Entries from September 2003 ↓

Some lessons are learned only through adversity. Too many years of failed Republican administrations at the federal, state and local level has people of color across New York State organizing in new and exciting ways.

We’ve got an illegally appointed liar in the White House, another incompetent in the Governor’s mansion in Albany, and a billionaire businessman here in NYC, none of whom are in touch with the needs of people of color or middle and working class communities. So across this state, people are taking matters into their own hands and working to get more of our own into office.

The newest player to watch is the Raise the Roof! Political Action Committee, founded by two-time Democratic Lt. Governor candidate Charlie King. This statewide organization was created specifically to encourage, support, and provide financial resources to emerging leaders from communities of color.

Money is the engine that drives any campaign, and Raise the Roof wants to connect candidates of color who are seeking office with major contributors. In October, they’ll hold a fundraiser reception in support of Rochester’s incumbent mayor and Monroe County Executive candidate William A. Johnson, and Yonkers mayoral candidate Joe Farmer.

Meanwhile here in NYC, the two-year-old Out People of Color Political Action Club, the nation’s first political organization run by and for lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgendered people of color, continues its efforts to support the citywide slate of candidates they have endorsed. In an off year election, interest in the general election is low at best, but the club was successful in getting progressive-minded candidates from across the five boroughs to respond to their questionnaire, attend their endorsement meeting in July, and list OutPOCPAC among their list of endorsements. In its first two years, the club was quite successful in backing winning candidates and raising their awareness of LGBT people of color issues.

With the 2004 presidential election campaign already heating up, people of color here in New York State recognize that sitting on the sidelines is not an option.

Mic check, one, two, one two…

[clears throat] Hello. Is anybody out there? I’m about ready to begin.

What started out as just a passing comment, resulted in a domain, grew into a full-fledged project, and is now a near completed site ready for my regular entries. It has been a bit of everything emotionally; mild interest, curiosity, excitement, ambivalence, fear, caution and now renewed enthusiasm, as a lot of effort has finally come to fruition.

And that effort has come largely through the help of other people who I must acknowledge. EJ gave this blog its impetus. My skydiving partner turned an idle thought into the gift of a domain registration. I guess when you have your own name on a website, you’re obliged to do something with it, so I started giving more serious thought to a blog. But yours truly lacks even the most basic computer skills–it’s like me and cars; I can drive well, but I never look under the hood–so others would have to be enlisted to get this off the ground.

Kevin did the heavy lifting. To him I owe many thanks for taking my concepts and turning them into something far more attractive and functional than I envisioned. It’s gone through changes, tweaks and tinkering, and will continue to for at least a little while, but I am very pleased with what has resulted. Even though I’ll never grasp all the coding that’s required, I am learning on some basic level the philosophy behind it all, so that’s educational.

Equally enlightening has been reading other people’s blogs, many of whom are listed in my linques section. Some of these are people I know offline, others only through the net. But regular reading has given me ideas about what I can and want to do here, how personal or not I want to make this, as well as the sense of community and fun that can develop. Thanks to all of you for your inspiration.

So I guess it’s all on me now. Bejata is all of the random thoughts that creep into my mind on any given day. Both personally and professionally I think about a lot of things and this gives me a place to put them down and share them with others. It will also hopefully rekindle the muse I lost on 9/11 and get me back in the practice of regular writing.

As this site was getting closer to reality, I started to think about why anyone would start a blog, pro and con.

The pro, is because you think you have something important to say. A blog is your own personal mass media outlet, where you can be as creative as you want to be to speak your own piece.

The con, is because you think you have something important to say. Blogging can easily turn into self-absorption, an inflated sense of one’s own importance and the significance of one’s own words. Finding a healthy balance then is the key.

I have no idea how frequently I’ll post, but I suspect a lot at first, before tapering off. In any event, I’m looking forward to it.

Thank you for letting me share.

When it comes to movies, I am partial to independent and foreign films. At $10 a pop here in New York, I don�t like wasting money on typically over-hyped, poorly written, highly commercial Hollywood drivel that�s only gonna wind up on DVD before the year is out. I like a film with a story and strong character development that stimulates thought in some way.

So I was delighted to view a first rate example of classic French cinema recently, �Touchez pas au grisbi� (1953) at Film Forum. Set in postwar Paris, this film noir drama tries to answer the question, is there any honor among thieves?

The title means �don�t touch the loot;� the loot or grisbi in this case being 50 million francs worth of gold bouillon recently stolen by Max, an aging gangster played by Jean Gabin, and his long time partner in crime Riton, (Ren� Dary). This was to be their last heist and enough to provide a sizable nest egg for their retirement. As the movie opens, the crime has already taken place and they are enjoying a night on the town, waiting for the heat to blow over so they can fence the bars.

But a dishonest dame with loose lips–Riton�s much younger girlfriend Josy (Jeanne Moreau)–spills the beans to an untrustworthy drug dealer Angelo (Lino Ventura) with whom she�s having an affair. He sets his sights on stealing the loot. That�s where the plot thickens.

As the two sides try to outsmart each other, it�s a test not only of wits, but experience, reputation and class. The network of confidants Max is able to call upon when Riton is taken hostage is reflective of the place of honor he holds in this community of criminals, a place no doubt earned through years of discerning just who to trust and who not. Max�s suave sophistication, well appointed hideout, impressive wardrobe, including a slew of fancy double breasted suits and silk pajamas, and typically French way with the women, set him in contrast to his counterpart, the brutish Angelo, who isn�t even trusted by a nightclub owner who allows him to push his wares in his club.

This film evokes a style of subtle cool specific to the era and locale, and was inspired by and the inspiration for many more gangster films of the 40�s and 50�s on both sides of the Atlantic. As a period piece it holds up well a half century later. One wonders why a modern day remake hasn�t been attempted. But then Hollywood would probably screw it up and put someone untalented like Ben Affleck or Tom Cruise in it.

[bejata is still under construction, but we pause to mark the occasion.]

What I remember most about September 11 was that it started out as just a beautiful day weather wise. Not too hot, not too cold, a picture perfect blue sky and not a cloud in sight. Simply gorgeous.

I woke up excited because it was election day. The party primaries were being held, and that year because of term limits, the entire New York City government was going to be overhauled. After too many damn years of Giuliani we would get a new mayor, public advocate, comptroller, borough presidents and almost the entire city council. I had been active in a brand new political organization, the Out People of Color Political Action Club and we had made our first endorsements and were aggressively trying to get out behind our candidates. So I wanted to start my day by getting to the polls to cast my vote before heading downtown to work.

On any other day I leave my apartment building, walk west to Broadway then down five blocks to take the 9 train to my office. But my polling station was a block east. After voting, I thought it was too much trouble to retrace my steps, so decided to continue east another block and take the local C train to work instead. It would place me about the same distance from my office, just on another street, and I’d get a different perspective on the morning commute.

The train pulled into the station at 8th Avenue and 25th Street at about 8:50 am. I climbed the stairs to the street and saw a group of people standing in the intersection, all looking southward. I looked up and saw a clear view of the Twin Towers. However the North Tower had a gaping hole in it and smoke was slowly billowing out.

A crossing guard mentioned that a plane had just hit the building. My first thought was to the story of the airplane that hit the Empire State Building sometime back in the 1940’s. But that happened during a fog. This was a clear day. I also thought, maybe it was a small private plane like a Cessna, but then as I stared I realized that gaping whole was several stories wide. I looked at my watch, it was now five minutes to 9, and I remember thinking, “I just hope not too many people have gotten to work yet.”

I had a 10:30 training session to conduct with a client over in Brooklyn and needed to get to my office, but I still wanted to find out more about what was going on. When I arrived, none of my co-workers were even aware that the plane had hit. We didn’t have a tv or radio in our area, so I tried the only way I knew how, the Internet. Nothing there yet.

I continued to prepare for my appointment when a few minutes later another co-worker came through with information that a second plane had hit the other tower. Shock and disbelief was my reaction, with fear creeping up fast. This was not an accident and we all realized that instantly.

My office was on the 9th Floor, but our main office was up on 12, so many of us went up there where there was a tv set in the kitchen. We got news on that showed the smoking buildings and told us whatever they knew, which wasn’t much. Outside, you could hear sirens racing down 7th Avenue, and a palpable fear gripped everyone in the room. Outside our kitchen window we have a clear and unobstructed view of the Empire State Building just a few blocks over, and no one knew if that would be another target.

As can be expected when you have little to no information, speculation runs rampant. As word that a third plane had struck the Pentagon down in Washington, we knew we were under attack, but from who? How many more were coming? When and where? All the while there was no one telling us what the hell was happening and what to do to be safe.

As a staff of social service workers who have a responsibility to help other people through crises, we tried to keep brave faces on, but tears and just-below-the-surface hysteria were getting the best of us. A consultant we used who was in to conduct a training that day, was in near panic. Her company office was in the Towers and her co-workers were all back there. I clearly recall wondering if I was going to die that day. I thought about how at 41 years old I still had things I wanted to do, but no certainty at that moment I’d ever get a chance to do them. I thought about how I don’t have any family in New York and that I might not get a chance to say goodbye to my loved ones. We just didn’t know what was happening and how long it would continue.

There is a blurriness to my memory now as to what happened between the time the plane hit the Pentagon and the 10:00 hour when we were told we could go home. We were all just trying to get information and figure out what to do. The subways had been shut down and bridges and tunnels closed, so traffic was not going in or out of NYC at all. Ever the responsible one, I tried to contact my 10:30 appointment to tell them I wouldn’t be able to get there, but apparently they had already vacated or just not come in because I only got voicemail. I would find out days later, the husband of one of the people I was to meet with narrowly got out of the Towers alive. Also, had I left for my appointment, my train to Brooklyn would have taken me directly under the World Trade Center.

Again, with blurry recollection, I remember being up in the office kitchen with everyone else, as we watched the tv images of the first Tower collapsing. Screaming, crying and wide-eyed amazement was all we could manage. I felt my heart racing but my breath unable to keep pace. What in the world was happening. This was like a very bad dream, a very scary movie I didn’t want to see any more. What else was going to happen?

They told us to go home. There was nothing we could do there and if we had family, surely we’d want to be with them now. I don’t remember if we had to walk down 12 flights or if elevators were still operating, but I wound up on the 26th Street side of the building with a co-worker. She and I both lived way uptown and had no idea how we were getting home. We decided we’d walk to 6th Avenue to see if we could get the #5 bus.

As we got close to the intersection, a wave of people began running south, stopping to look up. We ran too to see what was up, and as I got there, a cloud of dust and debris was forming at the top of the remaining tower. An image that can only be described as surreal unfolded before my eyes as the second tower collapsed onto itself, one floor at a time, reduced to rubble in what were mere seconds. Cries of “Oh my God!” and “Oh shit!” seemed to be automatic responses from everyone present. Sadness and rage overtook people on the street. My co-worker began to cry, and I tried vainly to comfort her while tears streamed down my own face.

I looked at the gaping hole in the skyline where two 110 story buildings had once stood and it was as if someone was playing a cruel trick on us. Those buildings were just there a few hours earlier. And what happened to all the people inside? It was too horrible to imagine.

The thing that sticks out the most now about the long walk home that day is that unless you were there, you have no idea how frightened everyone was. Pictures of the masses of people walking cannot convey the emotional tension that gripped the city. Those of us on the street probably had the least information of anyone in the country. To top it off, cellphones and pay phones weren’t working. Their antennas and switching equipment were all located in the Towers. Many local tv and radio stations lost their signals as well. We had no information except the knowledge that we’d been victims of some sort of terrorist attack by unknown attackers.

New York streets are always crowded, but at 10:45 that morning, they were jam-packed. The eery part of it was everyone seemed to be walking in the same direction, and EVERYONE was having the same conversation. You could eavesdrop on any two people and hear discussion of the same topic. That just doesn’t happen.

Along the route, bank ATM machines and supermarkets had long lines. Cash and provisions were being acquired for the unforeseeable future. Parents were arriving at schools to get their kids. Instant carpools were being formed by strangers all headed to the same vicinity.

My frustration at not being able to reach family was abated when I remembered my two-way pager. I stopped around 62nd Street and tapped out emails to my brothers in Delaware and Maryland letting them know I was ok, but very scared. Several blocks later I got replies, and learned later that they had reached other family that I could not.

Arriving home hours later, the rest of my day was spent in confusion, exhaustion, anger, depression, all of which would be compounded several times over in the weeks and months that followed. The media was no help, replaying images of the burning buildings over and over again, insensitive to the trauma so many of us had faced.

I remember the thankless search for loved ones, and how any blank wall in the city became a bulletin board for “Missing” and “Have you seen…” posters put up by the family and friends of those who worked in the Towers. They hung onto hope that somehow their family members had gotten out and were someplace safe. But as the days and weeks passed, and reality set in, these posters became memorial sites for all those who had died that day.

Last year I was very deliberately vacationing out of the country on this date because I wasn’t ready for the onslaught of remembrances. I had only just then stopped having dreams about seeing the tower collapsing.

Two years later, I know I’m not completely over it, but I’m a little better.

If you are looking at this page, you’ve no doubt stumbled upon it by accident. Soon, I don’t know quite when, this will be my new blog site. I haven’t told anyone about it yet.

Check back in the very near future to see if I’m up and running.