip up to Canada. At the border, the man asked if we had anything to declare. Nope. He saw our Texas license plate and asked quite sternly, “are you carrying any guns?” Nope. Somewhat surprised, “do you own any guns?” Nope. Now, very surprised, and with a friendly wave, he said, “Welcome to Canada!”

My father loved guns, though a special kind, mainly black powder rifles and pistols that he made himself. I went shooting a couple of times with him, and trust me, I know the kick of shooting a gun, at a target… I get it, and I like to shoot a bow and arrow as well, at a target, not at a human being. Would I use lethal force against someone harming my daughter, yes, if it came down to it. So, it is a paradox. I get it. The NRA suggesting that President Obama was a hypocrite for having armed guards for his daughters was nothing short of ridiculous. It is precisely because there are lunatics out there with AK 47’s and so forth.

There has been conspiracy that the Newtown shooting was staged so that Obama’s administration could ban guns. The Obama administration has not even put this on high priority until now. It was not a driven agenda for the past term.  In addition, I repeat, it is not an abolition of guns, it is a control of a specific type of a massive killing machine that is not even used for target practice. The hysteria that can be whipped up at moment’s is nothing short of mind-boggling.

I don’t see an endgame on either side. It’s a draw, and that’s what I’m afraid of.

Into the Slipstream

When Fall comes around, I am reminded of my childhood time in Kentucky. Or rather, when I am in a place where Fall comes around since it didn't really last year when I was in India, and sometimes in Austin it was a blink of the eye, but here in Belgium, Fall is a serious season, spanning several months with a multi-colored display of foliage and the world-famous orchard harvest from the Haspengouw areas. Belgium is replete with trees and when the Fall falls, there are a LOT of leaves.

Today, I saw a group of kids playing in huge piles of leaves that they had made. However, given that this is the Time that it is, they of course were filming it all on smart phones, probably sending uploads to everyone within seconds of having just plunged into the swiftly decaying midden heap of leaves.

Back in the day, in Kentucky, of course we did not have the smart phones to share our experience, but it was such great fun to rake up giant piles of Poplar, Maple, and Oak leaves and taking off like Charlie Brown go flying into them, smelling the damp, musty, earthy aroma that is unmistakably the perfume of Autumn's enchantment.

Though this is no new sentiment, it is again through the eyes of youth that we realize how jaded we can become, how needy we are for entertainment, for something to happen, for something to mean something, for Time to go by and we "got something done," and for the sense of feeling guilty for wanting to do something silly or fun, or taking the Time to rake up a whole pile of leaves, just for the sake of scattering them again, like Buddhist monks spending weeks on a sand mandala, only to whisk it away with a dry branch.

We want permanence in an impermanent world. What is wrong with this picture? I was thinking about what it would be like if one had grown up in an equatorial region and then for the first time, without anyone telling that person what was happening, to then travel somewhere where the Summer turned to Fall. Think about that. It would seem as if literally the entire world was dying! What a shock that would be. It would signal the end of the seemingly permanent status of sun up/sun down at 6 and 6 with the same temperature all year round. Suddenly, the impermanence of Reality would be thrust upon you. Without warning, that would be overwhelming to say the least, not to mention Winter.

I was talking with my daughter the other day about the difference amongst the divisions of Time: seconds, minutes, hours, days, months, and years, etc. We were talking about how the mo(o)nths are related to the Moon and the year to the Sun. There was an eclipse the other day in Australia, which thinking of Twain, is yet another instance of thrusting the seemingly permanent existence of the Sun and/or Moon into a tailspin of impermanence and Chaos. Again, imagine the impact of that if one did not know what was happening...

But, that is like our lives and memories. We try to fix some sense of pattern upon an ever-changing stream of vicissitudes, grasping at the bank of the river of Time as we float on down, having the bank of the Present "seem" to recede in the Past.

And, then, at times, with the smell or sight, those two come crashing together in some Proustian digression, as when I thought back to diving headlong into the leaves in our backyard in Brownsboro Farms outside of Louisville. But, as soon as it was there, it was gone and I was back in Antwerp, nearly 40 years later...

The seasons do bring out reflections if we let them, or they can signal hope, or for others despair. Yet, they will continue, and to stubbornly hold onto the Summer, when the Fall is here, is futile. Let go of the bank and enjoy the ride down the slipstream... 

In a Fog

Living in a foreign country has many challenges.

Belgium has no shortage of them.

Currently I have just moved from probably one of the most amazing neighborhoods in northern Europe, that of the Zurenborg area of Antwerp to another beautiful neighborhood, but without the dynamics of life that my former place had. I am sad, but at the same time, the move was necessary. I am closer to my daughter's school and she has more of her own space.

However, I am in a fog about where exactly I fit in in this society. Am I an ex-pat? Yes and no. Am I a conjugal EU citizen? Yes and no. Am I merely an American who has found himself as a stranger in a strange land? Yes and no.

Recently there were elections for the local level and Bart De Wever was voted in as the new Mayor of Antwerp. Make no mistake, Mr. De Wever is extremely intelligent, but I question his motives. Being part of the nationalistic movement, he wishes that Flanders succeeds to its own "country". Now, not that it could not do so, but it is a bit odd being mayor of one of the few cities that literally has representation from almost every country on the planet. There are residents from 173 countries in this city. Think about that. Seriously, let that sink in.

And, yet, the city just elected an elitist, exclusionary mayor. I am confused. Antwerp has been a world center for 500 years. I seriously doubt that Rubens, a friend of the Mayor at the time would have supported such exclusion. Known to be fluent in about 8 languages and was the diplomat par example, Rubens was what made Antwerp a city on the map.

I don't know what will happen with Antwerp and/or Flanders. I fear the tribalism that is rampant, but it is a sign of the times. All the while, Europeans are criticizing America for being narrow minded, Europe in the background is becoming more and more limited in its scope.

People in glass houses should not throw stones I guess is the motto... Or, when in a Fog, don't drive too fast...

Syncretism

One of the things that I hear all too often about myself is that I am “not a typical American…” One of the things I have noticed living abroad is that many cultures love to throw around that phrase, “typical American,” as if 300 million people are all the same. I have realized too that the more I am in such cultures, I tend towards using the “typical” brand as well. And, well, there are clichéd and stereotypical Americans, Belgians, Italians, Indians, and so forth. So, it is a bit of a Catch-22.  So, no I am not a “typical American,” though at times, I am very much so.

However, what living in various countries has done for me is to learn a sense of syncretism, or bringing lots of viewpoints into my own belief system. This, of course, infuriates a purist, who will lament me as not taking a stand. Or, like Jim Hightower is attributed as saying that the only thing in the middle of the road is a yellow line and dead armadillos.

Well, count me in with the fallen armadillos. I am neither pro-American, nor Anti-American. I am neither for religion, nor against. I am neither Republican, nor Democrat.

Well, who the hell am I? What do I stand for?

I believe in the process and the bigger picture, one, that as Kant said, is just too damn big for us humans to comprehend. I will not take a stand on the big questions as the jury is still out for me. Is this world Good, or is it Evil? I don’t know, it is still going along, and will most likely do so long after the last human is scratching his or her cranium thinking about that question.

Though it is impossible to really, really, really live just in the moment, I do try. Yes, I am a product of my Past and the composition of my Future hopes, dreams, and desires, but we really only can process what is happening now, as we cannot change what has, nor fully predict what will.

Yet, with the combination of what we have learned, and what we wish to do, that informs us at every moment, fleeting as it may be, and gives us choices to make. Perhaps that is where I am a “typical American,” as I do believe in choices, and I do believe in the precepts of Freedom and Independence that shaped my country, regardless of the atrocities against such concepts that it itself has incurred upon itself and others.

Do we contradict ourselves? Yes, we do. As Walt Whitman wrote, “Do I contradict myself? Very Well, then I contradict myself.” We fear contradictions, and I know that I am guilty of that, both contradicting myself and pointing it out in others. However, it is the apparent contradictions that do bring a variety to our lives, for better or for worse. The best thing we can do is to learn to incorporate such diversity and contradiction into our lives, so that we can continue to move forward, and to avoid being paralyzed by the thought.

Hey Man, Can you Spare some Change?

Well, another election, another election that I am not living in America. Coincidence, or not? Not sure myself on that one.

During the 2004 elections I was living in Castiglione Fiorentino, a quaint hill-top hamlet in Tuscany, teaching for a Study Abroad consortium of Italart under the auspices of The University of Texas at Austin.

I am neither Democrat, nor Republican, but choose to choose upon the issues. Some candidates from either party are always the better choice from one’s own party line. And, there are those who are on the fringe who also have something to say.

Recently, I was made an “honorary” member of a highly prestigious English university’s water polo team due to a very random turn of events, which I will digress to at another time. However, something came out of that chance encounter that I have wanted to address for some time now.

During the course of the evening following the water polo tournament in which I was made such a figure for this team, I was showing them around Antwerp and providing them with a balanced tour of fun and information about a town I truly love. However, at one point, things took a rather odd and somewhat sinister turn.

When we were at one of my favo(u)rite cafes in town, De Muze, for some reason the conversation switched to politics, and took on an accelerated anti-American stance which bore its hydra-like head from a comment I had made about Plato’s Republic that the danger of a democracy can be a tyranny, and that his solution, much to the acclaim of those monarchists amongst us, was that it was an enlightened Monarch, or solitary ruler.

Well, if history is to serve us well, perhaps the one and only enlightened “Monarch” was Marcus Aurelius, a man who struggled with his designation above all others and who spent his “free” time steeped in philosophical pursuits in line of Epictetus and others about the real Stoic nature of the way things are.

However, what happened, and I will not rehearse the entire events as not to make certain characters the protagonist and others the antagonist, it came down to my country, the USA being excoriated by a group of highly educated, yet naïve British youths and a few overly opinionated Belgians joining in the fray to tell me how bad my country was and that it had in fact already morphed into a tyranny from a democracy because of our two-party system that was “one.”

If you have caught your breath now, which it took me longer to do than four games of water polo after over four years hiatus from the sport, I tried to rejoinder, only to be “boo-ed” down by the Brits and passively-aggressively snubbed by the Belgians. The kicker was that NONE of these people had ever been to the USA, thus it was all theoretical, and I have been and lived in everyone to theirs...

My country a Tyranny? Wow, I think not. Which brings me back to the origin of this thought. When I was in Italy and Bush II “won” the election, the atmosphere was demoralizing at best. We found out that all ex-pat votes for that election did not make it to the polls, a margin that would have easily tipped the scales.

The morning after, on the intelligentsia newspaper, La Repubblica, it was black, with the caption that more or less said, “Darkness falls upon America.” That was echoed across the European continent. Whereas the days before when I went to get a coffee in the morning at the local café, and was greeted warmly, suddenly, because I was American, everything changed. I felt it. The students felt it. My ex, who is Belgian, did not, and said I was exaggerating. Well, it was visceral. Being American, post Cold War, is not the exciting, engaging experience it was for several decades. Now, one needs to be aware, for if not, things can turn on a dime, as they did with my cadre of water polo mates from across the Channel.

When Obama was elected I was living in Antwerp again already. I remember the moment, as some remember Kennedy being shot, the Space Shuttle exploding, or whatnot, but I remember it well. I was driving my mother-in-law’s car at the time and heard the speech from Chicago. The radio announcer from Studio Brussel began to cry. I began to cry. Not because Obama was “my man” but because I realized that Change came come to America, and it does. Maybe not in Washington, but it is still a country that shows us we can be who we want to be.

Europe, in general, is toe the line. Status Quo. I see it every day and am amazed about how, as an American, I think about other solutions to problems, but, Europe remains the Old World. America the “New World” and India, a place that changed my life in many ways is the “Real World.”

I get caught up in the mundane. I have to. You have to, dear reader, that is a fact.

However, is the mundane the “real”?  I think not. America is  not a tyranny, Europe is not better off, and “Asia” (a very dubious title) is not a new emergent threat. Guess what? It’s been there for a very long time. Wake up people. Change is what you make of it…

I Was Born in the U.S.A.

I was indeed born in the USA, as was my daughter, though she has the added dimension of also being half-Belgian, and by extension, for the time being (meaning the fate of the EU that is), European. Both are something that some may forever see as a boon and/or a bane, a blessing and/or a curse.

For my own case, I have experienced both sides, being the recipient and the progenitor of vitriolic effusions about my homeland, but on the flipside, have also over Time, and as a result of extended travel to other ports of call around the world, have also respected and admired the uniqueness of a country like the USA and likewise defended it tooth and nail at times when I realized an antagonist knew next to nothing about my country. It is not an exaggeration to say that no other country on this planet has existed as such, nor will. Like it or not, the USA is something special. That is not out of grandiosity or patriotism, but rather from my own experience.

Before I traveled extensively, as I have done in the past quarter of a century, I was, however, rather naïve and “patriotic” about America (and yes, I fully understand and respect the various Americas such as northern North (Canada), Central and South, but for convenience sake, I speak now of America, the 48 contiguous states and the final two stars on the flag, Alaska and Hawai'i). But, when the rest of the world speaks about Americans, they usually are referring to those of us from the US.

When I first truly went abroad, when my sister married her first husband in Scotland, I landed on the parallel universe of the Plymouth Rock of my ancestors, that is, Victoria Station in London. I will never forget the ensuing rush of emotions and confusion and fascination that raced through my mind. I had re-arrived… My ex-wife often described a similar experience when she arrived in JFK for an AFS year abroad experience. Even if we do not land in the same place, it is interesting to know that we often can feel more at home in a completely foreign culture than the one we have grown up in., whether we are from there or not

Such was the case, and such, such were the days.

Over the years, if nothing else, I have gained new perspectives on being American and not-being American, and the middle road of just Be-ing me. It is a process and a journey, about which I have written, photographed, talked, listened, and just sat, thinking about.

The issue of my daughter’s own mixed heritage came up front and center as we flew into Brussels yesterday and were greeted in a very unfriendly manner at Immigration because we were only traveling with her US passport and not her Belgian one as well. She has made this trip nearly a dozen times in her young life already and nearly half of them alone with me and this was never an issue, until this individual made it so. The frustration lay not in the fact that we were accosted, but the way he spoke to us as “Americans” who just thought that we could waltz into Belgium. Well, I pay Belgian taxes and have paid my dues otherwise, so it rang very falsely in my ears.

But, I am also aware of the enormous struggles of Immigration from people going into the US as well, most directly my ex-wife, who is Belgian and my dear friend who is Colombian by birth and the trials and tribulations her family experienced over the years.

It is a tricky thing, the place where one is born and what “nationality” one actual is. For now, my daughter fits in perfectly in America as an American, speaking American English, but the second she sets foot in Belgium, she is “European” and speaks fluent Flemish. I have never had that luxury as all of the languages I have studied have been constant efforts and consequently I am perennially the “foreigner.”

Our language, our mannerisms, our political views, our religions convictions, our food habits, ways of dress, thoughts on sex, thoughts on marriage, thoughts on cultural heritage, views of family structures, economic situations, and countless other things all add up to the calculus of who we are and where we “fit in” or don’t

For me, I was indeed born an American, though in a Native American hospital, the one white baby in there at the time, from what I have been told and perhaps from the beginning at times I have been the odd one out. Going back and forth from the US to Europe and recently India provides me each time with a new perspective, both about the boons and the banes, and everything in between.