Letter

January 14, 2012
I often find that I write in my sleep, casting words and ideas out into the unknown. But upon waking, I knew that you were meant to be the recipient of this letter. [ -- ]

Occupy Wall Street is a symptom of American societal and political degradation and decadence. I hope that it is not the result of the country's first death throes and collapse. But the scene isn't pretty.

I hope it is the start of a proper revolution, the most American action I can imagine, but I am pressed to find enough structure holding it all together. Rather, I see scaffolding hoisted against a burned building--in other words, merely the preparation for repair. No blue print. No clear plan of remedy.

But the organization surrounding the protests of the Congressional legislation, SOPA and PIPA, does demonstrate structure. I am thoroughly impressed and proud. The organized demonstrations in protest of these two cousins of proposed law give me reason to doubt my certainty that the United States has doomed itself, buried itself alive under miles of apathy, ignorance, and (ultimately) stupidity. Perhaps there are enough of us left to organize with a purpose, to produce a concrete focus of opposition, to halt the country's race towards a fascist era that hides behind the thin gauze of democratic rhetoric. What a republic we are!

From abroad, I do my part. I sign petitions, I send revealing articles to friends and family to make them aware of the cesspool of which they are in the midst. Interesting, isn't it, how one can be just as involved in revolution from abroad as those remaining within specific geographical borders. One could argue that those involved via virtual platforms are even more potent than those standing physically on the ground--on Wall Street, or in front of the Capitol.

If the online boycott successfully shuts down Google, Reddit, Mozilla, Facebook, Twitter, you name it--this Wednesday, tell me, how is this less damaging than causing the ground beneath our feet to disappear? [ -- ] The virtual platform is more crucial to the survival of governmental and societal integrity in today's world than physical ground.

And from this position, I cannot help but wonder: Am I a coward? Did I flee? Did I give up too soon? A country is not a playground from which we can enter and exit with abandon -- I still carry the burden of my citizenship and everything that means, whether I am aware of all implications or not. The country still carries me. And now another. I possess the passports of two nations now, fully aware of the fact that with those citizenships I both enjoy the privileges and accept the responsibility of histories, atrocities, and glories of two nations.

My heart is with Israel but my mind is with America. My mind is with America's rise and fall while my heart is with the miracle of Israel's desert-turned green.

Perhaps it is time for me to come back. There is something to be said, after all, for those of us who can create real-world results. from the virtual "other side". The pen is a sword and true patriotism cannot and will not be silenced even coming from an ex-patriot.

The Modernists wrote very loudly, indeed, from beyond their own borders. And Joyce (though not American) only found home once he left.

"Happy New year," says the girl on the corner,
"Wouldn't know what I'd do without you, my love."
"Happy New Year," says the boy across the street
as he waits for the  man on the sign to turn from red to green.
"I'll be coming on over to you soon, my love."

And meanwhile, the construction crews set up shop,
place a new layer of tar under our shoes.
The girl waits at the corner, reads up on her New Year's news.

The crew blocks her view of her
boy by the light--
It's been hours now and she just can't wait all night.
So she turns, heads home,
pours herself some scotch,
only cure that works, blocks out the things she's lost
until the morning when she wakes
to the clock, singing "Noon!"

She goes down again, waits for the boy, 'cause he
said he'd be home soon.
"Happy New Year," she says, a year gone by now,
"I wouldn't know what to do without you, my love."