June 1, 2017--Talaq, Talaq, Talaq

Say Talaq three times and you're divorced. That is, among certain Muslim sects in India.

As reported in the New York Times--

When Neeha Khan's husband entered her parent's house in eastern Mumbai last February, he carried a letter that contained a word, repeated three times, that can instantly change the course of a Muslim woman's life in India. 

Talaq, talaq, talaq. 

He flung the letter to the floor and just like that, Ms. Kahn's seven-year marriage was over. 

Talaq is the Arabic word for divorce. It is used by Indian Muslims even if they do not know its meaning. But they do know it works!

These "quicky" divorces not surprisingly are only available to men. Their wives are ousted from their homes, almost always without alimony or other forms of financial support, which leaves them with few resources or prospects.

My father frequently said, "Most of the world's problems are the result of religious orthodoxy. And that includes our Jewish religion." In his own way he was a macho feminist, if that oxymoron works. If he had read about Talaq in his cherished New York Times, he would have said, "This is as outrageous as it gets."

There are worse examples of course--like being stoned to death for certain "offenses"--but in India, which prides itself on being a democracy that protects all its people from discrimination, this practice defines what it means to treat women as less than fully human.

Neeha Khan

November 14, 2016--Election Postmortem

I called an old friend late last week to commiserate about the results of the election.

It was three days after the fact and she was still morose. "I'm too old to move to Canada or Europe. Friends in England called to invite me to stay with them for at least Trump's first six months. They said his first hundred days would be over by then and it would be possible to see how bad things were going to be. They said if by then he overturned most of Obama's major accomplishments, I could apply for asylum in England. But then of course there would be Brexit to deal with."

"Really?"

"Really. I'm thinking about it."

"Do you think things are that bad?"

"Potentially. Did you see who's on Trump's short list of possible cabinet members?"

"There's a lot of speculation but . . ."

"Forget 'but.' How does Sarah Palin as secretary of the interior sound? Say goodbye to our forests. Remember 'drill, baby, drill?' Or how does John Bolton for secretary of state sound? I think his favorite quote is John McCain's 'bomb, bomb, bomb, bomb Iran.' McCain was probably making a joke but for John Bolton it could sum up his foreign policy agenda."

"Sounds like a nightmare."

"And worst of all, as a lifelong feminist, I hate what Trump and his even-worse vice president, Mike Pence, say they want to do about women's rights. Say goodbye to Roe v. Wade. That alone is making me sick and depressed."

"I hear you," I said, then, "Therefore this may not be the best time for what I want to say but . . ."

"Say it. There's nothing you could say to make me feel worse."

"I'm not sure about that. But you know on my blog I've been writing critically about progressives who I feel did things to unintentionally help elect Trump."

"Too many didn't turn out to vote."

"That's part of it and related to my critique. For me a big part of the problem was that too many liberals lost touch with what was smoldering in that part of America they don't know because they live in isolated urban coastal enclaves, live comfortably, and look down on people who have different lives and value different things. Also, we have lost touch with people who are finally fed up with the false promises that have been made to them for decades by both Democrats and Republicans. In many ways Trump was like a third-party candidate."

"So far I don't disagree with you. We've grown very complacent."

"Worse, in that complacency and out of feelings of superiority, we've lost the activist spirit. I was looking again at Kevin Phillips' Emerging Republican Majority written way back in 1969 after Nixon in '68 won all but one of the southern states. He lays it all out there and conservatives have been using it successfully as a kind of playbook since then about how to take control of governments at all levels from the local to the state and now the federal. All three branches."

"I remember that. Isn't he now disenchanted with the right wing he helped empower?"

"He is, but it's a little late. Among other things he wrote about how the so-called silent majority should begin the process of dominating all levels of the government by running for school boards and then work their way up the political food chain. They've done this successfully so that now they control 33 of 50 governorships and most state legislatures."

"Fair points," my friend said.

"But here's the even harder part--I know you really well and how you live and what activates you. So let me ask you a tough question."

"Fire away."

"You're very passionate about preserving the reproductive rights of women from being able to get contraception to . . ."

"And Mike Pence," she snarled,"wants to block that."

"Totally terrible," I said, "But people who agree with him about that and who are also obviously anti-abortion, have for decades set up picket lines at abortion clinics, harassing women who are seeking to terminate pregnancies. I've visited and worked in almost all the states and pretty much everywhere I've seen those nasty pickets. But, you know one thing I haven't seen?" I paused but my friend remained silent, "I've never, not once seen a picket line of pro-choice people there to help women enter the clinics." More silence.

"This to me is a terrible and condemning reality. And I'm including myself. I never was out there trying to offer support for those brave but harassed women. And while I'm on a roll, have you ever . . . ?"

"Never," my friend whispered, "I should have but now I'm old. Too old for that".

I let the silence remain uninterrupted between us.

"You could be right," she finally said.

"I think I am," I said, "And if I am, by our inactivity--maybe excluding some check writing to Planned Parenthood--we left this political opening to the more motivated people who are trying to take away rights that we believe are protected by the Constitution."

"My biggest worry is the Supreme Court."

"We should be worried. But here's my bottom line--Progressives are very good at marshaling facts and articulating opinions, but not so good as fessing up to how we've become complacent, waiting for government to take care of and protect us, much less getting mobilized and activated in support of the things we value. And until we do, what happened last Tuesday should not be a surprise. Also, though it may be hard to acknowledge, as I said, through our inactivity we helped bring about the debacle. And worst of all," I concluded, "too many of us secretly agreed with Hillary that Trump's people are deplorable."

Before I finished I heard the sound of my friend hanging up.

March 29, 2016--Still Feeling the Bern

"Did you hear Bernie's speech this weekend?"

One of our very young friends was calling. It was clear she was excited.

"After winning the caucuses in Washington, Alaska, and Hawaii. He really trounced Hillary."

"He's good at caucuses but not so much so in primaries where people actually vote."

"You're always so pessimistic about him."

"I think I'm being realistic. I keep my eye on the delegate count. Like it or not, they will select the nominee. And by my calculation, and that of pretty much everyone else, Hillary should win easily."

"I'm never going to vote for her." I felt badly that what I said deflated her.

"If it comes to that--I mean Hillary versus Trump or Cruz or whomever, you'd think of voting for one of them."

"Never."

"So . . . ?"

"So, maybe I won't vote at all."

"That sounds defeatist to me. Not voting for Hillary is just like voting for Trump or whoever."

"Now you sound just like my parents."

"Well," I said, trying to lighten the mood, "Sometimes even parents get it right."

"I didn't call to get you to convince me to give up my ideals. I'm young and I want . . ."

"Touché. I hope you'll except my apologies. Listening to myself, I think you're right. That's what I was trying to do. Get you to be 'realistic,' to compromise."

"There's time for that."

"Yes, I did hear his speech. I haven't listened to a speech of his for quiet awhile and thought . . ."

"Because you already gave up on him?"

"Probably true. Probably true. With so much going on on the Republican side I admit I haven't paid much attention to the Democrats. So I . . ."

"Tuned out Bernie. For what it's worth, I excuse you for that. What's going on with the Republicans is more fun." She laughed, and I was glad to hear she was back to being her usualy enthusiastic self. "I don't know about you, but I thought he was amazing."

"I was impressed. Too bad . . ."

"There you go again being negative. Even if he doesn't have much chance of winning the nomination, didn't you feel that everything he said was true?"

"I did. But even if he somehow manages to get elected, I doubt he could get Congress to go along with Medicare for all much less free tuition at public colleges and universities."

Ignoring that, she said, "And weren't you impressed with what he had to say about minorities--he went down the full list, including Native Americans. No one else even mentions them much less as compassionately and honestly as Bernie."

"True. We could go over his speech point by point and probably agree with pretty much everything."

"Particularly what he said about what he said about women. As a woman, a young woman I was excited about that."

"Doesn't he say similar things as Hillary? About equal wages, abortion, childcare leave?"

"Yes, but I wasn't as impressed about the list of specific issues as how he spoke about the importance of both women and men working together on them. Not just women. If these are family issues, he was saying, that has to include men."

"I noticed that and I too was impressed."

"This is not the way Hillary speaks about the next things that have to happen to secure more rights for women. She makes it sound as if it's only a women's issue when in fact it's a women's and men's issue. I think this difference between Bernie and Hilary is one of the reasons so many young women are supporting him."

"I haven't heard anyone mention this. So good for you."

"I've got to run in a minute, but one more thing."

"Sure."

"My feeling that you were pushing on me to be realistic, to compromise . . ."

"I already apologized for that."

"And I heard and appreciated that. But here's what I want to say about that--it's too soon for me to give up my ideals. Isn't that what young people are supposed to do--maintain their ideals? Weren't you like that when you were my age--not willing to give in? What with the antiwar and civil rights movements?"

"Fair points."

"And also, though I know it's unlikely, probably impossible for Bernie to win, if by some chance or fluke he manages to do so, I'd still want him to press Congress to raise Social Security benefits and make health care a right. And the rest of his agenda"

"But wouldn't he have to compromise to get anything done?"

"Not in advance the way I feel Obama tended to do. If we agree that everything Bernie said in his speech the other night is both true and right, to accomplish his goals, wouldn't it be smart for him to lay them all out in specifics and fight for them? Maybe he wouldn't win, but at least he'd get the discussion started and, who knows, maybe he'd get a few things done and set the agenda for the next decade or two."

"Go on."

"I know you like history."

"Yes."

"Isn't it true that Truman was the first president to call for universal health care, something even Nixon advocated, and then decades later Obamacare was approved and upheld? So who knows--maybe the things that Bernie wants to do could over time have the same results."

"Could be."

"Who was it who said that journeys of a thousand miles begin with a single step? Even revolutions."

I sensed she was smiling. Feeling good about herself.

"You know what?"

"What?"

"I love you. Very much."

September 18, 2014--Ladies of Forest Trace: Briefly Noted

These days I call my mother at least once a day.

For decades, we used to speak on Sundays. At precisely 12:00. She loved to demonstrate that she was in command of all her faculties by dialing at the stroke of noon, feeling especially proud of herself on those two time-change Sundays a year when we leapt forward or fell back. Those calls always began with a proud, self-satisfied chuckle.

But now that she is nearly three months past 106 and losing stamina and concentration, since I want as much of her as I had in the past when our conversations would last an hour or so, now my seven to ten calls a week add up to about that amount of time. I also know that we're nearing . . .

I want the time together, just being with her, but also to hear her very-late-in-life thoughts.

*   *   *

"Very bad today."

"I can hear. Your breathing sounds labored."

"Labored . . . that's a good word . . . for me."

When I could sense her almost panting I would chatter away to fill the space, to relieve her of the need to hold up her end of the conversation.  "I spoke with Estelle as she sounded good. She is liking where she's living. Making lots of new fiends and--"

"She visited. . . . That was good. . . . She didn't stay long. Which is also good. I can't entertain like--"

"You know you don't have to do that," I interrupted, "Your visitors just want to be with you. Estelle tells me that her favorite thing is just to sit with you, not talk, and hold your hand."

"She's a sweetheart."

*   *   *

"Today I'm feeling unhappy."

She says this rarely, never wanting to upset me, members of the family, or any of her many friends, so I was concerned.

"Any reason?"

"Many. . . . Too many."

"Tell me one." Her breathing was strong and she sounded to be in good form so I decided to ask rather than attempt to change the subject, to try to save her from unnecessary aggravation.

"Israel."

"I think I know--"

"Maybe you do. Maybe you don't."

"So tell me."

"I'm trying to." Her feistiness pleased me. A glimmer of how she had been in the past, over the years.

"Tell me."

"They need to build those houses?"

"In the West Bank?"

"There. After what they did to the children, in their schools in Geezer." I didn't correct her. "I know Gaza. Gaza. I still have some marbles."
"Indeed you do."
"It's a shonda."

No correction needed.

*   *   *

She surprised me by calling a little past noon on Sunday. As in the past, she chuckled at her ability to still do that. I thought to be only 10 minutes "late" was wonderful. Actually, amazing.

"I just wanted to hear your voice," she said, sounding weak. "Call me later. . . . Tonight. You'll be up?" 

Night for her is 6:30 when she gets ready for bed.

"I think I will be. I'll call you then."

"My love to you."

That's all I ever need to hear.

*   *   *

When I called, she asked, "Can you tell me what to think about IRIS?"

"I think you mean ISIS."

"IRIS, ISIS, or whatever Barack Obama calls them."

"For some reason he insists on calling them ISIL."

"I thought I heard that in his speech. My hearing aid batteries were getting weak so I couldn't listen to everything."

"Please, Mom, change them whenever this happens. It's so important to hear--"

"Do you know how much they cost? The batteries?"

"Thankfully you can afford to change them whenever you need to. That's one thing you shouldn't scrimp--"

"Let's change the subject. Batteries are not what I wanted to talk about. Before I have to lie down, tell me about them. Call them whatever you like."

"I'm no authority but they are a very violent jihadist group that wants to take control of much of Syria, Iraq, and who knows what else."

"And kill everyone who stands in their way?"

"I'm afraid so." I was concerned about the direction of this upsetting conversation so close to her bedtime. She has trouble enough sleeping through the night. But she persisted.

"Obama wants to bomb them?"

"I'm not sure he wants to. I think it's as much the political pressure he is feeling to do something."

"Something I can understand but bombing, which will lead to sending boys there, no? First bombing, then boots."

"So what should he do? What should we do? America?"

"What, we did so wonderful in Iraq? In Afghan? Before that in Vietnam? It's always the same story."

"I think you need your rest."

"As your father used to say, 'Rest is for later.'"

I of course knew what he meant.

"You know what he meant?"

I whispered, "I do."

*   *   *

"Morty asked me--he knows how old I am."

She is both proud of the number and vain. So to men, especially, she is reluctant to acknowledge she is more than 106. "He asked, 'Over your very long life, what is the most important thing that happened?'"

"That's a good question. What did you say?"

"I said it's not the things that were discovered and invented. Not cars or airplanes or radio or TV. Or even the medicines that are keeping him and me alive."

"So what did you say?" I wanted to move her along. These days if she unwinds stories slowly, as she enjoys doing, she runs out of gas before she gets to the conclusion.  

"Not the rockets or going to the moon. Not all the civil rights. Not the end of the Russians."

"You mean the end of communism?"

"Thank you, that's what I meant. Important yes. Also defeating the Nazis. Hitler. But that is not most important and Morty, who has a fine education and was principal of a big high school in the Bronx, wanted the most important."

"And?" I could hear she was beginning to flag.

"Women."

"Women?"

"Yes. All the things that happened to them. To us. Voting, unions--my older sisters worked for both of those. How many doctors did you know when you were a boy?"

"You mean women doctors?"

"Yes. And lawyers and scientists and on TV--on the news--and senators and governors. I never believed I would see this in my lifetime. I had to live this long for that."

"It is wonderful."

"How long have there been men and women?"

"Homo sapiens? About 200,000 years. But I know you mean more recently. How long have men and women lived in societies, in cities, in civilizations?

"All of that. That's thousands of years too?"

"Yes. Maybe 10,000."

"And during all that time, almost everywhere, women were 'second-class citizens,' as your father used to say." She laughed remembering that.

"That's true."

"So nothing changed more than that. As I said to Morty, nothing more important."

"I agree."

"I saw most of this happen. In my lifetime. Which is a very long one, but I'm not thousands of years old." She paused. "Though some days I feel like I am. . . . But not today."

"Why not today?"

"I saw Hillary's speech in Iowa. I mean on the TV. Did you?"

"Yes. I thought she did well."

"So all I have to do is live until I'm 108 to see her become president. Then I'll be happy. . . . And ready."