Diplomatic Love in Warsaw

For two days during our LGBTI meeting in cold and rainy Warsaw, I was trying to figure out why the Chilean ambassador was in attendance. He rsvp’d a week before and Kerry (my colleague) and I were confused because it was a “working level” government meeting. We quickly scrambled to add him to the opening ceremony.

He arrived with a member of his staff and his teenage son, who appeared to be around 15. The ambassador gave his brief opening remarks, which were rather unremarkable. I had expected a fiery and dynamic human rights speech from a forceful character. Instead, a diminutive man with silver hair and a dapper mustache quietly said all the right things in a more stilted than eloquent speech.

We did not hear from him again until the end of the second day. But he sat through the entire session. He was not on his phone and took only one phone call, which is unheard of for an ambassador. He did not ask questions and his son had an attentive if slightly bored expression throughout.

At the end of day 2, the ambassador stood up from his chair and thanked us. He issued a call for Poland-based members of the group to continue to convene and dialogue around LGBTI issues. Amazing! We have got this diplomat!

At dinner that night I asked Kerry why he thought the ambassador stayed. He told me it was because his son is transitioning to a boy. The ambassador spent two days deeply engaged in LGBTI foreign policy for the love of his son. Kerry, who is a transgender man, was told this by the ambassador during a coffee break. There was visible relief and joy on his face when Kerry told him he was trans. Kerry and the boy had a long and hopeful chat. Kerry offered advice he wished he had when he was this boy’s age: take your time, reach out any time, you are not alone, it gets better.

The ambassador confided that his wife was not handling the news well. She refused to spend much time in Poland and instead stayed mostly in Chile. And so, this quiet, dignified diplomat who has an official role sitting atop a known machismo culture had taken the lead in loving his son for who he is. He is using his power to edify this love and support.

As Kerry retold this backstory, tears sprung to my eyes. I realized I had been witness to a parent’s purest and most unconditional love for his child through the quiet diplomacy of this wonderful man.

Kaepernick

Last Sunday, I changed my Facebook photo to Colin Kaepernick and shared Dan Rather's reflection on the next way in which the current resident at the White House divides us. While hardly daring, my rare expression on social media does make me feel less helpless in trying moments. As Monday rolled in and reflection after reflection was posted, I found myself filling up with anxiety, hovering at near post-2016 election levels. Why?

I was panicking about racism. Not just that it's been exposed, but also because I fear a new generation of racists is rising. With Obama there was progress, but racism didn't go away. Indeed, Mitch McConnell and his band of racists fucks made it clear that they would at every turn further institutionalize it. Nevertheless, it felt we were beating it and now it doesn't. It's been festering all along...

This morning I listened to a lovely white male sportscaster eloquently state the issue at hand. Many have. This isn't about right to protest. Or how to protest. This is about people of color stepping out of line. This was a racist reaction to a peaceful protest by THEM.

He used a phrase that immediately named my agita. He said that 45's tweets and the corresponding booing cretons at ballparks was a dog whistle.

Yes. Exactly.

People are using "freedom" and "disrespect" as a substitute for "black lives DON'T matter." And worse, some people are now emboldened to go beyond dog whistles and demurred hate by simply being racist out loud and proud. E.g., the disgusting comments from the horrible fire chief in Pittsburgh.

People who are saying Colin and others can't protest are really saying, "stop acting out of line, black people." And the dog whistle scares me, because so many people are answering it and waking to it. Racism is happening and new racism is to come...

My bike got this week stolen. It feels terrible. As I walked up to the bike rack at eastern market station I noticed my helmet and bike lock on the ground. I stared at the rack, and then around as if perchance to glimpse it misplaced somewhere in the vicinity. I looked for a police officer...a patrol car was going by but I'd have to run to catch it. I looked in my phone for a regular number of a nearby station. I couldn't find one. I called 311 and got a series of irrelevant extensions. I started to dial 911. What?! This is dc. You do not call 911 for a bike. 

Time was ticking. I needed to get Austin in 10 minutes. I picked up the lock and helmet and started walking away, slower than I needed to, my eyes futilely darting around.

I hailed a taxi and unloaded my sadness on him. "My bike was stolen!" I declared before I got my seat belt on. His reaction was the instant validation I needed. "What? Oh, no! That's terrible!" Yes, ok, I thought...maybe it was ok to feel as bad as I did.

He continued to pontificate about how horrible the person was who stole my bike. "We make," he said emphatically, "and they destroy." 

Then, of course, I felt bad. "It's only a bike. It was not even worth very much (I don't think). He must have needed it more than I did."

I miss my bike. It had Austin's baby seat on it. Just that morning I wondered how much longer he'd be in it, because his latest pair of sneakers didn't fit in the little feet holders.

As I contemplate my bike, I reflect on privilege. My privilege in particular. My privilege to feel bad about my missing "thing" when so many others struggle to eat or stay safe. My privilege to live a life so comfortable that a stolen bike can make me feel so bad. My privilege to afford to start looking for a new one.

Finally, I tie it back to my privilege to live in such a bubble that I was hoping against hope that we were moving beyond racism. I know racism is a constant presence in people of color's lives and I see it in DC daily life. I have deluded myself, however, into thinking we were moving away from it. 

Hence, this is my repulsion to those who disagree with the NFL protests. I didn't want to think we are sliding back. Quite frankly, I didn't want to think about racism full stop.

As a biracial person with light skin, I have far more of a choice to dip in and out of the pain of racism. These recent events remind me of that. That choice should not opt me out of action against racism, toward healing and eventually prosperity through equality. Lofty, yes. Yet, if masterminds of hate can lay forth their malignant goals, surely it must be met by an attack plan of love and equality. 

Together we must rise indeed.

Staring at the sun

Ok, I did it. I looked up directly into the sun during the eclipse. I could use the excuse that I didn't have glasses. But I would have done it anyway.

Eventually I asked a random stranger if I could borrow his eclipse glasses and he obliged. "Wow! Amazing!!" I immediately shouted. It was a huge difference. I saw the crescent sun! I had no idea the sun was that eclipsed, because it wasn't that dark. Amazing.

The best part of the eclipse was sharing he moment with all the office workers on  K street. It felt like a big moment. It was a big moment. Thousands gathered on sidewalks and rooftops across Washington, DC. A vision and feeling of unity so desperately sought in these depressing times of failing politics and declining social cohesion.

Yes, that's really the first thing I thought as I looked up. We need moments like these. Offline, off media, off print, in real life where concepts and ideals yield to passion and experiential community. Is that a thing? Well, it is now.

I liked the eclipse. I liked seeing people exclaim with glee, like I did. They came together to nerd out with completely uninformed theories about astrophysics. And felt a lot better about their day.

Stranger in a Strange Land

The first day of work is a tour de force of emotions. For me it's a mix of 75% anxiety, 24% adrenaline fueled by anxiety and 1% hopefulness. 

This week I started a new job for the first time in almost five years. When I think that in the not too distant past I started a new job every 18 months or so, I am amazed. It is a lot to take on board. Yes, the learning curve is there but that didn't even really come into view amidst navigating a new commute, finding and accessing my office and the countless steps that come with on-boarding to a civil servant job.

The tales of those steps are myriad and mundane. Let's sum up by calling it the old "two steps forward two steps back" routine added to my penchant for mediocrely bad luck. To quote my contractor escort: "wow this is amazing. I've never seen it like this." Well, I have. Ending day one with my coveted badge felt like climbing Everest (this took longer, but perhaps with less physical exertion unless you count palpitations.) 

I will need several more trips to the IT department so have befriended Bernie and Rose there. Some sort of Herculean bureaucratic maneuvers to get my social security number corrected in the system are still needed.

My birthplace is listed in the system as "Palmyra Atoll." I will give you a moment to google it. I had to. A tiny uninhabited island near Hawaii and not really close to Pennsylvania, where I was actually born. When I hear that I immediately assume malfeasance. Amazingly, my colleagues did not. Everyone keeps a patient smirk on their faces and explains "it will take time..." and "it's like drinking from a fire hose."

The job I'm taking is a bit of a back seat compared to my last in the sense that I am taking a step back from direct implementation and into a role that selects implementers. This is a fantasy for many NGO people who spend so much time chasing donors.

I just hope they have internet access in Palmyra Atoll so that I can take on this new role!

Insomnia or keystone cops?

A disclaimer: I am a shite sleeper.

That said, I've had accomplices of late. Austin has been waking consistently at 3:30am to pee for the last two weeks. Without a diaper this has been a middle of the night laundry tour de force. (By the way, the mommy hack of 'just throw a towel over it' doesn't work.)

we've returned to nighttime diapers. No shame in it. Shame does not deter the desire for sleep! Wearing diapers at night has resulted in Austin still waking and asking to go to the bathroom, where a bleary-eyed yet frenzied diaper removal and toilet mounting process ensues.

Some nights Austin goes right back to sleep. Good for him. I don't. Other nights he needs me to hang with him for a while. Fun!

When it really becomes a blast is when the dog enters into the fray. Like tonight. Jeter work me up at 2:30am needing to go outside. (Yes, it was my fault for feeding him a porkchop bone at dinner. Usually he tolerates these just fine.)

I finish letting him out and return upstairs and note two things: I'm wide awake and it's 2:45, which means Austin will wake at 3:30. Fun! Again!

At 3:30 and a half, Austin wakes. This time he has peed in his diaper. Hooray! However, the diaper has massively leaked. Boo!

The sheet is minimally wet, so I just this a towel over it 😉 I change Austin and return him to bed. 

I go and lie down and read horrible 45 articles for a few minutes and then I hear Austin and the dog both whimpering. 

Austin needs some water. I give him a sip and explain that I need to let Jeter out (again). He astutely senses my level of frustration and let's me leave.

I go downstairs whisper yelling at the dog (damn it Jeter what's wrong with you, etc.) and let him out. I watch from the window as he finds a poop spot by trampling my only Canna lily. If he goes for the phlox I'm going to strangle him. He mildly tramples the outskirts of the phlox. Once he's done his business and descends from my flower bed, he incorrectly chooses to go for a little stroll around the yard. I whisper yell him back to the house. 

It's now 4:16am and I'm so tired, I want to cry.

(Posted a week later)

Wonder Woman, Wonder Full

There are three reasons why Wonder Woman is an awesome movie:

1. It is a kickass, bells and whistles, best of Hollywood action film.

2. For those who loved her as a kid, it confirms your idolization and reminds you of why you loved her.

3. Women are woke. How else to say that this felt like the boomerang from 2016 that we all needed?

To start with the last point first and to paraphrase my insane speech on November 10, 2016, I'm not going to apologize for loving Wonder Woman, because she has been a hero of mine my whole life. Sure, she is fictional and dresses pretty skimpy and is insanely beautiful. So what? Ladies, given the brutal reality of sexism and inequality, don't we need a little let-loose fantasy? Can it be ok to look up on that big screen and see a woman literally kicking everyone's ass for justice and love? Well, it was for me. Beyond ok, I was literally flinging my arms with each punch, pumping my fists and "yas-ing" like crazy. It is vindication. It is the supercharge I need to stay woke!

On the second point, I was a five year old feminist. I didn't know this, of course, but I played soccer better than the boys, sung "I am the Warrior" at the top of my lungs and I loved Wonder Woman. I had her Underroos. I watched Lynda Carter kick some ass. I LOVED it. With female role models few and far between in the 70s and 80s and before the age of (much needed) political correctness, I just freaking loved her, her myth and her legend. This film fills in all the fuzzy details that created that adoration.

On the first point: see this film. It's worth the price of admission. Yes, I usually prefer smaller, independent and *gasp* even foreign films (see "Samba" immediately if you haven't already). But Top Gun, Independence Day and even Rocky IV are some of the best cinematic experiences of my life. Imagine the best, great Hollywood action movie you have seen and double it. Plus, LOVE saves the day!

I saw this movie on my own, on a Tuesday morning, with about 10 others in the theater. The movie ended and I was filled with such joy, I couldn't move. I finally got up, made it to my car and burst into tears. How thrilling to have one's childhood fantasies of the legit female superhero so utterly fulfilled?  Now THAT is why we love the movies.

American Values

Last night I was skyping with Hayden who is in Bangladesh and when we inevitably drifted to politics, he said, “American values are free speech and greed.”

This comment took me back to my years living in New York City in the late 90s; the ‘Sex and the City’ years. I once had a friend visiting from Ireland say to me, “New York is so superficial.” I was confused by this statement. New York was (is) the best place on Earth. In that moment, however, I saw this rather obvious criticism for the first time.

As we are bombarded daily by the new reality of the US government, above all things, I come back to this reflection on greed. Most of those who ‘have’ are clearly wanting to keep it that way. Those like me, just outside the 1 % (ok, 10%), are pretty comfy too. Those who are way outside the 1% see material things deluge our society and are constantly reminded of all that they don’t have.

Me. Mine. Not theirs. Not them. Is greed really the dominant American value? Why?

I see left-leaning, predominantly white and privileged America waking to this as it finally impinges on them or someone they know. I see white kids with Black Lives Matter posters and think, “weird,” and then I think, “good,” and then I remember my giant Keith Haring Anti-Apartheid poster from college and think “oh…right.” I see LGBTI and Black people saying, “we told you we couldn’t let up on the fight for our rights.”

In a personal quest to become mindful, active and woke, I just finished Colson Whitehead’s Underground Railroad, a book I read to remember and respect the pain and humiliation of slavery. When I finished it, I thought: this is how far we have come and how far we have to go. How do we stop the collapse in the value of all human life? In Syria, South Sudan, Eastern Kentucky, and neighborhoods just blocks away from my own house in DC, is it already too late?

As a mom of a 3 year old, I understand that teaching empathy and other antidotes of greed are really hard. My son said to me the other day, “mommy, I need soccer shoes.” I thought, how does he even know about soccer shoes? And how did he figure out “I need” = “I want” already?! It’s not easy and I search for ways to push against the tide of greed that I see at the root of what’s happening in America today in our families, communities and government.

Do we run to a place like New Zealand or Denmark? I won’t lie, I’ve made inquiries.

Today, I paused at lunch time and took 18 minutes (18 whole minutes) to watch the Pope’s message on tenderness. I made myself watch it, because I knew it would be good and because I needed it. As he said, we are becoming “a culture of waste” and we “place products at our core instead of people.” He also said that hope starts with one person and builds into a “revolution of us.” I do not agree with the Pope on everything. One day, for example, I hope he and the Catholic Church will understand that women’s rights are human rights.

I don’t have to agree with everything that everyone says though. This is a hard truth for me (& most of us) to live. I’m not ready to go off to a red state and debate vaginas. I am ready to accept that in order to fight against the value and structure of greed in our society, we must choose tenderness, empathy, and above all else, love for ourselves and for everyone else.