Hip, Hip, Hooray to the Queen's History Lesson

Let’s give a traditional British cheer to the Queen—Hip, Hip, Hooray; Hip, Hip, Hooray; Hip, Hip, Hooray—for her nuanced yet clearly distinguishable and distinguished public rebuke of Donald Trump’s disruptive attacks on global institutions that have safeguarded democracies since the end of World War II.

Speaking in what the Daily Mail called “code,” Queen Elizabeth II’s toast during the formal state dinner for her visitor included the following: “After the shared sacrifices of the Second World War, Britain and the United States worked with other allies to build an assembly of international institutions, to ensure that the horrors of conflict would never be repeated. While the world has changed, we are forever mindful of the original purpose of these structures: nations working together to safeguard a hard-won peace.” (https://mol.im/a/7100721)

It could hardly go unnoticed that Trump has questioned the value of NATO, has sharply criticized several of its members including the leaders of Germany, France and even Great Britain, has sided with NATO’s chief adversary, Russia, and has sought to undermine the European Union. 

The queen’s foray into tactful but forthright diplomacy was a deviation from her normal, at least in public, arms-length distance from politics. Contrast that long held behavior to that of Prince Charles who has been reliably reported to be eager to confront, or shall we say, educate, Trump about the realities of climate change. 

For his dinner toast, Trump  lavished praise on the 93-year-old monarch who has provided “seven decades of treasured friendship.” He called her “a great, great woman.” 

“On behalf of all Americans, I offer a toast to the eternal friendship of our people, the vitality of our nations, and to the long-cherished and truly remarkable reign of her majesty, the Queen,” he said. 

Trump also said he was toasting the “common values that will unite us long into the future—freedom, sovereignty, self-determination, the rule of law and reverence for the rights given to us by Almighty God.”

By including “self-determination” Trump may have been signaling his support for Brexit, a stance he has openly endorsed. 

How Trump will react to the gloved hand rebuke by the queen is unknown at this time. It is doubtful he will call her “nasty,” as he did her granddaughter-in-law, the Duchess of Sussex (Meghan Markle). Trump loves pageantry, even if it casts a shadow on him. All he will remember is the sumptuous surroundings of a state dinner in Buckingham Palace, with all eyes on him and the queen.

The Fear Factor in Journalism

Have you ever done, or not done, something out of fear? Have you ever crossed to the other side of the street to avoid a group of teenagers, white or black? Have you ever decided not to travel to a distant land because you feared violence?

I can honestly and unashamedly say I am guilty of letting fear control some of my actions. Though I have traveled to Israel numerous times, even during an Intifada, I have avoided vacationing in South America, part of an irrational fear and prejudice stimulated by too many clichés about banana republics and banditto violence.

I don’t know about you but I am in awe of foreign correspondent who thrust themselves into tense surroundings in countries where they mostly do not speak the native tongue. While hordes of civilians and even military personnel flee scenes of combat, war correspondents charge toward the front. Don’t they have family to go home to? Don’t they fear for their lives, particularly in the Middle East where journalists are now prized for their hostage qualifications as stars of potential videotaped beheadings?

For journalists, the front lines no longer are confined to zones of deadly combat exchanges. The brutal massacre at the offices of Charlie Hebdo in Paris, an act of butchery regrettably easily duplicated anywhere in the world by terrorists acting individually or in groups or even by state supported thugs, makes that plain.

We can track down perpetrators (as they did Friday in France), even stop them before they implement their evil, but we will never be able to eradicate the threat to society, not as long as crazed fanatics can distort a religion or creed and manipulate an individual to abandon all decency and kill at will.

During my working career as a journalist I didn’t have to fear my decisions would affect anyone’s life or death. That’s not to say fear did not enter some of my editorial and publishing choices. It was a fear based on economic consequences. Would we lose advertising if we criticized a supplier? Would we lose circulation if we questioned the strategy of a retail company? Would we lose an exhibitor if we didn’t shave booth costs or provide a better location on the trade show floor?

I’d like to say I resisted all those temptations to journalistic integrity and independence, that they all stemmed from my bosses’ blind pursuit of the almighty dollar while I remained true to the journalist’s separation of church and state—editorial and sales. There were times, I acknowledge, when I gave in. I rationalized that even The New York Times, no matter what its editor might say, made decisions based on current or prospective advertisers or which politicians the paper favored or rejected.

I compromised my values. Nobody died or was injured because I succumbed to my fears. Nor did any heinous philosophy spread. Simple commerce was transacted.

Fear has killed far more stories than the abhorrent attack on the staff of Charlie Hebdo. Even as the world, particularly the journalistic community, extols “Je Suis Charlie,” few if any publications or Web sites have reprinted the images of Mohammed that provoked the assault. 

Should they? Sit quietly in a room surrounded by pictures of your family and decide for yourself. What would you do?

Facebook Posting Saddens Two Dates

I go on Facebook sporadically, mostly to inform when I’ve posted a new blog entry. On those occasions I scroll down to see if any friends or relatives have anything interesting to say or show. A cousin in France, Laura, writes in French, naturally;  sometimes Facebook offers translation services. One of those times was Thursday, and though I am intrigued by what she wrote, it no doubt will sadden me for years to come.

Laura has been on a mission of more than 20 years to research her family history. Her maternal grandparents and some of her extended family emigrated to France in the 1930s from Dora, a shtetl in the Galicia region of Poland, not too far from my father’s home town of Ottynia. They settled in Lens, in northern France. Before Nazi Germany’s invasion, Laura’s grandfather urged his relatives to move south. Only his immediate family went with him to Lyons. But they weren’t safe there, either. 

Warned they might be picked up in a roundup of Jews, Laura’s grandparents and their two daughters fled to the border with Switzerland. (The younger girl, Bonnie, is Laura’s mother.) Because Bonnie was a baby, the Swiss allowed the family to enter, but they were placed in three separate refugee camps, one for the father, one for seven-year-old Miriam, and the third for Bonnie and her mother. 

Miriam was able to see her mother from time to time during their three years of internment. An enduring memory was receiving food thrown by Swiss children over the camp fence. One of those children grew up to become her husband. Yes, it’s a story that sounds stranger than fiction, but it’s true, so real life, in fact, that like so many couples, Miriam and her husband couldn’t sustain their marriage. 

After the war ended the family re-united. They returned to Lyons. But their family in Lens were gone. Their fate was the subject of Laura’s Facebook post.

The Nazis rounded up the Jews from Lens on September 11th, 1942. It was Rosh Hashana, the Jewish New Year. Among them were Laura’s grandmother’s elder sister, Rosalie, and her daughter Betty. They were sent to Belgium, to a place called Kazerne Dossin (now a memorial, museum and documentation center on Holocaust and Human Rights in Mechelen, Flanders) where they waited two days before being shipped out on Transport 10, arriving in Auschwitz-Birkenau on September 17. 

There is no archival record of how or when Rosalie died, but official papers show Betty was selected as a forced worker. She died of unknown circumstances on October 20, 1942. Portraits of Rosalie Fursetzer and her daughter Betty Mohr are part of the memorial and the Memorial Wall at the barracks of Kazerne Dossin.

According to Kazerne Dossin, “X Transport included 1,048 deportees, including 229 children less than 15 years … The youngest was Josef Jozefowicz, aged one month and a half.”  Only 17 survived the war. 

A remarkable but not that unique story, given the annals of Holocaust experiences. So why will I be sad? Because of two dates: September 11, already a date forever scarred, and October 20. October 20 has been one of the happiest days for our family. Dan was born that day in1978. Going forward, however, I will always also remember October 20 as the day my cousin Betty died during the Holocaust.

To Russia With Love

When my generation was young and more radical, a common retort by the powers-that-be (or should that be, “powers-that-were”?) was, “If you don’t like it here, move to Russia.” 

Now, it would appear, Russia might be the preferred locale for those “job creators” who don’t want their high incomes taxed too highly. According to KPMG, cited in Wednesday’s NY Times, at 13% Russia has the lowest top individual income tax rate among nine industrialized countries. Here’s how the top rates stack up: Sweden, 57%; Japan, 50%; Britain, 45%; Germany, 45%; Italy, 43%; France, 41%, soon to be 44% with the possibility of it going as high as 75% if new president François Hollande has his way; United States, 35%; Canada, 29%; Russia, 13%. 

The Times article painted a dire portrait of Frenchies scurrying to relocate to more tax-friendly countries, such as Belgium, as Hollande’s scheme to get them to pay more gathers momentum (http://www.nytimes.com/2012/08/08/business/global/frances-les-riches-vow-to-leave-if-75-tax-rate-is-passed.html?pagewanted=all). 

All of which begs the question, if the lower Bush tax rates on high incomes are allowed to expire at the end of the year, would our wealthy elite abandon the good ole’ USA to live, say, in Moscow or Vladivostok, in case they want a view of Sarah Palin’s home? Maybe not, given recent reports about Russian capitalists choosing to leave (http://www.nytimes.com/2012/08/04/world/europe/ex-kgb-banker-and-putin-critic-plans-to-sell-assets.html). They might find criticizing their new country’s leader, as they have been wont to do toward Barack Obama, slightly more problematic on many a foreign soil.

Of course, money, keeping your money, does talk. Here’s how two French business people explained the tax issue to The Times:

“‘People have an acceptable amount of taxes they are willing to pay,’ said Mr. (Steve) Horton, the (Parisian) accountant, ‘and if it goes above that, they will move somewhere that’s more reasonable.’” 

“‘The thing French politicians don’t seem to understand or care about is that when you tax away two-thirds of someone’s earnings to appeal to voters, productive people who can enrich businesses and the economy won’t come — or they will just leave,’ said Diane Segalen, a corporate headhunter.” 

Maybe. After all, during the Eisenhower years when our economy blossomed, the highest personal tax rate was 91%. I don’t seem to recall many corporate titans abandoning America back then. Nor did they flee America during the Clinton years when the top tax rate was 39%. 

Political Analogies: I never liked SAT tests or other exams that asked you to figure out what two sets of data had in common. But I am intrigued by this grouping: Birth Certificate is to Obama as Tax Return is to Romney.

Republicans are finding the shoe on their foot is no less tight than it was on Obama’s during the inane birther controversy that should have been resolved when Hawaii released copies of the president’s birth certificate. Obama is legally qualified to be our chief executive. Mitt Romney can stonewall all he wants about his tax returns for the last decade, but sooner or later he will have to give in and do what Obama did with his birth certificate—make it available to the public. 

For those defending Romney’s right to privacy, why is it that cabinet secretaries and other officials confirmed by the Senate must divulge more tax information than he is willing to? Romney is running for our country’s highest office. If he has nothing to hide, let’s get on with it and show the goods. If he does have something to hide, he should be reminded of the first rule of any political transgression: it’s not the foul that gets you in trouble, it’s the cover-up.

One interesting footnote to this dust-up between Romney and Sen. Harry Reid (who claims Romney paid no taxes for 10 years) is that both of them are Mormons. I wonder what the elders of the church think about all this brotherly “love”?

Lift-Off, Deferred

A small story a couple of weeks ago indicated the European Union was considering closing part of its operations in Strasbourg, France.

Not too important a story to most people, but it rang a bell with me. Some 15 years ago Gilda accompanied me to Strasbourg for a speech I delivered to a European sporting goods association. Located in northwest France, Strasbourg is the main city of the Alsace-Lorraine region contested with Germany for decades. Its favorite food is sauerkraut, served with boiled meat. Andre Solter, the famed chef of Lutece, the famous New York French restaurant, hailed from there.

In Strasbourg, waitresses inputted your order and ran your credit card through portable terminals they carried with them to your table. Technology available 15 years ago in France has yet to be adopted in the United States.

But I digress. Today's blog, while inspired by Strasbourg, is another of my self-deprecating stories.

While in Strasbourg, Gilda and I attended Sabbath services at a local synagogue. It was an Orthodox service, so we had to sit apart.

Now, it is customary in most Jewish temples to recognize guests by giving them an honor during the Torah reading portion of the service. The gabbai (head usher, or sextant) came over and apologized, relating that all the honors had been dispensed except that of hagbah, the lifting of the two-poled Torah, a scroll roughly four feet tall and weighing anywhere from 30 to 60 pounds, for about 10 seconds. In some quarters, the spread of the hagbah lift—how many columns of text can be seen by the congregation—is a measure of virility. Anything more than three columns is a good showing.

As a rule, I don't do hagbahs. I don't feel strong enough to sustain even a one column lift. I fear I would drop the Torah, which, for those not familiar with Jewish practice, would demand anyone who witnessed the unfortunate incident fast for 40 days, the length of time it took Moses to receive the Torah from God on Mount Sinai.

No way was I going to subject Strasbourg's Jewish community to the possibility of a foodless 40 days. I respectfully declined the honor of hagbah.

Several minutes later a teenage boy performed the widest hagbah I have ever witnessed—at least 15 columns! The Torah he lifted, the Torah I had deferred an opportunity to lift, was barely 18 inches tall and weighed perhaps 10 pounds.