19 January 2017

A Letter to My Toddler Daughter on the Eve of the Presidential Inauguration


The morning of November 8—election day—my wife and I and our one-year-old daughter eagerly wore our Hillary for President shirts. The H-with-an-arrow logo seemed to embody our daughter’s nimble, energetic, hopeful spirit. We even had a t-shirt for her teddy bear, and as she hugged it, she flashed a gap-toothed, triumphal smile.

I thought about the letter to my daughter that I’d recently begun. I was going to finish up that night, when Hillary Rodham Clinton was elected our first female president. I was going to talk about strong women. Sojurner Truth. Susan B. Anthony. Fanny Lou Hamer. Thanks to all their hard work all of us alive today have more opportunities, and though there’s more—way, way more—to be done, the future’s bright.

And the election results came.

Platitudes drained away. Words failed. The document with my notes stayed untouched for days, weeks, months. I didn't know how to say something that didn’t devolve into swearing and bitterness. I’ve never felt such writers’ block, or such a mental block, period.

On the cusp of inauguration, I’m still trying to make sense of it all, but I also understand that I can’t just sit here processing. And this, I’ve finally realized, is what I want to say to my daughter:

* * * 

Dear M,

The stories you know end “Happily Ever After,” and what a joy that is. In real life, it’s possible, achievable. Savor that hope, that vision for the future. Never let it go.

But the truth is, my love, things do not always work out, despite our best efforts, our best intentions, our dearest wishes. Saying this out loud feels like both a breach of the parental contract to soothe and comfort, and also a fulfillment of parental obligation to prepare you for the world.

The lives we lead do not always follow a tidy, predictable, cheery narrative arc. The monsters and villains and bullies—people who brag about assaulting women, say things that even their friends agree are racist, use power to line their own pockets, take pleasure in belittling and causing physical harm to other people—sometimes win, even when we stand up to them.

In a better world, this would not be so. In a better world, the long arc of history really would bend toward justice. I’m still enough of an optimist to think that maybe, in the longest of long terms, that’s where it’s heading. But in the meantime, it sure takes a lot of detours toward turmoil.

Nothing is promised.

Yet nothing is impossible, either. And there’s not even a chance for a better world unless you work for it.

So do that.

Work for the core values of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness for everyone, even when it feels inconvenient or awkward for you. For racial and economic justice. For the health and well-being of your community. For gender equality, for clean air, for safe streets. For a better world, as wishy-washy and naïve as that may sometimes feel.

Climate change is real; black lives matter; immigrants make our communities immeasurably better; a free press and voting rights are essential to a functioning democracy--these are all truths that I feel obligated to write down for posterity, because in our topsy-turvy moment, too many people are denying them.

Know that you are never alone, in the dark moments of despair or in your forward-looking efforts to be the change. Build your community—and work to expand it. Be kind and compassionate, even to those who seem odd or with whom you disagree. Put yourself in their shoes, listen to their arguments, dig deeper to understand both the facts in question and the common ground of opinions.

Seek truth, knowing that it can be subjective, but having zero tolerance for those who try to twist it. Strive to make the world a better place for everyone, not just yourself.

Let me repeat that: Strive to make the world a better place. For everyone. Not just yourself.

It’s not always easy or fun. It doesn’t always help you get ahead. But it’s the right thing to do, the only way for us all to get ahead together.

Finally, understand the limits of all of this. Sometimes you will need to take care of yourself and curl up in a blanket and hide from the world. These moments are human and necessary.

Other times, you will sometimes run out of empathy and listening. Sometimes fighting for what’s right requires you to be belligerent, to stand your ground, to give no quarter, to tell people, “You’re wrong, back off.” That is sometimes the appropriate response. Be confident and independent and trust yourself.

Moving forward is a struggle—sometimes awkward and stumbling. But the fight’s the thing.

And know that I’m always rooting for you, with all my love and admiration.

Love,

Dad

18 January 2017

My Book Would Make an Excellent Valentine's Day Gift



So I have a new book coming out on February 14th. It's called The Not-Quite States of America and it's all about the U.S. territories and Booklist says, "One will never think about the United States in quite the same way after this enjoyable read" and you can preorder it from your local bookseller or via Indiebound, Barnes & Noble, direct from W.W. Norton, or from that giant website named for a river ... and there's lots more info right over here.

But let's go back to the February 14th thing. That's Valentine's Day. An occasion best known for flowers and chocolates and teddy bears dressed like Cupid and dinner at whatever fancy restaurant still had space when you finally remembered to call yesterday.

You know that's even better than that--and would make for a less clichéd, more lasting sort of gift? My book. But perhaps you need some enticing. Perhaps the book lacks the proper sense of occasion. Well, fret no more, because now you can have it all: a great book (sure to gain your loved one's affection) and your Valentine's Day swag.

Which is to say: I made you some wrapping paper and some cards that fit both the spirit of the day and the spirit of the book.

The wrapping paper is set up to print on 11" x 17" paper and, yes, it's all the right size and suitable for printing. Here's the PDF file.




The cards are also all set to go--just print on 8.5" x 11" paper (do not scale) and trim as noted; they're 4" x 6" when folded. Some are sweet, some are snarky. Some are specific references to my book and its themes; some simply celebrate reading. Something for everyone and every relationship. Here's the PDF file with all fifteen cards. And here's a sample.


(Page 152 features an X-rated sculpture park on Guam.)


True.


If you do give this as a gift to someone and use the wrapping paper or one of these cards, tweet me a photo (or post it to my Facebook page) and I'll send you a little gift. Real offer.

Go on, then. Preorder!
Indiebound
Barnes & Noble
direct from W.W. Norton,
Amazon

... And there's more about the book over here.

05 August 2016

Why Puerto Rico and other US territories have their own Olympic teams

This evening in Rio de Janeiro, thousands of athletes will march into Maracanã Stadium, representing 207 teams—which is not to say 207 countries acknowledged as such by the United Nations.

There will also be, among others, a refugee team and the “Independent Olympic Participants” and the Cayman Islands, a British Overseas Territory. And if you’re paying attention, you’ll notice a few delegations from “countries” you may have thought were part of the United States—the American territories of Puerto Rico (forty athletes), the US Virgin Islands (seven), Guam (three), and American Samoa (three). (The other US territory, the Northern Mariana Islands, has never fielded an Olympic team.)

So. What’s up with that? Why do the territories have their own teams?

According to the Olympic charter, “the expression ‘country’ means an independent State recognized by the international community.” Of course, “recognized by” is a hazy term; the international community is diverse and fractious body, particularly on matters of land-claims and cultural identity and all the things that make a State a State. Really, the International Olympic Committee’s stance boils down to this: If you call yourself independent and have some level of political separation from any other nation, that’s good enough. (Soccer’s governing body, FIFA, has an even looser definition of “country.” American Samoa’s men’s team was for many years the lowest-ranked side in the world; there’s delightful documentary about the team, called “Next Goal Wins.”)

The US territories are neither states in the American sense nor States in the UN sense. They’re part of the USA, sorta kinda (gentle reminder: You can now preorder my book about this!) but separate enough that the IOC has given the okay to field their own teams.

And they’ve had some success at it: Puerto Rico has won eight medals nine medals (update: tennis player Monica Puig just won the territory's first gold!) and the USVI won a silver for sailing in 1988. (Bonus fun fact: all four of these territories have sent athletes to the Winter Olympics, including a bobsleigh team from American Samoa.)

In some cases, the presence of an Olympic team is itself a political statement, a way of arguing for autonomy even if, in many legal ways, it doesn’t fully exist. Hence the Palestinian team. Hence the team representing Chinese Taipei, which you know as Taiwan or perhaps the Republic of China and is not to be confused with the People’s Republic of China. (When it comes to whether or not Taiwan is part of China, well, it’s complicated.)

Within each American territory, there’s significant disagreement about what the political status should be in the future: some people are fine with the territorial set-up, some hope to become independent, some argue for statehood. So it’s not quite accurate to see the territories’ teams as a demand for a political change, at least not per se. But, politics aside, they certainly offer a sense of identity and local pride for these places that are too often forgotten by their compatriots back in the states.

When I was in Puerto Rico last year, several people reminisced to me about the 2004 Summer Olympics, when the Puerto Rican men’s basketball team defeated Team USA and its superstars—for a moment, all of Puerto Rico bonded together with a sense of nationalism. As the British historian Eric Hobsbawm has said of soccer teams, “The imagined community of millions seems more real as a team of eleven people.”

11 July 2016

New book: THE NOT-QUITE STATES OF AMERICA (coming February 2017)

My new book has a cover and a description and a publication date: February 14, 2017.*

Preorder now via the W.W. Norton website or your local bookstore or retailer of choice! Ask for it by name: The Not-Quite States of America: Dispatches From the Territories and Other Far-Flung Outposts of the USA

And here's a description:

An entertaining and eye-opening journey to the most overlooked parts of America.

Everyone knows that the USA is made up of fifty states and, uh, . . . some other stuff. The territories of American Samoa, Guam, Puerto Rico, the Northern Mariana Islands, and the US Virgin Islands are often neglected, but they are filled with American flags and national parks and US post offices and some 4 million people, many of whom are as proudly red-white-and-blue as any Daughter of the American Revolution.

In The Not-Quite States of America, Doug Mack ventures 31,000 miles across the globe and deep into American history to reveal the fascinating and forgotten story of how these places became part of the United States, what they’re like today, and how they helped create the nation as we know it. Along the way, Mack meets members of millennia-old indigenous groups, far-flung US government workers, ardent separatists, and tropical-paradise dropouts and dreamers in a quixotic and winning quest to find America where it is least expected.


More details (and a full website with photos and highlights and all kinds of fun stuff) coming soon!

--

* That's right: Valentine's Day. It's the perfect gift for that special (or not-quite special) someone in your life ... or for anyone, of course. Should I make some thematic Valentine's Day cards? Yeah. I think so. 

13 June 2016

Je Suis GLBTQ

I woke up on Sunday and heard the news and held my baby daughter close as I wept and apologized for this world, this world, this messed-up world. Forty-nine people killed by a hate-filled man armed with a military-grade weapon "designed for slaughter in war zones."

Throughout the day, politicians tweeted out their "thoughts and prayers for the victims," and we had yet more national flash-debates about terrorism and religious extremism and gun control. There's been plenty said about all of that, and I don't have anything intelligent to add right now (although I need to say: No one needs a fucking AR-15 and they should be banned tomorrow).

But one thing that struck me was the characterization of who, exactly, was "under attack."

I heard Orlando was under attack. I heard America was under attack.

No. This wasn't about a particular place but a particular identity: the people at Pulse were targeted because they were gay. The GLBTQ community, specifically, is what was under attack. They were murdered because of who they love. We need to say it. Say it loud. Say it with agony: 49 PEOPLE KILLED IN GAY NIGHTCLUB BY HOMOPHOBIC GUNMAN WHO WANTED TO KILL GAY PEOPLE.

Yes, the President said it; Hillary Clinton said it; I saw plenty of people on social media saying it. But still, not enough people said it. The message didn't seem to resonate.

As far as I can tell, every well-known Republican politician sent out cut-and-paste prayers for the people killed. They dug deep into the gunman's past and religion, but never once noted that he was killing people for being gay; in the process, they tacitly denied the essential fact that the root cause of this heinous act was not a specific religion but a deep homophobia. And they certainly didn't say that homophobia is all too common across the religious spectrum in this nation, and all too deadly--this is part of a broader history in this nation of attacks on GLBTQ people. (See also: The guy who was planning to attack the LA Pride Parade this weekend. Trans people or people suspected of being trans attacked in bathrooms. The bombing of the UpStairs Lounge.)

Here is what I want to say.

You can't eradicate a sickness until you identify what it is and what it's doing. When you talk about solidarity, know exactly who needs your solidarity. Don't say you stand with Orlando. Say you stand with the GLBTQ community.

If that makes you feel weird, remember how you added a French flag to your Facebook avatar after the Paris attacks last autumn, because even though you're not French, you wanted to express solidarity with a community under siege. Remember how you proclaimed "Je Suis Charlie" after the Charlie Hebdo murders, even though you're not a cartoonist--but you support free speech (even if it makes you kind of uncomfortable) and it's important to show your support for anyone targeted in such a way.

It's pretty basic. All I'm asking is the same thing here. Specific, outward solidarity and empathy with the community under attack. Je Suis GLBTQ. Support the idea that people should be allowed to love whoever they love (even if it makes you kind of uncomfortable). There's a lot more that we need to do to combat homophobia and support the GLBTQ community--here are some resources--but as a baseline, the absolute least we can and must do, is call out hatred when we see it.

I ended Sunday as I began: holding my daughter, weeping. Not just for the dead but for the living--particularly those who have the loudest, most powerful voices--who can't summon the basic decency to identify homophobia as a menace and to push back against it.

If they won't even mumble it, the rest of us need to shout it from the rooftops. I stand with the GLBTQ community--friends and family and strangers. I support you and love you just as you are, and I'm gonna keep fighting for your rights.

(Oh, and I'm closing the comments because I don't have the energy to moderate.)

27 May 2016

#TBEX 2016: A Minneapolis Guide From An Authentic Local



Hello there, Travel People. Welcome to the MallOfAmericaville, also known as the Twin Cities.

You may be wondering: If I leave the Mall, will I have to get around via sled dog? Do all the local restaurants serve Jell-O or just most of them? How do I get to Prince's house (#RIP #PurpleRain #WaitHeLivedHereNotIndianapolisRight)? 

Well. I’m Doug. I’ve lived here my whole life, and I have answers and guidance for you. 

I trust that the following goes without saying ... but I still need to say it: Take some time to get the hell out of the Mall and go see Minneapolis and Saint Paul proper. It's your duty as Travel People. Hop on the light rail--there's a station at the Mall--and you can get to Minnehaha Falls, one of our showcase parks (discussed below), in fifteen minutes, and all the way to downtown Minneapolis in about half an hour.

Basic Info

  • The local time zone is Central, GMT -5. 
  • The local currency is the US dollar ... folded into origami versions of our state things: a loon (state bird), a showy lady's slipper (state flower), a blueberry muffin (state muffin). Start practicing your folding skills; we won't accept your money otherwise. Just a weird local tic.
  • Some key phrases in the local language: 
    • Saint Paul is, to hear most Minneapolitans describe it, a mythical land at the edge of the known universe, rumored to hold such enchantments as the state capitol, professional hockey, and unicorns. I can verify that, in fact, Saint Paul is both real and wonderful. You should take the time to head east and explore Minneapolis's twin city (see "Other Things to See and Do). To get there via light rail, take the Blue Line from the Mall into downtown Minneapolis, then transfer to the Green Line, heading east.
    • Nicollet Mall is the main downtown eating/shopping street, near the Convention Center. Say it the local, definitely-not-French way: "NICK-o-lit" or "NICK-uh-lit."
    • A Jucy (or Juicy) Lucy is the local contribution to the culinary universe. Basically, a cheeseburger with the cheese inside. Do eat one, even if you're a hard-core granola-and-sprouts type. They're greasy manna. Don't make the rookie mistake of biting into it immediately after it arrives, unless you want third-degree burns on your tongue. Wait a minute. 
    • Nordeast is the area just across the river from downtown Minneapolis. 
    • Uptown is actually south of downtown by a few miles. I know, New Yorkers. Hush. 
    • The River is the Mississippi. It's a great place to go and brood and calm your neurotic, bookish mind. 
    • "That's interesting" or "That's different" are our passive-aggressive ways of saying, basically, WTF. These are both strong, negative reactions, though only when said with a particular flat tone or a big, fake smile. If it's a genuine smile, we probably mean it's actually interesting or different. Good luck trying to discern between the two.
  • Getting around: We've got buses and light rail (see Metrotransit.org for schedules). Buses require exact change (or rather, they don’t GIVE change, so if all you’ve got is a fiver, it’ll be an expensive trip). Each light rail stop has ticket kiosks that accept credit cards. Once you've paid for a ride, you're good for unlimited rides on all buses and trains for two and a half hours. 
  • You tend to find cabs only at designated taxi stands, e.g. at hotels.
  • Get on a bike. The Nice Ride bike-sharing program just reopened for the season. We’ve got a (really, truly) world-class system of parks and parkways and trails, so it’s a great town for two-wheeled exploring.

Touristy Places You Should Visit Anyway

Hey, sometimes the beaten path is pretty awesome. (If you're new to my writing, that's a recurring theme of this blog, as well as my book Europe on Five Wrong Turns a Day.) Around here, the beaten path runs straight through the Mall of America, but I'm just gonna assume you're already planning to spend some time there. Outside the Mall, here are the popular touristy things that are pretty damn sweet and more than worth your time.

  • The Mill City Museum is right along the riverfront, in the ruin of an General Mills "A" Mill, which was once the largest flour mill in the world. A genuinely fascinating and well-curated sort of place, it tells the history of Minneapolis, the history of milling, and how those two histories are intertwined. Also, they have a baking lab, where you get to sample the end result of the milling process: cookies.
  • The Stone Bridge and Mill Ruins Park, just outside the Mill City Museum, offer the city's best scenery on their own terms, plus stellar views of the downtown skyline and Saint Anthony Falls, which is pretty much the reason Minneapolis exists at all (the falls powered the mills that drove the city's economy ... again, go to the Mill City Museum). 
  • The Walker Art Museum, at the very edge of downtown is One of the Finest Modern Art Museums in the World. For real.
  • Matt's Bar and the 5-8 Club each claim to have invented the Ju(i)cy Lucy. President Obama ate at Matt's a couple of years ago, Persepolis author Marjane Satrapi went there every day on a trip to Minneapolis and now cooks them for her friends in Paris, and one or both of the restaurants is featured in every other travel story about Minneapolis. And you know what? They should be. Matt's has a smaller menu--the Jucy Lucy comes in one format, American-cheese-filled--and a longer wait; the 5-8 Club has more offerings. Both spots are agreeably dive and the burgers are crazy-greasy and crazy-good. Protip: let the burger cool off a bit before you bite into it, lest you get third-degree cheese burns on your tongue. (By the way, the Blue Door Pub is your go-to for gourmet versions of the Juicy Lucy.)
Juicy Lucy. The specific grease alchemy going on here actually makes it
good for you. True. Kim via Wikimedia Commons

Our Versions of the Things They Have in Every City 

A big art museum. A craft cocktail emporium. The hot new restaurant by a chef who made his or her name out east, then moved back home to give a new twist to local classics, etc, etc. The neighborhood with the cheap eats from around the world. The bar known for its association with some sorta famous band. The old-school deli. Every city has them, and so do we. And I love them and they make the city great ... but if you're visiting from out of town, you'll probably find them pretty similar to the versions you've seen elsewhere.
  • Our big museum: The Minneapolis Institute of Arts is . . . honestly, not that different from other big-city museums. Greek statues, European Master paintings, some American stuff. World-class, don't get me wrong, but not necessarily more exciting than other museums you've seen. But, ahem, admission is totally free. And the Prairie School design section shows off our iconic homegrown aesthetic. So there's that.
  • Our public market: Midtown Global Marketwhich has tons of food stands, with solid representation from the city's large Mexican, Vietnamese, Somali, and Indian communities. (True fact: Anthony Bourdain says we have the best Vietnamese food in the USA.)
  • Our cheap-eats zone: Nicollet Avenue south of downtown, all the way to Lake Street, is known as "Eat Street" and also has a long, long roster of restaurants. Hop on the 18 bus on Nicollet. Try Quang or Jasmine 26 for Vietnamese, or Harry Singh's Original Caribbean Restaurant (get the roti) or Glam Doll Donuts.
  • Our old-school deli: Kramarczuck's, over in Nordeast Minneapolis. Try the house-made sausages at the adjoining cafeteria-style restaurant.
  • Our bar associated with a band: The CC Club, made somewhat famous by the Replacements in their song "Here Comes A Regular."
  • Our local-boy-goes-East-then-comes-home-to-great-acclaim restaurant: Spoon & Stable
  • Our local cocktail emporium: Marvel Bar. (I adore Marvel Bar; it's somehow supremely chic while also identifiably Minnesotan, a hard combo to pull off. The drinks are pricey but worth every penny. Buuuut ... if you've been to a hip cocktail lounge in any other city, know exactly what you're getting into here. Good stuff but nothing unique.)

Things I Think Are Actually Pretty Special and I Really Want You to See Them, Please and Thank You 

  • Minneapolis has a world-class park system--truly, I mean it, and it's something I didn't appreciate until I started traveling the world--and one of the very best is Minnehaha Park. It's an easy train ride from the Mall, so no excuses for not going. The park itself is lovely, with its landmark waterfall (Longfellow gave it a shout-out in "Song of Hiawatha") and sprawling grounds. Head down the stairs near the waterfall and then follow the path along the creek all the way out to the Mississippi River. If you have some time to kill, linger at the park's cafe, Sea Salt, which is the local answer to Munich's beer gardens. Seafood is the main event, and worth the two-hour wait in line. But you can also get excellent ice cream and craft beer via much shorter lines. 
  • Nicollet Island, which looks like a twee little village hidden in the shadow (almost literally) of downtown Minneapolis. Most locals don't even know about it. (Here's a thing I wrote about it.)
  • Bike. Like our parks, our bike path system is genuinely world-class, and the best way to see the city is on two wheels. There's the Grand Rounds, following the parkways that encircle the city (including the chain of lakes at the southern end of town); the Midtown Greenway, a rails-to-trails corridor that cuts across the west-east width of the city; the Kennilworth and Cedar Lake Trails, which together link the lakes to downtown and Target Field ... and that's just the off-street trails. I'm convinced that Minneapolis should promote itself as a bike-tourism destination, like Copenhagen. Help me test this theory, won't you? 
    • Here's the city's biking web page, including a good map.
    • The easiest way to pedal is with the Nice Ride bike share program. Take the train to Minnehaha Park, where there's a kiosk; from there, head west on Minnehaha Parkway to the chain of lakes, or north on East River Parkway to explore the neighborhoods and link up with the Midtown Greenway. Thank me later. 
  • A Baker's Wife's Pastry Shop is about a mile off Minnehaha Parkway and an easy ride from Minnehaha Park. It's my favorite bakery in the world, and I say that as a pastry fiend (it's right there in my Twitter bio) who once ate his way around Paris. There are far fancier bakeries in town (Patisserie 46, Rustica, Salty Tart); this is not the nouveau French bakery you'll find in every big city. It's old-school American baked goods, including the best damn cake doughnuts you'll have anywhere (note: I also spent a long weekend eating every doughnut in NYC; DO NOT QUESTION MY PASTRY JUDGMENT). They have just the right slightly-crispy exterior and pillowy interior and the chocolate ones have this deep, hypnotic ganache that invites odes, nay, arias. And those doughnuts are cheap--like, 55 cents apiece. Everything is cheap, everything is phenomenal, nothing is fussy (the decor is grandma's-basement levels of kitsch, none of it ironic). Cash or check only, don't go there with just a card.  

And I Should Also Note

  • Go to Saint Paul. Best thing to do, if you have a few hours and want to explore our twin to the east, is to take the Blue Line into downtown Minneapolis and then hop on the Green Line and head down University Avenue. For an offbeat experience, get off at Snelling and go to Ax-Man Surplus Store, purveyors of all manner of odd and wonderful and just plain confusing stuff. It's like Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore crossed with a Radio Shack crossed with some sort of surrealist toy store. Also: lots of delicious food nearby, like On's Kitchen Thai Cuisine.

Finally, a Word About the Locals

  • Minnesotans are friendly, so don’t hesitate to ask anyone for directions and such.
  • We’re also not yokels and though we can joke about eating Jell-O and living in igloos, we'd rather you didn't make Flyover Country quips or, worse, express astonishment that there's diversity and culture and even ONE OF THE BEST MODERN ART MUSEUMS IN THE WORLD OUT HERE IN THE HINTERLANDS, WOW! Seriously, if anyone says anything like that, I swear to God we'll . . . scowl imperceptibly as we give you directions and welcome you to our city and tell you about last night's hockey game. 
  • We're also quite defensive and passive-aggressive.
  • If you say stupid shit about the Twin Cities in a travel article or blog post, people will notice. 
    Just ask the Reuters reporter who came here in 2013. Or see the infamous New York Times #grapegate scandal of 2014. I'm not saying you have to be nice or that you should sugar-coat your experience, but I am saying--and this is just general best practice--you should be at least sorta kinda informed, like maybe don't say that the best lake in Minneapolis ("the City of Lakes") is one that ... isn't even in Minneapolis. 

    Let's close with a message from a local sage named Slug, who ably explains Minneapolitans' low-key pride in their city:



Want to know how to get Twins tickets, where to find the best Jucy Lucy, or why you must never, ever utter the word "casserole"? The comments are open; ask away!

14 November 2015

Paris.

Paris. 

My heart breaks.

What do you say? I chose to say this, directly to the people of France.  

(If you want to know why I’m writing this, scroll to the English section at the end. But the why isn’t really the point.)

* * *

Paris. France. Mes amis.

Je pleure et debout en solidarité avec vous que je vous écris cette 6.765 kilomètres de distance, à Minneapolis.

Votre courage et votre résilience étonner constamment moi-votre belle nation forte a résisté face à la violence tant de fois.

Comme beaucoup d'Américains, je vous connais seulement comme un touriste: quelques jours errant la ville, manger pain au chocolat à Gérard Mulot, regarder le coucher du soleil de Montmartre. Je souhaite que je savais que tu mieux que je souhaite que nos nations se connaissaient mieux. Mais je tiens à vous dire que les Etats-Unis, vous admire. Non seulement vos pâtisseries et vos paysages, les choses que nous éprouvons en tant que touristes, mais votre esprit, votre courage. Liberté, égalité, fraternité, fermeté.

Vous avez résisté avec nous tant de fois, et nous sommes avec vous.

Je vous souhaite la paix et le confort que vous reconstruisez votre ville et vos vies. J'espère vous voir bientôt.

(Mes excuses pour le mauvais français. Il est de la faute de Google Translate.)


* * *

And here’s a note for the Americans.

My Facebook feed is filled with French flags and vacation photos of Notre Dame and Les Deux Magots and a certain tower. I understand and admire the impulse: This awful thing has happened, I don’t know to express my sadness, and a Facebook photo is something, at least.

Yet I can’t bring myself to change my profile, post my snapshots, offer tales of strolls along the Seine, as though my tourist memories were somehow an acceptable proxy for the real human lives torn apart.

I understand that the power comes from the aggregate—collectively, these pixelated squares send a message: There are so, so many of us thinking of you. No judgment, I promise, of people who do post photos.

But to me, for my purposes, it feels so damn easy, like a Yo app for empathy and activism (Click! Done! Solidarity accomplished!). Moreover, the audience is so incredibly limited: it’s message-making exclusively for my curated friends, a whisper in the echo chamber rather than a genuinely public statement. It’s not attending a vigil, it’s not a West Point football player carrying the Tricolor onto the field, which is also easy but unexpectedly moving, because a football game at West Point is about as rah-rah-America as it gets; there’s real meaning in that gesture.

But still, you have to say something. And while I fully acknowledge that this is also an empty gesture (particularly because no one reads this blog, much less anyone in France) . . . this is the best I’ve got.