What befell Paul during his travels in this wide world... Reply? PaulBackhurst97@gmail.com

 
Great SF Fall Weekend (Not Too Recent But)

What a lovely Columbus or Indigenous Peoples Day weekend it’s been! All week at work on Market St I’ve had to put up with low flying Blue Angels overhead—pretzel patterns and vapor trails are one thing but the deafening scream just short of a sonic boom is another. I think that SF isn’t yet another Gaza Strip but the spectacle-crazed crowd goes wild anyway. Middling America here in the Bay Area had Fleet Week and several major baseball/football games to occupy themselves this weekend but Karen and I rode bikes via Crissy Field and The Presidio to the 6th Annual Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival in Golden Gate Park.

Got there in time to hear a round robin Songwriters’ Circle with Steve Earle, Billy Bragg, Guy Clarke & Verlon Thompson. Steve had the crowd all giving the finger to the diving jets and sang real good too. Billy’s thick British accent dissolved into a stirringly clear clarion to Socialist solidarity. Haven’t heard much of him recently but his mission and gift are both intact. Guy and Verlon both have distinct, classic bluegrass sounds, and Guy’s voice was familiar, though I couldn’t attach it to any song in particular.

We segued over to the main stage during the final numbers of Earl Scruggs and his band to secure prime seats for the next act, which Earl introduced. The day was entirely warm and Indian Summer gorgeous, as Earl styled it “that sweet time of the afternoon,” with slant rays of the sun gilding the stage and burnishing the claret-colored dress that Gillian Welch wore—she of the high, Joni Mitchell-style cheekbones—accompanied by David Rawlings, with ringlet curls and tight-fitting Nashville suit half brother to both Johnnys—Depp & Cash. Their playing was inspired, each intricately fingering guitar and singing into a microphone at the same sideways crooked angle that would put a back out of joint. (Who would guess that these rootsy, twanging singer-songwriters met each other while attending Boston’s Berklee School of Music?) The crowd loved their extended version of “Time the Revelator.” And for an encore they were joined by that silver-haired songbird, Emmylou Harris.
On Sunday I joined Tina & hubby from Davis to hear Iris Dement, sounding as righteous and sweet as ever though I didn’t detect any new material. We sat at the base of a multi-branching bush along one side of the Rooster stage’s natural sloping amphitheater, with a good view—through branches—of the stage. Every available space was spoken for, but the crowd agreeably made room, if you expressed a clear intention to sit compactly in any corner of a previously staked-out area. In this respect, and also because shirtless and (mostly blond) dread-locked individuals’ sat suspended from vertiginous horizontal branches overhead, the scene recalled the 1970’s. Warm light filtering through deciduous leaves the autumn wind was coolly tossing made a natural magic. Still, walking through the crowd you passed through pungent thick clouds of weed smoke. And Tina’s husband made a bike run for beer. Typical of this low-key festival of some big names, the next act was one I couldn’t place: The Coward Brothers. This turned out to be an ad hoc collaboration of that ubiquitous producer T. Bone Burnett & Elvis Costello.
posted by Paul at 12:04 PM

 
I left my backpack at Karen’s Temescal Cohousing home last night,

where I’d gone for a community dinner in the new common house. Very beautiful stucco job with cantilevered second floor flat and first floor dining room—with a simple but gorgeous acid-washed concrete floor— kitchen, kids’ playroom and laundry facilities. Because all parties added a significant dollop to their hefty mortgages to build it, because it’s a substantial, indisputably physical edifice straddling the lot lines between the four, formerly discrete nuclear family-owned properties, the common house is as much as testament to their long-term commitment to this project as are their bylaws (& other documents). Hurrah for Temescal and other such projects!

After dinner Karen and I went to the Congregational Church at 27th and Harrison to hear Kathy Kelly (of Voices in the Wilderness) inspire us—Dennis Bernstein (looking a bit like Ben Franklin these days) and a mostly KPFA crowd—out of our post-election funks. Because she’s done such heroic humanitarian work in Iraq over many years, and is also a faith/personal integrity-based Plowshares activist, she’s been recognized with 3 or 4 Nobel Peace Prize nominations plus several stints in US maximum security women’s prisons. She had the audacity to suggest we need to listen carefully to Osama Bin Laden, and all “enemies” hating us so much that they’re willing to give up their precious lives to cause us harm. Whew! This is something I’ve thought but didn’t really have the courage to publish. Like my former housemate, Bonnie Urfer, Kathy once planted flowers on a nuclear missile silo in Missouri. These are impressive human beings!

OK, because I left my backpack at Karen’s Temescal Cohousing home last night, I had to pick it up today (so I have my gear to do my evening workout). Today’s weather has been gray with a steady, slanting rain. So, rather than bike I took a walk south on Dover to 50th (by Children’s Hospital), east to Shattuck and south a half block to Temescal Plaza, where the wrought-iron fence was covered by lush waxy leaves and large, intricate passionflowers blooming profusely. I cut through the plaza to Telegraph and then crossed to 49th. The first block down 49th thick stems of squash plants curled their wet orange blossoms out onto the sidewalk. Retrieved my backpack at Karen’s on 45th and then headed north on Broadway to College. On the east side of College just north of the Rockridge library branch, great pink blossoms of an amazing rose bush released all their perfume (scented, then seen). After two crispy chicken tacos at Cactus, washed down with an horchata, I cut over to Forest, crossed Claremont, up Howell to 60th, west to cross Telegraph to reach the park at Racine, a half block north to 61st, then west to Shattuck. In this usually nondescript block a violet bougainvillea smothered one house’s front; near the corner on a clump of tall stalks beige almost beaten ginger blossoms created a heady cloud of exotic scent. I made it home only slightly dampened but much invigorated to write this. To those wired to cell phones in cars whizzing by I say—even riding my bike I miss a lot—my other bike is/are my rollerblades are my feet.

(from a letter to Jeff Banks, 11/11/04)

posted by Paul at 9:57 AM

 
Dialogue: Iraq and Vietnam—Analogous Wars?

Schultz: I get my hair cut by a Vietnamese lady. She's entertaining, cheap, and the haircut doesn't matter much—it’s hard to badly cut really great hair!

I arrived early the other day and she was running late. To accommodate early birds she has a couch, a wooden folding chair, and an old cabinet-style TV gathering dust in an adjoining room. When I entered there was a Vietnamese gentleman about my age watching the nightly news on CNN. I joined him. Some idle chat (what I could understand of it) followed the newscast, which focused on the war in Iraq. Parallels were drawn. I asked about the emotions one has when a foreign military occupies one's country. He sloughed my question off. Answered by saying he fought for the South. Without the North’s backing by China and Russia coinciding with the weak will of the US Government, that war wouldn’t have been lost.

I pressed him on what reason we had to be in SE Asia or Iraq. Did oil have anything to do with the current conflict? He said the war is about terrorism. But again he called US politicians weak willed, stating we had Osama b-l and never took him out. We are being too easy on the religious fanatics that comprise Iraq. The deaths we suffer are small compared to those lost each week on the highways. He then asked a question, "Are you Republican or Democrat?” I didn't answer, didn't get a chance to, don't think it mattered. "Republican" he said. Not a guess, a command. "Democrats too weak."

My haircut ended his oration. What was once brown snowed down my shoulders, tumbled gently across the black vinyl apron, and fell softly to the floor. The snow of fifty years floated from the mountaintop. Yet nothing was clearer.

Paul: I liked your story. As to what your Vietnamese acquaintance purports, well, I want you to know I'm not anti-immigrant: I voted against that bloc trying to take over the Sierra Club; after the genocide of the native people and exploitation of what the founders considered chattel—black slaves, women, children—our country grew to be the lone hegemonic super-sucker it is on the backs of immigrant working people. Many of whom will tell you love this country unquestionably or get the f**k out!

Having said that, I worry about folks becoming "American" without much idea of our history, or experience of even limited political democracy. Is all we're about simply the freedom to make a buck? With post-WWII relative American prosperity, liberation struggles increased the democratic space for many people. Post 9/11 and its amazing mythic manipulation by cynical elites, that democratic space is rapidly ebbing. It will require more than occasionally casting hanging-chad ballots or touching a Diebold software screen to preserve the freedoms we grew up with.

The spark for the ongoing tragedy in Fallujah was the torture of American contractors. While few doubt our ability to more than redress that violence (the latest one-upmanship in a endless cycle), perhaps the more telling implication is how much of our war machine (like everything else) has been privatized. If war is fast becoming outsourced, our people are losing any semblance of control or notion of responsibility for it. I'm about ready to say Bring back the draft. Without the threat of casualties affecting the children of the elite, lacking a countervailing superpower threat we may look forward to war without end (and a future as that paradox, a "totalitarian democracy").

As to our specific involvement in Vietnam, I'd refer you to such films as The Quiet American and The Fog of War, which should be available soon as inexpensive video rentals. [Thanks to Dale Schultheis for permission to use his anecdote.]

posted by Paul at 9:05 AM

 
Depression-era Comedy, Making It Brand New

Set in Winnipeg during the Great Depression, Guy Maddin’s The Saddest Music in the World is so contemporary a film [part of the concurrent 47th San Francisco International Film Festival] it conflates the comedy-musical-melodrama genres into one wired pastiche that works. Mostly shot in black and white through a blue filter, the film oscillates with excitement into more lurid hues. Having obviously devoured silent films and newsreels, Maddin has recreated an appropriate period look (given a Baz Luhrman-like lens). His “snow queen” is the marvelous Isabella Rossellini, who plays the double-amputee beer heiress, Lady Port-Huntly, in blond wig with tiara.

Port-Huntly has offered a large Depression-era purse for the contestant who can perform the saddest music in the world at her brewery. From the wide world’s four corners national teams migrate to wintry Winnipeg, offering the oddest in period-exotic aural fare. After each round the winning team slides down a chute into a tub of beer. The incestuous Kent family, living locally, contrive to compete for the prize, representing the US, Canada, and Serbia. Throughout the ensuing madcap burlesque, Maddin manages both to touch the viewer and wallop Canada’s southern neighbor with some pointed satire. Memorably, Port-Huntley says, “If you’re sad and you like beer, then I’m your lady.”

posted by Paul at 11:57 AM

 
Fairness & Accuracy in NYT Haiti Coverage?

Your Haiti coverage today ["Haiti President Forced Out; Marines Sent To Keep Order" 3/1/04] leaves a lot to be desired. Who forced President Aristide out? Rebels controlling an ever greater portion of the country while the US sat idly by, or the US itself? The salient facts enabling a poorly informed person to make sense of the Haiti situation--most crucially the US aid blockade--are found toward the end of the article. US Congresswomen Maxine Waters and Barbara Lee are even maintaining that President Aristide was kidnapped by the US government, but I can't find any coverage of this allegation in the articles today on Haiti. Even the major Democratic presidential candidates are alluding to the US government's double-dealing in Haiti, but your coverage provides no informed context for such information. While your editorial bemoans heavy-handed Bush administration dealings with Haiti, a slightly better informed reader would have to conclude that you want to have it both ways, having no particular stake in this desperately impoverished nation.
posted by Paul at 9:16 AM

 
Your skewed coverage of the Haiti crisis continues today [3/2/04]. We learn "Aristide, Now in Central African Republic, Has Harsh Words for the Haitian Rebels" in Michael Wines's article but what we won't find is any coverage of Aristide's telephone calls to prominent Americans like the Rev. Jesse Jackson and Representative Maxine Waters of California, where he says he was kidnapped by military of the US government and forced into exile.

Michael Wines does report that South Africa has denied President Aristide asylum because opposition to President Mbeki there charge Mbeki"has a soft spot for internationally shunned dictators." This statement appearing five paragraphs ahead of the one in which certain dictators are named suggests erroneously that Aristide is one of them. He was elected by 60% of the Haitian population to fulfill a five year term.

In "State Dept. Denies Leader Was Forced Out of Office" David E. Sanger and Christopher Marquis build the news story around Secretary Powell's denial of the allegation of the US kidnapping of President Aristide, but it is only in the fifth paragraph from the end that we learn that "members of the Congressional Black caucus...believed that Mr. Aristide had been removed by 'a coup'." And though Sanger and Marquis mention in passing Rep. Charles Rangel's reporting that President Aristide was kidnapped, there isn't any in-depth record of the conversations that US Congresspersons, Rev. Jackson, and Randall Robinson had with President Aristide. If these conversations aren't newsworthy, I don't know what are. The "reporters" end the article allowing Sec. Powell a reassertion of his denial.

Your coverage of Haiti is some of the most biased I've seen recently from the New York Times. Do your reporters only rehash press releases from the Bush Administration these days? Fortunately, the Boston Globe and Reuters are beginning to air the story that the American people need to know. All the News That’s Fit to Print, Yeah.
posted by Paul at 9:14 AM

 
I wrote yesterday that Michael Wines had implied President Aristide of Haiti was a dictator, well, today he writes ["The Host Of Aristide Is Uneasy" 3/3/04] that he was "a leader condemned by many as a dictator." Who are these "many"? Has the New York Times simply stooped to defamation of character or are you willing to document and allow the cross examination of your sources? Is this Michael Wines, whom you employ, a responsible journalist or just a right-wing hack like Rush Limbaugh?

If the duly elected president of Haiti is not reinstated to fulfill the remainder of his five year term and the country returns to an anarchy that this time the Bush Administration's covert subversion bears much responsibility for, by not fairly reporting the Haiti story your paper also is implicated. The world runs in an orderly fashion as long as "big countries act like gangsters and small ones like prostitutes," which your columnist David Brooks revealingly stated on The News Hour with Jim Lehrer last year. When a small country exercises sovereignty to improve their impoverished peoples' lot democratically, watch out!
posted by Paul at 9:12 AM

 
"Let me not to the marriage of true minds/ Admit impediments"

You’ve got to hand it to dapper Gavin Newsom, recently sworn-in mayor of San Francisco through a squeaker election over progressive Matt Gonzalez: he’s pulled off a crowd pleaser for Valentine’s Day! And on an overcast or downright wet President’s Day I was there to witness the hundreds still gathered in front of SF City Hall, and snaking line of couples wrapping two thirds of the ornate edifice larger than many a state house, waiting patiently (as some had been camped out overnight) simply to be married in a civil ceremony.

As I anticipate celebrating the finalization of my divorce next month, I remember being married in an identical ceremony though with less fanfare seven years ago in this place. I married my Brazilian friend, Flavia, to help her get a green card. I wanted to know what benefits accrue to civil-supported married people—to make relatives—something then unavailable to same-sex couples. I don’t regret the lifelong friendships I cemented through this union, though I understand that a marriage without a depth of love and commitment won’t last.

Most of the couples patiently waiting to be married weren’t young and had probably been cohabitating for years. Why such a big deal over a piece of paper a court on Tuesday might well deem null and void? In 2004 the eventual outcome depends—not on any number of hypocritical state constitutional measures defending poor heterosexual marriage—but on whether the US Constitution shall be interpreted to support equal rights for all its citizens. If the Supreme Court eventually finds against the rights of gays and lesbians, our country will be justly ridiculed by much of the world.

On such an overcast winter day, City Hall was the festive place to be. For an hour or so I applauded couples sealing their bonds on this historic weekend day. Waiting taxis offered free rides to Just Marrieds! Umbrellas and food were freely dispensed. A mariachi band played their horns while two Latinas, emerging from the heavy doors in brocaded tunics, danced a traditional celebration of their nuptial vows.

posted by Paul at 12:32 PM

 
Birthday Greetings

Morning featured iced tracery on the windowpane above my bed, and, while I bicycled to a Bette’s breakfast, Berkeley weather was crisp, clear, and cold. At least there wasn’t much wind. I’ve been paying close attention to the pavement as I ride because, lately, my tires have been glue for glass shards, causing a record number of flats.

Pages of The New York Times are filled with reports of Dean’s drubbing in the Iowa caucus and the likelihood that he’s already washed up in New Hampshire. While Kucinich, who at best polls in single digits, chimes with my political views, I’m prepared this year to support the Democratic nominee in the prayer of unseating our near-dictator. While savaged by other Democratic candidates and the major media leading up to Iowa—a critical scrutiny George W. would never have survived at a similar time in his previous campaign—Dean (like Gore in the last election) finally has only himself to blame. Politics is the nastiest, scrappiest business imaginable. Any candidate that emerges reputation intact from the process is deeply flawed, however “electable.” With up-to-the-elbow involvement of powerful interests, the nominee will certainly be a “centrist” acceptable to the elite, who, being a centrist, will have little chance of getting enough disenfranchised folks to the polls to elect a Democrat this year. Given the outrageous war chest Bush has accumulated, Democrats will probably gain more press attention by not anointing their nominee prior to the convention. With any luck New Hampshire won’t second the Iowa results and saddle us with John Kerry. Meanwhile, in his State of the Union our Napoleon boldly utters his stunning lies and obfuscations, punctuated by the poseur’s grins and smirks, so sure that the sycophantic press will give him their usual pass. A world away in Afghanistan and Iraq we’re serving up model democracies but here at home it’s please pass the imperium.

Bette’s scrumptious special was “two eggs any style, chicken-apple sausage, and banana-walnut pancakes.” Wow. Something is right with the world! On the way home I took the bicycle path that skirts Aquatic Park. By the estuary edge the crisp weather had produced a wide assortment of sea and shore birds. Rounding a curve in the bicycle path, I caught the flash of an egret’s white plumage among the tall reeds of a feeder creek. “They say it’s your birthday, well, it’s my birthday, too.” Happy Birthday!

posted by Paul at 11:22 AM