I cannot pretend to be unbiased in this debate. I watched Michael Vick compete as a colligate at Virginia Tech, and his performances on a football field stunned me more than Roger Federer on a tennis court, more than Michael Jordan on a basketball court, more than Michael Phelps in a swimming pool. Perhaps some feel that I exaggerate, but I digress. His elusiveness matched that of a frustrated cat chasing down a fearful but quick moving mouse. Not since Barry Sanders have I ever witnessed a football player with as much god given natural ability as Michael Vick.
He grew up in Newport News, Virginia. A hard edged town, filled with vice, a place where very few young men grow up to make a positive difference in their world, a place where a disproportionate number of young African American men end up in federal penitentiaries. When he was 8 years old, Michael vick came upon two men fighting dogs, and was intrigued. Many of his neighbors and friends were excited, and viewed it as normal and exciting. Vulnerable, impressionable and without fatherly guidance, a young Michael Vick had been introduced to the barbarity, disguised as accepted urban culture, that was dog fighting. It was a path that would follow him, or that he would follow, into the NFL, where we would sign a record contract and bask in the glow of stardom.
Of all the things that America is, it is a land of second chances. It is a place where people can commit acts of laughable silliness, unexplainable vanity, and even unimaginable evil. But ultimately, even those in the latter class can somehow find a new opportunity, a second chance. Jacob's brothers sold him into slavery, but at a reunion many years hence, he wept and forgave. America demonstrates the possibility of second chances and the beauty of forgiveness more than most nations on this earth.
Some say that Michael Vick's sins are so egregious that they should never be forgiven, that he should never be allowed a second chance to display his magnificent talent on a football field again. When I hear this, I am reminded of the words of John 12:7. Christ spoke of a woman accused of adultery and said, "If any one of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone at her." No one came forward. Anyone who can judge Michael Vick as truly evil and unworthy of forgiveness surely must have the ability of God, to judge the motives of the soul and the desires of the heart. For me, I am content to leave this judgment to God.
It is possible that Michael Vick comes back to the NFL not just as a quarterback who is electrifying, but also as a quarterback who is more well rounded and more complete. But most importantly, he returns as a human being chastened, a man who has paid a severe price, who now understands the high price that is rightfully paid for cruelty to animals, and who is more credible than anyone else in preaching to young inner city kids the folly of dog fighting and the evil of animal cruelty.
I can't wait to witness the magnificent magic of Michael Vick once again, but this time I will appreciate it even more knowing that he is a good and decent man who has humbly paid the lessons of sin and emerged from his dark place an even stronger and better football player and human being.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Whither this land that has touched my soul?
(note - all personal names used in this article have been changed and are not real names)
I have wondered in recent weeks why Iran has touched me so deeply. I have travelled to 25 countries in my life. In all of them, I have marveled at various aspects of culture, history and natural beauty. And yet this 25th country I visited, Iran, has touched me more than all others. It is a land that has haunted my dreams, touched my soul, and shifted my consciousness. Little did I know that, after visiting Iran, I would never be the same again. From unexpectedness came an appreciation inexpressible by frail words.
New York Times journalist Roger Cohen spent many months in Iran before and just after its presidential election, and it touched him so deeply that he wrote: “We journalists are supposed to move on. Most of the time, like insatiable voyeurs, we do. But once a decade or so, we get undone, as if in love, and our subject has its revenge, turning the tables and refusing to let us be.” He further said that Iran "crushes people with its tragedy", and he called Iran "a land of poets who knew how to marry the sacred and the sensuous and always laughed at the idea of a truth so absolute it would not accommodate contradiction." To me, this description is incredibly apt, for Persian poets like Rumi, Saadi and Hafez wrote in beautiful and profound prose, yet they would have never been able to imagine the tragedy that would befall the land they loved. To me, Iran is a land of parks, poetry and wonderful people. And yes, it is a land that has crushed me with its tragedy, a country cast into the cauldron of darkness.
There is something unspeakably tragic about young, well educated, non-religious women who are forced by the state to wear a headscarf in the sweltering heat, young women who are strong willed but yet whose fashion is directed in minute detail by old men with beards who supposedly represent God. There is something strange and sad about a country and civilization that once formed the first true Super Power of this earth, under Darius the Great, a leader who influenced both Eastern and Western civilizations and religions, and yet today is guided by small, belligerent men, who seek conflict with the world. Supreme Leader Ali Khamanei and his cronies have turned a land of profound poetry into a place of perverse puppetry.
As the days have passed since I left Iran, I have thought about the individual people I met. I think about my friend Sohrab, in Esfahan. His father marched in the revolution of 1979, but Sohrab is an atheist. He told me straightforwardly, "I could legally be killed because I was raised a Muslim but now I am an atheist...that's bulls**t."
I think about my friend Atifa, also from Esfahan. The first time I met her in person, she said "My name is Atifa, it's an Arabic name, I don't like it!" We all laughed. Her headscarf slipped off as smoothly and regularly as the waves of the sea covering and cleaning the rocks on a wind swept shore. She was as religious as a deviant drunkard in a monastery.
I think about my friend Sepideh, a more traditional girl, with her headscarf always secure. Sepideh prays regularly and is a sincere Muslim. Yet I marveled at her intelligence, kindness, patience and helpfulness.
I think about the little baby boy in a stroller in Shiraz, who held in his hand a green flag, given by his parents, supporters of the Reformist presidential candidate Mir-Hossein Mousavi. From his face I could tell that he was a bit confused, uncertain of why I was smiling at him, but there was no mistaking the fact that his parents hoped that he would grow up in a better and more free world than the one that they inherited. The little green flag he held represented the small spark of freedom, and held the promise of a better future for him and other children of Iran.
Of course, these were just a handful of the people I met and spoke with in Iran, yet most of the hearts I sampled I found to be beautiful.
I am grateful that I had the chance to set foot in this place, blessed with a prolific history and rich natural beauty, but unfortunately cursed by the scourge of men who exercise absolute power in the name of religion.
I have tried hard in my life to learn about this world, and all that is in it. Many things I don't know and never will. And yet, this one thing, I know. I know Iran, not the Iran so commonly portrayed in our media, but rather its pulsating soul, experienced by breaking bread with its people, walking the dusty streets of its villages, and feeling the chaotic energy and vibrant beauty of its vast cities. Until the restless dream of Iranian freedom is achieved, this is the bond I make with her citizens, and with my God. I will stand with the Iranian people, and give all that I have for the land and people that have so strongly shifted my consciousness, and so deeply touched my soul.
I have wondered in recent weeks why Iran has touched me so deeply. I have travelled to 25 countries in my life. In all of them, I have marveled at various aspects of culture, history and natural beauty. And yet this 25th country I visited, Iran, has touched me more than all others. It is a land that has haunted my dreams, touched my soul, and shifted my consciousness. Little did I know that, after visiting Iran, I would never be the same again. From unexpectedness came an appreciation inexpressible by frail words.
New York Times journalist Roger Cohen spent many months in Iran before and just after its presidential election, and it touched him so deeply that he wrote: “We journalists are supposed to move on. Most of the time, like insatiable voyeurs, we do. But once a decade or so, we get undone, as if in love, and our subject has its revenge, turning the tables and refusing to let us be.” He further said that Iran "crushes people with its tragedy", and he called Iran "a land of poets who knew how to marry the sacred and the sensuous and always laughed at the idea of a truth so absolute it would not accommodate contradiction." To me, this description is incredibly apt, for Persian poets like Rumi, Saadi and Hafez wrote in beautiful and profound prose, yet they would have never been able to imagine the tragedy that would befall the land they loved. To me, Iran is a land of parks, poetry and wonderful people. And yes, it is a land that has crushed me with its tragedy, a country cast into the cauldron of darkness.
There is something unspeakably tragic about young, well educated, non-religious women who are forced by the state to wear a headscarf in the sweltering heat, young women who are strong willed but yet whose fashion is directed in minute detail by old men with beards who supposedly represent God. There is something strange and sad about a country and civilization that once formed the first true Super Power of this earth, under Darius the Great, a leader who influenced both Eastern and Western civilizations and religions, and yet today is guided by small, belligerent men, who seek conflict with the world. Supreme Leader Ali Khamanei and his cronies have turned a land of profound poetry into a place of perverse puppetry.
As the days have passed since I left Iran, I have thought about the individual people I met. I think about my friend Sohrab, in Esfahan. His father marched in the revolution of 1979, but Sohrab is an atheist. He told me straightforwardly, "I could legally be killed because I was raised a Muslim but now I am an atheist...that's bulls**t."
I think about my friend Atifa, also from Esfahan. The first time I met her in person, she said "My name is Atifa, it's an Arabic name, I don't like it!" We all laughed. Her headscarf slipped off as smoothly and regularly as the waves of the sea covering and cleaning the rocks on a wind swept shore. She was as religious as a deviant drunkard in a monastery.
I think about my friend Sepideh, a more traditional girl, with her headscarf always secure. Sepideh prays regularly and is a sincere Muslim. Yet I marveled at her intelligence, kindness, patience and helpfulness.
I think about the little baby boy in a stroller in Shiraz, who held in his hand a green flag, given by his parents, supporters of the Reformist presidential candidate Mir-Hossein Mousavi. From his face I could tell that he was a bit confused, uncertain of why I was smiling at him, but there was no mistaking the fact that his parents hoped that he would grow up in a better and more free world than the one that they inherited. The little green flag he held represented the small spark of freedom, and held the promise of a better future for him and other children of Iran.
Of course, these were just a handful of the people I met and spoke with in Iran, yet most of the hearts I sampled I found to be beautiful.
I am grateful that I had the chance to set foot in this place, blessed with a prolific history and rich natural beauty, but unfortunately cursed by the scourge of men who exercise absolute power in the name of religion.
I have tried hard in my life to learn about this world, and all that is in it. Many things I don't know and never will. And yet, this one thing, I know. I know Iran, not the Iran so commonly portrayed in our media, but rather its pulsating soul, experienced by breaking bread with its people, walking the dusty streets of its villages, and feeling the chaotic energy and vibrant beauty of its vast cities. Until the restless dream of Iranian freedom is achieved, this is the bond I make with her citizens, and with my God. I will stand with the Iranian people, and give all that I have for the land and people that have so strongly shifted my consciousness, and so deeply touched my soul.
Monday, August 3, 2009
A brief tribute to Corazon Aquino
On August 21, 1983, Philippine opposition figure Benigno “Ninoy” Aquino Jr was killed by a sniper at Manila International Airport as he attempted to re-enter the Philippines. As they viewed images of his lifeless body on the tarmac of an airport, a nation was reminded of the words of John 15:13: “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” The next day, the large headline of the Manila Bulletin read: "Benigno shot dead". Shockwaves reverberated through out the nation. Demarcations had been set. The Marcos regime had sent an unmistakable and ruthless message: no opposition would be tolerated.
However, the seeds of People Power had been sown, and were gestating in a restless nation hungering for freedom. All that was needed was a leader, someone with credibility and courage, who would rally the people and lead the noble cause. From the comfort of a foreign land, the desolate widow of Ninoy Aquino found a calling.
The self proclaimed “plain housewife” would become the leader of a cause greater than herself, a cause that would change the history of her nation, make her Time Magazine’s Woman of the Year in 1986, and even lead to her nomination for the Nobel Prize. While the Czech Republic pays homage to Vaclav Havel, and Poland remembers Lech Walesa, the Philippines answers the reverential calls of these velvet revolutions with their own “People Power” movement, made possible and spearheaded by Corazon Aquino. The success of the revolution would eventually lead her to be elected as the 11th president of the Philippines.
Her presidency was not without deserved criticism. Deep seated corruption was difficult to erase. Many argued that she was a puppet of the advisors around her. Nevertheless, the nation had been purged of the martial law of the Marcos administration, and once again ordinary citizens could criticize their government with impunity.
Cory would later say that when she left the United States to return to Manila and bury her husband, she also felt that she was going to “lay to rest his restless dream of Philippine freedom.” However, she would go on to say of the millions of people who lead her husband’s body to his grave, “by that brave and selfless act of giving honor, a nation in shame recovered its own.” Her husband’s restless dream would see fulfillment, posthumously and primarily because of his own death. A nation yielded democracy from its pounding rage.
As she grew older, the accolades would become more vociferous and significant. In her appearance before a joint session of the United States Congress in September 1986, Cory delivered what has been described as the greatest speech ever given on the floor of that hallowed hall of human freedom. A 1994 book by Gail Meyer Rolka cited Cory as “one of 100 Women Who Shaped World History”. In August 1999, Time Magazine called her one of the 20 most influential Asians of the 20th century. In January 2008, Cory was selected as “one of the 15 Champions of World Democracy” by the Europe based organization “A Different View”, being mentioned alongside Abraham Lincoln and Martin Luther King Jr.
While former first lady Imelda Marcos enriched herself on the backs of her own people, Cory, on the day she handed over the presidency to her successor, left the inauguration ceremony in her own small car, rather than in the lavish transportation provided by the government. She wanted to show that once again, she was an ordinary citizen. And perhaps this is the greatest lesson of Cory. Like her husband, she saw herself as an ordinary citizen, who was called by extraordinary times to lead an eminent cause. Today, an ordinary citizen, a devout and great woman who trembled before God, rests in peace under an Asian Pacific sun, a tribute to her nation and a gift to the cause of human freedom.
However, the seeds of People Power had been sown, and were gestating in a restless nation hungering for freedom. All that was needed was a leader, someone with credibility and courage, who would rally the people and lead the noble cause. From the comfort of a foreign land, the desolate widow of Ninoy Aquino found a calling.
The self proclaimed “plain housewife” would become the leader of a cause greater than herself, a cause that would change the history of her nation, make her Time Magazine’s Woman of the Year in 1986, and even lead to her nomination for the Nobel Prize. While the Czech Republic pays homage to Vaclav Havel, and Poland remembers Lech Walesa, the Philippines answers the reverential calls of these velvet revolutions with their own “People Power” movement, made possible and spearheaded by Corazon Aquino. The success of the revolution would eventually lead her to be elected as the 11th president of the Philippines.
Her presidency was not without deserved criticism. Deep seated corruption was difficult to erase. Many argued that she was a puppet of the advisors around her. Nevertheless, the nation had been purged of the martial law of the Marcos administration, and once again ordinary citizens could criticize their government with impunity.
Cory would later say that when she left the United States to return to Manila and bury her husband, she also felt that she was going to “lay to rest his restless dream of Philippine freedom.” However, she would go on to say of the millions of people who lead her husband’s body to his grave, “by that brave and selfless act of giving honor, a nation in shame recovered its own.” Her husband’s restless dream would see fulfillment, posthumously and primarily because of his own death. A nation yielded democracy from its pounding rage.
As she grew older, the accolades would become more vociferous and significant. In her appearance before a joint session of the United States Congress in September 1986, Cory delivered what has been described as the greatest speech ever given on the floor of that hallowed hall of human freedom. A 1994 book by Gail Meyer Rolka cited Cory as “one of 100 Women Who Shaped World History”. In August 1999, Time Magazine called her one of the 20 most influential Asians of the 20th century. In January 2008, Cory was selected as “one of the 15 Champions of World Democracy” by the Europe based organization “A Different View”, being mentioned alongside Abraham Lincoln and Martin Luther King Jr.
While former first lady Imelda Marcos enriched herself on the backs of her own people, Cory, on the day she handed over the presidency to her successor, left the inauguration ceremony in her own small car, rather than in the lavish transportation provided by the government. She wanted to show that once again, she was an ordinary citizen. And perhaps this is the greatest lesson of Cory. Like her husband, she saw herself as an ordinary citizen, who was called by extraordinary times to lead an eminent cause. Today, an ordinary citizen, a devout and great woman who trembled before God, rests in peace under an Asian Pacific sun, a tribute to her nation and a gift to the cause of human freedom.
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