Dancing on the Volcano

If the good people downstream from the Mississippi Morganza spillway who had been evacuated to see their farms and small towns being sacrificed for the safety of the big cities Baton Rouge and New Orleans, if those Louisiana citizens would take refuge in the Big Easy they would have been quite surprised. Here in "Nawlins" it was party time as usual. The red old time trolley operating 9' or so below the waterline is jammed, a freight train winds its way through downtown blowing its horn and the  architects of the AIA convention worry about their continuing credits and hurry from seminar to seminar in the cavernous convention center right alongside the mighty river.    

The barkers bark on Bourbon street, the girls wiggle their assets, a small marching band followed by party revelers squeeze through the gawking masses. Barges ply downstream a lot faster than upstream and the ferry crosses to Algiers a bit more loopy to account for the brown cross-current rich with timber flotsam poking out of the swift waters here and there. In Algiers long time resident Jack, 75 like some of his neighbors  surveying the river on top of the levy looking down on the flooded assembly of shacks and picnic benches in front of the levy which constitute in dryer times some sort of village exhibit. A sign still claims it to be "open". 

Still, even here where Katrina has flooded the historic small wood houses, as Jack reminisces, apparently glad to find in me somebody who listened to him with some level of attention most residents just tend their yard, talk in their beautiful porches or get a late cup of Joe in the local cafe. The yuppified firmer country store is now wifi enabled and tends to hippies and Yuppies and some folks who come here because there isn't much else to go to. It is 11am when the pub is just starting to air out the stale air from last night. The sky is bright blue, a stiff northerly breeze keeps the usual Gulf moisture away and makes New Orleans crisply feel rather like Portland, Maine. 

The spillway evacuee turning tourist would find that his fellow citizens, New Orleans and  tourist from around the world conduct business as usual, distracted neither by concern nor compassion. 

Maybe he be best visit the Casino at the foot of Poytras Street, 200 from the river but without a view and try his luck against his better knowledge. He would likely lose again, but at least he would have a chance. Upstream his home and land get slowly swallowed by waters that the Corps of Engineers very deliberately directed there so that New Orleans can escape another catastrophe.

 The Mississippi leaking out to Lake Pontchartrain

 Flooding in Algiers

 Partying on Canal Street

Lake Pontchartrain is muddied by the sediment rich river waters spilling into it from the mighty river.

In My Father’s Armchair

(4/17/11)

When on a gray February morning a truck with a 20’ shipping container backed up at Paul Klee Strasse 21 in Heidenheim it was not yet clear that the brown leather armchair with its narrow hardwood legs would make it on to the truck. Neither the armchair with the small hint of “ears” nor the compendium loveseat sofa had the yellow stickers on them that Bodo, Dirk and I had applied to furniture earlier in January when we had set out together to check on the inventory and get the family house ready for sale. Yellow stickers meant pick-up by Hasenkamp, the Shipper Dirk had found on the Internet who had proven to be a lot cheaper than the local Hartmann mover who’s company logo is still adorning one of the model trucks I had already taken from my parent’s attic at a much earlier time.

I sat in the back of Dirk and Wesley’s rented Mercedes on the way to Heidenheim. There we met Bodo who came separately with Waltraud so they could also visit her parents. Bodo still has his other Heidenheim connection. Mine has much diminished with Opa Karl barely being at his house anymore, Inge’s grave abandoned and Babette dead. This trip was, in fact, almost like the nail in the coffin. The three brothers gathering around a table for a quick lunch in the Niko the Greek’s urban restaurant next to City Hall. The city seemed dull and an outpost. Was this our minds playing tricks on us to make it easier to lose this adopted hometown as a destination port? Or a realistic comparison with the vibrant Stuttgart or the medieval half timbered cuteness of Herrenberg?   

Pulling up Paul Klee Strasse between the concrete garage boxes and dirty snow piles one last time in front of the white bungalow with the pine trim and the dark weathered concrete roof tiles the feeling of good riddance got even stronger. We still had the key that has fit the front door since the house was originally built and finished in 1971, just when I had left for college. Now it was rather cold inside and in the state of half abandonment. There was still plenty of furniture for sure, but already nobody had lived there for almost two months. Christmas and New Year had passed without a single light going on or off inside, without any bed being warmed by family. We kept ourselves busy with shipping logistics and cataloging what should go where. This way emotions couldn’t  creep in too much among the three of us, each unsure who would be most attached to this place and each in the Philipsen manner ready to fight off these sentiments in favor of  some better future.  As the father had expressed it when he had stood with Bodo in the attic in front of TV cameras for this TV documentary about old people moving into assisted living. He battled emotion one could see it when his eyes turned stern and he pronounced that it was necessary to look forward. This is what we kids had learned from him and that is what we employed here in January and before we had seen the documentary. His words and views were long burnt into our brains, we didn’t need TV to remind us.

Now in March and thousands of miles further west, the season still rather cool and wintery, I sit in his armchair in front of the wood stove with its comforting flames flickering and heating our Blacksburg cabin. I had taken the cardboard box from our monthly storage facility and pushed into the back of the station wagon. It was the first item to be freed from its wrapping. This one piece transformed the rustic simplicity of cabin and added elegance where there had been only plainness. Added the somewhat uncertain English den style that he had selected for the room sometime after it had completed its service as guestroom and had become his study, his refuge. Squarish and simple in its lines but with the unpretentious, conservative elegance that comes with a price and from careful craftsmanship and careful material selection. Nothing I would have chosen for my study and even less for the cabin. But now fate had brought it here because the shipping container had still space left after all stickered items had been loaded. The B list got a chance.

 Now, sitting in it and trying to find a comfortable position in it’s not so ergonomic shape I feel that these items from the added items list might have been maybe the most important ones, the ones from his refuge away his wife’s relentless television. This chair was where he sat and read his magazines, his newspapers and books. I felt satisfaction and accomplishment to have brought it here at considerable cost and up the cabin steps even with some physical exertion.

But I also feel guilty of sitting in this chair, having pilfered it and taken it from an abandoned house that seemed like it was waiting for the return of his owners. And I felt a foreshadowing of the time when I wouldn’t have my father anymore but just his chair. This mixture of accomplishment,  guilt, obligation and some sadness is well known to the son for most of his life.

Why beating on our political representatives might backfire

President's message for our community newsletter (Spring 11)

Inevitably, when Fox 45 polls their viewers about speed or red light cameras, a majority will oppose them. When individuals are interviewed, they talk about government getting too intrusive, and the cameras just being a money grab. Listening to that one would never know that we, the people, elect our council representatives and our state lawmakers in free elections,or that our laws are made in an open process of weighing pros and cons until a solution that benefits a majority is found. One would never know that revenues from traffic fines are used in the general fund for public purposes, or that people here and even around the world have agreed that a red traffic light should mean stop, and that speeding in school zones was not conducive to the safety of our children.

As one who grew up in Germany, I find the tirades against democratically elected representatives, against the democratic process of debate, and against the inherent messiness of compromise and give and take to be alarming. Germany once traded a messy democracy for what became the worst dictatorship in human history, and the world came to regret it.

300 million Americans cannot meet on the Mall to decide the course of action for the thousands of issues that need resolution. Nor can 5.7 million Marylanders convene in Annapolis, or 800,000 Baltimore County residents meet in Towson to discuss the budget or every law. Even our County District One needs a representative whom we choose and then can trust to take a prudent course of action pertaining to all the problems facing the Southwest County, or we will vote him out of office.

This brings us to our community of Westerlee. Even on the smallest of all political units, the neighborhood, we do not manage to bring all 165 households or 350 some residents together in one place to discuss how we should govern ourselves. We will see 30 to 40 residents at our annual meeting, and many things remain to be done during the year. So the community has a board of volunteers who do their best to deal with whatever presents itself in the community of Westerlee: Broken water mains, code violations, keeping residents informed, and generally making sure we can live here safely, orderly and in peace.

In April Westerlee will conduct the Annual Meeting and I hope that many of you will attend. You will learn what we, Westerlee, Inc., your covenant mandated homeowners association and your neighborhood association, have done last year and plan to do this year. The Board will introduce the newly elected First District Councilman Tom Quirk to the residents of Westerlee. The Board and your Councilman will hear from you, from everybody present, what is on your mind, and what you would like to see done in the future. Your councilman and all your board members are eager to hear from you. Show that you care, that democracy in America is alive and well, and make grass roots activity and a representational model can work well together.

Remember that we are “the system”, and let’s use it. The alternatives have proven to be much worse. All democracy is local, and it can’t get any more local than right here, on the level of our street, our community of Westerlee.

Rants of the Tribe

From one of those mass mailings you wished you never had seen it, but it came from somebody I knew, so I wasted some time on a short response (see bottom). This exchange might be interesting in a few years to show how hysterical people have become and what passes as discourse these days:

If this seems really unusual to you, it is because we have lacked leadership so badly for so long, it is hard to recognize! Australia says NO - Second Time she has done this!
She's done it again. She sure isn't backing down on her hard line stance and one has to appreciate her belief in the rights of her native countrymen. A breath of fresh air to see someone lead. I wish some leaders would step up in Canada & USA .

Australian Prime Minister does it again!!

This woman should be appointed Queen of the World. Truer words have never been spoken.

It took a lot of courage for this woman to speak what she had to say for the world to hear. The retribution could be phenomenal, but at least she was willing to take a stand on her and Australia 'S beliefs.

The whole world needs a leader like this!

Prime Minister Julia Gillard - Australia

Muslims who want to live under Islamic Sharia law were told on Wednesday to get out of Australia, as the government targeted radicals in a bid to head off potential terror attacks..


Separately, Gillard angered some Australian Muslims on Wednesday by saying she supported spy agencies monitoring the nation's mosques. Quote:

'IMMIGRANTS, NOT AUSTRALIANS, MUST ADAPT. Take It Or Leave It.

I am tired of this nation worrying about whether we are offending some individual or their culture. Since the terrorist attacks on Bali , we have experienced a surge in patriotism by the majority of Australians. '

'This culture has been developed over two centuries of struggles, trials and victories by millions of men and women who have sought freedom'

'We speak mainly ENGLISH, not Spanish, Lebanese, Arabic, Chinese, Japanese, Russian, or any other language. Therefore, if you wish to become part of our society. Learn the language!'

'Most Australians believe in God. This is not some Christian, right wing, political push, but a fact, because Christian men and women, on Christian principles, founded this nation, and this is clearly documented. It is certainly appropriate to display it on the walls of our schools. If God offends you, then I suggest you consider another part of the world as your new home, because God is part of our culture.'

'We will accept your beliefs, and will not question why. All we ask is that you accept ours, and live in harmony and peaceful enjoyment with us.'

'This is OUR COUNTRY, OUR LAND, and OUR LIFESTYLE, and we will allow you every opportunity to enjoy all this. But once you are done complaining, whining, and griping about Our Flag, Our Pledge, Our Christian beliefs, or Our Way of Life, I highly encourage you take advantage of one other great Australian freedom, 'THE RIGHT TO LEAVE'.'

'If you aren't happy here then LEAVE. We didn't force you to come here. You asked to be here. So accept the country YOU accepted.'


My response:

It is NOT Leadership to tell people exactly what they want to hear and have believed for decades. This is also NOT a “breath of fresh air”, nor is it “rare”. It is rather the very common stale air of old standbys like “love it or leave it” already worn out in the 50ties.

Demographic change is occurring worldwide. Some just accept it later than others. Visit some other countries, learn other languages and study other cultures, stay open minded, use the best of each culture, expand your vision, that is what a true leader should say. Insisting that everything remain as it was, is stagnant and provincial and leads to decline.

The world has become a village of 7 billion people and growing. Everybody has become a neighbor. If we learn to deal with it, the world could actually become a better place in which others are not any more fought solely because they look, speak or believe differently. The fact that we are born in a privileged spot of the earth isn’t an achievement in itself nor does it give us the right to declare a whole continent or country to be our own private backyard, no matter if it is Australia or the USA.

Apokalypse Now

13.3.2011

Tsunami ist ein japanisches Wort und von Japan hat die Welt diese Woche gelernt, was es bedeutet. Während die indonesische Flutwelle vor ein paar Jahren nur vereinzelt gefilmt worden war, haben die Japaner schon gleich nach der Warnung Hubschrauber in die Luft geschickt, die dann mit entsetzlicher Präzision dokumentierten was wie ein unendlicher Alptraum auf den Bildschirmen erschien. Wasser das sich als endlos breite Front mit etwa der Geschwindigkeit eines PKWs auf einer Landstrasse über das Flachland ausbreitet und alles niederwalzt, was im Wege steht. Kleine Häuser schwimmen gleich weg, grosse stehen eine Weile und fallen dann in Zeitlupe in die Wassermassen, die Dächer schwimmen wie Boote als Treibgut davon. Wir werden Zeuge davon wie sich das Wasser auf einen Fluss vorarbeitet, ihn in Sekunden seitlich auffüllt und sich gleich darauf auf der anderen UferSeite wieder auf den Weg macht als wäre da nie ein Fluss gewesen. Wir sehen wie das Wasser auf eine Landstrasse zurollt und wie Autofahrer in Panik vor und zurückfahren um dem Wasser zu entkommen. Wir sehen auch wie unverzagte Zeitzeugen auf Augenhöhe von einem Balkon die Strasse filmen auf der eben noch ein Minivan vorbeifährt bevor sie sich in einen wilden Fluss verwandelt, weit reissender als ein Gebirgsbach bei der Schneeschmelze. Autos kommen nun in rasender Fahrt drei Meter überm Asphalt durch die Strasse geschossen, auf den Wassermassen schwimmend, die Kühlerhaube nach unten wie eine Ente beim Tauchen.

Diese Bilder sind so unwirklich, so grauenhaft, sosehr wie ein schlimmer Alptraum oder ein wüster Horrorfilm, dass man sich selbst auf dem Sofa im fernen und sonnigen Catonsville sitzend nicht mehr ganz sicher fühlt. Und dieser Alptraum überlagert mit den Zerstörungen eines unfasslich starken Erdbeben und nun auch noch dem möglichen Super GAU nicht nur eines, sondern mehrerer Kernkraftwerke ergibt eine Katstrophe, die jede Vorstellungskraft sprengt.

Haiti war auch so ein Fall, aber wir konnten uns einreden, dass es in diesen armen unterentwickelten Ländern eben immer so schlimm ausfällt, weil die vor lauter Armut und Korruption eben keine sicheren Gebäude bauen, keinen Katstrophenschutz kennen oder eben auch in der Katastrophe schlicht desorganisiert bleiben. Dass wir eben nicht so sind und uns dies deshalb nie so widerfahren würde.

Aber Japan? Dieser Hort der Selbstdisziplin und Effizienz wo jedes Schulkind schon dutzende Male den Ernstfall geprobt hat, Erdbeben und Tsunami? Dort, im drittstärksten Industrieland der Welt nun Energieengpässe, Hunger, Wassermangel und Kernschmelze?

Gerade als sich weltweit eine Renaissance der Nuklearenergie breitmachte, weil man 25 Jahre nach Tschernobyl eben schon wieder vergessen kann, weil Kernspaltung eben Carbon neutral ist und weil Öl gerade mal wieder sehr teuer geworden ist, dank sich rasch verbreitender Befreiungsbewegungen in Nordafrika. Gerade als sich die Weltwirtschaft von der Finanzkrise zu erholen scheint, gerade nun also dies, der Beweis, dass wir und unsere sicheren Atomkraftwerke eben doch verwundbar sind. Dass die Natur lässig die Oberhand hat, auch wenn wir sie verwunden können.

Die Medien, die die Filmchen mehr oder weniger in Echtzeit abspielen können, sind dennoch völlig überfordert, die Lage irgendwie angemessen einschätzen zu können. So klaffen Bilder und die geschätzte Zahl der Opfer (da war zunächst die Rede von 60 Verschütteten) so diametral auseinander, dass es eigentlich jedem Fernsehzuschauer sogleich auffallen müsste. Zwei Stunden nach der Flut redet man auf NPR von den Einwirkungen, die dies Ereignis auf den Yen haben könne. Heute machte der Football Streik sich breit auf Seite eins der SUN. Constellation erklärt seine Reaktoren für sicher. Die USA bereiten sich auf St Patricks Day vor. Das Bier wird grün gefärbt.

Wie 9-11 wird auch diese japanische Katastrophe sich irgendwann auf die Psyche der Welt legen, auch wenn es noch ein wenig dauern wird. Auch dann, wenn die Reaktoren am Ende doch nicht völlig dahin schmelzen und wenn letztendlich in ein oder zwei Jahren die Zerstörung wohlmöglich die japanische Wirtschaft ankurbelt.