Pope Francis’s Birthday Wish List?

Pope Francis; what do you Believe?

A belated happy birthday to you, Pope Francis, from Samantha and Mark, as well as millions of devotees and admirers from around the world. We read just a day or so ago that you turned eighty-four! Congratulations on achieving this milestone, although I might just add that latter-day Popes have a ‘habit’ of living a lot longer than the average lower income earner could expect to live if he were to be from a third world country. Like the Philippines? South Africa? Reference could also be made to what Westerners would refer to as breadbasket cases such as Haiti, next door to the more prosperous Dominican Republic.

Or Burundi, next door to another landlocked country, one of the smallest on the African continent. And yet still, Rwanda, a mountainous and leafy stretch of earth still soaked in the blood of a million or so victims of one of the worst genocidal atrocities of the previous century is more prosperous than it has ever been since the Belgians left it. There were other atrocities that rocked the world too, of course. Arguably, the most famous example would have to be The Holocaust that heralded the start of the Second World War.

And yet, Pope Francis, the Vatican City was shielded from the worst catastrophes of the previous century. Or were Stalin and Mao’s purges a lot worse?

Today, there are many who believe a third world war is imminent once the last echoes of COVID-19 are silenced by the countless millions rejoicing, much as they would have had they been old enough to witness the turn of the millennium. Of course, there are those who believe that the world is already engulfed in a third world war. I have mixed feelings about this. Pope Francis; what do you believe?

What does he believe in? Who does he Believe in? God the Father Almighty? Jesus Christ our Lord and Saviour? Mary, the Mother of God? The Blessed and Holy Trinity? God the Father. God the Son. And God the Holy Spirit. Recent events in this twenty-first century Pope’s life has led me to believe that he does. He Believes as we do. He believes as you do too. With reference to Jesus’s own teaching, Pope Francis asked the world.

Who am I to judge?

‘As they stood there asking him questions, he straightened himself up and said to them; “Whichever one of you has committed no sin may throw the first stone at her,” Then he bent over again and wrote on the ground.

John 8, verse 7.

But neo-conservative Catholics and far right-wing tele-evangelists are having none of it while they continue living materially prosperous lives in their deluded belief that this is their God-given right while the rest of us are condemned to hell. Many Cardinals from around the world are having none of it either. But the rape and abuse of young altar boys remains rubber-stamped in their morally corrupt diaries.

But who am I to judge?

Indeed, my partner, spouse and Love of my life, Samantha, a devout Catholic in every way, reminded me to take heed and show respect. She preaches the gospel of love and acceptance in a manner of speaking, and wishes it to be known that we need to respect the views and beliefs of others as well as that of the Catholic Church which professes to have been founded by none other than Jesus Christ Himself.

But I beg to differ with that claim. There is now more than enough evidence, including Biblical evidence, that Jesus did not found the Catholic Church. Indeed, He was not even the founder of Christianity as we have come to learn and understand it, and believe it. That His Life and Teachings inspired the foundations of the early Church and Christianity, as well as that of others, is not disputed. But to get away from this debate for now.

At the time of writing, I wonder if Pope Francis is still blowing out the candles on his birthday cake, a cake that a young third World child can only dream of. Because there would have to be a lot of candles on that old cake. It is a longstanding birthday tradition to make a wish afore you blow the candles out atop your birthday cake. So I wonder now? Could we assist the wise and loving old man with the creation of a birthday wish-list for humanity and every living creature and organism?

Well, why not then. Samantha and I spent an hour or two talking about these matters the other day. And at the time of publishing this post, Aunty Samantha and her loving mom had been to Manila to celebrate the eighteenth birthday of yet another niece. Not much for large family gatherings, I stayed at home to read and write. They have large families over there. So do we Africans. And will someone please pass us the pill. Well, Samantha and I won’t be needing them; you’ll understand why.

Samantha and I share our thoughts here on suicide, abortion, the death penalty, gender, feminism, the priestly life and the Sacraments of Marriage and Confession. As well as the sanctity of Life and Love. We share thoughts on war, poverty and love. Like Pope Francis, we care very deeply about what is happening to the environment as well as its flora and fauna. And of course, we share our thoughts on LGBTQI+ life, transgender life in particular, as well.

As soulmates and Cancerians, we tend to think alike occasionally. We’re fairly sensitive. And she cries a lot too. Of course, where we differ does certainly have something to do with our gender identities. And as it should be with any functional, mature and healthy relationship, we do have ideological differences. But these are subtle. Pope Francis, here now is our birthday wish-list for you, over a billion Catholics, as well as the rest of humanity.

Suicide

My Thoughts

In the past if you survived a suicide attempt, you could be arrested and convicted. Pope Francis’s Catholic Church declares the act of suicide, the wilful taking of your own life, as an abomination. For that, you are condemned to hell. To speak of suicide, you may as well add euthanasia, the act of mercifully aiding a person towards his or her physical death. In the few countries of the world that have legalized euthanasia, the sufferer or appointed next of kin must grant permission to those qualified to carry out this act.

Jack Kevorkian, in his day, was believed to be something of a monster. But could it be said that he was something of a pioneer. Pope Francis, do you have any idea what goes through the mind of a person who decides to take his or her own life? How trapped and lost he or she might feel? Unless we are similarly afflicted, tormented, traumatised; we cannot really know. Could we put ourselves in the shoes of such a person? The suffering that person must be going through.

Always feeling trapped.

There are those self-righteous beings who will say that this is an act of cowardice.

I say it is an act of courage, ultimately. And curiously, the ancient Japanese practice of hare kiri is considered a noble act. Folks, don’t get me wrong; I am not encouraging you to take your life. But what I could and should and am doing is encouraging you to seek out help. World-wide, there are suicide hotlines. Give these specially trained folks a call and they will help you. Well, they will try. But to the Church’s credit, a priest will also administer the Sacrament of Confession.

Samantha’s Thoughts

He or she who dies physically as a result of suicide will not be Anointed. The wilful taking of one’s own life runs contrary to the Kingdom of God. But Samantha believes that ultimately, God is forgiving. Whether that person was right or wrong, the soul will be set free. No matter what Canon Law, not God’s Law, says, thankfully there are those priests who will give last rites to someone who has died as a result of suicide. Holy water or not, Samantha believes, as do I that the soul will have peace.

And by the way, the soul has no gender.

Abortion

My Thoughts and Feelings

Folks, I must confess that I have mixed feelings about abortion, the wilful killing of a foetus. Abortion is not permitted by the Catholic Church. I must confess that I have personal experience of this act. In the early weeks of our relationship, a former partner confessed to me that she had an abortion when she was a kid. Of course, it did surprise me, after all she was a devout Catholic. For the next few years, nevertheless, I continued to Love and support her in ways I thought were best back then.

But the thoughts continue to haunt me to this day. As much as I loved her back then; the thought could not escape me. If she could have an abortion then, who is to say that she could not do it again. And what if it was my own child.

I did not judge her actions, even though deep down I always believed Heart and Soul that Life begins at conception. I cannot judge. After all, I have also practiced contraception, a necessary act between two consenting adults which is slowly but surely being acknowledged by the Catholic Church as necessary. I will be the first to acknowledge that I have been Pro Life for most of my life. But I cannot do this any longer.

It amounts to hypocrisy. 

I have to accede that that woman ultimately has rights over her own body, a right I do not have. A right that a man who rapes her, does not have. Folks, this is a rather tough call for me to make but perhaps it is truthful for me to take the stance of extenuating circumstances into account and leave matters at that. It goes further. The conditions must be created to ensure that young women and girls do not need to come to this point in their lives. And not for one moment am I suggesting that abortion should be easily available to the point that the abortion clinic becomes nothing more than a convenience store.

Samantha’s Thoughts and Feelings

Fortunately, Samantha and I will never have an abortion. No, it is not because she cannot conceive. It is this.

‘He sent for a sword, and when it was brought, he said, “Cut the living child in two and give each woman half of it.” The real mother, her heart full of love for her son, said to the king’ “Please, Your Majesty, don’t kill the child! Give it to her!” But the other woman said, “Don’t give it to either of us; go ahead and cut it in two.” Then Solomon said, “Don’t kill the child! Give it to the first woman – she is its real mother.”

1 Kings 3, verses 24-27.

Samantha is emphatic in her belief that no one, not even a pregnant mother, has the right to take away a life. Only God. She also follows the thread of my own closing argument (it is coincidental, really) that wider use needs to be made of family planning practices, whether these are provided by the government or privately. It must be challenging for a boy or a girl, but this mother of one believes that the freedom of choice, in this case, to have sex, comes with a great deal of responsibility.

Samantha has a teenaged child. The child may as well still be a toddler because she behaves like a baby at times.

Sex between two consenting adults in a committed relationship could be enjoyed, but as far as Samantha is concerned, sex is serious and it is not a game. Finally, my woman who Loves children so much, comes close to regarding the killing of an unborn child as an abomination. After all, by Samantha’s reckoning, a child is a Blessing.

From God.

And it was Jesus who said; suffer the children to come unto me.

There is a reason why her daughter is so attached to her. There is another reason why Samantha would never be able to bring herself to have an abortion. Well, it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she is transgendered. You see, Samantha’s child is, of course, an adopted child. But Samantha told me that this is a child that could very well have been aborted.

Death Penalty

What I Think

God is great!

And Jesus Loves us more.

jesus and mary Magdalene pics

To the Catholic Church’s credit, it advocates against the death penalty. Here, the church and I are on the same side. I do not believe that anyone has the right to kill another. Christian and Muslim fundamentalists cry for the practice of the Bible’s Old Testament proclamation of an ‘eye for an eye’. Today, one of the world’s most ‘civilized’ countries, the USA, has amongst the highest rates of death sentences in the world. And yet, in a country with the best legal resources at its disposal, it gets it wrong. Innocent men and women are given the needle. It turns out that it is mostly the minorities that are afflicted. As far as China goes, it is a case of; let’s not even go there.

“The second most important commandment is like it; Love your neighbour as you love yourself.”

Matthew 22, verse 39.

Jesus declared that we Love our neighbours as we love ourselves. Turn the other cheek, He said. As hard as this may be to swallow, I stand by this. When Jesus was condemned to die, one of his followers attempted to defend Him, in the process slicing off a soldier’s ear. But Jesus healed the soldier. In spite of who He is, He finds no place for condemnation. And His most famous proclamation was to always invite he or she who is well and truly without sin to ‘cast the first stone’.

What Samantha Thinks

Samantha too can find no place in her heart for sentencing a person to death no matter what crime he or she may have committed. She also believes that better use must be made of the due process of law. And it is also a case of not taking the law into one’s own hands. It does not matter whether you are a thief, a hired gun, outright murderer or drug pusher, each and every one of you should be given the chance to redeem yourself and atone.

People make mistakes. We are all human. Catholic priests too.

Gender and the Sacrament of Marriage

The Catholic Church, as far as I am concerned, has a way to go. Indeed, not even Pope Francis ‘gets it’. In weeks gone by now, he came out strongly in favour of what is being billed as ‘civil unions’. Is it any wonder that swathes of those who identify within the LGBTQ+ rainbow are not celebrating? I’m not. Let me explain why. Civil unions are demeaning. A spiritual union makes more sense to me. Apart from it being empowering, it is at least true.

Speaking of which, let me use personal experience to champion the cause for same-sex marriage on a par with that allowed cisgender male to female couples. Samantha believes that she was born to be True, but not perfect. Hahaha, she’s not perfect, and neither am I. But I’ll tell you what; our Love for each other is real. It’s not a bed of roses, but it’s real. Samantha dreams of a traditional white wedding.

But I love her idea of a garden wedding. Now, our circumstances are perhaps a little more complex than that of conventional lesbian and gay couples. Should we be allowed the civil marriage promised it would be an acknowledgement of our same-sex status. But what about our gender identity? The thing is; Samantha is a transgendered woman and I would like legal and spiritual recognition to be given to this reality which is not even a choice.

Feminism and the Woman’s role

This Male Writer’s Thoughts

The Catholic Church does not acknowledge the important role that women play in our societies. I say this forthrightly. It is my belief that women should be allowed to enter the priesthood. My mom once remarked to me many moons ago that the Anglican church is more catholic than the Catholic Church. And strictly speaking, this much is true. Of course, it goes without saying that female clerics are beginning to play formal but prominent roles in the Anglican church.

After Jesus Christ, who is the single-most important character in the Bible, recognised as the Word of God? Mary, the Mother of God. Women should not be subjected to subservient roles in the church. Let those who wish to serve, serve. I believe that they will do rather well in their new roles. It has already been proven in other walks of life.

His Spouse’s Thoughts

Samantha, unlike myself, has a profound respect for the Catholic Church’s Canon Law. The rules are clear and should be followed for the time being until such time that the powers that be amend these. But she is hopeful. I also remarked on this earlier. The doors are slowly but surely opening. To quote Samantha; the (entire) world is in the process of opening up and giving space for views and opinions to be shared and expressed that may well pave the way for reforms.

And she is hopeful. What did she say to me?

‘So who knows, maybe soon we can have our first ever woman priest’.

Priesthood

Mark

Many priests are openly or secretly gay. Needless to say that I have no issues with this, after all, I identify myself within the LGBTQ+ coalition. But being gay is complex. And for priests it is particularly daunting. Many priests are secretly in relationships with women. To conduct illicit affairs? No, not at all. They have met someone with whom they have fallen in love. Under normal circumstances, they could have gotten married.

The gentlemen priests in relationships with ladies have no other alternative but to keep their relationships under wraps. Because caught in the act, they could be excommunicated. Fired, in other words, from doing work they may love, perhaps even have a gift for. I believe this gift could be further enriched if they were allowed to marry. After all, this would also place them in a stronger position to give proper counsel to young, married couples.

And perhaps having fathered children of their own, they also have a better understanding and appreciation of what it takes to rear young children right through to adulthood. And to follow up on the woman’s role, who better than a woman to talk to about bringing up children. The order of nuns, an invaluable asset to societies as it is, is of course a little short here too because of course, nuns, as well as Brothers, may not marry either.

Samantha

‘Well Babe, regarding priests marrying someone they love, well, before you commit heart and body to becoming a priest, you should already know the consequences of the laid-down rules and regulations’. As far as Samantha is concerned, you cannot have it both ways. Either you want to become a priest. Or your heart may subconsciously be set on marriage. Samantha’s understanding and appreciation of the priesthood is that the spirit is always going to be tested.

Her argument, as well as that of millions of devotees, is that married life could curtail the priest from giving his all in serving only God. Her dictum remains just that. The rule of law needs to be respected.

War, Poverty and Love

It was rather late into the night when I got to this point of the blog post. I was on the verge of rushing to the end. But no. I published my post in honour of Jesus’s famous Sermon on the Mount. So it is at this point that I invite you to read that post if you are a first-time visitor here, and coincide your own thoughts on the concept of war.

Recent remarks made by the Pope are clear. He would like governments and world leaders to do more to eradicate all the means that make acts of war destructive.

He would like us all to lay down our arms. I could not agree more. But is this enough? I am not entirely sure. Let me explain. You would have to examine closely the Vatican’s funding sources and their spheres of influence. A mere slap on the wrist is given to former US President Barack Obama for sanctioning the bombing of Libya and the consequential killing of countless numbers of innocent lives otherwise referred to as collateral damage.

Also note that around the time of the Rwandan genocide, the Catholic Church never went far enough to contribute towards the ending of the litany of atrocities being committed. And to think, the Rwandese, just like their next-door neighbours, the Ugandans, are after all of the same flock as it were. But in the event, priests, nuns, brothers, laypeople and thousands of followers were left to their own devices, waiting their turn to be hacked to death or maimed for life.

Poverty

‘So Jesus said, “Well then, pay the Emperor what belongs to the Emperor, and pay God what belongs to God.’

Luke 20, verse 25.

It goes without saying that Pope Francis is saddened about poverty. After he was anointed, he immediately set to work. He led by example, as it were. One famous example remains that of his mode of transport. He zips around town in a battered old Fiat – or is it another make/model, I do not know much about automobiles – as opposed to being chauffeured about in a black stretch limousine.

I think it is fair to suggest that his tastes and habits are fairly modest in comparison to the average twenty-first century professional. And of course, to this day, he continues to make numerous proclamations in lieu of eradicating poverty. But I’m afraid both he and his cabal of cardinals do not go far enough. Collection boxes are still expected to be filled, even in the poorest villages on the planet.

Very little of those collections, I might add, are passed on to those who need it the most. The brave priests who serve the Lord in these villages continue to have their arms twisted behind their backs to pay their taxes. And as far as I am concerned, the old argument that it takes money to run a successful Parish does not hold any holy water for me. After all, take another look at the Greatest Ever Living Ministry Example.

By trade, Jesus Christ our Lord and Superstar, was a carpenter. You’re poor and downtrodden? You could still do well in this area. Other than that, Jesus lived in poverty, walking from village to village to carry out His ministry of teaching and healing. He was basically homeless, if you ask me. And yet, He got the job done, didn’t He? In all the centuries that followed His Crucifixion, countless numbers of great men and women made names for themselves as true followers of Christ and in the (due) process took their Vows of Poverty.

Of course, I’m not suggesting that you give up your day job but you do get the point, surely?

LGBTQI+

‘No man is to have sexual relations with another man; God hates that.’

Leviticus 18, verse 22.

Those Catholics who are lesbian, gay or bisexual are limited, restricted, conflicted, constrained in the practice of their faith. For centuries now, they have been told, or indoctrinated to believe, that their way of life and emotional and sexual expressions go against the teaching of God. Far too much emphasis has been placed on the Old Testament Book of Leviticus. Far right-wing terrorists, I beg your pardon, Christian fundamentalists, ‘love’ this book.

One wonders though, did they ever bring out a book called the Book of Ignorance? Nevertheless, it is to the Roman Catholic Church’s credit that the official dictum is to express sincerity, love and understanding towards those who are ‘different’. But if that were the case, why aren’t lesbians and gays being allowed to get married in the church. Nevertheless, recent events did shake the very roots of fundamentalism.

Indeed, it was Pope Francis who made the clarion call for civil unions. But as I said earlier, it does not go far enough. There needs to be far more clerical understanding given to the fact that those of you, and me, Samantha too, for that matter, are born this way. We did not choose a sectarian lifestyle. We did not choose to be sexually promiscuous in any particular way and indeed, most of us aren’t. Indeed, Samantha and I are conventionally conservative or moderate in many other areas of our life.

As always, I give Jesus the last say on this matter.

Transgenderism

On this matter, who better to ask than Samantha. After all, she is a transgendered woman. At this point, I am retracing our footsteps. I am remembering those moments shared. One of the things I admire, respect and love about my partner is her utmost respect and love for the church and its clergy. But she Loves Jesus more. I always tease her that Jesus Loves her even more. But it happens at times.

I see the fire in her eyes. Tears well as the frustration mounts. While she remains tolerant of others’ beliefs and views, she continues to express her disbelief in the lack of tolerance for someone like herself. She has grown tired of explaining her ‘reason for being’. How to explain to another that this is not something that one chooses to do. It is not a cultural interest. It is not a fetish nor a perversion. Like numerous psychiatric, psychological and physiological disorders (are they disorders?) more needs to be done to assist those who are ultimately diagnosed with gender dysphoria. Samantha’s famous motto remains just this.

‘I was born to be true. Not perfect’.

And so it goes. Who, really, is perfect? But I relate and I argue. It is fair to suggest that my personal, social and professional life has been a lot less challenging than it remains for Samantha. As a hearing impaired person, I am able to take full advantage of the clinical and technological advances made in audiology. And in my case, this is how I was born. Samantha was born that way too. I dare say that she has been rather fortunate, if not Blessed.

Her parents realised at the earliest moment that she was transgendered. And when the appropriate times arrived, she was able to enjoy counselling and physical therapy to allow her to live the life she was born to live. Sadly, this is not so for thousands of young girls and boys from around the world. The Catholic Church needs to wake up from its medieval slumber. The question was always asked during our catechism classes.

Who made me?

God made me.

You don’t say.

So what then? I quoted this much in my first LGBTQ+ post by referencing Jesus’s response to his disciples’ question. Why was the man born blind? Was it because of his own sin? Or his parents’ sin. No, of course not; is how Jesus responded. Rather, it was so that God’s power could be seen to work in every one of us. And so it goes that Jesus healed the man of his blindness. The blind man walked free.

And worshipped the Lord.

“His blindness has nothing to do with his sins or his parents’ sins. He is blind so that God’s power might be seen at work in him. As long as it is day, we must keep on doing the work of him who sent me; night is coming when no one can work. While I am in the world, I am the light for the world.”

John 9, verses 3-5.

The deaf can hear. Jesus heals. The lame can walk. Jesus heals. The prisoner is able to walk free. Jesus forgives. God forgives. God is a merciful God, never mind what the prophets of doom spew from their saliva-soaked mouths. On the question of marriage, Jesus was asked. And he responded. There are those who cannot. There are those who choose not to. But He did not say that they may not, not as far as I can recall.

And He did also say;

Because they were born this way.

“This teaching does not apply to everyone, but only to those to whom God has given it. For there are different reasons why men cannot marry: some because they were born that way; others because men made them that way; and others do not marry for the sake of the Kingdom of heaven. Let him who can accept this teaching do so.”

Matthew 19, verses 1-12.

Love

I dare say that the good Pope is inspired by Love. We are. It is the reason why we are together today. He is inspired by the Life and times of Jesus Christ our Lord and Saviour. So on that Loving note; Pope Francis, may we wish you a belated happy birthday. May God Bless you more and keep you serving.

Homelands Propaganda

By the time you have read this post, most of you would have viewed a few episodes of Season Four of Homelands. It is described elsewhere as an American political thriller. To my mind it doesn’t rank among the best shows that I have seen, Emmy Awards notwithstanding. It falls far short of magnificent films such as All the President’s Men and The Manchurian Candidate, mainly because of its banal promotion of American superiority over the rest of the world. Even Jason Bourne has got the better of Ms Mathison. I recently reached the end of Season Three. You will remember that CIA Agent Carrie Mathison (Claire Danes) was promoted and redeployed to a CIA nerve centre, or battle station, somewhere in Turkey. We are fooled into believing that this unorthodox and diligent CIA agent was rewarded for her initiative and bravery. This is not the case. Her CIA bosses have used and abused her.

Apart from being thrust into dangerous territories such as Afghanistan and Pakistan, Carrie Mathison is a danger to her own self and to those who either love her or hate her. Apart from her unique skills of persuasion and intellect as a spy, she suffers from a bipolar disorder. Ludicrously she managed to shield her illness from her employers for a few episodes at least. It is ludicrous, because, after all, her employers are the CIA. Afghanistan, Pakistan and, for that matter, Lebanon and Iran, are also dangerous to her colleagues, because they have invaded areas where they have no business being. They are enemies to these nations and militant organisations such as al-Qaeda and the Talban understandably resist them as far as the CIA, Navy Seals and US Marines will allow. These invaders of foreign lands create dangerous scenario’s for innocent women and children who are invariably caught in the cross fire and die unnecessarily. Their bosses, from the CIA director to the President himself merely dismiss this as collateral damage.

This Showtime production has proved to be highly popular. A fifth season will air during 2015.  Anyway, I sympathised with this heroic character, mainly because of her illness. I was also endeared to her because she shares a similar love for jazz greats such as Miles Davis.

I was not able to endear myself to United States Marine Corps Sniper, Sergeant Nicholas Brody (Damien Lewis). Best to describe him as a fallen hero for now. I do not share the same belief of brave men and women who volunteer to fight enemies in foreign nations in the name of protecting their compatriots who are in any case thousands of miles from the line of fire. Subjectively speaking, British-born actor, Damien Lewis, is not among my list of favourite actors. I was, however, captivated by the beauty and innocence of Brody’s long-suffering wife, Jessica (Morena Baccarin), who balances domestic life and her husband’s traitorous actions and his conversion to Islam quite well. Not that such a conversion should present any problems, nor should it be resisted, but it is understandably a shock to Jessica. Alone, she has to deal with her daughter’s attempted suicide owing to the child’s disappointment in her father. Again, subjectively speaking, this Brazilian-born actress is gorgeous. I remember her fondly as the wannabee Alien Queen Mother who attempted to invade Earth in the re-make of the eighties TV Series, V. It appears that my patient waiting for the successful completion of this alien invasion has been in vain.

When Season Four of Homelands was being filmed, I was intrigued for two reasons. The first reason? The show was shot on location here in Cape Town. The rand-dollar exchange rate worked in favour of the budget-conscious Showtime executive producers and the City of Cape Town’s mayor’s office. It held little advantage for most Cape Town city dwellers who would have hardly noticed the presence of the actors who are afforded celebrity status elsewhere. American artists must eat and amuse themselves while working hard on their block-busters. So, yes, some restaurants and take-out joints enjoyed a brief business boom. The second reason? While they ate and drank and went sight-seeing, one lone American was not amused. Acclaimed actor, Mandy Patinkin was seen brandishing a placard in protest of the Israeli Defence Force’s brutal bombardments of Palestinian territories in which hundreds of innocent civilians lost their lives. I was initially impressed with Patinkin’s own brave show of solidarity, because it is he who plays the Jewish and ex-CIA (acting) Director, Saul Berenson, who shows no remorse for his covert actions which lead to the loss of innocent lives.

This is all interesting, because Cape Town is at war with itself for reasons to do with inequality and a failure to bury its past and reconcile itself with the present. For Capetonians, or Cape Flats dwellers, daily life is often defined as “A Tale of Two Cities.” Dickens’ memorable opening lines ring true for most inhabitants, particularly those who were born and bred in the Cape of Good Hope, or the Cape of Storms, depending on which analogy you prefer. “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” Words to that effect.

While war raged in Palestine, hundreds, if not thousands of local Cape Flats civilians, mostly Muslim, brandished their own placards, like Patinkin, and took to the streets of the affluent boroughs of the City of Cape Town to voice their opposition of the Israeli government’s actions. Not that the American side of the world noticed much of it. They were watching Homelands. Correctly they may argue that it is Hamas who are the antagonists, much like the villains portrayed in Homelands. Hamas also fired their own share of rockets over into the privileged areas of Israeli towns and suburbs, but without much effect.

In turn, the IDF retaliated. They justified bombardment of Palestinian villages, much like Berenson and his cronies have justified their covert activities since season one of Homelands. The Israeli’s claimed to have given sufficient warnings to the Palestinian civilians that their homes were about to be bombed. Really? These outrageous and hideous acts were shown across the world. This time around, unlike Bush’s “war against terror”, propaganda was ineffective, although if you read the major US newspapers on-line, you will still find biased media coverage, favouring the US governments unilateral actions and frowning upon “Islamic terrorists” (read: Muslims in general). The influence of propaganda in the Homeland series is not lost on this viewer. As early as the introductory credits, we see Presidents from Bush snr to Barack Obama issuing ominous and over-used warnings to the rest of the Muslim world and on behalf of the American people in the “land of the free and home of the brave.”

Patinkin’s performance, both on and off camera, appalled me. To me, it was a crass display of double-standards. He, as actor, promotes aggression against innocent Muslims, but as citizen of the Western world, he shows sympathy for innocent Muslims. Make up your mind, Patinkin, which side are you on? In any event, there should be no sides. We are all one. While Patinkin and many other Hollywood actors continue to portray American aggression through art, most of the world has taken note.

Homelands, to my mind, continues the saga of American film and television production companies, showcasing the Central Intelligence Agency as a slick organisation made up of mostly brave men and women putting their bodies on the line to save America from perceived malevolent forces of evil from around the world. Carrie Mathison offered non-Americans some hope as a heroic agent of change, but it seems that she has regressed behind the backs of the status quo. Let’s be honest, producers, screen-writers and actors are all complicit in justifying Bush’s war on terror. And let us not forget that Homelands is adapted from the original Israeli production, Hatufim (Prisoners of War) which was conceptualised by Gideon Raff.

They will all argue that this is all just fiction and shouldn’t be taken seriously. So then, let’s entertain fictionalised notions of real life scenario’s in which (mostly Muslim) innocent women and children lose their lives. Think again, Hollywood. Fiction is also used actively to objectify the injustices committed by (mostly American) militants and corrupt politicians. Audience Network’s Damages was one such show back in 2012. It ended triumphantly when the neo-liberal attorney at law, Patty Hewes (Glenn Close) exposed the corrupted veins of the CIA network in which the ex-Marine turned billionaire war mercenary Howard Erickson (John Goodman) is sacrificed as a scapegoat. The devious agent, Jerry Boorman (Dylan Baker), however, does not escape either. He is killed by “one of our own.”

Edifying and truthful productions alluding to the atrocities committed by the Israeli’s (while their American allies either support them, or look on) have been produced by the British Broadcasting Corporation, the former public broadcaster of the British Empire which once held Palestinian lands captive through colonisation. The Honourable Woman attempts to mend fences and bridge divides which have existed for centuries.

In The Honourable Woman, members of the CIA’s equivalent, MI6, go a little further in addressing its corrupt and amoral methods of gathering intelligence, specifically on behalf of Her Majesty. Unlike Fleming’s captivating interpretations of the master spy, this BBC production shows that there is no glamour and perks to being a spy ala James Bond. It is a thankless job, particularly when the spy, who grows a set of ethical balls, chooses not to kiss the arse (ass) of his boss.  Sir Hugh Hayden-Hoyle (Stephen Rea) can only sigh. There is, however, sex. It’s part of the job. Never quite over his beloved wife, Anjelica (Lindsay Duncan), Hayden Hoyle goes the mile to bring some redemption to his otherwise chaotic and confusing life as a spy. Nessa Stein (Maggie Gyllenhaal) presents a golden opportunity for the quietly spoken man. After her brother’s corrupt lliason with Mossad and the IDF, Nessa is uncharacteristically installed as chairwoman of the Stein Foundation and goes a long way to replace arms dealing with just causes, such as building schools and laying cables for wireless inter-connectivity.

Nessa unwittingly becomes a pawn in the malevolent chess game between the Israelis and Palestinian operatives and is thrust into the chaos of modern day Gaza. She pays a price, but brings honour to her convenient title of Baroness. It is left to our erstwhile spy, Hayden-Hoyle, mirroring Berenson’s proverbial pulling of the strings far from the theatre of war, to rescue Nessa.

The Promise, another British production, this time on Channel Four, a fictional adaptation of Palestinian history spanning two eras and two generations, touched my heart. Curiously, this show is also known as Homeland. After growing up as an orphan, Sergeant Len Matthews (Christian Cooke) joins the permanent force of the British armed forces and serves his country during the Second World War. Soon after witnessing first hand the horrors of the Holocaust, he is swiftly re-assigned to Palestine where Great Britain tentatively releases her hold on one of her last colonies.

Morally, he must make ends meet while he witnesses the inept military control and administration of his fellow-Brits and the belligerent and violent terrorism by the Zionists against the (mostly) indefensible Palestinians. The Zionist cause is propagated as a matter of Biblical history. By befriending a Palestinian family, Matthews is arrested for insubordination (mainly). But his friendship with Abu-Hassan Mohamed and his participation in an old Palestinian tradition leaves him with a key to the front door of the Palestinian family’s home which they are forced to flee when the Zionists overrun their neighbourhood.

Plagued with guilt and lying in hospital nearly sixty years later, the elderly Matthews is still clutching that key. It is left to his prodigious and caring granddaughter, Erin (Claire Foy), to seek Mohamed and return the key to him. Sadly, he has passed on, and young Erin hands over the key to Mohamed’s bed-ridden daughter while Israeli bullets ricochet dangerously across the invalid’s room.

Sergeant Matthews, through his loving granddaughter, is able to keep his promise to his good Palestinian friend, Abu-Hassan Mohamed. Nessa Stein is given a chance to restore her tragic life to some form of normalcy, but without giving up on her quest to help the Palestinians. Her saviour, the good spy Sir Hugh Hayden-Hoyle, is able to retire gracefully, one hopes. Patty Hewes, well we will never really know, will we, continues her quest in exposing corrupt politicians and business magnates.

And Saul Berenson? Well, he becomes a free agent of violence and mayhem.

Wladyslaw Szpilman, the Pianist

Not long after the Second World War ended, Polish classical pianist, Wladyslaw Szpilman recorded his personal ordeal of the Holocaust in a written autobiography. The manner in which he recorded horrors, such as the herding of his family onto ‘cattle trucks’ to be transported to concentration camps and his survival in Warsaw led me to believe that Wladyslaw Szpilman was a gentleman.

I barely noticed the quiet, modest pianist’s fingers tremble during a radio recitation while the first bombs were dropped over Warsaw. It was the prelude to his recording of his battle against starvation, surviving harsh winters and the Holocaust.

The foreword to The Pianist is written by Szpilman’s son, Andrzej. He describes his father as “a man in whom music lives.” His father was “a pianist and composer who has always been an inspiring and significant figure in Polish cultural life.” Long after the Holocaust, Szpilman was at the centre of Polish cultural and arts society.

I wondered what Szpilman’s symphonies in memory of those that died during the Holocaust sounded like. His original Polish language biography –  Death of a City – is now part of Polish cultural history.

During the first part of the text’s narrative, it is clear how close he was to his family. His father was also a gentleman, and an accomplished violinist. He describes his sister, Regina, a lawyer, as the most level-headed person in his family of six adults, all living in one Warsaw flat. Mother, father, two brothers and two sisters.

His prose has a methodical calmness about it. He is able to detach himself from events, such as the cruel treatment his elderly father received from Nazi footsoldiers. He records how his distinguished father is forced to walk to and from home in the Warsaw gutters and not on its pavements. He does show some emotion when he witnesses his family being forced onto carriages which are destined for the death camps. There is a sense of divine intervention when Szpilman pays tribute to men who rescued him from certain death. He is allowed to become one of the many remaining survivors who will contribute to volumes of testimonies of the Shoa.

Wladyslaw Szpilman’s gentle demeanour and generosity is extended to a Nazi officer during the closing stanzas of the war when all is lost for Hitler’s Germany and the Red army marches into Warsaw. Pragmatic and equally generous, the German officer spares Szpilman’s life, gifting him with food and a German military coat to stave off starvation and keep warm during the last cold weeks of the Nazi occupation. Optimistic, Szpilman promises the officer that he will return during the rebuilding of Warsaw to play for Polish Radio. He offers to help the officer.

The officer had caught Szpilman, hidden in a crumbling attic, playing Chopin’s Nocturne in C sharp minor. He paused for reflection to listen before interrupting Szpilman’s interlude.  Szpilman was unable to rescue the German who was to meet his fate in a Russian camp far away from Warsaw.

During his weeks of isolation, Szpilman compares himself to Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe as “the prototype of the ideal solitary.”

Wladyslaw Spzilman’s recollection of Warsaw’s occupation by the Nazi Germans is accurately confined to the years of the Second World War, 1939 to 1945. He recalls the early days of fear, living under the privileged roof of his family’s home, the Germans’ occupation, their harsh treatment and prejudice towards him, his family and their fellow Jews. He remembers their swift deployment into the Jewish ghetto’s. Long after he has lost his family forever, he credits members of the Polish Resistance for his survival.

It is hard to believe that Szpilman was not a garrulous man, but here he is able to visualize his own characterisation from memory.

Transfixed, I was deep in thought long after watching Roman Polanski’s artistic adaptation of Wladyslaw Szpilman’s story of his last days in occupied Warsaw.

The Polish-born director is notorious for a controversial sex abuse scandal which keeps him sheltered in Europe to avoid arrest by US authorities. It is sad, because Polanski should be remembered for his most remarkable work as a producer, writer and director. In his adaptation, he leaves no stones unturned in accurately transferring Szpilman’s encounters onto a screen canvass.

At the Academy Awards ceremony the following year after this movie’s release, Adrien Brody was named Best Actor and Ronald Harwood received the award for Best Writing and Adapted Screenplay. The film deservedly garnered the award for Best Picture. It must have presented the film crew with many challenges when compared to Steven Spielberg’s earlier Schindler’s List. That The Pianist could not match the prestige and achievements of the American director is a moot point, because it is masterful as an adaptation and visual interpretation of Wladyslaw Szpilman’s story and can be included in the canon of films which accurately portray events from the Holocaust.

Roman Polanski did not attend the awards ceremony to collect his Oscar for Best Director.

Earlier, I mentioned the calm, detached and detailed manner in which Szpilman tells his story. It is also worth remembering his attachment to his family. Such a detailed narrative could not be repeated in Polanski’s film, but Adrien Brody’s harrowing acting performance was an apt substitute. Full credit to Celistia Fox in casting the little known American actor.

Much like the master of method acting, Robert de Niro, Brody goes through a strenuous regimen of weight loss to create an authentic war victim. Recently, Matthew McConaughey underwent a similarly grim transformation from handsome screen icon to Aids sufferer and maverick activist, Ron Woodroof in Dallas Buyer’s Club. McConaughey was this year’s Academy Award winner while de Niro is remembered for his performance in Martin Scorsese’s’  Raging Bull.

There are aspects of the film which are precise in adapting Szpilman’s narrative. Such moments include the herding of Szpilman’s family onto the cars destined for the death camps, the exposed cruelty of Nazi soldiers when they lunge a wheelchair-bound elderly man over the balcony to his death while the Szpilmans look on in horror across the street, the crucial scenes in which the Polish Resistance bravely engage the mightier, but inept German army in the streets of Warsaw while Brody’s character watches from his flat window, and the poignant closing scenes where Szpilman converses with the sympathetic German officer.

Brody skilfully uses his frail physical form to compensate for the lack of dialogue. He stumbles his way through a construction site, not physically suited to manual labour. The process of preparing his meagre meal of dried beans and boiled water as a makeshift broth and the detail of munching through clenched jaws causes the viewer to wince in horror.

The director’s gaze over the actor’s already nimble and long fingers is fortuitous.

The cinematography used in The Pianist is pristine and colourful in comparison to Schindler’s List. I wondered whether a similarly gritty and dark texture would have been more effective in foregrounding the trauma and horror of survival in Warsaw. but, perhaps that was not Polanski’s objective. The use of colour in such a story allows the reflective viewer to compare it with earlier Hollywood propagandistic and biased productions of bravado and victory which are inevitably inaccurate. In the event, there is no emphatic focus on American or Russian liberators in this film.

It remains refreshingly a Polish story told by an eminent Polish citizen.

A Gentleman’s Tale

Not long after the Second World War ended, 1946, Polish classical pianist, Wladyslaw Szpilman recorded his horrible memories of the Holocaust in autobiographical form. The manner in which he recorded such horrors as the herding of his family into cattle trucks to be transported to concentration camps such as Auschwitz and how he survived for at least two years in Warsaw on dry beans and water, led me to conclude that Wladyslaw Szpilman was a gentleman.

It is hard to believe that his long fingers did not tremble while reciting Chopin across the ivory keys of his piano during a radio recording as the first bombs raided Warsaw after Nazi Germany’s invasion of Poland. He did tremble, but one would have hardly noticed as this quiet, modest man began to unravel how he came to survive the Holocaust and the harsh winters that accompanied his isolated battle against starvation.

The Foreword to The Pianist, written by Szpilman’s son, Andrzej, describes him not as a writer, but as “a man in whom music lives.” Andrzej goes on to say that his father, Wladyslaw, was “a pianist and composer who has always been an inspiring and significant figure in Polish cultural life. Indeed, long after the Holocaust becomes a memory, Szpilman had been at the forefront of the Polish cultural and arts society, specifically in the realm of classical music.

I had to wonder whether Szpilman had not considered composing a symphony or at least a piano sonata to memorialize the events which he has recorded in book form. That he chose to write, originally in Polish under the title, Death of a City, is now a matter of Polish cultural history.

What becomes evident very early in the text is how close he was to his family. His father was also a gentleman and accomplished violinist. He makes it clear to us that his sister, Regina, was perhaps the most level-headed person in his family of six adults, all living in one Warsaw flat. Mother, father, two brothers and two sisters.

The calmness of his prose is in itself quite tragic as he literally detaches himself from events, particularly when describing his gentlemanly and elderly father doffing his hat to cruel Nazi footsoldiers while being forced to traverse his way to and from his home in the gutters, and not on the pavements, of Warsaw, and the violent manner in which his parents and siblings are forced onto the carriages which will carry them to their deaths. That Szpilman was yanked from an inevitable death only to live long afterwards to continue the legacy of testimonies of the Shoa can only be fate. Or divine intervention. Call it what you will.

Wladyslaw Szpilman’s calmness in telling this tale and his generosity of spirit even in such harrowing circumstances extends to a Nazi officer during the closing stages of the war when all is lost for Hitler’s Germany and the Red army marches into Warsaw. Pragmatically, the German officer spares Szpilman’s life, sparing him with food and a German military coat to stave off starvation and keep warm during the last gruelling winter weeks of the Nazi occupation. He is optimistic in promising the officer that he may very well be back after the war playing for Polish Radio and offers to help his former persecutor in any way that he can.

The German officer had caught Szpilman, hidden in a crumbling attic, playing Chopin’s Nocturne in C sharp minor, and paused to listen admiringly before proceeding to interrupt Szpilman’s interlude over the dusty piano. He was not able to spare the German’s life which met its fate in a Russian camp far from Warsaw. In the event, Szpilman dared to compare himself with Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe as “the prototype of the ideal solitary.”

Wladyslaw Spzilman’s recollection of Warsaw’s occupation by the Nazi Germans is apt and carefully confined to the years of the Second World War, 1939 to 1945. He recalls the early days of trepidation, particularly under the privileged roof of his family’s home, the Germans’ occupation and their harsh stigmatization and prejudice towards him, his family and their fellow Jews whom they encounter in their daily lives. He recalls the swift deployment into Jewish ghetto’s and long after he has lost his beloved family, his long hours of isolation, hidden away by compatriots of the Polish Resistance.

One would have thought that Szpilman was really a man of few words in visualising his own characterisation, but yet, he has recorded a moment of history which will be enshrined in memory for all eternity.