Si crees que se le esta acabando el vuelo no
esto esta comenzando el dazon ya empezo a tocar
y no ha terminado no
el paso del tiempo va imponiendo el respeto
y la calidad va mano a mano con la cantidad
viene(viene) viene marcando la pauta
y el sentimiento mi vida empieza desde adentro
siempre brota lo que siento es verdad
lo digo y me comprometo responsable soy
y lo lamento pero creo que el crecimiento
por ahora esta en el mejor momento
el amanecer siempre aparece corrigiendo al anochecer
y las cosas que se ven nacer hay que verlas madurar y crecer
viviendo por suerte clandestinamente
mas no estaba muerto solamente ausente
si paré de pronto nunca indiferente
no acabo el danzon y sigue igual que siempre
si continua el corazon ritmos unidos sobre ilusion
noche a noche se escucha la voz
los de tambores acordes y son
mandar obedeciendo es el danzon
songorocosongobe songorocosongo de mamey
que se estaba dando en cada rincon
que esta sonando en tu corazon
suenan que suenan las cartas sobre la mesa
no hay quien detenga esto nadie se mueva
asi es todo tiene su tiempo y si estas dispuesto
a sembrar y cultivar hay que ver el fruto madurar
hasta donde puede llegar solo hay que desarrollar
ampliar solamente crear es immenso el lugar
espacio suficiente como para cohabitar escucha
mi tierra hace el eco entre las montañas
y hace camino al concreto señales de humo
que van creciendo cada dia mas
tratando de comunicar exponiendo los adentros
a la luz como van sin borrar nada sin tapar nada
sin ocultar nada
se presentan testimonios reales
el sentimiento no es maz que puras verdades
reuniendo por suerte discretamente
mas no estaba lejos respectivamente
asi lo que se mueve proviene del vientre
no acabo el danzon y ha de seguir pa siempre
si se ha dado la ocacion ciertos sonidos
de imaginacion dia a dia que visita el sol
los de tambores acordes y son
mandar obedeciendo en el danzon
songorocosongo songobe(songorocosongo songobe)
songorocosongo de mamey(songorocosongo songobe)
es guardar silencio de movimiento
ayunar de color de sonido
ser mujer viejo y niño y dejarse llevar
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Monday, July 7, 2008
Laberinto de la Soledad
"Y ahora, de pronto, hemos llegado al límite: en unos cuantos años hemos agotado todas las formas históricas que poseía Europa. No nos queda sino la desnudez o la mentira. Pues tras este derrumbe general [...] no se levantan ya nuevos o viejos sistemas intelectuales, capaces de albergar nuestra angustia y tranquilizar nuestro desconcierto; frente a nosotros no hay nada. Estamos al fin solos. Como todos los hombres. Como ellos, vivimos el mundo de la violencia, de la simulación y del "ninguneo": el de la sociedad cerrada, que si nos defiende nos oprime y que al ocultarnos nos desfigura y nos mutila. Si no arrancamos esas máscaras, si no nos abrimos, si, en fin, nos afrontamos, empezamos a vivir y pensar de verdad. Nos aguarda una desnudez y un desamparo. Allí, en la soledad abierta, nos espera también la trascendencia: las manos de otros solitarios. Somos, por primera vez en nuestra historia, contemporáneos de todos los hombres."
-Octavio Paz
-Octavio Paz
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Eleanor Rigby
Ah, look at all the lonely people
Ah, look at all the lonely people
Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice in the church where a wedding has been
Lives in a dream
Waits at the window, wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door
Who is it for?
All the lonely people
Where do they all come from ?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong ?
Father McKenzie writing the words of a sermon that no one will hear
No one comes near.
Look at him working. Darning his socks in the night when there's nobody there
What does he care?
All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?
Eleanor Rigby died in the church and was buried along with her name
Nobody came
Father McKenzie wiping the dirt from his hands as he walks from the grave
No one was saved
All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?
-The Beatles
Ah, look at all the lonely people
Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice in the church where a wedding has been
Lives in a dream
Waits at the window, wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door
Who is it for?
All the lonely people
Where do they all come from ?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong ?
Father McKenzie writing the words of a sermon that no one will hear
No one comes near.
Look at him working. Darning his socks in the night when there's nobody there
What does he care?
All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?
Eleanor Rigby died in the church and was buried along with her name
Nobody came
Father McKenzie wiping the dirt from his hands as he walks from the grave
No one was saved
All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?
-The Beatles
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Lecciones de Geografia
Hace tiempo estaba atendiendo a una clase de Geografía Cultural en San Francisco State. El profesor era todo un experto y gran parte de su clase se basaba en experiencias que él ha tenido en viajes, mostrando fotos y contando anécdotas.
La lección que más me llamó la atención fue acerca de la historia de la hambruna en un país de Africa. Hace algunos cientos de años, lo que ahora era un desierto, era una zona con mucha vegetación. La cultura que habitaba la zona era gente nómada que criaba ganado. El ganado era más que nada un símbolo de estatus. El patriarca que más ganado tenía era el más poderoso... algo así como tener carros lujosos en occidente.
Según el profesor, la vegetación se empezó a acabar cuando llegaron a la zona antibióticos del occidente. Estos se usaron con el ganado y permitieron que la gente pudiera tener mucho más ganado que antes. En un principio debieron sentirse como los reyes del mundo con más vacas que nunca. Pero las vacas se comen el zacate y poco a poco el ecosistema fue incapáz de sostener estos nuevos habitos. Cuando se acaba el zacate, la tierra se vuelve polvosa y no sostiene bien la lluvia. La arena hace la temperatura más caliente (porque refleja más la luz y el calor del sol), esto a su vez hace que haya menos lluvia. Este circulo vicioso concluye por convertir la zona en un desierto.
Esta es sólo una lección más... de las que parece que nunca aprehendemos nada. Lo único que parece tener un impacto en nuestro comportamiento es la escazes.
La lección que más me llamó la atención fue acerca de la historia de la hambruna en un país de Africa. Hace algunos cientos de años, lo que ahora era un desierto, era una zona con mucha vegetación. La cultura que habitaba la zona era gente nómada que criaba ganado. El ganado era más que nada un símbolo de estatus. El patriarca que más ganado tenía era el más poderoso... algo así como tener carros lujosos en occidente.
Según el profesor, la vegetación se empezó a acabar cuando llegaron a la zona antibióticos del occidente. Estos se usaron con el ganado y permitieron que la gente pudiera tener mucho más ganado que antes. En un principio debieron sentirse como los reyes del mundo con más vacas que nunca. Pero las vacas se comen el zacate y poco a poco el ecosistema fue incapáz de sostener estos nuevos habitos. Cuando se acaba el zacate, la tierra se vuelve polvosa y no sostiene bien la lluvia. La arena hace la temperatura más caliente (porque refleja más la luz y el calor del sol), esto a su vez hace que haya menos lluvia. Este circulo vicioso concluye por convertir la zona en un desierto.
Esta es sólo una lección más... de las que parece que nunca aprehendemos nada. Lo único que parece tener un impacto en nuestro comportamiento es la escazes.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Truthiness
"We're at a point where what constitutes truth is a question on a lot of people's minds, and truth has become up for grabs", said Merriam-Webster president John Morse. "'Truthiness' is a playful way for us to think about a very important issue.
(Truthiness is a word that U.S. television comedian Stephen Colbert popularized in 2005 as a satirical term to describe things that a person claims to know intuitively or "from the gut" without regard to evidence, logic, intellectual examination, or facts.)
*from wikipedia
(Truthiness is a word that U.S. television comedian Stephen Colbert popularized in 2005 as a satirical term to describe things that a person claims to know intuitively or "from the gut" without regard to evidence, logic, intellectual examination, or facts.)
*from wikipedia
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Friday, March 21, 2008
No Country For Old Men
Por fin ví la película ganadora del Oscar este año. Es una película interesante. Me costó un poco entender el significado de una película que nunca revela las motivaciones de su personaje principal.
No quiero arruinarsela a nadie. Simplemente mencionaré que lo que creo que hay que ver en esta película es la forma en que la sociedad estadounidense reacciona a un mounstro; un mounstro realista... que nos recuerda a lo peor de un terrorista, un mercenario... un personaje de una crueldad imposible de entender pero a la vez de una apariencia menos amenazante de lo que uno pensaría.
No quiero arruinarsela a nadie. Simplemente mencionaré que lo que creo que hay que ver en esta película es la forma en que la sociedad estadounidense reacciona a un mounstro; un mounstro realista... que nos recuerda a lo peor de un terrorista, un mercenario... un personaje de una crueldad imposible de entender pero a la vez de una apariencia menos amenazante de lo que uno pensaría.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Raza
El discurso que Barak Obama dió tratando el tema de relaciones raciales en Estados Unidos recientemente sobrepasó mis expectativas de lo que por mucho tiempo pensé que sería capaz un político. No porque no esté acostumbrado a calidad en discursos políticos, al contrario, recientemente leí otro discurso político que me pareció técnicamente excelente: la resignación del gobernador Spitzer (debido a un escándalo de prostitución). Lo que me llama atención del discurso de Barak Obama no es tanto la calidad sino el contenido. Como él mismo menciona, la forma en que normalmente se manejan estos discursos es ignorandolos o pintarlos de tal forma que creen divisiones en las que el político siempre queda en el lado ganador. Las relaciones entre distintas razas es un tema increiblemente relevante en casi todas partes del mundo. La globalización nos esta llevando a conocer gente de razas diferentísimas y es importante saber cómo tratar estas diferencias. Y podemos empezar por aprehender de los errores del pasado. Aunque a los políticos nunca se les debe de dar demasiada confianza, tengo que aceptar que me da gusto que Barak Obama empiece a tratar estos temas y espero que nuestra(s) sociedad(es) se enriquezca(n) con más discuciones de éste tipo.
(Esta largo. La verdad yo preferí ver el video.)
"We the people, in order to form a more perfect union."
Two hundred and twenty one years ago, in a hall that still stands across the street, a group of men gathered and, with these simple words, launched America's improbable experiment in democracy. Farmers and scholars; statesmen and patriots who had traveled across an ocean to escape tyranny and persecution finally made real their declaration of independence at a Philadelphia convention that lasted through the spring of 1787.
The document they produced was eventually signed but ultimately unfinished. It was stained by this nation's original sin of slavery, a question that divided the colonies and brought the convention to a stalemate until the founders chose to allow the slave trade to continue for at least twenty more years, and to leave any final resolution to future generations.
Of course, the answer to the slavery question was already embedded within our Constitution - a Constitution that had at is very core the ideal of equal citizenship under the law; a Constitution that promised its people liberty, and justice, and a union that could be and should be perfected over time.
And yet words on a parchment would not be enough to deliver slaves from bondage, or provide men and women of every color and creed their full rights and obligations as citizens of the United States. What would be needed were Americans in successive generations who were willing to do their part - through protests and struggle, on the streets and in the courts, through a civil war and civil disobedience and always at great risk - to narrow that gap between the promise of our ideals and the reality of their time.
This was one of the tasks we set forth at the beginning of this campaign - to continue the long march of those who came before us, a march for a more just, more equal, more free, more caring and more prosperous America. I chose to run for the presidency at this moment in history because I believe deeply that we cannot solve the challenges of our time unless we solve them together - unless we perfect our union by understanding that we may have different stories, but we hold common hopes; that we may not look the same and we may not have come from the same place, but we all want to move in the same direction - towards a better future for of children and our grandchildren.
This belief comes from my unyielding faith in the decency and generosity of the American people. But it also comes from my own American story.
I am the son of a black man from Kenya and a white woman from Kansas. I was raised with the help of a white grandfather who survived a Depression to serve in Patton's Army during World War II and a white grandmother who worked on a bomber assembly line at Fort Leavenworth while he was overseas. I've gone to some of the best schools in America and lived in one of the world's poorest nations. I am married to a black American who carries within her the blood of slaves and slaveowners - an inheritance we pass on to our two precious daughters. I have brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, uncles and cousins, of every race and every hue, scattered across three continents, and for as long as I live, I will never forget that in no other country on Earth is my story even possible.
It's a story that hasn't made me the most conventional candidate. But it is a story that has seared into my genetic makeup the idea that this nation is more than the sum of its parts - that out of many, we are truly one.
Throughout the first year of this campaign, against all predictions to the contrary, we saw how hungry the American people were for this message of unity. Despite the temptation to view my candidacy through a purely racial lens, we won commanding victories in states with some of the whitest populations in the country. In South Carolina, where the Confederate Flag still flies, we built a powerful coalition of African Americans and white Americans.
This is not to say that race has not been an issue in the campaign. At various stages in the campaign, some commentators have deemed me either "too black" or "not black enough." We saw racial tensions bubble to the surface during the week before the South Carolina primary. The press has scoured every exit poll for the latest evidence of racial polarization, not just in terms of white and black, but black and brown as well.
And yet, it has only been in the last couple of weeks that the discussion of race in this campaign has taken a particularly divisive turn.
On one end of the spectrum, we've heard the implication that my candidacy is somehow an exercise in affirmative action; that it's based solely on the desire of wide-eyed liberals to purchase racial reconciliation on the cheap. On the other end, we've heard my former pastor, Reverend Jeremiah Wright, use incendiary language to express views that have the potential not only to widen the racial divide, but views that denigrate both the greatness and the goodness of our nation; that rightly offend white and black alike.
I have already condemned, in unequivocal terms, the statements of Reverend Wright that have caused such controversy. For some, nagging questions remain. Did I know him to be an occasionally fierce critic of American domestic and foreign policy? Of course. Did I ever hear him make remarks that could be considered controversial while I sat in church? Yes. Did I strongly disagree with many of his political views? Absolutely - just as I'm sure many of you have heard remarks from your pastors, priests, or rabbis with which you strongly disagreed.
But the remarks that have caused this recent firestorm weren't simply controversial. They weren't simply a religious leader's effort to speak out against perceived injustice. Instead, they expressed a profoundly distorted view of this country - a view that sees white racism as endemic, and that elevates what is wrong with America above all that we know is right with America; a view that sees the conflicts in the Middle East as rooted primarily in the actions of stalwart allies like Israel, instead of emanating from the perverse and hateful ideologies of radical Islam.
As such, Reverend Wright's comments were not only wrong but divisive, divisive at a time when we need unity; racially charged at a time when we need to come together to solve a set of monumental problems - two wars, a terrorist threat, a falling economy, a chronic health care crisis and potentially devastating climate change; problems that are neither black or white or Latino or Asian, but rather problems that confront us all.
Given my background, my politics, and my professed values and ideals, there will no doubt be those for whom my statements of condemnation are not enough. Why associate myself with Reverend Wright in the first place, they may ask? Why not join another church? And I confess that if all that I knew of Reverend Wright were the snippets of those sermons that have run in an endless loop on the television and You Tube, or if Trinity United Church of Christ conformed to the caricatures being peddled by some commentators, there is no doubt that I would react in much the same way
But the truth is, that isn't all that I know of the man. The man I met more than twenty years ago is a man who helped introduce me to my Christian faith, a man who spoke to me about our obligations to love one another; to care for the sick and lift up the poor. He is a man who served his country as a U.S. Marine; who has studied and lectured at some of the finest universities and seminaries in the country, and who for over thirty years led a church that serves the community by doing God's work here on Earth - by housing the homeless, ministering to the needy, providing day care services and scholarships and prison ministries, and reaching out to those suffering from HIV/AIDS.
In my first book, Dreams From My Father, I described the experience of my first service at Trinity:
"People began to shout, to rise from their seats and clap and cry out, a forceful wind carrying the reverend's voice up into the rafters....And in that single note - hope! - I heard something else; at the foot of that cross, inside the thousands of churches across the city, I imagined the stories of ordinary black people merging with the stories of David and Goliath, Moses and Pharaoh, the Christians in the lion's den, Ezekiel's field of dry bones. Those stories - of survival, and freedom, and hope - became our story, my story; the blood that had spilled was our blood, the tears our tears; until this black church, on this bright day, seemed once more a vessel carrying the story of a people into future generations and into a larger world. Our trials and triumphs became at once unique and universal, black and more than black; in chronicling our journey, the stories and songs gave us a means to reclaim memories that we didn't need to feel shame about...memories that all people might study and cherish - and with which we could start to rebuild."
That has been my experience at Trinity. Like other predominantly black churches across the country, Trinity embodies the black community in its entirety - the doctor and the welfare mom, the model student and the former gang-banger. Like other black churches, Trinity's services are full of raucous laughter and sometimes bawdy humor. They are full of dancing, clapping, screaming and shouting that may seem jarring to the untrained ear. The church contains in full the kindness and cruelty, the fierce intelligence and the shocking ignorance, the struggles and successes, the love and yes, the bitterness and bias that make up the black experience in America.
And this helps explain, perhaps, my relationship with Reverend Wright. As imperfect as he may be, he has been like family to me. He strengthened my faith, officiated my wedding, and baptized my children. Not once in my conversations with him have I heard him talk about any ethnic group in derogatory terms, or treat whites with whom he interacted with anything but courtesy and respect. He contains within him the contradictions - the good and the bad - of the community that he has served diligently for so many years.
I can no more disown him than I can disown the black community. I can no more disown him than I can my white grandmother - a woman who helped raise me, a woman who sacrificed again and again for me, a woman who loves me as much as she loves anything in this world, but a woman who once confessed her fear of black men who passed by her on the street, and who on more than one occasion has uttered racial or ethnic stereotypes that made me cringe.
These people are a part of me. And they are a part of America, this country that I love.
Some will see this as an attempt to justify or excuse comments that are simply inexcusable. I can assure you it is not. I suppose the politically safe thing would be to move on from this episode and just hope that it fades into the woodwork. We can dismiss Reverend Wright as a crank or a demagogue, just as some have dismissed Geraldine Ferraro, in the aftermath of her recent statements, as harboring some deep-seated racial bias.
But race is an issue that I believe this nation cannot afford to ignore right now. We would be making the same mistake that Reverend Wright made in his offending sermons about America - to simplify and stereotype and amplify the negative to the point that it distorts reality.
The fact is that the comments that have been made and the issues that have surfaced over the last few weeks reflect the complexities of race in this country that we've never really worked through - a part of our union that we have yet to perfect. And if we walk away now, if we simply retreat into our respective corners, we will never be able to come together and solve challenges like health care, or education, or the need to find good jobs for every American.
Understanding this reality requires a reminder of how we arrived at this point. As William Faulkner once wrote, "The past isn't dead and buried. In fact, it isn't even past." We do not need to recite here the history of racial injustice in this country. But we do need to remind ourselves that so many of the disparities that exist in the African-American community today can be directly traced to inequalities passed on from an earlier generation that suffered under the brutal legacy of slavery and Jim Crow.
Segregated schools were, and are, inferior schools; we still haven't fixed them, fifty years after Brown v. Board of Education, and the inferior education they provided, then and now, helps explain the pervasive achievement gap between today's black and white students.
Legalized discrimination - where blacks were prevented, often through violence, from owning property, or loans were not granted to African-American business owners, or black homeowners could not access FHA mortgages, or blacks were excluded from unions, or the police force, or fire departments - meant that black families could not amass any meaningful wealth to bequeath to future generations. That history helps explain the wealth and income gap between black and white, and the concentrated pockets of poverty that persists in so many of today's urban and rural communities.
A lack of economic opportunity among black men, and the shame and frustration that came from not being able to provide for one's family, contributed to the erosion of black families - a problem that welfare policies for many years may have worsened. And the lack of basic services in so many urban black neighborhoods - parks for kids to play in, police walking the beat, regular garbage pick-up and building code enforcement - all helped create a cycle of violence, blight and neglect that continue to haunt us.
This is the reality in which Reverend Wright and other African-Americans of his generation grew up. They came of age in the late fifties and early sixties, a time when segregation was still the law of the land and opportunity was systematically constricted. What's remarkable is not how many failed in the face of discrimination, but rather how many men and women overcame the odds; how many were able to make a way out of no way for those like me who would come after them.
But for all those who scratched and clawed their way to get a piece of the American Dream, there were many who didn't make it - those who were ultimately defeated, in one way or another, by discrimination. That legacy of defeat was passed on to future generations - those young men and increasingly young women who we see standing on street corners or languishing in our prisons, without hope or prospects for the future. Even for those blacks who did make it, questions of race, and racism, continue to define their worldview in fundamental ways. For the men and women of Reverend Wright's generation, the memories of humiliation and doubt and fear have not gone away; nor has the anger and the bitterness of those years. That anger may not get expressed in public, in front of white co-workers or white friends. But it does find voice in the barbershop or around the kitchen table. At times, that anger is exploited by politicians, to gin up votes along racial lines, or to make up for a politician's own failings.
And occasionally it finds voice in the church on Sunday morning, in the pulpit and in the pews. The fact that so many people are surprised to hear that anger in some of Reverend Wright's sermons simply reminds us of the old truism that the most segregated hour in American life occurs on Sunday morning. That anger is not always productive; indeed, all too often it distracts attention from solving real problems; it keeps us from squarely facing our own complicity in our condition, and prevents the African-American community from forging the alliances it needs to bring about real change. But the anger is real; it is powerful; and to simply wish it away, to condemn it without understanding its roots, only serves to widen the chasm of misunderstanding that exists between the races.
In fact, a similar anger exists within segments of the white community. Most working- and middle-class white Americans don't feel that they have been particularly privileged by their race. Their experience is the immigrant experience - as far as they're concerned, no one's handed them anything, they've built it from scratch. They've worked hard all their lives, many times only to see their jobs shipped overseas or their pension dumped after a lifetime of labor. They are anxious about their futures, and feel their dreams slipping away; in an era of stagnant wages and global competition, opportunity comes to be seen as a zero sum game, in which your dreams come at my expense. So when they are told to bus their children to a school across town; when they hear that an African American is getting an advantage in landing a good job or a spot in a good college because of an injustice that they themselves never committed; when they're told that their fears about crime in urban neighborhoods are somehow prejudiced, resentment builds over time.
Like the anger within the black community, these resentments aren't always expressed in polite company. But they have helped shape the political landscape for at least a generation. Anger over welfare and affirmative action helped forge the Reagan Coalition. Politicians routinely exploited fears of crime for their own electoral ends. Talk show hosts and conservative commentators built entire careers unmasking bogus claims of racism while dismissing legitimate discussions of racial injustice and inequality as mere political correctness or reverse racism.
Just as black anger often proved counterproductive, so have these white resentments distracted attention from the real culprits of the middle class squeeze - a corporate culture rife with inside dealing, questionable accounting practices, and short-term greed; a Washington dominated by lobbyists and special interests; economic policies that favor the few over the many. And yet, to wish away the resentments of white Americans, to label them as misguided or even racist, without recognizing they are grounded in legitimate concerns - this too widens the racial divide, and blocks the path to understanding.
This is where we are right now. It's a racial stalemate we've been stuck in for years. Contrary to the claims of some of my critics, black and white, I have never been so naïve as to believe that we can get beyond our racial divisions in a single election cycle, or with a single candidacy - particularly a candidacy as imperfect as my own.
But I have asserted a firm conviction - a conviction rooted in my faith in God and my faith in the American people - that working together we can move beyond some of our old racial wounds, and that in fact we have no choice is we are to continue on the path of a more perfect union.
For the African-American community, that path means embracing the burdens of our past without becoming victims of our past. It means continuing to insist on a full measure of justice in every aspect of American life. But it also means binding our particular grievances - for better health care, and better schools, and better jobs - to the larger aspirations of all Americans -- the white woman struggling to break the glass ceiling, the white man whose been laid off, the immigrant trying to feed his family. And it means taking full responsibility for own lives - by demanding more from our fathers, and spending more time with our children, and reading to them, and teaching them that while they may face challenges and discrimination in their own lives, they must never succumb to despair or cynicism; they must always believe that they can write their own destiny.
Ironically, this quintessentially American - and yes, conservative - notion of self-help found frequent expression in Reverend Wright's sermons. But what my former pastor too often failed to understand is that embarking on a program of self-help also requires a belief that society can change.
The profound mistake of Reverend Wright's sermons is not that he spoke about racism in our society. It's that he spoke as if our society was static; as if no progress has been made; as if this country - a country that has made it possible for one of his own members to run for the highest office in the land and build a coalition of white and black; Latino and Asian, rich and poor, young and old -- is still irrevocably bound to a tragic past. But what we know -- what we have seen - is that America can change. That is true genius of this nation. What we have already achieved gives us hope - the audacity to hope - for what we can and must achieve tomorrow.
In the white community, the path to a more perfect union means acknowledging that what ails the African-American community does not just exist in the minds of black people; that the legacy of discrimination - and current incidents of discrimination, while less overt than in the past - are real and must be addressed. Not just with words, but with deeds - by investing in our schools and our communities; by enforcing our civil rights laws and ensuring fairness in our criminal justice system; by providing this generation with ladders of opportunity that were unavailable for previous generations. It requires all Americans to realize that your dreams do not have to come at the expense of my dreams; that investing in the health, welfare, and education of black and brown and white children will ultimately help all of America prosper.
In the end, then, what is called for is nothing more, and nothing less, than what all the world's great religions demand - that we do unto others as we would have them do unto us. Let us be our brother's keeper, Scripture tells us. Let us be our sister's keeper. Let us find that common stake we all have in one another, and let our politics reflect that spirit as well.
For we have a choice in this country. We can accept a politics that breeds division, and conflict, and cynicism. We can tackle race only as spectacle - as we did in the OJ trial - or in the wake of tragedy, as we did in the aftermath of Katrina - or as fodder for the nightly news. We can play Reverend Wright's sermons on every channel, every day and talk about them from now until the election, and make the only question in this campaign whether or not the American people think that I somehow believe or sympathize with his most offensive words. We can pounce on some gaffe by a Hillary supporter as evidence that she's playing the race card, or we can speculate on whether white men will all flock to John McCain in the general election regardless of his policies.
We can do that.
But if we do, I can tell you that in the next election, we'll be talking about some other distraction. And then another one. And then another one. And nothing will change.
That is one option. Or, at this moment, in this election, we can come together and say, "Not this time." This time we want to talk about the crumbling schools that are stealing the future of black children and white children and Asian children and Hispanic children and Native American children. This time we want to reject the cynicism that tells us that these kids can't learn; that those kids who don't look like us are somebody else's problem. The children of America are not those kids, they are our kids, and we will not let them fall behind in a 21st century economy. Not this time.
This time we want to talk about how the lines in the Emergency Room are filled with whites and blacks and Hispanics who do not have health care; who don't have the power on their own to overcome the special interests in Washington, but who can take them on if we do it together.
This time we want to talk about the shuttered mills that once provided a decent life for men and women of every race, and the homes for sale that once belonged to Americans from every religion, every region, every walk of life. This time we want to talk about the fact that the real problem is not that someone who doesn't look like you might take your job; it's that the corporation you work for will ship it overseas for nothing more than a profit.
This time we want to talk about the men and women of every color and creed who serve together, and fight together, and bleed together under the same proud flag. We want to talk about how to bring them home from a war that never should've been authorized and never should've been waged, and we want to talk about how we'll show our patriotism by caring for them, and their families, and giving them the benefits they have earned.
I would not be running for President if I didn't believe with all my heart that this is what the vast majority of Americans want for this country. This union may never be perfect, but generation after generation has shown that it can always be perfected. And today, whenever I find myself feeling doubtful or cynical about this possibility, what gives me the most hope is the next generation - the young people whose attitudes and beliefs and openness to change have already made history in this election.
There is one story in particularly that I'd like to leave you with today - a story I told when I had the great honor of speaking on Dr. King's birthday at his home church, Ebenezer Baptist, in Atlanta.
There is a young, twenty-three year old white woman named Ashley Baia who organized for our campaign in Florence, South Carolina. She had been working to organize a mostly African-American community since the beginning of this campaign, and one day she was at a roundtable discussion where everyone went around telling their story and why they were there.
And Ashley said that when she was nine years old, her mother got cancer. And because she had to miss days of work, she was let go and lost her health care. They had to file for bankruptcy, and that's when Ashley decided that she had to do something to help her mom.
She knew that food was one of their most expensive costs, and so Ashley convinced her mother that what she really liked and really wanted to eat more than anything else was mustard and relish sandwiches. Because that was the cheapest way to eat.
She did this for a year until her mom got better, and she told everyone at the roundtable that the reason she joined our campaign was so that she could help the millions of other children in the country who want and need to help their parents too.
Now Ashley might have made a different choice. Perhaps somebody told her along the way that the source of her mother's problems were blacks who were on welfare and too lazy to work, or Hispanics who were coming into the country illegally. But she didn't. She sought out allies in her fight against injustice.
Anyway, Ashley finishes her story and then goes around the room and asks everyone else why they're supporting the campaign. They all have different stories and reasons. Many bring up a specific issue. And finally they come to this elderly black man who's been sitting there quietly the entire time. And Ashley asks him why he's there. And he does not bring up a specific issue. He does not say health care or the economy. He does not say education or the war. He does not say that he was there because of Barack Obama. He simply says to everyone in the room, "I am here because of Ashley."
"I'm here because of Ashley." By itself, that single moment of recognition between that young white girl and that old black man is not enough. It is not enough to give health care to the sick, or jobs to the jobless, or education to our children.
But it is where we start. It is where our union grows stronger. And as so many generations have come to realize over the course of the two-hundred and twenty one years since a band of patriots signed that document in Philadelphia, that is where the perfection begins.
(Esta largo. La verdad yo preferí ver el video.)
"We the people, in order to form a more perfect union."
Two hundred and twenty one years ago, in a hall that still stands across the street, a group of men gathered and, with these simple words, launched America's improbable experiment in democracy. Farmers and scholars; statesmen and patriots who had traveled across an ocean to escape tyranny and persecution finally made real their declaration of independence at a Philadelphia convention that lasted through the spring of 1787.
The document they produced was eventually signed but ultimately unfinished. It was stained by this nation's original sin of slavery, a question that divided the colonies and brought the convention to a stalemate until the founders chose to allow the slave trade to continue for at least twenty more years, and to leave any final resolution to future generations.
Of course, the answer to the slavery question was already embedded within our Constitution - a Constitution that had at is very core the ideal of equal citizenship under the law; a Constitution that promised its people liberty, and justice, and a union that could be and should be perfected over time.
And yet words on a parchment would not be enough to deliver slaves from bondage, or provide men and women of every color and creed their full rights and obligations as citizens of the United States. What would be needed were Americans in successive generations who were willing to do their part - through protests and struggle, on the streets and in the courts, through a civil war and civil disobedience and always at great risk - to narrow that gap between the promise of our ideals and the reality of their time.
This was one of the tasks we set forth at the beginning of this campaign - to continue the long march of those who came before us, a march for a more just, more equal, more free, more caring and more prosperous America. I chose to run for the presidency at this moment in history because I believe deeply that we cannot solve the challenges of our time unless we solve them together - unless we perfect our union by understanding that we may have different stories, but we hold common hopes; that we may not look the same and we may not have come from the same place, but we all want to move in the same direction - towards a better future for of children and our grandchildren.
This belief comes from my unyielding faith in the decency and generosity of the American people. But it also comes from my own American story.
I am the son of a black man from Kenya and a white woman from Kansas. I was raised with the help of a white grandfather who survived a Depression to serve in Patton's Army during World War II and a white grandmother who worked on a bomber assembly line at Fort Leavenworth while he was overseas. I've gone to some of the best schools in America and lived in one of the world's poorest nations. I am married to a black American who carries within her the blood of slaves and slaveowners - an inheritance we pass on to our two precious daughters. I have brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, uncles and cousins, of every race and every hue, scattered across three continents, and for as long as I live, I will never forget that in no other country on Earth is my story even possible.
It's a story that hasn't made me the most conventional candidate. But it is a story that has seared into my genetic makeup the idea that this nation is more than the sum of its parts - that out of many, we are truly one.
Throughout the first year of this campaign, against all predictions to the contrary, we saw how hungry the American people were for this message of unity. Despite the temptation to view my candidacy through a purely racial lens, we won commanding victories in states with some of the whitest populations in the country. In South Carolina, where the Confederate Flag still flies, we built a powerful coalition of African Americans and white Americans.
This is not to say that race has not been an issue in the campaign. At various stages in the campaign, some commentators have deemed me either "too black" or "not black enough." We saw racial tensions bubble to the surface during the week before the South Carolina primary. The press has scoured every exit poll for the latest evidence of racial polarization, not just in terms of white and black, but black and brown as well.
And yet, it has only been in the last couple of weeks that the discussion of race in this campaign has taken a particularly divisive turn.
On one end of the spectrum, we've heard the implication that my candidacy is somehow an exercise in affirmative action; that it's based solely on the desire of wide-eyed liberals to purchase racial reconciliation on the cheap. On the other end, we've heard my former pastor, Reverend Jeremiah Wright, use incendiary language to express views that have the potential not only to widen the racial divide, but views that denigrate both the greatness and the goodness of our nation; that rightly offend white and black alike.
I have already condemned, in unequivocal terms, the statements of Reverend Wright that have caused such controversy. For some, nagging questions remain. Did I know him to be an occasionally fierce critic of American domestic and foreign policy? Of course. Did I ever hear him make remarks that could be considered controversial while I sat in church? Yes. Did I strongly disagree with many of his political views? Absolutely - just as I'm sure many of you have heard remarks from your pastors, priests, or rabbis with which you strongly disagreed.
But the remarks that have caused this recent firestorm weren't simply controversial. They weren't simply a religious leader's effort to speak out against perceived injustice. Instead, they expressed a profoundly distorted view of this country - a view that sees white racism as endemic, and that elevates what is wrong with America above all that we know is right with America; a view that sees the conflicts in the Middle East as rooted primarily in the actions of stalwart allies like Israel, instead of emanating from the perverse and hateful ideologies of radical Islam.
As such, Reverend Wright's comments were not only wrong but divisive, divisive at a time when we need unity; racially charged at a time when we need to come together to solve a set of monumental problems - two wars, a terrorist threat, a falling economy, a chronic health care crisis and potentially devastating climate change; problems that are neither black or white or Latino or Asian, but rather problems that confront us all.
Given my background, my politics, and my professed values and ideals, there will no doubt be those for whom my statements of condemnation are not enough. Why associate myself with Reverend Wright in the first place, they may ask? Why not join another church? And I confess that if all that I knew of Reverend Wright were the snippets of those sermons that have run in an endless loop on the television and You Tube, or if Trinity United Church of Christ conformed to the caricatures being peddled by some commentators, there is no doubt that I would react in much the same way
But the truth is, that isn't all that I know of the man. The man I met more than twenty years ago is a man who helped introduce me to my Christian faith, a man who spoke to me about our obligations to love one another; to care for the sick and lift up the poor. He is a man who served his country as a U.S. Marine; who has studied and lectured at some of the finest universities and seminaries in the country, and who for over thirty years led a church that serves the community by doing God's work here on Earth - by housing the homeless, ministering to the needy, providing day care services and scholarships and prison ministries, and reaching out to those suffering from HIV/AIDS.
In my first book, Dreams From My Father, I described the experience of my first service at Trinity:
"People began to shout, to rise from their seats and clap and cry out, a forceful wind carrying the reverend's voice up into the rafters....And in that single note - hope! - I heard something else; at the foot of that cross, inside the thousands of churches across the city, I imagined the stories of ordinary black people merging with the stories of David and Goliath, Moses and Pharaoh, the Christians in the lion's den, Ezekiel's field of dry bones. Those stories - of survival, and freedom, and hope - became our story, my story; the blood that had spilled was our blood, the tears our tears; until this black church, on this bright day, seemed once more a vessel carrying the story of a people into future generations and into a larger world. Our trials and triumphs became at once unique and universal, black and more than black; in chronicling our journey, the stories and songs gave us a means to reclaim memories that we didn't need to feel shame about...memories that all people might study and cherish - and with which we could start to rebuild."
That has been my experience at Trinity. Like other predominantly black churches across the country, Trinity embodies the black community in its entirety - the doctor and the welfare mom, the model student and the former gang-banger. Like other black churches, Trinity's services are full of raucous laughter and sometimes bawdy humor. They are full of dancing, clapping, screaming and shouting that may seem jarring to the untrained ear. The church contains in full the kindness and cruelty, the fierce intelligence and the shocking ignorance, the struggles and successes, the love and yes, the bitterness and bias that make up the black experience in America.
And this helps explain, perhaps, my relationship with Reverend Wright. As imperfect as he may be, he has been like family to me. He strengthened my faith, officiated my wedding, and baptized my children. Not once in my conversations with him have I heard him talk about any ethnic group in derogatory terms, or treat whites with whom he interacted with anything but courtesy and respect. He contains within him the contradictions - the good and the bad - of the community that he has served diligently for so many years.
I can no more disown him than I can disown the black community. I can no more disown him than I can my white grandmother - a woman who helped raise me, a woman who sacrificed again and again for me, a woman who loves me as much as she loves anything in this world, but a woman who once confessed her fear of black men who passed by her on the street, and who on more than one occasion has uttered racial or ethnic stereotypes that made me cringe.
These people are a part of me. And they are a part of America, this country that I love.
Some will see this as an attempt to justify or excuse comments that are simply inexcusable. I can assure you it is not. I suppose the politically safe thing would be to move on from this episode and just hope that it fades into the woodwork. We can dismiss Reverend Wright as a crank or a demagogue, just as some have dismissed Geraldine Ferraro, in the aftermath of her recent statements, as harboring some deep-seated racial bias.
But race is an issue that I believe this nation cannot afford to ignore right now. We would be making the same mistake that Reverend Wright made in his offending sermons about America - to simplify and stereotype and amplify the negative to the point that it distorts reality.
The fact is that the comments that have been made and the issues that have surfaced over the last few weeks reflect the complexities of race in this country that we've never really worked through - a part of our union that we have yet to perfect. And if we walk away now, if we simply retreat into our respective corners, we will never be able to come together and solve challenges like health care, or education, or the need to find good jobs for every American.
Understanding this reality requires a reminder of how we arrived at this point. As William Faulkner once wrote, "The past isn't dead and buried. In fact, it isn't even past." We do not need to recite here the history of racial injustice in this country. But we do need to remind ourselves that so many of the disparities that exist in the African-American community today can be directly traced to inequalities passed on from an earlier generation that suffered under the brutal legacy of slavery and Jim Crow.
Segregated schools were, and are, inferior schools; we still haven't fixed them, fifty years after Brown v. Board of Education, and the inferior education they provided, then and now, helps explain the pervasive achievement gap between today's black and white students.
Legalized discrimination - where blacks were prevented, often through violence, from owning property, or loans were not granted to African-American business owners, or black homeowners could not access FHA mortgages, or blacks were excluded from unions, or the police force, or fire departments - meant that black families could not amass any meaningful wealth to bequeath to future generations. That history helps explain the wealth and income gap between black and white, and the concentrated pockets of poverty that persists in so many of today's urban and rural communities.
A lack of economic opportunity among black men, and the shame and frustration that came from not being able to provide for one's family, contributed to the erosion of black families - a problem that welfare policies for many years may have worsened. And the lack of basic services in so many urban black neighborhoods - parks for kids to play in, police walking the beat, regular garbage pick-up and building code enforcement - all helped create a cycle of violence, blight and neglect that continue to haunt us.
This is the reality in which Reverend Wright and other African-Americans of his generation grew up. They came of age in the late fifties and early sixties, a time when segregation was still the law of the land and opportunity was systematically constricted. What's remarkable is not how many failed in the face of discrimination, but rather how many men and women overcame the odds; how many were able to make a way out of no way for those like me who would come after them.
But for all those who scratched and clawed their way to get a piece of the American Dream, there were many who didn't make it - those who were ultimately defeated, in one way or another, by discrimination. That legacy of defeat was passed on to future generations - those young men and increasingly young women who we see standing on street corners or languishing in our prisons, without hope or prospects for the future. Even for those blacks who did make it, questions of race, and racism, continue to define their worldview in fundamental ways. For the men and women of Reverend Wright's generation, the memories of humiliation and doubt and fear have not gone away; nor has the anger and the bitterness of those years. That anger may not get expressed in public, in front of white co-workers or white friends. But it does find voice in the barbershop or around the kitchen table. At times, that anger is exploited by politicians, to gin up votes along racial lines, or to make up for a politician's own failings.
And occasionally it finds voice in the church on Sunday morning, in the pulpit and in the pews. The fact that so many people are surprised to hear that anger in some of Reverend Wright's sermons simply reminds us of the old truism that the most segregated hour in American life occurs on Sunday morning. That anger is not always productive; indeed, all too often it distracts attention from solving real problems; it keeps us from squarely facing our own complicity in our condition, and prevents the African-American community from forging the alliances it needs to bring about real change. But the anger is real; it is powerful; and to simply wish it away, to condemn it without understanding its roots, only serves to widen the chasm of misunderstanding that exists between the races.
In fact, a similar anger exists within segments of the white community. Most working- and middle-class white Americans don't feel that they have been particularly privileged by their race. Their experience is the immigrant experience - as far as they're concerned, no one's handed them anything, they've built it from scratch. They've worked hard all their lives, many times only to see their jobs shipped overseas or their pension dumped after a lifetime of labor. They are anxious about their futures, and feel their dreams slipping away; in an era of stagnant wages and global competition, opportunity comes to be seen as a zero sum game, in which your dreams come at my expense. So when they are told to bus their children to a school across town; when they hear that an African American is getting an advantage in landing a good job or a spot in a good college because of an injustice that they themselves never committed; when they're told that their fears about crime in urban neighborhoods are somehow prejudiced, resentment builds over time.
Like the anger within the black community, these resentments aren't always expressed in polite company. But they have helped shape the political landscape for at least a generation. Anger over welfare and affirmative action helped forge the Reagan Coalition. Politicians routinely exploited fears of crime for their own electoral ends. Talk show hosts and conservative commentators built entire careers unmasking bogus claims of racism while dismissing legitimate discussions of racial injustice and inequality as mere political correctness or reverse racism.
Just as black anger often proved counterproductive, so have these white resentments distracted attention from the real culprits of the middle class squeeze - a corporate culture rife with inside dealing, questionable accounting practices, and short-term greed; a Washington dominated by lobbyists and special interests; economic policies that favor the few over the many. And yet, to wish away the resentments of white Americans, to label them as misguided or even racist, without recognizing they are grounded in legitimate concerns - this too widens the racial divide, and blocks the path to understanding.
This is where we are right now. It's a racial stalemate we've been stuck in for years. Contrary to the claims of some of my critics, black and white, I have never been so naïve as to believe that we can get beyond our racial divisions in a single election cycle, or with a single candidacy - particularly a candidacy as imperfect as my own.
But I have asserted a firm conviction - a conviction rooted in my faith in God and my faith in the American people - that working together we can move beyond some of our old racial wounds, and that in fact we have no choice is we are to continue on the path of a more perfect union.
For the African-American community, that path means embracing the burdens of our past without becoming victims of our past. It means continuing to insist on a full measure of justice in every aspect of American life. But it also means binding our particular grievances - for better health care, and better schools, and better jobs - to the larger aspirations of all Americans -- the white woman struggling to break the glass ceiling, the white man whose been laid off, the immigrant trying to feed his family. And it means taking full responsibility for own lives - by demanding more from our fathers, and spending more time with our children, and reading to them, and teaching them that while they may face challenges and discrimination in their own lives, they must never succumb to despair or cynicism; they must always believe that they can write their own destiny.
Ironically, this quintessentially American - and yes, conservative - notion of self-help found frequent expression in Reverend Wright's sermons. But what my former pastor too often failed to understand is that embarking on a program of self-help also requires a belief that society can change.
The profound mistake of Reverend Wright's sermons is not that he spoke about racism in our society. It's that he spoke as if our society was static; as if no progress has been made; as if this country - a country that has made it possible for one of his own members to run for the highest office in the land and build a coalition of white and black; Latino and Asian, rich and poor, young and old -- is still irrevocably bound to a tragic past. But what we know -- what we have seen - is that America can change. That is true genius of this nation. What we have already achieved gives us hope - the audacity to hope - for what we can and must achieve tomorrow.
In the white community, the path to a more perfect union means acknowledging that what ails the African-American community does not just exist in the minds of black people; that the legacy of discrimination - and current incidents of discrimination, while less overt than in the past - are real and must be addressed. Not just with words, but with deeds - by investing in our schools and our communities; by enforcing our civil rights laws and ensuring fairness in our criminal justice system; by providing this generation with ladders of opportunity that were unavailable for previous generations. It requires all Americans to realize that your dreams do not have to come at the expense of my dreams; that investing in the health, welfare, and education of black and brown and white children will ultimately help all of America prosper.
In the end, then, what is called for is nothing more, and nothing less, than what all the world's great religions demand - that we do unto others as we would have them do unto us. Let us be our brother's keeper, Scripture tells us. Let us be our sister's keeper. Let us find that common stake we all have in one another, and let our politics reflect that spirit as well.
For we have a choice in this country. We can accept a politics that breeds division, and conflict, and cynicism. We can tackle race only as spectacle - as we did in the OJ trial - or in the wake of tragedy, as we did in the aftermath of Katrina - or as fodder for the nightly news. We can play Reverend Wright's sermons on every channel, every day and talk about them from now until the election, and make the only question in this campaign whether or not the American people think that I somehow believe or sympathize with his most offensive words. We can pounce on some gaffe by a Hillary supporter as evidence that she's playing the race card, or we can speculate on whether white men will all flock to John McCain in the general election regardless of his policies.
We can do that.
But if we do, I can tell you that in the next election, we'll be talking about some other distraction. And then another one. And then another one. And nothing will change.
That is one option. Or, at this moment, in this election, we can come together and say, "Not this time." This time we want to talk about the crumbling schools that are stealing the future of black children and white children and Asian children and Hispanic children and Native American children. This time we want to reject the cynicism that tells us that these kids can't learn; that those kids who don't look like us are somebody else's problem. The children of America are not those kids, they are our kids, and we will not let them fall behind in a 21st century economy. Not this time.
This time we want to talk about how the lines in the Emergency Room are filled with whites and blacks and Hispanics who do not have health care; who don't have the power on their own to overcome the special interests in Washington, but who can take them on if we do it together.
This time we want to talk about the shuttered mills that once provided a decent life for men and women of every race, and the homes for sale that once belonged to Americans from every religion, every region, every walk of life. This time we want to talk about the fact that the real problem is not that someone who doesn't look like you might take your job; it's that the corporation you work for will ship it overseas for nothing more than a profit.
This time we want to talk about the men and women of every color and creed who serve together, and fight together, and bleed together under the same proud flag. We want to talk about how to bring them home from a war that never should've been authorized and never should've been waged, and we want to talk about how we'll show our patriotism by caring for them, and their families, and giving them the benefits they have earned.
I would not be running for President if I didn't believe with all my heart that this is what the vast majority of Americans want for this country. This union may never be perfect, but generation after generation has shown that it can always be perfected. And today, whenever I find myself feeling doubtful or cynical about this possibility, what gives me the most hope is the next generation - the young people whose attitudes and beliefs and openness to change have already made history in this election.
There is one story in particularly that I'd like to leave you with today - a story I told when I had the great honor of speaking on Dr. King's birthday at his home church, Ebenezer Baptist, in Atlanta.
There is a young, twenty-three year old white woman named Ashley Baia who organized for our campaign in Florence, South Carolina. She had been working to organize a mostly African-American community since the beginning of this campaign, and one day she was at a roundtable discussion where everyone went around telling their story and why they were there.
And Ashley said that when she was nine years old, her mother got cancer. And because she had to miss days of work, she was let go and lost her health care. They had to file for bankruptcy, and that's when Ashley decided that she had to do something to help her mom.
She knew that food was one of their most expensive costs, and so Ashley convinced her mother that what she really liked and really wanted to eat more than anything else was mustard and relish sandwiches. Because that was the cheapest way to eat.
She did this for a year until her mom got better, and she told everyone at the roundtable that the reason she joined our campaign was so that she could help the millions of other children in the country who want and need to help their parents too.
Now Ashley might have made a different choice. Perhaps somebody told her along the way that the source of her mother's problems were blacks who were on welfare and too lazy to work, or Hispanics who were coming into the country illegally. But she didn't. She sought out allies in her fight against injustice.
Anyway, Ashley finishes her story and then goes around the room and asks everyone else why they're supporting the campaign. They all have different stories and reasons. Many bring up a specific issue. And finally they come to this elderly black man who's been sitting there quietly the entire time. And Ashley asks him why he's there. And he does not bring up a specific issue. He does not say health care or the economy. He does not say education or the war. He does not say that he was there because of Barack Obama. He simply says to everyone in the room, "I am here because of Ashley."
"I'm here because of Ashley." By itself, that single moment of recognition between that young white girl and that old black man is not enough. It is not enough to give health care to the sick, or jobs to the jobless, or education to our children.
But it is where we start. It is where our union grows stronger. And as so many generations have come to realize over the course of the two-hundred and twenty one years since a band of patriots signed that document in Philadelphia, that is where the perfection begins.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
The times they are still a changin'
Este verano se llevarán acabo las Olimpiadas 2008 en Bejin, China. Es curiosísimo pensar en los paralelos que existen entre las olimpiadas de este año y las olimpiadas que se llevaron acabo en México hace 40 años.
Cómo en México '68, el gobierno Chino esta tratando las olimpiadas cómo una oportunidad para darle publicidad a su proyecto de nación, atraer inversionistas, demostrarle al mundo la "grandeza" de China. Al igual que México en el pasado, el gobierno Chino se esta viendo en la necesidad de maquillar ciertos aspectos inconvenientes... protestas sociales, daños ambientales, faltas a derechos humanos, etc.
Uno de esos aspectos es la ocupación de Tibet. Tengo la fortuna de trabajar con una joven Tibetana. Necesito platicar más con ella, pero por lo que me ha dicho, la historia de la invasión de Tibet suena muy parecida a la de otros pueblos: les prohíben practicar su religión, construyen carreteras que destruyen comunidades para poder tener acceso a recursos naturales, promueven y distribuyen alcohol y vicios que demoralizan al pueblo... etc.
Por lo pronto, Steven Speilberg ya renunció a su posición de asistente artístico de las Olimpiadas... a ver qué más pasa. Ojala y no vaya a pasar algo parecido a la Masacre de Tlatelolco. De cualquier forma, parece que vale la pena ponerle atención a las olimpiadas de este año. Y, no tanto por ver quien gana las competencias. Aunque, a veces los ganadores también le pueden añadir toques interesantes.... como fue el caso de Tommie Smith y John Carlos, precisamente en Mexico 68.
Cómo en México '68, el gobierno Chino esta tratando las olimpiadas cómo una oportunidad para darle publicidad a su proyecto de nación, atraer inversionistas, demostrarle al mundo la "grandeza" de China. Al igual que México en el pasado, el gobierno Chino se esta viendo en la necesidad de maquillar ciertos aspectos inconvenientes... protestas sociales, daños ambientales, faltas a derechos humanos, etc.
Uno de esos aspectos es la ocupación de Tibet. Tengo la fortuna de trabajar con una joven Tibetana. Necesito platicar más con ella, pero por lo que me ha dicho, la historia de la invasión de Tibet suena muy parecida a la de otros pueblos: les prohíben practicar su religión, construyen carreteras que destruyen comunidades para poder tener acceso a recursos naturales, promueven y distribuyen alcohol y vicios que demoralizan al pueblo... etc.
Por lo pronto, Steven Speilberg ya renunció a su posición de asistente artístico de las Olimpiadas... a ver qué más pasa. Ojala y no vaya a pasar algo parecido a la Masacre de Tlatelolco. De cualquier forma, parece que vale la pena ponerle atención a las olimpiadas de este año. Y, no tanto por ver quien gana las competencias. Aunque, a veces los ganadores también le pueden añadir toques interesantes.... como fue el caso de Tommie Smith y John Carlos, precisamente en Mexico 68.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
This is your brain on music
Recientemente acabé de leer este libro de Daniel J. Levitin.
El título, y la aparente intención del libro, suena facinante. Explorar las razones científicas (psicológicas, biológicas o sociales) de porqué nos gusta la música, porqué nos gustan ciertos tipos de sonidos, porqué nos desagradan ciertos típos de música me parece muy interesante porque estas preguntas estan íntimamente ligadas a muchos otros dilemas estéticos, éticos y hasta metafísicos.
El libro esta lleno de datos y comentarios interesantes aunque a ratos esta un poco seco, enfocandose en definiciones técnicas de términos como timbre, tono, ritmo, etc.
Una de las partes interesantes del libro es cuando habla de los diferentes sonidos que han estado prohibidos a lo largo de la historia. Por ejemplo, no sabía que la iglesia en un tiempo prohibió la polifonía por temor a que la gente dedujera que existe más de un dios. El intervalo de la cuarta aumentada es famoso por haber estado prohibido y catalogado como "diablus in musica". De el libro: "It was pitch that had the medieval church in an uproar. And it was timbre that got Dylan booed [for playing an electric guitar]. It was the latent African rhythms in rock that frightened white suburban parents [in the sixties]"
El libro habla de ciertas teorías en psicología evolucionaria sobre cómo los humanos desarrollaron el gusto por la música. De cómo ciertas enfermedades mentales hacen a uno más o menos sensible a experiencias musicales. De cómo los genios musicales juegan con nuestras expectativas para transmitir emociones... etc.
En general es un buen libro. Pero se queda un poco corto de lo que parece ser su intención. Me dejó con algunos datos y teorías interesantes pero sin lograr entender en verdad porqué nos gusta la música que nos gusta. Supongo que es uno de esos misterios que no se le pueden confiar a la ciencia.
El título, y la aparente intención del libro, suena facinante. Explorar las razones científicas (psicológicas, biológicas o sociales) de porqué nos gusta la música, porqué nos gustan ciertos tipos de sonidos, porqué nos desagradan ciertos típos de música me parece muy interesante porque estas preguntas estan íntimamente ligadas a muchos otros dilemas estéticos, éticos y hasta metafísicos.
El libro esta lleno de datos y comentarios interesantes aunque a ratos esta un poco seco, enfocandose en definiciones técnicas de términos como timbre, tono, ritmo, etc.
Una de las partes interesantes del libro es cuando habla de los diferentes sonidos que han estado prohibidos a lo largo de la historia. Por ejemplo, no sabía que la iglesia en un tiempo prohibió la polifonía por temor a que la gente dedujera que existe más de un dios. El intervalo de la cuarta aumentada es famoso por haber estado prohibido y catalogado como "diablus in musica". De el libro: "It was pitch that had the medieval church in an uproar. And it was timbre that got Dylan booed [for playing an electric guitar]. It was the latent African rhythms in rock that frightened white suburban parents [in the sixties]"
El libro habla de ciertas teorías en psicología evolucionaria sobre cómo los humanos desarrollaron el gusto por la música. De cómo ciertas enfermedades mentales hacen a uno más o menos sensible a experiencias musicales. De cómo los genios musicales juegan con nuestras expectativas para transmitir emociones... etc.
En general es un buen libro. Pero se queda un poco corto de lo que parece ser su intención. Me dejó con algunos datos y teorías interesantes pero sin lograr entender en verdad porqué nos gusta la música que nos gusta. Supongo que es uno de esos misterios que no se le pueden confiar a la ciencia.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Happy Valentine's
Para el dia de San Valentin se me ocurrió que sería buena idea preguntarle a mis amigos cuál es su canción de amor favorita.
Aunque personalmente, puedo apreciar muchos artistas romanticos diferentes (Marvin Gaye, Barry White, Frank Sinatra, Alejandro Sanz, Justin Timberlake). Tengo que admitir que mi canción de amor favorita tiene un aire medio obscurón y es de Depeche Mode. Se llama "One Caress", el video no se me hace tan bueno como la canción, pero ai les va:
Aunque personalmente, puedo apreciar muchos artistas romanticos diferentes (Marvin Gaye, Barry White, Frank Sinatra, Alejandro Sanz, Justin Timberlake). Tengo que admitir que mi canción de amor favorita tiene un aire medio obscurón y es de Depeche Mode. Se llama "One Caress", el video no se me hace tan bueno como la canción, pero ai les va:
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Elecciones
Creo que a mi generación le tocaron experiencias interesantes en cuanto a esta onda de la democracia. Nos tocó vivir una época en dónde nos enseñaban una cosa mientras practicaban otra de una manera bastante chistosa. Me acuerdo alguna vez de niño, escuchar a un adulto explicar que ella le iba al PRI porque prefería irle a los que ganan. En aquel tiempo no entendí la gran sabiduría que escondían esas palabras.
Estar del lado de los perdedores no es muy agradable. Hay luchas que se tienen que hacer, pero con las que ya estan ganadas, a veces es mejor limitarse a hacerse amigo del vencedor.
Total... 20 años más tarde me encuentro en otra situación electoral. Algunas cosas siguen igual, cómo el hecho de que yo no puedo votar. Otras son un poco diferentes: en este caso, el resultado es difícil de predecir.
La verdad yo ni le entiendo muy bien al sistema electoral gringo. Pero qué diferencia hace? El chiste es que tienes un voto, que probablemente no haga ni la más mínima diferencia excepto que quedarás con la conciencia tranquila y podrás pegar una calcamonía que diga "No me culpen a mi, yo no vote por fulano."
Con eso dicho, tengo que aceptar que después de leer la mitad de la biografía de Barak Obama quedé convencido de que estaría chido que ese vato fuera presidente. Tiene un pasado bastante interesante, es cómo un ícono de la globalisación. A parte, qué le pasaría a la identidad nacional gringa teniendo a un presidente negro? En México ya nos tocó tener a nuestro Benito Juarez y desde entonces nadie se siente orgulloso de ser gachupín.
Y, pos a ver que pasa... por lo pronto cuando menos se esta poniendo dos tre interesante la onda.
Estar del lado de los perdedores no es muy agradable. Hay luchas que se tienen que hacer, pero con las que ya estan ganadas, a veces es mejor limitarse a hacerse amigo del vencedor.
Total... 20 años más tarde me encuentro en otra situación electoral. Algunas cosas siguen igual, cómo el hecho de que yo no puedo votar. Otras son un poco diferentes: en este caso, el resultado es difícil de predecir.
La verdad yo ni le entiendo muy bien al sistema electoral gringo. Pero qué diferencia hace? El chiste es que tienes un voto, que probablemente no haga ni la más mínima diferencia excepto que quedarás con la conciencia tranquila y podrás pegar una calcamonía que diga "No me culpen a mi, yo no vote por fulano."
Con eso dicho, tengo que aceptar que después de leer la mitad de la biografía de Barak Obama quedé convencido de que estaría chido que ese vato fuera presidente. Tiene un pasado bastante interesante, es cómo un ícono de la globalisación. A parte, qué le pasaría a la identidad nacional gringa teniendo a un presidente negro? En México ya nos tocó tener a nuestro Benito Juarez y desde entonces nadie se siente orgulloso de ser gachupín.
Y, pos a ver que pasa... por lo pronto cuando menos se esta poniendo dos tre interesante la onda.
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Family and Business
Este fin de semana terminé de ver el último capítulo de The Sopranos. Sé que varias veces he recomendado esta serie pero sigo sorprendido de que mucha gente todavía no la ha visto y creo que nunca he explicado bien porqué creo que es una serie genial.
En el siguiente link, pueden encontrar un buen ensayo acerca de la serie, aunque si no la han visto, no van a poder seguir el argumento muy bien:
http://www.the-sopranos.com/db/sop_essay.htm
Creo que The Sopranos, termina de una forma muy interesante: la doctora Melfi, psicóloga de Tony (el personaje principal, lider de la mafia) decide dejarlo porque recibe presión de sus colegas que terminan por convencerla de que la terapia no es efectiva en "curar" a pacientes con personalidades criminales. De acuerdo a algunos estudios, la terapia termina por ayudar a los criminales a ser mejores criminales.
Esto va al corazón de lo que creo que es uno de los principales puntos de la serie. En la serie vemos como la personalidad de Tony (un criminal), en realidad no es muy diferente a la de mucha gente "normal". La serie casi nos obliga a simpatizar y a veces hasta admirar a Tony (incluso la doctora Melfi, en algún episodio anterior, admira el hecho de que Tony tiene más fuerza y valentía para defenderla que otros varones en su vida). La serie demuestra cómo la línea que separa lo que es "civil" de lo que es "criminal" es menos marcada de lo que creemos.
Sin embargo, la serie no argumenta por un relativismo moral siplón. Al contrario, claramente demuestra que toda acción tiene sus consecuencias y que, en general, la violencia sólo trae más violencia. Creo que otra fortaleza de la serie es seguir a los personajes hasta su vejez y muerte. La serie logra de esta forma incluir temas religiosos y muestra cómo cada personaje va siendo moldeado por sus propias acciones y cómo esto influye en la forma en la que se enfrentan a la muerte.
The Sopranos logra mostrar personajes excepcionalmente realistas, con todas sus debilidades y miedos, enfrentandose a situaciones difíciles y obliga al espectador a preguntarse "qué hubiera hecho yo?" e, incluso, en ocasiones "que hize yo?" cuando enfrenté situaciones similares. Creo que este tipo de preguntas hacen buenas conversaciones.
Lo único que quizas le cambiaría a la serie es ablandarla un poco en el aspecto gráfico. Me gusta el realismo pero creo que si este se expresara un poco menos en cuestiones de violencia física y situaciones sexuales, la serie sería más accesible a diferentes públicos sin quitarle su valor artístico.
En el siguiente link, pueden encontrar un buen ensayo acerca de la serie, aunque si no la han visto, no van a poder seguir el argumento muy bien:
http://www.the-sopranos.com/db/sop_essay.htm
Creo que The Sopranos, termina de una forma muy interesante: la doctora Melfi, psicóloga de Tony (el personaje principal, lider de la mafia) decide dejarlo porque recibe presión de sus colegas que terminan por convencerla de que la terapia no es efectiva en "curar" a pacientes con personalidades criminales. De acuerdo a algunos estudios, la terapia termina por ayudar a los criminales a ser mejores criminales.
Esto va al corazón de lo que creo que es uno de los principales puntos de la serie. En la serie vemos como la personalidad de Tony (un criminal), en realidad no es muy diferente a la de mucha gente "normal". La serie casi nos obliga a simpatizar y a veces hasta admirar a Tony (incluso la doctora Melfi, en algún episodio anterior, admira el hecho de que Tony tiene más fuerza y valentía para defenderla que otros varones en su vida). La serie demuestra cómo la línea que separa lo que es "civil" de lo que es "criminal" es menos marcada de lo que creemos.
Sin embargo, la serie no argumenta por un relativismo moral siplón. Al contrario, claramente demuestra que toda acción tiene sus consecuencias y que, en general, la violencia sólo trae más violencia. Creo que otra fortaleza de la serie es seguir a los personajes hasta su vejez y muerte. La serie logra de esta forma incluir temas religiosos y muestra cómo cada personaje va siendo moldeado por sus propias acciones y cómo esto influye en la forma en la que se enfrentan a la muerte.
The Sopranos logra mostrar personajes excepcionalmente realistas, con todas sus debilidades y miedos, enfrentandose a situaciones difíciles y obliga al espectador a preguntarse "qué hubiera hecho yo?" e, incluso, en ocasiones "que hize yo?" cuando enfrenté situaciones similares. Creo que este tipo de preguntas hacen buenas conversaciones.
Lo único que quizas le cambiaría a la serie es ablandarla un poco en el aspecto gráfico. Me gusta el realismo pero creo que si este se expresara un poco menos en cuestiones de violencia física y situaciones sexuales, la serie sería más accesible a diferentes públicos sin quitarle su valor artístico.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Five Years
By David Bowie
Pushing thru the market square, so many mothers sighing
News had just come over, we had five years left to cry in
News guy wept and told us, earth was really dying
Cried so much his face was wet, then I knew he was not lying
I heard telephones, opera house, favourite melodies
I saw boys, toys electric irons and t.v.s
My brain hurt like a warehouse, it had no room to spare
I had to cram so many things to store everything in there
And all the fat-skinny people, and all the tall-short people
And all the nobody people, and all the somebody people
I never thought Id need so many people
A girl my age went off her head, hit some tiny children
If the black hadnt a-pulled her off, I think she would have killed them
A soldier with a broken arm, fixed his stare to the wheels of a cadillac
A cop knelt and kissed the feet of a priest, and a queer threw up at the sight of that
I think I saw you in an ice-cream parlour, drinking milk shakes cold and long
Smiling and waving and looking so fine, dont think
You knew you were in this song
And it was cold and it rained so I felt like an actor
And I thought of ma and I wanted to get back there
Your face, your race, the way that you talk
I kiss you, youre beautiful, I want you to walk
Weve got five years, stuck on my eyes
Five years, what a surprise
Weve got five years, my brain hurts a lot
Five years, thats all weve got
Weve got five years, what a surprise
Five years, stuck on my eyes
Weve got five years, my brain hurts a lot
Five years, thats all weve got
Weve got five years, stuck on my eyes
Five years, what a surprise
Weve got five years, my brain hurts a lot
Five years, thats all weve got
Weve got five years, what a surprise
Weve got five years, stuck on my eyes
Weve got five years, my brain hurts a lot
Five years, thats all weve got
Five years
Five years
Five years
Five years
Pushing thru the market square, so many mothers sighing
News had just come over, we had five years left to cry in
News guy wept and told us, earth was really dying
Cried so much his face was wet, then I knew he was not lying
I heard telephones, opera house, favourite melodies
I saw boys, toys electric irons and t.v.s
My brain hurt like a warehouse, it had no room to spare
I had to cram so many things to store everything in there
And all the fat-skinny people, and all the tall-short people
And all the nobody people, and all the somebody people
I never thought Id need so many people
A girl my age went off her head, hit some tiny children
If the black hadnt a-pulled her off, I think she would have killed them
A soldier with a broken arm, fixed his stare to the wheels of a cadillac
A cop knelt and kissed the feet of a priest, and a queer threw up at the sight of that
I think I saw you in an ice-cream parlour, drinking milk shakes cold and long
Smiling and waving and looking so fine, dont think
You knew you were in this song
And it was cold and it rained so I felt like an actor
And I thought of ma and I wanted to get back there
Your face, your race, the way that you talk
I kiss you, youre beautiful, I want you to walk
Weve got five years, stuck on my eyes
Five years, what a surprise
Weve got five years, my brain hurts a lot
Five years, thats all weve got
Weve got five years, what a surprise
Five years, stuck on my eyes
Weve got five years, my brain hurts a lot
Five years, thats all weve got
Weve got five years, stuck on my eyes
Five years, what a surprise
Weve got five years, my brain hurts a lot
Five years, thats all weve got
Weve got five years, what a surprise
Weve got five years, stuck on my eyes
Weve got five years, my brain hurts a lot
Five years, thats all weve got
Five years
Five years
Five years
Five years
Sunday, January 27, 2008
The Portait of the Architect (INTP)
Según un exámen de personalidad, de la página humanmetrics.com, soy un "arquitecto": distinctively introverted, moderately intuitive, moderately thinking, slightly perceiving.
Esta es la descripción:
Of the four aspects of strategic analysis and definition, it is the structural engineering role -- architechtonics -- that reaches the highest development in these Rationals, and it is for this reason they are aptly called the "Architects." Their major interest is in figuring out structure, build, configuration -- the spatiality of things.
As the engineering capabilities the Architects increase so does their desire to let others know about whatever has come of their engineering efforts. So they tend to take up an accomodating role in their social exchanges. On the other hand they have less and less desire, if they ever had any, to direct the activities of others. Only when forced to by circumstance do they allow themselves to take charge of activities, and they exit the role as soon as they can without injuring the enterprise.
The Architects' distant goal is always to rearrange the environment somehow, to shape, to construct, to devise, whether it be buildings, institutions, enterprises, or theories. They look upon the world -- natural and civil -- as little more than raw material to be reshaped according to their design, as a formless stone for their hammer and chisel. Ayn Rand, master of the Rational character, describes this characteristic in the architect Howard Roark, her protagonist in The Fountainhead:
He was looking at the granite. He did not laugh as his eyes stopped in awareness of the earth around him. His face was like a law of nature-a thing one could not question, alter or implore. It had high cheekbones over gaunt, hollow cheeks; gray eyes, cold and steady; a contemptuous mouth, shut tight, the mouth of an executioner or a saint. He looked at the granite. To be cut, he thought, and made into walls. He looked at a tree. To be split and made into rafters. He looked at a streak of rust on the stone and thought of iron ore under the ground. To be melted and to emerge as girders against the sky. These rocks, he thought, are here for me; waiting for the drill, the dynamite and my voice; waiting to be split, ripped, pounded, reborn, waiting for the shape my hands will give to them. [The Fountainhead, pp 15-16]
Many regard this attitude as arrogant, and Architects are likely, especially in their later years, after finding out that most others are faking an understanding of the laws of nature, to think of themselves as the prime movers who must pit themselves against nature and society in an endless struggle to define ends clearly and adopt whatever means that promise success. If this is arrogance, then at least it is not vanity, and without question it has driven the design engineers to take the lead in molding the structure of civilization.
Esta es la descripción:
Of the four aspects of strategic analysis and definition, it is the structural engineering role -- architechtonics -- that reaches the highest development in these Rationals, and it is for this reason they are aptly called the "Architects." Their major interest is in figuring out structure, build, configuration -- the spatiality of things.
As the engineering capabilities the Architects increase so does their desire to let others know about whatever has come of their engineering efforts. So they tend to take up an accomodating role in their social exchanges. On the other hand they have less and less desire, if they ever had any, to direct the activities of others. Only when forced to by circumstance do they allow themselves to take charge of activities, and they exit the role as soon as they can without injuring the enterprise.
The Architects' distant goal is always to rearrange the environment somehow, to shape, to construct, to devise, whether it be buildings, institutions, enterprises, or theories. They look upon the world -- natural and civil -- as little more than raw material to be reshaped according to their design, as a formless stone for their hammer and chisel. Ayn Rand, master of the Rational character, describes this characteristic in the architect Howard Roark, her protagonist in The Fountainhead:
He was looking at the granite. He did not laugh as his eyes stopped in awareness of the earth around him. His face was like a law of nature-a thing one could not question, alter or implore. It had high cheekbones over gaunt, hollow cheeks; gray eyes, cold and steady; a contemptuous mouth, shut tight, the mouth of an executioner or a saint. He looked at the granite. To be cut, he thought, and made into walls. He looked at a tree. To be split and made into rafters. He looked at a streak of rust on the stone and thought of iron ore under the ground. To be melted and to emerge as girders against the sky. These rocks, he thought, are here for me; waiting for the drill, the dynamite and my voice; waiting to be split, ripped, pounded, reborn, waiting for the shape my hands will give to them. [The Fountainhead, pp 15-16]
Many regard this attitude as arrogant, and Architects are likely, especially in their later years, after finding out that most others are faking an understanding of the laws of nature, to think of themselves as the prime movers who must pit themselves against nature and society in an endless struggle to define ends clearly and adopt whatever means that promise success. If this is arrogance, then at least it is not vanity, and without question it has driven the design engineers to take the lead in molding the structure of civilization.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Juno
Juno es una adorable película siguiendo la tradición empezada por la serie Daria de usar como personaje principal a la trágica figura de la chica adolecente con avanzado desarrollo intelectual que al enfrentarse a las banalidades de la vida adolecente se estanca en una actitud apática.
Como en el caso de Beavis and Butt Head, es interesante ver cómo los medios influeyen en la vida real y viceversa. Porsupuesto que antes de Daria existían personajes similares en la vida real. Sin embargo, antes de que Daria (y personajes similares como los de Ghostworld, etc) se estableciera como una figura reconocible por el main stream americano, este tipo de actitudes eran pobremente entendidas mientras que hoy quizas se pueda decir que este estilo de vida se ha vuelto una subcultura.
En fin... la película me gustó porque los personajes me parecen extraordinariamente realistas y los retos a los que se enfrentan tienen gran relevancia para mucha gente moderna. Esta Juno que, cuya personalidad ya mencioné; esta el hombre en sus 30 enfrentandose a la decisión de comprometerse a una relación o vivir ciertos sueños de su juventud; esta la mujer en sus 30 que sueña con ser madre pero no puede; etc.
Me gusta este nuevo genero que llamaría "inteligent teen movies". Creo que la adolecencia es un periodo en el que se desarrollan muchos character traits (pardon my pocho) y las teen movies tradicionales se enfocan sólo en el mito de la adolecencia "perfecta" (fiestas! libertad! cero responsabilidades!) es refrescante ver películas que tratan esta importante etapa de la vida con personajes más complicados y temas más relevantes.
Como en el caso de Beavis and Butt Head, es interesante ver cómo los medios influeyen en la vida real y viceversa. Porsupuesto que antes de Daria existían personajes similares en la vida real. Sin embargo, antes de que Daria (y personajes similares como los de Ghostworld, etc) se estableciera como una figura reconocible por el main stream americano, este tipo de actitudes eran pobremente entendidas mientras que hoy quizas se pueda decir que este estilo de vida se ha vuelto una subcultura.
En fin... la película me gustó porque los personajes me parecen extraordinariamente realistas y los retos a los que se enfrentan tienen gran relevancia para mucha gente moderna. Esta Juno que, cuya personalidad ya mencioné; esta el hombre en sus 30 enfrentandose a la decisión de comprometerse a una relación o vivir ciertos sueños de su juventud; esta la mujer en sus 30 que sueña con ser madre pero no puede; etc.
Me gusta este nuevo genero que llamaría "inteligent teen movies". Creo que la adolecencia es un periodo en el que se desarrollan muchos character traits (pardon my pocho) y las teen movies tradicionales se enfocan sólo en el mito de la adolecencia "perfecta" (fiestas! libertad! cero responsabilidades!) es refrescante ver películas que tratan esta importante etapa de la vida con personajes más complicados y temas más relevantes.
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