It takes away more than you think.

It is almost too embarrassing to discuss in public. There is no explanation for it. Nobody asked for it. Fear is behind it. It is one step. Dictators do it. It is the difference between freedom and oppression. It hurts everyone. It is not done against any one group. It hurts everyone. It is regressive. It hurts everyone. It is a move toward unfreedom. It hurts everyone. It is cause for alarm. It hurts everyone. It is control. It is power. It is unreasonable. It is hatred. It hurts everyone. It is disrespectful. It is wrong. It hurts everyone. It takes away more than you think.

What is it?

Book banning in the United States of America, the land of the free, in the year 2023! Civilizations thrive by growing citizens who learn from the stories of others. Books tell stories. Books bring us into others' stories. Books open worlds. Books are for everyone. Books allow ideas between the covers. Books speak truth. Books shape lives. Books are companions. Books are free to all. Books take us places. Books make us laugh. Books make us cry. Books make us think. Book are our friends. Books set us free from oppressors. Books make us better citizens, locally and globally. Books are benign. (Look it up!) Books are not the enemy of the people. The enemy is hiding under the covers. It has happened before . . .

In the Fourteenth century in the village of Norwich, England, so-called heretics, known as the Lollards, were burned at the stake and dumped in the Wensum River for having of all things, the Bible translated into English. They wanted to read those words written about the life of Jesus. They sacrificed their own lives to read the "Good News." The "Good News" was in a book that powerful church wanted to oppress. It didn't work. Today, in 2023, A.D., Norwich is a UNESCO City of Literature where reading is fully celebrated. Books are on the streets so that everyone who walks along, young, old, white, black, poor, rich, is invited to sit and read. They are proud of their stories. They want people to know their own history. They are not embarrassed to show their best sellers in public. https://www.visitnorwich.co.uk/book-benches/

When will we the people learn? Please share your thoughts.

On the way to Marrakech

This blog is dedicated to the people who are suffering under the weight of a horrific earthquake.

“Faced with the tragedy that our country is going through, the Spirit of Fez Foundation, its President, all the artists, and its partners express their most sincere condolences to the families of the victims of the earthquake,” the organizers of the prestigious Fez festival said as they announced the postponement of the 26th World Sacred Music Festival. The Fez Festival of World Sacred Music was established in 1994 by Faouzi Skali, a philanthropist and the president of the Spirit of Fez Foundation, with the goal of promoting unity among individuals of all races and religions through spiritual and humanitarian values, inspired by Andalusian principles. Skali believed that music, being a universal language, has the power to communicate with people from all walks of life

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“Be ready to leave by 8 a.m.” Ahmed said to me and some 30 other passengers. He was the only one of our three Moroccan guides who spoke English. The other two spoke Arabic and French. The bus ride from Fez to Marrakech would be an all-day trip.

Taking the front seat directly behind the driver, I settled in for the last leg of my trip in Morocco. The Sixth Annual World Sacred Music Festival in Fez was now behind me, and it would be my writing topic on the long trip back through the desert. The festival had been everything (and nothing at all) that I had imagined when I decided to make this spur-of-the-moment trip in 1999. After about two hours on the road, I heard Ahmed’s voice from the back of the bus:

“We have to stop the bus!”

He and another guide strode past my seat and clambered off the bus with a male passenger. Soon they were holding up towels and blankets which the rest of us willingly supplied to shade and create privacy for the passenger, now violently ill on the side of the road.

From my front-row seat, I saw the younger Moroccan run in full stride toward a small, distant, solitary house. As he ran, he tore off his shirt without slowing down, although it was more than 100 degrees in the dry, arid, rocky, endless landscape. Within minutes he was running back with two canisters of water in each hand. He didn’t stop until he reached us.

Fifteen minutes later, Ahmed was back on board, giving us instructions from the front of the bus: “We have called an ambulance. I will have to go with him. You will go to Marrakech. I will meet you there. The bus will make a stop for lunch. Eat only yogurt. Drink only bottled water. I don’t know if the place is safe to eat at.” Nobody asked questions.

Once the ancient-looking ambulance drove off, our driver donned his straw hat and commandeered the huge vehicle onto one of the narrowest, poorly paved roads I had ever seen. Most of the passengers were American couples. I was the only woman traveling alone.

The Moroccan bus driver and guide were bickering back and forth in Arabic, voices escalating over who knows what. One of them turned on a radio. Music from the 1980's reached the back of the bus, where a few choral directors traveling together began to sing along. I joined in from the front seat. Behind me, I could hear Elena, a Russian, whining to her American fiancé about the heat, the trip, and me “taking up two front-row seats.”

The bus driver pulled into a small open-air café with red-and-white checkered table cloths on every table. They were expecting us. Immediately, we lined up for the only bathroom at the back of the building.

“No toilet or toilet paper,” the first woman reported. I reached into my backpack for the role I always carried, just in case. Some women at the end of the line were saying: “I can’t do it standing up.” I squatted.

Someone gave me a kerchief to wear around my neck, saying: “Your face is really red.” As I soaked it in a trickle of water, I pondered our situation: “How far are we from Marrakech? How many hours left to go? Do we have enough gas? Water? Should we go on, or turn back while we still have the option? What are the others thinking?”

I went from table to table, asking what each thought we should do. The consensus was to go on if we could keep the bus air conditioned (it had been intermittent, at best) and if we had enough gas to reach the next station, wherever that may be.

“Who can talk to the driver?” someone asked.

“I speak some French,” I said, volunteering.

“Oui, oui, pas de problème, Insh’Allah ‘’ (God willing), the driver answered to each of my questions. We bought all the bottled water and bags of chips in the café. One passenger said he had a cell phone that “works sometimes.” His wife urged him to save the battery: “We might need it,” she cautioned. People die out here, I was thinking.

Back on the bus, we shared our stash with our driver and the other guide. We wanted to be sure they, too, had sustenance to get us to Marrakech.

“Merci, Merci!” “Want music?” the one with the straw hat asked pointing to the radio. From the back of the bus, someone shouted to me: "How much gas is the needle showing?” “Half a tank,” I called back.

After a few hours of driving through the desert with the High Atlas Mountains as backdrop, I saw a station wagon gaining on the bus, and heard the horn honking for us to stop. It was Ahmed. The driver pulled off the road. Ahmed came on board and stood once again at the front of the bus to address his pilgrims.

“The doctor said he is dehydrated. He will rest at the hospital. Now, we can stop somewhere for a real lunch.”

“NO!” we shouted in unison. “We want to go on to Marrakech. We have food and water!”He seemed surprised, but smiled knowingly.

“Shall I ride on the bus with you, or meet you there?” he asked, looking at me.

“We’ll see you in Marrakech,” I said with a big grin. Just before twilight the city in the distance with its twinkling lights appeared like a mirage. We had made it to Marrakech.

Oh, Canada!

The native land of my maternal grandparents sent out a warning to some of its citizens to be aware of new laws that may impact them should they come to visit their nearest neighbors: US! The red, white and blue of freedom has been overtaken by red flags waving for our neighbors sporting a red maple leaf wrapped in rainbow colors. Pourquois?

The travel advisory from the Canadian government is calling attention to State laws in Florida, in particular, and other places including Oklahoma and Arkansas. These newly enacted laws restrict movement and activities of certain people and are clearly discriminatory. As a result, these particular people have suffered in the very place they call home. Would you invite a friend to your home if they, too, might be oppressed or treated with hostility, and, sadly, violence? Non, non, et non!

The Canadians needn’t have bothered because the LGBTQ community-at-large was already spreading the word that some of US, have a mindset that screams YOU are not welcome here. I wonder what my grandparents would say? I can imagine if their safety had been threatened they would not have emigrated. I, myself, would have been proud to be born in Canada, but my grandparents wanted to come for a future promise of prosperity. They gave up something back home, to be sure, but their safety was NOT one of those things. They came, they lived, they prospered in peace without any warning from their own Government to be on the alert for hostility once they crossed porous borderlands.

Whenever I travel, I check ahead with the US State Department for updates and, yes, warnings I should know about before setting out. No matter where I have gone, including to Morocco and Southeast Asia, the warnings cautioned US citizens against general threats from terrorists who target tourists. A red flag against my personal safety because of being a cisgender female has never, ever been waved in my face. Every warning issued by our own Government has been for every single one of US citizens and not aimed at a particular group or individual based on sexual orientation. Oh, Canada, let US welcome everyone of you as you always have been welcome to come just as you are. Bienvenue!

https://www.cnn.com/2023/08/31/americas/canada-lgbtq-us-travel-advisory