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OP-ED COLUMNIST-HOPE THAT ENNOBLES
By ROGER COHEN
New York Times
October 12, 2009
NEW YORK -- I want this column to be good. I want it to be so good,
it wins a prize. One of those big prizes, like the ones they hand
out every year in Stockholm and Oslo.
I want it to be subtle and full of goodness and infuse all humankind
with hope. Let me be clear: I want it to be uplifting, conciliatory
and bold. In fact I want it to carry some miraculous quality.
I've traveled the world, seen the forgotten silos on the plains, the
rusting railroad cars, the forbidding watchtowers, the scavengers in
the garbage, the fatigue-smudged faces, the refugees sprawled on the
school room floor, the lonely lingerers, the freighters hardening
the horizon, the beautiful and the damned.
Along the way I've learned this: We deny our connectedness at our
peril. Let me be clear: This is the 21st century.
I've heard the infant's cry, the sobbing of the bereaved, the old
man's sigh, the whispering of the valley, the stirring of desire, the
echo of war, the village bells, the ram's horn rising, the muezzin's
pre-dawn call to prayer.
That's a lot of different sounds. So let me be clear: As children
of Abraham we are all responsible for one another. This is the age
of responsibility.
I've known the walls that divide us, the propaganda of hate, the
crops that wither, the seas that rise, the networks that go down,
the tires that go flat, the light bulbs that go out, the subways that
stop and the delays at O'Hare Airport.
That's a lot of different problems. And I want there to be no doubt:
The problems we face can only be solved together.
I want this column to advance peace, to banish the specter of nuclear
winter, to spread solar energy, to stop ice caps melting, to halt
pandemics, save energy, spare lives, reconcile Arabs and Jews, and
let's not forget the Persians.
In fact, I want so much from this column, I thought about not writing
it, so that what would be left was a beautiful blank space that reade
ust thinking about it.
But, on further reflection, that struck me as too Rive Gauche for some
of my American readers, although certainly not for my good friends
in Oslo (peace be upon them).
A virtual column, waiting to be written, poised atop the vortex,
is one filled with infinite possibility. With each word I write I am
confining it. The way reality encroaches on fantasy is terrible to
bear. But that's the human condition we share whether we are black,
white or -- increasingly -- brown.
Let there be no doubt: I want Turks and Armenians to embrace, something
good for South Ossetia, and peace sans pygmies -- forgive me, sans
persecutions -- in Pyongyang. May the spirit of Moses, Jesus and
Muhammad -- peace be upon them too -- spread in the Holy Land.
Some will say I'm a dreamer. Some might find themselves unable to
engage with these engaging aspirations even if this is the age of
engagement. But there is no alternative to engagement except, perhaps,
divorce, alienation, separation, enmity, competition, rivalry, envy,
misunderstanding, threats, intimidation and rage -- all of which I
reject on principle.
There have always been doubters, skeptics, losers -- and
Republicans. But I say to them: The hopeful will inherit the earth. And
I say to them: Read my mass e-mailings or see me on Twitter.
I know, Philip Roth writes more than two dozen novels and can't get
a Nobel. But I'm sure I think more beautiful thoughts. If my thoughts
were dark I might want to be a novelist rather than a columnist.
I know, Nelson Mandela spent more than two dozen years imprisoned
and he did get a Nobel. But, well, I've lost my train of thought.
What I know is this: The hypothetical is worthless in history. And
I'm sure many of you are saying to yourselves: It's just fine and
dandy hoping for all these wonderful things, but what about deeds,
actions, achievements, results?
Forgive me, but that's so 20th century. We live in a virtual age. We
are the Wii-players of history! Our medium is thin air. We don't n
we desire.
In conclusion, I know this column has fallen short. I am aware of its
shortcomings, its banality and its immodesty. I am humbled by all the
great practitioners of this 820-word craft -- "art" would be going too
far -- in whose illustrious footsteps I tread. But I know this: If I've
given momentum to some global fantasy, my time has not been wasted.
You know, I love Norway. It's the anti-Denmark. I love its fjords and
its Munchs. The fjords remind us of the beauty of the planet we all
share. The Munchs illustrate the eternal agony of the human condition
-- but forget that. Hope trumps experience every time.
Finally, let me be clear: All prize money is payable to me.
Roger Cohen's column now appears on Tuesdays and Fridays.
From: Emil Lazarian | Ararat NewsPress
By ROGER COHEN
New York Times
October 12, 2009
NEW YORK -- I want this column to be good. I want it to be so good,
it wins a prize. One of those big prizes, like the ones they hand
out every year in Stockholm and Oslo.
I want it to be subtle and full of goodness and infuse all humankind
with hope. Let me be clear: I want it to be uplifting, conciliatory
and bold. In fact I want it to carry some miraculous quality.
I've traveled the world, seen the forgotten silos on the plains, the
rusting railroad cars, the forbidding watchtowers, the scavengers in
the garbage, the fatigue-smudged faces, the refugees sprawled on the
school room floor, the lonely lingerers, the freighters hardening
the horizon, the beautiful and the damned.
Along the way I've learned this: We deny our connectedness at our
peril. Let me be clear: This is the 21st century.
I've heard the infant's cry, the sobbing of the bereaved, the old
man's sigh, the whispering of the valley, the stirring of desire, the
echo of war, the village bells, the ram's horn rising, the muezzin's
pre-dawn call to prayer.
That's a lot of different sounds. So let me be clear: As children
of Abraham we are all responsible for one another. This is the age
of responsibility.
I've known the walls that divide us, the propaganda of hate, the
crops that wither, the seas that rise, the networks that go down,
the tires that go flat, the light bulbs that go out, the subways that
stop and the delays at O'Hare Airport.
That's a lot of different problems. And I want there to be no doubt:
The problems we face can only be solved together.
I want this column to advance peace, to banish the specter of nuclear
winter, to spread solar energy, to stop ice caps melting, to halt
pandemics, save energy, spare lives, reconcile Arabs and Jews, and
let's not forget the Persians.
In fact, I want so much from this column, I thought about not writing
it, so that what would be left was a beautiful blank space that reade
ust thinking about it.
But, on further reflection, that struck me as too Rive Gauche for some
of my American readers, although certainly not for my good friends
in Oslo (peace be upon them).
A virtual column, waiting to be written, poised atop the vortex,
is one filled with infinite possibility. With each word I write I am
confining it. The way reality encroaches on fantasy is terrible to
bear. But that's the human condition we share whether we are black,
white or -- increasingly -- brown.
Let there be no doubt: I want Turks and Armenians to embrace, something
good for South Ossetia, and peace sans pygmies -- forgive me, sans
persecutions -- in Pyongyang. May the spirit of Moses, Jesus and
Muhammad -- peace be upon them too -- spread in the Holy Land.
Some will say I'm a dreamer. Some might find themselves unable to
engage with these engaging aspirations even if this is the age of
engagement. But there is no alternative to engagement except, perhaps,
divorce, alienation, separation, enmity, competition, rivalry, envy,
misunderstanding, threats, intimidation and rage -- all of which I
reject on principle.
There have always been doubters, skeptics, losers -- and
Republicans. But I say to them: The hopeful will inherit the earth. And
I say to them: Read my mass e-mailings or see me on Twitter.
I know, Philip Roth writes more than two dozen novels and can't get
a Nobel. But I'm sure I think more beautiful thoughts. If my thoughts
were dark I might want to be a novelist rather than a columnist.
I know, Nelson Mandela spent more than two dozen years imprisoned
and he did get a Nobel. But, well, I've lost my train of thought.
What I know is this: The hypothetical is worthless in history. And
I'm sure many of you are saying to yourselves: It's just fine and
dandy hoping for all these wonderful things, but what about deeds,
actions, achievements, results?
Forgive me, but that's so 20th century. We live in a virtual age. We
are the Wii-players of history! Our medium is thin air. We don't n
we desire.
In conclusion, I know this column has fallen short. I am aware of its
shortcomings, its banality and its immodesty. I am humbled by all the
great practitioners of this 820-word craft -- "art" would be going too
far -- in whose illustrious footsteps I tread. But I know this: If I've
given momentum to some global fantasy, my time has not been wasted.
You know, I love Norway. It's the anti-Denmark. I love its fjords and
its Munchs. The fjords remind us of the beauty of the planet we all
share. The Munchs illustrate the eternal agony of the human condition
-- but forget that. Hope trumps experience every time.
Finally, let me be clear: All prize money is payable to me.
Roger Cohen's column now appears on Tuesdays and Fridays.
From: Emil Lazarian | Ararat NewsPress