Some Years Ending in the Number Two

This year being 2022 memories from previous years ending in the number two are on my mind. 1972 is the earliest. In January of that year I was fresh off the plane home from Vietnam, happy to be alive and looking forward to beginning life after the Army and war. I had plans but it took some effort to get back into civilian life. I soon discovered that much of the war came home with me. Not in the sense of flashbacks and nightmares but rather just sheer dumbfoundedness at the whole experience. But those thoughts, while ubiquitous, were compartmentalized—always there but not particularly controlling over my life. As it turned out, I was accepted into the public administration master’s degree program at the University of Virginia and even landed an research assistant position at the university’s Institute of Government. By May I was back in Charlottesville where I had spent four years as an undergraduate before the Army and Vietnam

The surroundings were familiar but I felt detached from them, especially since everyone I knew from my undergraduate days was long gone. Meeting new people during the slow days of summer was difficult. I spent a fair amount of time on my own hiking and camping in Virginia’s mountains where it dawned on me that I was unlikely to ever walk in the woods without thinking about walking in the jungle. It also dawned on me that I was unlikely to be actually be at risk in those mountains except due to inexperience or carelessness. I did find a couple friends from my undergraduate days still in town, Peyton Coyner and Gordon Kerby. I hung out with Peyton a lot that summer and to a lesser extent with Gordon. Both kindly listened to my Vietnam stories and we have been close friends ever since. Once school began in September my world opened up considerably and I began to feel more like a normal person rather than a war veteran.

Ten years later, also in January, I wrestled with the decision to move to Arizona. By that time I had long ago finished my master’s degree and worked over seven years as an analyst for the Joint Legislative Audit and Review Commission in Richmond. It was interesting work in a good environment. By late 1981, though, future opportunities within JLARC were limited—the senior management positions were not likely to turn over any time soon. I was restless and looking about for other opportunities in Richmond when a colleague returned from a conference and told me that the Arizona Auditor General was looking for a performance audit manager. I was definitely interested although it would mean a big change. That opportunity fell through when the position was filled before I could arrange an interview but the director suggested I might consider a Senior Auditor position at a decently higher salary. I was less interested in simply doing the same work in a different place but decided to interview anyway even though I would have to pay my own travel costs. I figured that, if nothing else, I would get a chance to see another part of the country. I flew out to Phoenix for an interview and they were sufficiently impressed to offer me the position at an attractive salary. That meant I had to make a decision.

At first, I was not inclined to take the offer. Phoenix did not impress me—it looked like an endless procession of strip malls and housing developments stretching into the desert infinity. Even worse, moving to Arizona would mean leaving everything and everyone I knew. But I was restless in my job and my life. I was recently divorced and I had no family remaining in Virginia; my mother died a few years earlier. Several things finally convinced me to make the move. A brief excursion into the Verde Valley, Oak Creek Canyon and Flagstaff during my interview visit gave me a glimpse of Arizona’s grandeur beyond Phoenix. So did looking an Arizona map and seeing vast swaths of national forest and the Grand Canyon. I figured I could do some bodacious hiking there. Ten years earlier I had considered moving to Washington State after being impressed with what I saw there during Army training at Fort Lewis. I chose not to make that move and wondered ever since where that would have led. In 1982 I was more open to taking a chance so I accepted the position and made the move. It was emotionally difficult. It was also one of the best decisions of my life.

Fast forward to early 2002 and I was preparing to thru-hike the Appalachian Trail—2,000 miles north from Georgia to Maine. In January I had relocated back to Phoenix after working as a audit manager for the Navajo Nation Auditor General for almost five years. Life was much more complex than 20 years earlier and figuring out how to just step away from it all for eight months was daunting, especially the part about making a living without a job. As it turned out, I didn’t actually figure it out so much as I just made it work—with much help from my partner, Maggie, many friends along the way and even some complete strangers. Many loose ends remained when I departed Phoenix in late March for the trailhead in Georgia. I never entirely escaped them on the trail but I did make it all the way to Maine. Along the way I had my share of trials but I also met many amazing people and experienced many moments of joy and wonder.

As with every hike since Vietnam, my thru-hike brought back memories of walking in the jungle carrying a weapon. Unlike those previous hikes, the lengthy duration and many hours walking alone on the trail gave me an opportunity (or forced me)  to sort through those memories and come to terms with that experience in a way that had eluded me for three decades. Intrusive war memories not withstanding, my thru-hike remains one of my most memorable life experiences.

Not all of my major life decisions occurred in years ending in the number 2 but these three sure did.

Local Color

Another Washington Post article about a place I once called home:  Arizona's Painted Desert which covers much of northeast Arizona.  The article is a travel piece that also includes  nearby Petrified Forest National Park and Burro Creek, in west central Arizona, and Red Rock National Conservation Area in Nevada.  I traveled through the Painted Desert many times when I lived on the Navajo Nation.  Before that I visited the area with friends on one of my first excursions into northeast Arizona.  A few years later I hiked across Lithodendron Wash in the Painted Desert to camp atop Pilot Knob.  The photos and descriptions in the article are all very familiar.

The article captures the unique feel of fall in northeast Arizona.  The change of season there is palpable but the change is more in the light--the angle of the sun and its duration--than leaf color.  What little foliage does change color highlights rather than defines its surroundings.  The primary source of color are cottonwood trees along the various and by this time of years, mostly dry, water courses.  When the light is right, they blaze yellow against the desert reds, purples, blue-grays and tans.  The thick stand of cottonwoods that arch over the Canyon de Chelly National Monument campground glowed brightly under an early November full moon during my first visit there.

A Saner Arizona

Arizona shows up today on electoralvote.com as barely Republican.  Romney leads Obama 48-45, his down 8 points since August.  Arizona not going for Romney would be an upset but I can at least imagine that possibility.  After all, the last incumbent Democratic president seeking re-election actually carried Arizona.  Despite Arizona's wingnut and racist reputation, many Arizonans do not accept those attitudes and beliefs as legitimate.  I know too many of them to ever accept the caricature of Arizona so easily created by the racists and assholes.

One of those fine people--Kyrsten Sinema--is running for Congress as a Democrat in Arizona District 9.  She was first elected to the Arizona Legislature not long before I left Arizona.  She served in both House and Senate, earning a reputation as a strong advocate for social and economic justice.  CD 9 is a swing district; Sinema is currently about 5 points ahead of a Republican opponent.

Further evidence of intelligent life in Arizona is Sinema's endorsement by Barry Goldwater's grandchildren. Compared to today's Arizona Republicans, Barry is a Bolshevik.

Arizona History Lesson

Anyone wondering why Arizona is ground zero for wingnuttery in the United States would do well to read Arizona's Secret History by Daniel J. Herman at Common-Place.  The article provides a good back drop on Arizona's range wars and Mormon settlement in the late 19th century.  Much of that history--the Pleasant Valley War and Commodore Perry Owens--I recall reading about during my years in Arizona.  I spent time in Saint Johns and heard the story of Mexican-Americans driven from their land by Mormon setters so it's all still pretty real to me. 

The article is also a reminder of Arizona's progressive history, something that seems laughable now but was still evident when I moved there in 1982.  Morris Udall, descendent of a Mormon pioneer just like Mitt Romney, was a strong progressive voice as my congressman most of the years I lived there.  And I know that not all Arizonans are racist wingnuts.  

It leaves me sad that a state where I know many thoughtful, compassionate  people is has become such a cesspool of fear and loathing.

Belated Centennial Notice

Yesterday was the centennial of Arizona's admission to the Union. These days, wfith Arizona's checkered reputation, many Americans would probably prefer to forget that Arizona is one of these United States but it is. And it's not far off the national dime when it comes to wingnuttery. The craziness that is Arizona these days is hardly unique to the Grand Canyon State, not in a nation gives any credence to the likes of Newt Gingrich or Rick Santorum. Not in a nation where many believe that unlimited purchase of weapons is a Constitutional right.

For all of its craziness, I found a lot to like during my quarter century living in Arizona. As a hiker and outdoor enthusiast, I spent a lot of time exploring some amazing places; Arizona is unrivaled be any state except possibly Utah. I have never seen a night sky as brilliant as the night sky I watched for five years in Window Rock, Arizona. I was represented in Congress by Morris Udall, one of America's finest statesmen. Kirsten Sinema was my last state representative. And I made any number of good friends during those years. As I am glad to be out of Arizona, I have no regrets about living there. It was a good move, personally and professionally.

So here's to Arizona on its centennial. And here's hoping that Arizona will someday live up to the progressive constitution that brought it into the Union.

And just for giggles, read Jana Boomersbach's account of Arizona's checkered path to statehood. It explains a lot.

Border Talk

During the Vietnam war generals and politicians complained that our military fought with a hand behind its back. Now apparently, war has come to America's borders and we're fighting at the same disadvantage.

Regarding the deployment of National Guard troops along the Arizona-Mexico border,

Arizona state Sen. Russell Pearce has been a sharp critic of the deployment and the National Guard's inability to make arrests, calling the troops a "welcome wagon" for illegal immigrants.

Pearce, a Republican, said the only way to stop illegal immigrants is to put 30,000 troops on the border with arrest power.

"They're military, and instead of letting them do their job, we let them down there with typewriter ribbon and oil cans," said Pearce, who wrote Arizona's controversial immigration legislation. "We send them overseas in harm's way but we don't let them defend our own borders in a proper manner?

"They've got political handcuffs on them," he added.

Those are no doubt the same infamous handcuffs that chafed the generals in Vietnam and Douglas MacArthur before them. Limits on force levels and tactics are always derided as "political" when, in fact, they are the constraints demanded by civilian society which the military (or these days, the Homeland Security Force) serves. Pearce complains that soldiers cannot arrest suspected illegal aliens, that the border is not fully militarized. But a militarized border is not what I want for my nation. That's more 20th century Cold War Europe than America.

A militarized border is not the boundary of an open society. I would far prefer to risk the challenges of illegal immigration than lose an open society.

But I'm not Russell Pearce and crazy-scared in Arizona.

There's No Place Like Home

My most profound understanding of life is the result of my experience in Vietnam. In that experience, I learned that war takes place in someone's home place, that the presence of armies, weapons and violence is an ever-present fact of daily existence which itself is tenuous and at the whim of others. The corollary to that lesson was that my home was not a place where I would be at risk of war's systemic and pervasive violence.

Although I no longer live there, Arizona is part of home for me. I know many fine people who live in Arizona. So when I see armed gangs shooting it out with police in Pinal County, killing ranchers in Cochise County and invading Tucson homes I feel a definite connection. A place I know well, where I have friends is now a place where residents can feel safe from violence. That is a real loss and a failure of elected officials to address a serious problem.

My last visit to southern Arizona was 2004 when I accompanied a friend on a birding expedition from Madera Canyon south of Tucson to the Chircahua Mountains in southeastern Arizona. On that trip we saw the abandoned immigrant camps, littered with debris(*), in the national forests. Seeing how closely immigration routes came to homes helped me understand how uneasy residents may feel. I saw, too, the watchtowers and aerial surveillance cameras. I passed through a Border Patrol check point. (We two middle aged white males were waived through with our verbal assurances of legality.) My strongest reaction was anger at the destruction to the land. I could understand how a family with longstanding ties to this place would be distressed that it was no longer safe.

Six years later the situation is far worse,with drug cartels violently challenging the national government for control of large swaths of the economy and territory. Violence spilling over the border is enough to convince people that any action is better than none, especially one that offers protection from Them. The Arizona Legislature at its most rational has always had a hard core element of reactionary craziness. In troubled times, their ideas will appeal to the somewhat more "moderate" members who basically share the reactionaries' core beliefs if not usually their means. The new legislation does not surprise at all.

Not surprising also is that it will have no effect. If America were truly serious about ending violence on the border and stemming the flood of economic refugees from Mexico, we would:

• End the drug war and focus drug policy on education, treatment and remediation. Eliminate the profit and regulate the trade.
  

• Change economic policies that eliminate opportunities for Latinos to live and prosper in their home countries.

• Recognize that citizens of other nations are part of US economy by providing them with visas that allow them to work here and return to their homes without fear that they will be barred from future entry.
  

As always, the devil will be in the details but that's the direction I would go if I were in charge. These days, I wonder how many Americans would follow me. Some but not enough, I bet.


(*) Not unlike the footprint of our night defensive perimeters in Vietnam, I might add.

update: Randall Amster writes knowledgeably about this issue from Arizona at Truthout.

What He Said

...is pretty much what I said. He just says it better.

Maybe Her Tunic Was Torn in the Struggle

Virginia, my home state before Arizona and Washington, has always had its share of hateful wingnuttery so this is no surprise. On the other hand it's more silly than serious. Not on a same par with Arizona these days but certainly indicative of a narrow mind.

FYI, here's what the Virginia state seal has always looked like to me. Definitely more interesting than Washington's and not as insanely busy or nakedly mercantile as Arizona's . Arizona does have the best flag of the three, though.

What's Your Profile?

In all the hoo-ha about the Arizona immigration status inquiry law, I was heartened to see that some Arizonans are preparing an initiative to repeal the law. That action and the Phoenix and Tucson police officers who filed lawsuits remind me that many sane people reside in Arizona. Hell, I know many personally. Of course, nothing guarantees that that a majority of Arizonans are sane enough to repeal a truly noxious law. After all, Arizona is a state that voted down a Martin Luther King Day before a national boycott forced a change of mind, if not heart, in 1992. (Disclosure: I voted in favor of the holiday each time. So did most everyone I know but we were the minority voice until Arizona business began hurting. Money talks.)

Yesterday'spolice shooting between Phoenix and Tucson won't help matters. Arizonans certainly have a right to be angry that their state has become a war zone. But that's a Drug War problem, not an immigration problem. The drug cartels use violence to protect routes to their market. Immigration, even illegal immigration, is not inherently violent. Drug smuggling is violent, especially given the high profits to be made. The drug trade always needs willing carriers and will no doubt find some among the many willing to enter the US illegally. But illegal immigration is an aspect of the violence, not the prime cause.

America could reduce the violence and close one route for illegal entry by legalizing marijuana. A half decade of research and experience has shown it to be far less of a health and social threat than alcohol and tobacco. Like those other wars we are fighting, the Drug War actually make things worse. Ending a failed drug war would do far more to limit the violence than hunting down economic refugees. Our border policy would certainly benefit from a rational drug policy.

Back in Pinal County, Arizona, "A massive hunt of 100 square miles that included helicopters with night-vision equipment and more than 200 officers, including SWAT teams, from 13 agencies was still pursuing the shooters late Friday" Meanwhile, Pinal County Lt. Tami Villar describes the shooters as Hispanic men who "appear to be undocumented.". The wounded deputy no doubt described his assailants as such. But how does "one appear to be undocumented"? These guys are still on the run. The statement would be more accurate as "we suspect/have reason to believe they are undocumented." A police officer making judgment based on appearance rather than evidence bothers me. Especially in Arizona.

Especially, too, when I see in the Pinal County incident command center, Maricopa County Sheriff Joe Arpaio, vowing to fight illegal drugs and people. Sheriff Joke is never a sane addition to any public policy issue but always there nonetheless.

"Your Papers, Please."

Back in the 1950's when I was but a child, I was often told how fortunate I was to live in free country where I did not have to produce "papers" to prove my identity. That was something that only dictators like the Communists in Russia or the recently defeated Nazis did. On this side of the Iron Curtain, we were free move about without being subject to official scrutiny and surveillance.

If anyone still believes that myth in post 9-11 America, they will be hard pressed to maintain their faith if they live or travel in my former home state of Arizona, where the legislature and governor have enacted a law allowing police to demand proof of an individual's immigration or citizenship status. Theoretically, all persons in Arizona will be subject to this requirement but I am pretty certain that I--a white male--will not be questioned if I return to the Grand Canyon State.

My friend, the artist Luis Gutierrez, whose family was in Arizona when it became a territory and whose father was Democratic leader in the state senate in the early 80's, will probably not be quite so fortunate. Of course, he will have no problem proving his right to be in Arizona. All he need to do is show his papers.

In Arizona freedom isn't just not free. It now requires documents.

Places in the News

All of my former hometowns are in the news all at once. Go figure. The Arizona senate election covers my years in Phoenix and Window Rock. My Virginia years come up in violence directed at congress members regarding the health care finance bill.

Rep. Eric Cantor claimed his Richmond, Virginia office was attacked. I began my professional career in that city. In Albemarle County or Charlottesville, Virginia, a gas line at the the home of Rep. Tom Periello's brother was cut after the brother's address was mistakenly posted on a Tea Bag Facebook page as a place for to demonstrate displeasure with the congressman's vote on the health care finance bill. I lived in both Charlottesville and Albemarle County during college and graduate school.

When told of possible injury to three young children, a teabagger from Danville, Virginia called it "collateral damage". My childhood and high school years were in Danville and I'll be damned if I didn't say something that stupid back then.

That's it. Every place of which I have a conscious memory. All in one week. All dubious distinctions.

Park Model

This hits close to home.

An oversight board voted unanimously Friday to close 13 of Arizona's state parks in response to budget cuts, leaving two-thirds of the parks shut in the most aggressive cuts to such facilities in the nation.

In 1987 I worked on an performance audit of the Arizona State Parks system. Our major finding was that Arizona had a pretty poor state parks system by just about any measure, largely because the state was not willing to appropriate funds for acquisitions. The audit identified options for creating a stable funding source. A 1990 citizens' initiative implemented one of those options and created the Heritage Fund, that allocated a share of lottery revenues for various natural and historical resource acquisitions and programs.

Within the next decade State Parks added some crown jewel parks, virtually all of which are identified in the story. The closures are the collateral damage from the economic collapse. The loss is, I hope, temporary. I do not see in the article that Arizona is selling off its patrimony--not yet-- so the lands, history and heritage will remain protected. In Arizona's land consuming culture that's no small feat.

I'm proud to say that I played a small role in that feat.

A Paean to Arizona Seasons

My previous post about spring in the Northwest may have unfairly slighted my former home state, so I need to set the record straight. Arizona’s seasons are second to none that I have experienced. True, seasonal changes in Arizona are not always apparent from the middle of the Large Amorphous Urban Area where I lived but I was fortunate enough to spend enough time in Arizona’s back country to appreciate the differences.

Spring is perhaps the most dramatic season in the Sonoran Desert, a riot of wildflowers and blossoms that is stunning. Yeah, you get flowers and blossoms everywhere else in the spring but the stark beauty of the desert combined with a lascivious display of color is as dramatic as Virginia’s riot of color in the fall. Before I moved to Arizona, I thought desert meant desolate. Many years walking in the Sonoran Desert taught me how wrong I was. I was fortunate to arrive in Arizona in the spring and see this dazzling profusion of life. It was almost as if my new home was putting on its best display as a welcome.

Then comes summer and how can one possibly find solace and beauty in the intense heat that drives even lizards into the shade? My approach was to appreciate the cool mornings when he day is still gentle and the light soft. In those early summer morning hours, I found gentleness and wonder. At that time of day, I would see coyotes and great horned owls even in the middle of the city. In the back country those early hours offered the opportunity for pleasant walking. Later in the day, summer thunderstorms swept across the desert, darkening the sky before pelting the earth with rain, thunderr and lightning. Arizona summers may be difficult but they do not lack either tenderness or drama. For those who just can’t get up early enough to enjoy the mornings or are afraid of the thunder and lightning, Arizona’s high country offers some relief from the heat.

Fall is either the shortest or longest season, depending on how you want to look at it. It seems short in the city because the heat lingers well into October, sometimes even later. At my house, fall showed up in December when the ash tree in my yard turned color and dropped its leaves. Not far away in the Superstition Mountains, though, cottonwoods, sycamores and oak trees began turning color in September. The following month finds aspen trees in the high country turning bright yellow. Even as late as November cottonwoods are still turning color. I still have the memory of a 1983 early November trip to Canyon de Chelly on the Navajo Reservation where the cottonwoods seemed to glow with color even after dark.

Winter in Arizona is what you make of it. While most people think of Arizona as a place to escape winter, Arizona offers as much winter as anyone could want: everything from deep snow and freezing temperatures in the high country to mild weather in the desert areas. Desert hiking in winter offers some of the best star gazing I’ve ever experienced, especially on nights sleeping without a tent. On those nights I felt like I was wrapped in the Universe, not just a sleeping bag. On other trips, we plowed through snow. The climate zones in the state are that varied.

Ever since I’ve been blogging I’ve been pretty snarky about Arizona. Probably because by the time I started my blog, I had decided I didn’t want to live in a metropolitan area filled with four million people (and probably an equal number of motor vehicles) that has totally divorced itself from its environment. My dislike of Phoenix is my aversion to the crowds, the traffic and cancerous growth that has displaced so much of its natural beauty with concrete, steel and red-roofed stucco houses. That is wholly different from my love of the land, its unique life forms and seasons and the many interesting attractions that are readily available in a large city. Phoenix is also home to many fine people whom I am privileged to call friends.

Arizona is second to no place else when it comes to beauty. I just want to make that clear even as a celebrate my escape.


postscript

What little experience (mainly freeway driving) I’ve had with Seattle has left me with an aversion to a city that I once longed for. I suspect that it has many of the same drawbacks as any large urban area. I think I will be a small town boy for the rest of my life.

Can You Get Any More Cynical?

John McCain, quoted in a NYT article about the way candidates avoid their own histories:

Others have been haunted by their legislative history. Mr. McCain has been attacked over the McCain-Feingold law by a host of Republicans, including Mr. Romney, during both candidates’ debates.

In an interview with Chris Wallace of Fox News last month, Mr. McCain characterized campaign finance as a Beltway issue.

“Outside of Washington, I never have anybody stand up and talk about McCain-Feingold,” he said. “There’s nobody who ever does.” Himself included.

postscript

John McCain is no longer St. John McCain in Unsolicited Opinion. He is no longer the annointed media candidate, the man of straigtht talk and candor. McCain has become instead a slavish panderer. Those of us who have known him throughout his career in Arizona are not surprised. That's the John we've always seen. What surprised us was his media dieification in 2000. The years since have seen McCain returning to his familiar ways. Now he's an also-ran.

Light Blogging Ahead

I'm on the road for a few days, delivering darkroom equipment to the Tse Ho Tso Middle School in Fort Defiance, Arizona. In the next few weeks, I am packing and arranging to move to Olympia, Washington. The move is a longtime goal for Maggie and me both. We've been talking about it for a year and a half but events and inertia have conspired to keep us here in Phoenix. Now it's time to force the matter and just go. Damn all the uncertainties and loose ends. If I wait to figure everything out, I'll die in Phoenix.

The darkroom delivery is part of the move. My equipment has been in storage for almost 10 years. Throughout most of my career, I've worked in group darkrooms at community colleges and recreation centers. Having my own darkroom was convenient but I learned a lot more working in a group setting. I found a community darkroom at The Evergreen State College in Olympia that I can use on an occasional basis so I will no longer need my own. One of my friends from the college darkroom in Gallup, New Mexico teaches photography in Fort Defiance and will put my gear to good use.

I leave tomorrow on that long, spectacular drive to the northeastern Arizona. After that, it's on to Washington.