Author Archives: Peter Sanford Kahrmann

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About Peter Sanford Kahrmann

Writer, disability rights advocate, civil rights advocate.

OBAMA IS NOT BIRACIAL: THERE’S NO SUCH THING

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A December 29 New York Times article on Senator Barack Obama refers to him as a biracial candidate. When it comes to discussing race, the word biracial encapsulates what may be racism’s primary fuel; it reflects our continued insistence that there is more than one race. That is where we are wrong and, while it will not happen in my lifetime and is unlikely to happen in the lifetime of any who read this, it is time we learn there is only one race: the human race, and change our vocabularies accordingly.

It is not a stretch to say that in many ways the belief that there is more than one race has essentially morphed into the notion that different races are in fact different species. Tragedy is this mindset’s only offspring; it is what led to slavery in my country, it is what drove the Nazi’s attempt to exterminate the Jews; it is what guided the hands of some of our Southern brethren when they turned dogs and fire hoses loose on black Americans, many of them children; it is what drove the Apartheid regime of South Africa and it is what kept Nelson Mandela in jail for more than a quarter century; it is what drove the hatred in the hearts of those who planted a bomb that killed four little black girls in the 16th Street Baptist Church on September 15, 1963 in Birmingham, Alabama.

The list is worldwide and tragically long.

There are no different races. There is the human race, period. Yes, the human race is wonderfully rich with variety. Different color hair and eyes and skin, various belief systems and taste in music, sports, art and politics. But all generated by members of one race, the human race.

Perhaps members of the media, along with local, state, and federal leaders not to mention world leaders might began to change their rhetoric a bit. After all, what exactly would be the downside to realizing that every person walking the earth is the same race you are? What is the harm in recognizing we are all members of the human family? Just imagine, were this to take hold, perhaps it would be harder to inflict harm on one another. I find that, comforting and reassuring.

LESSON FROM A CROW

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A terrified crow with broken wing was in the water frantically splashing about in a futile effort to take flight.

My Dad and I were walking along the shore of a lake with Lou Levy, a friend of my fathers, and Mr. Levy’s male black Labrador retriever when we saw the injured bird.

My memory says the bird was fifty yards off shore, but I am aware that everything looks bigger and farther and higher to the mind of a child than it does to the mind of an adult.

Mr. Levy told his dog to fetch the bird. Mr. Levy said his dog would bring the crow back to shore unharmed. Cutting a gentle wake, the black lab swam towards the crow. Terrified, the crow continued to splash frantically.

The dog reached the crow and tried to get it into its mouth to bring it to safety. The crow lashed out. Again, the dog tried. Again, the crow lashed out. This happened two or three more times. Finally, the dog realized this was not going to work. He then did the most remarkable thing. He swam to the far side of the crow and began to swim in circles. He didn’t swim in circles around the crow. He swam in circle on the side of the crow opposite the shoreline. By doing so he created a small wave that slowly pushed the crow towards the shore. Soon Mr. Levy and my father rescued the bird and took him to the vet.

It seems to me the crow’s behavior is common in people. Sometimes, when we are hurt, in tough shape, in denial about something, injured in some way, we lash out at those that try to reach out to us. We wound those that care most without meaning to and, in many instances, without even realizing it. No doubt, the crow honestly thought the dog meant it harm. Nevertheless, the crow was wrong. All the dog wanted to do was help it to safety.

I think most of us have been on each side of this experience. We’ve been the wounded and the one doing the wounding. We’re only human after all. When we reach out to someone we care about, even for just a friendly telephone conversation, and get wounded for our efforts, it is likely that the person, like the crow, honestly thinks we mean them harm, even though we don’t.

Perhaps we would be wise to take a lesson from the crow. Maintain enough distance for our own safety, yet do what we can, gently and lovingly, to help the person we care about reach the shore safely and, like the black lab, ask for nothing in return.

HANGING FROM A TREE

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Sometimes members of the media remind me of a person who is so full of themselves they’ll say something outlandish, or, in more common parlance, stupid, and not even realize it.

I was recently reading about Paul Potts, a very special 36-year-old Welshman, who won first prize in this year’s Britain’s Got Talent show, when I ran across a November 17, 2007 article in England’s Daily Mail. Reporters Helen Minsky and Clemmie Moodie reported that actress Amanda Holden, one of the three BGT judges, ran across the body of a dead man when she was out running with her personal trainer. The body was hanging from a tree.

Personally, I hate when that happens.

Anyway, I went on to read the following passage and, believe me, I quote.

“Last night a Scotland Yard spokesman confirmed that an unnamed man had been found dead, suspended from a tree and added that ‘there were no suspicious circumstances surrounding the death’,” wrote Holden and Moodie.

What?! The guy is hanging from a tree with a noose around his neck and you don’t think , oh I don’t know, there’s something unusual about this? If you’ll allow me to go out on a limb here (sorry), do you think maybe, just maybe he hung himself?

Then again, what do I know? I’m only an American and not familiar with English culture. Perhaps somewhere in England there is a tree climbers club that likes to lace rope around the mid to lower tree branches as a kind of safety net so when this poor man fell…well, you get my point.

No suspicious circumstances…really now.

THE LONGEST THROWS

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On backbone pages I’ll place words rugged and hard
And my allegiance is just a stone’s throw with
Older arms the distance gets shorter and I can’t stop
Tossed heads and painted lips with absent thoughts
Or those hungry money folks saying they don’t see
The bodies buried in the stench of profit’s chore

I see tubes of violence bleeding man on man and
Constellations of judgment with lethal design
Wronging rights and robbing wealthy
Minds that grow the dreams of our children
And no one’s one answer but we all begin by breathing
The possibility of love’s untouched shore

I’m not fearing tomorrow’s song and
I’m not running from the sunset unseen
My pace strides on the back of time
And rainbow catching’s not my call
But love and kindness cast the longest throws
For the mark of a child come years before

FATHER MYCHAL, CHIEF JOSEPH AND A "TOUGH GUY"

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Getting to a blank page can be like walking through a wall of granite. If I remind myself that all I want to do is write, allow whatever wants out to come out, the page, at times, can be a cozy and comfortable place.

There are several things on my mind as 2007 draws to a close.

— The similarity I experience between the writings of Richard Wright and Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Both write with a simple direct clarity. The simplicity is deceiving though. A couple of strides into one of their pieces and you are too busy experiencing the story to think about the writing. This, of course, is why they are both great writers.

— I have been thinking about Father Mychal Judge. A Franciscan Monk and chaplain to the New York City Fire Department, Father Mychal was the first death officially recorded on 9/11. He was killed when a piece of falling debris from one of the 110-story towers struck him on the head. He had removed his helmet to offer last rites to a firefighter who had been mortally wounded by a falling body. Father Mychal was gay and he was a recovering alcoholic. He had celebrated 23 years of sobriety the day before he died.

There is a beautifully written essay on Father Mychal to be found in the White Crane Journal, a publication designed to explore gay men’s spirituality. I’ll place the link below.

I’d heard of Father Mychal in the rooms of a 12-step program I belong too. A couple of years ago I watched a documentary on him called, “The Saint of 9/11.” He was an extraordinary man. And when I say man, I mean, man. Far too many still think that if a man is gay his manhood is somehow abbreviated. Not so. Not even close. As a boy I was a ballet dancer and for awhile danced with the Joffrey Ballet. I knew many men who were gay. I made an interesting discovery. They are no different than anyone else. We are all equal despite ourselves, whether we like it or not.

Father Mychal’s prayer has been on my mind as well: His prayer goes like this.

“Lord, take me where you want me to go. Let me meet the people you want me to meet. Tell me what you want me to say. And keep me out of your way.”

http://www.whitecranejournal.com/wc_Father_Mychal_Judge.htm

— I have been mulling over a constellation of things that revolve around Chief Joseph’s famous quote, “I will fight no more forever”, and a year in which I’ve absorbed my fair share of betrayals, cruelty and nastiness.

A woman I was involved with for awhile playfully called me a “tough guy” once. At first, I disagreed. I associated being a “tough guy” with being a bully, and I’ve never been a bully. But what she meant was, if you’ll forgive the rather crass expression, I don’t take shit from people. And I don’t.

I struggle with absorbing a simple but, for me, difficult-to-digest truth. Not responding when someone takes a run at you does not mean you are letting them get away with it, although it sure as hell can feel that way. This is something I need to work on – and will.

I need to move into my day ,so will close this piece (for now). Before I do, there is something else I have been thinking about as this year comes to a close. I want to bring more love and kindness into the world, into my work, into my writing, into my life. This requires a steadfast commitment to humility on my part, which is not always easy, but that’s the way it is.