Poetry and Politics

Today, after reading some war poetry, an Israeli student and I engaged in some heated discussion about post 9-11 politics.

That's the kind of shit you can't make up.

The poems are part of my syllabus in English Composition II, Writing on Literature. I teach the course at McDaniel, and this semester I choose to focus on the literature of war. We start with "The Iliad" and finish with "The Things They Carried". It's a wild ride.

To find poetry, I took a random swat at stuff lying around on the Internet. The last few that we read are very contemporary, and the last two are a bit political. The first is "Palestine" by Lorna Dee Cervantes and the second is "The Daisy Cutter" by Louise Rill. Cervantes started writing "Palestine" the day after the attacks, and the poem links the images of 9-11 to the plight of the Palestinians. This did not go down well with my Israeli student Avi. He's a nice kid, but being raised in a country constantly under attack has led him to believe that all the Palestinians, perhaps even all the Muslims in the Middle East, are bloodthirsty monsters. I don't want to paint him as naive (although he is 18, and by his own admission doesn't care much for reading). Avi understands the complexity of the situation is Israel, but when there are people out to destroy your country, certain shades of gray become difficult to discern. By the time discussion of the poem was wrapping up, Avi had suggested that the poet should, "Cry me a river". He got close to accusing the poem of being Al Qaeda propaganda, and finally suggested that Americans are weak because they allowed the terrorists to affect them.

Then we got to "The Daisy Cutter". Now, I don't really like the poem, but I felt I should include at least one straight-up anti-war poem. (I did have them read Crane's "War is Kind", but that poem is more about the contradictory nature of the way we understand and rationalize war. It frowns on our insincerity in times of war, but I don't think it condemns war outright.) I am a bit uncomfortable with the preachy sarcasm and the prescriptive theme in "The Daisy Cutter", but I thought opening by drawing a parallel between the Taliban and a Christian martyr was interesting. The poem ends up suggesting that going to war after 9-11 was a shallow effort at revenge. Maybe not the most profound stuff, but it gets freshmen talking. Anyway, Avi couldn't stand it. He suggested that I would burn such verse if I had lost a family member in the attacks. We went round and round for a bit. I suggested his point of view was myopic. He told me Americans don't understand the enemy. I asked if he were accused of murder, would he want the grieving mother to serve as the judge in his case. Eventually we had to bring things to a close, but I thought I'd share.

Now here's some Willie.

Board by the Riots

We had a long weekend. I left all my work at home and spent the holiday at the country house with Dora and her folks. I may have fallen behind at work, but it was worth it.

I should start with the holiday, because it sheds some light on this country I’ve been calling home for the past few years. A little over 150 years ago there was a revolution in Hungary. There were actually several revolutions in Europe that year. 1848 has been dubbed the year of revolutions. Hungary’s was an exceptionally romantic one, however, led by a warrior poet (literally) and a reformist politician, among others. The March 15^th holiday commemorating the revolution hasn’t been considered a political event for some time. It is simply a moment in history that all Hungarians are proud of. It is also when spring finally starts to gain an upper hand on winter. The plum trees were in blossom this year. It was very pretty.

Unfortunately, the leader of the opposition party Victor Orban has a tendency to politicize historical events. This year he encouraged people to celebrate March 15^th by marching in protest against the ruling government. This is not something I oppose. Peaceful protests and spirited opposition are all a part of healthy democracies, and I’ll admit there are plenty of issues to protest and oppose here in Hungary. The problem is Mr. Orban is not fostering a healthy democracy here in Hungary.

He is encouraging citizens to take to the streets while his party walks out of Parliament every time the ruling government takes the floor, effectively riling his voting base into action while pursuing a line of total inaction within the houses of government. Meanwhile he does nothing to dissuade the extreme elements of his constituency. Composed of football hooligans and bigots, these people are not truly representative of the opposition’s constituency, but they are loud and easily provoked (think of red paint cans at a fur show or Confederate flags on MLK day). These groups should be marginalized for the sake of the various political parties’ reputations. They are, however, all too visible at rallies around the city.

On the 15^th, as predicted, the events devolved into violence. Nothing as bad as last year’s events in October, but it was ugly.

I had little interest in losing more of my already-weakened faith in humanity. Same goes for Dora. So we spent the holiday in nature. We took a lot of walks with the dog. On one of those walks we saw a family of wild boars. Those things are huge, except the babies. The babies are cute. Ask Dora. She’ll tell you just how cute. We ate well and got the proper amount of sleep every night.

Of an outside land

Hungarians describe anyone from outside of Hungary with the word külföldi. It is an adjective meaning foreign or alien. It can also serve as a noun meaning foreigner. The prefix “kül-” means outside or other. The word “föld” means land, soil, or ground. The suffex “i” makes a word possessive. To most Europeans the linguistics of this word are intuitive; a foreigner belongs to another land. Yet for an American, or for a Hungarian-born American, the idea of belonging to a land is troublesome. Being American isn’t an intrinsic quality. It’s more of a right, a duty. These contrasting concepts of nationality get at why so much of the world finds Americans simultaneously enviable and obnoxious. But it doesn’t make the term külföldi any less vexing for a couple dealing with cultural identity crises.

This linguistic stumbling block is made worse by the connotative qualities of the word külföldi. Though it is not always the case, külföldi is often dismissive, sometimes even insulting. The word is used to explain away the complaints of tourists and visiting businessmen. If a foreigner is foolish enough to broach the subject of politics and the Hungarians on hand disagree with the leanings of that foreigner, then the offending remark will be squelched with the word külföldi. To put it simply, if you are not a Hungarian and you dare to raise an objection over any of the country's many issues, your comments will be met with proud defiance and the word külföldi. Interestingly enough, those same objections are the subject of nearly every heated discussion in cafes and dining rooms across the country, but they are not to be discussed by anyone who belongs to another land.

For many of my students who come from the East or from the Balkans, the attitude behind külföldi is commonplace, the product of innumerable invasions and conquests. But for anyone with a US passport, there is something hypocritical at work. Everyone in Europe feels the need to explain to me the failings of the United States. Students like to remind me of the racism, homelessness, educational inequity, lack of culture, and imperial overtures that make America the squalid vapid hellhole of a country that everyone loves to hate. They also love to complain the strict post-9/11 visa policy.

The above is an edited bit from what I'm working on right now. The book will follow the doings of a couple living in Hungary. The husband is an American. The wife is a Hungarian and an American. I plan to interrupt the narrative with bits like what I've posted here. Reflections on what it is to be Hungarian, American, or just a citizen of some place. I'm curious about people's reaction to the ideas.

A little math

I plan to post something more substantial tomorrow, but I saw a news story today that I wanted to share.

I always keep an eye on the science news, because, as I mentioned previously, I'm something of a geek.

Anyway, this story on a couple of Hungarian mathematicians was up today. It seems no one in the world could get a computer to play "Go" at the same level as a skilled human player.

No one, that is, until now!

That's right, a couple of Hungarian mathematicians figured out the algorithm that gets computers to play the moves that previously only human intuition managed to understand. Way to go abstract math.

Interestingly enough, Hungary is widely regarded as the home of many of the greatest modern mathematicians. Unfortunately most of the great minds pack up and leave for wealthier nations before they do their greatest work.

Abstract math, however, continues to flourish here in Hungary. This is mostly because there is not a lot of capitol investment required for research.

All you need is a blackboard, some chalk, and maybe a Go board.

Flashback to Szóda's Youth

The following is a blog entry from back when I was posting on Yahoo 360.

My dog eats poo. This upsets me a great deal. I sometimes console myself with the fact that she’s picky about it. Here on the sidewalks of Budapest she has a regular smorgasbord to choose from, and only rarely does she find the variety of poo she enjoys. But when she does…

If I don’t watch her, she’ll dive right in. It makes me unreasonably angry. And she knows that. She waits for the moments when I’m distracted. When I catch her in the act she gets all meek, ears pinned down and the puppy-dog eyes. But my anger often overwhelms me, and I scold her in horribly broken Hungarian.

I’ve read about it online, and there doesn’t seem to be anything horribly wrong with it… except for the fact that my dog puts feces in her mouth. I don’t think I can ever accept that.

Of course that’s not the only trouble spot on walks here in the city, but I can’t blame Szóda for this next one. The Hungarian population has to shoulder the responsibility for this. See, here in Budapest the residents seem to think littering is something of a competition. There are different categories within the sport of littering, just like ice-skating. Some compete for sheer volume, lugging entire boxes of trash out into the street and dumping these boxes out across the sidewalk. Others compete for style points. I found (actually Szóda found this one) a traditional Hungarian open-faced sandwich, rustic white bread spread with lard and topped with thinly sliced red onions, placed neatly on top of a fire hydrant. Perhaps this person thought it less like littering if the sandwich doesn’t touch the ground. I’m comfortable saying that it is not only littering, it is a worse form of littering because the offending sandwich is closer to my face. Still others compete in the covert-littering event, finding little corners and holes to tuck their trash in. This trash remains almost out of sight, but not to a dog. And there is the problem.

Aside from knocking the quality of life down a notch, these people are making my dog-walks a pain in the ass. I am constantly yanking the leash in order to keep Szóda’s face away from trash and poo. The city cleans the tourist areas everyday, but my street gets cleaned only once a week. And that cleaning isn’t cutting it. I try to pick up what I can, but there is an issue of hygiene to be considered in some/most cases.

So, for Szóda the walks have become a time when she’s thinking, “I bet I could eat that. I bet I could eat that. I bet I could eat that. I bet I could eat that. I bet I could eat that.” while I scold her and pull her away from all she would eat. I hope she doesn’t hold it against me.

Geeks

Those who know me would agree, but those who are less familiar should know that I am a geek.

I don’t mean it in that snarky iGeneration sense; I’m not ultra-net savvy, or up-to-date on one specific yet esoteric music scene. It’s nothing like that.

I’m a geek in all the un-glorious traditional ways: I used to play D&D (and would still if I could find players). I’ve seen live shows from the likes of They Might Be Giants, Depeche Mode, and a Blues Brothers cover group. In high school, I was involved in the theater, the choir, the orchestra, and a start-up improve troupe. In college, I liked classes, hated frats, delivered pizza, and ran security at the student union (where I also facilitated the orientation training for new student employees). And through it all I’ve been reading sci-fi and fantasy or watching X-Files, Star Trek’s various incarnations, and now BSG (love me some BSG).

So, with my geek-credential all in order, I feel qualified to say the following:

Geek culture in Hungary is identical to the geek culture I am familiar with in the States. They read Phillip K. Dick and Kurt Vonnegut. They play RPGs in basement bookstores called “Dark Rider Books” (my translation). They sit quietly in rowdy bars, discussing chess strategy---

Actually, let me explain that last one. Kazi (Dora’s cousin) and Kati recently had a baby boy. They named him Alfred. He was born five weeks early, but there were no serious problems. He is completely healthy. So, to celebrate we all went out for a drink. Kazi’s friends make up a raucous crowd, and that night was no exception. To quote David Brent, “El vino did flow.” What struck me as out of place were these five guys there at the bar. They not affiliated with the festivities. They were sitting around a chess board. They were not playing chess, however. They were setting the pieces up in little chess puzzles, working from a set of printed out notes, and arguing the merits and shortcomings of certain moves in each scenario.

While watching these guys, I was flipping through a local sci-fi/fantasy magazine with illustrations, short stories, poetry, and a serialized graphic novel. And that’s when I saw it. In this country, where the concept of cool is far removed from what we Americans consider to be cool, the geek culture is indistinguishable.

Is that as interesting to any of you as it is to me?

How much would you pay to go into debt?

It looks like Dora and I are about to buy an apartment. We’re very excited about this. We like the building, the location, and most of all, we like the apartment itself. We’ve made an offer, and if the loan goes through we’ll be living in a recently renovated building that was constructed in 1900. Our apartment would be a two bedroom on the second floor (In the US you’d call it the third floor) in very central part of town.

I’m excited to stop paying rent, which brings me to the subject of today’s post:

Hungary’s culture of savings versus America’s culture of debt.

In a country full of financial paradox: where you must have a bank account in order to hold a job, yet the banks charge predatory fees; where the government recently raised taxes, but cut government services; where if you want to run a small business, you have to pay $500 in monthly fees, regardless of how much money you make – in a country like this, people have learned to view the exchange of money as an opportunity to “screw” or “be screwed.”

The result is that Hungarians avoid debt or borrowing of any kind, because it looks so much like an opportunity to be screwed.

For the most part:

Hungarians don’t rent apartments. They live with their parents until they can buy.

Hungarians don’t purchase anything in installments. They will drive their old beater until they have enough to buy a new car.

Hungarians don’t carry credit debt. Allowing yourself to be charged interest doesn’t make sense to a Hungarian.

Things are changing slowly. Home loans are picking up steam, and credit card offers are becoming more visible, but it is so different from the consumer driven culture I knew back in the States. That is: If you want it, you can have it now (strings attached).

Distrust is not always a good quality, but I can’t help but admire the Hungarian attitude of economic distrust. No matter the country, people do questionable things in the name of money; people in banking and government are no exception.

In America, our distrust of government has successfully kept taxes relatively low, but we continue to throw interest payments at banks like they’ve done something tremendous to deserve it.

I never liked credit card debt, but it felt like the natural state of being in the States. Which makes me wonder about the whole consumer confidence rating. They make such a big deal out of that number, but if half of the people “spending” are simply going further into debt, then that’s not consumer confidence; it’s lender confidence.

I think maybe Americans could use a little of the Hungarian distrust. People in the States seem to believe that $25,000 of credit is a favor, but Hungarians would see that as a trap. Maybe the adolescent free-market economy over here has something to teach its more mature role-model over there.

Feeling Low

I’ve spent my birthday and most of Groundhog’s Day sick. Horrible sick, like I can’t get out of bed. Walking the dog takes everything out of me. But I’m not writing for mercy, I have a question.

Earlier this week, Dora had the same thing I have now. She left work early one day, and missed the next workday. That’s about the same amount of time I’ve missed, but there’s something about the way she suffered – well, she didn’t really suffer. That's just it. She was uncomfortable and lacked energy. She had a headache and a cough, same symptoms as me. But she didn’t seem to be in nearly as much pain as me.

I know I’m a huge baby when it comes to being sick, but Dora was telling me that in general, men suffer more then women when sick. I guess it’s an old stereotype I didn’t know about.

My question to readers is: In your experience, compared to women, do men become more of the martyr when they feel ill? And if so, why do you think that is?