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The Editors – France, Again
Following French President Nicolas Sarkozy’s initial and semi-disastrous decisions to support the Egyptian and Tunisian governments against their democratic rebels, Sarkozy has recently embraced a new form of French diplomacy: supporting revolutionaries. Most notably, Sarkozy’s decision to close Libya’s embassy in France and open on reserved for the Opposition Government and Rebels has drawn international attention as a refreshingly humanitarian and ideologically sound action on the part of the French. This has buoyed the popularity of the French president, too often referred to as President Bling-Bling by his vast legion of detractors. There is nothing new in the New Sarkozy, though, just as there is nothing new in the New France.
From the establishment of the French Empire in 1804 and its dismantlement at the hands of the Sixth Coalition in 1814, France has lived up to its imperial ambitions in matters both military and diplomatic. Although this hunger for empire and influence in fact had predated the French Empire with the ambitions of the revolutionary leaders of the French Republic and earlier kinds, never before had there been a gathering of political power in Paris than in the era of the Napoleonic Empire.
It had in its possession dozens of small client states throughout Europe with whom it could maintain trade and military pacts while it continued to retain an intercontinental colonial empire which provided the Mother country with luxuries at low prices. All nations within the French orbit, whether they be allies, protectorates, mandates or simply leery friends, the French would follow a pattern that has suddenly thrust itself back into our own age.
All the way up through the 1950’s and the presidency of Charles de Gaul, this dream of empire and the greater “Francosphere” had been artfully executed by endorsing groups of rebels and political revolutionaries, especially during the era of the Empire. More than half of the Confederation of the Rhine – a group of puppet states under Napoleon’s control where western Germany stands today – had come into being due to political revolutionaries who owed their victory to the French; and across Italy, the Italian Republic, followed by the Italian Kingdom, owed both of their existences to France’s interference, the first to the French Republic, the second to the French Empire. Most famously, the Grand Duchy of Warsaw, a protectorate in modern-day Poland, saw Napoleon and the French as liberators, and became his greatest ally during the invasion of, and the retreat from, Russia.
The French have never truly let go of their dream of le Monde Francais,with parades – more than one of which the American Word editors have enjoyed personally – every summer on Bastille Day, with Legionnaires and troops from across the French-speaking world pouring across Les Invalides to the tumultuous cry of “Vive la France!” When we observe the actions of Sarkozy and this new form of French Diplomacy acknowledging the Opposition Government and Rebels of Libya and North Africa, there is not a doubt that this ‘humanitarian’ diplomacy is a self-serving, centuries-old imperial inclination. It is deeper than the surface, but in its depths lay ancient ambitions.
Rebecca Berger – “I’ve stayed here long enough -“
I’ve stayed here long enough –
.
to no longer be the subject of neighborhood gossip, to watch a baby learn how to eat food, to notice the plethora of insects fade as the weather cooled in the winter and then make a sudden return with the heat of summer, to see new types of trees flower, to learn how to wash laundry by hand and how to clean with only bleach and boiling water, to discover that my neighbor’s husband cheats on her, and to know the noblest of reasons why she deals with it, to eat exotic raw fruits and vegetables and not be sick, to create and love my own morning routine, to get sick and become well again, to learn the secret to making the best chai, to invite others into my house – and cook for them, to really appreciate the kindness of strangers, to wage a war against cockroaches, to see families move out and others move in, to know when to bargain – and when to just give, to love bucket showers, to meet a woman who migrated from Pakistan – and then to see her die, to be fed enough meals to feel your arms grow fat, to see a young girl get married, to breathe pollution, to sing hindi songs, to make a home, to meet new neighbors,
.
to measure time in someone else’s context, to be just a speck of a human, to grow here just long enough to still be pulled away – to frame yourself, and your growth on a totally different scale, is to truly feel the world a little differently.
Jeff Guzman – A Letter
Dear Mom,
I told Clay the story of my hairdryer as we were driving home late from school one night this past month. I felt it was time to share one of my very personal stories that not many have heard and which I hold close and dear to my heart – a story about giving, where the gift does not have to be expensive. Here it is to the best of my memory as told to my twelve year old in slow-and-go traffic on La Cienga Blvd.
It was not just any hairdryer. I was a teenager, somewhere between fifteen and seventeen. It was my and my sister Helen’s birthday (we were born only 363 days apart). The two birthday presents were wrapped and lying in front of the fireplace on the red bricks under our mantle where gifts and goodies like our Easter baskets were always placed.
Mom called us over to wish us a happy birthday and apologized to Helen and me that it was something small. I believe Helen knew as well as I did that money was tight as Dad had left us and Mom was paying all the bills, including private school for me and my three sisters. I remember Mom’s eyes tearing up as she told us she loved us.
Helen and I opened our gifts and I saw that we’d received the same type and color of hairdryer. They were both off-white with dual switches, one switch blue and one red to control the speed and temperature of the hairdryer. If I remember correctly they were Panasonics, probably around $20 from Walgreen’s. Mom knew that we both blew our hair, in the style of the early eighties even though my sisters would argue that I knew nothing about style.
Even though I did not know what or how to feel, I know these gifts came from my mom’s heart and love. I might have been fighting back the tears as Helen and I thanked her and gave her a hug. I believe we would have been happy with one of mom’s famous birthday dinners and birthday cakes which was a grand tradition in our house, a gift we continue in our home today.
The story does not end here. I used this hairdryer as well as my sister’s throughout my teenage years, sharing the one bathroom in our house with four ladies.
Every time I used it, I remembered that it was a birthday gift from mom on a birthday when I was not expecting a gift. I am not even sure whether she even realizes today that her simple act of giving me a hairdryer has touched and enriched my life.
I took the hairdryer to college. For four years, from dorms to on- and off-campus housing it always worked for me and my three roommates. In college, every time I saw it or used it I remembered that it was a special gift, and I remembered my mom. I remembered that it was gift given out of love and sacrifice for her children.
This white, dual-switched hairdryer was a link to what love is. My mom’s love is unconditional – she would sacrifice so much for me and my three sisters and never know how difficult it was.
I was away at college and was not present every day like my sisters Lisa and Helen to witness the many hardships. I wanted to believe that it was easier with Patrice and me away at college, and Lisa helping out financially. I do not know this as a fact just a feeling. Mom helped me with tuition and round-trip air fare every Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter and end of term. I do not know how she did it yet I do understand it and feel her particular kind of love more now that I have three boys of my own and the love of a father for his children.
The greatest gift can be as simple as a $20 hairdryer. Some gifts are given with so much love that you may not even realize the depth of that love at the time. You, Clay, like your brothers, are gifts to mom and dad.
Do you remember when I told you one of the greatest gifts I can give you is your faith journey in God? My mom gave me my faith journey. She passed it on to me. And when you were first born as I was holding you in the hospital and thanked God for you, I promised God that I would pass on the faith journey my mom gave me.
The story does not end here. This inexpensive hair dryer never got left behind. I always packed it carefully as it was dear to me.
After graduation, I moved to Florida for all the wrong reasons. I did not toss the hair dryer away or give it to someone. No one would have thought twice had I forgotten it or left it behind. It was old and dirty with lint in the filter. It had been dropped and banged around for years. Some would probably just have tossed it. And I wasn’t even blowing my hair dry anymore. Still, I kept it.
And then one day in Florida, my girlfriend was using the hair dryer and it simply stopped working. I cried. The girlfriend could not and did not understand. She said she would buy me a new one.
I started to explain, but then I stopped trying to explain. This was my history and she could not empathize. I cried a little more.
I no longer have the hair dryer. Do you know what I think of when I see or hear a hair dryer? I think of my mom and the many gifts and sacrifices she has given me.
I shared this story to pass a gift on to Clay and realized I wanted and needed to share this with you – Mom – as you may not know how some of your many gifts have been received. Now I have the honor and love as a father to share your gifts with my sons and that is my gift to you.
Merry Christmas,
Jeff
Elizabeth Cohen – “Annotated Bibliography of a Girl”
So many rocks: grey and striped,
pebbled and fist-sized,
pregnant with crystals, laced with moss.
One has a drawing
on it, the shape of her handprint.
Another is taped with a baby tooth
They are the offerings
she leaves him daily
on the corner of his big desk.
She brings him raisins
when he is working.
Hands them to him, one by one.
Daily she reaches inside the cage of her ribs
and pulls out her heart,
offers it in return for his attention.
He thinks: When she is 32 percent grown
she will marry and have a child;
in all she’ll own 4 cars, 2 houses. Pay taxes.
Until she was eleven
she wanted a horse,
which could have been predicted
Using a table of averages
for the desires of girls
in the twentieth century
He has contemplated the nucleotides of risk
the world could hand her.
In his head they sit in a grid:
A table of hardship elements.
He is her raisin-eating father.
She donates her heart to his science.
The American Word – Welcome to Something New
The American Word is a new online publication, providing thoughtful prose on American public life, politics, culture and arts. A group of professional writers, joined by a vibrant community of students, will be posting on a regular basis.
Expect some serious photography and poetry as well.
Please feel free to e-mail publisher Peter Temes at any time – peter@phschool.org.
The.American.Word. 