Saturday, December 31, 2005

A little more peace on earth

One of the good things left over form my Secret Service days is the unusual distribution lists I’m still on. I was sitting in my sofa with my feet up on the coffee table looking though some of the security and anti-terrorist newsletters when Cindy made her comment.

“The New Year always makes me think of peace on earth, and good will toward men, but I swear the world just seems like a more dangerous place every year.”

“Actually I think crime stats are down in The District this year.”

“I don’t just mean locally,” she said. When she got to her feet I knew she was actually climbing up on a soapbox. “I mean the whole world. I mean the slaughter in Darfur. Terrorists in Bali. Insurgents trying to overthrow the government in Thailand and a dozen other countries. I’m talking about Iraq getting ready to head into a civil war, thanks to us.”

That got my attention. “Thanks to US? You’re going to blame that tribal bullshit on US? Baby the U.S. is the cure over there, not the problem.”

“Didn’t mean to attack your hero, the great Dubya,” she said, dropping into my recliner. “But you have to admit, it gets worse every year.”

Well that got me thinking about the stuff I’d just been reading. “Actually, hon, despite what you see in the press, it’s not really true. The intel teams that track that kind of thing report that since the end of the Cold War, armed conflict and political violence have decreased. The world is really a more peaceful place than it was.”

She looked at me with that lawyer’s face she gets sometimes. “Well, if that’s true, why hasn’t this change gotten any attention?”

I took a long slow sip of my coffee then. I didn’t want to attack the press. Again. But there didn’t seem to be any way around it. “Baby, I hate to say it but the press just pays a lot more attention to wars that start than to those that end. And there’s no central source. I mean, no international agency collects global info on political violence. There are some good people trying though. Check this out.”

I tossed her a copy of the Human Security Report http://www.humansecurityreport.info/, an independent study funded by five countries that the Oxford University Press publishes. It’s a pretty good document because the authors collected a wide range of scholarly data that doesn’t get much publicity. They also check specially commissioned research. The result is a clear picture of global security that will surprise most people. It shows that after fifty years of growth, the number of armed conflicts started to fall in the early 1990s and has continued to do so. As she leafed through it I saw skepticism and hope fighting for dominance on her cute face.

“Wow. In 2003 there were 40 percent fewer conflicts than in 1992. Conflicts with 1,000 or more battle-deaths fell by 80 percent. Genocides dropped by 80 percent too. Of course, that’s the number of conflicts, not the number of people slaughtered, but still. Hannibal, honey, how do you account for this trend? I mean, it doesn’t make sense with what I see on the news.”

“You’re just more aware of the battles,” I told her. “I think the Cold War drove a lot of the conflicts after World War II. The U.S. and Russia did a lot of fighting by proxy. When they stopped, the U.N. finally stepped up and started doing something about global security. There are four times as many U.N. peacekeeping operations and missions today as there were before the Berlin Wall fell.”

“That’s interesting,” Cindy said, leaning back and crossing her arms. “So how do you explain the genocide in Rwanda, Srebrenica and the ongoing slaughter in Darfur? “

“Don’t misunderstand me, babe. There have been some horrible failures. But my point is that the successes don’t get the same publicity. What about the violence that was stopped in Namibia, El Salvador, Mozambique, Eastern Slovenia, East Timor, and probably a few more places I’ve forgotten?”

I had pulled those names from another Study I had lying there beside me. I tossed the study by the RAND Corporation http://www.rand.org/pubs/monographs/MG304/ to her. She just about caught it.

“That report says that diplomacy works. Half the peace agreements negotiated since World War II have been signed since the end of the Cold War. What do you think of that?”

“I think there’s going to be a war right in here if you throw another thing at me!” Cindy does this mad thing when she’s not. But then she stood up and walked over and gave me a kiss.

“Seriously lover, thank you.”

“What, for fighting with you on New Year’s Eve?”

“No,” she said. “Well, yes actually. I was on my way to being too bummed out to get my party on, but you made me realize that the world isn’t going to hell in as big a hand basket as I thought. And I guess, if you look around, there really is a lot more peace on earth than there was a few years ago.”

“Yeah,” I told her, “but there’s no doubt we could use a whole hell of a lot more.”

Monday, December 19, 2005

O' Christmas Tree

One thing I’ve learned in my business is that different people get impressed by different things. Tonight I was standing outside on the Ellipse, that grassy patch south of the White House, in sub-freezing temperatures, watching a few white flakes floating down on us. I was just standing there in the crisp winter night air, staring at something that impresses me. Something my German-born mother never got to see. Something that is low tech, natural, old fashioned and just too cool.

Yeah, I’m awed by our Christmas tree. I mean the one that’s all our Christmas tree. The National Christmas Tree.

For 81 years we’ve had a National Christmas Tree in the District. In 1954 they added a "Pathway of Peace." The pathway is 56 smaller decorated trees planted so they surround the National Christmas Tree. They represent all 50 states, the five territories and of course D.C. Every year, sponsors from each state provide the decorations. If you look close, you can see each one is encased in a plastic globe to protect it from the weather. The tree and the pathway are lit up from sundown to 11 p.m. every day until New Years. It’s a great sight, an inspiring sight for this boy who grew up in Europe, and I’m not out here alone. Aside from us gawkers, there’s some group out here in the cold playing music every night.

Looking at that benign beauty, that tall, green, colorfully decorated and garishly illuminated evergreen symbol of life, I had to wonder just how anybody could find a Christmas tree offensive. I mean, sure if you saw it as a pagan symbol or a false idol we were worshiping, then maybe. But otherwise, I don’t get it. I don’t get offended by five pointed stars or crescents and moons. And as I think about it, that’s not even relevant, because those are actual religious symbols. To most of us in this country, a Christmas tree is just a decoration.

In Boston, they called theirs a holiday tree until the public outcry got so loud that the Mayor and Parks Commissioner had to back down. Theirs IS symbolic in a way, an annual gift from Nova Scotia to thank the people of Boston for their generosity after a munitions ship blew up in Halifax harbor during World War I. When the donor heard that the tree wouldn’t be called a Christmas tree any more, he threatened to shove the whole thing in the chipper. That seemed to have the right effect.

Out on the West Coast, where Santa Claus wears shorts half the time, Encinitas, California had a holiday parade last year, but this year it’s a Christmas parade again. It’s not in any way a religious parade. It’s all in fun. And people of all faiths are welcome to enjoy it, just like the forest giant I was staring up at tonight.

You see, the thing is, to most of the people I know Christmas isn’t a religious holiday anyway. It’s a holiday for kids, overloaded with American traditions borrowed from all the people who came here. Snowmen. Reindeer. Santa. Lights. All that stuff the Grinch stole, none of which involved a baby in a manger.
Of course, you’re free to worship on that day and put up a manger too as long as you don’t piss somebody off by sitting it in front of a mosque or synagogue. You don’t want to be snotty and push your religion up in anybody’s face. But when my mama talked about the Christmas spirit she sure as hell didn’t mean the Holy Ghost. She just meant the simple phrase she taught me in Germany: Peace on earth, good will toward men. That’s the Christmas spirit. Lots of Jews have it. Lots of Moslems have it. I even know a couple of atheists who have it. And standing there in front of our national peace symbol in sight of the President’s house I realized that if you want to change a simple tradition like putting up a Christmas tree, well, you ain’t got it.

Saturday, December 03, 2005

Monte's First Date

I pulled money out of the box in my bottom desk drawer and gave Monty a few extra dollars for the job he had done raking and bagging the leaves in front of the building. He did do a great job, but the reason for the extra money was, I knew this was how he was financing his first real date.

“It’s not a date,” Monte said, counting the bills again before shoving them into a pocket of his baggy jeans. “We’re just going to get some food and see a movie.”

Walking into my office behind Monte, hands thrust into the pockets of her car coat, Cindy asked, “Who’s paying?”

“I am, now.”

“Then it’s a date,” she said. “You know, you ought to get some tips from Hannibal about how to treat a lady. He’s not perfect, but he’s got the right idea.”

I was walking around the desk to head back outside. Cindy and I had our own lunch plans and I didn’t expect them to be delayed. But Monte surprised me.

“What about it, H?” he asked. “What do I need to know?”

I stopped, because this was a rare thing. Monte was a typical twelve-year-old African American youth. That means he generally thought he already knew it all, life was unfair, and nobody over 18 knew a damned thing. Actually, maybe that’s all twelve-year-olds. Anyhow, I try to school the boy on what he’ll need to know to be a good man. I think his grandmother appreciates the help in raising him. But for him to actually ASK for advice, well, this was a chance not to be passed up. Besides, I knew he was still young enough to be embarrassed by how much he didn’t know about women. Not that I know all about women now. I’m just old enough to not be embarrassed by my ignorance anymore. But I knew it was a big thing for Monte to ask what he did, especially in front of Cindy. I looked at her smirk, and thought a minute before just blurting out an answer.

“You know what, Monte? It’s not that hard to show a girl that you’re glad you have her for company, and to show her that you’re a right guy. In fact, I think there are only four things you need to do to get through a date right.”

“I can’t wait,” Cindy said. She knew she had thrown me a challenge, which is kind of what Puerto Rican girls do once in a while to keep their men on their toes. Just for that I decided she‘d be the demonstrator, and waved her toward me.

“Rule number one: help her with her coat.”

“Pull it off her?”

“No no, just… Cindy, turn around. Now, you’re behind her, like this, right. You just stick two fingers in here between her neck and the coat. Just hold it as she slides one arm out,” Cindy did so without any words from me, “and then hold it a little lower so she can get the other arm out.”

“You want to reverse it now?” Cindy asked.

“Sure. Two hands this time, nice and low so she can slip her hands into the arm holds. There.”

“Okay, I can do that. What else?”

“Rule number two: pull out her chair. Now don’t go crazy on this. You’re not the butler, for God’s sake. Keep it casual, no big deal.” I gripped the back of the chair with one hand and slid it back. Monte looked like he was about to protest but Cindy jumped in.

“Trust him,” Cindy said with a wise nod. “Girls take it as a sign of respect, not servitude. Okay, Hannibal, what would rule number three be?”

“When the girl goes to the bathroom… and she will… stand up when she gets back.”

“Not when she leaves?”

“That’s too much, Monte,” I said. “Just acknowledge her return. It’s like, ‘hey, I wasn’t sure you’d come back.’ You don’t even have to get up all the way, just get your butt off the seat, like a three-quarter rise.”

“You do that much, and the girl will think you’re the smoothest dude she’s ever seen,” Cindy said. Then she looked at me. “There’s more?”

“You tell me,” I said. “What does a guy have to do at the end of the date to make sure you see him again?”

Cindy seemed to turn her thoughts inward for a moment, but then I saw she had a light bulb moment. “You’re thinking of the tip.”

“Yep. Got to drop that extra twenty percent.”

“What does the girl care about that?” Monte asked. “I mean, I’m gonna pay the bill.”

“That’s expected,” Cindy said.

I looked hard at Monte to make sure I had his attention. “Take this as gospel, son. Every woman you take out starts out thinking you’re just treating her nice because you want something else.”

“Hannibal!” Cindy’s eyes were tossing daggers at me, but too bad.

“You know it’s true, girl. Monte, the woman will discount whatever you say to her or do for her if she doesn’t think it’s the real you. So you’ve got to be nice to others too. Any woman who’s been out there a while will tell you this: A guy who’s nice to her but mean to the waitress is really a mean guy.”

Monte and I looked at Cindy and, for once, she raised her hands and nodded. So I had two great surprises in the same day. Monte asked for advice. And Cindy admitted that I was right.