Alexandra Bogdanovic's Blog: That's life... - Posts Tagged "freedom"

So this may well be a first.
In all of the time I've been blogging here on goodreads.com, I've never done a post specifically pertaining to other authors or their work.
Yet as I read "A Lumious Future" by Teodor Flonta, I can't help but reflect on the life experiences he documents and my own. You see, we grew up in different countries at different times. But we also have something significant in common, and that's our eastern European heritage.
My blood boils as I read about the hardships young Teodor and his family endured. I cry when I think about the injustices perpetrated on Teodor and his family by the Communist regime in the guise of creating a "luminous future."
But it doesn't surprise me. As a little girl growing up in the United States, I learned all about Communism. I learned about it from my dad, a staunch anti-Communist who fled the former Yugoslavia as a political refugee. I also learned to appreciate being born in a free country. I learned to take nothing for granted. I never will.
Until next time, "That's life..."

I guess Mother Nature is off her meds so her bipolar disorder is raging unchecked. Here in the New York City suburbs, the temperature has gone from an unseasonably warm 85 to an unseasonably chilly 60-something in just a few days.
Nevertheless, a glance at the calendar confirms it's almost June. And a second look (taken just to be sure) provides some measure of reassurance that summer is -- albeit unofficially -- here.
Yes, another Memorial Day weekend is in the books. The first, widely-anticipated, beach and backyard barbecues are over. So are the parades and solemn graveside services. Annual promises to remember and honor those who made the ultimate sacrifice for their country have been uttered and forgotten. The last, mournful notes of Taps that sounded around the country have echoed and faded into the distance. My tears have dried... for now.
It never fails. I cry when I hear that haunting call. I cry for those who heeded the call to duty without question and for those who heeded it in spite of personal misgivings. I cry for those who paid the steepest price for their service and for their families.
I cry for those who are physically and emotionally battle-scarred. I cry for those with shiny medals, but no jobs. I cry for those who seek solace in a liquor or pill bottle, and for those whose deepest wounds are misunderstood and go untreated.
I cry because I love my country -- and because I fear the disappearance of all that once made her great.
On paper, America is still a Super Power. But in reality she is a shadow of her former self. Battered by geopolitical forces and the Great Recession, her economic and military dominance is in jeopardy; her leadership is weak.
I cry because so many people refuse to acknowledge this is the case and because so few seem to care. Perhaps arrogance allows them to take our way of life for granted. Perhaps it is just complacency.
But if history has taught us anything, it is that complacency is sheer folly and that our freedom is not guaranteed.
In the past people believed freedom is worth fighting for. I can only hope that doesn't change.
And until next time, "That's life..."

In case you've missed it, there's a debate swirling across America. The Washington Redskins football team is once again being pressured to change its name.
Some people find it offensive because of its racial connotations. Others aren't bothered at all.
My personal feelings about the issue are irrelevant. Even if I cared to share them -- which I don't -- this blog would hardly be the proper forum in which to do so.
Speaking in general, I will say this. People today are way too easily offended. And there is way too much pressure to be politically correct.
As an author and as someone who values freedom above all else, I believe that can be a very dangerous thing.
On meriam-webster.com, the term politically correct is defined as "conforming to a belief that language and practices which could offend political sensibilities (as in matters of sex or race) should be eliminated."
I agree that we should all be held accountable for what we say. Hate speech, in particular is intolerable. The consequences of making hateful comments -- maliciously or out of ignorance -- are justifiably harsh.
But when has societal pressure to be politically correct gone too far? When our fear of offending someone effectively stifles our freedom of speech? When it precludes open and honest debate? When it prevents us, as authors, from sharing our stories?
While I tried to share my own story as honestly and responsibly as possible, I knew many people -- including some in the transgender community -- would find my memoir offensive. I weighed the pros and cons of publishing it at all. But in the end, I didn't let fear of what people might think dissuade me from speaking my truth.
In print and in person, I will always speak my truth -- but I will never, ever be "PC."
Until next time, "That's life..."

Author's/blogger's note: Today we remember and pay tribute to those who perished in the terrorist attacks on the United States of America 13 years ago and in the aftermath. We are eternally grateful for those who survived, and grieve with those who suffered unimaginable loss.
The following is an excerpt from my memoir, Truth Be Told: Adam Becomes Audrey. In this particular chapter, I document my own experience as a journalist living and working in the New York City suburbs on 9/11.
I am sharing it not to call attention to myself, but to serve as yet another reminder that we must never forget. Never, ever forget.
---------------------------------

It happened on a Tuesday -- on a warm, sunny kind of early September morning when college students lobby for class on the quad, high school seniors contemplate skipping class altogether and adults are tempted to play hooky from work.
Doing that wasn’t an option for me. I got up, changed, worked out and, with a few minutes to relax, turned my attention to the television in my bedroom. There was nothing interesting on any of the home shopping channels, or on any of the other channels, for that matter. It was almost nine o’clock, and with limited options I turned to one of the morning news shows. I couldn’t believe my eyes.
“A plane has just hit one of the World Trade Center buildings,” a tense news anchor reported.
As live footage of the smoking building rolled, another plane slammed into the second tower.
“Oh, my God!” I screamed. “What the hell is going on? Oh my God! No! Oh, no! Oh, no!”
I lunged for the phone and called my mom at work. “Do you have any idea what is going on?” I shouted when she finally answered. “Turn on the television, now! Two planes just hit the World Trade Center!”
American Airlines Flight 11, en route from Boston to Los Angeles, had slammed into the North Tower around 8:46 a.m. United Airlines Flight 175, also bound for L.A., barreled into the South Tower less than twenty minutes later. Smoke poured from the buildings. Firefighters and police continued to rush towards them to try to help the people trapped inside. Even as they did, some victims jumped to their deaths while panicked New Yorkers screamed in horror and disbelief.
Chaos reigned. At 9:37 a.m., another hijacked airliner -- American Airlines Flight 77-- hit the Pentagon. United Airlines Flight 93, a fourth hijacked jet destined to cause even more carnage in Washington, D.C., crashed in a Pennsylvania field at 10:03 a.m., after the passengers learned about the earlier incidents and fought back.
Then the Twin Towers fell.
Deeply shaken and unable to understand fully the magnitude of what had happened, I only knew I had to do my job. I went straight to the Rye Police Department. The atmosphere there was unbelievable. From the lobby, I could hear occasional radio chatter and news reports on the television near the front desk. Other than that, it was quiet -- too quiet.
My hands shook as I silently accepted the police log from a secretary and began to take notes. I leafed through the pages without seeing the words, knowing the contents paled in comparison to mass murder.
“You seem to be really affected by all this. Do you know anyone who works in the Towers?”
Startled, I looked up to find the Rye police commissioner, a former New York City cop, standing in a nearby doorway.
“No,” I replied.
But for the second time in less than two years, unexpected events shattered my sense of safety and security, turning my world upside down.
I knew one of Lisa’s best friends worked on Wall Street. Not all that long ago, Adam had worked for a federal government agency with offices in the heart of the Big Apple’s financial district. I thought his dad still worked somewhere in the five boroughs, and hoped it wasn’t anywhere near lower Manhattan.
Everyone’s fine, I kept telling myself. Everyone is fine.
Our phone didn’t stop ringing that night. Relatives around the world called to talk about the terrorist attacks and ask if we were okay. As much as I appreciated their concern, I quickly
tired of answering the same questions over and over again. After all, I still had unanswered questions of my own.
Between calls, I tried to reach Lisa out on the Island, but I couldn’t get through. I was just about to try again when the phone trilled for what seemed like the trillionth time. Without Caller ID, I had no idea who was on the line. I answered anyhow.
“Hi, Alex, it’s Adam.”
“Hi. I am so glad you called. Is your dad okay? Was he in the City?”
“Yes, he’s okay. It took him forever to get home, but he’s fine.”
“I can’t believe what happened,” I said. “I can’t believe it.”
“I know.”
“Look, I’d love to talk but I’ve got to try and get a hold of Lisa. I’ve been trying all day and haven’t gotten through.” “Okay, I understand,” Adam said. “Take care.”
“You too.”
Lisa finally called me a few hours later. Her friend who worked on Wall Street and her mom, who managed a Manhattan hotel, were both safe.
I went to bed finally knowing that all of my friends and their families were okay, but the world would never be the same.
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Until next time, "That's life..."

A lot has been said about freedom in the past few days. Politicians, pundits, publishers and the general public have spent considerable time extolling the virtues of freedom of speech. And with good reason.
At this point, it's likely there's little I can add to the conversation. But as you know by now, I am a former journalist and an award-winning author. More importantly, I am a first-generation American raised in a multicultural household. My father was a political refugee who was forced to flee a Communist country because of his political beliefs.
As a result, I have always valued the liberties afforded me as an American. I am fully aware of how precious freedom is; and of the price so many paid to attain it. Hard won, it is hardly guaranteed -- yet for some reason, so many take it for granted.
That being stated, here are a few of my favorite quotes about freedom of speech:
1. "What is freedom of expression? Without the freedom to offend, it ceases to exist.” ― Salman Rushdie
2. “Everyone is in favor of free speech. Hardly a day passes without its being extolled, but some people's idea of it is that they are free to say what they like, but if anyone else says anything back, that is an outrage.” ― Winston S. Churchill
3. “Four hostile newspapers are more to be feared than a thousand bayonets..” ― Napoléon Bonaparte
4. “The framers of the constitution knew human nature as well as we do. They too had lived in dangerous days; they too knew the suffocating influence of orthodoxy and standardized thought. They weighed the compulsions for restrained speech and thought against the abuses of liberty. They chose liberty."
[Beauharnais v.Illinois, 342 U.S. 250, 287 (1952) (dissenting)]”
― William O. Douglas
5. “The only security of all is in a free press.” ― Thomas Jefferson
6. “If liberty means anything at all, it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.” ― George Orwell
7. “If freedom of speech is taken away, then dumb and silent we may be led, like sheep to the slaughter.” ― George Washington
8. “I do not agree with what you have to say, but I'll defend to the death your right to say it.” ― Voltaire
9. “Whoever would overthrow the liberty of a nation must begin by subduing the freeness of speech.” ― Benjamin Franklin, Silence Dogood, The Busy-Body, and Early Writings
10. “Everyone has the right to freedom of opinion and expression; this right includes freedom to hold opinions without interference and to seek, receive and impart information and ideas through any media and regardless of frontiers.” ― United Nations, Universal Declaration of Human Rights
Until next time, "That's life..."

In the ongoing quest to broaden my horizons, I recently did something a bit out of character.
I invested in (okay, purchased) the novel Coup D'Etat by Harry Turtledove, which I found in the bargain book bin at a nearby office supply store. While it's clearly not unusual for me to buy a book, it is unusual for me to read "alternate history." In fact, this is the first such book I've ever tackled.
At any rate, I'm now approximately halfway through the 416-page tome and will refrain from commenting on the contents until I've finished it. For now I will only say that what I've read so far makes me more grateful than ever that everything transpired as it did and the real-life allies triumphed.
It also makes me more grateful than ever that there are still those who are willing to defend everything we hold so dear. After all, it is a sad and unpleasant truth that without warriors we cannot have freedom -- and we cannot have peace.
To quote Golda Meir, "We don't thrive on military acts. We do them because we have to, and thank God we are efficient."
And as Nishan Panwar put it, "Your freedom is brought to you courtesy of the outstanding Men and Women who serve and have served this country with honor, dedication, pride and sacrifice!"
Until next time, "That's life..."

It happens to every author. Somewhere in the writing process you hit a bump in the road.
For me, writing my second book is especially challenging because my dad died a long time ago. A lot of his friends -- people who knew what happened to him in the former Yugoslavia -- have passed away as well. So, as I mentioned last week, I am left with my imagination... and a few family legends.
I've done a lot of research in order to try and fill in the blanks. I've been to Belgrade. And with my mother's help I have found some of my father's personal effects. At some point soon I will start to go through some more.
In the meantime, as I also mentioned last week, I started my rough draft. Writing as much as time allows, I've written approximately 6,000 words or 14 single-spaced pages (give or take a few words or a page or two).
With the creative process well underway, I plan on continuing my research as it continues. That includes reading as much about Serbia as I can get my hands on.
I just finished the first book on the stack -- a novel called The Mole Men by Negovan Rajic. Born in Belgrade in 1923, the author was just one year younger than my father. The book -- a fantasy -- was about a man who faced government persecution after learning a closely-guarded secret and then trying to share the truth.
In a photocopied excerpt from Contemporary Authors, Volume 130 tucked inside our copy of the novel, Rajic said:
"The materials for my fiction come from my life experiences and the personal stories friends tell me. My stories come as a revolt against the official picture of history as presented by totalitarian powers, who often distorted facts. I believe in the power of the word to transmit human experiences and perceptions. I stand for freedom as the point of departure for any kind of progress, both material and spiritual."
The book is disturbing, provocative and intriguing. It is a must-read for anyone and everyone who takes freedom for granted.
I told my mother as much when she asked me if it was interesting.
"It was written by a friend of your father's," she said.
The plot thickens.
Until next time, "That's life..."

On Friday morning, I stood on a bluff overlooking Long Island Sound and watched a dedication ceremony for a 9/11 memorial.
A lone bag piper played Amazing Grace. The haunting notes of Taps echoed across the water. Family members read the names of the fallen. Bells tolled. Tears fell.
I was sad. And angry. I will always be angry about the terrorist attacks on my country on September 11, 2001.
What infuriates me more than anything is when politicians talk about that day. In sanctimonious and self-serving speeches, they tell us we must never forget what happened that day -- as if anyone could.
What disgusts me more than anything is that some people already have. According to news accounts, a group of American students surveyed admitted to having little to no idea why we were attacked that day.
What scares me more than anything is that in spite of the tragic loss of so many lives that day and in the years that followed, so many people still seem to take everything we have for granted.
Some of you may view this as an indictment of a specific politician or political party, but trust me, it isn't. If anything, it is a universal indictment.
It is an indictment of all leaders who fail to recognize the ongoing threats to everything we hold so dear.
It is an indictment of those that discourage critical, independent thinking.
It is an indictment of those who see no need to question authority.
It is an indictment of the students who are too ignorant, intimidated or afraid to question what they are taught.
It is an indictment of those in the media that report only one side of a story.
It is an indictment of educators, those in pop culture and those in the media who work to advance a specific agenda.
It is an indictment of the "polite police" who discourage frank discussion in the name of political correctness.
It is an indictment I am uniquely qualified to make. I am a first-generation American whose father fled prosecution and persecution of an oppressive regime.
As I write a book based on my father's life, I am more convinced than ever that freedom is the single most important gift anyone can have.
I am not alone.
In his essay on the Secret of Kosovo published in Landmarks in Serbian Culture and History in 1983, Marko S. Markovic wrote: "If there is no peace without freedom, there is no freedom without truth."
Bozidar Knezevic, the world-renowned Serbian Philosopher of history, also wrote: "Only in liberty does one learn to love and respect liberty as a vital necessity: only in freedom can one learn to use freedom, just as one can breathe only in the air. It is only free men and nations that know how to respect the liberty of others. As long as there are captive peoples, the free will be in danger."
Until next time, "That's life..."