Change of plans

The suspense is over. Trump’s vision of intolerance, division, and suspicion without understanding has won this battle. That’s what I see on the official form stating that I, as a US citizen, have not been granted a visa to visit the Islamic Republic of Iran.

It sucks. I was supposed to leave this Saturday. Think they’ll refund my flights?

The richness and beauty of Iran are plenty of reason to go, but that was just the beginning. To give a little business to my Turkish friends whose livelihood has been annihilated by world events was also a good reason. But most of all, can you imagine a more important time to travel than right now?

Right now, when our petulant toddler tyrant is stomping around the White House and the headlines doing daily damage to peace, hope, and the fabric of international society. Right now, when extremists on their fringes want us to mistrust and misunderstand each other. When the continued barrage of sinister manipulation relies on us not knowing better than to trust their insults and depredations. Can you imagine a more important time to go see the reality of our shared human nature?

Now is a very good time to go to Iran. Now is an essential time to go to Iran. But now is, apparently, an impossible time to go to Iran. And it’s breaking my heart.

Trump issued his anti-human, make America sinister again executive order, and Iran reciprocated. I can’t really blame them. A number of countries follow the quid pro quo principle, identical visa fees & restrictions etc. These countries are the most exorbitant and arduous to enter, that many of us tend to avoid. Makes sense, but sucks anyway. Barriers to mutual human comprehension and affection.

It’s rainy, I feel a little sick, and the forces of intolerance seem to be winning the future right now. Terribly tempting to get back in bed and hibernate until joy comes back or we sink into the sea.

Except I love the rain. Always have. Since childhood, running out to sit in the car to hear it better. And that subtle disturbance in the back of my throat isn’t a cold, it’s my body processing the last of the libations and inhalations of a Portland celebration. Manifest joy. And the pinch-mouthed forces that want to divide us? The Trumps and Islamophobes? Are they winning?

Yes. The battle. Because we let them make it a battle. But that’s inaccurate. Human society is not a battle. Human society is growth. It’s a plant, not a weed-whacker. Abundance, not violence. Progression, not transgression. The human character is built of love and kindness, it takes trauma to twist it away from that. And Trump is definitely trauma.

Unfortunately, damage is cyclical, hereditary, and easy. Easy as a stamp on a piece of paper. So I’m not going to Iran next week. But this is more important than my travel plans. This is the world we want to live in, aggressive or progressive, our choice.  So I’m going to stay here, nurture my kindness in the face of presidential bitterness, and wait until I can go. I will go to Iran. When reason returns. I’m looking forward to it already.

It's all one world

My bus pulled up for a WC break on the way to Phuong Nha, Vietnam. A man drove a truck into a Christmas market in Berlin, Germany. Thousands of miles apart, but it’s all one world. And lately it feels like it’s all going to shit.

But it’s not. And Vietnam has reminded me of that.

Found these in an overgrown lot in Hue. Not on anyone's Things to See List.

When my demographic thinks “Vietnam” we think of pho (soup), Vietnamese friends, stories heard or told of travel’s beauty here. And probably those movies about someone else’s war. I arrived knowing little about it beyond what Oliver Stone told me and it’s entirely possible I could have left without learning much more.

The possibility is both troubling and beautiful. Troubling, because visitors, especially Americans, should know about what happened here during the twenty morally reprehensible years of war my country inflicted on this region in order to take away their freedom and advance our economic interests.

But beautiful because of the way the people here have talked to me about the war. 40 years is long enough to fade from America’s awareness but not to erase the memories from those who saw it firsthand. Trauma like that stays with an individual and a society, whether you fought or not, your village burned or not, your family died or not.

Yet when my bus pulled in for that bathroom break and I got to chatting with the driver in words and gestures, he communicated the same thing I’ve heard again and again in this wonderful country (if I bring it up).

Would it matter where she's from? How
she worships? No. You'd protect her too

“You say ‘I from America’ and” he made that relaxed shoulder shrug gesture of peacefulness. “No problem! America, Vietnam, friend friend! War is over. Friend friend!” He wanted me to know that even if his father was in the war, even if we were about to drive over Hien Luong Bridge that divided North and South, even if these towns watched their children die and the very land burned bare by toxins dropped without conscience, that’s in the past, and he holds no grudge. Feels no separation between us. And that’s what I’m holding on to today.

Because there are people trying to pull us apart. They are small in number and vast in influence. They want this religion to blame that religion. This nationality to hate that nationality. These people at peace to distrust those people fleeing war. Our division is their gain. Our fear is their advantage. And our misplaced antipathy is our own destruction.

Because Berlin is Phuong Nha is Damascus is San Francisco. It’s all one world. We’re all one people. And if my Vietnamese bus driver, whose father was killed by a US bomb, can pat me on the shoulder and share his food then we are brothers, no matter what came before. And my German friends, regardless of what faced our grandparents, are all family on this sad day. As are my Syrian friends, grieving kin as bombs murder the entire city of Aleppo, feeling our anger but united in hope for a better future for us all.

That's exactly it. Vietnamese kid in a New York shirt,
and it's the peace sign for everyone.

So yes, lately it feels like it’s all going to shit. And in some ways damn right it is. But then again, maybe it always feels like it’s going that way, every year’s “lately.” But the fact I cling to, the firsthand observation I trust, is that even if some other guy drove a truck into a market today, my guy drove our bus to a moment of friendship. And the latter is more common by far. The latter is the majority, the hope, and the future.

Yes it’s all one world. And no it’s not all going to shit.