Celebrating Journalists…

Tomorrow is the first anniversary of the mob assault on the US Capitol. That its nature and provenance remain subjects of debate is a symptom of the deep division in the American electorate. That President Trump empowered the mob by refusing to accept the results of the election and perpetrating the lie that the election was stolen speaks to his character and the loyalty and gullibility of his followers.
 
The antidote to this Big Lie is education, accountability, and rigorous investigative reporting. Thanks to a fearless, on the spot, dedicated group of journalists and photographers we were able to see the events unfold. Americans saw live coverage of that violent assault. We watched as the mob knocked down barriers, rushed up the steps, broke windows and doors, stormed into the House and Senate chambers, ransacked offices, erected a gallows, threatened to kill Vice-President Pence, and injured more than 140 law enforcement personnel. Nevertheless, there are those who, to this day, are trying to convince us that what we saw was not what we saw.
 
Despite a lack of cooperation from Republicans, a bipartisan Congressional investigation is underway into its origins. Trump partisans continue their widespread effort to keep those responsible from being held accountable. If not for the words and pictures of the Fourth Estate, we might never have known the magnitude, carnage, and sequence of that violent attack.
 
But this story is more about journalism than the events described above, although those events exemplify the importance of journalism and the courage and integrity of its practitioners. Every day, reporters and photographers roam the world and report back to us on everything from climate change and genocide to financial corruption and drug cartels. The world is a dangerous place, and journalists put themselves at risk to tell us about it. According to the International Federation of Journalists (IFJ), 45 journalists were killed while doing their jobs in 2021 – 50% more than in the previous year.

Three years ago, M and I spent an entire day at the Newseum in Washington D.C., and on this date two years ago, I shared my dismay at its closing. The Newseum was a private institution in Washington D.C. Established by the Freedom Forum, a 501(c)(3) public charity. For 22 years, it educated visitors about the five freedoms of the First Amendment and the importance of a free and fair press. Unfortunately, it was unable to compete with the free museums on the Washington Mall, and closed its doors on December 31, 2019.

It’s an understatement to say I’m disappointed that the Newseum was forced to close. We need, and journalists deserve, a space to honor the profession and celebrate its mission. There is an effort underway to find another site, but it will be difficult to find one as central and appropriate as the one on Pennsylvania Avenue. It was hard to miss the symbolism of that location, with the White House at one end of the street and the Capitol on the other.
 
Its mission was to educate the public but also honor journalism and journalists worldwide. The tragic deaths of 75 international journalists and photographers in the last two years reminds me how dangerous the profession can be. The Journalists Memorial, in the main hall, was the most striking reminder. Covering a floor to ceiling wall, it was composed of 2344 photographs of reporters, photographers, and broadcasters who died reporting the news. It spoke dramatically of the courage, responsibility, and danger associated with the profession.

I recently noted the number of women reporters reporting from dangerous places. Clarissa Ward (British), Holly Williams (Australian), Christiane Amanpour (British-Iranian), Debra Patta (South African) and Marie Colvin (American) who died in 2012 covering the Syrian war. We see them on the nightly news reporting stories from Afghanistan, Syria, Pakistan, Somalia, Eritrea, Iran, and Gaza. They are not hiding behind men. They’re out front talking to soldiers, victims, insurgents, and warlords. In countries where women are second class citizens, they’re on the front lines with battle gear, hijabs, or burqas challenging those they interview.

The Fourth Estate is vital and active but under attack – and not just from the right. The way we receive the news is changing. More than 1 in 5 newspapers have closed since 2004. Newspapers can’t compete with Breaking News on television and the Internet. Traditional news sources are losing ground to opinion-based cable channels like Fox News. Investigative reporters are fact checked to insure the accuracy of their stories, but news consumers are finding it difficult to distinguish reliable sources of information. Facebook is not a new organization, but the Pew Research Center reports that 36% of Americans get their news there.

The Fourth Estate delivers the news. It monitors, investigates, and reports back on the executive, legislative, and judicial branches of government. It is society’s conscience, the guardrail that keeps government from overstepping its bounds and its officials accountable… especially in troubling times like these. We should all remember this tomorrow on the anniversary of that near fatal attack on democracy.

Six Years and Counting…

The end of the year, the winter solstice and family birthdays always remind me that we’re at the end of something and the beginning of something else – a convergence of old and new. Normally, it’s a time to review the passing year and prepare for the next. But the last six years have been unlike any that went before. How should we think of them? Our world has changed. The emotional, political, geographic, even the biological tectonic plates we relied on have shifted.

Climate change has brought floods where floods were rare (Western Europe and Arizona), multi-year droughts have depleted our reservoirs (Shasta, Powell, Lake Mead), raging wildfires have destroyed unimaginable amounts of forests and taken out whole residential communities (California and Australia), catastrophic tornados have attached themselves to the ground for never before lengths and devastated everything they touched (Kentucky), shootings have come to neighborhoods never before touched by violence (mine), our nation’s capital was attacked by domestic terrorists (January 6, 2021) because the outgoing US president was determined to retain power by overturning a legitimate election (Trump). Police continued to shoot black citizens while a 17-year-old white vigilante armed with an illegally purchased AR-15 gunned down three protesters before being acquitted of all charges and celebrated by right-wing groups as a “patriot” and “hero” (Kyle Rittenhouse). Worst of all, a lethal virus was loosed on the world, killing 800,000 Americans, while its eradication was effectively prevented due to its politicization by right-wing media and anti-vaccers.

What have these years been like for you? What about the next two or three? What the hell is going on? Issues large and small have us all off-balance. How should we respond and is it possible to right the ship?

At first, President Biden appeared to be managing both the virus and the economy competently. But, of late, the virus has morphed into a new dangerous phase and the president has stumbled, while surprisingly, it appears that one US Senator, a Democrat, is standing in the way of the president’s comprehensive plan to re-balance the social contract – enacting an extension of the Child Tax Credit, financial aid for child care and older Americans’ home health care, reduction in prescription drug costs, paid family and medical leave for private sector workers, universal free pre-school for all 3-4 year-olds, access to affordable high-quality education, an Earned Income Tax Credit for low-wage workers, minimum tax for large profitable corporations, and increased taxes for the highest income Americans. And more… How is it possible that one Senator can hold an entire nation hostage? But, of course, it isn’t just one Senator. Congressional factions no longer work to find middle ground in a bipartisan way. The two party system is locked in an “us versus them” power struggle.

I don’t want my year-end reflections to be political, but I find it difficult to sort out what has happened in this country over the past six years. What seemed solid now seems fragile. Institutional norms are being ignored. The unimaginable is now commonplace. Right wing zealots and QAnon supporters hold seats in Congress, while moderate and progressive Democrats are unable to compromise in support  of their own president’s agenda.

Apparently, compromise is seen as weakness. Fairness has slipped from the political vocabulary. State legislatures are enacting voting laws clearly intended to disenfranchise voters of color. Gerrymandered districts now favor Republicans by 39 to 19 giving them 20 more seats than their populations merit numerically.

For two years the world has been fighting a killer virus. Today we have the tools to defeat it. It should be our highest priority worldwide in the near term. Then we can address climate change, an even greater challenge. The past six years have been disruptive and challenging, and it appears the next three – including two more elections – will be just as challenging. Will the great American political experiment survive these changes or will ignorance and selfishness destroy the Founder’s vision? I may not live long enough to know the answer, but I plan to stick around long enough to sense its vector.

As we transition to the new year, my prayers are for peace, wisdom, common sense, and a shared purpose – what used to be our aspirational normal. Here’s hoping for a better new year.

Give Her the Last Word…

She’s been leaving us since 2003. She invited us to watch, and today she took her final breath. Joan Didion was the consummate detached observer. In the beginning, her strength was cultural commentary, reporting on-site in the Haight-Ashbury during the 1960s flower power/LSD days (Slouching Toward Bethlehem). Then we were allowed to ride along while Maria Wyeth aimlessly roamed LA’s freeways and mentally unraveled in Play It as It Lays. But her writing didn’t become painfully personal until the sudden death of her husband and writing partner John Gregory Dunne and the subsequent death of her daughter Quintana Roo. It was as if she couldn’t help scratching the open wounds of loss (The Year of Magical Thinking and Blue Nights). Since then, we’ve morbidly watched as Parkinson’s Disease shriveled her body and flattened her once animated face.

I will miss her keen, acerbic observations and spare prose, but most of all I will miss her cultural commentary. For a writer whose work is packed with insights into political intrigue, she was curiously silent on Trump and the ramifications of his political legacy. In Political Fictions she commented on the Clinton years, and how a “handful of insiders (who) invent, year in and year out, the narrative of public life”. And, in Salvador she wrote of her terrifying awareness that death squads were stalking the country while she wandered the aisles of a shopping center that offered imported vodkas and foie gras.

As the year-ends, I’m acutely aware that Ms. Didion’s death marks another kind of passage. Her voice won’t be around to remind us of the importance of family, the pain of personal loss, or the global consequences of ignoring political terror.

The past two years have been a trial. Americans have seen 800,000 fellow citizens die of a rampant uncontrolled virus, were forced to confront their country’s history of racism, watch an attack by domestic terrorists on its nation’s Capital, see the outgoing president attempt to overturn a legitimate election, and suffer the humiliating withdrawal of US troops from Afghanistan after a 20 year war it couldn’t win.

Life changes fast.

Life changes in the instant

You sit down to dinner and the life as you know ends.

The question of self-pity

Joan Didion (The Year of Magical Thinking)

It seems appropriate to give her the last word.

Some of it’s Magic…

Yes, today’s the day, and I’ve been getting happy birthday emails, text messages, phone calls and cards from all over the world. I’m grateful to have shared time with so many interesting people over the years. We’ve enjoyed books, music, good food, long runs, wooded walks, powder turns, bike trips, sunny beaches, funny stories, and much, much more over the years. It feels great to have such good friends and memories.

I’m happy to be alive and well, even though the world is a mess and smart people who should know better are bickering over insignificant things while the planet is melting down, burning up, and blowing away under the pressure of climate change, Covid-19 is ravaging its population, billionaires are flaunting their wealth in space, grinding poverty is endemic, and there are tribal wars, insurrectionists, and racists in mainstream politics. In 2016 I characterized myself as an optimist. Today, I’m less sure. I worry for for my children and grandchildren. What kind of a world will they have?

Regardless, I’m living in the moment. I love my life –my wife, my kids, my friends, my home, and the interests that still consume me – but I know my future is not as long as my past. I love folk-rock and I often hear lyrics that catch the moment and speak to me perfectly.

One of my favorite songs of the last 40 years is Jimmy Buffett’s He Went to Paris that tells the story of an American who went to Paris, lived in London, lost family members, got sick, and eventually returned to the US. It isn’t exactly my story, but it’s not too far off. Jimmy is telling the story and the last two verses sum it all up…

Now he lives in the islands

Fishes the pylons

And drinks his green label each day.

He’s writing his memoirs

And losing his hearing

But he don’t care what most people say

 

Through eighty-six years

Of perpetual motion,

If he likes you, he’ll smile and he’ll say,

“Some of it’s magic,

And some of it’s tragic,

But I had a good life all the way.”

 

He went to Paris

Looking for answers

To questions that bothered him so.

It’s close. I’m two years short of eighty-six, and tequila, not Scotch, is my drink of choice, but like the old guy in the song I’m writing my memoirs and losing my hearing, and don’t care what most people say. Still, I agree; “Some of it’s magic and some of it’s tragic, but I had a good life all the way.”

You can listen to Jimmy sing it at La Cigale Concert Hall in Paris: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CsxnHIq2Smo

To all the friends who have made my life so rich – thank you.

The Wisdom of Ishi…

In 2013, M and I were living in Saigon when we were introduced to Ishi, a visiting writer from Kanagawa, Japan. Our friend, Akiko Yabuki, found Ishi lounging on a beach four years earlier. Since then, the two of them and Aki’s husband George have traveled extensively. Today the three of them and their 5 year-old daughter, Emi, live near the center of the hipster universe in Park Slope, Brooklyn, with their Labrador retriever, Pono.

In 2014 we were thrilled to have Aki, George, and Ishi visit us in Seattle. We cooked dinner, all in agreement that sharing food with friends (or enemies) is the way to the heart and an avenue toward peace. I made pasta, which Ishi found restful… even soporific.

Ishi means “rock” and “expression of desire” in Japanese, and though he tops out at just 1.77 inches tall he is a powerful presence and messenger for good.

His is an extraordinary story. From the beach in Kanagawa, Japan to Park Slope, Ishi has traveled thousands of miles and made thousands of friends. He has his own Facebook page with nearly 7000 followers, and a book about his life, Ishi: Simple Tips from a Solid Friend has sold more than 61,000 copies in 19 countries. Check it out; you can be Ishi’s friend as well. www.facebook.com/ishitherock

His backstory is equally eclectic. Akiko was born in Japan but moved to New York City when she was 11. George is a second-generation Vietnamese American from Seattle. M and I met the two of them in Saigon where George was the managing director of an advertising agency. Aki  had agreed to leave her job as a content developer at Sesame Street in New York City to accompany him to Vietnam and a new adventure.

There, Aki, feeling lonely and out of place, traded on her Sesame Street experience and found work developing content, script writing, and consulting on all aspects of production for a preschool television program (52 episodes), called “Let’s play with Color” in HCMC, Vietnam.

Ishi is no beach bum slouch. He has a message, a simple message. Aki explains it “When I was having a series of bad days, I met Ishi on the beach. Ishi cheered me on, reminding me that happiness was quite simple. I just needed to choose happiness.” I might put his message differently. I’d say it’s “Get over yourself. Share your smile and see how it affects those you meet and much better your day can be.” Ishi says it better. His smile is infectious and his wisdom profound.

I’m a big fan of naptime and so is Ishi. After the pasta course at our house he disappeared and this is where we found him. He likes Persians. In fact, he likes all things beautiful and everyone he encounters – people, dogs, cats, and the fish who swam above him in his earlier life.

Theirs was a pre-Covid weekend trip, but we hope Ishi and the gang will come back soon. They sent us a nice thank you note. Good manners. Ishi thinks good manners are always in order.

Back home he likes to hang out in Prospect Park. That’s Aki’s dog Pono swimming in to see his friend. Pono missed him a lot when he was away.

Ishi’s instructions, just behind the title page of the book are:

  1. Enjoy the book thoroughly yourself.
  2. Find someone who you want to share this book with.
  3. Pass it on and make someone smile

M and I have passed many on to friends of all ages.

If you’d like to order a copy to pass on, or for you to keep, please email me at ishismiles@gmail.com

I don’t know about you, but between Covid-19 variants, Stop the Steal, the Texas anti-abortion law, Russian troops gathering on the Ukraine border, the Build Back Better/Joe Manchin fiasco, Jeffrey and Ghislaine, insurrection deniers, and the debt ceiling, I find that hanging out with Ishi brings with it a breath of fresh air and refreshing change in attitude.

Addendum:  Akiko reports that the ISHI book is currently sold out but the publisher says they should be available soon… Until then, she made this pouch to remind someone to use these items as a reminder..

Pillow – so you remember to get good rest
Glasses – to remind you to look for the good
Shell – Nature has magic, so go outside every day! 
Glass bottle – to remind you to collect memories, not things
Balloon – so you can let go of what you can’t control 
Letter G – to remind you to have gratitude for what you have
Candle – to celebrate every small victories 
Staw – to help you take deeeeeep breaths 
A list – so you remember to write down 3 things that made you smile today
Cotton Candy – so you remember to have something yummy every day! 
Rock – so you know you ROCK!