Lately I’ve been having flashbacks to the 1960s/70s in the United States and, as a result, being called “moody” by my biggest critic here, but it is hard not to be with the memories that haunt me from what could only be considered an eventful life. Thus, there is the melancholy that results which seems to be part of the make-up of Southern Italians along with the strong passions that periodically provoke both havoc and pleasure in our lives. The times, though, that I recall were “interesting times”, which the ancient Chinese used to utter as a sort of curse: “May you live in interesting times!” Because it was a time of turmoil when established concepts and even lifestyles underwent drastic change. Of course, this wasn’t just happening in the US at the time. There were upheavals in other countries caused by protests there, too: France, Germany, Korea, Great Britain, Italy, not to mention what would happen in many countries in South America, and even in the late 1980s in China itself. It seemed, to those of us who were politically aware, that the world was undergoing a revolution and life as we knew it, as our parents and grandparents had known it, was never going to be the same.
Well, we were right and we were wrong.
Things did change. The protests against the Vietnam War, the protests for civil rights for minorities (African Americans, Native Americans, Latinos, Asian Americans, immigrants of all nationalities and races), women’s rights, gay rights, even movements supporting migrant workers with boycotts of iceberg lettuce and grapes, against tobacco companies and oil companies, riots against police brutality, and the silent vigils, the long candlelight processions mourning the deaths, and the riots that erupted in cities across the country after the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr.
It seemed we were always living for or against something bigger than we were, some principle that guided our lives, that led me, for one, into working for the Boy Scouts in the inner city of Toledo, into a community of the like-minded writers, singers, actors in NYC, to grad school, to the culture wars in LA, to the lost years of the early 80s when I tried to forget it all and just live a peaceful life, but that all changed again when I ended up devoting 20 plus years to trying to empower immigrants through the English language programs I created.
Principles. Missionary work, as one VP at one of my college’s called it. A vision of a world where there was a level playing field for all, a place at the table for anyone to partake of what was the nourishment of what we believed to be the ideal of America.
And things did change, and yet remained the same. The battles continue because the war for liberty is never won, just perpetually fought in every corner of the world, time and time again. A victory here, a defeat there, an uprising over there, suppression on the corner. It’s a struggle that never ends but must be fought on city streets, on dirt roads, in courtrooms, in schoolyards, even in homes, and especially in voting booths wherever elections are held. It’ll take more than votes, but blood, sweat, and bucketfuls of tears.
But what in life has value except the things we pay most dearly for?
So here I am in Istanbul, having just come back from visiting the carnival atmosphere that exists in Gezi Park now, and I think enjoy the moment, my beautiful Turkish people, for the police will be back. Maybe not here, maybe not now, but they always return. Be strong, be brave, as I know you as a people are. And you will win this day, just as I know you will be prepared to fight again tomorrow. Your struggle is not over, but just begun. And oh how this old 60s person’s heart swells with love for you all.