July 17 - 05

Hello Everybody!
That is my favourite greeting now. I had a teacher in college who always opened every class with that greeting and I found it hilarious! You have to say it kind of like a Sesame Street character for it to work well. So, thanks Erv; I attribute this greeting to you.
If you want off this list, let me know. If you're new, then I should tell you that I am in Akron, Pa, at orientation for MCC (www.mcc.org) before going to Tel Aviv this coming Thursday, to work with/ for Zochrot (www.zochrot.org). Okay, that's that.
Yesterday I went to Washington DC. Please take a moment to pause and imagine me all alone walking around a packed-out Mall area! And not shopping mall, Mall.
Here's how it went. The Fehrs, who are a Jordan-bound Manitoban family had worked it out with Andrea (West Bank bound) to take them into DC and show them the sights. I heard about it and used my smiling charm to get on board. The drive was really cool. We got to see a bridge that was burned out from the civil war, still in Pa. From my understanding it is all tied up in the Gettysburg deal (also in Pa.). We stopped at a rest-area in Maryland and I have never seen so many people taking a break at the same time. There were well over a hundred cars; it really reinforced to me how empty Canada is. If you think the "Grouse Grind" is a cheesy overpopulated place, get a load of tourist destinations in America!
One thing I really noticed was how many highways there are here! We must have taken ten or so different highways to get where we were going. No wonder Andrea was required; we would have been sunk without her. There was a really cool lightning and thunder storm on the drive in and I mostly listened to Pink Floyd albums, which a friend of mine recorded on an mp3 disc for me. I was also reading God's Politics by Jim Wallis, which I will get into later.
We arrived at the furthest outpost of the GreenLine metro station, parked the maroon minivan and proceeded to the station. After several minutes of totally futile attempts by me to buy myself a ticket from the machine, Andrea helped me do it. I felt really dumb because I couldn't even figure that out. I remember being humbled at my couch-sitting criticism of those in the Amazing Race television game show. The subway ride into DC's center was interesting. I was speaking with one lady, whom I could barely understand. She was complaining about the horrible music out there today and how graphic and dirty and terrible it is. She was bringing up all these old-school Soul and R/B names, most of whom I didn't recognise. Well, I know who Aretha Franklyn is. She's from Chicago and had some really cool "mmmhmmm" sounds and "tsk"s. Boy was she full of passion! I was trying to tell her about wilco from Chicago and she snapped, "I ain't gon rememba that; gimme the name of a hit they had." I told her they were not top 40 and she kept saying "whey dey now?" She was saying that for nearly everyband that she mentioned, most of whom, as I already said, I hadn't heard of. When I'd say, "doesn't ring a bell," she'd say "mmmhmmm; whey dey now?" She was cool though and let me laugh with her. She repeated herself a lot, which I thought was also rather funny. But she didn't mind me laughing. She just got more energised! She got a kick out of me getting a kick out of her punchline.
She eventually got back to "that one from Chicago...Whey dey now?" (wilco) and asked me to tell her the name of an album. I told her the newest one is The Ghost is Born and she said "Oh, I like dat; I'll rememba dat!" It was a lot of fun. Then she started complaining about the dirtiness of music and how it all is the same lyrics of "$%#$ that $#%$# and $%^# my $#@# and ..." Then the very next sentence she says, "do you know whos really good? Eminen! You listen to him? I mean, you really listen? mmmhmmm, heh heh, that boy is fine!" That, I found, was extremely confusing, but prudence deterred me from challenging the contradiction. She didn't really want me to talk anyway; so it was a good partnership, taking up the twenty minute ride.
We changed trains, I wished my new friend a good day, and sooner than I realized we were coming up into the muggy muggy air. Downtown DC! I felt weird! It is amazing: the first hour or so I felt so uncomfotable and so unsafe. I was scared to look at anyone, except of course my train friend - she started the conversation.
As I came up to the main ground, we were right smack in the middle of the huge mall area between the enormous Washington monument and the Capitol building. Excuse my total ignorance, here; but I had no idea that the Whitehouse was not the Capitol building. I always thought that congress and the Senate all met at the Whitehouse. Before you start laughing at me, remember that I am an America-phobic Canadian who has specifically shunned knowledge of America for the last half-decade (in other words, give me a Break!). One thing I remember impressing itself upon me was how much power existed in the immediate buildings around me. And also the grand majesty of it all. I found it irrellevant how I FEEL about America, I was totally swept up in how I was in the hub of where it all goes down! I started to laugh. I am not sure if it was nerves or just the irony that I, Darren, was in DC.
We decided that we needed lunch first, before going to the various Smithsonian museums. Andrea, who had lived ten years in DC, knew it well and took us to the old Post Office, which is now a tourist site and a food court. On the walk there, there were two dudes setting up their garbage cans and 5-gallon pails and pulling out their "drumsticks" which were thicker than timpani mallets. They busked on a corner the ENTIRE five hours we were at the Mall area. I could hear them from several kilometers away, at one point. I'm serious!
So, we turned off of Constitution Ave and started to walk in a side door of the Post Office, because of less line-ups. What we gave up in majestic entrances, we gained in not waiting in lines. There was an X ray machine and a metal detector we had to go through and myriad gun-toting security guards. Andrea said it's normal for security guards in America to carry guns. I told her that our security guards in Canada can't even have pepper spray. What different realities.
While the kids ate hot dogs, which I internally struggled over not protesting (for American hotdogs are notorious), I had a veggie sandwich which was overpriced and undertasty. I decided enough was enough and got a stack of onion rings, just to add to my own feelings of gross. Everything felt germy and I washed my hands before lunch, after lunch, and after our elevator ride to the look-out. One thing I will give credit for in DC is how all the attractions are FREE. Just the right price for me. There were the typical gimmics, like getting your picture taken with a digital camera that imposes you shaking Georgie Porgie's hand or giving the thumbs up with him. One thing I noticed right away was just how many people had Pro America shirts on. I did a rough count of the food court, then again, outside at the Mall and realized that it must be at least one in ten people, maybe even more.
We took an elevator up to the top floor, above the bells that Britain gave America on 1976 (200 yr anniversary). From our vantage point we could see the Pentagon, a glimpse of the Whitehouse, the various plethora of monuments and government buildings. I was still feeling unsafe and overwhelmed at this point; yet felt a profound sense of importance (?) at seeing such notable centers of American power. I was down and waiting ten minutes for the others because I got weirded out. One thing that I did notice which amazed me was how close Dulles airport is to everything governmental. Planes were coming in so low and close to the Pentagon, I coulndn't help but recreate the scene of 9/11 in my mind. It was rather sobering.
Andrea took us along Pennsilvania Ave (although we didn't go to the Whitehouse itself) and I stood kitty corner to the J Edgar Hoover building (FBI headquarters), with the IRS just behind me. I thought of Geoff Baart and how he could so easily climb up the IRS building. Andrea told me that he'd make it five feet before being given an ultimatum to come down or get capped. We saw the Department of Justice with their lies proudly inscribed into the walls (all men are equal...that kind of crap). Then we went into the Smithsonian museum of Natural History. It was so packed. I don't think I have ever seen that many people crammed into one place. Not even at Canada's Wonderland. Maybe at some big concerts I've been to, could it ever compare.
I started to panic and we set a time, 5:45, to meet back at the metro station. I got a free map from an info lady and prepared myself to join the throng. I had four and a half hours to see what I wanted to see. The only problem is, I had NEVER thought about what I wanted to see and realised that I didn't actually care about seeing anything. I just came so I could say I've been!
Okay, I thought, I'll check this museum out. I started on the first floor at the mammals section. I had no idea how much looking at dead stuffed animals would really depress me. All I could think about was white dudes in knee socks and cheesy tan clothes killing animals so they could take 'em home to show everyone. What was really hard for me were the displays with whole families of animals, even little teeny-weeny baby cuties, obviously trapped by the whities, 'cause the bullets would have just torn them to bits. There was a blue whale hanging from the ceiling, full-sized elephants, giraffes, Grizzlies, Moose... Noah's Ark Called!
Well, that was depressing, and I sped through it in five or ten minutes. I was full-on zigging and zagging through people, pushing my way past summer-camp groups and Boy Scouts and raging parents and heaps upon heaps of Asians and distraught mothers who were literally screaming the names of their lost children. It was intense! SO many people. And it was like a maze. I got all turned around and kept looping and looping, like DAvid Bowie's Labrynth. Finally, I made it back to the lobby again and took the elevator to floor number two. I saw the Hope Diamond and gave it the Canadian salute, along with hundreds (I mean hundreds) of precious gems, jewels and stones. I gave them all the Canadian salute as I raced around, muttering to myself how I could barely see for the blood soaking through the display cases. Tourists were taking pictures of everything and little kids were begging their parents to take a photo of them with this shiny thing or that. It was horrible. I booked it through there faster than anyone had ever gone through, I am positive. I was speed-walking and again, always with the zig-zag, 'cause of all the peeps everywhere.
Then I made it to the Ice-Age, Dinosaur, Evolution, Science exhibit and thought of KP and my brother and how they would have eaten it up (KP especially). I totally wanted to see it, but the crowds overwhelmed me and I panicked in only the way I can panick. I was harsh pushing and tripping and nearly fell into the T-Rex monster looming at me. I was nearly running to be clear of the madness. Madness! I got out of the museum in like 25 minutes, having seen every display and stopping only to give the finger to the OOOh and Ahhh stuff, like the HOpe diamond.
I busted it outside to the humidity and the sweat trickling down my back. I decided, from my map, that the only other museum that held any interest for me was the American History museum. Face my enemy, I told myself. Grin, bear it, and know thyself, D Block! I spent nearly an hour and a half in the American History museum, seeing EVERYTHING and being amazed, disgusted, angrified, frustrated. I wasn't miserable, I was just interacting with myself. I laughed a lot, too. I even went into the First Ladies section, looking at their fine china and their hideous evening gowns. And I have got to say, that the fact that Barbie Bush was first lady in the '80's aside, she dressed in couches, man! I mean couches! Hideous! I was rather enthralled with the Civil Rights showcase display section, slowly walking through the roads of slavery and looking at just how America's economy really was built on the broken backs of Stolen Africans.
I saw the first ever American Flag, in its temperature sensitive room, with the missing star and the write-up of how no one knows where it went or to whom. I saw the enourmous flag that was draped over the bombed-out section of the Pentagon after 9/11. I saw the Agriculture section, the Motor Vehicle section, and had a good laugh at the 1930 motorhome. I saw some American Icon lady's kitchen, whose name I can't remember (but she predates Martha Stewart). I walked through the "Whatever Happened to Polio" section, which looked more like a sad tribute to an old friend than anything. The Presidental section was of particular interest and I carefullly gave the finger to every president's photo; even though I hid that extended finger inside my other hand to avoid me being lynched.
I saw the music and the sports and the pop culture. I saw Kermit the Frog, looking like he does. I saw Mr Rogers' Red sweater. And some famous folk's sporting items. I saw some really cool pianos and guitars and was surprised to see that there was not a single drum in the music instrument section.
I saved the War Floor for last. It was hardest for me because it was so full of propaganda. at one point, I had to rest because of how much my back was killing me and I sat in a little theatre, watching footage from all the wars and listening to the wonderful, noble efforts of America and how they continue to save the world, even right up to Operation Iraqi Freedom. Judging from the exhibits, you would think that America single-handedly fought the Germans and single-handedly won the war. I think it's kind of funny that they didn't even enter WWII until after Japan bombed Pearl Harbour. I wonder if most Americans think that's when the war started.... I saw kids younger than me, walking around wearing their Operation Iraqi Freedom Verteran shirts and chills went down my spine. I stared at one kid from a safe distance and studied him for several minutes as he carefully looked at the various weapons of war proudly on display. I felt so much compassion for him because he was probably a really good kid, with a family, friends and a playful spirit. But he also probably saw buddies die, face down in the sand. He probably had to shoot at brown people and maybe even hit some with his government bullets. He was caught right up in the rightness of it all by the way he and his friend looked everything over.
It made me sad. Not angry, mind you; just sad. Sad that this young lad had invested so much that to tell him it was all for a greedy lie would make it meaningless, or even worse. Sad that Christian America couldn't convince their leaders not to have a war of prevention and aggression. Sad that so many people in America think that to be Christian means to go along with the Republicans and all that crap.
I had to leave. Enough was enough. On the way out, I stopped in the music store and picked up a free card on some momentous, and extremely famous Grateful Dead show held in the '70's at RFK stadium. I saw this dude's shirt where on the back it listed how many songs the Dead played and how many shows, etc., The only one I could read before he was out of my range was the songs: 36,000 some-odd songs! I had no idea!
I went across the street to sit and have a coffee and some gross smoking lady with her sticky kids were all whining about their ice-cream. I saw the lady throw a piece of plastic on the ground and nearly snapped at her, until I realised it wasn't my country and my accent would probably give me away, so I just got up an mosied off. I know this is going to sound really prejudiced, but I am so sick of hearing American Accents and their drawlish talk. It really grates my nerves. Weird, eh?
I walked toward the Washington monument, along the grassy Mall. For those of you who don't know, the Washington monument is that juge gigantic cement penis in downtown DC. I walked up and slapped it, then asked a National Parks Serviceman about it and had a pleasant conversation. I was surprised to see that the National Parks Service have jurisdiction of the Mall area, maintaining it and providing security for it. Just as I was continuing on my way, thunder clapped, and the sky opened up. I had a good laugh at the hundreds of fat people running for cover under trees (hey, I'm fat, too), which always makes me laugh when people hide under trees during lightning storms. I took off my shirt, stuffed it into my pocket, threw my hands in the air and started singing my own tune to Psalm 23, which I sing a lot, and walked onwards, toward the WWII memorial and the Lincoln Memorial.
As cheese would have it, the thought of Forrest Gump came to my mind when staring over the reflective pool. I called out to the Canadian Geese to go home, but they ignored me, as did the people who overheard me pretended to do. I walked through the pooring rain all the way to the Lincoln memorial, thoroughly happy and thoroughly drenched. Even my shirt in my pocket was soaked. I only had a little paper and some cash, with my ID, and put that in a lower short pocket on the side where the rain was not so bad and it fared alright.
When I got to the Lincoln Memorial, I quietly and solemnly climbed the stairs, thinking more about Dr King and less about Lincoln. When I got to the top I was amazed at how big that statue of old Abe really is. There are 32 Roman columns, representing the 32 states at the time of Lincoln's deal. On the inside walls, North and South, are two speeches Abe gave. The first is the "Four Score and Seven Years Ago..." deal, which took up one concrete slab. On the North wall was a speech he gave at Gettysburg, or after, or something, where it was all noble and talked about the equality of everyone in this "great land" and how the civil war was being fought over the freedom of slavery, etc. I marveled at how even here, in the Capitol, at the lincoln memorial, where DR King gave his "I have a dream" speech, was propaganda etched into the concrete. This speech was long and took up all three concrete slabs. It took me five minutes to read. It is common knowledge, now, that the freedom of the slaves was an afterthoght to make the Union look good. It was by no means any starting motivator for the civil war. Even my friends here at orientation have affirmed that they have learned in school that it had nothing to do with it. Yet, there was the propaganda, physically etched in concrete, for all to marvel at. I suppose many people don't know that and can't "harumph" at the sad irony of it all.
I searched and searched for the spot where Dr King stood. Iwanted to stand in the exact spot and look out with the same eye-line as he. I knew from the museum that there was a four foot by four foot concrete slab marking the spot where he stood and I tried in vain to find it. Finally, I went to the gift shop and asked some dude. He told me that it was very hard to see but didn't seem slighted by it or anything. He took me there and showed it to me. I was appalled. The letters were less than an inch high, two or three mm thick and two or three mm deep. I had to get right down just to read what it said! And it was only put there in 2001. I later found out that the memorial museum, which smelt like urine, had been made more conservative, even adding a photo of Charlie Heston, because the "conservatives" were upset at all the "liberal" photos, like those of Dr King, interfaith rallies, gay pride parades, etc. So strange.
So I stood on Dr King's spot and again quietly sang Psalm 23. Some white dude who had that drawly accent also remarked how appalling it was that you could barely see it. I was impressed because he definitely was alive when segregation was, too. I looked out over the tourists and tried to disengage my ears from the screeching of kids and Boy Scouts and the loud chattering of Asians taking pictures of EVERYTHING.
As I descended the stairs, I heard the loud sounds of a helicopter and turned and saw the Presidential helicopter heading towards the whitehouse. I could even read the words on the side. I raised my arm to shake my fist but then quickly pulled it down, remember the horrified reaction I got from Andrea when I shook my fist at a car that nearly hit us going across a cross-walk when we first arrived. I guess you just don't do that here.
I mosied my way back home and had a good laugh when some tourists were posing beside what they must have thought was something important, for photos, but I noticed it was only a round cement structure of bathrooms.
When I got back to the metro, I hung out for twenty minutes before meeting up with my company and we headed out of the city. Plans to see the whitehouse were forgotten because the kids were so dogged tired. I remember being a little kid and so had compassion on them and pretended not to care about not seeing Georgie's home.
On the way home I continued reading this God's Politics book by Jim Wallis. The book is amazing. It takes the shame out of being evangelical and pulls no punches at the bad theology of Bush, Falwell, Robertson and various "family values" groups. It says that protest is useless because it presents itself as weakenss, not able to have the answers to provide an alternative. Wallis is head of Call for Renewal and puts out the magazine Sojourners.
After such a visit, and while reading the book, I found that my anger stayed with me but hatred gave way to compassion and I realised that I have been very wrong in my approach to this new war on terrorism. I have tended to soften the villainy of Hussein and BIn Laden, downplaying their monstrousness because of the reactions of Bush and pro-war groups. I have realised that bitching and complaining about America or their Foreign Policy only adds to the problem. I have a lot to learn and now have more questions than answers; but this book has really challenged the way I have thought about America, moralism, the separation of Church and State and how every person in their own country gets a say.
And as for the excuse that religion is a crutch for the weak, Wallis effectively gives examples to make that excuse seem rediculous. Ghandi, Dr King, Melson Mandella; they were all deeply religious and a hell of a lot stronger than these grandstanding cynics and anti-religious leftists. Just because I believe in Jesus doesn't make me a part of the right and just because I am against war and for issues that really matter (not the popular "religion" issues of abortion and gay marriage), doesn't make me leftist.
I am going to write the ISBN number so you can contact your local library and get the book in: 0-06-055828-8. It is by Jim Wallis, written in 2005 and called God's Politics, put out by Harper, San Francisco.
Well, it is now supper time and I haven't had a chance to edit this; so please forgive the mistakes and try to make sense of what I am saying. And if I used stronger language that I should have, please see the intent.
That's all for now,
D BLOCK OUT!