The Devil You Know

This began as a comment response to Virginia Gal's latest post. As frequently happens, I started running off at the keyboard, so I just made this a post of its own.

The reason why most Americans are less fearful of homegrown terrorism than they are of foreign terrorism comes down to people being less afraid of the devil they know versus the devil they don't know.

White people have been in America waaaayy longer than Arab and Muslim people. So, when a white asshole bombs a building, it's perceived as a freak event, because virtually every American of any creed or color knows 1,000 basically nice white people for every 1 white average jerk. However, very few average Americans - and I mean statistically, racially/ethnically average (still about 70% white) - personally know or have met more than one or two Arabs or Muslims. So, when an Arab or Muslim asshole flies a plane of mid-week passengers into a building, it's not perceived as a freak event, but as, "wow, this must be the norm!"

Some fuel to this anti-Arab or anti-Muslim prejudice, at least in my lifetime, is that the only images of Muslims we've received in the media have been of the PLO shooting old Jewish American men in wheelchairs and tossing them off the boughs of cruise ships; terrorists bombing discos frequented by Americans in Berlin; bombing our barracks and embassies in Beirut; masked gunmen killing the Israeli Olympic team in Munich; Muslim men with scarves covering half their faces chanting "death to America" and burning effigies of presidents, and flags; jihadists hijacking our airplanes in the 80s or blowing them up over foreign destinations; and not the least of images, women who must cover from head to toe and be beholden to the men in their lives, walking several paces behind their husbands who view them as nothing more than machines to make more men. (I'm sure that last image was harsh on my part, but seriously, they treat women like shit in most of these countries.) With the exception of the cultural sexism, are those vicious behaviors freak occurrences in the Arab world and among Muslims? Almost certainly. But how can you expect an average American - who may or may not have ever met an Arab or Muslim - who only gets that news and those images to think that there is not a threat posed against him from the average Arab or Muslim?

Speaking for myself, even the American who wants to look beyond the bad news events and knows that most people in the world are basically decent, if flawed, still views the Arab world with a good dose of suspicion and distrust (as evidenced by my assertion of their sexism). I believe in working to deliberately stamping out stereotypes, but the anti-stereotype PSAs and campaigns that arose after 9/11, intending to help the average American know that the average American Arab or Muslim wasn't out to get them, were a bit too little too late by at least 15 years. I'm glad they were there, but by the time they ran, we'd been getting Arab/Muslim terrorist news since the 70s. Why was it only after the towers were destroyed that the Arab community and "moral media influencers" felt the need to make sure people in Omaha knew that an NYC cabbie was not an enemy of the state?

The stereotypes are unfair to the vast majority Arab and Muslim Americans, but being counfounded that the average American buys into them is like being confounded that someone who's only ever gotten food poisoning off of shellfish is extremely suspicious of the ceviche you made. No matter how bloody awesome, slap-your-momma good the ceviche is.

All that said, it isn't like white men have been profiled, at least in the past. It just isn't as obvious, because, most Americans are familiar with white men so they don't notice profiling. How do I know? Before the days of 9/11, when I traveled by air by myself, I was pulled aside for a random swab of my carry-ons for explosive materials, or open bag check maybe 20% of the time. When I traveled with Honey, it was 80% of the time - and I can only assume it was higher for him, traveling alone. Why? Because Honey fits the physical Timothy McVeigh stereotype. He is an averaged-height blonde with close-cropped hair; a blue-eyed young man who is quiet and carries himself with a military bearing. He looks like he could be the type who'd join a government-fearing militia. (THANK GOD, Buddha and Oprah that he's exactly the opposite!) It did distress me that once 9/11 happened, the airport distrust of him entirely dissipated immediately. Just because we have a new threat doesn't mean the old one has gone away. But his profiling wasn't problematic because as an educated white man ascending a solid career ladder, in a society built to support educated white men in power, even if he's inconvenienced for 5 minutes, he faces basically no other prejudices, suspicions or harassments.

And that's where it's harder for Arab Americans or frankly, for anyone who looks like they come from a predominantly Muslim country. If the dark skinned guy with a prayer cap is pulled aside for extra check, no big deal. But that same guy gets side-long glances everywhere, all the time. He's probably been the direct recipient of a racial slur from some raging asshole at some point in his life, or at least the recipient of some insensitive comment from someone who may not have known any better. He's hypersensitive to his differentness in this WASP-affluence society. That's not to say he shouldn't be pulled aside for a check; it's just to say it probably feels as much like yet another indignity as an inconvenience.

I genuinely hope the recent cowardly murder of Dr. Tiller and the horrible episode of at the Holocaust museum will re-open our eyes to domestic threats. American-grown extremists are out there and, I suspect, since we turned our backs from them, they have been quietly steeping in the past decade or so. Unfortunately, through first-hand conversations with people who have this experience, I've learned how hard it is for law enforcement officials to make a move on extremist groups and individuals. I know we like to complain about all the damage that the Bush administration did to our civil liberties - and I do think he did - but there are still plenty of levels of bureaucracy out there to protect us from wrongful investigation and arrest. So much so that people like that bitter old white supremacist from last week, who may have indeed been on a watchlist, are still able to do what he did. A watch list is just that. Our law enforcement agencies, from the fed through the local, don't always have the teeth we think they do.

In the meantime, I suppose all those of us on the ground can do is work to recognize our own fears and work against them. And maybe, just maybe try to befriend someone who is different from us - racially, politically, religiously, regionally, sexually, etc - so that we can mutually influence one another. Build our tiny bridges where we can.

Black Friday can bite me

Recently, two different friends emailed me a "get to know you" questionnaire with a Christmas theme. Since I'm a sucker for those time-killing, ego-stroking surveys, I set to work.

One of the questions in the survey asked what my least favorite part of Christmas was. That's easy: rampant, insidious consumerism! Obscene consumerism. You MUST spend lots of money on your loved ones. WANT! WANT! WANT! GET! GET! GET! CONSUME NOW! The spend-and-purchase messaging we're inundated with is repugnant and profane. Today, I can add to those adjectives, murderous. Come along ...

Black Friday, as the day after Thanksgiving day has become known, has long been the start of the holiday shopping season in the U.S. It's called Black Friday because this is the day when most retailers make enough money to move out of the "red," into solvency. This was something I learned a few years ago. Before, I thought "Black" Friday referred to the abyss of our souls; how else to explain how a nation can move from day of humble gratitude to harried greed in less than 24 hours?

Each year, stories of incivility in retail shops surface by the time the evening's news rolls around. Soccer moms getting into fist-fights over Chicken Dance Elmo, store clerks being berated by customers because an item has been sold out, the occasional shooting in the parking lot. It's shameful. This year a WalMart employee was crushed to death after he opened the doors of the store to let shoppers in. So eager to get a Wii or a Numi or whateverthefuck people are cravenly drooling over these days, were these shoppers that even as other co-workers tried to move to this poor man's aid, they had to fight to stay standing. The metal frame doorways of the WalMart were actually bent by the crush of the crowd. People wanted so badly to spend their hard-earned dollars on paltry shit at 5AM that they wouldn't even stop to help this man stand up. Who the hell are we? Frankly, that story makes me ashamed of my countrymen. Clearly, our desire to consume supercedes our desire for patience and our capacity for mercy.

Consumer spending is probably good for the economy, in general. But when are we going to recognize that rampant, careless consumption is baaaddd for our souls?

Christmas consumerism is particularly offensive because, the ostensible reason we're supposed to sate our bottomless greed is to celebrate the birth of the holy man who told us the meek would inherit the Earth, that it would be easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter Heaven and that God was most pleased when we clothed the naked, fed the poor, visited the prisoner and generally tended to the "least" of those among us. Even if one celebrates Christmas in a purely secular fashion - which I suppose most do since it is more a cultural holiday than a religious one - it seems we can all agree that the assumed point of Christmas is to celebrate our loved ones and our time with our loved ones.

Gift-giving is fine. Good, actually. But how does it genuinely benefit anyone for one's kid or spouse or partner to get $1,000 worth of toys and goods on Christmas day? That there are wise shoppers out there who may spend that amount on gifts that will have a long lifespan, I do not doubt. But most gifts bought are simply upgraded the next year and disposed of. We are a nation disposed to the disposable goods. I, too, am a less thoughtful consumer than I should be. Can't and won't deny it. But I'm trying to improve. I'm taking baby steps to be more mindful of what I spend my money on and my motivations behind spending it in the first place.

The image at the top is from a documentary titled What Would Jesus Buy? The premise is that a performer named Reverend Billy visits temples of Mammon to exorcise them and call people's attention to their spending habits. I think I'll bump it to the top of my Netflix list. Something we can all do, next year anyway, is join the folks who choose to spend Thanksgiving Friday at home, doing a puzzle, reading a book, hanging with family and otherwise observing Buy Nothing Day. It seems the least we can do to honor the memory of Jdimytai Damour is to not be a part of the insanity that killed him in the first place.

Wow! I can never watch that fantastic piece of cinema again!

This evening I was driving home, listening to a Pandora "quick mix" on my phone. "Hoppipolla" came on. It was the music played behind the Children of Men trailer a few years ago and it set my mind on a cinematic drift. Specifically, trying to recall what movies do I never want to see again? I do want to see Children of Men again sometime, but Honey tells me I shouldn't.

Allow me to explain, briefly. Honey saw Children of Men sometime last year. He highly recommended it. Said it was really stirring and urged me to see it so we could talk about it. So, a few months later, when he was out of town, I rented it and watched. With the company of a few beers (and a playful dog). "So what did you think?" he asked eagerly when he got home. I told him I liked it, but I wanted to see it again to really soak it in. Then I told him I was kinda buzzy when I watched it. "You were drunk?! You need to watch it again sober. If you were sober, you would never want to see that movie again! Watch it again - no beer! - and then we can talk!" It's been probably 9 months since that conversation. I have yet to sit down and try again. But that conversation - and the idea of a negative visceral reaction to a film - was brought back by the simple piano plunks of Sigur Ros.

So what movies can I never watch again, because my reaction was so visceral?

In no particular order, here are a few that come to mind:

1. A Clockwork Orange. A guy I was "messing around with" when I was freshman in college had this movie. We started the evening with several wine coolers (shut up, I was 18) and a viewing of Pink Floyd's The Wall and moved onto this classic later in the night. I have never had a stomach for cruelty in film or on the page. When Malcolm and his thugs invaded the home of the couple and rape the wife in front of the husband, I felt violated, myself. I felt like something had been taken from me. Not my innocence, but a part of my soul, maybe. Maybe my disgust at the scene was partly because I was watching this movie as the only woman in a room full of boys - all of us drunk - who just raved about how great this movie is. Seriously? Doesn't make me feel particularly great - or safe. I know, I know. Clockwork Orange is supposed to be about the relationship between violence and entertainment and moral authority and corruption and yadda, yadda, yadda ... Fine. I got that. Doesn't mean I can ever stomach it again. Rape in cinema? Hurtful. Rape while disabling the victim's partner? Wrenching.

2. Pan's Labyrinth. I really loved this movie. I can't ever watch it again, but I loved it. The fantasy. The beauty in the grotesque. The personal mythology. The Spanish language. Extraordinary soundtrack. (Couldn't shake the lullabye for months.) Yea!! I actually tried watching this again. Honey had rented it. I went downstairs while he had it on, caught about 3 minutes of it and had to go back upstairs. Again: the cruelty. And the cruelty in this film was particularly brutal. A son killed in front of his father - not shot, or anything simple and clean; bludgeoned. Routine torture. Self-surgery. Probably more rape; I blocked a lot of it from my memory. Icky and tragic stuff. And the world that the little girl creates for herself (or maybe really exists) is only marginally better than the hell in which she lives outside her imagination. Technically beautiful film. Eats your heart. Honey agrees that it's a movie he can never watch again. To be honest, I haven't found anyone who's said they can, or have.

3. Schindler's List. Confession. I have actually seen this movie more than once. Twice. But can you take a wild guess as to why I don't want to see it again? Cruelty! The second and last time I saw it was over a decade ago. It was on broadcast TV, no commercials, and maybe no editing. (I'm blanking on that, to be honest.) I guess this is one of those that I don't necessarily want to see again, but it's so gripping and frankly, culturally and historically important, that I would again. Like when we have kids, I won't hesitate to show them this when they're mature enough to grasp it all. [Sidebar: Growing up, my parents were fairly strict about rated-R films. We weren't allowed to see them before age 17. Schindler's List was one of the few exceptions. I was 16, my brother was 12. My folks sensed that this was bigger than the MPAA. I remember it being important for them that we saw it. Like when Dad took me to see Ghandi when I was six. Sub sidebar: That same year, The Secret of NIMH, an animated - though dark - flick about mice. NIMH terrified me. Dad had to take me about 3 times before I could handle it. In the end, I loved it. Ghandi, a 4-hour ouevre stuffed with strife and violence, was apparently just right for my 6-year-old movie palate. That one, I dragged Dad to thrice! What kind of mind is that?]

... okay, I've totally digressed at this point. I can't think of any other films, at this point, that I'd rather not see again, based on a negative visceral reaction. Anything turn your tummy?

What's Molly Dreaming Now? Edition 6

I'll try to keep this brief because I still have to walk the dog and take a shower and go to this little shindig called work.

Until I heard some poet on NPR this morning talking about his grade school teacher, I'd forgotten what I'd dreamt. But it was this - or this was the part I remembered most:

I'm in a school building. A student friend/acquaintance tells me that I need to leave within a few moments. He's wearing a black trenchcoat and has an ominous bearing about him radiating a nefarious purpose. It's clear he's warning me, giving me a heads up. He doesn't want me to get caught in his cross-fire.

I go into a detention hall being monitored by my 4th grade teacher (whom I loved) and Amy Poehler. They both seem pretty intent on making sure detention is served. "Mrs. H, Amy, you've got to get out of here! We have to leave, now!" They don't quite get it, and I can't tell them directly what's going to happen, because I don't know details and mostly because I don't want to alarm them and send the other kids into a panic. But I'm straining to stay composed as tears begin to well up in my eyes. I don't remember if they catch on.

The next thing I know, I'm outside the school and some teachers, hall monitors and cops inside have taken up guard like positions, awaiting the coming violence. But there are no guns drawn by the cops. Everyone is just standing openly, waiting. Their at once both watchful defense is both defiant and inviting, like by their physical vulnerability they're daring them to let the cowards bullets fly but also asking the perpetrator(s) to approach them civilly for comfort and reconciliation. And I'm frustrated that my teacher and Amy Poehler didn't quite get it and I'm sad that my friend wants to unleash such violence on his peers and I'm confused and scared. And the dream ended with us all just waiting. We knew what was coming and people were preparing what defense they could, but we were all just waiting.

Any prognosticators or diviners want to take a crack at this one?

Now it's starting to affect me.

The Columbine massacre occurred 8 years ago this week. I was finishing up my senior year of college. I remember being shocked and distressed for months. Last night at dinner, I commented to Honey that Monday, as I read about the Virginia Tech tragedy unfolding, I was relatively unfazed. I lamented it, really. Violence seems to have brushed my skirts enough in the intervening 8 years and seems to be (whether it is not is another story) increasing. September 11 (the obvious), Amadou Diallo, Beltway Sniper, Katrina, the war in Iraq and the daily suicide bombs, nutcases who at least once a year seem to break into Jewish Community Centers and Synagogues and shoot people ... this is just one more.

My initial reaction was one of indifference, followed by thankfulness that it wasn't at VCU where VirginiaGal attends. Then something odd happened: last night as I finished up working on the section of my thesis to send my professor, a dread began creeping over me. Not the usual dread of hoping my work is fair enough when we meet, but a dread of actually going to campus tomorrow night to meet with him. Could I jump from his window if I had to? Would I survive the four story fall? I guess these thoughts shouldn't be surprising for anyone who knows me. I'm the person who has had a home fire emergency plan since I was in 3rd grade. And I'm also the person who, when the worst is realized for someone else, begins to worry that it will happen for me. (I think this is true because it has happened for me once, so it validated pre-existing concerns.) Clearly other campuses are thinking about this and I'm sure other students are thinking about this. So, I'm not alone. But a new fear is beginning to creep over me.

And it seems to me the dread mostly isn't the prospect of death, though that's there, it's the being trapped, being bamboozled. Being taken advantage of where you should be safe, when you're just going about your life. That's what I despised most about September 11. Those poor folks on the planes were just trying to get somewhere. The folks in the buildings were just trying to get work done. The students Monday were just trying to take tests, trying to wake up in class. ... interestingly, though, the prospect of death is more frightful to me these days than when I was in college. The older I get, the more I want to continue enjoying my marriage and have children and enjoy the new changes in my relationships with my family. At 22 or 23, I'd had a good run; I wasn't afraid of death. Now, I know there's more to be had and I want to run the course.

A renewed public conversation - ha! conversation, as if people converse about such things; let me try again ... a renewed public grumble-and-chest pound-fest about gun control is already starting to brew in the wake of this tragedy. Genuine debate about the matter and changes in gun law or gun law enforcement should ensue, but at this point, I really don't care if they do. Until we have a change of heart in this country, outlawing all the guns in the land won't make much of a difference. Sure, there'd be fewer large-scale shootings and less street violence, but the bigger issue I see is that we don't give a shit about each other. This is a land where it's every man for himself. ... and we're proud of that. And I love that this is a country that celebrates the individual, but I wonder at what cost to the community we do this. I believe we've seen the cost for years amongst the poor, but in the last few decades we've begun to see the cost amongst all. There will always be people who slip through the cracks and those people will find ways to inflict harm on large and small scales - guns are outlawed in England, but still a handful of disenfranchised jerks managed to kill 55 people with some backpacks; while I was visiting, an immigrant family lost their son to a brutal knife attack because he was a black boy with a white girl. But we can do a better job of taking care of each other than we do. We need to do a better job of it.

A few months after Columbine, Honey and I were visiting family in Fort Worth. A few days before we got there, a disturbed gunman had broken into a Baptist church during a youth worship service and killed a handful of kids before turning the gun on himself. He had always been an outcast. There was a pall over the city the weekend we were there and it was the main topic of discussion at our family's church that Sunday. We continued talking about it at lunch after church. Uncle J, who is a community children's leader, made a good point. This wasn't a wild hair for the Fort Worth Shooter; he'd been hated for years. He was 50 years of teasing waiting to explode; waiting to take it out on someone until finally he did. Uncle J then reaffirmed with his kids the importance of being kind, even if you don't like someone, because people don't deserve derision, particularly those who are already ostracized. There's no need for it. Then he commissioned them to call him out if they ever see him displaying disdain for someone. I agree with Uncle J.

The VA Tech shooter sounds like such a closed loner there may have been little that could've been done. But if we take better care of each other, maybe we can abate future incidents. Change and strengthen gun laws, yes, but an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. In the words of the recently departed Vonnegut: "You've got to be kind to one another, goddamnit!"

I want Hot Chocolate!

I sit here today in a neighborhood bakery having just finished a blueberry bagel and a half pint of milk. Mmm, good. There is a preschool here this morning touring the facilities to learn how bakeries work and what bakers do. It's adorable. The kids are made to wear little plastic gloves while they're back in the baking area. But it's to no real avail. They still stick their fingers in their mouths and pick their noses. So much for a germ free environment! It's so precious, I almost want to cry.

A moment ago, they got to take turns using the PA system calling out orders. "Bagel!" "Lemonade!" and my favorite, "Tart!" which of course sounds more like "taut." I'm listening to one of the bakery reps telling the children that the bakers come in very very early in the morning to bake. "They sleep while you're at school," she tells them. They must think bakers are a whole other species; like bats!

... so I did some more reading about the tempest in a teapot that is the global Muslim reaction to the tasteless Danish cartoons. This article doesn't really go that deeply into it, but apparently the whole thing began with a children's book author. He had written a book for children about Islam, and couldn't find any illustrators for his book. The ones he had contacted all refused because they were afraid if they drew an image of Muhammad, they'd meet the same fate as Dutch filmmaker Theo Van Gogh. I have no idea if the children's book was meant as a mockery or like so many children's Bible and Torah storybooks I've seen in my life. The Danish paper Jyllands-Posten printed the story about the author's dilemma and then offered the challenge to 25 illustrators to draw Muhammad as they saw him. Apparently, when the Danes didn't appologize to the a Danish Muslim group, they took their issue to Middle East counterparts. And so, four months after the original printings, we've got burned embassies, dead protestors and enough charred effigies of Denmark's leader to fill an Ash Wednesday urn.

Yesterday, I viewed the twelve. I would say 7 or 8 of them are tasteless and about 6 flat out offensive. Of the other four, however, some of them are mere depictions: a man leading a donkey in the desert, could'a been any shepherd; a crescent and star with the face of a turbanned man in it. With most of them, if you didn't know you were supposed to be looking at Muhammad, you probably wouldn't know. That probably stems from the fact that unlike Christianity which after 2,000 years of popular art kind of has a standard "this is what Jesus looks like" image, Islam has no standard, so looking at the images you just think: oh, uh, dude with a turban and a beard. One, which I thought was kind of funny, had a line up of scraggly looking guys with beards, some of them turbanned, others not, and the person viewing the line up says something to the effect of, "I really don't know which one he is." That seems to be a comment on the image ban - how would you know? One didn't included any image of Muhammad, but rather a guy at a chalk board complaining about the image ban. Another showed an artist drawing an image of the Prophet, furtively, in the dark, so as not to be "caught." One showed a duo of scimitared angry men charging, only to be stayed by Muhammad's hand: "Don't bother with them," he tells them, "They are just ignorant unbeliever Danes." I'm sure that can be seen as offensive, but the fact that Muhammad stops them, seems to me to give the Prophet a credit toward tolerance that the Western world seems to ignore. On the whole, I thought the exercise was iffy. On the one hand, I kind of thought the invitation for images kind of set up an environment of "Hey, let's be an asshole." On the other, I thought it produced some interesting pieces, which, as good political cartoons should, add to the dialogue. But it doesn't sound like satire is a concept many Islamic republics and monarchies.

Many of the cartoons were indeed offensive and out-right meanspirited. But others were good: if not just plain depictions, then reflections of how western artists feel stymied in discussing Islam in public. I know there are many people who find The Davinci Code and the Last Temptation of Christ as offensive to Christianity and their personal relationship with God as Muslims find any depiction (whether positive or negative) of Muhammad. But to my knowledge, none of the DaVinci code protestors have burned the house of Dan Brown or Ron Howard or Kazantzakis or Scorsese. If these images are that offensive, is violence the only proper response? Protest - yes. Boycott - why not? But kidnapping, burning embassies, firing guns into the air, carrying signs that call for the 9/11 of London? What the hell does that do? Just reinforce the fearful, ugly stereotype that the West has of Muslims. And who does that help? Not Muslims. And not the West. Jyllands-Posten was intolerably tasteless to instigate, but it seems the Middle East response just plays into their prejuecies, and is in and of itself intolerable.

Whom I feel sorriest for is the children's author and the children who will now be denied a book about Islam. I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt and assuming he was writing a book for children about Islam so that little non-Muslim Danish children could learn about their Muslim friends. Or so that Muslim parents could better teach their own children. But it looks like that won't happen anytime soon.

I hope this all blows over. I want to laugh again.

Release Your Inhibiiii-shhunns

I've got that stupid song stuck in my head right now. In all it's freaking corniness. Thanks a friggin' lot, Natasha Beddingfield!

... no one else can feel it for you...

Looks like yours truly needs a good 3 day fast from lousy commercial radio! (as if there was any other type.)

Failed by the world

I heard about this case last night, on All Things Considered. Haleigh Poutre is an eleven year old girl in Massachussetts who was beaten within a centimeter of her life, last September, with a baseball bat. Her stepfather is the prime suspect. She's now in a permanent vegetative state a la Terri Schiavo, and the state of MA wants to remove her feeding tube and let her die. Her adoptive mother (her biological aunt) was found dead with the child's grandmother two weeks following Haleigh's beating, in an apparent murder-suicide. Her biological mother had turned the child over to her sister five years ago when she moved to Virginia to be with her boyfriend.

My first and primary thought is this: regardless of how necessary it may to let this little girl die - if it were my child or loved one, I suspect I'd probably make the same decision - there is something ultimately morally repulsive to me about letting the state make that decision. That was what was one of the two things so repugnant about the Schiavo situation: that a governing body assumed the right to tell a family when or if she should die. (The other, of course, is that the family hated eachother so much that they couldn't or refused to cooperate and give that woman a diginified life or death.) I presume that little Haleigh is now the ward of the state, and so it is legally the state's decision. But am I the only one who is creeped out by that? An emotionally distant governing body gets to decide to pull her tube?

Apparently her stepfather tried to get a judge to rule that he was the default parent in her case and so he should have the right to make that decision. He wants Haleigh to continue in her artificial subsistence until her natural death. When she dies, by the way, he will be charged with murder. I'm sure his motives are entirely in her best interest. (Ugh.) So then I wonder where her biological mother is in all of this. According to the CNN article linked above, she's feeling frantic. I presume she waivered all legal parental rights to her daughter when she passed her off to her sister, but I wonder if there are any legal loopholes that could be pursued so that she could ultimately be the one who makes the decision for the little girl. So that at the very least, it is a family member or (supposed) loved one who gets to make the call.

But this brings me to my second thought: has this poor little girl ever known anything we'd call love? Has she ever really had a decent, protective, emotionally supportive relationship with a parent figure? Probably not. I don't know the reasons why Haleigh's biological mother decided to adopt her out to her sister. I don't know what forces were in play there. They may have been perfectly valid and necessary. And don't most of us think - even if we're deluded - that our family members can best care for our children in our stead? But I'd put money on it that Haleigh herself felt abandoned and rejected. How can a 6 year old process that? If her beating really was inflicted upon her by one or both of her legal parents, then it would be pretty safe to say it wasn't the first. Even if it was only her stepfather who'd abuse her, that little girl lived knowing that her mother did little to nothing to stop it (maybe she was abused, too), and that her biological mother wasn't there to do anything about it, either. What an abject lonliness this child has probably known. What's sadder is that there are probably plenty of little Haleighs who grow up and repeat this cycle in their own families and in their own communities.

How I wish someone, while this child was still alive, could have stepped in and extracted her from that situation. Someone who was not abusive and evil could have adopted her and shown her the love that every one of us deserves and only some of us get. But what I wish now is that someone who loves her and who wants the best for her could make the decision whether to let her die. It seems so vulgar that the state - an entity that cannot love, but only rule - should make that decision. She has been failed by all who should've been there for her.

Of bi-peds and motorcars

Today is shaping up to be excreable.

It started out nicely enough. I slept in, completed a paper that has been haunting me, took my dog for a walk. Nice enough morning. Then this morning, when I was arriving at work, I found my regular parking lot was filled to the gills. This meant I would have to maneuver through the narrow streets of the city, dodging other cars and pedestrians galore, just to find a two-hour parking spot. This also meant that I would have to move my car after two hours, to avoid the wrath of ticket-happy cops.

I crept through the quaint, crowded streets of the city looking for a spot and found myself the second car stopped at a perpendicular intersection. The light turned green, the car ahead of me swung right, and I was right behind him, inching forward. When I was about halfway around the corner, I saw a group of about 5 or 6 pedestrians crossing the street. They looked to be about halfway through the street, and I was halfway around the corner. I wasn't sure, so I kept going. I straightened up and continued onward. The pedestrians finished crossing and a few moments later, another car was behind me - presumably the same car that waited to turn right, behind me at the intersection.

For those reading this who do not live on the east coast - all none of you, and Niamh, my imaginary Shropshirean reader - allow me to explain the pedestrian-auto relationship that exists in the bustling metropoli of America's Atlantic seaboard. It's dysfunctional. Crosswalks are really only heeded by cars if there is a traffic light for them to follow. Pedestrians regularly begin to cross the street while cars are moving toward them. If a car is nice enough to stop at a non-stop signed, non-traffic lighted crosswalk to let a pedestrian pass, the east coast pedestrian will not acknowledge the courtesy of the car with a nod or even a glance, and will also most likely meander slowly across the street, even if it was evident the car made a point to stop when it really wanted to keep careening. I know legally the pedestrian always has the right of way, and I agree with that morally as well as legally. But it's also illegal to shoot someone; just because it's illegal for someone to shoot me, doesn't mean I'm not going to duck if I see a gun is pulled on me. It's imperative for drivers to drive conscientiously, but it's also imperative for pedestrians to be defensive.

That said, even as I made my right turn, I wasn't 100% happy with my choice, but I also didn't think the pedestrians were in any danger. I've had many a pedestrian BEGIN crossing in front of me while I was travelling at 20mph, and though I think they're idiots, none have ever been hit. I've also witnessed the same phenomenon with other cars and other pedestrians - never a hit. So, I presumed the gaggle crossing the street, at no danger from the cars stopped at the light, would slow their pace as I completed my turn. I was not 30 feet from where I made my turn, when I was stopped at another light, a few cars down. (Damn, I just wanted to find a parking spot.) Then, from between two cars parallel parked beside me, a woman pushing a stroller emerges and looks like she's going to try to cross in front of my car - not at a protected crosswalk. Naturally I make sure I've got my foot on the brake. Nope, she doesn't want to cross in front of me, she wants to talk to me. I crack my window. She places herself and her stroller-riding baby between a parked car on a busy street and me, in an activated car on a busy street.

"You could've killed us!!" she screams at me. She's yelling so fast that I say nothing and it's taking a second for all this to click. Apparently she was part of the group that crossed the street at the turn 30 feet back. "I HAVE A CHILD!! Don't you watch where you're going? You REALLY should be more careful!!" I manage to squeeze out a very humble and sincere "I'm sorry." "Well, you NEED TO BE MORE CAREFUL!" shouts the woman who pushed her baby in front of my idling car on a busy street to make a point. At this point the light had turned and the cars in front of me had driven away. I pulled away carefully because believe it or not, I have no desire to run ANYONE over. She, I presume had to swing her baby away from the ONCOMING traffic which she decided it was a good idea to brave in order to make her point.

I really did feel badly. By east coast standards, I'm a very kind or even pansy driver. When merge lanes are tight, I let the other person in. When a pedestrian is halfway through a crosswalk and I'm coming, I'll stop and let them pass - it's the law, but it's not the custom out here. I actually use my blinker! When you live here, you learn you have to act like no one can see you, because half the time they can't, and the other half of the time, the other driver or even the other pedestrian doesn't give a rat's ass. I'm a pretty courteous driver. I really felt badly. I almost wanted to cry. I could've killed someone. She made me feel like a bad person.

But then I started thinking about it. She just wanted to make a point. She wanted me to feel as bad as she did. That's not necessarily a wrong thing to want. But I'm not sure that poking your baby whose safety you were supposedly so concerned with, into oncoming traffic on a busy street, really displayed a sense of justice-seeking. Her intent wasn't to even express disbelief or anger. (A common pedestrian gesture here is throwing up of one's hands in anger at the stupid driver who almost killed you.) She wanted to make sure I knew I was an unworthy person. I won't give that to her. I apologized. Frankly, no matter how selfish my driving may have been, that's really all I can offer. No amount of money or groveling would erase a bad traffic decision. Her anger is entirely justified; if she had reported me to the cops, I could probably accept that. But when she decided to doubly endanger her child just to make a point, her anger lost a large measure of credibility.

She will be happy to know that karma crapped on me. I finally found a parking spot, and at the two hour mark I dutifully went to my car to move it, only to find a ticket under my windshield. Apparently I front-end parked into a back-end parking only area. (I'd never seen the signs, until I got the ticket, naturally.) Apparently it's worth $30 to the city that I master a ridiculous parking trick. Thirty dollars. A child is priceless, but I'm sure it would pay for the uber-adorable norwegian cap the cosmo-kiddo was sporting.

Excreable day.