100 Días de Oscuridad

A un Puerto Rico sumido en más de una oscuridad.

Nunca te faltó la ropa que el mismo sol te puso
La piel de bronce fuego con tu pecho abierto y deslumbrante
Nunca pensaste verte desnuda y robada de tu luz
Asustada y doblegada llevando a cuestas una oscura cruz

El presagio que hoy te arropa no nació en una tierra lejana
de aires desérticos y arenas viajeras
No nació en el este atlántico dominado por un trópico canceroso

Tus Cien Días de Oscuridad nacieron en ti
Mucho antes de que llegara la madrugada huracanada
Y te librara de la clara ilusión de vivir a plena luz de mediodía

Ahora vives entre el presente y el pasado
Ambos confundidos y mirando de frente
a la penumbra de tu futuro incierto
¿Qué traerá la siguiente noche después de
andar a tientas?

Las estrellan gritan en su oscuridad ¡más oscuridad!
Tú las escuchas silenciosa tratando de entender
su propia lucha oscilante entre la vida y la muerte
¡Que griten!
Su lucha te robado el sol pero no la esperanza

Crónica de un cumpleaños no anunciado

Hoy, 12 de noviembre de 2017, cumplí cuarenta y seis años de edad. No un primer año, que a mi parecer debiera ser el único cumpleaños extraordinario en la vida de cualquier persona, especialmente si el cumpleañero es el primer hijo de una pareja. En realidad, ese primer cumpleaños es más una celebración para los padres primerizos que para el bebé. Pues resulta un logro extraordinario haber preservado la vida del niño (o la niña) durante sus primeras cincuenta y dos semanas. Muchos padres se preguntan, “¿Y cómo lo hicimos? ¡Ni idea! ¡Pues, celebrémoslo!” Esta celebración es una gran ficción en la que el primeañero ni se da por enterado. Los padres son otro cantar. ¡Salud!

Sí, el primer cumpleaños definitivamente, pero si soy un poco generoso tal vez puedo añadir otro más. Propongo el número cincuenta que es un buen número redondo y apunta a eso de la media vida. Seamos generosos pues. Si le damos uno al infante, reconozcamos otro más justo cuando el carrito empieza a bajar la cuesta más alta de esa montaña rusa llamada vida. El Cincuenta no podría ser mejor, ¿verdad? Y con mayúscula porque se lo merece. Sin embargo, el cuarenta y seis no cumple con estos requisitos. A pesar de vivir en el mismo vecindario cronológico que el Cincuenta, no debemos darle tanta cabeza. Y aún así es como, muy paradójicamente, nos encontramos en esta crónica de mi cumple número cuarenta y seis.

La celebración comenzó un día antes cuando me levanté temprano el sábado, 11 de noviembre, para ir con mi familia a correr una carrera de 5k en beneficio de Casa Chirilagua en Alexandria. Una rápida visita al sótano de la casa en preparación para nuestra salida me otorgó el primer regalo de la mañana: ¡un sótano inundado! Así como lo oyen o como lo leen, ustedes decidan.

Por un momento pensé que mis planes de ir a correr con sumo entusiasmo en una ultra frígida mañana de otoño en el norte de Virginia se echarían a perder. Pero me negué a darle ese lujo al calentador desaguado y su bastardo sótano inundado, y puse a buen uso una maravillosa aspiradora chupa-aguas que me regaló mi vecina antes de mudarse a otoños más frígidos que el nuestro. ¡Corrí los 5k antes de correr los 5k sacando agua!

Después de esa primera aventura precumpleañera partimos hacia Alexandria para los verdaderos 5k de Casa Chirilagua. Decir que la mañana estaba fría es una broma. Ni siquiera había comenzado la carrera y ya se me había congelado hasta el… pelo. Mi hijo M y yo corrimos juntos. Bueno, eso quiero pensar yo. De verdad corrimos juntos como unos cinco pasos luego de que comenzara la carrera porque después de esa introducción solidaria del hijo con su padre no lo volví a ver hasta que llegué a la meta. Allí ya estaba él lo más refrescado, como quien no quiere la cosa, y yo incrédulo además de tratar inútilmente de disimular mi falta de aire por no decir de condición física. “¡Bienvenidos al piso cuarenta y seis, papá! Te quiere, el catorce.” Está bien. No nos pongamos melodramáticos. Yo soy su padre y acá entre nos digamos que lo dejé llegar primero, pues porque soy un buen padre. Eso no se cuestiona. El resto del día lo pasé recuperándome de los 10k que a tan temprana y dichosa hora ya había corrido.

Así llegó el gran 12 de noviembre, día de mi cumple, que es más grande porque también es el cumple (hace más de trescientos años) de Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, la gran poeta, monja, académica, filósofa, dramaturga y feminista mexicana del siglo XVII. ¿Monja y feminista? ¡De que las hay las hay! ¿Cómo olvidar sus “Hombres necios que acusáis / a la mujer sin razón, / sin ver que sois la ocasión / de lo mismo que culpáis...”? Pero ya que esta es una crónica cumpleañera dejémonos de acusaciones necias y continuemos la celebración. ¡Ponme el alcoholado, Juana!

Nos despertamos, mi familia y yo, con el firme propósito de ir a la iglesia en la mañana y eso hicimos no sin antes enfrentar la disyuntiva de someterme a la tortura de una ducha helada o no. Tuve que filosofar a lo Shakespeare brevemente, ¿me la apunto o no me la apunto? Esa es la pregunta. ¡Hombre, no! A la casa de Dios nos vamos limpiecitos y olorositos. ¡Venga el chorro helado y con él los gritos incontenibles de quien detesta a muerte el agua fría! En realidad, no está mal darse una ducha helada de vez en cuando, algo así como cada diez años. Es rejuvenecedor y no hay mejor ocasión para ello que un cumpleaños ordinario como el 46. ¡Gracias desgraciado calentador desaguado! El número 50 será con burbujas de champaña y agua caliente en un jacuzzi, Dios mediante.

Luego de la iglesia regresamos a la casa haciendo antes una escala en el magnífico mega templo comercial llamado Costco para darnos un atracón de pizza. ¡Gracias, Costco, por el baratillo! La tarde se me fue en juegos de mesa con mi esposa y nuestra querida Rona. Siempre pierdo. Luego jugué ping pong con mi hijo L quien después de haber perdido el primer set se empantalonó y me ganó dos sets corridos. Digamos que lo dejé ganar, pues porque soy buen padre. Eso no se cuestiona. Entonces me puse a jugar Xbox por un rato para relajarme matando zombies a diestra y siniestra. Pero ¿saben qué? Los zombies ganaron… en múltiples ocasiones. Fue culpa del bendito control.

Una vez llegada la noche sacamos un delicioso bizcocho de chocolate y mi esposa e hijos me cantaron Cumpleaños Feliz. Oraron por mí y yo por ellos. Mi hijo menor oró una oración inolvidable para mí tanto por lo sencilla como por lo conmovedora, "Dios, gracias por el cumpleaños 46 de papá. Te pido que cumpla como 60 años más. Amén." Para ser un cumpleaños ordinario, fue un buen día. De hecho, esta crónica de un cumpleaños no anunciado no pudo haber sido mejor. Y claro, llegar a 106 añitos no estaría nada mal.

Nobody Knows My Name

I truly discovered James Baldwin earlier this year. I say truly because while I’m certain I had heard his name many times before, I couldn’t quite place him as a historical or literary reference, and I think the reason for this simply lied in that I really wasn’t that much interested in who he was. At least, not in the same way Malcolm X or Martin Luther King Jr interested me.

It wasn’t until coming across an impressive video documentary titled I Am Not Your Negro, based on an unfinished work by Baldwin that my radar picked up the signal and I decided to have a firsthand view of the author. Perhaps I’ll write about I Am Not Your Negro at some other time. Suffice it to say that it is both a visual and narrative masterpiece to be enjoyed more than a few times as I already have.

James Baldwin was a relevant figure in his time and is probably more so nowadays almost thirty years after his death. He was a top rate intellectual and literary critic, besides being a writer. While he was friends with the leading figures of the Civil Rights Movement in the 50’s and 60’s, he underwent a self-imposed exile in Paris that accounted for his being not as visible in the American mind at the time. However, anybody who was somebody then knew of him and knew of his piercing critique as a leading Black writer regarding not just academic or literary matters, but sociological issues, first and foremost the fight for desegregation and civil rights in the South.

As an incredibly piercing writer, Baldwin gave us some of the boldest social commentary on race issues and the many faces of racism in the history of the United States. One of his books, a collection of essays written from 1954 to 1960 while in Europe and titled Nobody Knows My Name: More Notes of a Native Son, gives us a peak at the heart of a writer continuing to seek freedom from “the Negro Problem” he knew all too well he couldn’t escape. That gradual and cold realization sparks the process that will return him from his European haven to America.

In the introduction to Nobody Knows My Name he writes,

What it came to for me was that I no longer needed to fear leaving Europe, no longer needed to hide myself from the big and dangerous winds of the world. The world was enormous and I could go anywhere in it I chose―including America: and I decided to return here because I was afraid to. But the question which confronted me, nibbled at me, in my stony Corsican exile was: Am I afraid of returning to America? Or am I afraid of journeying any further with myself? Once this question had presented itself it would not be appeased, it had to be answered. (p. xiii)

I stumbled, if you will, upon Nobody Knows My Name recently while at the local public library. I was scanning titles at the new arrivals section when I saw the title Nobody Knows My Name on the spine of a book and the name Baldwin below it. Having seen the video documentary, the connection was instant. I pulled the book and, lucky me, it was indeed authored by James Baldwin. I read part of the intro and the writing pulled me in, but I returned the book to its shelf. I think it was on the new arrivals shelves because it was a new acquisition by the library, not because it was a new publication. Baldwin died in 1987. I came back a few days later knowing I was to read it, so I checked it out of the library and dug in.

James Baldwin wrote as an uncompromising thinker. His time in Europe helped him solidify his identity as a writer because it afforded him freedom from the great social pressures that sought to stifle him not merely as a writer but, above all else, as a man in his home country. Nobody Knows My Name lets us in on the writer as a free agent in the pursuit of truth,

But I still believe that the unexamined life is not worth living: and I know that self-delusion, in the service of no matter what small or lofty cause, is a price no writer can afford. His subject is himself and the world and it requires every ounce of stamina he can summon to attempt to look on himself and the world as they are. (p. xii)

One of the features that distinguishes the essays in Nobody Knows My Name is that beside its social commentary and literary criticism, Baldwin employs the memoir in the service of his narrative. And this is perhaps the most refreshing element―for literary critics can be dry as hell sometimes―in the book. Baldwin obviously has an impressive command of the written word. His type of writing is so incisive and clear one cannot avoid trying to engage at the same deep level he challenges us to engage him with.

I’m not a fast reader and NKMN isn’t a particularly long book, but I went through its pages like a man on a mission. It’s not just that Baldwin commands the written word, he is aware of his audience and respects it so much that there is no place to beat around the bushes. At the same time, he doesn’t want to be a stumbling block in the minds or hearts of his readers. He simply strikes a chord with them, challenges, even shocks them, and by resorting to the memoir becomes accessible and appeals to the hearts and minds of his readers equally.

One is hard pressed to choose a favorite among the essays in Nobody Knows My Name, but I’ll say a line or two about my favorite three in the book.

The Discovery of What it Means to Be an American is my first favorite essay where Baldwin has an honest confrontation with himself as he comes to terms with being an American writer, particularly a writer in Europe—in self-imposed exile.

This is a personal day, a terrible day, the day to which his entire sojourn has been tending. It is the day he realizes that there are no untroubled countries in this fearfully troubled world; that if he has been preparing himself for anything in Europe, he has been preparing himself—for America. In short, the freedom that the American writer finds in Europe brings him, full circle, back to himself, with the responsibility for his development where it always was: in his own hands.

Even the most incorrigible maverick has to be born somewhere. He may leave the group that produced him—he may be forced to—but nothing will efface his origins, the marks of which he carries with him everywhere. I think it is important to know this and even find it a matter for rejoicing, as the strongest people do, regardless of their station. On this acceptance, literally, the life of a writer depends. (pp. 9-10)

My second favorite essay—and my order here does not imply importance—is Faulkner and Desegregation. I may have read a short story or two from William Faulkner back in my college days so at least I know enough to say that he is one of the towering figures in American literature. And by reading this essay I also learned that Faulkner came from a very well to do, slave-owning Mississippian stock. The irony here is that Faulkner was apparently against segregation in the South. But Baldwin sees through the southerner’s thin veil of moral indignation against it and calls him on the floor for what he really is—a hypocrite who when push comes to shove is reluctant to forgo his very deeply rooted, very southern sensibilities preferring to remain in favor of the status quo he himself inherited. Baldwin cuts to the chase right off the bat in his essay addressing what happens when a man encounters the important crossroads life will bring him to,

Any real change implies the breakup of the world as one has always known it, the loss of all that gave one an identity, the end of safety. And at such a moment, unable to see and not daring to imagine what the future will now bring forth, one clings to what one knew, or thought one knew; to what one possessed or dreamed that one possessed. Yet, it is only when a man is able, without bitterness or self-pity, to surrender a dream he has long cherished or a privilege he has long possessed that he is set free—he has set himself free—for higher dreams, for greater privileges. All men have gone through this, go through it, each according to his degree, throughout their lives. It is one of the irreducible facts of life. (p. 117)

Surely, Faulkner read these words and knew what Baldwin was talking about, but he simply was not willing to put his money where his mouth was. After all, he’s the one who said, The past is not dead. In fact, it's not even past.

The third essay that got my attention was The Male Prison, a piercing yet compassionate critique of French author André Gide’s Madeleine, an autobiographical confessional of the writer’s marriage. It was no taboo then, and much less now, that literary circles contained its share of homosexuals, male and female. This essay was originally published under the title Gide as Husband and Homosexual in December 1954.

During Gide’s time, tradition dictated that men and women subscribe to the convention of marriage between husband and wife, male and female. Having been reared in an austere Protestant (Huguenot) family with strong Catholic leanings (!), Gide followed the established societal norms only to fight against them as he grew into his vocation as a writer. This fight to find his own voice both as a writer and a man took him into the depths of homosexual relationships, while still remaining married to his “beloved” Madeleine.  

Given the visceral emotions Madeleine elicits, Baldwin engages Gide and the role of homosexuality in his relationship to his wife on the same plane. Yes, he is honest, but Baldwin doesn’t betray honesty in such a way that it detracts from his appreciation of Madeleine as a literary critic. It is obvious for him that a Protestant ethos permeates Gide’s work and at the same time the French writer exhibits his homosexuality like a badge of honor. Baldwin doesn’t judge Gide for his homosexuality, but had Gide been less explicit about it, it could have served him (and his readers) better. For Baldwin, the question of homosexuality, moreover whether it is natural or not, is not the main concern in appreciating Gide’s Madeleine. Ultimately, it was an unshakable guilt that stood between him and Madeleine like a chasm and in spite of his love for her he paid a steep price because he could not reconcile his morality as a Protestant man and his morality as a homosexual man. Baldwin gets at the bottom of Gide’s crisis when he states that,

The great problem [for Gide] is how to be—in the best sense of that kaleodoscopic word—a man.

This problem was at the heart of all Gide’s anguish, and it proved itself, like most real problems, to be insoluble. He died, as it were, with the teeth of this problem still buried in this throat. What one learns from Madeleine is what it cost him, in terms of unceasing agony, to live with this problem at all. (p. 157-158)

So Gide spiritualizes his relationship to Madeleine since a natural—carnal—desire for her is not an option. This according to Baldwin is a major failure of Gide, who doesn’t seem to understand that he had actually married a woman. Gide was the quintessential egotistical man who was not able to even scratch the surface of a woman’s nature much less her needs. He was in a conundrum he couldn’t escape. Baldwin illuminates this in the following way,

Gide’s dilemma, his wrestling, his peculiar, notable and extremely valuable failure testify—which should not seem odd—to a powerful masculinity and also to the fact that he found no way to escape the prison of that masculinity. And the fact that he endured this prison with such dignity is precisely what ought to humble us all, living as we do in a time and country where communion between the sexes has become so sorely threatened that we depend more and more on the strident exploitation of externals, as, for example, the breasts of Hollywood glamour girls and the mindless grunting and swaggering of Hollywood he-men. (pp. 161-162)

Waive the Jones Act for Puerto Rico

I shared the following with my facebook friends yesterday regarding the 'Waive the Jones Act for Puerto Rico' petition on change.org. I hope that my readers here can lend your support to this petition. It will help Puerto Rico get back on its feet faster. The petition is linked below. Please sign and share it. Every Puerto Rican will thank you. ¡Muchas gracias!

Dear Amigos,

When I signed this petition the Department of Homeland Security had already rejected it. I went ahead and signed it anyway knowing that the more people added their names and voices to it the more pressure towards a reconsideration in favor of the waiver could be attained. The next day President Trump granted a waiver of the Jones Act in PR for 10 days.

In the next couple of days after I signed the petition it reached over half a million signatures. That's a big number and I couldn't be prouder of the many friends on fb who took the time to sign it and show their support! Muchas gracias! But again, this waiver is only for ten days and if you've been following the news, we have immediate and urgent needs to cover in Puerto Rico that will last much longer than 10 days. Then there's the long haul and hard work of rebuilding my beloved homeland. This, I can assure you, will take years.

So I have a dream.

Change is not always easy, but it is always possible. I would like to see the Jones Act be suspended or repealed or abolished in PR. Historically, the Jones Act has been a powerful instrument of colonialism - Puerto Rico is a colony of the United States. Economically, the Jones Act has enabled a monopoly hub for American shipping corporations by virtue of Puerto Rico's colonial status. The government of Puerto Rico has no other option but to hand American shipping industries extra hundreds of millions of dollars annually because of this. When you have an economic crisis like we had in PR way before Hurricane María hit, hundreds of millions of dollars make a significant difference.

This petition is really straightforward in its aim. It asked for a 12 month waiver of the Jones Act toward infrastructure and economic recovery efforts in Puerto Rico in the aftermath of Hurricane María. All we want in the short term is for the Jones Act to be suspended for a whole year, but what really needs to happen is for the Jones Act -or its shipping provisions as applied to PR- to be abolished permanently.

So I have a dream that our petition reaches 3.5 million signatures- a little more than one signature for each inhabitant of Puerto Rico. Our population currently stands at 3.411 million. I would like to ask all those of you who didn't sign it when I first shared it to sign it this time around. Would you? Please make sure you read what the petition is all about and read also the updates that have come since it was first introduced- they appear just below the main text of the petition.

If you don't feel like signing it, that's OK. Would you share it then? Sharing this petition with your friends on social media will only make its reach wider which is what we want. This is truly effective and you would be surprised of how many people will be willing to join their voices to this if given the chance. Please give them a chance by sharing this petition with them.

If you sign it AND share it you will be a total super hero! You will have cataclysmic powers and kittens will start raining down from heaven! Being that powerful is a good thing because you can stop the downpour at will. I did it in about 2 seconds. All of that beside the added benefit of helping PR!

The two main addressees of this petition are the President of the United States and the Department of Homeland Security. I anticipate that a few more key players and decision makers in Capitol Hill will be added to it as more signers give their support. For some things there is truly strength in numbers.

Lastly, my heartfelt Thank You! Gracias! to all of you from a Puerto Rican away from home! God bless you all! ¡Dios los bendiga!

Con To' Lo Que Tengas

Temporal, temporal allá viene el temporal.
¡Qué será de Puerto Rico cuando llegue el temporal!

Santa María, líbranos de todo mal.
¡Ampáranos, Señora, de ese terrible animal!

Huracán Irma, septiembre de 2017

Querida Irma:

Primero lo primero. Nadie te invitó. No sé de dónde te vino la loca idea de que tenías las puertas abiertas por aquí. Pregúntale a cualquiera y te enterarás de que hasta tormenteras hemos puesto porque no queremos verte por estos Lares. Hemos cerrado las puertas con treinta mil candados y botamos las llaves. Pero ya que tú insistes en hacerte la sorda, es necesario que dejemos las cosas claras. Te respetamos. No te equivoques, Irmita, te respetamos mucho. Lo que no te tenemos es miedo. ¿Sabes por qué? Porque no eres la primera ni serás la última en creerse que tienes el derecho de abrir nuestras puertas sin permiso.

Está bien. Estamos de acuerdo en que es muy poco lo que podemos hacer para impedir tu llegada. Así es la cosa con entes como tú. Así que escúchalo bien. Aquí estábamos antes de que tú llegaras y aquí estaremos después de que tú te vayas.

¿Quieres doblegarnos con tus malditos vientos? Nuestros bosques y montañas, nuestras costas y palmeras los recibirán con los brazos abiertos. ¿Quieres ahogarnos con tu diluvio? Que tengas suerte con ello. Cuando te vayas, saldremos otra vez a nuestras calles para limpiarlas de tus escombros. Ayudaremos a nuestro vecino como siempre lo hemos hecho. Despojaremos a nuestras playas y bosques del espectro de tu vorágine. Se volverá a ver el verdor de nuestras montañas y repararemos nuestras casas porque queremos sus ventanas abiertas.

Habrás roto muchos troncos tras de ti. Te habrás llevado muchos techos, pero nuestro corazón taíno también te habrá mirado a los ojos diciéndote, “Mis manos recogen estos escombros, pero mi corazón antillano sigue erguido.”

Tíranos con tó’ lo que tengas. Tus vientos huracanados, tus aguas feroces y tus malas intenciones de partirnos por el medio. Nuevamente, suerte con ello. Te irás, Irmita, como se han ido todos los que quisieron amedrentarnos. Aquí nos quedaremos nosotros, bautizados una y mil veces en este Caribe de huracanes. Así que te vaya bien, querida Irma. Pronto saldrá el sol.

Con todo el respeto,

Borinquen Bella y sus Islas Hermanas Caribeñas

Turey el Taíno #2, 1989
Número publicado luego de que el Huracán Hugo pasara por Puerto Rico.

Another Day in the Fight Game

26 August 2017

“May the odds be ever in your favor!” -Effie Trinket

Err, no! It is not another day in the fight game! It’s D-Day! And the worst thing about it is that deep down inside nobody knows what’s going to happen. Tonight’s ticket, Floyd Mayweather, Jr. vs. Conor McGregor, brings two worlds colliding. The raw brutality of MMA meeting the sweet science of boxing has everyone on edge. “Mayweather will take McGregor to school”, “McGregor will destroy Mayweather,” cries the wind! Again, I don’t know what will happen although I am rooting for Mayweather. He's’ the true boxer in this fight, but when you consider the stakes, he’s also the one risking the most.

After a long and successful career on the boxing ring yielding a record of 49-0, Mayweather’s prime years are past him. He’s a natural boxer and after all these years remains a very disciplined one too. He’s super calculated and smart on the ring. He’s a fierce counter puncher and his defense is unparalleled. Anybody wanting a piece of him has to go into the ring more than determined to get it and I can't’ think of anyone more qualified to do that than Conor McGregor. For me, that’s what’s scary. Mayweather has chosen an exceptional opponent for none other than his last professional fight. He'll go out with a bang, any way you look at it. 

McGregor has many attributes too. He’s super smart on the mat. He’s nimble, fast and powerful. He doesn’t miss a beat. Actually, he creates the beat-ing. This is amply demonstrated by material UFC evidence. He’s so fast and powerful that on UFC 194 Aldo didn’t know what had hit him until after it was over, literally. Yes, that Jose Aldo, who had been a dominant UFC champion for over 10 years, lost his belt to O.N.E. notorious Conor McGregor left punch. It was nasty and quite frankly, as far as the fight game is concerned, masterfully beautiful. Truly reminiscent of Ali's’ first round lighting rod to Liston’s jaw in their second bout.

However, I’m rooting for Mayweather because I cannot see McGregor beating him. Yet, tonight all bets are off. McGregor may well beat him and not only beat him; he might lay him flat and bid him sweet dreams. It will only take one punch if he’s able to break through and connect.

Mayweather is confident he will win this fight, but is approaching it realistically. He knows he’s not the same Mayweather anymore and has acknowledged as much. He’s slower and hasn’t fought in 2 years. He’s a 40 year old going against a tried and true fighter who’s 11 years his junior.

I will focus on Mayweather once the initial bell rings. I anticipate he will take no chances. One mistake in this fight and it will be Aldo all over again. It’s a true gamble. The potential for 49-0 becoming 49-1 couldn’t be higher. Why, Mayweather, why? Because he is also a tried and true fighter. More so than McGregor. When it comes to boxing history, tonight we’ll witness a history making match. I’m all in.

Allow me to take this for a spin. There are many reasons why the gladiators of millennia ago have remained iconic throughout history. And there’s a reason why in the modern cinematic era of entertainment we can’t avoid glamorizing them from old classics like Spartacus to modern day classics like Gladiator. I didn’t buy the t-shirt, but I have the soundtrack to the later one!

In our broken humanity we’re primed for spectacle and the bloodier it is the merrier. It was not just a matter of size and strength back then. You also had to be skilled and smart on the arena to make it. You didn’t just have one enemy going up against you in any given contest. You had several enemies at once, animal or human. One would think that MMA or boxing is a brutal sport nowadays. Well, not even close when compared to the Roman Colosseum in all its primitive glory. Not only that, your fate oftentimes depended on the whim of god, namely Caesar or the prefect in charge if the coliseum was elsewhere in the empire.

Depending on how well associated or dissociated he was from his own humanity, for human he was after all, almighty Caesar would let you live or die with just one flick of the wrist. So he was god for all the participants in the gladiatorial story- the victor, the victim and the crowd. This latter would egg him on depending in turn on how well associated or dissociated it was from it’s own humanity. We know how historians have depicted the masses for us back then: not any different than they are depicted for us today.

If there’s a difference, it’s that today we have regulatory bodies and commissions the attempt to bring some order and an apparent semblance of humanity to the fight game. There are drug screenings to keep the game clean, there are warnings to keep the game “gentlemanly”, there are doctors when things get too bloody or swollen and there are countdowns, at least in boxing, to give a fighter a chance at recovery if he’s knocked down or too hurt. And yet, "the game’s the game" as Omar reminded us in The Wire, and in the particular fight game we are about to see tonight the same primordial emotions, fears, anxieties, anger (sadly), even joys (believe it or not), run through our souls just as they did in Rome’s heyday.

Most of us wouldn’t get into the ring or the mat to fight somebody pound for pound. I know I wouldn’t. Somebody with my own height and weight can kill me with just one punch to the head or suck the air out of me for a month with just one punch to the gut. I’m not up to it, but we’ll either vicariously get in the ring with our prizefighters or watch them from the sidelines in Vegas or PPV because the fight game is as much a part of us as we’re a part of it.

These fighters train hard and they are good at it. That’s why tonight Mayweather vs McGregor will make pay per view history. They are the best at what they do in their respective platforms and the fight itself is historic. Of course, there were promoters on both sides who knew that there was too much money to pass up on a fight like this, but at the end of the day these two guys have my respect for stepping up to the challenge of risking their reputations as fighters and the reputations of their disciplines with them in an unprecedented way.

When Mayweather and McGregor square off tonight, neither of them will have the presence of Caesar looming over their heads to extend or deny them mercy in the end. This side of the Enlightenment, the fighter himself has replaced god. Remember when in an arrogant lack of judgement, McGregor said as much in the promotional runnup to UFC 196, "Gods recognize gods"? He lost that fight by submission to Nate Díaz. No one saw that coming, except the one, true God, I'd say. 

Tonight’s fight might be a pretty short affair, twelve rounds full of excitement or a total dud. Who knows. The total show, however, leaves no doubt about the brutality of our most basic instincts this side of the Fall. So I’m glad that in the fight game there are some rules that somewhat attempt to help us make a basic distinction regarding the sport as well as channeling those instincts in a healthier way: we will all have to fight at some point or another, but not all fights are the same. Some fights are bare knuckled, some are gloves on, and some don't have to do with fists at all. While most of us might and will be sucked into the whole Mayweather/McGregor spectacle for one brief moment, that moment, that fight does not belong to us. It belongs to them and to them alone. They are taking us along for the ride because we’re willing to pay for it. 

Kudos, by the way, to all resisting to give in to tonight’s boxing hysteria. Granted, that might be a really smart choice, but that’s a whole other fight unto itself. I would rather see the news or history in the making than wait to learn about it in the morning just before going to church! Not that it would ruin my worship game, but it would suck to learn about the outcome of this fight a whole lot later than necessary.

But tonight’s fight makes me think of at least two other things bearing on the battles we ourselves have to fight: 1. We all need help in preparing to fight our battles, and 2. We also need grace and perseverance to stay in our own version of the fight game. Mayweather and McGregor will say “Word!” to point one. Saint Paul the Apostle has a thing or two to say about point two.

In a very real sense -and I myself don’t know if I can grasp the ultimate implications of this- the old world order of boxing and the new world order of mixed martial arts will come to a head in a sports arena tonight. Since the fight game is not leaving us any time soon, I pray the old world order prevails. 

Second Inaugural Address: Abraham Lincoln

Yesterday, I visited The National Mall in Washington, DC, with my dad. It was Memorial Day and Constitution Avenue was laced with pomp and circumstance.

When we arrived and entered into the Lincoln Memorial at the west end of The Mall we saw the complete text of Lincoln's Second Inaugural Address inscribed on the right hand (north side) wall. Lincoln himself looks at what lies ahead.

At the historical juncture of the Second Inaugural, four years of civil war had already taken a horrendous toll on the nation. The Memorial enshrines Lincoln facing east. If you fix your attention on his face for a minute or so, it will be obvious that he is not exuberant in the least bit. How could he be? He's not downtrodden either. His face is somewhat expressionless which seems appropriate. He holds his head up because he has no other option. His hands, one lying on the arm rest, the other a semi-clenched fist, betray ambivalence and apprehension. Yet, at some point in the horizon the darkness will be pierced by increasingly uncontainable rays of light. The sun always rises.

I started reading the address. I remember having started reading on some prior visit, but this time I finished it. It took all of five to ten minutes and I was left in awe. I do not exaggerate in saying that I was rapt by text. While I was physically motionless my mind was crunching meaty words. I felt as if I could hold those words in my own hands and feel their weight. Most people were crowding Lincoln behind me. The north atrium was pretty bare and quiet if you can imagine such a thing at this monument on a Memorial Day. Perhaps, I was the only one reading at that moment.

Neither party expected for the war the magnitude or the duration which it has already attained. Neither anticipated that the cause of the conflict might cease with or even before the conflict itself should cease. Each looked for an easier triumph, and a result less fundamental and astounding. Both read the same Bible and pray to the same God, and each invokes His aid against the other. It may seem strange that any men should dare to ask a just God's assistance in wringing their bread from the sweat of other men's faces, but let us judge not, that we be not judged. The prayers of both could not be answered. That of neither has been answered fully.

Lincoln knew his Bible and this Second Inaugural Address shows it. But it's not just that he knew the Bible and could quote and apply it in context. He knew the God of the Bible. He knew something about his righteous purposes and will for men. He knew his God would even be One to divinely intervene to confound and overturn the will and purposes of men. This one God in whom he believed never stood on the sidelines and he always had the last word for our sake.

Fondly do we hope, fervently do we pray, that this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away.

Only a war president who knows a God of justice and peace could have had the grace and fortitude to hope and pray this way. Lincoln was no ordinary man. Perhaps there hasn't been as gifted an orator president as him since his death. But Lincoln himself would not have cared much for oratory for the sake of oratory. The Second Inaugural stands out because Lincoln, undoubtedly tempered by the experience of war more than he would have liked, puts God in the thick of it and at the helm of it and makes men, himself included, subservient (again for our very own sake) to Him. 

Lincoln truly believed in Divine Intervention. Political addresses by heads of state are not known for reflecting this reality throughout history, modern history in particular. We go on deciding the fate of individuals, entire peoples and the world having faith in our so called capacity to be rational actors. But God lets that little fancy of ours run its course to its logical conclusion. It is a if we tell the joke not realizing that the joke is actually on us.  

Lincoln looks eastward in his Memorial, seated and knowing that the sun will rise and that the night will pass. There's nothing he can do to contain one or the other, but he knows there's a living God whose judgments are "true and righteous altogether." His are words rooted in the experience of a living faith. Yes, there's much work to be done. There are wounds to bind and heal. A nation to pick up and put back together. 

...to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations.

When I finished reading the Second Inaugural I regained motion. Did I just finish reading a sermon? Maybe. I might be guilty of going a little over the top here, but all I can say is that I made the sign of the cross as if I had heard the man himself say an "Amen" right when he finished his address. Did he beckon me to join him? I have no other answer but "Yes." Somebody may have seen me. Who cares.

Then I left and sat with my dad on the steps leading up to the Memorial. I was in awe.

Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings "100 Days, 100 Nights"

With all the talk about 100 days in the news recently, it behooves us to post the best thing having to do with the topic of "100 days" in recent history. Thank you to the late and great Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings. Masterfully soulful or soulfully masterful or both!

The Kid

When I arrived at the ballpark, half the baseball game had already been played. The scoreboard was 3-2 with the opposing team ahead. I stepped up the bleachers on the visitor team side and nodded my greeting to a fellow dad. I felt a little embarrassed for arriving halfway through the game and had to gather my thoughts which were everywhere and nowhere. I had dropped Lorenzo off about an hour before the game started so I didn’t even looked up at the batter at home plate when I came back. It was a cool night. I sat next to a kid who was cool too, but I didn’t realize that until later.

The dad whom I had greeted told me, “Lorenzo is up.” That was all it took for me to dispose of my scattered thoughts. After a few pitches, Renzo sent a line drive to third which the player covering the base snatched. Two outs. It was a good play on his part and a great display of young, keen reflexes. In spite of that, the opposing team’s pitching began to crumble which, combined with a few hits here and there, brought us home enough times to catch up and pass them by more than a few runs.

The inning ended and teams exchanged field positions. I looked to my left and to my surprise the kid sitting next to me was someone I knew. He had been to school with one of my kids and we used to go to the same church.

“Hey, kid! I’m sorry! I didn’t even notice it was you sitting here next to me all along. Good to see you. How are you?”
“I’m good.”
“Are you playing baseball this season?”
“No.”
“You’re just enjoying the game, I suppose.”
“My friend is playing. I came with him.”
“What sport are you playing now?”
“I’m playing soccer and I’m also playing football.”
“You’re playing two sports!”
“I’m trying to fit as many sports into my schedule as I can.”

My one and only thought when I heard this was, “Mic drop!”

It’s nothing strange for kids to have full schedules. Kids who keep themselves active (or are made so by their parents) while at school remain healthier for the most part. Of course, there’s a level of toxicity to an excessively full schedule, but lack of activity will rob anyone of precious years of life. However, full schedules are the particular reality of the overachieving kids who find themselves in the Fairfax County Public Schools or the schools of Northern Virginia at large. They keep a full school load and excel at it, then they play sports, do after school clubs and activities, they play musical instruments, are boy and girl scouts, etc. That’s the way they roll and it’s just normal around these parts. This kid sitting next to me at the local ballpark was one of them.

As I kept my short conversation with him I asked, knowing he's soon to be in middle school,

“Will you be going to such and such a school next school year?”
“No, I’m going to Lanier.”
I said, “I guess you had the option to go to one or the other, right?”
“I actually had four options.”
My one and only thought? Yeah...
“I see! So why Lanier?”
“Because of my friends.”

The kid’s unassuming coolness remained. I think his unawareness of it too. He was definitely self-assured and there is a fine line between self-assuredness and cockiness. But this wasn’t it. I said to myself, “Where’s this kid from?” Of course, I knew where he’s from. I even know where he lives. But fitting “as many sports into my schedule as possible” and “I actually had four options” are not your typical 6th grader responses.

Chances are this kid will be going places in his journey to adulthood. A lot of credit goes to his parents. They are the ones who keep him busy, but they are the hedges that protect him too. I wouldn’t be surprised if he runs for president one day. But if the odds are in his favor and he’s sworn in, I’ll be the only one remembering this mundane conversation mainly because of his two mics dropped on the bleachers at a little league ballpark many years before. That is unless the cool kid happens to have an extraordinary memory and also remembers it.

Ramen Gods

My wife called me after a long day at school and said, “Can you pick me up?” To which I replied with a spicy, “¡Por supuesto que sí, Mamisonga!” Once I arrived, she entered the car and said, “I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten anything all day!”

I’ve heard these words many times before. Normally, I remain composed and proceed to solve the problem with something like, “There’s warm, delicious food waiting for you at home. I cooked.” Works like a charm every time. Or I simply go to the nearest restaurant of her preference if there’s nothing ready to eat at home.

But this time after hearing such words, my gut went into overdrive. My brow started sweating. I gripped the wheel with two hands.

Hearing those words on that fateful day would let me know that not only hell knows no fury like a woman scorned; it knows no fury like a hungry woman. When the words entered my noggin, the thought process hit survival mode. It was all about self-preservation now so I thought to myself, “I should give her the wheel and walk home. It’s not too far and I love my arms.” I opted not to and braced myself to take it in the chin.

Confidently, I offered a favorite of ours, “Chick Fil A is close by.” Strike one big time! My woman wanted to eat a bear not a flimsy chicken sandwich. I offered by way of appeasement what I thought were a few better options. In my view, they would’ve taken care of the problem really quick, but I just stroke out a few more times. My silence between the options proposed began to increase.

Finally, I remembered a place I had come across while on a lunch break from an interpreting job I did some days earlier. It was a Japanese restaurant by the name of Jinya in the Mosaic District of Merrifield.

A month or so before, a documentary about Japan had caught my attention on Amazon Prime video. It’s name was Prime Japan and it spread throughout ten episodes with each one devoted to a different aspect of Japanese culture. Episode 3 was titled Ramen, the famed noodle.

Now, these were no mere mortal Ramen noodle soups that this documentary portrayed. The show explained in all its culinary delicacy how the Japanese had taken a simple and common Chinese staple and made it divinely their own. I was left hungry myself for some Ramen noodles after watching the episode.

So this Japanese joint named Jinya was my last blind resort to deal with my wife’s hunger from beyond. While I had the huge advantage of having seen what Ramen noodles were all about, neither one of us had tried the food. Not the way it was shown in the documentary. So once more I offered, treading ever so lightly,

“I know of a place that might interest you.”
She said, “Yeah, what?”
“Jinya. It’s a Ramen shop. Although the sign actually says ‘Jinya Ramen Bar’”, I said.
“What’s it about?”
“Noodle soup.”

I knew then I should have given her the wheel and walk home when I had the chance. “I don’t want no stinking soup! I told you I’m hungry!” Making a big effort to keep my cool, I said, “It’s like a Pho. It’s a pretty hearty soup.” But all I got was the stinking soup look.

I was at a loss as if trying to dig myself out of a hole but actually going deeper in it. My two hands still had a solemn grip on the wheel. The hunger of a female kind was still there intact, unmitigated. If there’s a boiling point for hunger, I was soon to find out. Problem was that I’d be its only witness. So I decided to zip it, but not before making a somewhat risky move. “You know”, I said to my woman, “when one has a problem one seeks solutions to it. If you’re hungry, why don’t you think of a place you’d like to eat? I’ll take you there.” I kept driving and went mum. The spoon was in her court.

Now, my dear reader, I had forgotten a cardinal rule of nature and that is that people don’t think too well when they’re hungry. I had put the ball in my woman’s court, but I had dealt her a poor hand. Totally unfair. Terrible. Somehow, I didn’t care. At that point, I had been reduced to a chauffeur.

After a few moments of heavy silence I couldn’t believe my ears. “What did you say the name of that place was?”

“Jinya.” I counted.
“Let’s try it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”

I did not look up Jinya online after that first time I came upon it. Real foodies might go ahead and do their homework beforehand. Or not. Real foodies might simply take the plunge, sit at the table and dig in. The experience of eating the food is what matters in the end. The more people around the table the better.

Jinya simply looked like a pretty good restaurant to me. Besides, the name sounded way cool for a restaurant. I just needed to try it and was hoping to be in for a treat with my hungry woman. And more than a treat we got!

From the moment we entered their door, the hospitality at Jinyo was superb. The hostess immediately recognized my wife as a teacher at FHS where she had been a student a few years back. Our waiter couldn’t have been more courteous and patient with these first timers at what was from the looks of it a pretty awesome food joint. He explained the menu and recommended a few choices.

We ordered.
We waited little.
We tasted.
We went to heaven.
And back.

If there’s such a thing as Ramen gods, they have set up shop in the Mosaic District in Merrifield! Our visit to Jinya was an amazing culinary experience. I could see myself in the people enjoying their Ramen soups in the episode of Prime Japan. What a delicious soup!

By the end of my quest to conquer a woman’s hunger, my wife was a different human being. She was happy and said, “This thing is delicious!” Isn't it amazing what a plate or, in this case, a bowl of food can do to us? Especially when it is food not just to be consumed but to be embraced and enjoyed? I had to try her Parsley Ramen soup. Yes, the dish was delish! Mine you ask? Did I share mine with her? No, I didn’t. I was hungry too!

Se Acabó la Fiesta

Foto de Ramón "Tonito" Zayas

Se acabó la fiesta. El party nos duró hasta el lunes pasado contra Holanda. ¿Qué sucedió esta noche? En realidad, no lo sé. La posibilidad de perder este juego de campeonato del Clásico Mundial de Béisbol 2017 era muy real para los boricuas aunque demostraron a través del torneo que tenían todo lo necesario para salir victoriosos.

Esta derrota duele enorme. No anotamos ni una sola carrera. Nos neutralizó un diminuto lanzador de herencia puertorriqueña que decidió representar a Estados Unidos. Lo hizo ver muy fácil y con pocos lanzamientos en comparación con el cúmulo de lanzamientos de los puertorriqueños. Lo sorprendente es que a este mismo lanzador, Marcus Stroman de madre puertorriqueña, lo apabullamos unos días antes en la segunda ronda del Clásico. Aún así, en ese primer juego con Team USA, los estadounidenses demostraron su calidad de equipo y profundidad de bateo al cerrar el marcador 6-5 a favor nuestro.

En el béisbol como en la vida, una mala decisión puede costarte todo. Puerto Rico tiene indudablemente uno de los mejores dirigentes en Edwin Rodríguez. ¿Teníamos una estrategia sólida para este juego? Por supuesto que sí, pero las variables una vez se entra en el terreno de juego no están bajo el control de nadie. Un lanzador puede ejercer un control totalmente inesperado como lo hizo Stroman en el juego de campeonato del Clásico Mundial de Béisbol. Seis entradas completas sin imparables en un juego como este es algo extraordinario. Marcus Stroman escribió esta noche un capítulo en la historia del béisbol. Mucho más cuando tomas en cuenta que él no es una súper estrella como lanzador en las Mayores.

Cuándo debió haber salido Seth Lugo del juego es debatible. Lo cierto es que sin outs en la entrada, con dos corredores en base y un marcador de 4-0 no parecía ser un cuadro que cambiaría la situación a circunstancias más favorables. Por el contrario, haber dejado a Lugo en el montículo más tiempo del debido fue un riesgo totalmente innecesario, particularmente después de que el lanzador boricua tuviera 70 lanzamientos en su cuenta hasta ese momento.

Fue obvio que el factor principal lo fue el picheo estadounidense, pero la defensa especialmente dentro del diamante fue espectacular. Más de la mitad del juego había transcurrido y ni un solo jugador boricua había llegado a primera base. A esto le sumamos el bateo del Team USA. Los que vieron el juego e iban a favor de los Estados Unidos celebraron como les dio gusto y gana. Los que vimos el juego y favorecimos a Puerto Rico dijimos más de unas cuantas palabritas de no debemos repetir aquí. Gracias a Dios por Ángel Pagán que sacó la cara por los suyos aunque se quedó en tercera esperando un rally que nunca llegó.

Felicitaciones a Team USA. Son los campeones del Clásico Mundial de Béisbol 2017. ¡Y cómo lo demostraron!

Más de mil gracias a nuestra escuadra de toleteros boricuas, a los jóvenes y a los veteranos. Nos llenaron de alegría por alrededor de tres semanas. Nos representaron más que bien y en la derrota de esta noche mostraron dignidad. También le dejaron saber al mundo, por lo menos a esa parte del mundo que ama el deporte en general y el béisbol en particular que llevamos la fiesta a son de plena bien adentro.

Pero todo tiene su final. Duele que haya tenido que terminar de este modo. Aún así, el béisbol boricua está en buenísimas manos. Se acabó la fiesta, boricua. Pero no el orgullo. ¡Puerto Rico ahí!

Foto de Ramón "Tonito" Zayas

LaLa Moonlight

Whether by design or by mishap, it was meant to be. The grand finale of the uber glitzy and prestigious 89th Academy Awards simply tanked. Who would have thought that on the biggest night, on the biggest stage with the biggest movie award of the global entertainment industry such a screwup would had taken place? No one.

The Oscars represent the best TV production night on the planet, bar none. Even for someone as ignorant of the entertainment production business as me, that much is apparent. The expectations for a flawless production from beginning to end and a show intended to draw in millions of viewers worldwide are set somewhere close to the exosphere. We watch the Oscars because it’s the Oscars. Yes, it’s over three hours of self-indulgent glamour over which at some point (or several) one is wondering when the darn thing is going to end. But the whole spectacle is so rapturing that most of us suffer whatever length of time it demands. This is especially true when the array of movies presented is like the one of the 89th edition of the Awards.

Of course that major issues always happen in these shows. Nothing is perfectly flawless on live TV or performance of any sort. However, the reason we seldom know about it is because the damage control posse (that’s not its real name) is hard at work preempting PR disasters behind the scenes. The Hollywood elite has a reputation to maintain and this is especially true of its biggest ceremony. #Tinsel.

Honestly, I feel for the DCP. Nothing could have prepared them for it last night. I and venture to say that if somebody is prepared on nights like last night it’s the DCP. They didn’t even see it coming. No one did and for a couple of minutes the LaLa Land crowd went really LaLa. But then time stopped and, unbelievably, the already awarded Best Movie Award was handed over from an almost entirely white crew full of dreams in LaLa Land to an almost entirely black crew stricken by Moonlight.

None of it should have happened. Not this way. Make no mistake, the Academy made the right choice in selecting the Best Movie of the Year. Whether you’re happy or disappointed is beside the point. The movie that needed to win, won. And that movie was Moonlight. Let me also say while we’re at it that if you happen to be white and find yourself in septic shock, wondering how this could have happened, well frankly, my dear, we don’t give. Allow me end the sentence right there.

The truth is that racial issues are very much alive and are not going to go away anytime soon. Yes, we have a lot of work to do regarding racial reconciliation in this country. If anything, in its awards the Academy acknowledged as much last night. Not too long after Oscarsgate went down, a few memes started floating in the cyberspace insinuating that the real name on the card for Best Actor was Denzel. That’s probably taking it too far, but one still wonders. #StuffHappens

Let’s come back to you, my dear white reader, among the myriad of readers reading this (#wishfulthinking). Had I been white like you, I’d probably relate to the sense of “loss”. But again, I really don’t care about your sense of loss. You’ve won at this thing for 88 straight years. Cut us brown and black folk some slack. We won the Best Movie and we won it at what has traditionally being the whitest awards in the history of awards.

And yet, Moonlight was robbed last night. It was robbed of its deserved spotlight, of its once in a lifetime moment, of its making history without scandal. It deserved to own that stage without chaperones, but it didn’t. The Oscar was embarrassingly handed over in an arrested and confusing atmosphere. Obviously, the newfound losers celebrated the dumbfounded winners. There was still grace in the handoff. Humility in victory. Grace in defeat. Perhaps in some sort of strange way LaLa Land still won that award. I know that in the hearts and minds of many (of my own white friends) that is still the case.

Wouldn’t it have been amazing if the Moonlight crew had turn that seemingly ruined moment for both parties, with the one loser and the other winner, into a superlative victory for both? #ButIDigress. This was Moonlight’s moment and nothing else was required than to seize what was left of it.

No matter how you cut it, the beautiful irony of #Oscarsgate is this: The make belief of Hollywood and the blunt reality of the Black American experience were forever joined last night in such a way that, as someone has already aptly put it elsewhere, “if they made a movie about it no one would believe it.” #ItWasMeantToBe

Billie Jean de Michael Jackson por Alexandr Misko

Impresionante interpretación de una de mejores canciones jamás escritas. ¡Gracias, Alexandr Misko!

3 - 0

the Benches have risen
and spoken their firewall
against the whirlwind of injustice
one more time

but the Hounds abound
the fresh scent of justice is too strong
and the tender flesh of freedom is so plush

these stand their ground and growl
the frenzy in their souls birthing hatred in their eyes
wanting their fangs to tear into her heart
and suck her life

but the Benches standing tall have stared them in the eye
their hands are free of fear like a calmed sea
that has weathered many storms
the blows of the wind ceaseless
and yet hearing a song
“This too shall pass”

Betsy DeVoss: A Sign of the Times?

At a minimum, the test for any cabinet nominee to be confirmed is this, Is she qualified to do the job for which she is nominated? Unpacking that question involves a few considerations having to do with competence. This is the issue at the heart of Betsy DeVos’s nomination to be our next Secretary of Education. In an ideal world, the post shouldn’t be tainted by partisan ideology. After all, the ideal Secretary of Education will seek that her constituency from preschool all the way to college becomes independent, critical thinkers and rigorous problem-solvers. These are must have skills for the 21st century world we live in. Certainly, the job of Secretary of Education is not about helping students learn the 7 easy steps to become political hacks.

The questions of competence are simple and straightforward. Is the candidate a leader? Does she exhibit responsibility? Is he a teamplayer? Does she have a proven track record with sound decision-making and that is results-oriented? Are there any ethical issues to consider with this candidate's nomination? Conflicts of interest? Is he trustworthy? Does the candidate possess excellent communication skills? Does she possess experience in the field for which she is being nominated? Classroom teaching experience? Experience as a school administrator? There are more questions than these for sure, but you get the gist. Those looking for competence in a candidate will find it with the help of a few basic questions.

When it comes to political cabinet nominees, who have to appear before Senate committee hearings for confirmation, the stakes rise to a higher level. These nominations potentially end up in influential leadership roles in political administrations. There is always an agenda to carry out or push through with any given administration and in the case of the Secretary of Education that agenda must always have the best interest of its constituents in mind - children, teenagers and young adults - regardless of party affiliation.

The Senate Health, Education, Labor, and Pensions Committee diligently gave itself to the task of finding out precisely how qualified Betsy DeVos is. Their questions for Mrs. DeVos came fast and some of them were furious. The one Committee hearing in which she appeared lasted over 3:30 hours on January 17 and the complete video can be seen on the C-SPAN website under Education Secretary Confirmation Hearing. The website also provides shorter video clips of the relevant questions asked to Mrs. DeVos by different senators and which reveal her stance on particular issues.

Some senators rightly complained that Mrs. DeVos came before them without all of her required documents completely filed for Senate Committee review prior to the hearing, particularly her ethics forms. This raised even more questions from them. And there was also the concern that the chairman of the Senate Committee, a former Secretary of Education himself, wanted to expedite the confirmation hearing in the least amount of time possible, hence only one hearing session for DeVos. Democratic senators strongly noted that this contravened the normal due process of confirmation hearings. It was not a good precedent.

Two weeks later, on January 31, the Senate Health, Education, Labor, and Pensions Committee reconvened for their vote to confirm Mrs. DeVos’s nomination. Since I had the time I decided to spend more than a few minutes on C-SPAN watching the inner workings of the Committee before they took a vote. I must make a few observations that caught my attention about the proceedings.

The senators sat in a U shaped line with the chairman of the committee right in the middle. They went according to party lines with all the Republicans to the left of the chairman and the Democrats to his right. Please don’t read too much into this seating arrangement. The first one to speak before the vote was Chairman Lamar Alexander, the Republican senator from Tennessee. He fully supported DeVos’s nomination. Then the rest of the senators took turns by reading their own statements to the Committee as a whole. These statements expressed their conclusions about Mrs. Betsy DeVos as a candidate for Secretary of Education.

One would assume that these politicians are all very smart and that would be a correct assumption. The articulate and intelligent way in which they spoke showed it. But they were not being articulate for the sake of speech. The senators noted their approval or disapproval of the candidate according to what they were able to glean from the cross-examination during the hearing. Obviously, some of them raised it according to their political or personal bias toward or against the candidate. When a Republican senator (Burr, R-NC) accused the Democrats of a character assassination campaign against Mrs. DeVos, the Democrats rebuttal (Franken, D-MN) to such a claim was clear. There were real, serious and legitimate concerns raised by both sides about the candidate. The senators referred to the thousands of phone calls and emails from constituents expressing their serious and overwhelming disapproval of the candidate. Why such an alarm about Mrs. DeVos?

The Committee executive session to vote for Mrs. DeVos on January 31 was an eyeopener for me. I have known of the DeVos name for years and knew that a lot of money was behind it. I knew that the DeVos family is a Christian family and I learned they were from Michigan. What I didn’t know was the amount of money donated by the family to Republican politicians. The number, Mrs. DeVos speculated, was in the hundreds of millions over the years. As the hearing went on I learned that she couldn’t differentiate between educational growth and proficiency (basic terminology for people who research, debate and practice the field). She was non-committal about reporting civil rights abuses in schools to the federal government, preferring deference to the states. She didn’t know about federal mandates regulating access of education for disabled children. She justified the use of guns in the schools citing the presence of grizzly bears on school grounds. She was fuzzy about working with Congress on the issue affordability of higher education. She has no experience with the management of college financial aid or lower or higher education institutions. These issues aren’t made up. They came up at the hearing. Mrs. DeVos answered (or in many cases didn’t answer) the questions.

As the senators read their statements, one couldn’t help to notice that the majority of the Committee shared a sense of alarm about such an ideologically compromised nominee. As far as the tests of competency are concerned she was rendered unqualified for the job of Secretary of Education by most senators. However, there was no surprise when the vote carried in favor of her at Committee level. This was an obvious political move by the Committee’s Republican majority that would not let their candidate be shot down even before take off. The way they put it was that every president is entitled to their nominees having a fair shot before Committee. Yet, it was noteworthy that two Republican senators who voted to get the nomination through at Committee stated that while they personally know Mrs. DeVos to be a deeply caring person who is concerned about the education of children, they would not vote for her at the full Senate session. Senators Susan Collins, R-ME, and Lisa Murkowski, R-AK, let the Committee know that the concerns of their constituents and their own had been far too many to risk putting her at the helm of the Department of Education.

Senators expressed their concern for the state of education and our schools nationwide. Statistics were brought up (Scott, R-SC) to show that our students’ world ranking in education lags behind many other developed countries. It seemed that it wasn’t even a question of competition, it had to do with catching up. Fixing education from within is difficult, Chairman Alexander remarked. Mrs. DeVos being an outsider should then be taken as an ideal candidate for our Department of Education.

An extremely wealthy donor without any kind of substantial, hands on experience in the educational establishment - not as a teacher or school administrator - is purported to lead the Department of Education as the next Education Secretary of the country. Her only claim, if we can call it that, is that she is a champion of vouchers and school privatization. The education system in the United States is predicated on equal access to public education.

It was clear that while this is not Mrs. DeVos’s position, she would not be sad to see public schools disappear throughout the country. Let’s then take out the public schools from the picture. What does that look like? How would a nation like this one work without public education? Would it work at all? While not warranted by the federal Constitution, state law across the land enshrines in its constitutions the equal access to education for its citizens. Betsy DeVos’s nomination as Education Secretary will gravely undermine the state of public education across the land.

No one should be surprised that Betsy DeVos’s nomination has roused such a resistance from constituents across the nation and the party line divide. Even senators who will vote for her at the full Senate session will not deny that their offices have been flooded by phone calls, letters and emails vehemently opposing her confirmation. What should be surprising is why are they still planning to vote for her. On the eve of the full vote to confirm her and for weeks now, we are experiencing the blowback from outside. Is anybody anticipating the blowback from inside the education bureaucracy once she is confirmed? Can anyone think of the tensions, fractures, even the breakdown from inside in what is currently a working educational system, its faults included?

I wonder if Betsy DeVos herself has given any thought to what it will mean, unprepared as she is, to be stepping into a potentially explosive situation if she becomes Education Secretary. Resistance from the inside is usually worse when the incoming official lacks the trust of her wouldbe constituents. I also wonder if we will have to undergo an exercise in social engineering of national proportions if she gets confirmed. Education is not a game, it’s serious business.

School administrators and above all teachers, the most courageous and greatest foot soldiers in the education equation (after parents, of course), will not have a champion in Mrs. DeVos. My wife (who is the most devoted high school teacher I know, and there are too many to count out there) and I have been discussing this nomination and don’t see anything good coming out of it. Betsy DeVos is unable to relate to the everyday realities of the classroom, much less the rules that govern the system. Her motive is not school reform. Rather, it is a single minded approach veiled in “school choice” that more than anything detracts from the equal access to education that a public school system provides. This has never an issue of providing choices because the choices are already there and the reviews of her proposals are mixed.

More importantly, children from pre-K to elementary to secondary school and on to college will be left behind if Betsy DeVos is our future Secretary of Education. Lack of accountability for the schools she proposes is not in the best interest of children whether the education they are receiving is public or private. In her case, the odds are stacked in favor of private education. A preference for the divestment of essential public funding toward private schooling demonstrates that the candidate doesn’t have a commitment to public and equal access to education for all. What puts our own children at greater peril is that Mrs. DeVos lacks elementary knowledge of the laws governing the education system and policy. Whether it be education access for children with disabilities, guns in our schools, civil rights violations or sexual assault, Mrs. DeVos seems to be disconnected from reality and unable to speak about each of these issues with a decent degree of understanding or conviction. People who navigate the public school system - children, teachers, administrators - not only live in the real world, they are subjected to the blunt reality of that world everyday. Empathy is also required.

It would be naive of me to pretend that there aren’t a myriad of stances, some more ideologically laden than others, regarding education. From the “children as wards of the state” position that places their education entirely in the hands of the government to the homeschool position where the education of the child rests entirely in the hands of the parent, the policies of children’s education has been debated ad nauseum. Most children in the country, my own included, fall somewhere in the middle where you have a sprawling and working public education system that affords equal access to all who would have it. This system is not perfect and never has been, but it still operates under the premise that any child can have access to all the resources the system provides.

While mistakenly affording ample deference to the states in their application of legal provisions, Mrs. DeVos did not categorically affirm a commitment to ensure that as Secretary of Education she would protect equal access to public education nationwide. I am thankful we live in a country that already affords plenty of educational choices to parents. Parents who can afford it avail themselves of private education. I have friends among them. There are parents who opt to educate their children at home as do many of my friends also. Some parents send their children to charter schools. Most parents have their children attend their local public schools.

We have a functioning public education system that can certainly be improved, but that at the helm of Betsy DeVos runs the risk of being trampled upon. She doesn’t have the leadership, trustworthiness or experience to work for a better system. I have watched a number of Senate hearing hours on this nomination. From the one Committee hearing to the the Committee vote to the debate prior to the full Senate vote, the questions from the senators and the read testimony from constituents had one thing in common, they all expressed great concern about this nomination. They genuinely worried about their children, their schools and their communities because in their eyes, having heard the nominee at the hearing, she would be detrimental to the future of education in the country.

Unless one more Republican senator musters the conscience to break party lines (two already have), at present we are looking at a 50-50 vote leaving the tiebreaker in VP Mike Pence’s hands and thus securing Mrs. DeVos’s place in the Trump administration as the new Secretary of Education. Things are looking as if the Secretary of Education will be ushered in by way of an “executive order” of the vice president. Stranger things keep coming.

In this new administration, Republicans and Democrats, together with President Trump, have an opportunity to transcend the party politics with the nomination of the Secretary of Education. If Betsy DeVos’s confirmation is defeated tomorrow in the Senate, as it should, why not work jointly to find and present to the president an appeasement conservative candidate that knows the needs and demands of the education bureaucracy and who will be committed to work so that the system works for all children? I know it is the prerogative of the president and his advisors to select his cabinet, but a good precedent can always be established and this appears to be a moment for it. If the president himself is paying any attention, the controversy let alone the outcry surrounding Mrs. DeVos’s nomination for Education Secretary has been unprecedented. Previous Education Secretaries from both parties have cruised through the Senate.

I can’t help but to think about what Betsy DeVos herself must be thinking of her own nomination at this point. What questions if any is she asking herself? Is she exhausted by the whole ordeal? What is her inner circle advising her to do? Does she feel conflicted about the resistance she is facing from constituents across the nation? Does she herself feel inadequate or unqualified for the job she faces? Is she second guessing herself? Has she listened to the concerns spoken of her? Contrary to the straightforward questions of competency, the answers to these questions are not easily discernible. They lie in the heart and mind of the nominee and whomever she wants to share them with. Part of them we’ll know in a few hours. The other part we’ll never know. But after all is said and done, the ballots cast and counted this is what matters - an honest to God, hardworking and committed advocate of all our children as Secretary of Education.