Hatred of Muslims

I do not understand the persistent negative
racist?
views of Muslims in the Dutch newspapers.

The mainstream press seems to think

all its readers are blond

as it slights its readers of color – the so-called allochtonen – daily.


Last week our best journal, the NRC, proclaimed:

"Rotterdam takes on the Antillean people!”
(Rotterdam pakt Antilianen aan)

Describing a city plan to visit 30,000 homes of people of Antillean descent
to make sure everybody was at work or at school
without any criticism whatever of the

racist underpinnings of the city’s policy.

This week, when a courageous and talented Turk won the Nobel Prize, the headline was

“If only all Turks were so fine”
(Waren alle Turken maar zo keurig)

taking a day of Turkish pride, and making one winner

the exception to the rule.

The persistent sub-text is: the ____ problem –

referring to one or other racial groups.

For ____, insert “Jewish” and you have returned to a time

before World War II – no progress made, thank you very much.

This hatred of difference is
the ugly side of Europe. What burned the Jews

could do the same to the Muslims, given proper circumstances.

Must we really concern ourselves with what language people are speaking --- at home?

Must we re-create the crusades?

Is a woman’s veil so threatening?

It’s only a piece of fabric.

About work, and age

At 50, I realized that work is my friend. The alternative is too horrible.

Without work, the world gets very small, and very quiet,

Very quickly.

Without work, there are few people to speak to, and fewer who listen.
Without work, life is about tending to one’s own needs, and almost no one else’s.

So I started enjoying work.



At 52, I realized it’s stupid to be afraid. Fear is a waste of time,

and a

needless self-manipulation.

So I stopped taking fear seriously, and saw it an opportunity to dare.



At 53, I realized that energy is the essence.
As decline and death approach – though still from some distance –
giving full energy is a most precious gift.



At 54, I realized it’s not too late to create a future, while fully enjoying the present.


What’s next?

15 October 2006

About writing



Uncle Phil in Mexico shouted into the phone “WRITE FIVE MINUTES EVERY DAY”
And “EVERYBODY’S BUSY – I KNOW YOU WORK HARD
BUT WRITE AND YOU’LL BE AMAZED
AT WHAT COMES OUT”

Maybe.

my desire to express – literally, to push things out -
mixes with a desire for recognition (love?) and
leads to ---- not very much

words on a computer screen

if a tree falls in the woods, and nobody hears it, did it fall?

Phil and his beloved Carlota are both
Artists

and think I have an ability
to write
a gift, they said

in truth, I think so too
but it also seems that my cynicism – maybe anger
overcomes sometimes and gives a tone that puts people off

the new yorker’s most à propos cartoon featured a
wife who consoles her despondent husband by saying
“MAYBE THE REASON NOBODY READS YOUR BLOG IS BECAUSE
IT’S ABOUT YOU?”

is art unvalued? do only prestige and recognition
count?

that’s like asking – is humanity valued?
more in the breach

the love of words is
an escape from harsh testosterone-driven reality
to a more androgenous world where details matter and nuance counts

with my closest colleague – simone – I share a love of grammar and translation
that rises above the content we consider.
these are the ties that bind.