LINES OF THE DAY

". . . But the past does not exist independently from the present. Indeed, the past is only past because there is a present, just as I can point to something over there only because I am here. But nothing is inherently over there or here. In that sense, the past has no content. The past -- or more accurately, pastness -- is a position. Thus, in no way can we identify the past as past." p. 15

". . . But we may want to keep in mind that deeds and words are not as distinguishable as often we presume. History does not belong only to its narrators, professional or amateur. While some of us debate what history is or was, others take it into their own hands." p. 153

Silencing the Past: Power and the Production of History (1995) by Michel-Rolph Trouillot

Monday, July 26, 2010

Malaria

Our amiga, M, who went back to Haiti to protect her six-year-old daughter that isn't allowed to live here with her and her husband, until uncountable hoops have been leaped through and paid a fee for, each, and every, single, one, substantially, by people who don't have much money to start with.


Well, malaria. She has it.

The dna tests were successfully completed and the conclusion was that M was K's mom could not be ruled out by a factor that just missed 100% by some inthly fraction of a nano. That's how they do.

But now they have to file a 'translated' version of the test, plus fee, with the Haitian authorities.

M has been in Haiti now for 5 months. As someone with a U.S. spouse, with permanent residency granted to her -- if she's out of the country for six months, she loses that, and the process to get M back into the U.S. will have to start all over again too.

Mz's hopeful that she and K will be here by September.

He's planning our annual New Year's Eve rituals and celebrations even now. He says, "K is going to dance for New Year's."

Please, please, please, please.

We will be here, up from C-town, for New Year's with M, no matter what.

Mz wanted to help us celebrate our anniversary last night.  But his heart, o his sore heart, it is in Haiti.

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