Night Drive: Penetrating Heartfelt Tribute

The first time I noticed this song, really noticed it, was last year on a local Saturday evening radio program called Folk Migrations. From the opening notes it was haunting. After a long intro the vocals finally emerged, melancholic and evocative.  

How bright the stars
How dark the night
How long have I been sleeping?
Sleep overtook me on my westward flight
Held me in its keeping
I had a dream; it seemed so real
Its passing left me shaking
I saw you're here behind the wheel
On this very road I'm taking

Hurtling westward through the prairie night
Under the spell of motion
Your eyes were clear and bright in the dashboard light
Dreaming of the western ocean
The dusty towns left far behind
Mountains drawing ever nearer
Your face was then as it was tonight
Ever young
Ever clearer

Based on the mood and the lyrics, I assumed I was listening to a breakup song. Clearly the there was heartbreak in the air. The singer/narrator had been shattered. 

When I arrived home a little while later I found the song on YouTube so I could listen again. Strangely, I did not recognize the real story behind the song. I recognized the emotions, but there's an ambiguity here that gives it a far vaster reach. Though the song was deeply personal, it encapsulates universal themes of memory, loss, and the passage of time. 

While researching the origins of the song I discovered the source of its power. It was not about an ex-girlfriend. Rather, it was a tribute to his late brother, Stan Rogers, with whom he traveled across North America during their music career in the 1970s and early 1980s. 

In the lyrics, Garnet describes a dream where he’s driving through the prairie night, and there’s Stan, right beside him, as real as ever. You can feel the weight of that moment—the motion of the car, the dark night, the stars above, and the overwhelming sense of Stan’s presence, like he never left. It’s haunting, the way Garnet captures that longing, mixing the joy of those shared memories with the pain of knowing they’re gone. He talks about things they did together—watching the northern lights, sharing a bottle of wine—and you get this vivid picture of their life on the road, not just the places they went, but the emotional journey they shared.

I know this road

And its every curve

Where the hills commence their climbing

We rested here

If my memory serves

The northern lights were shining

You lit a smoke

We shared some wine

We watched the sky in wonder

Your laughter echoes after all this time

In that high and wild blue yonder

Stan Rogers was Garnet's older sibling, a Canadian folk musician of stature, a brother he looked up to. In 2022 a good friend from our Dylan circles died. What moved me most was the manner in which Phil's three younger brothers respected and honored him at his funeral. Clearly this shines through in Garnet's tribute. Not only had Stan been an inspiration as an older brother, but even in his death his behavior was heroic. Here's the account from Wikipedia.

Rogers died alongside 22 other passengers most likely of smoke inhalation on June 2, 1983, while travelling on Air Canada Flight 797 while returning from performing at the Kerrville FolkFestival. The plane was flying from Dallas to Toronto and Montreal  when a fire from an unknown ignition source within the vanity or toilet shroud of the aft washroom forced an emergency landing at the Cincinnati airport in northern Kentucky. There were initially no visible flames, and after attempts to extinguish the fire were unsuccessful, smoke filled the cabin. Upon landing, the plane's doors were opened, allowing the five crew and 18 of the 41 passengers to escape, but approximately 90 seconds into the evacuation the oxygen rushing in from outside caused a flash fire.   

Soon after his death, legends began to circulate about Rogers' final moments. Amber Frost claimed: Before most likely succumbing to smoke inhalation, he used his last moments to guide other passengers to safety with his booming voice. I’ve heard more than one Canuck proudly declare that for all Rogers’ odes to Canada, he was never more Canadian than in his final words: ‘Let me help you.'

I don't know why I write these lines

It's not like I could send you the letter

It's that I love your more after all this time

It's that I wish I'd shown you better

Years have slipped

Beneath my wheels

Dwindling in my rear view mirror

As time has passed

Your life has seemed less real

But these night drives bring you nearer

I know why he's written these lines. Garnet knows, too. It's all part of the grieving process, encapsulating memories, as well as regrets. The candor cuts deep when he says, "I love you more after all this time, I wish I'd shown you better." It's both beautiful and bittersweet.

So tonight I'll wish upon these stars

As they rise upward to guide me

That I'll see you here just as you are

Now, as then, beside me

Scares me how the years have flown

Like the leaves drift in September

They've lost sight of you as your legacy's grown

But this road and I

We remember

* * * 

Here's a link to the song: 

 

You can also check out this video of Stan Rogers.    

The Gift of Pain: Dancing with the Unwelcome Messenger

The following is a re-write (in my own words) of my brother Dr. Ron Newman's article, "Seeking Balance in Pain Management," which originally appeared in the Hammonton Gazette. Ron has more than three decades experience as a psychologist and international speaker.

Pain is a paradox. It’s this raw, electric jolt in your brain, a signal screaming that something’s off. But here’s the twist: it’s also a gift. Without pain, we’d be clueless as our bodies broke down. Think of leprosy patients losing fingers to unnoticed cuts, or diabetics ignoring festering sores. Pain is the whistleblower, a friend who won’t shut up until you listen. Even phantom pain, the haunting of a missing limb, proves it’s not just flesh and bone. It really can be in your mind as well. 

In other words, pain is not just physical; it weaves through emotions, relationships, and the psyche too. Studies say psychological tricks can slash suffering by 25-30%, even 50-100% for some fortunate souls. So, what if we stopped fighting pain and started working with it? Here’s my brother's take on finding that balance—and why pain might just be the gift we never asked for.

Make Peace with the Messenger

Pain’s not the enemy—it’s the lookout. Without it, how would you know the stove’s hot or that a splinter’s digging in? It’s the same with emotional stabs—conflict, loss, regret—they point to what needs fixing. Befriend it. Let it guide you to the problem instead of just numbing it out. Next time your back aches or a fight stings, ask: what’s this telling me? It’s not here to ruin you; it’s here to save you.

Stare Down the Fear

Fear of pain is a beast—it grows when you dodge it. Therefore  Run too hard, and you’re sprinting straight into worse traps, like popping pills until you’re hooked. Face it instead. Let a little pain in—it keeps you real, humble, tethered to the dirt of life. It’s a signal, not a sentence. Ignoring it hands it the reins; confronting it keeps you in the driver’s seat.

Build Your Crew

Pain’s lighter with good people around. Lean on friends who get it—ones who listen, not lecture. Set boundaries on people who are demanding, the manipulators, or anyone peddling quick fixes that land you in deeper muck. Professional help or a wise friend can be gold here. You don’t have to carry it solo—God wired us for connection.

Toss the Blame Game

Forget “karma” or anyone smugly saying you earned this. That junk—your pain’s payback for some cosmic debt—just buries you in shame and helplessness. It’s not about past lives or ancestral curses; it’s about now. This type of thinking makes one feel more hopeless, powerless and passive. Reject it. It's the complete opposite of how you want to approach the issue at hand.  

Accept Responsibility

You’re not powerless. Take the wheel. If exercise and stretching helps, do it.  No one’s spoon-feeding you solutions—you’ve got to step up. Self-mastery isn’t sexy; it’s sweat and choice. But it’s where the gift starts shining—you’re not just surviving pain, you’re taking control.

Find the Good Stuff

Gratitude is a game-changer. Norman Cousins laughed his way through a killer illness, proving that a positive attitude can outpunch despair. It's a well-worn maxim that says laughter is the best medicine. Pain’s loud, but gratitude’s louder. Notice the coffee’s warmth, the sunset’s glow, a kid’s giggle. It’s not denial—it’s defiance. You’re telling pain it doesn’t own the story.

Grieving Is Healthy

Pain often drags loss in its wake—a leg gone, youth fading, dreams dented. Grieve it. Don’t bottle it up or fake a smile. A vet mourning a missing limb or an old-timer missing their prime—they’ve got a right to that ache. Grieving’s not weakness; it’s the slow burn that clears the way for something new. All loss has an appropriate grief cycle which is important to accept.  Give yourself permission to experience grief.  It will bear fruit later.

Push Back

Sometimes pain’s a glitch—your brain misfiring long after the wound’s healed. Overuse painkillers, and it might scream louder. Challenge it. Tell yourself, “I’m whole,” and act like it. It’s not mind-over-matter nonsense; it’s rewiring the signal. And if you’re leaning on faith, call on that too—God has got a track record of turning scars into stories.

Live Life to the Full

Don’t let pain bench you. Get a massage. Belt out a song. Stare at a painting or a forest until it sinks in. Push the limits—not reckless, but bold. Pain might tag along, but it doesn’t get to call the shots. God still has a purpose for you. Live like it.

Feed Your Soul

There are many great stories and books worth reading that deal with things you may be going through. Here are a few that my brother recommended in his article:

Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand, where a POW outlasts hell.

Your Scars are Beautiful to God by Sharon Jaynes. 

The Problem of Pain by C.S. Lewis, wrestling with suffering’s "why" questions.

Even Lord of the Rings, with Frodo hauling that ring through Mordor. 

Watch films that lift you—tales of guts and grace, and overcoming. They’re not just stories; they’re fuel for the fight. Here are three that came to mind as I thought about these things: 127 Hours (James Franco) about a hiker trapped by a boulder in a remote canyon; The Pursuit of Happyness (Will Smith) about a homeless single father's battle to overcome poverty and rejection to become a stockbroker; The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, based on the memoir written by Jean-Dominique Bauby after a massive stroke in which he could move only one eyelid. All three are amazing true stories.

* * *

Pain can be a brutal gift, no question. But it’s also a teacher, a compass and a nudge toward something bigger. Balance isn’t killing it—it’s dancing with it. Acceptance and defiance, grace and grit. That’s where the magic hides. What’s your pain pointing you toward today?

Recommended Reading: 
Stigmata X, a poem by Terry Anderson, a journalist who was taken hostage in Beirut in the 1980's. When released after seven years he shared his story in a powerful book titled Den of Lions.

https://pioneerproductions.blogspot.com/2008/01/stigmata-x.html

The End of the World

When I was young I had a Herman's Hermits Greatest Hits album. One of the songs was "The End of the World," which had been originally recorded by Skeeter Davis in 1962. It's a lament about a romantic breakup, though lyricist Sylvia Dee's original inspiration came from the death of her father. 

If you're unfamiliar with the song, here are the first two stanzas.

Why does the sun go on shining?
Why does the sea rush to shore?
Don't they know it's the end of the world
'Cause you don't love me anymore?

Why does my heart go on beating?
Why do these eyes of mine cry?
Don't they know know it's the end of the world?
It ended when you said goodbye

I remember feeling this way a little on my 13th birthday when a girl I liked said yes to going steady with the boy across the street. As tear moistened my pillow that night I thought to myself, "So this is what it's like to be a teenager." Yes, a bit melodramatic.

In the song, these sentiments are followed by a bridge segment that encapsulates a little of what I've been feeling the past few days. It's a very differentstory.

I wake up in the morning and I wonder
Why everything's the same as it was
And I can't understand, no I can't understand
Why life goes on the way it does

It just seems weird to me how all this horror is taking place in the Middle East while life over here just goes on as always, with the World Series playoffs and TV shows and shopping and everything. Even the stock market has been going up. What's going on?

Of course there are always horrors going on that we never talk about--rape, violence, starvation, torture, brutality, suffering, etc.  This time it feels different. 

I've frequently cited the line "Man's inhumanity to man makes countless thousands mourn" which was originally penned by Robert Burns in his poem, Man Was Made To Mourn: A Dirge. The statement is a pointed indictment of human cruelty and a reminder that humans are capable of inflicting great pain upon each other, with devastating consequences.

The world is broken. The evidence is plainly visible to all. Will we ever live in a world where everyone is treated with dignity and respect? I have a hard time imagining it.

Hardship, Grief and Healing: Carol Dunbar's Novel The Net Beneath Us

"Grief" -- Painting modified with Photoleap

Tschaikovski's Sixth Symphony, famously known as the Pathétique, was not well received when first performed in 1893. The actual name he gave to it was The Passionate Symphony, though the word could acceptably be translated The Emotional or Emotive Symphony. Decades would pass before Igor Stravinski brought it forward and praised it as "ahead of its time." 

What's distinctive about the composition is the sinking feeling one gets throughout, but especially in the the fourth movement, a grinding drawn out decline that is in sharp contrast to most 19th century symphonies that customarily end with a big finish, a buoyant crescendo. When the composer died 9 days later, the suspicion was that Tschaikovski had deliberately permitted himself to become ill-unto-death by drinking unboiled water that carried cholera.

While reading The Net Beneath Us, Carol Dunbar's first novel, the preceding thoughts about Tschaikovski's Sixth came to mind. 

The Net Beneath Us opens in gut-wrenching fashion. Elsa Arnasson grew up in the city but now finds herself living deep in the woods of Northwest Wisconsin. When her husband Silas, a logger, gets felled by a tree he was attempting to fell, Elsa becomes emotionally disoriented as the weight of what lies ahead suddenly falls on her shoulders. 

What's challenging for Elsa (the heroine) is that Silas is not killed outright, but left in a coma, hooked to machines in a persistent vegetative state. His death alone, however, is not what leaves her undone. Rather, the ongoing grind of "what now?" and "what next?" drones on and drains her, leading to impossible decisions. She also has two young children and a wagonload of anxieties.

The book is laid out in a manner that coincides with the seasons, opening with Fall. Fall is always a busy time of year because winter is just a stone's throw away. There always seems to be too much to do and serious regret at projects that have yet to be completed, like the second floor of the house Silas was building for the family.

The challenges of living "in the woods" are presented in detail. Winter is usually half the year in these parts. One of the consequences of the accident, for example, is having to deal with keeping heat in the house. No one ever taught Elsa how to chop wood. There are also other characters in the story who add complications. 

Although this is not the type of story I normally pick up, I was captured from the first pages by Dunbar's writing. Her vivid descriptions are amplified by wonderful metaphors and similes. She's what I would call "a writer's writer." What I mean is that the average reader will enjoy the story but may not notice the author's craftsmanship and her magical ability to turn a phrase. Other writers will. She practices what the writing manuals preach: avoid cliches.

Other stories came to mind while reading this book. The film Phenomenon, with John Travolta, made an impact on me when I saw it. One of the sub-themes in the movie had to do with the interconnectedness of trees and their root systems and the fleeting span of our own lives.

 The second is a non-fiction book, A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis, based on a real story about grieving and healing. Lewis penned some frank and troubling passages regarding the inner turbulence we experience when we lose a loved one and all our internal props are upended. For Lewis, it was the death of his wife, Joy Davidman. 

Hence we follow Elsa as she passes through the seasons, wrestling with her fears and struggling to get a handle on her life. This is another area where Dunbar shines. Elsa and all the characters behave in ways that feel authentic. At various points we're taken inside Elsa's introspective thought-procession; it rattles with reality as she peels scabs away to face the open wounds within.

My only difficulty with the book was keeping track of characters. It seemed like every time I encountered someone I kept having to go back and review earlier sections of the book to see what their connection was to the story. (Full disclosure: It's possible that I may have been at fault because I was reading three books at the same time.)

You can find The Net Beneath Us at all our local book stores. If you're from elsewhere, it's readily available here at Amazon.

* * * *   

Related Link
Interview with Carol Dunbar: A Ghostwriter Who Lives in the Woods

Man Was Made To Mourn: Wisdom from the Pen of Robert Burns

It's a common literary device. A story is told in which the wisdom of an elder is contrasted or shared with a younger person. One of my favorite Jack London stories, A Piece of Steak, is about an old, used up boxer named Tom King. As he fights his young opponent Sandel, he reflects on his own career in which he was once the young tough pummeling old boxers like himself on their way to hoped-for future glory. By the story's end Sandel is a symbol of Youth, ever rising.

Jorge Luis Borges has a very interesting story, called The Other, about an older man who sits on a park bench and comes to realize that the young man seated at the other end of the bench is he himself when he was younger. Borges's style of magical realism draws you in as the older realizes they are in two different but intersecting moments in space and time  What would you say to your younger self if you were given the chance. I think of this often.

Robert Burns' poem Man Was Made To Mourn uses a similar device in which an older man strives to communicate something to a younger man who is walking along life's way. I discovered the poem because it contains a line that I have quoted many times since first hearing: "Man's inhumanity to man makes countless thousands mourn."

The poem begins with the narrator out for a walk noticing an older man walking in a heavy-laden manner. In the second stanza the old man is curious about the young man's purpose. Are you out for a walk to pursue pleasure and excitement or are you beginning, too young, to walk because you feel pressed down by woes?

We then learn that the old man is now 80 years old, and his singular refrain at the end of each stanza is "man was made to mourn." The rest of the poem is the older man's explanation of how things are in this world.

The poem was written in 1784, long before the advent of modern medicine. Children often failed to reach adulthood, so there were many broken hearts of parents who buried their children, just one of the many ways we suffer. Ironically, the author of this poem, Robert Burns, died in his late thirties and never came close to 80.

Man Was Made to Mourn

When chill November's surly blast 
Made fields and forests bare, 
One ev'ning, as I wander'd forth 
Along the banks of Ayr, 
I spied a man, whose aged step 
Seem'd weary, worn with care; 
His face was furrow'd o'er with years, 
And hoary was his hair. 

"Young stranger, whither wand'rest thou?" 
Began the rev'rend sage; 
"Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, 
Or youthful pleasure's rage? 
Or haply, prest with cares and woes, 
Too soon thou hast began 
To wander forth, with me to mourn 
The miseries of man. 

"The sun that overhangs yon moors, 
Out-spreading far and wide, 
Where hundreds labour to support 
A haughty lordling's pride; - 
I've seen yon weary winter-sun 
Twice forty times return; 
And ev'ry time has added proofs, 
That man was made to mourn. 

"O man! while in thy early years, 
How prodigal of time! 
Mis-spending all thy precious hours- 
Thy glorious, youthful prime! 
Alternate follies take the sway; 
Licentious passions burn; 
Which tenfold force gives Nature's law. 
That man was made to mourn. 

"Look not alone on youthful prime, 
Or manhood's active might; 
Man then is useful to his kind, 
Supported in his right: 
But see him on the edge of life, 
With cares and sorrows worn; 
Then Age and Want - oh! ill-match'd pair - 
Shew man was made to mourn. 

"A few seem favourites of fate, 
In pleasure's lap carest; 
Yet, think not all the rich and great 
Are likewise truly blest: 
But oh! what crowds in ev'ry land, 
All wretched and forlorn, 
Thro' weary life this lesson learn, 
That man was made to mourn. 
"Many and sharp the num'rous ills 
Inwoven with our frame! 
More pointed still we make ourselves, 
Regret, remorse, and shame! 
And man, whose heav'n-erected face 
The smiles of love adorn, - 
Man's inhumanity to man 
Makes countless thousands mourn! 

"See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight, 
So abject, mean, and vile, 
Who begs a brother of the earth 
To give him leave to toil; 
And see his lordly fellow-worm 
The poor petition spurn, 
Unmindful, tho' a weeping wife 
And helpless offspring mourn. 

"If I'm design'd yon lordling's slave, 
By Nature's law design'd, 
Why was an independent wish 
E'er planted in my mind? 
If not, why am I subject to 
His cruelty, or scorn? 
Or why has man the will and pow'r 
To make his fellow mourn? 

"Yet, let not this too much, my son, 
Disturb thy youthful breast: 
This partial view of human-kind 
Is surely not the last! 
The poor, oppressed, honest man 
Had never, sure, been born, 
Had there not been some recompense 
To comfort those that mourn! 

"O Death! the poor man's dearest friend, 
The kindest and the best! 
Welcome the hour my aged limbs 
Are laid with thee at rest! 
The great, the wealthy fear thy blow 
From pomp and pleasure torn; 
But, oh! a blest relief for those 
That weary-laden mourn!"

 * * * *

I hear echoes of Psalm 73 when I read this, a psalm contrasting haves and have nots. M. Scott Peck's The Road Less Travelled similarly comes to mind with its opening sentence stating so plainly, "Life is difficult." The premise here is that when difficulties come along, we ought not be surprised. 

Which brings to mind this stanza from Christina Rosetti's poem, Up-Hill.

Does the road wind up-hill all the way?

   Yes, to the very end.

Will the day’s journey take the whole long day?

   From morn to night, my friend.

If you like poetry, here is another favorite of mine:

How They Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix 

Related Link
Robert Burns Biography 

Let's Face It. A Lot of People Are Suffering. Here Are Some Links to Useful Grief Resources

Losses can be devastating. It can be like a wound that initially feels numb, but then the pain hits you with an unexpected intensity. For some, the wound can become infected and require a more complicated healing process. Over time, the wound may heal, but the scar remains as a reminder of the pain and loss you endured. For some, the wound never fully heals.
--Dr. Ron Newman

Loss has always been a part of life, and alongside loss is that inner anguish we've come to label "Grief." The above is a quote from my brother's article Seeking Balance When Experiencing Grief.

I've already noted in several blog posts that 2020 is a year very few could have imagined. The economic challenges are pervasive and news stories somewhat striking, but when families lose loved ones, it's very personal. We're not just statistics. Their absence, especially when sudden and unexpected, leaves a massive hole in our hearts.

For this reason it's good to be aware of resources that are available to soften the wound and aid in healing. That is the purpose of this blog post. The trigger for this post was discovering that Quiet Heart Music has a new website: https://quietheartcomfort.com/

* * * *

So far COVID deaths are currently more than three-quarters of a million globally, more than 170,000 in the U.S. There may be a few, but most people have friends and family members who have had hearts broken this year, and more to come. Are you among those who have lost a loved one?

Pianist Henry Wiens has spent a lifetime producing and sharing music designed to comfort those who are hurting. Through Quiet Heart Music Henry sought to provide a meaningful, inexpensive alternative to sending flowers to friends, co-workers and employees who have lost loved ones. Flowers are a temporary token, but you can tell that many people today are requesting that "in lieu of flowers" you should consider giving to a charity that the loved one cared about.

Giving music that truly heals those who are left behind is another alternative. (EdNote: My intention here is not to put florists out of business. It is to add options to friends and family, especially an option that contributes to the well-being of someone you care about, the ones left behind.)

I found this note about the gift of music in one of my old journals:

Music is one of the more fantastic gifts of God. It lifts the soul on wings to ethereal inner spaces. Nothing more effectively breaks life’s monotonous hold on us, transporting us to the portals of paradise. How do musicians and composers do it? From nothing & emptiness they bring forth combinations of sounds, melodies, themes, so pregnant with feeling it seems an inexplicable mystery. Rainbows of sound, trembling with life, causing our hearts to break open with rapture, or sweet sorrow.--Journal Notes, June 30, 1993

* * * *

The new Quiet Heart website allows you to listen to Henry's music free, something I heartily recommend. Then purchase the CDs that you most relate to. (I have all, but also have favorites.) In addition to being a potent form of healing, Henry's music is perfectly suited as a background track for writers and artists. It doesn't intrude. Like a light breeze on a summer's eve it carries you along on its wings.

* * * *

Another truly valuable feature of the site is a section titled Grief Resources. One page in this section has links to an overabundance of articles on grief by Dr. Alan D. Wolfelt. In one of these he writes, "Grief is not a train track toward acceptance. Instead, it is more of a 'getting lost in the woods' and almost always gives rise to a mixture of many thoughts and feelings at once.

There are links to more than 50 articles dealing with all aspects of grief. Some deal with grief in general, some with helping you in your grief, or with helping others through their grieving. Others deal with grief with regards to specific situations like suicide, or grieving children or teens. Life is hard, and I know first hand how isolating it is to suddenly lose someone close when you are a teen. There are even sections to help hospice workers and funeral directors.

Visit this page for the grief resources noted above:
https://quietheartcomfort.com/grief-resources/

For what it's worth, Henry Wiens is a beautiful man with a beautiful spirit. You can feel it in his music.

Related Links
Henry Wiens Talks About the Power of Music as an Agent of Healing and Hope
Healing the Hurting Through Music
Quiet Heart Testimonials
A Grief Observed, by C.S. Lewis

The Thích Quảng Đức Episode (A Snapshot from The Cold War's Killing Fields)

In October I read Paul Thomas Chamberlin's The Cold War Killing Fields, which I wrote about here. During the time I was reading it I repeatedly indicated to people that it was one of the saddest books I've ever read. The sadness came from two sources. First, because of the quantity of human suffering that has occurred over the course of my lifetime since World War II. And second, my own grief over the role the U.S. has played in contributing to civilian suffering in so many places and in so many ways.

The power of the book comes from the author's efforts to bring context to the manifold stories which may have made national news but which were presented without our real understanding. Many stories show how the U.S. government deliberately twisted the facts in order to achieve its own ends. Eventually, as in the case of the Viet Nam War, the public no matter trusted its government's interpretations and spin.

It's my hope to produce a series of blog posts highlighting several examples from our recent history so that we understand more clearly why there are such divergent views and attitudes about who we are as a nation.

The story of Thích Quảng Đức begins on page 201 in Chamberlin's book. It produced one of the most memorable images from the conflict in Southeast Asia, a Buddhist monk self-immolating. What was less clear to most Americans was the reason this man burned himself to death in the middle of a busy intersection.

Quảng Đức was protesting the persecution of Buddhists by the South Vietnamese government led by Ngô Đình Diệm. Viet Nam was between 70 and 90% Buddhist, but the U.S. backed President Diem was Catholic. The sacrificial death aimed to draw attention to the persecution and policies of the Diem government.

Malcolm Browne of the Associated Press won a Pulitzer Prize for the photo. Browne and David Halberstam of the New York Times were present because the day before someone notified the press corps in Saigon that "something important" was going to happen outside the Cambodian Embassy the following morning. Most of the reporters ignored this information,

The incident sparked protests throughout the country. In response President Diem declared martial law and claimed the protests were stoked by the National Liberation Front (NLF). The First Lady remarked that she "would clap hands at seeing another monk barbecue show."

John Kennedy and his administration were at odds as to how to respond to these events. Diem had to go but would the next puppet president be any better? Ultimately our government solved the problem by supporting a coup that began on November 1 with U.S. government approval and on November 2 Diem, having surrendered, was shot inside an armored vehicle while being taken into custody. 20 days later the U.S. president would likewise be on the receiving end of a bullet in the head.

* * * * 

The incident that triggered this unraveling of the Diem government took place on June 11. On June 12 another significant event occurred. NAACP leader and civil rights activist Medgar Evers, was shot from behind and killed as he walked toward his home in Mississippi after a long day's work. The incident was one of many that strengthened the resolve of civil rights leaders across the country and especially throughout the Jim Crow South.

Two powerful songs were written in response to this cold-blooded murder, Nina Simone's Missisippi Goddam and Bob Dylan's Only a Pawn in Their Game, which he sang later that summer at the Washington D.C. March for Civil Rights, led by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., August 28, 1963. 

* * * * 

Grief is a process that though hard to go through is intended to result in acceptance and measure of healing or inner resolution. Those stages are (1) denial, (2) anger, (3) bargaining, (4) depression, and (5) acceptance. What I have learned over the course of a lifetime is that the grieving process takes time, sometimes years and sometimes decades.

Is it possible that moving from innocence to maturity is a process similar to grief in which we have to come to terms with lost innocence. We know the Peter Pan Syndrome is about boys who won't grow up. Is it possible that we have over-believed in the goodness of our government, America the Beautiful, beacon of light to the world?

Marvin Gaye nailed it when he sang, "What's Goin' On?" in 1970.  And the author of the Book of Ecclesiastes seems to have had all this in mind when he wrote,

"For with much wisdom comes much sorrow; 

 the more knowledge, the more grief." (Eccles. 1:18)

TAKEAWAYS FROM THIS STORY 

1. Chamberlin's book provides context to help us understand many of the news stories we heard about or observed during our lifetimes.

2. Events of 1963 became a critical turning point in both the war in Southeast Asia and in the Civil Rights movement in America.

3. American power has not always been used benevolently or wisely. The attempt to help people gain a more realistic picture of our nation and its abuses of power should not be taken to be akin to "hate America first." There are reasons people distrust power. We need to understand where people are coming from in order to be bridge-builders instead of wall-builders.

Related Links
My initial review of  The Cold War's Killing Fields
Everything Is Broken
The 1971 Concert for Bangladesh