Shaking hands with John Kerry

Even though I'm living less than a 15-minute walk away from Tattered Cover, my favorite bookstore in Denver, I sometimes have to rouse myself out of my evening settled-in state at home. Besides offering thousands of books, excellent coffee and a warm atmosphere, TC also has author talks. Last Monday, the eve before the election, John Kerry was scheduled to speak. I almost skipped it, but at the last minute, threw on my coat and walked over. I'm glad I did.


Listeners line up at Tattered Cover after John Kerry's talk Nov. 5

The last time I looked carefully at who John Kerry was and is was in 2004, when he ran for president.   Bush Jr. was up for reelection, a year after he defied international protests and warnings, and invaded Iraq, that costly conflict which is still continuing today. Surely the country was ready for a change, my friends and I reasoned.  I was living in Japan then, a participant in the Japan chapter of Democrats Abroad--a group for American ex-pats around the world who want to stay part of the political process. A year earlier many of us had been in the Tokyo anti-war march opposing any invasion of Iraq. Kerry was not the favorite with this group; the more left-of-center Howard Dean was. Kerry, after all, had voted to authorize the invasion of Iraq two years earlier. Later, he later came to see the error of his vote on that, just as he came to change his views on Vietnam. He went from military hero to antiwar activist in the 60s--this man of honor who had the courage to reflect and change. Dean's campaign derailed, Kerry won the nomination, and Democrats Abroad continued with it's major task of helping overseas voters get their absentee ballots in.

As with so many past moments, my emotional memory of the 2004 election stands out above the circumstances and facts. As the votes were tallied, I was watching the returns online in my living room with two friends. As Kerry's loss appeared certain, my friend Louise phoned. "Oh, Louise!" "Oh, Kathy!" is my memory of that conversation before all the parsing of what went wrong. It was an election Kerry should have won.

Kerry's visit to Denver last week led me to revisit the factual details of the election. Chief among them was the GOP-led "swiftboating" attack. Kerry was a decorated war hero in Vietnam as a result of his service on a Swiftboat crew, running against an incumbent who had dodged military service. An ad appeared challenging his record--an ad that was later discredited, but not before major damage was done. (Read more about it here.) Other problems--voting irregularities in Ohio, the selection of the later-disgraced John Edwards as running mate--took their toll as well.

Kerry visited Denver as part of a book tour for his 600-page memoir, Every Day is Extra. A review of the book in the New York Times says one of Kerry's lingering regrets is that he didn't stop his campaign cold to address those unfair and damaging attacks. Yet his talk before a packed house at Tattered Cover did not dwell on regrets, but rather on the seriousness of problems facing us and what can be done about them. Talking on the eve of the election, he opened by asking us all if we had voted. Of course we had. And then he talked about climate change and the importance of the Paris Climate Accord which he helped negotiate as Secretary of State under President Obama. He talked about the importance of leadership and the problems created in its absence. He talked about his friendship with the late Sen. Ted Kennedy and John McCain and the importance of having bipartisan relationships in Congress.

Listening to Kerry last week, I remembered how we once took a presidential candidate's ability to explain and inspire for granted. How sorely I miss it today--though I know it exists in the campaigns of so many of the Democratic victors in the midterm elections. I wanted to thank Kerry for his lifetime of work and his continuing service to democratic process, but book-buyers were lining up to have him sign their copies, so I left the room, pleased that I had attended. Being a confirmed library user, I did not buy the book; actually, at 600 pages, I decided I'd read this one in review. I wandered upstairs to browse new titles before walking home.

Some time later, standing near a shelf of new releases, I became aware of a familiar voice next to me. Kerry was talking with store staff, standing less than 2 feet away. He was asking if there was a restaurant nearby, and I felt slightly annoyed on his behalf. (Don't book talk arrangers think of attending to their guests' creature comforts anymore? Did they ever?) I trust someone took him out to dinner. For my part, I waited to catch his eye. I put out my hand and said "Thank you"--for everything". A firm handshake and smile ensued from this man, a man of courage and honor.

Breaking up is hard to do

For quite some time now I've been thinking that it's time for us to call it quits, but I kept pushing the thought away. After all we've been together a long time--about 10 years now. And like so many long-term couples, I've grown accustomed to your features, you almost make the day begin.

I found you as I was getting ready to leave Japan and return to live in the US. You were like a lifeline to my past and bridge to my future. You helped me find others from my past--old friends and former colleagues and students--in this world of lost emails and phone numbers. When I made new friends, you were involved then too. Over time, you took on even more roles. You became my de facto social secretary. You gave me a nudge when friends were having a birthday, kept me current with births, marriages and deaths, the slow but sure growth of friends' children, reminded me of upcoming events I was interested in, helped me stay current with favorite groups and organizations, amused me when all I really needed that day was a funny cat or dog video. You made life not only more efficient and organized but interesting as well. I came to rely on you for news stories too, via links posted by friends. And you didn't charge me a cent! I thank you for that, I really do. I'm going to miss all of those things, truly.

Things have changed, though. The first time I really understood that there was a price to be paid for all of this service. You had sold my data to third parties without my knowledge. And even worse, it became apparent that your lax controls had allowed bad actors to influence the 2016 U.S. presidential election, leading to an unexpected outcome, tragic for me and so many others. Earlier this year, your chief representative Mark Zuckerberg, apologized to Congress. He promised to do better. He said his team had been "slow" to see the threats and was now taking steps to remedy problems. I believed you, perhaps mostly because I wanted to. I rationalized it all by saying that there are no secrets that can't be found on the Internet, regardless of whether one was partnered with you or not.

Then last week--another jolt. I watched the two-part Frontline program, The Facebook Dilemma. It was then that I realized that "slow" was a euphemism for "refused to listen". People in the Middle East, The Philippines, The Ukraine, and Myanmar, had tried to tell you--repeatedly. Tried to tell you that fake accounts were flooding users' pages, exploiting fears, and the worst elements of tribalism. People died because of this. You could even say it led to genocide and the subversion of peoples' movements for justice.

Were any significant controls attempted during those years, Mark? That's unclear from the program, but what is clear is that the problems continue. Steps have been taken, I learned. More checkers around the globe, fluent in local languages, for example. Yet, chillingly, one of your current representatives said flatly that the problem cannot be solved, not at the scale your organization operates. It can only be contained.

In all fairness, I have to look at my own role in this relationship--my readiness to take shortcuts. I've been spending way too much time scrolling through stories--stories I usually soon forget because there are so many. Some say you designed it this way as an addictive process. But I'll let that go for now, as this paragraph is about me. The fact is I willingly let you take charge of things for me, and now I'm about to be on my own again. I'm looking forward to that, actually. To making better connections with friends--beyond "like" or "sad" or "angry". I plan to reactivate this blog, dormant since January, as a place for exploring ideas and sharing stories about my past, present and future. I hope any of you who wish to connect with me this way will subscribe or check in from time to time. You can use this encrypted link: https://kathyintransition.blogspot.com.

As for Facebook, I'll keep my account open for awhile. You, my friends, can send a personal message about the best way to stay in touch with you, if you wish. At some point, I plan to deactivate and then delete the account. Apparently the latter is not easy to do. (For a step-by-step guide, go to this link.)

I look forward to keeping in touch with you, my Facebook friends--and to doing something interesting with the 10+ hours I formerly spent every week scrolling through the Facebook screen.