Before

After Devastation

Father and Son after the devastation

After witnessing the devastation in Sendai, Japan caused by the recent earthquake and tsunami, and now the serious threat of a nuclear meltdown, don’t you all feel silly and stupid for continuing this endless war-game you have thrown us, the global citizens, into?

Will you all (and by all that also includes political parties, special interest groups, corporatists and war-mongers) lay aside your anger and hatred, your fragile egos, and self-centered pride, and direct those feelings into compassion for our brothers and sisters in Sendai, Japan whose lives have been gravely impacted by recent events.

WE have had enough wars to last us hundreds of lifetimes. These senseless conflicts have burdened and ruined economies, displaced people from their homes, killed thousands of innocent victims , created strife and suffering for the aged and sick, women and children. Need I go on?

WE must open the door instead of looking through the keyhole to see the larger scope of what is happening right before our eyes. We’re in dire shape. Life on the planet is becoming worse by the day. And waging war is not the solution to the problem. Even before the Sendai cataclysms occurred, we have been experiencing serious global changes that are going to kick our arses big-time.

When it comes right down to it, WE are all facing the inevitability of death. It’s not how long you live for? It’s HOW you live? Do you want to go out in anger and hatred with regret and resentment for what you could’ve, should’ve or would’ve done? Or, leave this world with a clear mind that you did your best — no regrets with plenty of compassion and forgiveness to spare?

WE all share this planet. No one owns it. So let’s own our responsibility as custodians of the earth. There is no more time to waste – right now is the only moment that counts. Do something good for those who need help! Whether you believe in positive thoughts, prayers, meditation, rosaries, donations . . . whatever it may be – YOU and only YOU can own that moment!

Cheers!

Below is a list of well-established organizations that are providing relief for Japan’s survivors:

Action Against Hunger/ACF-USA
American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee
AmeriCares
Architecture for Humanity
Catholic Medical Mission Board
Convoy of Hope
Direct Relief International
Doctors Without Borders, USA
Food for the Hungry
International Rescue Committee
Relief International
Save the Children
Stop Hunger Now
World Vision
American Red Cross
GlobalGiving
International Medical Corps
Mercy Corps
Oxfam America
Samaritan’s Purse

Today is Labor Day. All across America, millions of people are discovering that the best way to celebrate Labor Day is by not working.

Do you live to work, or do you work to live?

If you are married, look at your wedding album; are there any pictures in there of you at work?

And on your tombstone, do you want it to say, “I wish that I could have spent more time at work”?

Here is what Robert Kennedy had to say about this, 42 years ago:

“Too much and too long, we seem to have surrendered community excellence and community values in the mere accumulation of material things. Our gross national product … if we should judge America by that – counts air pollution and cigarette advertising, and ambulances to clear our highways of carnage. It counts special locks for our doors and the jails for those who break them. It counts the destruction of our redwoods and the loss of our natural wonder in chaotic sprawl. It counts napalm and the cost of a nuclear warhead, and armored cars for police who fight riots in our streets. It counts Whitman’s rifle and Speck’s knife, and the television programs which glorify violence in order to sell toys to our children.

“Yet the gross national product does not allow for the health of our children, the quality of their education, or the joy of their play. It does not include the beauty of our poetry or the strength of our marriages; the intelligence of our public debate or the integrity of our public officials. It measures neither our wit nor our courage; neither our wisdom nor our learning; neither our compassion nor our devotion to our country; it measures everything, in short, except that which makes life worthwhile. And it tells us everything about America except why we are proud that we are Americans.”

When Robert Kennedy said these words, the unemployment rate in America was 3.7%. Today, it is almost three times as high. Too many of our working brothers and sisters are out of work, thanks to over a decade of economic mismanagement. 10% of us are unemployed, and the other 90% work like dogs to try to avoid joining them. Which is just what the bosses want.

But it doesn’t have to be that way. I look forward to a Labor Day where every worker has a job, every worker has a pension, every worker has paid vacations, and every worker has the health care to enjoy life.

My opponents call that France. I call it America, an America that is Number One.

Not #1 in wasted military expenditures.

Not #1 in number of foreign countries occupied.

Number One in jobs. Number One in health. Number One in education. Number One in happiness.

As Robert Kennedy famously said, “I dream of things that never were, and ask ‘why not?’” Why not? Let’s make it happen.

And then all of us who are Americans, including the ones today who are jobless, homeless, sick and suffering, we all can then say, “I am proud to be an American.”

Are you with me?

Truth,

Alan Grayson

‘Hello,’ I said, sounding agitated but there was no response at the other end.

‘Hello,’ and still no response.

Switching on the lamp I squinted at the clock and saw that it was four in the morning. Feeling extremely annoyed at this point I was about to hang up when I heard a voice coming through the phone: ‘Hello, Anna Marie, it’s been a long time.’

‘Who is this?’ I said indignantly.

‘It’s Frank.’

I let out a loud gasp, ‘Look is this some kind of a sick joke?’

‘I know it’s hard to believe and I’m so sorry for calling at this late hour,’ said the man in a deliberate yet urgent tone, ‘But this is an emergency. I can’t go into any explanations right now — there isn’t enough time for that. Please listen carefully, little bug, use the formula, F-A-P SIX, F-A-P SIX.’

A chill shot up my spine whilst listening to the man enunciate every letter clearly with special emphasis on the number “six”. I took in a deep breath, ‘Frank . . . is that really you?’ I could barely breathe from the shockwave. Then an automated voice chimed in informing the caller that there was one minute remaining.

‘Anna Marie, we’re running out of time. I know I don’t have any right to ask you to trust me, but I’m begging you to trust me just one more time — use the formula–F-A-P SIX! Please do it, little bug.’

I could hear traffic noise in the background. He must be calling from a phone box but from where? Saliva slipped through the corners of my mouth. A voice inside my head was telling me not to believe what I was hearing.

‘No way, my father is dead. Who the bloody hell is this?’

‘Little bug, it is me…you’ve got to believe me, this is a matter of life and death, please use the formula…F-A-P Six!’ Then the phone line went dead.

‘HELLO…HELLO!’

My hands were shaking. I felt like vomiting. For a second this seemed like one of those surreal experiences when you think you are dreaming that you’re awake. But this was no dream – I was awake. Sitting up with my back against the wall and the phone still in my hand I gazed at the pattern of Egyptian hieroglyphics stenciled around the borders of the bedroom ceiling. Being woken up at four in the morning was disturbing enough, but hearing the voice of my long, lost father was outright shocking. After all these years of not knowing whether he was dead or alive, I get a phone call from a man claiming to be Frank and who sounded barking mad. To make matters worse the only thing he had to say was “F-A-P Six” – not something like, “Hello Anna Marie, I know this might come as a shock, but I’m not dead. I’ve just been too preoccupied for the past two decades so I decided to give you a bell. And by the way, could you use the formula?” Then “puff” like a cloud of smoke he was gone again.

My mind was riddled with confusing thoughts and painful memories all at once. That man had to be Frank. No one else knew about the formula. And no one has ever called me “Little Bug” except for dad — of this I was certain. It was his silly pet name for me when I was a young girl.

‘Frank is alive,’ I whispered.

We had all presumed that my father, Franklin Patakis, died long ago, rotting away in some desolate, hostile land stricken down by some dreadful disease. Or perhaps even murdered by thugs. It all began in the early 1970’s when Dad had purchased a derelict warehouse in Whitechapel on the east side of London. Mum was the only one to have known about the purchase at the time. Several years later, he tendered his resignation as a Professor of Philosophy at Oxford University. After leaving his successful career at one of the world’s oldest educational institutions he then devoted all his free time in converting the warehouse into an antiquarian bookstore he called “Words of Yore”.

The store slowly flourished and Words of Yore had generated enough business (mostly through mail-order and word-of-mouth) to halfway support a wife and two growing adolescents. Most of our relatives and friends of the family had thought Dad’s quixotic behavior was due to a mid-life crisis. They had urged him to seek psychological help. Even his own parents were upset with him, especially after Mum had taken a position as a secretary in a law firm to help sustain our middle-class lifestyle. Then a few years later everything for the Patakis family started to go awry when Frank had become interested in collecting rare artifacts and ancient Egyptian texts. His avid enthusiasm for these antiquities would soon develop into an obsession. He would act strangely keeping odd hours at the warehouse, making impromptu trips to God knows where, and he had often changed the combinations to the vault room. And there were times when he was talking on the phone and would hang up quickly whenever I entered his office.

Then on March 18th, 1984 (a day that had been branded in my memory forever) when Mum, Christopher and I were sitting at the dinner table Frank announced to us that he was going away and he would be gone for no more than a year. He had a lead on something big in Egypt and needed to investigate it — he wanted our blessing to pursue this endeavour. Of course this news had knocked the breath out of me. I had asked him what it was that he was going in search of, and at the same time had tried like hell to mask my shock. The only reply he had given was, “it’s top secret — but suffice it to say we will become millionaires”.

‘Millionaires’ I had said, practically spitting out my food thinking that he was joking. I pleaded with him for more details. Even begged him to take me with him and used every wile a person of my age knew in order to persuade him to do so. But all he had said was that where he was going was not a place for young girls. But not to worry, he’d be back before Christmas.

I had thought for sure Dad had lost it big time, and that any day we would have to commit him. But eventually I would figure out that his sudden trip had to do with all the secretive phone conversations and clandestine meetings he had been involved with for those past several months. I had refused to believe that he would actually go ahead with this absurd idea of finding something “big” as he had deemed it. But when he did leave, I actually thought he would walk back through the front door and tell us that it was all just a big joke. But he didn’t. I can still remember counting the days marking them on the calendar till Christmas. And, when Christmas had come and gone he didn’t show up as promised. Nor did he come home the following Christmases.

(to be continued)

copyright by Adele L Nieto
April 2010

Terming the phrase violence against women as a “crime against humanity”, Ban Ki-moon has asked world leaders to help end the “alarming” number of such cases around the world. “Violence against women cannot be tolerated, in any form, in any context, in any circumstances, by any political leader or by any government,” he said in a speech to mark International Women’s Day which is celebrated every year on the 8th of March.

But I say to you Mr Secretary General, not enough is being done to even make a dent in alleviating the suffering and humiliation that our sisters and daughters are subjected to on a daily basis. You can make all the speeches you want pledging your commitment to end the violence against women and young girls, whom are mostly war refugees. Yet, the very culprits who are committing these atrocities are not interested in listening to speeches. I doubt if they even care whom they hurt.

It seems that the only way to prevent these misogynistic acts of violence against women and girls is to keep the men away from them. Look at the areas where these abominations are taking place and you will see that they have two common denominators — poverty and tribal/religious conflict on a massive scale. Things like basic shelter, food and water are a luxury to these people. They are just trying to survive from day to day. The female refugees are always receiving the brunt of any conflict. It takes more, much more than funding and donations to pull these innocent victims out of the carnage that man has created.

According to a UNICEF report, in the world’s least developed countries, many of which are at war, women are 300 times more likely to die in childbirth or from pregnancy-related complications than in developed countries. With religious/tribal warfare and other armed conflicts affecting entire regions, women are always at risk of rape, sexual assaults and savage beatings. Many times the young girls become pregnant as a result of sexual abuse and because of insufficient security situations, these young women often have no means of safe transportation to reach proper health care facilities to give birth. As a result, a large percentage of them die during child birth.

All the declarations made by upstanding citizens of the world are not going to save the little girls or the young innocent women that will more than likely be raped, beaten or sold into prostitution tomorrow or the next day. Armed conflict and religious/tribal warfare is a disease just like AIDS and Ebola –you get rid of one and then another emerges and can be deadlier than the other. It’s not enough just to stamp out the violence in one area when another potential hotbed is surfacing. By ending the religious/tribal warfare one of the major causes of violence against women would have been rooted out. Poverty is a symptom but it is not the cause of violence. People, especially in poor countries, have proven to live together quite peacefully. But as long as leaders like Mugabe, al-Bashir, the Janjaweed militants and the Taliban are in power, the plight of the women and children who are unfortunate to live under their watch will have to live each day in fear, crying themselves to sleep, praying for help, and suffering an agonizing existence in an unsafe world run by men. As long as there is war and poverty co-existing at the same time, the violence against our sisters and daughters will not stop.

So I ask you, Mr. Secretary General, how do all the world leaders plan to root out the violence against those poor women and young girls who merely survive day-by-day?

A child’s life should be one of joy. . . and through their innocence the adults will find their own joy.