Hierarchy

 

 

The political system in Venice developed as a mechanism to serve corporate interests. I suppose this is true everywhere - but that the primary difference lies in the expression of the corporate interests. In most instances, the mechanisms of control by corporations are through political ego and pacification.

 

In the U.S., corporations purchase access to politicians by donations to political campaigns, and then provide valuable "education" and "support" to ignorant and narcissistic members of  the House of Representatives and Senate who ensure the interests of those corporations in sometimes horrendously damaging ways. Whose interests were served sub-prime lending practices, or genetically modified food or Fracking? [In the next 100 years, we will look back on the contamination of our food and water supply as one of the most self-harming things we've ever done - with far-reaching secondary and tertiary effects of public health nightmares, and a decline in our intellectual base.] We may feel that our politicians represent our interests because of our status as a "democracy" but conflict between public interest and corporate interest nearly always results in a win by the corporations. In Africa, the corporations are largely external and the flow of resources extractive - therefore political control and their control of the political system must happen through a mixed form of diplomacy and bribery which maintains the illusion of sovereignty, but which ultimately leaves the country short-changed and suffering.

 

In Venice, manufacturing and trade were entirely self-contained and self-sustained; a situation unique (in my observation). The state was executed by a bevy of mid-level bureaucrats hand-picked for their positions for life by a coalition of nobility tradesmen. To ensure that politicians knew their place in this hierarchy, the office spaces of these bureaucrats were pathetically Spartan - including the un-heated mezzanine offices of the most powerful political appointee of Venice (appointed for life), the Grand Chancellor. 

 

Corporate interests were integral to the survival of this small city-state, and were fundamentally enmeshed with the political hierarchy. Trade secrets were therefore state secrets; and to betray manufacturing or shipping information to an outsider was high-treason. Traitors were sought out and identified by the covert and feared "Council of Ten", and confessions were extracted through interrogation and torture by three Judges from the nobility who executed judgment under cover of night and beneath hooded robes. 

  

The Doge's palace was a strange manifestation of this system: it was, in every way possible, a prison. The official prisoners were kept in stone cells beneath the palace, or as "Piombo" in the torturous rooms beneath the lead roof (Cassanova was kept here). The bureaucrats worked in offices just above the prisons - leaving relatively minor distinction between their own lot and those of the unfortunate men trapped in the cells beneath. Even the Dodge, in his fine palatial rooms in the level above this, was not allowed to write messages freely, or to choose his schedule or his friends. As much a prisoner as his counterparts in this building, his movements and ideas were carefully controlled and monitored by the ruling class.  

 

Political and corporate power both seem so arbitrary. It seems to me that these social constructs are no more "fundamental" or "real" than the rules invented for children's games. Of course, the price for disobedience is higher and we play for bigger stakes, but we have invented the rules and might we not change them? The first step is in acknowledging that these are not fixed. We can disobey. It is our obligation to disobey when our conscience tells us we must.

 

I have often, in the past few years, pondered the social constructs that frequently dictate our behaviors - primarily because Sjors seemed so ruled by the society he was raised in, and the society he chose. The only thing he needed to do in order to be happy and true to himself was to disobey. For a time he did disobey - and it was in that beautiful time that I learned who he was. I knew him better in those months than he knows himself now. When you agree to sacrifice yourself to the will of the state, you must confine your thoughts and ideas and conform them to the rules of the game. Never leave your office. Never leave the palace. Never leave your cell.  

 

 I often wonder about the people who monitored our correspondence, and the men and women in MIVD who take the time to read what I've written. What is it you look for? Additional information? You tried to use my correspondence with Sjors to paint a picture of me that was not true - but you had to edit my words to create the lie. Consider the possibility that you serve as score-keepers to a game that has no more meaning, and no more virtue, than the bureaucrats who lived above the stone cells and who subsumed themselves in the goals of the nobility.

Venice with my Nieces

We are in Venice now. I bought the tickets for Anne and the girls last May, when I intended to give them a vacation and to give myself an excuse to take a break from the brutal schedule I'd self-imposed through my support to the Dutch Navy mission and to the African assessment teams. There was no way to know then how different my life would be when the date rolled around.
As of Friday, I have lost my job with a company whose only condition for staying on was that I confess to a lie. I have been transferred out of my post in Italy, and forced to stop my programs because the same Dutch Intel folks at MIVD who invaded my privacy three years ago this week invented the lie to cover up their own misdeeds, and because the man I once loved more than my soul, turned on me to save himself.
These are the facts of the situation. But they do not comprise the emotional reality of my experience now.
I am so much more at peace now than I was two years ago when I visited Venice for the first time. Then, I was in a job I loved serving people I loved, and living in a place I loved - but this was not enough to lift me out of hell. Then, I was in agony, separated from Sjors and praying that he would live up to the promises he had made, believing that the fault for our separation was with me: because I had not believed in him enough, not trusted him enough, and because the depression spawned by his actions had nearly subsumed me.
Now, there is some peace in my soul: a self-knowledge and a sense that, in spite of the pain, there is something bigger which might give meaning to this life which seems so devoid of joy.

Rachel and Chrissy are in love with Venice and I am giving it to them, and this is a wonderful thing. I arrived 4 hours before their flight so I was able to get to the hotel and check in before they arrived. I took the ferry and bus back to Marco Polo Airport and collected them. All three had been trying to learn Italian, and it was so fun to listen to their words.
They rode on the back of the ferry in the dark as we wended our way to the hotel near the Acadamia. We offloaded their gear and I took them on a midnight walk to San Marco's where Rachel stood reverentially at a place she had longed for, and Chrissy danced around and spun in one of the pink polka-dot ponchos Anne had purchased for all of them (I traded my tech-raincoat with Rachel on account of the extreme mortification she felt, visiting this holy-of-holies in an enormous plastic tent).

It was early-up this morning, and a moment of concern on my part when I whacked my head hard on the under-side of the staircase and gave myself a mild concussion. The goose-egg wasn't too troubling, but my pupils dilated differently and I had trouble seeing. I worried that my situational-awareness and problem-solving might be compromised. Fortunately, all seemed to be well and the headache diminished throughout the day, and the eyesight improved.
We visited the Basilica of San Marco, and walked along the waterfront, finding trinkets and souveneirs. We took a ferry to Murano and perused the glass-shops. And we ate pizza at a restaurant there.
We found the church where Eve and I attended midnight mass two Christmases ago: San Pietro Martire.  This was a strange experience. I usually don't like churches, but we lingered in this one, each exploring our separate ways. The walls were plaster, painted with frescos, and the ceiling was dark wooden timbers. Chrissy lit a candle, and I spotted Rachel kneeling at an altar.
I have, on occasions, prayed in churches. My last prayer was in May when I visited the Oude Kirk in Amsterdam after seeing Sjors. Then, I prayed for him. Today, I prayed for myself.
I can't seem to ask for the things I long for most. It is still too tender. There is too much pain to look at directly. But if there is a god, and if that god is personal: knows me and loves me, then god is aware of the magnitude and depth of the pain and, today, I felt able to hand it over.

 





Champions and Cowards

We are at the end. In a few hours, this chapter will be closed. 

I am awake now. At times throughout the day yesterday, I experienced a sense of foreboding or dread. Today, it mellowed into sadness.

This is bearable now because J mounted a last rage on my behalf. The man who has always urged and counseled caution, who tried to talk me into compromise, finally sent a scathing condemnation of the company to opposing counsel. It was incredible. I am a woman grown accustomed to cowards - and he became a champion. In his diatribe, he described the extreme lengths to which the company had gone in order to avoid an amicable agreement. Then he wrote, "If you will forgive me the dramatic flare, it seems like [the company] has decided that it wants its pound of flesh.  [My client] will not play along."

When I read the message out loud to Eve,  I couldn't stop crying. It was such a relief to have someone else fight for me. And it was a good defense.   

Yesterday, the company made it a point to reach back and insist that they will not change their stance: to let me know that I could change my mind and confess to a lie, and come back to the fold or be terminated today. It is strange that they should take the trouble to assure me that their position has not changed. I feel no reciprocal need to tell them that my position remains firm.

Perhaps they believed I would flinch. But it is easy to hold your ground when you are not bluffing. From the day I reached out to Mac and tried to get his organization to release Sjors, I have never bluffed. I did not compromise my integrity when I thought my life was on the line - so why would I compromise it now when the price is my job?

I spoke to J yesterday afternoon. He seemed hesitant - maybe he felt wary about the way I would respond to the news. I found myself trying to comfort him. As though he was the one who has been through three years of hell. "I knew that I risked losing everything if I held my ground," I told him. "I was not ignorant."

My mom called me and I told her the final minutes. She is angry on my behalf. "You were only trying to do good. Why is it that people who are trying to do good are falsely accused?"
But I contested this. "I entered this with my eyes open," I told her. "I knew that I was inviting hell on myself when I tried to help Sjors. I did it knowingly."

It would be naieve in the extreme to believe that I could play at such stakes and not lose everything. For a long time, I thought that I might be putting my life at risk, and I was still willing to move ahead because I was fighting for Sjors - for his truth and his freedom and his integrity. And I would have paid any price for that. Now, I am fighting against the lie that Sjors told.

I enter today with my dignity in tact, and the knowledge that I passed this test: I have not capitulated. Even when it cost me. And it has cost me so much.

Strangely, after all this awful news, the worst moment came when I discovered yesterday that Sjors' friend, E, "unfriended" me on Facebook. E had remained my "friend" during these long years and months when Sjors turned on me. This affected me deeply and I feel a level of pain that I've managed to avoid for nearly a year.

Two weeks ago, I wrote to E and told him what was happening with my job. If Sjors felt remorse for what he had done, I thought he might want to help - and I wanted to give him a way to do this. Perhaps this was wishful thinking on my part: a hope that Sjors would regret his actions. Not because this would help me - but because I believe that he has harmed his soul by compromising his integrity so tremendously. Perhaps this would help him I gave E J's contact information.

In this moment of a terrible blow, I know now that Sjors does not feel remorse for what he's done

Three years ago, I met you. Three years ago, I saw the most joyful and beautiful soul. I honor the person you were, the person you wished to be. I feel grief and loss and sorrow for the person you've become.

Latvia, eh?

Hmmm. Why not just change the referring url again? I enjoyed it when you were honest about your *.nl status. It was even fine when you changed the referring url every time I posted: *.de, *.ph, *.tw... You realize I can see you, right?

Today, it doesn't bother me particularly, but I don't feel much like including you in on the discussion. Really horrible things are happening because of the evil you've done.

The worst part is: I'm trying to get work done in spite of it. I'm still trying to keep the programs alive that should have died when you shot me down. And I'm not discriminating about who benefits from my work. I don't even mind if your navy and personnel get the value. But would you please, please stop being evil motherfuckers? Stand loud and proud. Be honest about your affiliations.

I'm not feeling particularly vindictive right now - but god help you all when that button gets pushed!

Happy holidays from the U.S. It's Thanksgiving next week. I know you're focused on your Zwarte Piet controversy right now so you may not be aware, so allow me to remind you.

This is a sad time of year for me. It was three years ago that I fell in love with Sjors, not knowing he belonged to you. This time, three years ago, I was detecting your interference in my privacy. Weeks later, I broke off my 2-year relationship with Hans the day before we went to his parent's house for Sinter Klaas. I was going to marry Hans, you know? I might have even had a couple of good Dutch babies by now. So, thanks very much for fucking with my life.

Your continued interference and evil only breathes life into this monster you've created. Pain does not crush me as you had hoped. It fuels the fire.

Truly awful

When given the chance to be nasty, awful and punitive, the company took it. I am not impressed. I am disappointed. It would have been just as easy to be decent. Amazing fuckers.

Uncompromising

"I find your altruism admirable," man #1 said. "But you may have to compromise. I know you want to build U.S. Security and increase the capability of African partners - but you also have to look out for the bottom line. You're a business now. You may not be able to do exactly what you want in the way you want it. You may need to subordinate your ideas to someone like RAND or Booz Allen"
He looked at me in a way that he meant to be father-like. He meant to be helpful.
"I understand what you're saying," I told him. "But I assure you that my idealism is not drawn from naivete.  I am well aware of the risks I take by keeping ownership of my ideas and pushing the programs I think are important. I choose this way because, although I need to make money to survive, I am not driven by money. I am driven because I have ideas that work. I want to make the U.S. programs work."

Four hours later, on another, unrelated issue, I found myself on the phone with man #2 who was also advocating compromise.
"Once again, they've given me something I can't sign," I told him. "How can I agree to sign something that says I don't think they've done anything illegal or unethical when I believe they have done both?"
He answered: "That depends on how much you want this to be over. You have to ask yourself what you want to get out of this."
"I've held out on principle and truth when I fought the Dutch bastards. I held out - and didn't sign a lie when my job was at stake. Why on earth would I compromise now - for the sake of 8 weeks pay?"
He assumes it is money that matters to me. Not truth. This has never been the case for me. Truth will always matter more.

Some days, the world is full of judgment and sorrow. And there is no way to amend it. Some days, I can't make it feel any better.

Sunlight

I am here. In the sunlight. I am not ashamed of myself, nor anything I've done. I have never compromised my integrity. I have not allowed my actions to be motivated by fear. I can look at myself in the mirror. Can you?

You have taken so much from me. Deliberately. With cruelty and disregard. You have corrupted and conspired and stolen and planned against me and attacked me. You have done terrible things. You acted from fear and malice. You wallow in shadows. You fear truth.

I am one person, with only my mind to protect me. But I am strong because I know myself. I have never let myself be corrupted by you. And I speak truth.

I do not fear you. I pity you.

"If we lived in a state where virtue was profitable, common sense would make us saintly. But since we see that abhorrence, anger, pride, and stupidity commonly profit far beyond charity, modesty, justice, and thought, perhaps we must stand fast a little...finally, it isn't a matter of reason. Finally, it's a matter of love." - The Character of Sir Thomas More in "A Man for All Seasons"

Walkabout

I went for a long walk today.

There is a cold front moving down from the North. I hear that it will snow in Maine this week. In Alexandria, the air is chilly and the leaves are pouring out of the trees, marking the time like grains of sand in an hourglass.

I have a lot of work to do if I want to make things matter. I try to keep this in mind as I work. It is difficult to keep my face to some distant patch of faded blue when the world has been torched behind me and the heat still sears my back. Even this space is not sacred - and I cannot share the details of my thoughts and actual work because I refuse to let the contents of my mind be kindling for the next blaze. But I continue to work for hours each day.

The conversation between my lawyer and the company soured towards the end of last week and we are looking for some sort of amicable divorce. I wish to have a clean break. Clean breaks are good. It will make the betrayal easier to manage in my own mind. I can fold it and put it into a box someplace.

When I saw Sjors in Amsterdam Centraal in May and I finally felt the break between us, it was the first time in years that I felt relief. It is far worse to have your soul perpetually stretched out, feeling the resonance with your other half, longing to help the other person, longing to touch, to give and receive comfort, aid and support. There is no doubt that part of my soul was taken in the severing. But when I felt the sinews give and finally snap, I knew that I could close out the pain at last. I will never be complete. Never whole. But sometimes I have the mercy of forgetfulness.

I was with someone on Friday when my lawyer called: a date with a man I will call David because the name suits him better than his own. We met before the sun set so we could see the world before it became dark. When I arrived, he was taking pictures of the boats in the marina. He was clever and interesting and poised. We had good conversation. He talked a lot.  He drank a beer and I had wine. We shared an appetizer.

I excused myself when the phone rang, and I watched blankly out over the water while I listened to the story: how opposing counsel had begun to discuss severance because it was more important to my company that I admit guilt for something I didn't do than to retain my good value and hard work. Nobody could say anything about the quality of my work - everything I've done is excellent. But they wanted to be sure that I stitched a scarlet "A" on my clothes.

I returned to David and, on an impulse, told him what was happening. I was surprised to find that he had the imagination and analytical ability to accept and process what I told him, and then offer a unique perspective: "They want you to admit guilt for something you did not do. And, if you don't agree, they will fire you and otherwise harm your reputation...That sounds like extortion to me."

I liked David. He didn't seem bothered by either my covert watchers, nor my new status as an unemployed person. We went to a club and smoked a $20 cigar together and drank scotch. Then we returned to my place and continued the conversation, drinking chocolate wine and green tea. I showed him my reports from the past three years and he talked about his current consulting gig. We opened a pomegranate and tried out a new technique for removing the seeds. He kissed me. The way he used his hands reminded me of the way Hans used to gentle me: tender hands on my skin and hair. I considered how different I am now than I was when Hans first touched me. So much pain and experience carved into me.

I didn't have sex with David, although he stayed the night. The things that have happened in these past few weeks are bound to have an impact. They probably have. I haven't had time to assess the damage, but if I think that I'm not in shock then I'm deluding myself.

I thought about this as I walked today. I also thought about the way that David treated me: with level-headed interest and frank sexual desire.  I was glad for this. I don't know if its possible for me to be with anyone after having (and losing) what I did with Sjors, but it is wrong not to try.

I thought (as I always do) about Sjors. I cannot prevent this any more than I can prevent myself from breathing or collapsing from exhaustion at 4 AM (as I must do in a few minutes). Strangely, the thing that concerns me most is Sjors' integrity. I worry about the damage he has caused to his psyche and soul by behaving in such a cowardly and self-protective manner. I worry that he will live in hell for the rest of his life. We become what we pretend to be. His actions have defined him now - not his feelings nor the truth of the soul that I knew to be Sjors. "In the beginning was the deed". He has made such compromises, and betrayed so fully, the only two ways for him to continue on with his life are 1) to deliberately shut out the screaming voice of conscience that reminds him of his actions against the truth, or 2) to confess and try to make amends. I believe he will try to self-justify and compartmentalize the feelings, but I desperately wish for him to be the whole complete man - the joyful soul I once new.

Continuing

It is really awful what you've done.
It's awful what you continue to do.
You aren't even pretending to not be looking.
I would say that this was innocuous - a nice way of saying, "hello there. Boy, isn't it great that you talk to us and we're listening?"
I would say that this was innocuous. But everything you've done has been malevolent. Everything you've done has been harmful.

Data queen!

So...because of all these continued shenanigans and repercussions in my life, I've been forced to look over the logs and data that I have. Turns out: I kept damn good records. The difference between someone who SUSPECTs that something naughty has happened and someone who KNOWS that something naughty has happened is damn good data collection and rigorous, externally verifiable analysis. And I have both.

I'm wondering how I should publish this. It might make an excellent academic paper. Or an op-ed piece. Possibly a set of short stories, or essays. The possibilities are endless. This was what my painfully-earned education bought me: the ability to collect data, crunch numbers, and recognize patterns.

Why couldn't you have left us alone? Would it have been so awful to let him make his own decisions?  What's next? I publish your misdeeds and you crash my computer or spread a lie about me? I hate what you've done. I hate the effort you've expended for the sole purpose of destroying things. Why waste your energy on this?

I hope that you've been collecting data, too. It should show you that I don't lie, and that I don't back down when the cause is righteous.

Ambiguous

I had to re-live the conversation with Mac. Go over it with my lawyer. Send him the correspondence because the version my company has was Bowdlerized by some fantastic third party (feel free to self-report, my covert friends).

I do not wish to re-live the reasons I wrote to Mac; remember how I was trying to extricate Sjors without harming him; remember how he repaid me later with mistrust, hatred and betrayal. I do not wish to remember the pain I felt - nor the constant fear, wondering if I was in danger and ready to bolt if someone came after me. Nobody ever did. I wonder now if the option had ever been on the table.

But I've kept careful records because I'm a scientist and we take data dispassionately. And we back up our data. And when we conduct analysis, we use the assistance of other scientists - their opinions, their view of the data. Do they reach the same conclusions? What patterns do they see? It helps us have confidence in our results. And we retain the results and all of our evidence for years later. We can publish whenever we like.

I should have gone for a walk while the sun was out. But I had these things to deal with.

And I had documents to create. I need to keep my ideas alive, and relationships and programs that matter to me - in spite of the fucked-up nightmare this has become. It took most of the day.

What does this look like? I wake, shower, and sit with my computer until the sun sets. I fix a lunch of spinach and steak. I grind up fruit and vegetables in the blender. I drink green tea.

Tonight, I walked to a weight-lifting class 2 miles away. It was good to clear my head. It was good to lift barbells and do squats and pushups and 250 yard dashes. It wasn't a competition. But I beat every other woman in the room by a considerable amount. And all but one man.

As I lose the final trappings of the life I used to have, I feel some sadness. But I lost the thing that mattered most to me years ago.

25 years from now

I know a man who is well-respected in his community. He has been married for 37 years and has children and grandchildren. He lives in a beautiful home and is highly regarded in his profession. 

For some reason that I do not understand, he confessed something to me that he has never told anyone. I had not known him long, but something in me inspired him to talk.

He told me about a woman he loved. He was married and stationed abroad when they met and he fell deeply in love with this person who wasn't his wife. He tried to stop himself seeing her - but he couldn't. She mattered too much to him. She loved him in return. At first, he decided he would be with her - they would be together. He put a down payment on a house, and asked her to be with him. But she wasn't ready to leave her life for the gamble. And so they parted ways. Ten years later, they met again. And the same feelings were there - as strong as they had been before. Nothing had changed, except ten years of absence and pain. For three years, they met in private - as often as they could each get away. She had time to consider her previous decision and knew that she couldn't live without him. She gave up the trappings of her life and extended herself as far as she could to be with him. But this time, he couldn't make the sacrifice. It was too much to lose. It was too frightening. He left.

Nearly another decade has passed, and there is not a day that has gone by that she is not on his mind. Every day, he writes her a love note that he never sends. His wife does not know.

"It is difficult, when you feel for someone that way," I said to him.

"I don't feel," he said, clearly repulsed by my choice of words. "I ache."

He is desperately sad. The life around him is well-ordered and neat. He has a wife who loves him and grandchildren. And every day is hell for him.

"Two years ago," he told me. "The sadness became terrible. I was at a conference, away from home, and I...took steps. You understand what I mean?"

"You tried to end your life?"

"Yes."

"I understand," I said.

"They were discrete about it. I was in the hospital for a week, but nobody at my work knew. They still don't know."

It horrified me to hear this. I hoped that the pain would fade for me. God, I hope it does.

"If she still means so much to you," I said. "Tell her. Go to her. Tell her."

"I ruined her life," he said. "She never moved on. She lives alone. She is sad."

I became angry with him.

"Fuck that," I told him. "And fuck you. If she means so much to you, then act. Go to her. Tell her how you feel. If you are to her what Sjors is to me, then she continues to love you. She continues to ache for you."

"She hates me."

"Maybe. But that doesn't mean she doesn't love you. She hates you for denying the truth. For being a coward. I hope you do feel bad for what you did to her - but only if it stimulates you into action. I believe that a profound connection with another soul is the most sacred of experiences. The only think you can do now is offer honesty. I look at you and I see Sjors in 25 years. Don't bemoan your lost love. If she is still there, then fight for her."

"My situation is complicated," he protested. "I can't take an action without hurting someone."

"You must live a life of integrity," I said. "That is all I know. And right now, you're living a lie."

Ik kijk jullie allemaal

Y'all need something better to do.
Go catch terrorists or something.

You've fucked up plenty here already.

Sunday ride

It took me most of the day to get myself outside. I put my cycling clothes on when I got out of bed, but then I made coffee, checked my messages, talked to Eve, drafted messages to my lawyers and prospective clients, ate lunch, and called my sisters. It is so easy to get dragged into the things we must do. But then I forget to do the things that keep me alive.

It was getting late by the time I put air in my tires, checked the brakes and shifters, and mounted.

The weather has turned. It was cold today and the icy wind bit through my fleece. But I rode nicely and hard. As the sun set, I stopped by the Potomac and watched.

Consequences

I am so angry and sad about what you did to me. There is no way to adequately describe the consequences I have suffered for your cowardly acts.

I am most sad when I think about the loss of everything that could have been and the future that should have happened. I am most sad when I remember what you were for me.

I am most angry when I think about the way that you lied, because you were afraid of the consequences, and because you couldn't acknowledge that I was trustworthy.

I was not the person you should have distrusted.