Sunday, January 29, 2017

Anne Frank and the Immigration Ban

"I am forced to look out for emigration and as far as I can see U.S.A. is the only country we could go to." –Otto Frank 

In 1941, Otto Frank applied for entry to the U.S. He was rejected. Well, that’s partly true, he was granted a single visa, but it was cancelled when Germany and Italy declared war on the U.S. You’ve probably seen lots of posts over Holocaust Remembrance Day—posts about refugees, women and children turned away at Ellis Island and their death dates and locations: Bergen-Belsen, AuschwitzMajdanek. 

We who learned about the Holocaust in school looked to our grandparents as though to say, “What kind of world did you live in, that you would send children away to their deaths?” 

And if we dared to voice our judgment, they may have replied, “We were afraid. America was just recovering from the Depression, and we didn’t think we had the resources. There were some who blamed Jews for the Depression. How could we be sure? It was best to protect our own interests.” Or they might have said, “It wasn’t me at all. It was the government. I lived in a farm in North Dakota. What could I have done?” 

When our children and our grandchildren read the history of our time, of current-President Donald Trump’s Muslim exclusion, will they shake their heads, unsure how we could have stood by and allowed the worst to happen to desperate people? 

“I still believe, in spite of everything, that people are still truly good at heart...” –Anne Frank 

Oh, Anne. I wish I had your optimism. 

Wednesday, January 18, 2017

Poetry for the Lost

Once again, social media (Goodreads) reminded me to miss my friend who liked all the same books I did. My friend who wrote the most scathing, obscenity-packed eviscerations of the ones that fell short of her standards. My friend who killed herself last year.


For Lauren
I still have your book.

It was good. I read the whole thing
even though it was nonfiction,
and I don’t usually get into that.

I still have your book.

I don’t know why I’ve kept it so long.
I’ve had it for, like, five years now
And I’ve had plenty of opportunities to return it.

Except we were probably meeting out someplace
In ridiculous shoes. Carrying tiny, useless purses
Only big enough to hold lipstick
And a pack of Parliaments
That neither of us smoked.
Except when we did.
Like when we were together.

I still have your book.

I go to those places sometimes,
And I look for you.
Swear sometimes I can hear you.
Cursing.

You’d be so mad if you knew
The bullshit that’s going on right now.

I keep thinking I should call you.
Or text.
Because it’s been too long,
And I have no excuse.

Except that you’re gone.

But I miss you.

I’m so mad at you.

And I still have your book.