The Sweet Here, After

Today a nation mourns.

At 11 am, GMT +1, Belgium held a moment of silence for the victims of the tragic bus accident that occurred this Wednesday in Sierre, Switzerland, killing nearly two dozen school children and six adults on the way back from a school-sponsored ski trip.

The unthinkable became thinkable to many this week, to bury your own child. It is a horrible thing, and something that happens every day, everywhere, in every country and every time. But, that makes it no less the easy concept to conceive. I have known several friends and acquaintances that have either lost a child, or nearly, and it is heart-breaking.

What makes such events even more difficult to bear is when there just is no rhyme or reason to it. The concept of Theodicy is the explanation of how there could be “evil” in a world that was created by a perfect Godhead. How could there be such imperfection at the hands of perfection?

This tragic story brought much to my mind these past two days. There is a movie called “The Sweet Hereafter” by Atom Egoyan from 1997, which tells the story of a tragic school bus accident in a small, Canadian town and the aftermath that ensues. The community is ripped apart by guilt, blame, and utter loss and confusion as to how this could happen. One of the parent’s actions are put into question about the potential cause of the accident. Families and friends are torn asunder. How can you continue living after such an event?

I had the privilege of meeting Judy Collins several years ago when I worked at the Harry Ransom Center and part of my job included meeting with several famous people. Without a doubt, Ms. Collins left the most lasting impression upon me though. She spoke with a candor and sincerity that is so rare in life, and when she spoke to you, you would feel like you were the only person on the planet. With her piercing, Sweet Judy Blue Eyes and flowing mane of shock-white hair, she gave whomever she was speaking to her total attention. One of the things she spoke about was the suicide of her son, Clark, who suffered from alcohol abuse and depression, which often go hand in hand. She spoke with such clarity and understanding, and most of all, acceptance that one would almost doubt her words if they were merely written. But, to see her and hear her in person, there was no doubt.

One of the things that she said in a similar interview with Bill Moyers was that when she got through the “fog” of his death, she was able to see that the world was a funny place and that there are the very, very simple things in life that she can enjoy and that make it possible for her to continue, including her sweet music, especially a song that she wrote about her son.

I have had to confront my own mortality and mistakes that I have made in my life that could have cost the lives of my own family, that of my young daughter and her mother several years ago. I was responsible for a single-car accident in which they were with me. To this day, I know that had I been alone, it would have been worse, or fatal, for I do believe that it was so mild because something was looking out for them, not me. But, it did happen, on a small dark, country road in Italy, when I should not have been driving after having had wine that evening, even though it was merely a short drive down the road.

But, it did happen, and I lived that night over and over in my head for years, knowing that I had been responsible. The next day, as we were part of a large project that involved many students and faculty members, I walked the grounds of the project for several hours, speaking to every member and student in person, face to face, telling them what had happened and that it had been a direct result of my irresponsible actions, and that I was sorry that they had to be a part of that experience. My life was never the same after that event, for many reasons. The nightmares eventually ceased, but the agenbite of inwit, or literally the re-morse, the re-chewing of the conscience will perhaps always be there, as is the case for all traumatic events in our lives.

What was initially, however, a negative, bitter chewing at my conscience, eventually became sweet. It became sweet because I had been given a chance to live a different life, with the constant awareness that our lives are always in the balance, sometimes from our own foolish actions, as was the case in mine, or from the capriciousness of accidents, such as what has happened this week for Belgium. Both are stark reminders that our lives are limited and that the children are unfortunately the innocent victims of both negligence and fate.

My life and my relationship with my daughter are blessed in many ways, and there is so much sweetness in our lives. I will, when she is older, need to talk to her about the issues of negligence and consequences of being responsible, both from my experiences and from those of others that I have learned vicariously through: with alcohol, with drugs, with sex, with honesty, with ... fill in the blank, but I will also speak with her about the sweetness of life and how, as Ms. Collins says, that it can be funny. It is hard to think that life is funny in times like this, because I find no humor in the thought of this week’s events nor from that dark night in Italy. There is no-thing funny about them.

Yet, there is an After, and in that After, the only consolation sometimes is to seek out that Sweetness, and to embrace it, in spite of the Bitter, Bitter indifference of the face of Death. It may take many, many years, but it is our only Hope as humans with a conscience and with memory.

May they Rest in Peace.

And, if interested, Ms. Collins says it better than I could, as with her song at the end.

A Very Sad Day for Belgium

My deepest sympathies go out to the families and friends of the victims in the horrible bus accident in Switzerland today.

This is a devastating tragedy, and a very dark day for Belgium.

My deepest condolences.

I Hear Voices

The vogue for the past few years on television in Belgium  (and elsewhere is seems) revolves around three major themes as far as I can tell: housing (usually surprise renovations or extreme cleaning sessions), eating, and singing. Throw in the unbridled and uninhibited, shameless racism and sexism that permeates almost any prime-time program and you pretty much have covered the spectrum of what you will find while zapping the digital airwaves here.

However, leave it to Belgium to inject the political rift between the French-speaking Walloons and the Flemish-speaking Flemish in a way that clinically would only be known as schizophrenia, leaving me to wonder if that is in fact the diagnosis for this “country.” Why the quotation marks you ask? Well, if you know anything about Belgium identity, it is that there is no such thing as Belgian identity, except for well, being born within the borders of the UN-recognized, sovereign state currently known as Belgium. A tautological conundrum, to say the least.

So, if you are living in the northern, western provinces of Belgium, chances are you speak Flemish as your native language and consider yourself Flemish (meaning there is a good chance that you share some political sympathies with a leaner, meaner Bart de Wever) before Belgian, and certainly European before Belgian, usually. But, we’ll get to that in a moment. Furthermore, if you are from Ghent or its environs, chances are you may have even grown up also speaking French, but the only place you would most likely ever dare to speak is in France, because if you are truly Flemish, when you go to predominantly French-speaking Brussels, which is neither really feline (Lion), nor fowl (Rooster), you will often begin in Flemish because, by God, Belgium is supposed to be tri-lingual (we’ll leave the poor German-speaking stepchildren alone for the moment).

Yet, when you quickly become annoyed that the Brussels denizen does not speak Flemish, primarily because nobody in Brussels is actually Belgian (see definition above of “Belgium”), but rather from northern Africa, Turkey, eastern Europe, western Europe, Asia, America, or anywhere else BUT Belgium, then you will resort to French or English begrudgingly, but all the while secretly feeling superior because you also speak Flemish. Snarky and snide? Absolutely. Comes with the territory.

However, on the other hand, if you live in the southern part of the region of Belgium, you will most likely speak Walloon, a very antiquated dialect of French, as you first language and are probably more or less comfortable calling yourself Belgian and/or Walloon, without too much anxiety either way, and you are wondering if your compatriots, using that term very loosely, are really series about establishing a Confederacy without you, even though for the first 100 years or so of the sovereign state of Belgium, it was the South who carried the North on their backs. How quickly we forget.

So, when it comes to television, the lines are drawn equally so ferociously and never the twain shall meet. For, if you live in the North, you are eagerly awaiting the impending finals with Bert, Glenn, Silke, and Iris of the singing show, The Voice van Vlaanderen (The Voice of Flanders), while in the South, you would be watching the The Voice Belgique (The Voice of Belgium), which airs on the French-speaking network La Une. And, what’s more absurd? Neither show acknowledges the other one on its website, and as you will note, the majority of the songs sung by the contestant are in English. This pretty much sums up the dilemma here.

There is no cooperation, no compromise, and as a result, one is left with petty regionalism to spite the other. Bart De Wever and co. have called for a Flemish Confederacy (I will suppress the Kennedy Toole temptation for allusion here) yet again, after finally the country deciding upon a government. Excuse me, Neem me niet kwalijk, Excusez-moi, or Entschuldigen Sie mich, bitte, but is that not a bit counterproductive? To spend over a year establishing a government and before it even has a chance to be proved effective or not, not even a year’s probation of sorts, he is already clamoring for secession.

There are many Voices here in Belgium, and unfortunately they are often talking to themselves, and not looking at the big picture, but rather choosing for the fractured, factionalized schisms that plague this country. My question, I guess, is what show the German-speakers chose to watch?

Or, is there yet another Voice in my head?