Tag Archives: immigrants

The Road to Diamond, Day 323: The Goodwill of Immigrants

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Posted by on in Community, Historical, Inspiration, Personal Values, Social, Spiritual, Striving, Travel

October 16,2025, Le Havre– I left Metz, after a sumptuous breakfast in Hotel Escurial’s fine restaurant. The train ride to Paris Est was uneventful, though the French countryside is always a tonic for the soul. Once in Paris, I asked an African immigrant, a security guard, where to find the bus to Gare St. Lazare, from which trains to Normandy and Brittany are dispatched. He personally favoured the Metro, but with baggage to handle, I was in no mood for the grifters and pickpockets who hang out in all too many Metro stations. He then directed me to the area south of the train station, where buses arrive and depart.

After a few minutes of asking around, I spotted the bus that goes to St. Lazare. Another young immigrant was getting set to start his driving shift, and invited me on, sans ticket. He maneuvered swiftly through Paris traffic, and we were near St. Lazare, with plenty of time to spare before my train to Rouen and Le Havre was set to depart. His “price”? I had to get off two stops later and walk back. “No one can have everything”, he said, knowingly. It was no big deal.

In 2014, I was on another train to Rouen, and we passed through a suburb called Mantes-La Jolie. My seat mate pointed out that there was little “jolie” about the town. This time, though, Mantes-La Jolie presented a clean, upbeat appearance-even lacking the graffiti that seems to be universal elsewhere across Europe.

Rouen, too, seemed a tad happier a place than what I saw eleven years ago. For that matter, at least in the above-ground gathering places and along surface streets, I felt perfectly safe in Paris as well. The hype about “crime-ridden France” seems to be just that-a false flag. The train strikes of two weeks ago are a blip.

It was in an upbeat mood, bolstered by the kind, if snarky, immigrants who I encountered everywhere, that I found myself in the shiny port and university city of Le Havre. I had half expected a gritty seaport. There was none of that, and I walked a short distance to JOST (Joy of Sharing Together) Hostel. It is the closest lodging to any train station thus far, except for Helsingor. It also has a Food Court, with six restaurants under the auspices of one bar. I chose a northern Italian option.

The University quarter of Le Havre is a place of great modern art and architecture. Here are a few scenes.

JOST Hostel. I was “only” on the fourth floor.
Pole- Simone Veil. This social and sport event center is named for the late magistrate Simone Veil, who was a survivor of the Holocaust of 1941-45. She became the first President of the directly-elected European Parliament, in 1979. In her years of recovery from the horrors of war, Simone Veil was a champion of women’s rights in France and across Europe. She died in 2017, at the age of 89.
Enclosed arbor, Allee Aimee Cesar. The great social activist from Martinique offered a thought which is apt for people like me, who visit different places, almost with abandon. “Beware, my body and my soul, beware above all of crossing your arms and assuming the sterile attitude of the spectator, for life is not a spectacle, a sea of griefs is not a proscenium, and a man who wails is not a dancing bear.” It is indeed the duty of the traveler to show empathy with those visited.
Rue Le Sueur
Sidewalk cafe, Place Le Sueur
Torso in Action, Place Le Sueur

Le Havre has indeed cast off its former image as a gritty port, and is fully embracing the vibrant commercial culture that has continued across the English Channel, despite BREXIT and largely because of, rather than despite, the Chunnel. I will have time, tomorrow morning, to more fully look around this energetic port.

The Road to Diamond, Day 9: Veterans

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Posted by on in collaborating, Community, impediments, Inspiration, Personal Values, service, Social, Spiritual, Striving

December 7, 2024- Eighty-three years ago today, Japanese planes attacked the U.S. Naval Base at Pearl Harbor, Hawai’i. This resulted in the deaths of 2305 Americans and 129 Japanese. There are a few centenarians still alive today, who survived that attack.

Ironic, then, that an immigrant and the son of immigrants, neither of whom have ever served in the military, are leading the call for cutting funding for veterans’ health care. They are citing a report, written by a Harvard graduate student, who also has not served in the military-for a publication in the United Kingdom(home to free medical care for all), that says Veterans’ Disability funds are reducing veterans’ employment.

This is hooey. I know of several disabled veterans, who are either working, happily, at full time jobs, or are actively seeking employment. Several employers, coached by the Veterans Administration and US Vets, are taking on disabled veterans as workers. The Small Business Administration has programs that assist with veterans who are establishing their own businesses.

One of the biggest false starts in academia comes from the words, “The statistics say…” or “Research tells us….” . Numbers and data can be manipulated towards any agenda. Blind pursuit of cutting expenditures, without considering the true human cost of those cuts, is a dead end. Coupled with the belief that only an economic elite can actually solve the problems facing humanity, that Capital should trump Labour, the road to economic decimation is assured.

Both Capital and Labour are needed, in order to make an economic system function fully. This is one reason why Baha’u’llah calls for a system of profit sharing, for employee-owned enterprises, as a way of building an economy that has no disparity between the very rich and very poor. As hard as it will be, to get the Uberwealthy to see this, short of a damaging economic downturn, a push towards such economic justice would resolve a host of financial woes-including the perception that veterans should not be cared for, following their military service.

Those who have served their nation should not be beholden to those who have done nothing in the way of service. Resolving the nagging problem of national debt is a matter that must not be given to false solutions, or scapegoating of Protected Classes. We all have a role to play in debt reduction-including the wealthiest among us.

Expanding Home, Day 16: The Gatekeepers, The Bay and The Green Belt

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Posted by on in animal and plant life, Assistance, collaborating, Community, Entertainment, impediments, Inspiration, Personal Values, Service Activities, Social, Spiritual, Striving, Travel

October 25, 2023, Manila- The clerk smiled wanly, as he told my friend that the matter she is seeking to resolve can only be tended through making an appointment, and that appointment can only be made over the phone-on a Tuesday or on a Thursday. This is the legacy of the “State Department streamlining” that was in vogue, until a few years ago. While I can understand the reasoning behind it, there remain those, like my friend, whose anomalous issues merit rather urgent consideration, and thus are discomfited by what they can reasonably view as just another roadblock.

I will fortunately be around until Tuesday, so if she misses making the call tomorrow, there is always Hallowe’en morning, before I have to Alley-oop back to Airplane Village. This is one of the tasks that was before me, when I first arrived at the South Luzon Baha’i Center, so it is important to keep on top of it, at leas to the point that she feels encouraged and empowered. (It has nothing to do with immigration, just so we’re clear.)

The gatekeepers at the Embassy do have their work cut out for them, with many people who are looking to immigrate to the U.S., or at least obtain short-term work visas. The Filipinos who I have encountered in the U. S. are amazing workers and have a gentleness about how they go about their work. They keep their cool and try to work through any bureaucratic nonsense that arises, whether it is governmental or corporate. I noticed that the very people assigned to enforce bureaucratic rules-including the clerks at the Embassy gate, have a sense of humour about the scheduling and other small details. This does tend to set the visitors at ease.

She took her copy of the reminder to call, tomorrow, and we walked down the steps, past the vendors, touts and beggars, to the seaside park that was renovated and upgraded, during the last Presidential administration. That president, I recall, was all about the Philippines-and its people, being respected by the rest of the world. The current state of Manila Bay was one of his pet projects, and was done well.

View of Manila Bayside Park (Dolomite Beach) , from the overpass to U.S. Embassy
Section of former sea wall, Dolomite Beach, Manila Bay

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A human, for scale, at sea wall section, Dolomite Beach

After returning from the seaside, we switched gears, and with a second friend, we headed towards the Scottsdale of the Philippines, aka Makati. Here, we met a third friend, for an afternoon and evening of pretend shopping and art appreciation.

It’s not just WalMart that is full on Christmas.

We met K, at Cash and Carry Mall (shown above), then went to Greenbelt, also known as Makati Glorietta Mall. Here, our first stop was Ayala Museum, where an exhibit of abstract art by young people from around the Philippines is on view.

Here is an example:

Vision from the eyes of the future.
Avant garde art abounds at Glorietta.
There are five Green Belts in Makati Glorietta. This is a scene from # 5.

We were all drawn to a loud presentation, which turned out to be an interpretive dance roll-up to the opening of a photography exhibition, also by young Manilenos, curated by Maria Ylona.

Interpretive Dancers leading up to a photography exhibit’s opening

This opening was a class act, with a dignified set of coccktails, softails and delectable hors my d’oeuvres. This was own first time eating caviar-not bad at all. Here is an example of the photographs which won awards from Ms. Ylona.

Team work, Filipino-style
Cats earn their keep, at Makati’s malls. One does not see rats, anywhere.
Is there any doubt, as to who’s boss?
Green Belt #4’s “moat”
Three fashionistas

As it was, after this last photograph, we looked upon the crowd that was queued up to head to the suburbs, and took it upon ourselves to sit in the garden’s twilight. An hour of nibbling on Starbucks flatbreads and enjoying the cooling air was a far more reasonable way to wait out the masses than standing on a curb and breathing fumes, though there was some of that, later.

There is ever something interesting, when one’s hosts are three amigas.

I Care Not; I Care

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Posted by on in children, Community, impediments, Inner Struggles, Personal Values, Poetry, Social, Spiritual, Striving

October 25, 2019-

The year,  of which I thought as a pinnacle,

when it was approaching,

now seems a plateau of focus,

as it begins to recede,

into the alpine mists of history.

Here and now have become

more urgent.

Past is  a glimmer,

whose lessons impact

the present stage.

Future is “that time”

of promises,

which only I

can bring to fruition.

Twenty-twenty

appears in my

mind’s eye,

like yin and yang.

In the heat of the now,

I care not for the culture

which glorifies drug use.

The mantra,

“This is better than crack!”,

is the cackling of the ignorant.

I care not for the powers

that pretend to be,

sending their tanks,

flame throwers and

armor-piercing bullets,

against unwitting defenders

of freedom.

I care not for the puppet masters,

who order the innocent

to stand down,

to step aside,

that the purveyors

of death,

may present their wares,

to the foolish and

the deluded.

I care not,

for those who

cry foul,

at being told

that an infant

has the right

to life,

the right

to be adopted,

instead of killed.

I care not,

for those who

start wildfires,

in the hopes

of returning later,

and building

cookie-cutter,

gentrified living resorts,

affordable only to

the favoured few.

I care,

for the struggling,

for the lost children,

kept in a prison box,

with no resources,

save the cement floor,

which they share,

with hundreds,

and with their reluctant

guards,

who are themselves

pariahs.

I care for those

who are beaten,

chased down,

hunted like animals

and then,

treated like filth,

by the jurists,

who look first

at the well-being

of those

who beat, menace

and hunt the innocent,

like so much prey.

I care for those

who have given

their all,

and end up

as footnotes,

in the journals

of narcissists.

Give us your tired,

poor, innocent,

that we may find room

in our hearts and

in our diminishing spaces.