Don't Be Silly, Toto! Scarecrows Don't Talk!

In other news, the Kansas State University Wind Erosion Laboratory was blown away by a tornado in a sort of punctuated-equilibrium moment in architectural evolution.

Here in Seattle, we had a bit of sun, actually. All sorts of poppies are out. They look a lot better with sun on them. More real, really, more like flowers and less like Georgia O'Keefe is going to spring out from behind one and harm me with her eyebrows.

Chacun à Son Goût, Mr. Bush

Well, praise God, it seems that the Constitution Mr. G.W. Bush swore to uphold (and please note how the whole second half of the Oath of Office seems pretty much focused on that one responsibility -- that it is in fact the sole specific duty of the office of President mentioned by name) does maintain the Constitutional right of Habeas Corpus to individuals. Even for people accused of crimes! Even for people accused of hideous, unthinkable, unconscionable crimes! Even for people accused of terrible crimes in the midst of terrifying times!

"I do solemnly swear (or affirm*) that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States."

[*: in there for Friends, who would 'affirm' that they tell the truth, rather than promising merely to do it in court for the duration of the proceedings. Also handy for our non-theistically-inclined friends, although I don't see one of those winning major office in the US any time soon. But more info on oaths, affirmations, and office here, if you like that sort of thing.]

To his credit, Bush said the Administration would now abide by the Supreme Court's ruling, but that 'dunt mean I haftagree with it.' In a more reflective mood than Mr. Bush following the close (5-4) ruling, Judge Anthony Kennedy wrote for the majority, 'The laws and Constitution are designed to survive, and remain in force, in extraordinary times.' The ruling therefore upholds the notion of separation of powers woven throughout the Constitution, such that, with reference to this specific case, the Executive Branch cannot legally arrest and detain persons without valid legal reason, setting a precedent that one hopes may lead to further examination and repair of the sundry other holes Bush & Co. have rent in this amazing document he swore to protect and defend.

The Bidding Starts at $.99! (act now?)

From EBay:

'Description

This is a one of a kind Virgin Mary and Baby Jesus Cheetos! See how she is holding baby Jesus and looking down at him. It also looks like an angel. Depends on how you look at it. Now is your chance to own this rare and unique religious collectable! Approx. 1 1/2 inches long.

Good Luck and Happy Bidding!'

Kaneohe, HI

They look like little doves, but they're really little petals. I go to a flower garden and take pictures of spiderwebs and mossy stumps. We are what we are.

'You Can Be Active with the Activists,

Or sleep in with the sleepers, While you're waiting for the great leap forward.' In this photo I look like I'm rather more than simply one of Mr. Bragg's activists in the song; I look like I'm just waiting for the brass section and the Red Lanterns Shining to show up so I can orchestrate the revolution myself.

(Through my nostrils, apparently, but that's neither here nor there.)




Yes, this was taken on that one sunny day we had that one time. That was great. There was, like, sun. It was, like, out.

Anyway, I like this photo because it looks like I'm leading some or other great march forward into what is clearly a socialist future. It's very stirring. If it were a conservative future I would have been shot head on, be seated with my ankles crossed above some sensible-but-discernible heels, and have an A-line skirt, some 'nude'-tinted hose with reinforced toes, and a couple well-behaved children at my bosom reading along with me the noble deeds of our noble forefathers or, when 'conservative' meant something rather different than it does now, perhaps pointing out the titillating bits in the Constitution. Certainly there would be no mention of public transportation in the background.

But Mochi Doesn't Wear Loincloths!

I have only two things to say.

One is: 'Diplomacy is not synonymous with talking,' and the other is:

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Diplomacy ≠ Talking? Diplomacy ≥ Talking? Diplomacy < Talking?

Alright, children, bubble tea is not synonymous with tapioca; religion is not synonymous with faith; politics is not synonymous with guanxi; and cole slaw in Kotzebue is not synonymous with Matanuska Valley cabbage. But I would expect to encounter a fair bit of the latter in any of these cases should I find myself confronted with the former.

I understand (perhaps) (in the most gracious reading) that what Ms. Rice meant to say was something like 'Diplomacy is not coextensive with talking,' mixed with a more minatory something akin to 'We have reconceived the notion of diplomacy such that a range of things from threats to preemptive strikes can now be put in the overlappy middle bit of a Diplomacy/War Wenn diagram.' She just didn't think Americans would understand 'coextensive,' 'reconceived,' or 'Wenn diagram.'

And more power to her: we don't. But I assume the esteemed Secretary did fairly well on her GRE, and even if it were more years ago than her youthful looks would imply, putting that zingy soundbite in the lamentable form she chose makes one want to ask, 'If not synonyms, then what are they? You've juxtaposed them; it seems you've counterposed them. Now tell us the nature of their relationship, if it is not one of synonyms. Diplomacy is to Talking as _________ is to what, Ms. Rice?'

To help her and us out, here are some choices of sample GRE analogy questions from this site.

COLOR: SPECTRUM::

a. tone: scale
b. sound: waves
c. verse: poem
d. dimension: space
e. cell: organism

HEADLONG:FORETHOUGHT::

a. barefaced: shame
b. mealymouth: talent
c. heartbroken: emotion
d. levelheaded: resolve
e. singlehanded: ambition

SEDATIVE: DROWSINESS::

a. epidemic: contagiousness
b. vaccine: virus
c. laxative: drug
d. anesthetic: numbness
e. therapy: psychosis

I don't want to sound unduly cynical, but I suspect Ms. Rice is hinting that for the departing administration it may be that

diplomacy: talking :: gladiator: kagami mochi.

Architectural Indigestion

The last two Sundays, when I turned on NPR after church in the evening, the story I tuned into was on both occasions relevant to things I had been contemplating that day. This is not a blog about religion, but the topic does come up every now and then - if, I freely confess, primarily to blame the Calvinists for everything I can't blame on the Beats.

Today just before leaving, I was preoccupied with the topic of sacred architecture and, to a lesser extent, religious art, ornamentation, and sacramentals within a church building: in other words, the totality of the physical presence of a constructed sacred space. There are as many schools of thought on this as there are believers, non-believers, architects and art-haters. But there are two traditional purposes sacred architecture strives to fill: to present an invitation to the faithful and to the stranger, and to provide a physical, lisible symbolic representation of the individual's journey from the profane to the sacred. Now, NPR's story when I was driving back was about reconceiving and refashioning the newsroom not the chapel, but what it illustrates is that architecture is important, it can serve or hinder its putative goals, and that we, the victims or beneficiaries of an architect's design, do notice and are affected by the space.

What got me on to it first was writing about some of the perhaps surprisingly numerous shared beliefs of the Friends and Catholics. While every Christian church has some genetic resemblance to all others, there is not only serious doctrinal difference to address in comparing them, but also the subtler distinctions in emphasis among all the various ideas they still share. In other words, it's not just huge things like 'faith v. works' or literalness v. historicity, but how much stress is put on certain tenets at the expense of which other ones.

Now, the anti-clerical Friends may seem to be the furthest from the hugely organized Catholic Church - and yet in reality they both place tremendous emphasis on the need for individual discernment. Encyclicals and other writings, with increased vigor after Vatican II, insist over and over on the importance of an informed, passionate, and active laity, the need to question and to search for answers, and the importance of being an activist when convinced of the appropriateness of that course. Both churches, as well, lay tremendous stress on justice, including social justice, which is conceived in both traditions as emanating from and being necessitated by the fact of utter, radical equality among all people. The language is different, but the message is the same.

As fascinating as all that is (to me), one place there is a huge difference is in how meeting spaces are viewed by the two groups, which makes sense as they are meant to do different things. And I have no intention of going into that in any depth. But a Quaker meeting-house does not strive to invite, as do churches of most other Protestant and Catholic traditions, nor does it attempt to lay out a narrative or an argument, except of simplicity and the concept of the inner light within all present and all without. Friends would say we glorify God through our actions, and too many, or too-richly-decorated, things around distract us from the real issue, which is 'what are we going to do/ what does God want us to do?' Friends likewise assert that, rightly lived, life is worship, and if simplicity is integral to one's life, this value should of course carry over into meeting halls and the worship meetings within them.

I haven't given much of an explanation there, but it makes sense in a Quaker context. It does not make sense in the context of regular Protestantism, or in Catholic or Orthodox traditions, where the physical church is meant to inspire awe, create an atmosphere of reverence and solemnity, and lead us to contemplate the glory of God, a glory which exceeds that of the gilt and the plainchant, but which can be symbolized by them - by things we can apprehend through our senses and intellect. This, too, has an elegant and coherent logic, to which I'm also giving short shrift.

Additionally, in their beauty, churches, temples, mosques, and cathedrals are meant to invite the sinner in, that he might be led through beauty to Beauty. Again, part of the logic is that the place one worships God should celebrate His wonder through the highest efforts of human labor, and that being drawn to beauty is a noble and God-given trait - but since it is also true that humans like sparkly things, offering them a few in the place of worship is one way to help them keep coming back, in the hope that eventually more substantive things and a more mature understanding of the fullness of the religion will serve the same purpose.

However, even if you are not a beginner, there is something to be said for a holy space that looks like a holy space (unless you belong to a faith like the Friends within which this would make no sense). And I don't care if you believe in God or not, if you enter the Blue Mosque or the Hagia Sophia, a Thai temple or a Zen garden, the results of the care taken to evoke the majesty of the unknowable and the ineffable makes you believe in something. We were given our senses in the same package as we were given our minds, and unless you follow Mani or Mr. Calvin, I fail to see why punishing those senses in worship is necessary.

And that is my main point: the 1960s were regrettable. The 1960s were painful. The 1960s should have stuck to social reform and left style and design alone. That era is my proof that reincarnation does not happen, as I can attest that had I lived before, I would have done so much good in my life that not only would I not have been born when I would have had to witness the horrific legacy the decade wrought in the arts - but I would have taken every prophylactic precaution possible to ensure that my karma be so great that none of it would even have been perpetuated! So, since I'm here now, I wasn't here then, and the best I can do is to try to avoid imagining those puffy ladies' hats, those square ladies' suits, the clunky low heeled parsons' pumps with squared-off toes and ridiculous buckles, and the hideous architecture that evoked not so much the Great American Century as the Supreme Soviet. If I want to worship, I don't want to do it in a place that looks like the People's Recreation Hall and Refectory at Reeducation Center 29! There is a fairly crappy YMCA up the road, and a disastrous, menacing Albertsons a bit further on; I can always go to one of those if I need to savor a bit of Stalinist-gymnasium ambiance. I don't need to do it at church.

The Inerrancy of Internet Quizzes

After taking the 'Which Theologian Are You?' test (well, it was fun for me), I came out as 100% Anselm and 80% Augustine. I guess that makes me 180% Medieval - which is better than 25% Calvinist. I tried to reload the page after after taking a (thankfully still-living) mouse back outside that the neighbor's cat had very generously lain in one of the slippers under my chair (thankfully my feet were no longer inside), but it had timed out. The quiz results, not the mouse. I do not therefore recall how much Luther I am, or how Calvin, just that both were low (one more than the other by a long shot) and that I haven't the vaguest notion who Jonathan Edwards is. Of whom I am 0%; I'm guessing something about sola fide and justification, except that if those were the only things, Luther and Calvin should be lower than they were, too.

Anyway, of course I'm Medieval; I haven't bothered to know anything about Protestant theology other than Calvin, Biblical inerrancy, and those funny folk out in the hollers who somehow manage to integrate snake-handling into the liturgy. I find it as easy to disagree with all these as to find the logic of the Manicheans and Jains in need as well of a good swift kick in the syllogism. And I'm not counting the Friends in my paltry 'Protestant theology' resume, as any Friend worth his oats will tell you that theology and too much cerebration are obstacles, not conduits, to communion with the Divine. And I don't know if Quaker non-theologists Fox and Penn were among my potential 'Which Theologian' matches.

Well, back to my lofty tower, then. All that remains is to find a equally unshocking Internet test that will reveal whether I am truly a pair of squishy wedge-heel 'flip-flops' with large plastic flowers on their tops, black patent buckle-embellished mules, or a ten-year-old pair of scuffed-up Sorel 'Joan of Arctics' a full size too big after having lost their detachable linings.

Don't Ask Me; Ask Google

What the?! I'm no. 2 on Google if you enter 'Lorca Thamar Amnon.' I mean, not that a great many people would enter 'Lorca Thamar Amnon' besides me, practically no one, really, and fewer still in English, in which nearly all the very, very few people wanting something with those three names would enter 'Lorca Tamar Amnon,' but I wanted to get back to that other site so I did, but with English as my default language. And found myself as well as the other guy. My entry also has 'sexuality' as a tag on Google somehow; maybe that's how you get to the heady heights of Number Two-ness.

Don't worry: despite my newfound fame, prestige, and power, I'm still the same simple country girl you've always known. And I will not let my smoldering search-engine sexuality overcome my good sense, either.

But what shoes, what shoes to wear to class tonight? They need to reflect such grand status, clearly, yet at the same time bespeak my unbesmirchable humility in the face of such worldly accolades. Perhaps the pointy pink slingbacks with the diminutive kitten heels? With a light taupe hose?

And From Your Lips She Drew a Hallelujah?

Today so far there was no random reading. I woke up, drank some Diet Coke, checked my email and could think of nothing but Lorca's 'Thamar y Amnon' before work. I just had repeating in my head the ending lines:

'Y cuando los cuatro cascos
eran cuatro resonancias,
David con unas tijeras
cortó las cuerdas del arpa.'



Well, it is a haunting finale, with the alliterative, diminishing hoofbeat of cuando cuatro cascos, and I think it's a masterful, powerful poem, but the last two lines always really get to me. In the poem, Lorca weaves the story of Amnon's rape of his half-sister Thamar together with references to David's sins and other earthly repercussions for the house of David. Everything happens together, and Thamar is Bathsheba bathing on the rooftop, while Absalom murders Amnon, the arrows killing Urias shoot from David's own palace walls and Amnon's lust murders his sister's innocence. Wanting to read it and being lazy, and realizing that moving my mouse is easier than moving my body, I just looked the poem up online. By putting in 'David unas tijeras' (in hopes of getting a page with the entire poem, instead of a site only about the poem) in the search form, I got this site, and got, along with the poem, a commentary that included this: '

'This is a highly problematic poem, for what Garcia Lorca does here, I argue, is to present us with a sympathetic view of Amnón, that it was his overpowering sexual desire that caused him to rape Thamar. Federico is not the first or last person to argue that sexuality has a dark side, that it can and will take on a barbarous, even suicidal persona; however, by entering into the debate by claiming Amnón just couldn't "help himself," that Thamar's own beauty "forced" her half-brother to violate her, Lorca is simply presenting a tired old chestnut that has been used since time-immortal; in short, that there is no such thing as free will, that men are simply slaves to their own libidos.'

So I felt compelled to write about it, because I don't think Lorca was doing that at all. Amnon is portrayed as lusting heavily - and as (perhaps overdramatically, or perhaps genuinely, in fear of God and more divine retribution on his clan) asking for some kind of relief from it.

"Cut out my eyes, Thamar,
with your fixed dawn.
The threads of my blood
weave ruffles on your dress."

There are two separate issues: temptation and sin. Lorca was well aware of the distance between the two, and the lack of causal relationship. In 'Lucia Martinez' from three years earlier, the poet's predatory narrator baldly describes his intent:

'Here I am, Lucia Martinez.
I've come to devour your mouth
And drag you off by the hair
into the seashells of daybreak'

and his chilling, egoistic rationale of the act he intends to commit:

'because I want to and I can.'

And, the story of the later poem - whether David's, the House of David's, or solely Amnon's, has a vastly different meaning if David or Amnon or Absalom does not choose to sin. Canonically, the story goes that the Christian God will not allow us to be tempted more than we can resist. Literarily, not only is David the most complex and most fully-developed character in the Bible (and the 'first human being in world literature' according to Baruch Halpern's David's Secret Demons: Messiah, Murderer, Traitor, King), but this poem would be about something else altogether had it simply been foreordained, destiny, or some law of nature (or human nature) that Amnon would rape Thamar. David would not be the same rich character if he were simply forced to do all the great good and bad things he did, and if Shakespeare likewise had written about automatons instead of tormented heroes in his tragedies, would anyone bother reading (let alone memorizing, filming, studying, restaging, and continuing to tease out new meanings from) him all these centuries?

Yes, Amnon was overcome by temptation. That is the point. Temptation as a plot development, spiritual crisis, or moment of growth or decline has no content if it is not hugely desirable. If I have no lust for money, offering me a million dollars to do something unsavory will not sway me: the payoff is insufficient to the task. In other words, I am not tempted. The plot, of the book or of my life, does not move forward. If I do not have lust for my sister, I will not rape her. And the gravest transgressions are not only the ones with the strongest pull but the ones both rationality and our conscience most vehemently cry out against. Our conscience, together with social mores, perhaps, and common sense, human decency, fear of secular or heavenly punishment, empathy, logic, and the like, urge us not to rob the bank, not to drive drunk, not to hit our spouse, and not to embezzle those funds it would be so hard to trace...

It is therefore a struggle, a meaningful struggle, as Amnon admitted when he suggested his eyes be cut out - before they wandered again in the poem down to the ruffles his lust was weaving on her dress. If he could only stop seeing, he reasons, could no longer behold Thamar's beauty, he would have no cause to sin. Amnon's 'threads of blood' directly recall Jesus' sweat of blood as He suffered - suffered temptation, more precisely - in Gesthemani. He could have skipped his execution, and Amnon could have let go of Thamar's arm. I think Lorca evokes that familiar image and contrasts the brief moment Amnon meditates on what it is he is about to choose to do in order to make clear how deliberate the act is. Rather than struggle with the temptation for hours, turn to God, and ultimately accept His will as did Jesus in His torment, Amnon thinks about it for a few lines' worth of text, realizes the grave wrong of what he is considering - and decides that, all things considered, what he really wants right now is to rape his sister, not wait around for an angel to tell him he is strong. The 'hilos de sangre' linking Amnon and Christ serve to emphasize, not powerlessness, but how important it is to realize we do have a choice, and how serious and far-reaching the consequences can be, whether we resist or give in to temptation: in Christianity, it is through Christ's full acceptance in Gethsemani of his role as Savior on the Cross the next day that sinners like Amnon can find forgiveness and redemption.

In the Biblical story as in the poem, Thamar does not just resist physically, she remonstrates aloud with Amnon.

'Déjame tranquila, hermano.
Son tus besos en mi espalda
avispas y vientecillos
en doble enjambre de flautas.'

In the Lorca, she gives appeals to Amnon's empathy, while in the Biblical passages, she as well speaks of the moral, legal, and social aspects of the crime, and even tells Amnon if he were to get David's assent first then she could be his. But despite the fewer words of protest in the poem, surely the entreaty of his soon-to-be victim registered, along with the cries of his own conscience and common sense, in Amnon's mind. She even calls him brother, which should not merely evoke tenderness and kinship loyalty, but remind him that the crime he wants to commit is not merely rape and assault, but incest, as well.

David was chosen of God to found and lead the state of Israel, he wrote love songs to God, he sinned mightily (against Urias, Bathsheba, his people, his son, the people of Israel and, of course, against God, who is the only one we ever really sin against), repented mightily, and was forgiven due to his sincere repentance - but with Yahweh decreeing through the prophet Nathan that 'the sword will not depart' from his house, that evil will rise 'against you out of your own house,' that his own wives would be taken by others, and that the product of his adultery and the impetus for the murder to cover it up, his and Bathsheba's baby, would die. King David heartily, deeply, and sincerely regretted his actions, because he knew he could have made other choices and yet succumbed to temptation. So, too, did Amnon know his options; the charitable impulses and rationality he pushed to the back of his mind were brought to the forefront as Thamar pleaded with him while he pulled her to him. It wasn't fate, it wasn't biology; it was willful sin - with meaning and consequences as powerful as the temptation that urged it forward.

And David the psalmist, the rhapsodic lover of God, David with his unending faith and sincere contrition on a par with that of the Sufi's paradigmatic lover Iblis, Davidwho writes of the evil he has bred in the world,

'For I know my transgression,
and my sin is ever before me.
Against thee, thee only, have I sinned,
and done that which is evil in thy sight'

seeing the evil his son has done, which recapitulates his own, stops pleading,

'O Lord, open thou my lips,
and my mouth shall show forth thy praise'

and instead in the poem abandons hope, abandons praise, and cuts the strings of his harp. David the shepherd with a flock in disarray, David the King of Israel and head of a murdering and incestuous royal family, David the giant-killer who finally tamed his own demons now watching in horror at his sons repeating his crimes and, in the end, David the rapturous Psalmist laying down his harp and songs of praise on hearing the hoofbeats of Amnon's departing horse. That's the part that sticks with me!

Here's the poem itself

Federico García Lorca

Thamar y Amnón

(pub. 1928)

La luna gira en el cielo
sobre las sierras sin agua
mientras el verano siembra
rumores de tigre y llama.
Por encima de los techos
nervios de metal sonaban.
Aire rizado venía
con los balidos de lana.
La sierra se ofrece llena
de heridas cicatrizadas,
o estremecida de agudos
cauterios de luces blancas.

Thamár estaba soñando
pájaros en su garganta
al son de panderos fríos
y cítaras enlunadas.
Su desnudo en el alero,
agudo norte de palma,
pide copos a su vientre
y granizo a sus espaldas.
Thamár estaba cantando
desnuda por la terraza.
Alrededor de sus pies,
cinco palomas heladas.
Amnón, delgado y concreto,
en la torre la miraba,
llenas las ingles de espuma
y oscilaciones la barba.
Su desnudo iluminado
se tendía en la terraza,
con un rumor entre dientes
de flecha recién clavada.
Amnón estaba mirando
la luna redonda y baja,
y vio en la luna los pechos
durísimos de su hermana.

Amnón a las tres y media
se tendió sobre la cama.
Toda la alcoba sufría
con sus ojos llenos de alas.
La luz, maciza, sepulta
pueblos en la arena parda,
o descubre transitorio
coral de rosas y dalias.
Linfa de pozo oprimida
brota silencio en las jarras.
En el musgo de los troncos
la cobra tendida canta.
Amnón gime por la tela
fresquísima de la cama.
Yedra del escalofrío
cubre su carne quemada.
Thamár entró silenciosa
en la alcoba silenciada,
color de vena y Danubio,
turbia de huellas lejanas.
Thamár, bórrame los ojos
con tu fija madrugada.
Mis hilos de sangre tejen
volantes sobre tu falda.
Déjame tranquila, hermano.
Son tus besos en mi espalda
avispas y vientecillos
en doble enjambre de flautas.
Thamár, en tus pechos altos
hay dos peces que me llaman,
y en las yemas de tus dedos
rumor de rosa encerrada.

Los cien caballos del rey
en el patio relinchaban.
Sol en cubos resistía
la delgadez de la parra.
Ya la coge del cabello,
ya la camisa le rasga.
Corales tibios dibujan
arroyos en rubio mapa.

¡Oh, qué gritos se sentían
por encima de las casas!
Qué espesura de puñales
y túnicas desgarradas.
Por las escaleras tristes
esclavos suben y bajan.
Émbolos y muslos juegan
bajo las nubes paradas.
Alrededor de Thamár
gritan vírgenes gitanas
y otras recogen las gotas
de su flor martirizada.
Paños blancos enrojecen
en las alcobas cerradas.
Rumores de tibia aurora
pámpanos y peces cambian.

Violador enfurecido,
Amnón huye con su jaca.
Negros le dirigen flechas
en los muros y atalayas.
Y cuando los cuatro cascos
eran cuatro resonancias,
David con unas tijeras cortó
las cuerdas del arpa.

Bonsai at the Weyerhauser Pacific Rim bonsai collection in Federal Way, WA.

This is where I live.

It really is this beautiful here! Frightening!

So much for going back to writing overwrought dramas about nothing! Sorry folks! As a sop, here is an unbearably cute thing to take your mind off reality.

Enjoy!

And after that, VOLUNTEER!

Crow au Vin?

To follow up on that lengthy introduction, this is the actual story...

As some of you know, I work in food. Some others of you know I volunteer in food. Some even know both, and maybe me, as well. Some know that the service aspect of my life is very important to me, and perhaps that I have tried to incorporate that into my paid work, as well, when the parameters of my job would allow that.

Well, one of my frustrations is that there are a great many people consumed with trying to send money to Myanmar, and now China, while our local food banks are short of both food and volunteers. Another one is that people are terribly worried about buying organic, free-range whatevers* for their own tables at the same time that they show no signs of being concerned about whether their neighbors are eating anything at all. And there are people whose lefty and self-righteous environmental obsessions are so narrow and myopic that they fail to take in the human cost, and the human aspects in the ethical equations that purportedly conscious and conscientious people make when deciding what, where, and how to buy.

And for me, labor issues matter. Fair treatment matters. Decent working conditions matter terribly. And, because I have worked in the often ridiculously poor conditions of commercial kitchens, finished out shifts in kitchens with second- and third-degree burns on the palm my sauteeing hand, worked with people who have previously worked in agriculture and meat processing, and have been an undocumented worker overseas myself, I would argue I have greater experience with the issue, and greater natural, visceral, direct empathy for the workers involved than do most people who simply have neither the experience nor the broadmindedness to consider the whole story of an ingredient, to imagine that the history of their organic, free-range, shade-grown tomato started a long time ago, in a language far, far away from their Whole Foods produce aisle.

So, when I read a disheartening story (you can just NewsGoogle 'Stemilt' and get one million hits, so take your pick) about Washington fruit workers in California having difficult times with a reputable and progressive agricultural firm, fruit producer Stemilt, which, frankly, among big companies has a great record with moving toward more organic practices and being quite decent with workers, I was impassioned, and I wrote a letter. I wrote a terse, angry letter with a (perhaps poetic but) mean closing line.

And a person, a live, human person like me and like the laborers, wrote me back. Okay, fine, Stemilt isn't General Electric, but I'm not Bill Gates, either. And it is a very big company, and I am not. And the letter wasn't condescending, although it had a valuable lesson. And the message 'Don't believe all that you read/hear' is one that we all, most especially myself, need to keep with us as much as we can. I work hard at being both humble and critical, and I think that, relative to many strains in our culture, I'm doing okay at both. That being said, however, we do all have our prejudices, even as we struggle against them, and it is precisely those that are most ingrained -- and thus most powerful in swaying our thoughts, emotions, and actions -- that we are least likely to perceive as they influence us.

Thus, after that terribly dramatic build-up, here are the letters. Mine first, then his, and then my response. While it is true that we live in a world that can be so alienating, and we can go for days or weeks on end without, if we so wish it, any in-person human interaction, and we can have so many 'contacts' in our Blackberries or even our social lives that are fated always to be just that and nothing more, it was shocking and gratifying and satisfying in my soul that someone at Stemilt read my angry words in the very human and compassionate way he did, and responded in such a human way.

To Whom It May Concern:

I applaud Stemilt's contributions to greener agricultural practices, but your treatment of Washington workers in California is disgusting and indefensible. I am a private chef, and my business focuses on local, organic, and seasonal ingredients as much as possible, but both my clients and I can get by just fine without your products from any state. As well, in any case where I am unable to ascertain the origin of product from the vendor, I will simply forgo that fruit, and that dish. My clients will already know why by that point, as I will be giving them information sheets next week about Stemilt's labor practices. We may be more concerned about the environment up here than people in other regions, but we are also concerned with the dignity of our fellow human beings who labor to provide us with the food that sustains our lives. May you reap the fruit of your inhumanity.

(My Name),

All the workers are harvesting the crops today in California as scheduled. No workers were removed. Be careful what you read. Stemilt is who it says it is, both environmentally and socially. Other peoples motives are what are at issue. This orchard attracts lots of great harvest workers because of the income it provides them due to its production and cleanliness. You would need to interview the workers to believe what I am telling you. The owner of this orchard is a humanitarian. It will continue to attract workers in future years because of this orchards environment.

(My Name), we are glad you care about people. There isn't enough of that concern in this world.

I felt compelled to respond to you. You seem like a person that cares,

Stemilt

Wow,

(His Name), thank you very much for responding to me personally. I work alone now, but when I worked in kitchens I really cared about my employees, many of whom were from basically the same demographic as agricultural workers, so I do know that it is possible, even in difficult, dirty, physical jobs, to create an atmosphere where workers feel valued. I also know that even big organizations can create overall cultures that are largely positive or mostly negative, and I applaud any efforts Stemilt makes to engender the former.

As for caring, I do. I think the food industry is unique, different than any other. There are famous artists in it, and there are tons of unskilled and semiskilled, invisible but equally vital contributors, too. And on the one hand, food is something we need every day and don't have to reflect on when we want to grab a hamburger to stop being hungry. On the other, it is an integral part of family celebrations, religious holidays, and rites of passage. And even though the poor can survive without shelter or new clothes, everyone has to eat to live. In fact, I volunteer at meal programs to help poor people get some food, to balance out the feeding-wealthy-people side of my life.

I really thank you for taking the time to respond. It is individuals, whether in a for-profit business or a charity, that make decisions, make personal connections - and make a difference. I'm not famous or influential or anything, but I'll follow the story and eat whatever crow I have to, along with Stemilt cherries, on my blog, http://oisive-vitesse.blogspot.com as it progresses. Again, I know work in the fields is hard, but I applaud you for offering workers housing, and for paying wages that attract new workers.

I can't yet find updated news stories, but I will keep looking. I do know that there isn't much money in broadcasting cheery news, unless it is put at the end of the newscast and involves a child or a pet. Immigrant farmworkers have known for a long time that they're not as cute as they could be.

*This actually happened -- and not at a Whole Foods: I was innocently idling around the bulk-licorice zone (which unfortunately abuts the bulk-coffee zone), doing no harm to anyone, when some Birkenstock-shod, bicycle-helmetted Zen master accosted the poor stock-clerk and assaulted my ears with this unnecessary query: 'While I see on the label that this blend (why must it be 'this blend?' why can he not utter the word 'coffee?' why can none of them? it's so easy to say, only two felicitous syllables that so gently roll off the tongue? cof-fee! coffee! coffffffeeeee! why does it always have to be 'this blend,' or 'this roast' with these people???) is fair-trade and organic, I was wondering if it were also perchance shade-grown, as well?'

Alright, I don't know that he said 'perchance.' Probably he didn't. But he wanted to. And the poor seventeen-year-old grocery-store worker, who probably drinks Mountain Dew and Denny's coffee by the litre and was writing speed-metal lyrics in his head and finally starting to enjoy pouring bulk penne from bags into canisters picturing the bass he's going to put a downpayment on with his next check had to break his fleeting rapturous chain of thought to go grab some higher-up who has somehow managed to memorize all the individual PC attributes of each and every 'blend' the store has, just to let the Coffee Sensei know whether or not he's hit some arbitrary 2008 liberal-coffee-buying trifecta.

Which is just a way of saying that while I think we should be moved to take action when our conscience demands it, and we should strive to do as much good and as little harm in the world as we can, there are also other things that are, simply, overkill and fatuous, and serve primarily to artificially assuage the ego -- and result in very little effect at all. I wonder when the last time for most of the Yoga Coffee Dudes of the world was that they calculated all that they spend on their blends and contributed it to something better, let alone went and 'fair traded' their own labor for free at a very needy, local nonprofit...