Mothers were cooking rice porridge breakfast on the wood stoves, children laughing and singing, and fathers getting ready to work in the rice paddies. Then American soldiers descended on this village and in a few hours they executed 504 men, women, and children. The women and girls were raped. War came and went, one conqueror after another, the Chinese, French, Americans, but the rice farmers’ life was largely immune to the turns and twists of empires except on that day, March 16, 1968. Few soldiers showed remorse, “We were following orders.” said the soldiers. Few held to account for the murders, and eventually, all the soldiers were acquitted. What compels soldiers to turn into soulless creatures devoid of humanity? Today, fifty-one years later I slowly walk through My Lai village my eyes filled with tears. I walk along the paths with the footprints of the men, women, and children fleeing in panic from the soldiers. My steps are a prayer and meditation. The sky is serenely blue. Songs of the birds fill the morning air. Are they the souls of the people killed? The profusion of pink and purple flowers and a hint of jasmine belies the tragedy. There is a large brass Buddhist bell. I toll this sonorous bell and light incense. I am empty and alone with my thoughts and the memories of these people. I have no poetic or holy words to heal the insanity. There is only one word that roars back to me Why? Namaya 2020- bio: Namaya is a poet and artist, a Vietnam era veteran, and a lifelong peace activist. www.namayaproductions.com
Resist with Love
I am Stuff/ We Are Stuff: Decrapifying
I am Stuff/ We Are Stuff: Decrapifying I am an ecologically groovy kind of 67-year-old white middle-class male. By politics, I am a socialist. I believe in free universal health care: housing for all: strict licensing and gun control: free college, a vocational school for all: all corporations pay all of their taxes without deductions: Ending the welfare state for the military-industrial mafia, and that is only start of my platform as the next Presidential candidate for the Socialist Party. As a socialist, I should be a paragon of modesty, though that is not true. Stuff! For these past fifty years, I have, through intention and accident, accumulated a lot of stuff. It is like a purse or a tool bag. The bigger your bag –, the more stuff you have. We have a roomy, comfortable home in Vermont; I have a workshop for home repairs, a large art studio, and a 1,000 s f living space. I also have hundreds of books of all kinds and sizes, medical books from my medical practice, poetry and literature books galore, and even books in Persian, which I don’t read. I like my books. They are my friends, neatly tucked into my bookshelves. But it is all, stuff! Too much wonderful stuff. My closet is filled with shirts and clothes that I have no idea how most of those clothes showed up there – gifts from my wife, friends, and others. I rarely buy new clothes, yet the clothes have just shown up. In my upsizing to the next phase of my life, I need a major de-crapification. My tool and workshop with all my house repair stuff. Drills, saws, hammers, and enough stuff to build a house. There are cans of paints, solvents, cleaners, brushes, and enough stuff for a hardware store. I got an email that there is a gizmo that will scan books and images into a jpeg file. I was about to buy it when I thought – damn! My camera can do the same thing! Why am I so addicted to this stuff binge? I’ve been emptying a huge crate of old letters, cards, and notes from the past fifty years for the past few days. One set of letters is from a girl I was in a philosophy class with. She was the smartest person in the class, but she was quiet and only spoke when she had something important to say. I have our notes and letters from nearly fifty years ago. In the way that people fall in love in their twenties, we were in love and filled with much ardor. I had some of her first philosophy papers. On a whim, I searched the internet and found out that she had become a philosophy professor in Mexico. I was so proud of her for continuing her studies and ordered one of her books. Most of the letters were routine hello and updates, but some were so important at various points in my life. When I was in the Navy and struggling with alcohol and emotional issues, I became friendly with family in Florida, a Navy career man, and his incredibly loving and supportive family. I helped his family while recovering from a heart attack, and they helped support me. I felt the love and care of all the cards and letters, trivial and otherwise. In the years to come, I will open this box of love if I should feel down and blue. Yes, there will be some perfumed letters (yes, they really did exist). The fragrance of the perfume remains. But more significantly, all the love, concern, guidance, support, and insights will lift my spirits. In opening that box of letters in the years to come, I believe it will be like the flood of memories when you smell Bazooka Bubble gum, bringing back all those memories. Or for me, when I was a kid in Seville, every corner pastry shop made its unique pastry. When I was last in Seville, I went to my old neighborhood and bought a tiny powdery anise pastry, and as soon as I tasted it, it brought me back to my childhood. Today, I stacked and arranged the letters and cards and taped the box. It will stay in storage, but those memories are so vibrant. Skipping stones – I spent a half-hour by Blue Heron Pond with two little boys and their dad. We were skipping stones. Is that one of the oldest games? I hadn’t done that in ages. I was playing with these 7 and 8-year-old boys and skipping stones. The beauty of Blue Heron Pond fills my soul with wonder and joy. Blue Heron Pond- it is my soul. Not in hyperbole, but in reality. This magnificent sanctuary in Southern Vermont has fueled my creative work over the past twenty-five years. Sadly, our home has become too big to keep up, and the taxes in Brattleboro keep escalating. Our town has an appetite for an electric Rolls Royce but only a budget for a used Kia. As much as I love this beautiful treasure, we know it is time for the next step and the next third of our lives. At sixty-eight, we could hang on to our home in Vermont, but it is time, and we want to travel more. I need less responsibility, fewer things to own, and more time for my creative work. When I left the Navy fifty years ago, I had a duffle bag of clothes, and that was my worldly possessions. I sometimes hunger for that level of simplicity. When traveling with a suitcase and guitar, I realize that is all I need. The rest of this beautiful stuff and clutter is merely beautiful stuff and clutter. I will probably never have the Thoreau simple life of a cabin on Walden Pond, but I can radically slenderize my life. Serendipitously now, I am losing weight, and in my creative work, I am taking a
Coda Technology Summit 2021
The Coda Summit “Art- Technology + Innovation” conference in Scottsdale November 10-12th, was a feast of surprises, delights to the imagination, inspiration galore, and even delicious vegan lunches. I was famished for this gang of creative, passionate, and engaged change makers. At this banquet, I drank till I was so drunk with inspiration and insights I was still tipsy days after the conference. I was enchanted and spell bound to hear these creative folks, city agencies, and the Codaworx gang and how they approached their creative process, put a team together, and made the complex process of public art a reality. I appreciated people’s humane, thoughtful conversations and their keen passion for excellence in their craft. There were so many smart and talented folks, I was getting so dazzled and I almost had to wear sunglasses indoors! I loved seeing all these creative people with such a diversity of talents, education and experiences: poets, economists, a physicist, an MD, an FNP/ Homeopath, lots of engineers, teachers/ professors galore, a sociologist, opera singer, thespians, sculptors, social change activists, light designers and more. A plethora of talent! People had attended technical schools and universities like Harvard, MIT, Cal Tech, McGill, French technical schools, lots of MFAs, one Master’s in International Development, and the unifying theme was peoples’ passion for learning. Everyone I spoke to love the challenge of thinking and designing. Though money and financing is vital to public art, the conversations formally and off the record were largely about their passion for design and creativity. People thought holistically about design, deeply listened to communities, and then translated into public art. The artists/ designers created a compelling story with a sensitivity to the broader public. I also valued how people took their personal stories, and created their art such Wendy Maruyama’s art and her family’s story of their displacement from their homes during WWII. As an internationalist, I valued the UN diversity — Canadians, French, Belgian, Arabs, Portuguese, Asians, Latinos, Israeli, African Americans, Irish, etc. In professional conferences like Coda it is difficult to get diversity, this was a zesty jambalaya stew of cultures drawn from around the globe. I also liked that there were so many people in their twenties to their forties, the leaders and emerging talent of their generation, and yet there was plenty of room for us mature artists. Though I wish there was some way we could have brought in younger aspiring artists and teens. Perhaps, in the future, we can make a commitment to more youth. To the person, no matter how accomplished they were in their profession, people were willing to talk and share ideas. I walked away from the conference more confident in my vision and ability to create public art. I valued how all these very smart talented people figured out how to effectively integrate their left and right brains, and connected with others from different backgrounds. Historically, design and creative folks, community leaders and engineers do not always effectively talk to each other. Nevertheless, there is a true alchemy when the poet, designer, engineer, accountant, community, and government art representatives genuinely speak with each other. If the stars line up, we not only get exceptional art, but art that embraces our deeper humanity and builds community through our endeavors. Art and design are not simply grand ideas, but promote community engagement at a more profound level of our being. There were so many fine examples of this; from the — I was here, the Tulsa mural, the Cuomo project in Texas, the big lighting designers, the Agent Orange project and Dr. Rivera’s Stop Hate Campaign and Arnauts. The list of inspirational projects was delightfully overwhelming. One designer spoke about the necessity of critique. He is right, it is not enough to simply fall in love with all this brilliance, good cheer, and innovation; it requires considering how the conference could be more effective? What would make this homeopathic drop of brilliance, passion, and commitment shine even more brightly? It is serendipitous, the Glasgow Climate Summit was also happening, and a host of disasters were occurring around the globe: forest fires in Indonesia, the Amazon, the global refugee crisis, and hundreds of natural disasters because of climate change. However, amid all these disasters, I felt a spark of hope as I spoke with and heard all these folks who were profoundly engaged in art to promote social change, community dialogue, and figuring out through the blend of art and technology how to create a sustainable and beautiful future. Yes, from the crucible of our dreams, skills, and passion, we create the alchemy of Codaworx.
When Teenth Day?
Palestine Witness to Genocide
Is there room in Palestine for Palestinians?
The Hill We Climb in Utialandia
Utilialandia, or short for Utia, is one of the most progressive countries on the planet. I was grateful to be here during a recent kerfuffle due to the translation of the poem “The Hill We Climb” by Amanda Gorman into Utian. Though there are only 2,401 native Utian speakers, they are the most literate people. Everyone can read and write in at least four other languages. However, they were in a near state of bewilderment with the young new American poet. In Utia, they don’t distinguish between African American, Asian American, LGBTQ American, Irish American, etc. It was all confusing to them. My host asked me, “Aren’t you all Americans since you live in the USA?” Gorman, the young American poet (African American), wrote a lovely poem about hope and freedom. As far as Utians can figure, these are universal values and understandable by all. They selected their finest translator for this critical job. In Utia, the Ministry of Arts and Poetry is one of the most important departments, next to the Ministry of Happiness. They chose Uhuru Marieke, known for translating some of the most abstract and obtuse poetry. They had even translated my somewhat difficult Jazz Ku verses flawlessly. The Ministry of Poetry was pumped! A special paper was ordered. Fresh ink was ground up! And the finest calligraphers were on call. The verse would be translated, then printed, and large six-foot panels of the poem would be displayed downtown. Then the Ministry of Poetry was notified that Poetry Central in the USA forbade this. “The translator Uhuru is not African American, nor a person of color, and therefore forbidden to translate this poem into Utian.” The Minister of Poetry was mystified. “What does the color of your skin, the color of your eyes, or your predilection for ice cream have to do with your ability to translate poetry?” Poetry Central in the USA replied, “We’ve sent three pages of politically correct translation guidelines. We understand that there are no African Americans in UTia, but it must be translated by someone with an iota of African heritage for the poem to be genuinely translated or understood.” The Utians were puzzled and asked me, “Does that also mean that only Polish people can play Chopin or only Black musicians from Mississippi can play the Blues?” I was as mystified as my hosts of this literary, racial profiling. The Ministry of Technology ran the genetic algorithm on all Utians, borrowing computer times from MIT and Cal Tech, and discovered that Utians could indeed translate the poem. It turned out that all Utians had.0004 percent of African heritage. Utians were African and a rainbow of all nationalities, and with the new translation into Utian, we understood the poem, “The Hill We Climb.” We are not divided by race or ethnicity, gender, but we are defined by our collective journey to justice and equality for all. We are all inspired by the exquisite translation into Utian. I am grateful that my Utian hosts did not kowtow to provincial political correctness and allowed this poem to be read by all. Just imagine the magnificent land of Utia. Namaya has recently returned from Utia to the People’s Republic of Vermont.
Brattleboro Civilian Police Review Board April 2004
Brattleboro Civilian Police Review Board Proposal Steering Committee for the Brattleboro Civilian Police Review Board Submitted: April 2004 to the Brattleboro Selectboard TEN PRINCIPLES FOR AN EFFECTIVE CIVILIAN REVIEW BOARD Independence. The power to conduct hearings, subpoena witnesses and report findings and recommendations to the public. Investigatory Power. The authority to independently investigate incidents and issue findings on complaints. Mandatory Police Cooperation. Complete access to police witnesses and documents through legal mandate or subpoena power. Adequate Funding. Should not be a lower budget priority than police internal affairs systems. Hearings. Essential for solving credibility questions and enhancing public confidence in the process. Reflect Community Diversity. Board and staff should be broadly representative of the community it serves. Policy Recommendations. Civilian oversight can spot problem policies and provide a forum for developing reforms. Statistical Analysis. Public statistical reports can detail trends in allegations, and early warning systems can identify officers who are subjects of unusually numerous complaints. Separate Offices. Should be housed away from police headquarters to maintain independence and credibility with the public. Disciplinary Role. Board findings should be considered in determining appropriate disciplinary action PROPOSAL FOR BRATTLEBORO CIVILIAN POLICE REVIEW BOARD TABLE OF CONTENTS: I. Brattleboro’s Current System of Police ReviewII. A Better System of Police ReviewIII. The Benefits of Effective Civilian Review a. Better Governmentb. Improved Police Managementc. Better Investigationsd. Community Policing and Accountabilitye. Public Trust IV.The Boarda Compositionb. Appointmentsc. Board Responsibilitiesd. Board Powers: Subpoenae. Board Powers: Training and Policy Issuesf. Board Powers: Recommend Discipline V. Investigators VI. Filing a Complaint (Intake) VII MediationVIII Assured ResultsIX. Financial ConcernsX Appendix: Summary Supporting Documentation Introduction: In numerous community dialogues and in the recent ballot proposal that was endorsed and passed by 1,566 voters: Are you in favor of a “Brattleboro Civilian Police Board” under the guidance of the town government, with the goal to provide consistent feedback between police and community, provide an independent means to mediate disputes between community and police, and to foster community safety? During the gathering of petition signature, informal key informant interviews took place that surveyed the communities’ attitudes towards policing and its efficacy in Brattleboro. In over 600 interviews there was preponderance of concern with the level of training, safety, attentiveness, and community orientation of the Police Department as reflected in interviews with people from business owners, minorities, and people from many strata of life. What was also noteworthy, in approaching community members, we found that less than 5% of those asked were unwilling to sign a petition. What was striking was the unanimous response of African American and Hispanic voters on their concerns about policing in Brattleboro. Minority’s perception of policing was mirrored in public dialogues sponsored by the Center for Living Democracy in the late l990s. In those public meetings, African Americans and Latinos uniformly expressed concern and even fear in dealing with the Brattleboro Police Department. In December 2001 Robert Woodward was shot and killed by Brattleboro Police officers. This shooting of a highly agitated man created an atmosphere of mistrust between police and community. Despite several community meetings and repeated calls for an Independent review of the police department, its policies, and the deadly force policy this has not occurred. Currently, the internal review process by the Brattleboro Police Department consists of all complaints being personally handled by the Chief of Police. There is no independent Internal Review Board which is a hallmark of modern policing. This lack of a true complaint process is mirrored in the statements by former Chief Martin that in the preceding year there were only “Two complaints against the BPD.” However, on closer question he disclosed there were more, but as Martin reports, “I settled the problem on the spot.” There is no consistent independent documentation for handling civilian complaints against the police. Contrary to accepted policies in Police Departments around the US for a true complaint process to be processed it must be available without having to go to the Police Department and in order In addition, in the Department of Justice’s The Brattleboro Challenge: Creating Excellence in Police/Community Relations Summary of Recommendations November 21, 2002 included the consideration of a Civilian Police Review Board process. This recommendation was rejected as being inconsistent with the BPD’s philosophy. However, there is no philosophy statement that appears on record that supports this. WHAT IS CIVILIAN REVIEW? Civilian review systems create lot confusion because they vary tremendously. Some are more “civilian” than others. Some are not boards but municipal agencies headed by an executive director (who has been appointed by, and is accountable to, the mayor). The three basic types of civilian review systems are — Type I. Persons who are not sworn officers conduct the initial fact-finding. They submit an investigative report to a non-officer or board of non-officers, who then make a recommendation for action to the police chief. This process is the most independent and most “civilian.” Type II. Sworn officers conduct the initial fact-finding. They submit an investigative report to a non-officer or board of non-officers for a recommendation. Type III. Sworn officers conduct the initial fact-finding and make a recommendation to the police chief. If the aggrieved citizen is not satisfied with the Chief’s action on the complaint, he or she may appeal to a board that includes non-officers. Obviously, this process is the least independent. Although the above are the most common, other types of civilian review systems also exist. WHY IS CIVILIAN REVIEW IMPORTANT? Civilian review establishes the principle of police accountability. Strong evidence exists to show that a complaint review system encourages citizens to act on their grievances. Even a weak civilian review process is far better than none at all.A civilian review agency can be an important source of information about police misconduct. A civilian agency is more likely to compile and publish data on patterns of misconduct, especially on officers with chronic problems, than is a police
Dear Joe and Kamala,
Re: Some modest wishes and best of luck Excuse me for being so informal and addressing you by your first names. Congratulations, a word that should have come from Donny the Id months ago. Nevertheless, the old goat will not easily give up the house he soiled, but like the Aegean stable, the mighty river of Democracy may be able to take some of this horrific stench away. The good news is that the nation did not completely disintegrate.Nevertheless, our Democracy took a terrible bruising. Enough of the old goat; he will be tied up in his web of lies and litigation until he dies. It is time to look to the future fearlessly. Welcome to the grand old house. You’ve been there before. Joe, I know, you wondered what it would be like to be the President, and now is the time. It is the time for enormous courage and conviction. Since I have your kind attention, my shortlist is simple: Immediately reverse the idiotic grandiose executive orders over the past four years. Universal health care for all Americans—one universal plan. No co-pay and no deductibles. If you want private insurance, pay for it. Pharmacy pricing is regulated like in Canada and Europe. Universal Education/ Vocational/ Job training program for all Americans and residents in the USA. In turn, universal service of your choice – Peace Corps, AmeriCorps, Volunteer service, or military for every year of college or school, a year of service. No deferments for bone spurs. Housing for all Americans. Clean water for all Americans All Mentally ill people will be treated and housed. Create a Department of Peace for peace building, conflict resolution. Pentagon/ military budget is set at a fixed rate of 10 % or less of the national budget. Most other countries are at 2-4% Sustainable green energy network by 2040. End of all pesticides for farm production and golf courses by 2030. All immigrants protected. Undocumented immigrants are fast-tracked for citizenship All lobbyists and groups like AIPAC are banned. No private money or donations for politicians or political campaigns. Presidential elections are limited to 3 months and funded by the public. End private prisons. End mass incarcerations of minorities. Americans prisons recreated on the Norwegian model Guns – Universal federal registry for firearms. That is my shortlist of wishes for your first 100 days, or is it for the first 100 months? Is it possible for your administration to embody our dreams and hopes for prosperity and real economic and social justice? My hopes are modest for the incoming regime. Sanity, reason, and honesty. The White House and the White House press room no longer a torrent of lies, racism, bigotry, and hate. As a nation, we are breathless of covid and bigotry So Joe and Kamala, our very best wishes to you and the next four years. We breathlessly await your vision, courage, and action.
Vietnam Generation
Shroud of War: Invocation I am the Vietnam generation. I am the generationof witness and fire. I was a hospital corpsman during the Vietnam Warand though far from combat,the war hauntsme and my generation. This war of decades ago,and unending warsof the American war machine,shrouds my waking hours. Vietnam: Fire. Redemption. Love. I am the Vietnam Generation. I hold the memory of two millionVietnamese children, men, and womenkilled during the War of Liberation. I hold the memoryof 58,229 Americanand 55,000 French soldiers killed.Not killed for patriotism.Not killed to save a nation.Sacrificed for the Military-Industrial Machine. I hold the memory of themillions of wounded soldiers and childrenmaimed with bombs and Agent Orange. How have we paid compensation for the400,000 Vietnamese killed by Agent Orange? How have we healedthis land destroyed by bombsand Agent Orange? How many generationswill it take to heal this land? Is there a salve that cansoothe the scars of napalm bombs?Is there a salve that will heal theskin of those burned with phosphorous? How do we Americanscare for the thousands of deformedchildren born today? When will there be contrition? How will we atone forMy Lai and the unknown massacres? How will we care for the people and landdestroyed by our sins and the evil of war? While the chairman of Dow ChemicalCarl A. Gerstackerplayed golf on immaculate green lawns. While Dow Chemical’s napalmincinerated Vietnamand burned people alive. While Monsanto gained fortunes forits stockholders with Agent Orange. While the war profiteers made theirpoisons and guns to destroy Vietnam,and proclaimed the greatness of the Democracy. While Nixon scuttled a peace deal in 1968so he could get elected.While McNamara formulated the calculus of war.Johnson, Kennedy, Kissinger, and all the architects of monumental hubrisstoked the furnace of war. While those safe in draft deferments,protested the warand the poor and working-class young menwere sucked into the vortex of conscription. I want to hold the thousandsof homeless veteransnow huddled on the streets. I don’t want us known asthe Woodstock generationwith its ephemera of peace and love.I want us to hold in our bonesthe imperative of peace and contrition. Do we have the courage to benddown on our knees insupplication? Noble Saints of Peace You are the warriors of the higher conscience,who refused to march off to war.You are the noble saints of peace,who came to Vietnam and cared for the children.You are the soldiers who returned and noware working for justice in Vietnam. You are the four students at Kent State shot dead bysoldiers while they protested against war. To those who chose prison over waryou are the noble saints of peace. The courageous monks, driven mad with pain,burned themselves alive to stop war. Your acts of resistance and loveshines with fearless courage. Witness: Cambodia I journeyed to Cambodia, where the genocide and killing fieldswere fostered by the American war machine. Twenty-five percent ofCambodians killed.The soul of a nationshredded by genocide. Children born afterthe Americans went safely homeare still maimed and killed by landmines.Children in wheel-chairs begging.Eyes famished for hope and ask us,“Please, help.” Where is our mercy and justice?How is their forgiveness?Where is our contrition? The killing fields and landminesare underfoot as I walk through the Mekong. Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnamare strewn with landmines and Agent Orange. Landmines dropped by B-52sin a rain of evil, blacker than evil itself. Where is the shamethat should burn in our soul?Where is the repentance? Where is our courage to end all war? Laos Beautiful innocent Laos. Nestledin the mountains, ancient Buddhist land,still infested with landmines thatdestroy and maim children decades after the war. Today, I walk through the fields.Our guides point us to the rightpath, but there are no signs, no guidepoststo the landmines. I met the children at the hospital,their legs were blown off by landmines,and cluster bombs dropped fifty years ago. How are we humbled and shamed by our deeds?When will we bend to our kneesto ask forgiveness? The US Military-Industrial Machine We, the Vietnam generation,have we grown complacentwaddling to retirementand investing in the war machine? Panama, Grenada, Iraq, Yemen,Afghanistan, Pakistan, and thenecklace of our war machineis made from the skulls of children. We have raped, ravaged andlooted countries around the globe. Our trillion dollar platinum platedwar machine is lacquered withthe blood and bones of its victims. When will we fight the real war? The war against poverty?Our war to save the environment?When we willend our desire for war? We, the Woodstock generation,born in the shadows and fire of war.We saw the nightly newswith the daily tallies of death,while our brothers and kinwe’re killed for a war of lies. What of the greater love? Contrition?Humility?Atonement? I am the Vietnam generation.I am the generation of witness and fire. Tune in! Tune in!Turn on!Drop out! No, my soul is no longer on ice. I burn with the shameOf our wars!I burn with the shameof our deeds.Our shame should burn as brightas the phosphorous bombsthat we dropped in Vietnam I burn with rage!I burn with this shame! I don’t want to beremembered for the delusionsof pot and drugs, turn on,tune in, drop out, the fogof forgetting. I need us to be thegeneration of remembering. The generationof witness and contrition. We were born in the fire ofNagasaki and Hiroshima, in the ashes ofthe Korean War and the inextricablenightmare of Vietnam. The Path to Contrition Can we be the generationof redemption and contrition?Can we be the generation of peace? I am the Vietnam generation. I am the generationof witness. How will our actions oftrue peace, forgiveness, and justice. Render healing? How will we bethe generation of contrition? Namaya24 December 2020
