The Big World

By Barbara Groark

In a reinforcement to Dennis’s article urging classmates to put aside the everyday and unending chores for the Reunion Weekend and join us, I remember something from the time of the weeks after the 9/11/2001 events. I was working in a computer sciences firm, and we all had wound to a halt that day and were staring astounded at TVs and news sites on our computer screens. In the next few weeks an interesting phenomenon happened: we all started making more lunch dates with each other, instead of working through our lunch hours, or having working lunches. The unspoken thought was that maybe we ought to get to know our colleagues on a more personal level – we might die together someday. Why had we all become too busy? The lunches may have been needed reminders that we ourselves are not computers, or at least we are not strictly computers (computers being an imitation of some parts of the human brain).

We all eventually dropped back – almost – into our older habits, but now with more willingness to break routine occasionally. This thinking could be applied to the Reunion Weekend. Your joining us could be considered a patriotic duty.

Have you read The 9/11 Commission Report? Have you read The Looming Tower by Lawrence Wright? Have you read Infidel by Ayaan Hirsi Ali?

I’m in the middle of The Looming Tower now and have read the other two in the past couple of years. Definitely not escapist reading, but escapism is not recommended in these times. We are constantly reminded to be in a state of alertness in airports, reminded to be aware of our cell phones in theatres and churches, told to get off the phone while driving in New Jersey or face a traffic ticket.

But the more some of us are warned to be alert, the more we wish to escape. Maybe it’s the teenager in all of us. We’ve just heard it all a million times and begin to stage little rebellions even if we agree with the general rule. Some part of us resists having to conform, and we may get overly involved in work or play or distraction.

I understand this. I know people who avoid watching the news on TV because they “can’t do anything about” the bad things that are happening; these are people who, when they see a problem, want to solve it or alleviate it as quickly as possible – you know, people our age. [“Let’s fix that thing.”] In a case like the suffering in Darfur, the problem seems too overwhelming to contemplate. So we prefer not to contemplate it. And there is a degree of health in sweeping around your own door and sticking to your knitting. We can always pray for Darfur. Couldn’t hurt. Heck, the bad guys are praying against us.

My complaint is with the “nothing ever changes anyway so why even vote” frame of mind. I’ve overheard a well-educated person I used to work with say, actually out loud: “All the stupid people vote. Why should I participate?” This seems to be a common view in technical fields. He didn’t want to get his hands dirty as a member of the elite. Voting is for people who need that sort of thing. I was too puzzled to respond as I worked out in my mind his line of thinking. It’s hard to even think that way. Doesn’t everyone breathe in and out? Doesn’t he?

But I’ve heard not so smart people saying the same things, but in their case it just seemed too much trouble to participate as a citizen of their country. The elections are a distraction from their own little worlds.

On the other hand (let’s see that’s three or four hands by now), after reading 20 or so years ago about the Haitians who got gunned down by Tonton Macoutes while waiting in line to vote in an election, I’ve been trying to maintain a policy of voting in every tiny general or school election that comes along – though I’ve missed a few lately. This makes me feel as if I’m avenging those Haitians somehow. I know this doesn’t make sense.

The big world is impinging rather more than it used to here in South Jersey. We’ve always had a little Mafia representation in Cherry Hill and Delran and Atlantic City. Now we have the Fort Dix Six, local radical Muslim immigrants who used pizza delivery to infiltrate Fort Dix and try to cause some death and destruction. They were not successful in their plans. Their trial is coming up. They are young guys whose families live in Cherry Hill. [Correction 8/4: the number of men on trial now is five, but another man was tried separately and sentenced to 20 months in March 2008.]

One of the things The Looming Tower discusses is how what we could call ‘mainstream’ Muslims are generally appalled by the thinking let alone the actions of the radical elements. Most mainstream Muslims, especially those who have a good relationship with modernity, want peace, prosperity, and the ability to educate their families. According to recent newspaper reports, they find ridiculous the old tribesmen who try to maintain the tradition of multiple wives. Closer to home, as a substitute teacher in Cherry Hill, I would see the few girls wearing a black hajib over their heads (over their long-sleeved t-shirts and jeans), covering as much of their faces as the pre-Vatican II nuns used to do, and think how nice it was that the idea of modesty was being upheld somewhere. They were quiet-mannered, not angry, just a little self-conscious and proud at the same time. You know, like a teenager.

Here’s another story. I’m selling audiobooks for a living now, and I occasionally attend trade fairs. One was in Manhattan at the end of 2006 at the General Society Building on West 44th Street. You walk in and notice as you walk up the winding marble steps of the lobby a sculpture of a man’s arm holding a big mallet sticking out of the wall, just like on the Arm & Hammer baking soda packages. I thought to myself, “Where am I? In a 1930s meeting hall of some old Communists?” It was a surprisingly grand old building, too ornate and graceful for Communists as we usually think of them (not a lot of art and architecture appreciation). I expected to find something socialist or at least Roosevelt Democrat in its history; however, the dedication stone displayed on their website shows the year 1802 “in the twenty-seventh year of American Independence.” The society aims to advance “the cultural, educational, and social services to families of skilled craftsmen.” The place is still going on. There is a library and old classrooms where the exhibitors displayed wares and seminars were held for that weekend.

On the first morning the early crowd was light and I decided to say hello my neighbor, since she was also alone. She wore a black hajib and the rest of her clothing was black and all encompassing (more all-encompassing than the high school kids I’d seen) except for her hands and face. She was about twenty and looked nervous. We chatted about this and that for a few minutes. Her accent was American. Her exhibit was displaying about ten differently packaged Korans in English plus some children’s books. My thought was that knowledge is better than ignorance.

Back during the first Gulf War in the 1990s I had done some reading on Saudi Arabia and had read much of the Koran out of curiosity, since in that conflict some of the Muslims were enemies, while some were allies. I now know what a Wahhabi is. I know what taquiya is. I know Shia from Sunni. I found the Koran interesting as poetry, a little unfamiliar-feeling as far as organization. Some sections, such as The Ants, were humorous; some verses, such as the one that says “I made the different kinds so you could get to know each other,” are very cosmopolitan-sounding. The bitterer verses seem no worse in their context than some Biblical verses.

So I was feeling pretty cosmopolitan as I talked to this lady. We however got around to the general news of the day.

She suddenly said with great force, “Well, the main mistake they made in this country was separation of church and state. Look at the law they passed in Massachusetts. They let gays marry. This never would have happened if you didn’t have separation of church and state.”
I was once again too stunned to respond while I figured out her line of thinking. Just then the rest of her family came in – father, sister and her children - and I went back to my area. The next day we just nodded good morning.

I did finally find what I wanted to say: that this country is actually founded on separation of church and state, an idea from the Pennsylvania Quakers that was finally put into the U. S. Constitution and which stemmed from the bloody religious conflicts of Europe of the centuries preceding the founding of the United States. In fact, the West has already made all the mistakes about religion that Islamists are making now. Islam needs to go through its own Era of Enlightenment (as Hirsi Ali also recommends in Infidel) where Reason is allowed into the argument.

In fact, we could go further back to the Gospels where it is recommended to give to Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is God’s. Separation of church and state has always been a good idea for the health of religion and government. Nobody thought to try to practice it until William Penn established his colony.

So if you get some laws you don’t like, that’s just the gamble of democracy. Bad ideas may turn up in the marketplace but will eventually fade away. Good ideas will remain, or will return again.

But I didn’t say any of that. I only thought it much later.

[Could some members of the old HCHS Debate Club possibly help me with my problem? I see Bob Hohwald and Cassie Riger are coming to the reunion, but how about Pat Dranchak and Lew Hassell? Who else knows how to debate? Are there lawyers in the house? Maybe I can make an appointment for a free consultation over the Reunion Weekend.]

On the other side of my table at the book fair, however, was another family of exhibitors. The woman was petite with light hair and glasses and a friendly manner. We talked about the scarf I was wearing. We joked about this and that. She was in front of a very attractive and professional-looking display promoting books and newsletters, and giving away bookmarks, about the true facts of the visitation on earth over the past forty years of a number of space aliens, who had specific names, which I forget by now. This was presented as non-fiction. I also forget whether these aliens were for or against the human race, or were they neutral and just trying to give us some needed information? When I checked out the website of the publisher a week later I thought it very well done, informative, graphically attractive, and multi-layered. It seems the founder, this same woman of about our age, was traumatized about the death of President Kennedy in 1963 and has not been the same since, but none of that came up in our conversation.

I was stunned into silence on this one too, being too polite to laugh at the great seriousness and kind-heartedness of this woman as well as her husband and son. I couldn’t even think of a response later on.

There were some very nice people at this fair, though most of the contrarian/ libertarian/ progressive/ old hippie strain, which I had long ago moved beyond, with some outright anti-religion, though I met a nice African-American woman and her son from Camden selling Christian meditation books. The Writers Guild of America was represented. I met a female Episcopal minister who had written a soft porn novel about Mary Magdalene, whom she had re-imagined as a Celtic slave (really a queen of her people) captured in Ireland and brought to Jerusalem (or was it Rome?). The first chapter of the book, which the author was distributing, and which I read, was pretty racy what with the slave market and all. Talk about a marketplace of ideas.

That Saturday evening, instead of immediately walking over to the Port Authority parking lot to drive home, I walked east and north a few blocks for Mass at Saint Patrick’s Cathedral. The air was cold but windless. People were out walking, especially around Rockefeller Center where the giant Christmas tree was lit. I couldn’t get close to the skating rink because of the crowds, so I returned to Fifth Avenue. Amazing, moving light displays adorned the outsides of the big old expensive department stores, such as Saks, and the more modern electronics and jewelry stores and banks. You had to stand and watch the lights for a while from across the street to get the full effects over entire buildings. The street-level window displays were also astonishing for the holidays, with slowly moving and ornately dressed mannequins. The cathedral was a quiet zone on the street, with only the reflected light of Rockefeller Center lighting the entrance, as if to spotlight it. A steady stream of people of all kinds slowly climbed the stairs.

That’s really the end of the story. I was thankful to be early enough to find a seat, as the church was quickly packed with people. It was an Advent week. Decorations were not as fancy as for Christmas itself, but the glow was bright and golden. The priest in his sermon suggested we see the film “The Nativity Story” for the season. He was pretty easy-going. Music and singing was good. I only took a few seconds to figure out the unfamiliar route to and from communion. I got the idea some in the congregation were attending as a “must-see” part of their tourist agenda. On the way out I found two local ladies, tall, African-American, looking like relatives in dark long coats and gloves, to direct me to an ATM machine. It was a good end to an interesting day, a little oasis in the turmoil of our times, familiar yet with the feel of a special occasion. I would be back in our world soon enough.