Lessons in Chopping Wood

Today was my first full day back on the Kenai Peninsula. After six years of being away, it is thrilling to be reacquainted with the landscape, and although things look quite different now in quiet February from the way they did in the summers when I knew the peninsula well in its infinite spectrum of greens, there are many wonderful familiarities that make me remember that this magnificent place, even in the “bleak” midwinter, is not entirely foreign to me.

I had forgotten how exciting flying into Anchorage can be, and although I have a fear of flying, and particularly landings, I couldn’t take my eyes away from the view from the window of the airplane. We began to descend just as the sun was setting, shedding its beautiful pink light on the tops of the snow-covered Chugach Mountains. Pinks, oranges, and an other-worldly lavender swirled through the sky, and the Sitka and Black spruce that cover the mountains appeared blue to the eye—contributing to the pastel wonderland of the snowy Alaskan landscape at dusk.

On the way South out of Anchorage, darkness had fallen, and there was only a sliver of moon to give light to the night. Still, it was enough light to illuminate the mountains, the dark shapes of which loomed and seemed to protect the winding road. Driving past Turnagain Arm, I remembered being 22 years old and seeing pods upon pods--a herd of hundreds of beluga whales--a rare occurrence--surfacing in the very same inlet. The white of the moon sliver reminded me of the white of the tops of the shiny beluga heads and dorsal ridges that I saw many years ago. They had come into the Cook inlet to feed, as they often do, on silver salmon—they just happened to be in a larger pod than is commonly seen. I pulled over on the side of the road, the first of a long string of drivers behind me that did the same. I got out of the car, and stood there watching, overcome by the magnificence of what we were witnessing. Even now, as I write about this, years later, I am taken aback by the memory of this spiritual experience, and the emotions that flooded into me while entranced by this surreal happening. It is something I will never be able to fully describe to others. I will never forget the rhythmic and natural sounds these beautiful creatures made as they surfaced, finishing their exhales, inhaling and slipping back into the water, seeming to take their time, in a sequence so perfect, it surely somehow had to be timed. It was a dance of the belugas. These creatures were truly connected with one another.

Continuing down the peninsula, it gave me joy to pass some of the old-time cafes, bars, lodges, and businesses that I remembered well in and near Cooper Landing, and were still lit up with Christmas cheer, at the end of dark February. It made me happy to learn that many of them are still here. Wildman’s, Sackett’s, Hamilton’s, The Sunrise, Kenai Cache, and many other places that are symbolic of a way of life that one can’t find in many other places in the United States. I passed by Gwin’s, an old restaurant/fishing lodge, that has a dear place in my heart, and is where I worked and resided for the two summers that I lived in Alaska when I was in my early twenties. Though it is closed now, I have hope that it will reopen, and that it will continue to be a place that many want to return to—visitors of the peninsula, locals, and seasonal workers. There is a lot of nostalgia tied up in that old place, and it has given countless people—Alaskans and visitors from all over the world--many happy memories and meals.

Passing by many familiar trailheads, campgrounds, lakes and rivers, I experienced a flood of memories of exploring this wild and beautiful landscape many years ago, and of the people that I met and knew when I lived here. I still keep in touch with many of them and my best friend John that I met during my first summer in Alaska lives here now and is the main reason I am in Alaska again.

Today we explored Sterling and Soldotna, and took a drive out on Funny Road. It was the first of many attempts at seeing a lynx. We drove for miles, scanning the landscape, looking for signs of the elusive big cat. Though we didn’t see a lynx today, we saw something spectacular. I feel lucky to have witnessed what we did, and on my first day back to Alaska! We were driving along and I saw something dart very quickly from the side of the road into the forest, and it was going so fast I could not decipher what kind of animal it was. However, I became distracted from that streaking, unknown creature when I noticed that right in front of us on the side of the road, was a giant bald eagle. It lifted up off of the ground and flew forward, and we followed behind its gleaming white tail feathers, almost as if it were leading us somewhere--as if we should be so lucky. It was such a large bird—it had an incredible wingspan, and to see it flying from our vantage point was truly amazing. As I was wondering why the bird didn’t lift up or at least fly to the right or left of our ensuing vehicle, I saw that there was a whitish-grayish mammal of some kind dangling from its talons, most likely a snowshoe hare. This was not a tiny mammal or rodent. Here was this enormous, beautiful bird struggling to gain a higher altitude because it was carrying an incredible additional weight, and so it remained in front of us for quite some time, soaring to the right and then to the left with the curves of the road, but staying in front of us, never dropping its prey. Eventually, once it gained enough speed, it was able to fly up to a spruce on the right-hand side of the road, its meal still in its talons, and disappeared into the branches. One of John’s friends that lives here in Sterling, who knows and loves eagles, said that this was a very rare sight (and I believe him)—to see an eagle able to carry prey of that size and weight for that length of time, from right behind and beneath its body and tail feathers. In our quest to see a lynx, we saw something else that we never would have imagined seeing. There is so much life on this peninsula.

Tonight John gave me a lesson on chopping wood. I have chopped wood before, but I am not the most efficient chopper, and I tend to give up too easily on large, knotty pieces, let alone whole stumps. He is a very good and patient teacher, and I learn so much from him. I began to work on a large stump of a black spruce tree. After each attempt at finding the weakness in the wood, John would talk to me about what I had done, and what I needed to focus on in order to become more efficient, and eventually, crack the stump. He says that chopping wood is not about having strength, but about knowing how to use your maul or ax well, and using the momentum you can initiate to your advantage. I found that hitting my target requires a strong concentration, especially when trying to control an 8 pound maul, and trying to find a weak spot in strong, knotty wood such as Black Spruce. I almost gave up a few times, feeling frustrated and out of control when my maul would hit an entirely different part of the stump than I had intended it to, or when I just didn’t have enough momentum to really make any progress. I also had some fear. John kept telling me to hit the outside of the stump, where the wood was weaker, but the outside was closer to my shins, and I was swinging a very large and heavy maul. John encouraged me to not give up, and I kept reminding myself to focus. It is a very meditative activity, chopping wood, because you really don’t want your mind to wander too much—you want to be truly focused in order to avoid getting hurt and to use your energy as efficiently as possible. I worked on this stump for a long time. My body started to feel weak, and I knew that it wasn’t safe for me to keep swinging the maul for very much longer when I started to hear a crackling of the strong spruce. I hadn’t, in John’s words, “let the wood get the best of me”. I was able to chop a knotty and strong stump of Black Spruce that was around 18 inches in circumference into some nice pieces of firewood. I was really glad that I hadn’t given up—I felt a strong sense of accomplishment and it was nice to learn something so important from doing what I have often thought of as simple work. As we were chopping wood in the dark on the side of the house, with lights on our hats to help us see what we were doing, I kept thinking of how sticking with something that is difficult and that I am not immediately good at is a challenge for me—I often give up before I see the fruits of my labor and I often “decide” that I cannot do something when I haven’t truly worked at it. However, chopping a large stump requires that you stick with it. It requires that you find your focus. It requires that you not give up amidst frustrations or losses of control. It requires that you set aside your fears and trust your mind and body, and ability to make good decisions. The focus of mind chopping wood requires reminded me of the concentration, strength, control, courage, and determination of the eagle we saw earlier in the day. To fly that far with prey of that size in its talons—that it didn’t give up—that it didn’t let its prey fall to the ground as it got tired—that it risked flying in front of us to hold onto its prey--This was a nice lesson to be reminded of. In the grand scheme of things, getting through one stump seems like a small accomplishment, and I definitely have a long way to go in learning to become more efficient at chopping wood. But it is making me think about focus and determination, like that of the eagle earlier today.

Friendship

Friendship

“Friendship is evanescent in every man’s experience, and remembered like heat lightning in past summers. Fair and flitting like a summer cloud;--there is always some vapor in the air, no matter how long the drought; there are even April showers. Surely from time to time, for its vestiges never depart, it floats through our atmosphere. It takes place, like vegetation in so many materials, because there is such a law, but always without permanent form, though ancient and familiar as the sun and moon, and as sure to come again. The heart is forever inexperienced. They silently gather as by magic, these never failing, never quite deceiving visions, like the bright and fleecy clouds in the calmest and clearest days. The Friend is some fair floating isle of palms eluding the mariner in Pacific seas. Many are the dangers to be encountered, equinoctial gales and coral reefs, ere he may sail before the constant trades. But who would not sail through mutiny and storm, even over Atlantic waves, to reach the fabulous retreating shores of some continent man?”

--Henry Thoreau

As I read Thoreau’s essay Friendship this morning, I found delight in the smell of the old green book printed in 1921 by Little Leather Library. I pondered over Thoreau’s words and reminisced over certain friendships in my life that were once strong and clear but seem to have changed like fair and flitting summer clouds, and in some cases, even evaporated, and now seem like magical dreams, or “like heat lightning in past summers”. I found myself feeling nostalgic for people that are no longer present in my life, at least in the way they once were, but found solace in thinking about how the vestiges of these friendships never fully depart from us, but continue to float “through our atmosphere”, forever adding “vapor in the air, no matter how long the drought.” My heart swelled as I thought of friendships that are dear to me, and presently appear as “bright and fleecy clouds in the calmest and clearest days” and give me much comfort, joy, love, sense of identity and meaning. These friendships are of great importance to me, yet Thoreau tells us that friendships are, like the clouds, without permanent form. The evanescence of friendship is part of its beauty: we are all constantly changing and so must the friendships that we engage in so we can keep seeing, understanding, and being a part of the world, while finding meaning in it.

However, if “the Friend is some fair floating isle of palms eluding the mariner in Pacific seas”, then it is also “ancient and familiar as the sun and moon, and as sure to come again”. While in my home-state of Minnesota for the holidays, I had breakfast with an old friend that I had not seen in over ten years. It was truly wonderful to reconnect with her. It only made me sad to think of why we had somehow, along the way on our busy paths, lost touch with one another. I felt both joyful and surprised by the ease with which we both sat and talked for hours, as if those ten years had not passed. We had grown into women during that time; suffered heartbreaks; lost innocence; gained wisdom; discovered limitations and strengths; grown into more complex human beings—yet we were able to pick up where we left off and at the same time we were able to meet each other where we were presently. It felt like a good dream to be seeing and talking with a person I had not seen in over ten years, but still, somehow, knew so well. I know this is a rare thing—to be able to reconnect with someone in this way after so much time has passed. I feel lucky to have experienced this reconnection, as well as fortunate to have so many good people in my life that I love as I write this. I also feel blessed for the people that have been in my life ephemerally and now live in my memory and dreams and will forever be a part of who I am and who I become. Since the New Year began, I have been struck by the beauty in all of the different kinds of friendships we are able to experience in our lifetimes, and the way these friendships ebb and flow, change and grow, converge at various moments in our lives, and teach us incredible things. What precious gifts these friendships are, and shall remain to me, whether they be in ebb or flow. “For there is always some vapor in the air, no matter how long the drought; there are even April showers.”

Christmas 2009

Dear Family and Friends,




I hope that December finds you looking forward to the holiday celebrations that are coming soon, surrounded by people you love, and feeling cozy in houses of warmth and light.

I’m sitting here in Northern Florida, in the middle of December, dreaming of and looking forward to spending a white Christmas in Minnesota at Wildrose Farm. The weather patterns have been so strange here. The temperature actually drops down low enough that I have to turn the heater on, but then the very next morning I wake up sweating, and it is hot and humid outside and I think of turning the air conditioner on. I’m really looking forward to returning to a cold place, as strange as that may sound to my friends and family that are reading this in sub-zero temperatures. Don’t get me wrong—I have a great appreciation for the sun and warmth of Florida. There are some mornings that I’ll be running outside and I will think of how incredible the sun feels on my face, arms and legs. I’m definitely getting some much-needed vitamin D here, after having lived in the Pacific Northwest for 6 years. But I am craving to return to the cold I grew up in (for a while at least)—to feel the cold slice right through me—to have my breath taken away—to wake up—to remember what it feels like to walk in the snow on a winter day. I am excitedly awaiting the smell of chimneys in the cold air, the sound of snow crystals crunching beneath my feet, seeing peoples’ breath dancing around their mouths, being in the stillness and quiet of the cold, seeing snow resting gracefully on the branches of Pines, Firs, and Spruce, and snowflakes falling softly to the ground, having ice crystals form on my eyelashes, feeling a warm cheek and embrace welcome me in from the cold outside, and experiencing the body thaw that occurs upon entering a house heated by the warmth of a fire.

I think that different places bring out different parts of our selves. And so I think it is interesting to try and live in contrasting places that introduce us to different sides of our selves, and to all kinds of other things, but it is also important to remember and return to (if possible) the places that shape us and help us to know and remember who we are, including the places that gave us our roots. Minnesota is the place that gave me roots—It is the place that grounds me—it is the place in which I first became acquainted with the world. It is the landscape that reflects to me my most authentic knowledge. It was in this landscape that I was able to act, feel, know, and see before the world could react and cause me to be inhibited, embarrassed, hurt, protective, and to realize my limitations. It is a place of innocence and wisdom in the same rite. It is a place where I am still free to shout out for no reason across farm and field, knowing there are no nearby neighbors to hear me or think it strange. It is a place where the materialistic laws of the world don’t seem to apply (at least in rural Minnesota, where my parents live). It is a place of comfort and quiet. It is a place to think and to “just be”.

Even though I love having a place such as this to return to—a refuge of sorts—I have also really enjoyed my time away from Minnesota and have learned a lot from living in Alaska, Oregon, Washington, and now Florida. Living in the South the last 7 months has been a very interesting experience. I have learned a lot about a new part of the country, seen new and beautiful landscapes, been introduced to new creatures I had never seen before, become a part of a thriving music community, met some really neat people, and lived alone for the first time in my life. I feel like I have learned and am learning a lot.

It is truly beautiful here, and the birds, animals, reptiles, insects, swamps, savannahs, springs, trees, plants, and the natural history of this place astonish me every single day that I am here. What a wild place this is. It is teeming with life and mystery. There is a celestial golden light here, that was especially present in the fall months, and magical and vibrant sunsets that compete with those in the Midwest, and may even surpass them in beauty. The light shines down on giant oak trees, filters through the Spanish moss hanging from their old branches and highlights shiny-leaved banana trees nearby. Lizards scurry across fallen tree trunks. Alligators slowly slip into the rivers, yet keep their eyes on you. You can look out onto a Savannah and see hundreds of beautiful birds and butterflies and turn the other direction and see endless river swamp, giant spiders dangling from the trees and snakes slithering by. I have seen owls up close and heard them calling, “Who cooks for you?” more often in the last 7 months than I have in my whole life. The biodiversity is absolutely amazing here. I feel lucky to be experiencing the beauty of another incredible place and to have the memories of other beautiful landscapes I have known still living inside of me.

Even though I leave a part of myself in each new place that I live in, I feel like I soak up much more than I leave behind. The landscapes we live in become a part of who we are. I feel lucky to be exploring a new part of the country, though I don’t know how long I will be here or where I will go next. I hope that all of you are getting to know new landscapes and remembering and reconnecting with ones you’ve known in the past. I look forward to hearing about your explorations. I also hope that the coming year is a beautiful one for you, full of hope, joy, and adventures.

*Merry Christmas and Peace and Love throughout the New Year,


Love, Caitlin

Alone in the South

Living in the South for the last 6 months has been a very interesting time in my life. I don't think I have ever been this alone before. Alone geographically, culturally, and personally. I didn’t feel this alone when I went to North Carolina for the summer to attend the American College Dance Festival at Duke University. I took part in the festival in order to pursue my dream of becoming a professional dancer at age 17. Even though I was interested and immersed in a new and difficult world, I remember aching for familiarity while I was there--I had never been away from my parents for such a long period of time before--and I kept trying to think of ways to break my leg so I could return back home. I didn’t feel this alone when I left the country for the first time for Ecuador at age 20 and couldn't imagine crossing national and cultural lines, and feared I might never see my parents again because this incredible distance between us was so difficult to imagine. I didn’t even feel this alone when I left my home-state at age 22 to follow the man I loved to the Pacific Northwest, not realizing that this move would mean that I was leaving the place that gave me roots, a place that I knew and cherished, and made me who I am, for a very long time. I did not realize at the time that the reason my parents cried when I left wasn't just because they were sad to see me go, but that they were remembering and even still realizing what similar moves in their lives had meant for them and their families, and what this might mean for ours.

What my move at age 22 meant for me is that life and adventures happened, and I moved from Alaska, to Oregon, back to Alaska, to Washington, and now to Florida. 7 Years have passed since then. My parents’ sadness and fears were not unfounded. Both my brother and I have been away from our roots for a long time. I am still very connected to my parents and to Minnesota as a place, and I return there several times a year and have had the luxury of going on extended visits most years that let me continue to know the place as it changes and to have an adult relationship with it as well as with my parents.

I moved from Seattle to Northern Florida about 6 months ago, to a town called Gainesville, home of the University of Florida. Who knows how I got here—it’s complicated, and I’m still trying to figure that story out. Before coming here, I never would have imagined myself living in Florida. But I have gone through culture shock—culture shock in general, Southern culture shock, and Florida culture shock, and have experienced some neat things while living here. Florida is much different that I ever would have thought. It is truly a beautiful place. In my mind’s eye I had always pictured Florida as a big sand bar essentially, with palm trees scattered here and there. But I live in North-Central Florida, where there is seemingly never-ending greenery and swamps, huge oak trees with Spanish moss hanging from their graceful branches, clear lagoons, springs, banana trees, tropical flowers, and more. It is an incredibly beautiful place--so amazingly biologically diverse--and I am thankful that I have had the chance to explore this part of the country.

Getting to know “the South” has been a real eye-opener. Different rules apply down here. People are less politically correct. Racism is less subtle, or silent. The relationships between Caucasians and African Americans are very different here in the South. There is more racial tension. The town of Gainesville is very segregated. I happen to live in one of the few “White” houses on the “Black” side of town, and so feel like I am contributing my part to the gentrification of Gainesville. At the same time, I am living in a unique neighborhood, and am experiencing things I have not experienced in depth before, such as being an outsider, racially and culturally. I have been an outsider before in my life—unable to fit in for various reasons, oftentimes due to cultural differences, and I have also experienced being an ethnic minority on “visits” into other cultures. However, these were just visits.

Growing up in Minnesota, my parents often referred to us as outsiders, because culturally, religiously, and politically we did not fit in with the majority of people living in central Minnesota. But here I am living alone in a neighborhood where I cannot pretend not to be an outsider. I am unable to blend in. I do not blend in at work either—people ask me every day, “Where are you from?” They cannot for the life of them, tell where my accent is from. I think my accent is going to be even more difficult to distinguish after living here, because I already confuse people with my Minnesota-Northwest accent. Now it will have a Southern twist as well, and people will no longer be able to understand me. I guess I will just have to resort to writing in order to communicate.

Another thing that I have noticed about the South and that lets me know I am living in a very different part of the country is that economic hardship seems more noticeable and extreme here. There is a great deal of poverty in Northern Florida, and in Gainesville in particular.

I have learned that it is a no-no to poke fun at Uber-Christians or make fun of “Jesus freaks” here in the South. I realized this right away. There was a cultural shift I had to make in terms of talking about religion. In the “atheistic” Northwest, people (even Christians) find humor in poking fun at “Jesus freaks”. It is a cultural attitude that does not exist in the same way here. It is the same with politics. I think I started to become comfortable in my liberal bubble living in both Olympia and Seattle, the two most progressive cities in Washington state. In both of those places, if you are a liberal, you can almost assume that when you talk with someone, you are talking to someone that holds at the very least, moderately liberal views politically and religiously. Here that is not the case. Even though Gainesville is known to be one of the most (if not the most) progressive cities in Florida, it is dangerous to assume that you are talking to someone who is a progressive thinker when it comes to politics, religion, and race. I guess this is a good lesson to learn—it is dangerous to assume that others might be thinking on the same plane as you are.

There is a part of the United States that I was very unfamiliar with before living here, and I feel like I am getting to know my country better for the first time, in both beautiful and ugly ways. I am getting to know myself better too. I have had the opportunity to travel a bit through the South while I’ve been here. I took a road trip to New Orleans, and another trip to Savannah Georgia, which were both really neat experiences and showed me a lot of the South that I hadn’t seen before as well. The incredible spirit of New Orleans and its fight for survival was truly touching to see after having visiting the city pre-Katrina, ten years ago. I saw that the place had gone through so much, and had truly been changed, but is amazingly resilient and more powerful because of what the people are still in the process of transcending. In Savannah I saw incredible history and architecture, and even though the city thrives mainly on tourism, I saw women dressed in their Sunday finest, with huge, old fashioned church bonnets with face netting and all. I saw neat and ancient cemeteries, and Haitian painters selling their art by the river.

Even the animals here in the South are foreign to me. But I love the creatures here—they are fascinating. I never get tired of seeing little tiny lizards scurry across the pavement as I walk. If I look closely at a tree, I am bound to see a lizard or chameleon doing its best to blend in with the bark and successfully looking beautiful. Then of course there are the big lizards, the alligators that I have had the luck to encounter more than once. They are truly unique and bizarre creatures, and I still can’t fathom that they are everywhere in Florida—even in the city ponds if you look closely. There are huge, mysterious, and lovely reptiles lurking beneath the surface. How fantastic. There are endless species of beautiful birds that I had never seen before living here. There are giant dragonflies, and countless bugs and spiders. There are snakes, armadillos, deer, wild horses, bison, coyotes, foxes and owls. I have seen and heard more owls living in Florida in 6 months than I have in my entire life. It’s pretty incredible.

I am having so many amazing experiences here. And yet I have never been this independent. I am alone to experience all of this. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing—it is just a new thing. In all of my other experiences, I either had a partner that was experiencing it with me, or I was on a “short” adventure, knowing that I would soon return to familiarity and people that I knew and loved. Here I feel like I am living in another country—the different time zones of my family members make it difficult to connect with them, along with our different work schedules. I have made some connections here, but making good friends takes time, and I have only been here for six months. I have been enjoying spending time alone—I have just never felt this alone—I am living in a foreign place, in a foreign culture, thousands of miles from my family and close friends. I am living in the lonely, strange, and beautiful South.

Hillary, Were You In This Campaign Just For You? By Caitlin Robertson

I had a telephone conversation with a good friend last night after having watched the second evening of the 2008 Democratic Convention. She brought up Hillary Clinton's speech, and spoke of how inspiring and uniting Clinton's speech was. Consequently, my friend was surprised and one could say slightly annoyed that I had any criticisms or skepticisms to share about the former presidential candidate's words and her genuineness in saying them.

I, like my friend, was very impressed with the last few minutes of Clinton's speech, as I thought she was finally able to stop talking about herself and her accomplishments and was able to focus on the people, the country and the need to unite in order to adequately confront the crises that the United States is facing. I was particularly moved by the inspirational quote by Harriet Tubman (centered on advice that she gave to slaves while helping them escape along the underground railroad) that Clinton included toward the end of her speech and I believe that the audience was truly moved by Clinton’s use of Tubman's words of wisdom:

If you hear the dogs, keep going.

If you see the torches in the woods, keep going.

If they're shouting after you, keep going.

Don't ever stop. Keep going.

If you want a taste of freedom, keep going.

Hillary made this quote relevant by adding her own words, "Even in the darkest of moments, ordinary Americans have found the faith to keep going". At this moment, I truly wanted to believe in the authenticity of Clinton’s speech, and to trust that she was truly trying to unite the Democratic Party for reasons that transcended her own personal power and political goals.

However, I am uncertain of whether or not Clinton was authentically "standing behind" Barack Obama in the beginning and middle of her speech. Clinton asked the audience toward the middle of her speech,

"I want you to ask yourselves: Were you in this campaign just for me? Or were you in it for that young Marine and others like him? Were you in it for that mom struggling with cancer while raising her kids? Were you in it for that boy and his mom surviving on the minimum wage? Were you in it for all the people in this country who feel invisible?"

From Her quote it seems as though Clinton was gracefully and stoically asking her supporters to transcend their allegiances to her and unite behind Barack Obama and the Democratic Party. But is this what Clinton really wanted? Or was her intention of the first half of her speech, which highlighted her accomplishments and her 35 years of hard work for the Democratic Party, including the 18 million cracks that she and her supporters have put in the glass ceiling, to reveal who the real presidential candidate should have been--herself?

It's not that I believe that Hillary Clinton should hide her accomplishments. I believe her achievements have been extraordinary, and she made an excellent candidate for the presidency. I believe that there should be a celebration of the amazing time in history that she has been a part of—and of how far Clinton has come in her quest to become the first woman president of the United States. Indeed, her incredible intelligence and prowess shows hope and promise and possibility for women and girls of all generations and the world. I myself, started out as a Hillary Clinton supporter and I believe that sexism stopped her from going further in her campaign for the presidency.

However, I don't believe that the democratic convention is the place that Clinton should be highlighting the qualities that she knows only reaffirm to her supporters that she is the candidate that should be running for president. Even though she directly asked her supporters to support Barack Obama, her words, nuanced delivery and passive aggressive tone said otherwise.

Clinton managed to get through her speech having appeared to build up Barack Obama but not really having done so--In her speech she said that America needs good leaders but never actually called Barack Obama a good leader. She did, however, manage to undermine Obama's leadership skills and experience with foreign policy, two things she criticized him for when she ran against him for the presidency when she said,

"Americans are also fortunate that Joe Biden will be at Barack Obama's side. He is a strong leader and a good man. He understands both the economic stresses here at home and the strategic challenges abroad. He is pragmatic, tough, and wise."

No one can refute that Hillary Clinton is skilled in delivery and rhetoric. How can one really call her out on the subtle undertones of her speech? Her defense could easily be that she was simply giving accolades to the Obamas and Bidens as a team. Throughout her speech, Clinton said things that she could easily argue were positive and supportive of Barack Obama, but could also be perceived as passive aggressive comments given her past criticisms of Obama such as, "And I can't wait to watch Barack Obama sign a health care plan into law that covers every single American. "

I realize that it has to be difficult to concede a presidential campaign, and maybe even especially so in Clinton's case, when there has been rampant sexism attempting and finally succeeding in squashing her ambitions of becoming president. But this does not give her the right to undermine Barack Obama in her speech at the democratic convention, no matter where her future political interests lie, and no matter how unjust it is that sexism has beleaguered her political aspirations of becoming president for the time being.

I also realize that like my friend, many, perhaps even the majority of people, will not view her speech as having passive aggressive tones. Many of the reviews and discussions I have seen or read of her speech thus far have raved about Clinton’s words and the message that she sent out to the country through them--that we need to unite behind Barack Obama in order to save the country from 4 more years of disaster. My friend said that she would prefer to continue to feel inspired and motivated by Clinton’s speech, and to just believe in its authenticity, rather than have it be jaded by my “overly critical” and “cynical” comments. I acknowledge that sometimes just believing in the authenticity of something is nice, and in politics, it seems that this chance to do so comes around altogether too rarely.

However, politics are interesting because of these different layers and nuances that people see, and I believe it is important that we recognize and listen to perspectives that are different from our own in order find or at least search for truth. Through Clinton’s speech, I believe that damage was done to Barack’s campaign, and to the Democratic Party, albeit in a subtle way. Hillary got the retribution she wanted, but at what cost? Perhaps we need to ask Hillary to ask herself, “Were you in this campaign just for you?”

*Read Clinton’s full speech, posted on August 26, 2008 at: http://www.truthout.org/article/hillary-rodham-clinton-were-you-in-it-just-for-me
And send me some thoughts please!