Showing posts with label Anne Frank. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Anne Frank. Show all posts

Monday, October 16, 2023

October 16: "Tecumseh," Anger Boundless, Good at Heart

Mary Oliver on righteous anger . . . 

Tecumseh

by:  Mary Oliver

I went down not long ago
to the Mad River, under the willows
I knelt and drank from that crumpled flow, call it
what madness you will, there's a sickness
worse than the risk of death and that's
forgetting what we should never forget.
Tecumseh lived here.
The wounds of the past
are ignored, but hang on
like the litter that snags among the yellow branches,
newspapers and plastic bags, after the rains.

Where are the Shawnee now?
Do you know?  Or would you have to 
write to Washington, and even then,
whatever they said,
would you believe it?  Sometimes

I would like to paint my body red and go out into
the glittering snow to die.

His name meant Shooting Star.
From Mad River country north to the border
he gathered the tribes
and armed them one more time.  He vowed
to keep Ohio and it took him
over twenty years to fail.

After the bloody and final fighting, at Thames,
it was over, except
his body could not be found.
It was never found,
and you can do whatever you want with that, say

his people came in the black leaves of the night
and hauled him to a secret grave, or that
he turned into a little boy again, and leaped
into a birch canoe and went
rowing home down the rivers.  Anyway,
this much I'm sure of:  if we ever meet him, we'll know it,
he will still be
so angry.



There is a righteous anger in this poem.  The wounds of the past don't disappear.  As Oliver says, they hang on, persist like plastic bottles or bags, making the world unkind and ugly.  Tecumseh becomes myth--disappearing and transforming--yet he is still defined/identifiable by one thing:  his all-consuming anger.

Holding onto anger is not healthy.  I've learned this through my hundreds of hours in therapy and counseling.  Being angry at an individual doesn't really accomplish anything.  The person who made you angry is probably ignorant of your feelings while you are losing sleep and developing an ulcer.  Anger makes you sick.  

That doesn't mean all anger is bad.  People should get pissed about injustices and inequalities.  We in the United States all benefit from old white men stealing land from Indigenous peoples.  The economy of this country was driven by the slave trade.  U. S. citizens suffer and die because they can't afford decent healthcare or proper medication.  There are Holocaust deniers and white nationalists.  Rich male politicians and Supreme Court Justices who want to control women's health and bodies.  Homophobes who think love is something that can be legislated and controlled.  Islamophobes who blame the world's evils on Muslims.  Xenophobes who blame the world's evils on everyone but themselves.

The list is endless, the anger boundless.

However, I learned a long time ago that you can disagree without being disagreeable.  Another way of saying this:  you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar.  Bombs don't settle disagreements--they simply lead to blood and death.  Screaming and shouting don't settle disagreements, either--they just make your opposition scream and shout louder.  Starting a war is easy.  Building lasting peace, on the other hand, is complicated, if not impossible.  

I always return to a quote from Anne Frank when I fall into anger or darkness:  “In spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart. I simply can’t build up my hopes on a foundation consisting of confusion, misery, and death. I see the world gradually being turned into a wilderness, I hear the ever approaching thunder, which will destroy us too, I can feel the sufferings of millions and yet, if I look up into the heavens, I think that it will all come right, that this cruelty too will end, and that peace and tranquility will return again.”

If a little Jewish girl hiding in an attic in Nazi-occupied Amsterdam can still hope for peace and tranquility, I think we all can, as well.  Anger can be a catalyst for the worst kinds of human behavior.  It can also be a catalyst for goodness, kindness, understanding, and love.

In spite of everything happening in the world today, Saint Marty still believes that people are really good at heart.  Unless they're Trumpers.  



Saturday, August 12, 2017

August 12: A Beautiful City, Terrible Events, Good at Heart

The Englishman said that he, when captured, had made and kept the following vows to himself:  To brush his teeth twice a day, to shave once a day, to wash his face and hands before every meal and after going to the latrine, to polish his shoes once a day, to exercise for at least half an hour each morning, and then move his bowels, and to look into a mirror frequently, frankly evaluating his appearance with respect to posture.

Billy Pilgrim heard all this while lying in his nest.  He looked not at the Englishman's face but his ankles.

"I envy you lads," said the Englishman.

Somebody laughed.  Billy wondered what the joke was.

"You lads are leaving this afternoon for Dresden--a beautiful city, I'm told.  You won't  be cooped up like us.  You'll be out where the life is, and the food is certain to be more plentiful than here.  If I may inject a personal note:  It has been five years since I have seen a tree or flower or woman or child--or a dog or a cat or a place of entertainment, or a human being doing useful work of any kind.

"You needn't worry about bombs, by the way.  Dresden is an open city.  It is undefended, and contains no war industries or troop concentrations of any importance."

The Englishman is correct.  Dresden was a center of culture in Germany.  It wasn't a military target at all.  The firebombing of the city has been compared to the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.  Hundreds of thousands of civilians were killed.  The entire city was leveled.  The Allies did this at the end of the war, to break the morale of the German people.  It's still a controversial moment in the history of World War II.

I'm not here to argue whether this attack was right or wrong.  You can decide that for yourself.  Certainly, the war in Europe ended shortly after Dresden was destroyed.  It was horrific for the people who were there at the time and survived, like Kurt Vonnegut.  The cost of war on innocent lives is always huge.  There is no way to avoid it, unless it's simply to not engage in warfare at all.

I'm not completely sure that all the current world leaders can put military decisions in any kind of historical context.  (One leader, in particular, has never even read a history book, I'm certain.)  And without that historical context, I don't know how any head of state can make a military decision that puts innocent civilians in harm's way. 

What I'm saying is not a profound insight.  This post is just me grappling with things that are going on in my country and the world right now.  I'm not going to change anything with a blog post about an attack that occurred over 70 years ago.  I just want to express a hope that somebody in power somewhere will step back and say, "What the fuck are we doing here?"

Of course, history is full of terrible events--tragedies committed against humans by other humans.  The enslavement of the Jewish people by the Egyptians.  The Crusades.  The Spanish Inquisition.  The enslavement of African Americans in the United States.  The use of mustard gas in World War I.  The Holocaust.  The Armenian and Cambodian and Rwandan genocides.  The firebombing of Dresden. I could go on.  And these kinds of tragedies keep happening.  Just ask the people of Syria.

Like Anne Frank, I want to believe that, in spite of everything, people are still good at heart.  And I want to believe that those good-hearted people will prevail in the end.

Saint Marty is thankful today for soup kitchens and Habitat for Humanity.  For Greenpeace and Doctors Without Borders.  Animal shelters and cancer research.  For goodness and kindness.


Friday, July 7, 2017

July 7: The Curious Scarecrow, Art, Anne Frank

The candle in the hospital had gone out.  Poor old Edgar Derby had fallen asleep on the cot next to Billy's.  Billy was out of bed, groping along a wall, trying to find a way out because he had to take a leak so badly.

He suddenly found a door, which opened, let him reel out into the prison night.  Billy was loony with time-travel and morphine.  He delivered himself to a barbed-wire fence which snagged  him in a dozen places.  Billy tried to back away from it, but the barbs wouldn't let go.  So Billy did a silly little dance with the fence, taking a step this way, then that way, then returning to the beginning again.  

A Russian, himself out in the night to take a leak, saw Billy dancing--from the other side of the fence.  He came over to the curious scarecrow, tried to talk with it gently, asked it what country it was from.  The scarecrow paid no attention, went on dancing.  So the Russian undid the snags one by one, and the scarecrow danced off into the night again without a word of thanks.

The Russian waved to him, and called after him in Russian, "Good-bye."

An American meeting a Russian on German soil.  Hmmm.  Sounds familiar.  Seems that Donald Trump met with Vladimir Putin today in Hamburg at the G20 Summit.  I haven't had much of an opportunity to listen to the news today, so I'm not sure what kind of embarrassment happened.  I'm sure Donald Trump opened his mouth and said something completely idiotic.  And I'm sure Putin sat or stood next to him, stone-faced, looking a little reptilian.

This is not going to be a political post.  I just found the parallels between the passage from Slaughterhouse and reality interesting.  It's strange how life imitates art and vice versa.  I often have moments like this.  Just finished reading The Handmaid's Tale, and Atwood's version of the future left me a little unsettled, considering everything that has been going on in Washington, D. C., over the last seven months.  A year ago, I would have said a totalitarian state was unimaginable in the United States.  I'm not quite so convinced now.

Art is, often, a reflection of its time.  Vonnegut wrote and published Slaughterhouse when America was eye-deep in Vietnam.  It's a book about war and violence and death and humankind's destructive nature.  However, the best art also transcends time.  To use Vonnegut's term, it becomes unstuck in time.  So, now, in 2017, Slaughterhouse seems just as relevant.  The Handmaid's Tale rings out a prophecy or warning.  Walden's call to civil disobedience and environmental consciousness speaks even more loudly as Donald Trump withdraws from the Paris Climate Accord.

Art is important.  It gives voice to things that aren't being said.  Things that should be said.  Writing a poem or novel, painting a portrait, composing a song--any creative endeavor--is an act of hope.  I put pen to paper because I believe in beauty and kindness and compassion and grace.  As Anne Frank said, "In spite of everything, I still believe that people are really good at heart." 

Saint Marty is thankful tonight for art.



Tuesday, June 29, 2010

June 29: Saints Peter and Paul

"In spite of everything I still believe that people are are really good at heart."
-----Anne Frank

I have a confession to make. It may come as a surprise to some of my readers, but those of you who know me personally will not be surprised at all by what I am about to reveal. Here goes.

My confession: I get pissed at God sometimes. In fact, God and I haven't been on speaking terms for long periods of time in the past.

I'm not talking about an anger that comes and goes quickly, like God eating the last piece of pizza I was saving for breakfast. I'm talking about a lasting and abiding rage that lasts for months, like God seeing me broken down on the side of the road at 2 a.m. and just driving by me, honking His horn and waving.

There have been times in my life when I couldn't pray, times when I felt so betrayed and abandoned by God that going to church was like attending a birthday party for Hitler.

At the start of one of these crises, I was in the office of my pastor friend at church. He already knew the circumstances that brought me to him. I sat on the couch in front of him, sobbing and snotting all over myself.

When I was finally able to speak, I said, "I just want to know what I did."

He looked at me puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"What I did," I said again. "To make God punish me like this?"

Now, I'm sure some of you are wondering what personal catastrophe brought me to this point. So let me clear that up: I'm not going to tell you. What I will tell you is that I was wounded. Shattered, as a matter of fact. And I was looking for reason, logic, sense in a senseless situation.

I honestly thought God was adjusting the scales, meting out some divine justice on my head. I just couldn't figure out what I had done to deserve it.

"You didn't do anything," my friend said.

I shook my head and hugged my stomach, as if I'd been gut-punched.

"Listen to me," my friend said. "You didn't do anything."

I looked at him.

"God doesn't work that way," he said, leaning back in his chair. He waved his hands at the contents of his office. "And I wouldn't work for a God who did work that way."

I shook my head again, gripped by another stomach spasm.

"I'm serious," he said. "I'd resign today and go work at Burger King if I thought that's how the way things were." He said it so firmly and with such conviction that I wanted to believe him. I wanted to be that sure of God's constant and unchangeable love. I was drowning.

It's really easy to blame God for the crap that happens in the world and in your life. He created the world, after all, so He should be responsible for its brokenness, as well. Hurricane Katrina--God. Genocide in Rwanda--God. Racism--God. Mental illness--God. It's a pretty easy formula, isn't it?

But it ain't that easy. That would be like eating a Florida orange and claiming it was the solution to the BP oil spill in the Gulf. I want life to be that simple, that reductive. It's not.

What my pastor friend made me understand was that God did, indeed, make the world. Babies, rainbows, full moons, oceans, sunrises, sunsets, Godiva chocolates. But all the shit--global warming, murder, abandonment, war, alcoholism, drug addiction, sexual addiction, pornography, mental illness--that's just a symptom of human beings chasing the cracks in creation, the human-made fault lines full of shadows and pain. God always wants what's best for me. For us. He didn't want me sitting in my friend's office, weeping. But God did give me a friend who listened to my cries. God can take a huge pile of manure, add a seed, and make an orchid bloom.

Take Peter and Paul, for example. Peter argued with Jesus on more than one occasion. He pissed Jesus off so much that J.C. even called Peter "Satan" once. Peter was always telling Jesus that he knew J.C. was the savior and son of God, but when the chips were down, Pete's basic response was, "I don't know nothin' 'bout that Jesus guy." Paul was even worse. Paul, AKA Saul, was throwing Christians to the lions. Literally. After his conversion, he suffered from a "thorn in his flesh", which he writes about in 2 Corinthians. Different people have interpreted this "thorn" as an eye ailment; depression; guilt over his earlier persecution of Christians; and a particularly troublesome opponent to his work in Corinth. Regardless of what or who the thorn was, Paul didn't have it easy. Yet, God took both of these flawed, broken men and made saints out of them.

What's my point?

My point is that I know it's OK to be pissed at God. If He can take eight years of George W. Bush, my little bundle of anger must seem like a mosquito buzzing around His head. God doesn't create problems. Humans do. God takes problems and creates beauty.

From the Holocaust came Anne Frank's diary. From moldy bread came penicillin. And from mental illness and anger came a rebirth of love and my beautiful son.