The Date That Lives in Infamy

Today commemorates the 71st anniversary of the surprise military strike by the Imperial Japanese Navy against the US naval base at Pearl Harbor in Hawaii.  More than 2,400 Americans were killed and more than 1,200 were wounded.  It was the most significant act of terrorism on US soil in the 20th century.  The only other foreign attack on US soil that took more lives was the one that occurred on 9-11, which occurred early in the 21st century.

While I was not even a "gleam" in my father's eye when the Pearl Harbor attack occurred, that event not only - and most significantly - resulted in US entry into the worldwide conflict known as World War II, it also kick-started the chain of events that inspired my father to enlist in the US Navy and marry his Montana sweetheart before setting off to fight his battles in the South Pacific.  That union resulted in my conception.  But I only arrived on the scene when the Battle of Pearl Harbor was a little more than two years old.  War was raging everywhere - from the ultimately lethal steppes of the Soviet Union, to the scorching deserts of North Africa, to the steamy jungles and tropical islands of South Asia and the Pacific Rim, to nearly the whole of the European continent, which would remain absolutely devastated for years afterward.  When I was born, the Allied Forces were still struggling desperately in each of those areas.  That the Allies would ultimately prevail in this conflict was not at all a sure thing.  In fact, the outlook looked quite bleak at that time.

One day after the Pearl Harbor attack, then-President Franklin Delano Roosevelt addressed a joint session of Congress and the US people via radio.  In the first line of his speech that day, he uttered the phrase "a date which will live in infamy" to refer to the events of the previous day.  That phrase has remained one of the most evocative of an era particularly rich in evocative phrases.  Immediately following FDR's speech,

[t]he Senate responded with a unanimous vote in support of war; only Montana pacifist Jeanette Rankin dissented in the House. At 4:00 p.m. that same afternoon, President Roosevelt signed the declaration of war.

Yes, my fellow Montanan Jeannette Rankin - the only woman in Congress - stood alone.   Not even this outrageous act could shake her deep convictions that war was wrong.  She was vilified, threatened and harassed for having those convictions.

But this post is not about Ms Rankin, who remains one of my heroes.  Even if I do not wholly support her on that particular vote, I understand and share her abiding hatred of war.  No, this post instead deals with another remarkable woman of the era, journalist Elizabeth McIntosh, who happened to be covering news in Honolulu in December 1941.  Ms McIntosh wrote a compelling article about what she saw and experienced in the week following the attack.  Her editors "killed" her story, believing that its graphic content would be too "upsetting" for readers and especially upsetting for women, at whom the article was specifically directed.  So the article was never published - until yesterday when it appeared in the Washington Post, 71 years after the event.  Here is a sample of her powerful writing:

      Then, from the neighborhood called Punchbowl, I saw a formation of black planes diving straight into the ocean off Pearl Harbor. The blue sky was punctured with anti-aircraft smoke puffs. Suddenly, there was a sharp whistling sound, almost over my shoulder, and below, down on School Street. I saw a rooftop fly into the air like a pasteboard movie set.     For the first time, I felt that numb terror that all of London has known for months. It is the terror of not being able to do anything but fall on your stomach and hope the bomb won’t land on you. It’s the helplessness and terror of sudden visions of a ripping sensation in your back, shrapnel coursing through your chest, total blackness, maybe death. 

Hers is one of the very few contemporaneous accounts I have read that actually details civilian casualties, describing "charred bodies of children" and bodies lying on slabs in the "grotesque positions" in which they had died, one being that of a little girl in a red sweater and barefoot, who "still clutched a piece of jump-rope in her hand."   Most reporting was about the military casualties, striking enough in its impact.

But military forces are "fair game;" they know what they've signed up for.  Civilians somehow believe that they are exempt.  We simply are not exempt, as was seen not only in World War II war theaters, but in every smaller scale conflict since - whether that conflict occurs between nations or within them.

Ms McIntosh is now a still lively - and incredibly alert - 97 years old.  A short time after her experiences in Hawaii, she joined the newly-created Office of Strategic Services (OSS), the forerunner of today's Central Intelligence Agency, and worked as a spy throughout the duration of the war.  In that, she was like another of my personal heroes, coincidentally another "Betty."  Ms McIntosh has officially joined my pantheon.

Tiananmen Today

On 4 June 1989, Chinese civilians, for the most part workers and students, who had been gathering en masse in and around Tiananmen Square in Beijing's city center since April of that year because of grievances related to inflation, limited career prospects for students and corruption of the Communist party elite, were forced out of the square by the Chinese army.  The protesters, who numbered up to half a million, called for government accountability, freedom of the press, freedom of speech and restoration of workers' control over Chinese industry.  Up to the time that the army arrived, these protests were peaceful.

Initial reports stated that the army fired upon the protesters in Tiananmen Square, but recent discoveries from cables leaked via WikiLeaks have supported the Chinese authorities' account that the army did not actually fire upon protesters in the square itself.  But this is somewhat of a moot point.  The army was merciless as it cut through streets on its way to the square.  Tanks and soldiers destroyed impromptu barricades and other obstacles and fired live ammunition at anyone in their path.  The actual number of civilians killed is not known although estimates range from several hundred to thousands.  Although the Chinese government was widely condemned around the world for its use of force against the protesters, that did not prevent the protesters and their supporters from being arrested, demoted and purged.  Or worse.  Public discussion of this incident is still suppressed in China.

It is one of the great historical ironies that this expansive square, forever linked with 20th-century tyranny and bloodshed, takes its name from the Tiananmen Gate or the Gate of "Heavenly Peace."  It is, however, a testament to the resiliency of the human spirit and one to the resilience of the spirit of the Chinese people in particular because 23 years later, life has fully returned to the area.  Tiananmen Square has also become a major tourist attraction in Beijing.  Thus, HWMBO and his group made their way there as well.

Visibility on the day of their visit was not good

but that did not appear to dampen or squelch visitor enthusiasm at all.

And the group posed for a quick photo

before entering the Forbidden City.

"Nile" Frolics and Fantasies

In another brief break from China travels, I would like to pay homage to a best-selling mystery writer who actually lives not too far from where I do when I'm in Maryland.

Yesterday, while reading the Washington Post on-line, I noticed an article stating that Barbara Mertz, aka "Elizabeth Peters" and "Barbara Michaels," celebrated her 85th birthday in Frederick, MD on Saturday, 29 September.  One of the best-known - certainly the longest - of her best-selling mystery series deals with the spunky British heroine, Amelia Peabody, who with her intrepid, if irascible, husband Radcliffe Emerson (they refer fondly to each other as "Peabody" and "Emerson"), practices Egyptology during its erstwhile "heyday" in the late Victorian through - to date - post WWI period.  Thus, several among the more than 100 guests who gathered together in Frederick from various locations costumed themselves as Egyptian pharaohs.  Mertz herself wore "a long black gown and jet-black wig" while sitting "in a rattan throne, sipping a drink and smoking from a silver hookah like a character in 'Alice in Wonderland.'"

Mertz's literary tastes are eclectic, to say the least.  Apart from the "Alice" image mentioned in the article, activities took place in the "graciously landscaped yard of Mertz's Hobbit-inspired farmhouse.  A grand pyramid (c. 2012) marked the entrance.  Early in the day, a live camel and a python [?!] dropped by to add Egyptian ambiance.  Belly dancers entertained the audience."

I remain somewhat mystified about the python's relationship to Egyptology - surely an asp would have been a more appropos, albeit substantially more lethal, choice.  Perhaps there are liability issues with parading an asp around carousing guests.  And writing as "Elizabeth Peters," Mertz's work is fiction after all so why not take a few liberties?  But it sounds as if all enjoyed themselves thoroughly.  Among the guests were several of my favorite mystery writers: Joan Hess, Margaret Maron and Aaron Elkins are among those mentioned.

Mertz actually has a PhD in Egyptology from the University of Chicago and began her writing career with a couple popular histories of Egypt. When she began her career writing fiction in the 1960s, her agent suggested that she use pseudonyms so that her readers would not confuse her fictional works with the previously published nonfiction.  Mertz herself says that she finds the different names a "horrible nuisance" but that they do seem to help her readers distinguish among the types of books that she writes.  Mertz writes nonfiction on archaeology; Michaels writes thrillers, many with a supernatural element; and Peters writes mystery suspense, with a substantial element of comedy.

I have read nearly all of her fictional offerings and plan to read the nonfiction as well.  I read "Crocodile on the Sandbank," the first book in the Amelia Peabody series, when it was first published in 1975 and was delighted when many Peabody-Emerson sequels followed in the 1980s.  Being quite busy professionally, I left Amelia, Emerson and their growing brood behind during much of the 1990s, but had my interest rekindled once I had actually visited Egypt for myself.  So it was with great pleasure that I returned to their adventures after the millennium.  Now, I am current through "A River in the Sky," published in 2010, that describes their adventures in pre-WWI Palestine, when it was a province of the Ottoman Empire, because they have been banned from their beloved Egypt.

Mertz has brought a world of joy - and imparted knowledge - to so many people through her writings that I wanted to send her my own very special birthday greetings.  She is an inspiration in so many ways for so many women.  Happy Birthday and thank you, MPM!

My Transplanted Provence

One of my favorite places to visit is the beautiful southern area of France known as Provence, with its blue sky, vivid bright colors, fragrant flowering plants, medieval villages perched on hillsides, olive groves, vineyards, Alpine foothills and, of course, the Mediterranean beaches near Cassis, Saint-Tropez, Cannes, Nice and further along the French Riviera into Italy. For a quick overview, see this short video.

The coast of Provence has some of the earliest known sites of human habitation in Europe. Primitive stone tools found there date back to 1.05 million years BC. This is patent evidence that even some of my earliest ancestors found the area conducive to settling down, finding food, building homes - although the earliest were cave dwellings - and raising families. Eons after these cave dwellers, the first pastoral peoples came, bringing flocks, agriculture and even industry. There is evidence that the first pottery production in France began in Provence, around 6000 BC. Various new peoples discovered the area, displacing or blending in with the earliest settlers until finally the two main groups were Celts and Ligurians.  Then the Ancient Greeks discovered the area and created their first permanent settlement at Massilia (modern Marseille), making it one of the major trading ports of the ancient world.

But where the Greeks would settle, the Romans would not be far behind. Ultimately the Romans would conquer the whole of Gaul, later to become France. When I first studied Latin, I well remember working my way rather tediously through selected parts of the Commentarii de Bello Gallico written by Julius Caesar about his experiences in the Gallic War, as well as his frequent references to "Provincia" (now Provence). Since Caesar's days, many peoples have come and gone in the area: some willingly, some not. The last warlike invasions occurred there on 15 August 1944 when the Free French, accompanied by other Allied troops, had to reconquer their own country. Nowadays, invaders come from all over the world, armed principally with their pocketbooks and credit cards, to enjoy "la belle vie" as it is thoroughly enjoyed there.


The last time I visited Provence was in 2009 when Healer Sis was visiting. While we certainly enjoyed traveling and seeing the beautiful sights, upon our return to Switzerland we realized that we already had a lot of the ambiance of Provence right here, but without the crowds. Vineyards and mountains are here in abundance. I have a lovely little beachfront right on Lake Geneva. Best of all, it's only a five-minute walk from here. As for other typical sights of Provence, such as lavender

and brilliant scarlet poppies,

I can see them every day as I ride my bicycle.

In fact, all I have to do is look out on my balcony

and I have my transplanted Provence right before my eyes!

Caravans, Cranes and War Without End, Part 3

As with so many situations today, thinking about the country of Afghanistan - and how it has changed from my initial romantically sweeping impressions and not for the better as a result of the military invasion spearheaded by the US in late 2001 - is, at the very least, depressing. Thus, before getting too far into this post, I would like first to post these words from someone I greatly admire, the late noted historian and author, Howard Zinn. His words serve as a touchstone to remind us that even during some of our darkest hours, the best qualities of our shared humanity have - so far - managed to transcend the worst of situations.

"To be hopeful in bad times is not just foolishly romantic; it is based on the fact that human history is a history not only of cruelty, but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, kindness.
What we choose to emphasize in this complex history will determine our lives. If we see only the worst, it destroys our ability to do something. If we remember those times and places - and there are so many - where people have behaved magnificently, this gives us the energy to act, and at least the possibility of sending this spinning top of a world in a different direction. And if we do act, in however small a way, we don't have to wait for a grand utopian future.
The future is an infinite succession of presents, and to live now as we think human beings should live, in defiance of all that is bad around us, is itself a marvelous victory." [Emphasis mine.]

In October 2001, ostensibly due to the refusal of the then-Government in power in Afghanistan, the Taliban, to hand over Osama Bin Laden to US authorities and to disband Al Qaeda bases in Afghanistan following the catastrophic 9-11 bombings, the US launched "Operation Enduring Freedom (OEF)." As pathetically and hopelessly misnamed as other US military ventures occurring during the 2001-2008 period, the only thing enduring about OEF is its length. So far at least, "freedom" in any meaningful sense for the Afghani people has been an impossible dream. OEF's US and NATO fatalities appear comparatively minimal in relation to military operations on a similar scale. But the human toll - both physical and mental - on the Afghani people and all combattants and the continuing deterioration and destabilization of the entire region, to say nothing of the extravagant sums of money literally poured into a bottomless Black Hole that have enriched unscrupulous people of all nationalities with little benefit to the ordinary Afghan together with the area's strongly resurgent trade in opium poppies, make this ill-advised, ill-conceived and ill-implemented measure one of the greatest military stalemates, if not in history, certainly in recent times.

It didn't have to be this way. Yes, my country was greatly traumatized - and remains so today - by the events of 9-11. I myself am still traumatized by them. But I remain even more traumatized by their aftermath. Unscrupulous, indolent and short-term opportunistic politicians and their Machiavellian puppeteers - in the name of a "War on Terror" - seized upon the occasion to curtail US civil rights and liberties to an unprecedented extent (see the so-called "Patriot Act"). They also implemented agendas that had very little to do with "freeing" anyone, but very much to do with gaining complete access to strategic geopolitical locales  and to the enormous reserves of natural resources located therein, as well as personal enrichment.

The US had itself laid the groundwork for Al Qaeda in the 1980s by arming and training the most rabid opposition groups to fight against the Soviets. As Edward Girardet states from his first-hand observations, "Despite endless opportunities to support moderate factions during the Soviet-Afghan war, the CIA - prompted by Pakistan - insisted on working closely with the most fanatical Islamic factions." Girardet notes further that, even before the infamous August briefing (that then-President Bush apparently never read that warned that attacks were being planned in the US), that the US was warned in 2001 by credible, less fanatic, Afghan leaders that there would be an attack in the US and that there should be no intervention - particularly a military intervention - in Afghanistan, but rather that pressure should be put on Pakistan. This was because Pakistan, particularly through its military intelligence, was supporting the Taliban. As we have seen since, Pakistan still supports Taliban factions today. In fact, Girardet asserts that, had the US not rushed into Afghanistan in 2001, the Taliban, who were already on the point of implosion, would have defeated themselves. There were simply too many different voices and factions - an endemic Afghan situation. What a lot of anguish the entire world might have been spared, had cooler heads and more informed, less selfish and less short-sighted individuals been in power in the US in 2001! If only.

There is universal consensus - save for armchair military "experts" - that a military solution in Afghanistan imposed by outside powers is improbable, if not impossible. Centuries of military history in the region would seem to bear out that consensus. "Justice" cannot be imposed by military means. Any viable solution must involve Afghans in their own destiny. They must include not simply those Afghans selected by or acceptable to Western power-brokers, but every group of Afghans that has a stake in their own nation. Afghans - not simply those at the highest levels -  must be consulted and involved in their own destiny. Plenty of people are needed with full measure of our best human qualities: compassion, sacrifice, courage, kindness - much of which has been demonstrated by selfless countless aid workers on the ground before, during and continuing even now under extremely difficult circumstances.

The current plans for US "drawdown" rely too much on our continuing military presence in Afghanistan. This is perceived as an occupation - with some few soldiers inevitably either deliberately insulting Afghans or committing atrocities - even though the majority of military personnel are simply trying to do their best in extremely difficult circumstances, with an undefined and nebulous "mission" to boot.

As one veteran of the US war in Iraq puts it, "War doesn't just rob the occupied of their humanity; it robs the occupier of theirs too. And this is why humankind cannot continue to wage senseless wars that accomplish nothing but death and destruction." Well said, IMO, from one who has "been there, done that."

Humankind is incredibly resilient. It survived the world's arguably worst Holocaust ever in the 20th century, after all. While there is much harm from the past decade that can never be undone, if we can all learn lessons from it and do as much as we can to mitigate its lasting effects to assist in building new foundations and new bridges among cultures, there is reason to be optimistic. While some of us may never be able to travel with the caravans as did the characters in Michener's novel nor will we ever behold unscathed relics of former civilizations in Afghanistan such as the Buddhas of Bamiyan that HWMBO visited in the late 1970s, perhaps we will one day see the cranes return to fly over Kabul in the spring. Or, better yet, Afghans themselves who are living in harmony among their fellows and with their environment will see these lovely emissaries of spring and wonder at their passage.    

Caravans, Cranes and War Without End, Part 2

James Michener's 1963 novel "Caravans" was one of his characteristically sweeping sagas, this time set in Afghanistan and neighboring countries in the period immediately following World War II. The movie based on this book was filmed in Iran and released in 1978, the year that HWMBO returned to the US after four years living and working in Iran. HWMBO departed barely ahead of the revolution that would transform Iran from 1979 on.

The story deals with a protagonist who is stationed at the American Embassy in Kabul who is given the assignment to discover the whereabouts and condition of an American woman who had married an Afghani exchange student several months previously and then seemingly disappeared. Given the time (mid to late 1940s) and the state of race relations generally in the US, any white American woman who married a foreigner, particularly one whose skin color was darker than lily-white, was already in the extreme avant-garde. Interestingly, nearly 20 years later, another avant-garde white American woman married another even more dusky-hued exchange student although she did not follow him when he returned to his native country. The current US President, whom I am very proud to support wholeheartedly, was born of that union in Hawaii, another Michener novel locale. Unfortunately, it does not seem that race relations in certain parts of the US have progressed much beyond the post WWII-period. To our eternal shame.

As anyone who reads the novel discovers, no harm has befallen the American woman, who is supremely independent and very much the mistress of her own destiny. But the scenario does provide Michener with the excuse to explore the extremely interesting complexes and nuances of the primarily nomadic cultures that he describes. In fact, even with that arguably sketchy and fictional background about Afghanistan paired with my own experiences as a Peace Corps Volunteer in an Islamic culture, I likely understood much more about the region than the majority of those in the Reagan Administration who hated anything Russian with fanatical zeal. Thus, as soon as they possibly could, and in defiance of any long-term logic, they hastened to arm the most fundamentalist Islamic Afghan groups and extensively trained in military tactics anyone who was willing, Afghan or not, to fight the Russians who invaded Afghanistan in 1979. Of course, as we have all seen since, many of those who were armed and trained by the short-sighted Reagan-era fanatics were the same people who would later conspire successfully to bring down the Twin Towers on 9-11. Many of those trained and their successors continue to fight - successfully - against our own troops today.

So, I was delighted when in late January I had an opportunity to meet with and hear some of the first-hand experiences of the Swiss-American journalist, Edward Girardet. Girardet, who has a home in Geneva and who wrote principally for the Christian Science Monitor during the 30-year period from 1979-2009, published a book, "Killing the Cranes," in 2011 about his experiences during three decades of war in Afghanistan. Here is one book review. It is my fervent hope that those in the Obama Administration will read it and take heed. In fact, I think that every American should read it. After our extremely ill-advised commencement of war there in 2001, we seem caught there in a morass that destroyed empires long before our own was even a gleam in the eye of civilization.

As Girardet tells it, the title comes from an experience in March 2004 when Girardet was spending the evening with an Afghan friend in Kabul. His friend remarked, "For me, the end of March has always been the time when you cannot hear your voice for the sound of the migrating cranes." He meant the Siberian cranes that every spring have flown northward from the southern wetlands of Iran and Afghanistan to the Russian Arctic and northern Siberia. The friend continued, "You know, I have not heard a single crane since being here." Shaking his head wearily, he asked, "Have we even killed all the cranes?"

In September 2001, Girardet was in Afghanistan hoping to interview Ahmad Shah Massoud, the Afghan leader who likely presented the main challenge to the then-Taliban government and thus a counter to the growing influence of Al Qaeda. As it would happen, Girardet had a commitment to return to Switzerland for his wife's birthday and could not stay later than 8 September. Because weather conditions were such that Massoud's helicopter could not land at his command post until after Girardet's departure, Girardet missed getting his interview. Fortunately for him, he also likely just missed being killed along with Massoud on 9 September. In the book, Girardet describes how all the journalists waiting to interview Massoud were staying in the same guesthouse. Staying in the room next to his were two Arabs posing as journalists who turned out to be Massoud's assassins.  Here is a link to a YouTube video of Girardet's conversation with Thom Hartmann.

Afghanistan has been in the headlines recently, but neither in the romantically exciting sense of "Caravans," nor in the vanished cranes symbolizing a similarly lost past. Now it is in the context of War Without End and commensurate atrocities. Thus, to tomorrow's post.

Caravans, Cranes and War Without End, Part 1

When I was much younger, among the books I loved to read were those by novelist James Michener. Michener's works were generally characterized by their scope and treatment of epic sagas.  He often began literally at the geological or at least the pre-historical origins of the regions that he wished to encapsulate for his readers and described ensuing generations in detail. One literally needed a map of the territory or territories covered, along with family trees to keep the characters sorted, as the stories wound their way through the generations, with actual historical events often forming the backdrop. Michener's research was meticulous. But what also characterized his novels for me, especially in hindsight and upon reading some at my now more advanced age, was Michener's prescience. So many of the issues he treated, whether they concerned ethnic identities, religious zealotry, tolerance or the lack of it, individuals and their rights or identities being subsumed into a larger geopolitical military context or simply appreciation of the richness, beauty or vast expanses of the regions his novels dealt with, have emerged time and again as events in those regions have made headlines.

Some of his novels have resonated with me at different times in my life. More eerily, they have even paralleled my own life trajectory, although occasionally in their film as well as written forms. Thus, I first saw "South Pacific," the film made from the blockbuster Broadway musical of the same name based on his Pulitzer Prize-winning novel "Tales of the South Pacific," in the early 1950s when my family made its first-ever major family trip together. We had boarded the then-orange-and-black Empire Builder in our tiny rural home town in Montana - that was when the train made stops in other than major cities so that people could actually get from one place to another - and traveled westward for many, many hours through the Rocky Mountains to Spokane, Washington to visit my father's parents as well as other family members there.  As if the Spokane visit were not already an adventure sufficient unto itself, while we were there, we attended a showing of the movie. The wonderful tunes, beautiful film footage and story line grabbed my soul and imbued it - once and forever - with the wanderlust that has been with me since.

Continuing Michener's fascination with Polynesia was his 1959 novel, "Hawaii," which I loved - even the seemingly-endless description of the birth of the islands themselves. While awaiting the birth of my older son in the mid-60s, I read "Caravans" and "The Source." After living in Tangier, Morocco in the late 60s and meeting descendants of those whose ancestors had fled to Morocco from Spain after the Spanish had reconquered Andalusia in the 15th century, I read "The Drifters." I read several other titles in the 1970s, courtesy of the Missoula County Public Library.

"Caravans" re-entered my life in film form late in 1980, when my sons and I were once again in Morocco, this time in Rabat. As an aid worker, I was entitled to attend English-language films at the Embassy and generally took my then-teen-aged sons with me - homesick as they were for anything American at the time. Somehow we had missed seeing the film in the States, so it was a new experience for us. A few months later when I had been introduced to the man who would later figure in my life as "HWMBO," I was delighted to learn that much of the film had been shot on location in Iran, near where HWMBO and several other US expatriates lived during the time when relations between our two governments were friendly. Some of these new friends had actually been "extras" on the set! Now we were together with them in Morocco. They were as affected with wanderlust as I!

Later, after marrying and returning with my newly increased family to Maryland, I read Michener's "Chesapeake." It was a lovely introduction to that home. That novel is here with me now. In Switzerland.

But all those life experiences were pre-9-11, that catastrophically tragic day when the world literally changed forever.

Michener was fortunate. He left us all in 1997, before the horror arrived, before the decade-plus thereafter when the US - if it ever truly had a claim as a "White Knight" had most certainly lost it, perhaps forever.  And now for the Cranes ....

The Tricentenary of a Revolutionary

In addition to being the Chinese Year of the Dragon as well as a Presidential election year for both France and the United States, 2012 is also the year when the three-hundredth anniversary of the birth of the Genevan-born philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau is being celebrated hereabouts.  Festivities to commemorate Rousseau began in Geneva last week and will continue throughout the rest of the year, not merely being limited to the commemoration of his birth.

This is quite a remarkable change from earlier centennial years, 1912 being the most recent example, when many Genevans still viewed Rousseau with embarrassment if not actual outrage, partly because his writing mirrored uncomfortable social, economic and political truths and partly because there was still a certain amount of pre-WWI social squeamishness and decorum in Switzerland at the time.  Between Rousseau and Geneva there existed a love-hate relationship that moved definitively into a "hate" phase in 1762 after publication of two of his best-known and most influential works:  Du Contrat social (The Social Contract) and Emile ou de l'Education (Emile or About Education).

Both works were published in France where Rousseau was living at the time.  In those pre-French Revolution days, both were rapidly condemned by the French civil and religious authorities.  Condemnation has almost always been an effective way to gain avid readership, especially if the condemned works contain unpleasant social truths that disgruntle or threaten a privileged few.  This was the case with Rousseau's writings.  In fact, these 18th-century condemnations were so powerful that Rousseau and his writings were added to the Catholic Church's Index Librorum Prohibitorum (Index of Prohibited Books) where they remained until 1966, when the Index was abolished by Pope Paul VI.

During my undergraduate World Literature courses, which took place at a Catholic college before 1966, our instructor skipped Rousseau, along with another well-known local writer of "obscene" works: Voltaire.  Before 1966, Catholics were not allowed to read books that were listed in the Index.  Although I can't recall whether the penalty for doing so was mortal sin or excommunication, it was a Big One.  Rousseau's works, among others, were subjected to deliberate censorship.  For my part, this particular censorship has been remedied many times over since that time, I am happy to say.  Ironically, I now find myself geographically in a literary 18th-century "hotbed" of "obscenity" and find the situation fascinating.  What is particularly interesting is that many of these works are as powerful and as meaningful today as they were in the 18th century, as demonstrated by the Arab Spring movements of 2011 and the ongoing global "Occupy" movements.  These ideas are timeless and that is why authorities, especially repressive authorities, found - and still find - them frightening.

Censorship can also make life very unpleasant for those authors whose works are condemned and that was the case for Rousseau.  Believing it prudent to flee from France in the circumstances, he took refuge in Geneva.  But it took Genevan authorities a mere ten days after the French to censor Rousseau's works and to burn several of his books publicly before the City Hall.  The authorities also threatened to arrest Rousseau if he remained on Genevan territory, so he fled first to Neuchatel, then to an island on Lake Bienne, under Prussian control at the time.  Totally disillusioned by his home town's rejection, Rousseau renounced his Genevan citizenship in 1765.  He lived as an exile from then on, finally dying in France in 1778.  In 1794, his ashes were transferred to the Pantheon in Paris and he is recognized as one whose ideas inspired the French Revolution.

Rousseau was born in Geneva on 28 June 1712 and spent his early youth in the Saint-Gervais Quarter, not far from where HWMBO and I first lived when we moved to Switzerland.  As an adolescent, he was taken under the wing of a remarkable woman, Mme de Warens, who lived in nearby Annecy and was several years his senior.  She guided much of his education and also became his lover later on.  According to Rousseau, she was the great love of his life.  After moving to Paris in 1742, Rousseau frequented several French philosophers and even wrote articles that appeared in Diderot's Encyclopédie (also featured in the Index). 


I believe that Rousseau would be gratified by the many events that will take place in Geneva in 2012 to celebrate his three-hundredth anniversary.  Certainly he would be impressed by the budget consecrated to them: CHF 3.2 million - more that he earned in his entire life.

Ten Years

I believe that part of my unwillingness (or sheer laziness) to post this past month has been due to the ten-year anniversary of 9-11, which was remembered - "celebrated" is hardly the word to use - globally on that date earlier this month.  I remember how the whole global spectrum changed completely - and irrevocably - for the worse that day and how the sense of foreboding that the event left with me did not even come close to the horrors that were justified by it later on.

Also, due to my not paying attention when I booked my return flight to Switzerland - after all, many, if not most, dates outside the US are written typically as "day-month-year," instead of the North American "month-day-year" - it failed to register with me that 11-09 was, in fact, 9-11.  I realize that sounds lame.  But I was paying more attention to re-scheduling my previous return date to the US from 10 September to 10 August in order to have some time in the US with family before beginning my new job.  What was most important to me for the return to Switzerland was to get the best deal, i.e., to use my air mileage rather than my woefully depreciated USD.   The 11-09 date was the latest possible departure day that would allow me to use air mileage, arrive here and still have a couple days to recover from the jet lag before beginning my first course.  Jet lag considerations become ever more important as one ages.  I was also more concerned that I would have to leave from Dulles Airport, rather than BWI, which I consider far more user-friendly.  Certainly, BWI is much closer to our home in MD.  Thus, it only much later dawned on me that 9-11 would be a travel day for me.

I was not superstitious, as some appear to have been, about the date, but would not have chosen to travel then, had I realized in time.  It would have been more out of respect for those innocents who died then and who have suffered since than for any other reason.   Still, it was interesting to see that my transatlantic flight was absolutely chock full.  Either the other passengers were like me and honestly hadn't realized or needs must, I suppose.  Still, life must go on.

On The Day ten years ago, I was with my then-Team in Geneva, frantically putting the finishing touches on the final version of that Team's final Panel report, awarding compensation to certain victims of Iraq's illegal invasion and occupation of Kuwait in 1990.  Irony indeed!  We were all in the UN complex at the time, which is not where our offices were generally located, and had chosen to forego a late lunch in order to complete our work while the Panel took a break.

We were so engrossed that when the normally jovial Panel Chairman returned slightly in advance of his colleagues and asked whether we had seen anything about the "kamikazes" (his term) hitting New York City (it was nearly 15:00 Geneva time by then), we at first believed that it was the prelude to a joke and waited for a punch line.  When no punch line came and we realized that he was talking about a horrible current event, we all flew to the one computer in the room that had an Internet connection.  Of course, every news site was jammed.  We remembered, however, that there was a television in our Executive Secretary's office and decided to ask permission to watch and see what was happening.  This was generally before the days of cell phones that could transmit pictures and videos instantaneously.  So, up we raced to the office and knocked on the door - ordinarily we wouldn't have dreamed of doing such a thing without having been summoned.  The door was opened by a colleague, who put his finger to his lips, and ushered us in silently.  The office was literally packed.  Some major players on the international scene were present, including an official Iraqi delegation from Saddam Hussein's government - present to attend a major hearing for another Panel.

We all watched in horror as the attacks on the Towers were played and replayed.  There was not a dry eye in the room - no matter what country an individual was from.  Tears were openly streaming down peoples' faces, including those from the Iraqi delegation, and others of us were sobbing out loud as we watched the literally unimaginable happening before our eyes.  Our Executive Secretary had his head in his arms on his desk.

The truly wonderful thing that happened then is that every single person in that room was united in compassion for those whose world had literally come unglued and for their families whose lives would never be the same.  Every single person was an "American" for those moments.  Even then, I realized how special those moments were - that every one present, regardless of nationality or religious or political beliefs - repudiated those horrific actions in the strongest terms possible.  It was a privilege to be there, to participate in and to witness them firsthand.

Later events would deliberately squander that unity irreparably to wreak havoc and devastation on a scale and to a horrific extent almost unimagined for my country - especially as the preponderance of subsequent victims were entirely innocent.

While I will never forgive those who teleguided the suicide bombers or the bombers themselves, I will also never - ever - forgive those who seized the opportunity to undo human and civil rights protections for us all and to unleash forces on innocents in order to advance their own, equally evil, agendas.  They ignored the warnings and did not protect us.

But now it is the entire world that is paying the price.

Visiting Italy's Lake District: Part X - Como

We had enjoyed our visits to villages situated along Lake Como and in the surrounding area, but had not yet visited the city of Como itself, so our last full day in the area was devoted to rectifying that omission.  Como is situated at the southern tip of the south-west arm of Lake Como, approximately 40 kilometers (25 miles) north of Milan.  It is the administrative capital of the Province of Como.  Until the end of the 1980s, the city, known as la Città Della Seta (City of Silk), was world famous for its silk manufacturers.  Now, tourism has become very important for the local economy and we, as tourists, were there to do our part.  But first we had to get there, travelling in our trusty little bus along the narrow and very busy little lake road.

We arrived to see a bustling little city, adorned with the colorful buildings that characterize Italy's Lake District,

with old and new co-existing prosperously

and all enclosed within medieval walls.

The bus deposited us near the main square by the waterfront.

After we had refreshed ourselves from the drive, local Guide P pointed out sights of interest to the group.

Cheerful blossoms adorned balconies everywhere.

It was fun to see TV aerials and satellites sharing roof space with medieval chimneys!

One building that local Guide P pointed out to the group was la Casa del Fascio, probably the most famous work of Italian architect, Giuseppe Terragni, described as an early "landmark of modern European architecture." 

In comparison to the more graceful and esthetically pleasing architecture of previous eras, the building frankly left me cold, just as the politics and policies of the Benito Mussolini regime Terragni worked for leave me with a major frisson.   Mussolini, by the way, passed through Como on his abortive flight to Switzerland in April 1945.  He and his entourage were captured near the village of Dongo, further north.  Although the original intention had been to return them to Como to turn them over to advancing Allied Forces, they were ultimately moved to the village of Giulino di Mezzegra.  There, Mussolini, his mistress and the rest of his entourage were summarily executed.  In one of the more savage reminders of the hatred engendered by the horrors of his regime, their bodies were taken to Milan, hung on meathooks and stoned by the crowds. 

Fortunately, there were few reminders of this terrible era throughout the city as people went about their business

of generally enjoying life in their beautiful city.

More typical of the older part of the city was the architecture of the Duomo di Como (Como Cathedral),

often described as the last Gothic cathedral built in Italy, although it was not completed until 1770,

so it contains many baroque and

rococo features.

The west front dates from the 15th century

and features a rose window.

After our busy morning, we were only too happy to follow the example of others who were enjoying the open air cafes and restaurants,

and select something delicious for our midday meal.

Visiting Italy's Lake District: Part VIIIb - Chiavenna

After our last glimpses of soaring alpine peaks

and tiny hamlets attached to steep hillsides,

we departed by bus for the border village of Chiavenna.  Chiavenna, the Roman Clavenna, is situated about 16 km north of Lake Como at an historically strategic point, located where it overlooks both the Splügen and Maloja passes between Italy and Switzerland. 

After the collapse of the Western Roman Empire, Clavenna/Chiavenna marked the northern limit of the Ostrogothic Kingdom in Italy.  Today it is reknowned for its historic center with restaurants, shops

and graceful villas.

There were occasional reminders of its medieval past

and the surrounding multicolored cliffs

formed a backdrop for the houses along the river flowing through it.

Visiting Italy's Lake District: Part VIa - Lago di Como and Menaggio

After our pleasant time in Gandria, we drove through the border crossing into Italy and towards Lago di Como.  A cheer arose from the group as we found ourselves once again on Italian soil, although this was done primarily to give Swiss Guide P grief for the women's facilities that had been locked at our rest stop outside Lugano.  Poor guy!

Lake Como, also known as Lake Lario, is the third largest lake in Italy, after Lakes Garda and Maggiore.  It is also one of the deepest lakes in Europe.  Its bottom is more than 200 meters (656 ft) below sea level and the lake has a maximum depth of 410 meters (1,345 ft).  Like the other lakes we had visited, it is surrounded both by high mountains and gentle rolling hillsides, with small cities, lakes and mountain villages in abundance.  The area has always been a crossroads of intense activity between Central Europe and the Mediterranean.  Various cultures have left their influences, stimulating a fascinating blend of traditions and artistic accomplishment.  Lake Como is widely regarded as being one of the most beautiful lakes of Italy.  Believe me, it has lots of competition!  We were headed for the city of Menaggio, which is one of three cities, the others being Bellagio and Varenna, that are situated at the intersection of the three branches of the lake.

We were to spend five nights based at the Hotel Bellavista in Menaggio, situated right on the water, from where we would make excursions into the hillsides around Lake Como and even into the Swiss Alps.  The hotel lived up to its name.  Here is one view from the terrace outside our window.

And here is another of the flags on the other side of the hotel, giving an idea of some of the nations whose citizens visit the area.

After the usual flurry of descending from the bus, getting our rooms sorted out, getting our luggage to our rooms - in our case, five floors up - in the one creaky little elevator that the hotel had, and getting freshened up, we gathered on the hotel terrace to meet our new local guide.  Because this guide also had a name beginning with P, I'll refer to him as Guide Po, to distinguish him from Swiss guide P.

After introducing himself and giving a brief overview of what was in store for the next couple days, Guide Po led us on an orientation walk around Menaggio.  After walking up from the main square, the Piazza Garibaldi, named after Italian national hero, Giuseppe Garibaldi, past numerous outdoor restaurants and gelaterias,

we headed into the old part of the city.

Menaggio was formerly a walled city and we walked along remnants of its wall

enjoying views of vine-covered villas

and their gardens

to arrive at San Carlo Church, built in the 17th century, one of the rare Italian churches built in Spanish architectural style.

From there we descended to the lakefront once again,

noticing happily that motorcycles, otherwise ubiquitous, were not permitted where we were walking.

We arrived at the lakefront in front of a sports club, converted from a villa,

and continued walking along the Lake Promenade to the monument by Francesco Somaini dedicated to the women Silkweavers.  It was donated to the city of Menaggio by the Mantero family, owners of several silk mills.  The monument is made of Carrara marble and represents a hymn to the weaving culture of Lake Como.  The Como region is still one of the silk capitals of the world.

After our very full day, we were happy to retrace our steps to the hotel, have dinner and head for a good night's sleep.  But the day still had a few treats in store for us.  Just as we were ready to turn in, we heard what sounded like explosions coming from the other side of the lake.  Sure enough, on its peninsula directly across from us, the little city of Bellagio was welcoming us to Lake Como with a fireworks display.

We watched until the display was over - what a wonderful way to be greeted!