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Category Archives: Between Worlds
June 27, 2015 Between Worlds, Reflections
For Mary
kaskifriendsdying, loss, Mary Farrell, mourning, spirituality	11 Comments
I haven't posted in this series on mourning for a while, but today I only have one thing worth writing about. My beloved friend Mary passed away early yesterday morning in New York – my 3:23 in the afternoon in Nepal.
I understand that Mary's death was not a huge surprise, except that every death is a surprise in its finalness. She was 71 and she'd already beat the odds many times. The doctors were always saying she might die. I never tired of hearing about all the times she had, in fact, died. She always chose to come back – from the promise of an easier place, from her father beckoning at the foot of the bed, to this world, to this body, to the blue couch in her living room that we sat on for many long afternoons. Where, in addition to other topics, I plied her for every possible detail about dying.
But I can't imagine my life without her.
We texted often – she was the queen of the multiple exclamation point with a space preceding it !!! – and talked on the phone like champions. She'd say she only had a minute and then we'd talk for no less than an hour or three. Our longest conversation was 4 hours and 11 minutes and it began at 10:03 pm. For the last fifteen minutes or so, we talked about the record we'd set, and how late it was, and how we should hang up, but how we could never seem to hang up.
Once, after we had talked late in to the night about this choosing and coming back, I was lying on my bed thinking about injustice and heartbreak. If souls choose their destiny, what is the point of all these violent and cruel games? I can't understand why our souls would choose to create this world out of all the choices. I told Mary that I believe in balance, not kindness or purpose. She said I was really smart, that I had a special gift with words. We discussed it until two am, and when we hung up, I felt smart, and Mary still had kindness and purpose. She never minded that I would throw stones at God and then come back to her to get organized.
Mary was never in a hurry to finish a story. She'd say she had to quickly tell me one more story really fast and then the story would take twenty minutes to tell and then we'd analyze it and think of all the other stories it reminded us of and all the life lessons it offered for another forty minutes.
She called me "kid" or "you turkey" so I called her "kid" or "you turkey."
One time I trimmed her hair with office scissors in the staff bathroom.
I met Mary when I came to the clinic as a patient in 2006. The fact that she became one of my best friends in the history of ever, and that I would talk with her on the phone for hours and hours late in to the night, makes my story completely like almost everyone's story of Mary. She became one of my mom's best friends. I became friends with the other patients Mary became friends with. I listened and re-listened to stories of best friends she'd kept since kindergarten.
I never felt that the army of best friends Mary had diminished my best-friendness with her even a little. This is one of the important things about the nature of the universe that Mary taught me without ever explaining it. I just understood with her that there was enough love for an infinite amount for everybody.
I wanted to record so many of her stories. But I never recorded the story about how she got her finger stuck in her friends' designer bowling ball and ended up in the emergency room attached to the bowling ball. I never recorded the story about how she fixed up her sister with the doctor who tended to her during her first heart surgery forty years ago, or the story about the proud old woman Mary insisted get into her car on a steep hill one day, and how Mary said, "Don't you just want to cry?" and then cried with the old woman in the car because the hill was so steep and it was so hot. I never recorded the story about the hour she spent chasing down a lost purse in a store for a complete stranger who had left on a bus, and how the bag turned out to have a precious bundle of cash in it, bringing the owner to tears. I never recorded the last story she told me, the night before her surgery, about how the residential suites at NY Presbyterian Hospital are only for VIPs, so she got the mayor of Wallingford to write a letter about all the Very Important things she'd done in Wallingford, and then she mailed it to Angela upstairs, who promptly arranged a residential room for her dear Bill and Colleen. (When the mayor sent the letter to her house, he threw in an edible arrangement.)
Mary, I know you would say it's totally unimportant that I never recorded these stories. That's because I'm always trying to keep the past with me, scraping at it with my fingers and toes and arms and legs and everything, and you found all that hassle extremely pointless. You weren't much for books or movies and I love books and movies. Your living was people. You said books were disconnected from people and took you out of the moment when you could be talking to someone. All this documenting and remembering that consumes me was always, to you, a distraction from the wonderous, fleeting present.
When Mary told me stories about her grandkids and kids, or about dating gentle Bill, or about the best friend she lost when she was sixteen, it was never boring or self-indulgent. Her family brought her so much joy, you couldn't not be happy with her. I listened to the same stories and looked at the same pictures and read the same poems many times, and I always felt lucky to be in her delight and gratitude.
I spent more time talking with Mary about God than anyone else I've known or ever will know. We talked about everybody's dying. Hers, mine, our friends', her mother's, the relatives – we relived and examined all of them, past and future, death in the abstract, the question of choosing, the question – or lack thereof – of God.
Mary said she didn't want any fanfare after her passing, and I told her I was showing up anyway, even if it was by myself in the rain (which would be impossible anyway, given the legions of best friends). I said if I got hit by a bus and went first, she better freaking show up on my day. I didn't care if that made me less enlightened. She told me there could be a hurricane on the day of my funeral and nobody would come, and that I had to come to a place in my heart where that was okay with me. I said that was the most awful thing I'd ever heard.
Mary didn't "believe" in God. She just experienced God. She let me argue with her about God and wear myself out, so that I could rest on her experience. Mary helped me make a tenuous peace with the fact that life is easier and fuller and more magical with God, and you can't win the argument either way. So you might as well be with God. All her dying gave her cred with me in the God department. She knew things I don't know. She wasn't afraid of anything except for the pain her death would cause her family. That was no secret – it was a wisdom and fear she offered freely.
Mary was the very first person I ever spoke to about IMT, which eventually healed my body, brought me irreplaceable teachers and friends, and changed my life. She was the person whose arm I curled up under on a fluffy couch during the scary and uncertain week I first moved to Connecticut. She was the person who I sat with at parties and funerals, and who had time to talk to me almost every single day for an hour or two about big wide things, during a period of my life where I felt unmoored and panicked for long, terrifying hours at a stretch. She was the person who, during a moment of lingering emptiness or need for contact, I could always text or call without feeling like I was imposing. She appreciated every last fiber of human connection that this life offered her. My search for meaning was as beautiful and important to her as it is to me, and she was never too much older or wiser to include me in her journey too.
The last time I should have seen Mary was just before I left for Nepal six weeks ago. I was giving a talk at the Hartford library about the earthquake, and it was unfortunately on Mother's Day. I was feeling sad and disconnected because nobody was around, and I was preparing to return to an unknown Nepal suffering new destruction and loss. I hoped I might get lucky and see some familiar faces in the crowd. There was a small audience of about fifteen people, two of whom were my parents and two were my good friends Steve and Jackie. I put on my bravest face and did the talk, which actually went pretty well.
Later that evening, I got a text from Mary. "Well, we tried !!!" she said. I wrote back to say it meant everything to me that she'd wanted to be there; her text finally brought a little bit of lightness in to my heart.
"No, we WERE there !!! " she replied. Turns out that Bill and Mary had delayed their Mother's Day plans with their son Billy, drove an hour to Hartford to surprise me, and arrived 10 minutes after my talk had started. And Mary, being Mary, said it would be rude to enter after the start of the talk, so they sat outside the closed library door. The one I was staring at the whole time during my presentation, with no idea they were right on the other side.
Mary told me later that she was listening to my presentation, but I know she wasn't concerned with the details. She was there to provide her presence, not to learn about Nepal. They waited and waited, but when the program went much later than planned, they had to leave to go to Billy's house. So I never saw her. I never snuggled my nose on to her shoulder and got wrapped in her hug, which was the one thing I wished for so much that afternoon, and the one thing she came there to offer. But she was there the whole time.
She was there the whole time.
This is the enduring image I am left to wrestle with of you, my beautiful Mary. Maybe it was your higher wisdom at work, because that was our last meeting. I know that my task is to take comfort in the idea that you are just there on the other side of the door, where I can't see you, waiting for me to be done with all these cumbersome details, bearing witness to my story so that I can indulge in my own relevance until I find my way out of the room. But today, this is too close to how I actually feel. You are just where I can't get to you, and I only want to jump in to your arms. It is too soon to appreciate your nearness when I am enraged by the door.
I love you, Mary. I will never be able to quantify your impact on my life. I think this is all new, and you are still basking in the glory of the kingdom where you have finally arrived. I know that with time you will find your way to us, and we will find your way to you. I know impatience won't help me, and you know I will be impatient anyway. I know you are not afraid, and you know I have borrowed your courage and will have to find a way forward now with my own. I miss you so much. Your last text to me says: !! Drive safely !!! You know perfectly well you sent that to me in reference to a tractor I was preparing to ride on for 12 hours, delivering tin roofs in the hills of Nepal on ridiculous jeep roads. You turkey.
I wish I had at least recorded the story about the bowling ball.
I really should go now. This has gone on much longer than planned and nobody is going to read it to the end. But it always takes so long to hang up, and these aren't the kinds of things that can be rushed. This is what happens every time. I know you will read it to the end and that's all that matters.
Ok then—see you in the morning, kid.
May 14, 2015 Around Town, Between Worlds, Nepal Life, Reflections
kaskifriendsbirth, culture, disaster relief, earthquake, environment, Life and Death, mourning, nature, survival, women	Leave a comment
It was nighttime as we flew in yesterday, so I couldn't watch the terraced hills coming in closer and giving way to Kathmandu's gritty buildings. Staring at the city lights flickering in the vast darkness below, I felt a wave of sadness. I couldn't shake the feeling of arriving in a foreign land and it made me feel like a foreigner to myself.
The normally quiet tarmac at the airport was scattered with a handful of helicopters and few gigantic cargo planes with their hatches open. And in a way that only Nepal can do, it seemed that someone had made an effort to spruce up the airport for an onslaught of international visitors: a new routing through the arrival area, which wound past a recently installed station where a vinyl banner reading HEALTH DESK had been mounted. A large sign announced that anyone having recently come from Africa was required to stop at the Health Desk for processing, and behind it, an airport official was tinkering with his iPhone. We all shuffled past him, to the main arrival terminal, where the computers weren't working.
I was one of only about five foreigners waiting for a visa, which was new. And the baggage scanner that was previously set up at the airport exit was gone, probably to make way for a more official exit procedure. But to either side of the revised exit procedure were piles and piles of packages. I took a photo of a stack of boxes addressed to a hospital; it did not look anyone was in much of a hurry to get these parcels distributed.
Following Tuesday's second earthquake, everyone is taking precautions again. On the cab ride from the airport, I didn't see many damaged buildings, but people everywhere had tents up outside along the road. I stayed with a friend and the whole family slept on mattresses in the living room, right by the front door, which was left unlatched. That's where we are again tonight.
Today I spent the day getting a taste of local relief efforts, and it validated my early suspicion that the energy and creativity of locals can't be dismissed. My friend Dr. Kiran Awasthi, who has trained all our dental technicians through his organization, has been furiously working with a group of high school classmates to distribute sanitation materials that will help prevent disease outbreaks. His connections through the private sector and health ministry have allowed his group to become a trustworthy distributor of hard-to-find supplies. They've also researched, designed and built a temporary housing unit in just two weeks, and they've tried it out in some areas already. Obviously the government will ultimately have to take the lead on a large scale, but groups like this are doing a huge amount to help get there more quickly.
My second stop was with a group called Women for Human Rights. Before the earthquake, I had planned to visit them on this trip to do an interview for a radio story I am producing about young widows in Nepal (as part of a series on migrant labor called Between Worlds…but that's another story!). Like everyone, Women for Human Rights is also doing what they can towards relief, in this case for women especially. So I interviewed their founder about their aid efforts, and then went to a shelter they've set up for young mothers and children. It is a large canopy at one of the tent cities in Narayanchaur, at the center of a gigantic grassy mound in the middle of a traffic circle. I interviewed a 22 year old girl whose baby was three weeks old when the earthquake struck. When I asked the kids what they thought of spending their days lounging and playing in the hot sun at the camp, a twelve year old girl chirped: "It's fun!"
I know that the government and army are making major efforts, and personally I believe very strongly that the government should be viewed with high expectations, tasked with responsibility, and held accountable. But that said, there is huge distrust among the people of Nepal and the international community about the government's ability to distribute aid, much less rebuilding, quickly or equitably. There are still swaths of the hillsides where people have lost everything, suffered injuries and death, and received NO AID. I couldn't help noticing that when I walked past the police station, about two dozen officers were hard at work breaking, organizing and laying bricks – rebuilding the wall of their own compound.
So that was a pretty long day. I already have hours of tape to sort through and tomorrow will bring a whole new chapter of stories before I fly to Pokhara at 3:00. I'll be glad to get out of Kathmandu – about 70,000 people have left the city since the second earthquake on Tuesday.
Nepal has always shown me a graceful, practical relationship with nature and its whims. But everything feels wrong. Twice today I was in the middle of a conversation with someone who suddenly stopped and said, "Is that an aftershock?" and I couldn't even feel any shaking. Everyone is on a razor's edge. People keep telling me, "Things were getting back to normal," when talking about the second earthquake, which really tells you something, because things were definitely not normal last Tuesday morning. But the second time seems to have redefined "not normal." It's as if now the injury of this event is not yet quantified – the sensation isn't that something terrible happened, but that it is happening, and the final damage is unknown. As long as the cost remains pending, the reckoning is impossible. You can't mourn much less rebuild something that is still breaking apart. Everyone is just waiting, even as they run around providing aid to each other.
I will be glad to get to Pokhara tomorrow, but I think this month is going to be as strange and unsettling as expected. My mind is racing with ideas for how to make the best possible use of the $14,000+ we raised for aid, and it is good know that we have the ability to do something, or to provide significant support to someone doing something effective and under-funded. One idea I'm thinking about is collaborating with Kiran or a similar group working on temporary housing. Tomorrow, I am going to get an overview of how the big aid is working.
But I will write about that tomorrow!
March 10, 2015 Between Worlds
How Many
kaskifriendsculture, customs, Kriya, labor, Life and Death, migration, mourning, Neighbors, Rituals, Time, youth	Leave a comment
The List finally arrived in my inbox on Jan 29. Two lists, actually: one from two years ago, and one from last year. The title of the List, which Laxu picked up from the Foreign Employment Office, is Assistance Decision Made From (Date) to (Date). It's a record of insurance payments managed by the government that's as close as I've been able to get to a list of migrant laborers who've died abroad.
The first question I needed to answer was How Many. It seems as if everyone knows there is a flow of bodies arriving home to Nepal from overseas, but nobody is quite sure what the scale of the tide is. I've noticed that people I've interviewed usually shrug off the question How Many a few times, and then give me a sudden, precise answer that measures their own anxiety over the problem.
From April 2012 to April 2013, there are 727 names on the List. The following year, ending in April 2014, lists 24 women and 856 men—and average of nearly three laborers per day.
In reality, How Many is a more complicated number than three per day. A certain number of laborers go abroad off the books, or over the border seasonally to India. Study abroad has also become hugely popular, and waves of luckier young people to exodus to foreign countries (although I would guess that most of the boys in Kaskikot, given the choice, would still opt for labor over study). While about 300,000 laborers per year leave Nepal through manpower companies, the total migration rate is a lot higher – closer to 800,000 annually.
All of which is to say, the airlines officer and security guard may not have been all that far off when they estimated the number of bodies or insurance claims they receive daily. Some estimates put the body count around five per day. But I'm mainly concerned with young men, and occasionally women, who sign up with labor companies.
When I opened the List for the first time, I felt like an intruder. To see a list of names in a place of reverence is one thing. But the black and white letters under Assistance Decision Made from (Date) to (Date) are simply data: eight hundred and eighty statistics.
Besides, each name was listed with only a spouse name, village and ward number (there are no house addresses in rural Nepal), and a date of death. It's 42 pages long. I had no idea how I would locate or speak with any of these families.
I closed the List and it was a few weeks before I opened it again. Then, yesterday, I was in Kaskikot, filling up our tin jugs at the water tap, when Madu walked by.
"Hey Madu," I said. "Remember the project I told you about?" I said I was looking for the family of a young man who'd died abroad. After all that work, I was back where I'd started, having talked to Madu three months ago when I first arrived. Honestly, I hoped Madu could help me circumvent the List.
As we were talking, Sher dai, another neighbor, walked by and joined our conversation. He offered to do some inquiry on my behalf in Kaskikot, but then I mentioned that I had a List already at my house. He followed me back home, where I set down the basket and took out the water jug. I pulled up a low stool in the yard and took at my laptop.
We reopened the list. I searched "Kaski." Sher dai and I started copying and pasting a short list of names in to fresh document. Many were from Pokhara or surrounding Kaski villages that I know well: Leknath, Syangia, Hemja. And then we came upon Dirgharaj Adhikari, Kaskikot-08.
"Sher dai, this boy is from Kaskikot. Where is ward number 8?"
Sher dai said said he would look into our short list and get back to me. To my surprise, he came back not two hours later.
Dirgharaj Adhikari's house is just half an hour up the road. It's likely that, at some point in the past, I ran in to him in a bus or shop or at Kalika School, where he studied. He died last spring in Qatar. He was 22 years old.
"Shall we go?" Sher dai asked.
It was only 11 am. Just a few hours earlier it had been a month since I'd faced the matter at all. I'd assumed before I even began this project that I wouldn't have to look far to find the bereaved family of a young male laborer. But it was still unnerving to be so flatly correct.
I pulled my microphone and camera out of the back of the dresser and put them in my bag. I got on the back of Sher dai's motorcycle and we left for Dirgharaj's house. Within minutes, we turned off the main dirt road on to a small motor path that lead to a lone house, perched high up on the hillside. As we approached, I could see the yard was full of people. A leather-thin man with clear green eyes emerged from the yard to greet us a respectful distance from the entry way. He was Dirgharaj's father.
We had arrived exactly on the day of sarad, the annual puja that marks the anniversary of a death. The entire family was there to honor Dirgharaj. He died exactly one year ago today.
"Hello sir…may we come in?" I asked. "We'd like to hear about your son."
February 1, 2015 Around Town, Between Worlds, Nepal Life, Reflections
Morning Haze
kaskifriendsnature, Phewa lake, sunrise	Leave a comment
Now that I am spending so much more time in Pokhara than Kaski, I have taken to running by the lake…
"It is in the early morning hour that the unseen is seen, and that the far-off beauty and glory, vanquishing all their vagueness, move down upon us…." -S. Smiley
January 6, 2015 Between Worlds, Nepal Life
kaskifriendsculture, customs, Kriya, labor, Life and Death, migration, mourning, Rituals, youth	Leave a comment
Since the day I arrived in Nepal, I have been trying to get a list of migrant laborers who have died abroad. Partly this is so that I can find a family willing to tell me about their son's life. And partly it's because everybody has a different opinion on how common it is for migrant laborers to die abroad.
The night I landed in Kathmandu's national airport back in December, I spoke with an airlines agent, who told me that bodies arrive at the airport daily. Someone else milling about the office said they receive a body every few months. When I asked for a record to sort it out, they said each airline keeps a separate list, and to get a combined total of bodies received, I'd have to go to customs.
A few days later I went to customs, which eventually sent me to the cargo office, which eventually sent me to an insurance company, all in search of this List. Our cousin Laxu, who was helping me, agreed to go to the insurance company while I was back in Pokhara. He texted me later saying that the insurance company had sent him to the government's Foreign Employment Office, where families of the deceased to go pick up renumeration.
On an afternoon in early January, a month after my first night at the airlines office in Tribhuvan Airport, Laxu and I went to the Foreign Employment Office. We arrived to find it closed for a holiday. There was nobody there except for a guard standing outside.
The elusive List still beyond our reach, I asked the guard what he'd noticed about families coming to deal with the legalities of a loved one who'd died abroad. He said the families are easy to recognize. They come regularly.
Who, I asked, is "they?"
Usually, the guard told us, the immediate family of the deceased arrives with someone who can help navigate the system and explain things. This is something I've heard a lot. The families of many migrant laborers are minimally educated and have little experience outside their home villages or communities. Handling the logistics of a death is complicated under the best of circumstances, and for many of these families, it is impossible without someone to help with things as simple as travel and reading.
I asked how people normally transport the body of their loved one home to perform rites. This is one of the central my questions of this project, because transporting bodies around is so starkly incompatible with the traditional ritual treatment of the sacred dead body. And, it's expensive. It's important to understand who pays to make kriya possible by getting everyone in the right place. Is the labor industry involved in supporting the families of workers who die overseas? Is it the government of Nepal? Do poor families have to sort this out themselves?
"It's the government that pays for transport back to villages, not the manpower companies," the guard told us. Everyone I've talked to so far flatly disagrees on this point, so the truth is, it probably varies from company to company.
"Why would anyone go through a manpower company?" I demanded, suddenly gripped by a wave of frustration. "The first year of salary goes back to loans and is basically free work. All the risk seems to be on the laborers. Why does anyone do it?"
"If you don't go through a manpower company, it's very difficult to work abroad," the guard replied. "Very difficult. How many people are simply left abroad, in hospitals?"
He went on to explain in general terms that when laborers arrange their own jobs abroad, they are unaccounted for – even by the Nepali government. If anything unfortunate happens, it is much harder for freelance laborers to get home, or even for them to be identified. Their families, in all likelihood, would have no way to trace them. So the only way to do it is through a manpower company, because stacked insurance is a lot better than none.
It was clear that Laxu was going to have to come back another day to get The List. Before we left, I asked the guard how many families he thinks come to the Foreign Employment Office each day to receive insurance payments.
Eh, they come, he said, they come. We went back and forth a few times; I thought he was being vague because it wasn't all that often, and our conversation was overdue to end. Then he looked straight at me.
"Every day," he said. "Ten to fifteen per day."
December 31, 2014 Between Worlds, Kaskikot, Nepal Life, Reflections
Bitter Medicine
kaskifriendsastrology, culture, customs, Kriya, Language, Life and Death, mourning, Neighbors, Rituals	Leave a comment
The last day of kriya for Malika's father has been moved to Tuesday night, because the morning of the thirteenth day has fallen on a Wednesday, when it is inauspicious to end kriya. I ask Aamaa and Didi why, and they say, Wednesdays are inauspicious for many things.
"It's tradition. It has been this way for a long time, " Didi explains.
So after dark on Tuesday night, Kanchaa and I walk down to Malika's house, where tonight, everyone will drink gaunut—cow urine. As we pass the water tap, Kanchaa explains to me that gaunut has tremendous medicinal cleansing properties. He says that he had jaundice when he was fourteen, and for six months he didn't eat salt, and every single day he took a shot of cow urine, and he completely recovered from the jaundice.
The priest is preparing the puja on the porch and neighbors are milling about in the yard. The atmosphere is anticipatory and almost festive. After two weeks of austerity, life seems to be rushing back in to this house with inexorable force. There is a vacuum.
I'm inside when I hear Kanchaa call my name. It's my turn to drink cow urine. I squeeze my eyes closed and throw it back. The gaunut is thin and bitter.
Everything looks mysterious and beautiful because of the nighttime. Kanchaa tells me I can take photos, but I'm worried that's inappropriate, especially if I have to use a flash. At my bidding, he asks Malika's brothers if they mind the camera, and reports back that they don't mind. Unconvinced, I ask them myself. It's really fine, they say.
So when the puja starts, I fiddle with my camera, testing different settings to see what works at night. I find a setting that I can use without the flash, and am clicking away at the tilting shadows on the wall when all of a sudden I hear Krishna dai's voice cut exuberantly through the reverent stillness:
"So many photos – somebody is going to make a lot of money!"
I feel like I have been struck by lightening. Everything is silent; everyone is staring at me.
"Come over here!" Krishna dai cries. "This is the best view!"
Slowly I lower my camera. "Please, dai," I say softly. He is supposed to be my friend.
"Come come come!" Krishna dai bellows. "Take some photos from here."
"Please dai, I'm embarrassed," I whisper, frozen.
"Don't be embarrassed! No problem!" he shouts.
I hear murmuring behind me. What am I doing taking photos where a man has died?
For a few minutes I literally can't move, even to go put my camera away. Eventually I slide in to the shadows and find my camera bag. It's a few more minutes before I get the courage to find Kanchaa, who is tending a fire. I tell him what happened.
"I'm sorry Laura didi, don't mind Krishna dai. Some people just don't understand."
"I feel awful. I said I wouldn't if—"
"It's not a problem Laura didi. Some people have this concept that foreigners sell photos of them. Krishna dai doesn't understand. Nobody else minds. You can take pictures."
But of course I can't bring myself to take out my camera again. I knew when I began this project how easy it would be for it to become voyeuristic or exploitative. Before this evening, I spent twelve years in Nepal, learned the language, and have known the daughter of this house for that long. On two evenings I paid respects without so much as a pencil in my hand. I have been conscientious of placing myself discreetly out of the way with my recorder or camera, and have chosen to use only photos of Malika's family where their faces are obscured, not because they asked, but because it seems right.
But at the end of the day, I am still an outsider looking in on their pain. And what's more, I can't promise that, if given the opportunity to publish this work and be paid, I wouldn't do it, because, of course, I would.
I tell myself that to bear witness is to honor someone's experience. But only when we don't impose anything or expect anything back. Do I meet that standard? Maybe Krishna dai is right. Maybe more than right; photos are hardly the point. Perhaps I am deceiving myself of a much more basic indulgence.
I will worry about that for the entirety of this project. But in the end, I know I will be drawn back every time, and Krishna dai will never see it as honorable. I can't change who either of us are. It is bitter medicine, but it will keep me honest.
It is about an hour later when I find myself sitting next to Malika's eldest sister and apologize profusely. But it is no problem, she insists once more, for me to take photos. After multiple reassurances, the seeker in me wins out. Which was predictable.
So I have my camera discreetly in my hands while five separate cooking fires are lit, mountains of vegetables are sliced, huge pots of oil heated, and vats of tea are brewed. The hushed tones of the last two weeks have blossomed in to busy conversations. Gigantic heaps of celebratory cel roti begin to pile up as the puja comes to an end.
I have my camera when it is time to say goodbye. A brand new bed has been set up in the yard. Malika's father's picture is at the head, and the bed is covered with gifts for the afterlife. At the foot of the bed, as per tradition, is the walking stick that he carried.
A candle is lit in the middle of the bed, and the family members circle it, touching their foreheads to it, the way one shows respect at the feet of a senior family member in life. The bed is so life-like, with the walking stick leaning against its side, that it is impossible not to feel the presence and the absence of the man.
For a moment the camera hangs around my neck, and I am still. And then, shielded by shadows, I pick it up. Sharing this moment is my way of paying tribute, so I put that thought in my heart and offer gratitude. It is stunningly beautiful.
Tomorrow morning, the bed and its gifts will be taken from the house forever.
11:30pm. At last, it is time to eat.
December 22, 2014 Between Worlds, Kaskikot, Nepal Life
A Kilogram of Sugar
kaskifriendsculture, customs, Kriya, Life and Death, mourning, Neighbors, Rituals	Leave a comment
Yesterday Kanchaa and I were at Malika's house most of the afternoon. It was 1:00 by the time Malika's brothers had finished washing, praying, cooking, and eating their daily salt-less meal off banana leaves. We accompanied them back to the house and I noticed Malika a fastidiously maintained log of contributions in a school notebook: name, donation, location of house. People streamed in with gifts of incense, ghee, money and tea. In the morning I'd discreetly placed some oranges and bananas in a donation basket.
On the fifth day of kriya a priest begins a daily reading at the house. It's in Sanskrit, which nobody can understand, so at intervals the priest translates and reflects on the reading.
A king from early times was walking through the forest, thirsty. In the woods, he encountered a spirit who blocked his way to the river. The spirit told the king that he was caught between worlds, unsatiated because his kriya had not been properly observed.
"Honor my kriya," the spirit said, "and observe my annual 'sarad' on the anniversary of my death." Then he let the king go to the river to drink. When the king returned home, he paid kriya respects, observing all the necessary rituals. And at last, the spirit was at rest.
Tonight I Kanchaa and Neru and I went back to the house after dinner again. I hadn't remembered until I got home yesterday that while oranges and apples are a central part of the fasting diet, bananas are off limits during kriya. We stopped and Shiva dai's house and I bought a kilogram of sugar and some incense. We turned on our flashlights and followed the stone path down to Rotepani, past the concrete shelter, past the tap, to the dimly lit house.
The crowd of women was gathered around the fire again, and Malika's mother sleeping on the floor again, the brothers already asleep on their beds of straw outside. Malika looked weary. She and her sisters are still sleeping on mats on the floor, and it's cold.
I took off my sandals and handed her my gifts, along with 200 rupees. She took out the school notebook, placed it on a low stool and bent over it with a pencil.
Laura Spero. Incense, 200 rupees, one kilogram of sugar. She paused and looked up.
"America," she said. "I'm going to write 'America,' ok?"
kaskifriendsastrology, culture, customs, Kriya, Life and Death, mourning, Neighbors, Rituals, youth	Leave a comment
Thursday was the seventh day of kriya for Malika's father. Kanchaa and I arrived around 11am, long after Malika and her sisters had repainted the floors with a new layer of mud, gone to bathe at the tap, and returned home.
The sons' turn to bathe comes at mid-day. We leave for the water tap with an entourage of men who bring along firewood and a basket of cooking supplies. Malika's brothers carry only a special set of water vessels. They are not to touch any of the other items directly – not even the basket.
A tarp has been put up a respectable distance away from the water tap, and we set everything down. Just on the other side of the spring there is a sizeable concrete shelter for kriya mourners that was built with funds raised from the community. This gives you an idea of the deference paid to these customs.
Malika's brothers leave for the water tap. Some of the other men get a cooking fire going, and the rest sit on the edge of the terrace having a rollicking conversation about politics. I can see Malika's brothers from far away, through a haze of bamboo stalks and leaves. They go through a series of rituals with the water vessels, washing their white linens, and bathing in the discreet way that everyone learns to do in public. Their brother in law stands guard at the edge of the tap, but nobody approaching would be confused. They will wait.
When the brothers return, the youngest sets to cooking their daily meal over the fire that's been started. The elder brother begins a puja over a small mound of dirt.
I spend a good bit of time gazing at the mound of dirt. It is about a foot wide. When we arrived it was protected with a branch lying over it. Malika's brother smooths mud around its sides. It makes a rough, wet sound under his palms. A series of other rituals unfold, and each time he needs a new object – leaf, water, jug – one of the other men places it on the ground for him, careful that the two people do not touch anything at the same time.
The mound of dirt symbolizes his father's body. On the tenth day of kriya, the oldest son will destroy
the dirt body with the crown of his head, and for the last three days of kriya, his puja will move to a different piece of ground, a few feet away. Where there is nothing.
The physicality and deliberateness of this performance is beautiful to me. When we lose someone, there is something missing between our hands, between our minutes, between our thoughts. No matter how long the process of departure takes, there is a moment of disappearance…and then emptiness.
Kriya is an unremitting physical process. Sitting around the edge of the terrace, we bear witness to the externalization of that mercilessly intangible absence. And this seems very important. Observers can carry the baskets, light the fires, put the prayer objects in reach. But they cannot inhabit these things. We are not naked, cold, untouchable; the body has not disappeared from our houses; we are only there to make this reality manifest. But we must be there. Otherwise the process is impossible to complete.
December 19, 2014 Aamaa, Between Worlds, Kaskikot, Nepal Life, Reflections
If I Can't Say Namaste
kaskifriendsastrology, culture, customs, Kriya, Life and Death, mourning, Rituals, Time, Weddings	Leave a comment
Last Saturday evening I came home with a fresh bundle of vegetables from the market, but Aamaa said we'd be cooking without salt. A man at the house near the water tap in Rotepani passed away yesterday. Aamaa and I ate plain rice with ghee for dinner.
It wasn't until the next day that I realized I knew the one of the bereaved daughters. "Malika," Aamaa said, "Don't you know Malika?" Of course. I remember her hanging around with Didi and Bishnu back when we were all in our early 20s, before anyone was married. "The really skinny one?" I asked. Yes, that Malika. Her father, in his sixties, had been ill for about a month.
This has given me an opportunity to pay respects during a traditional period of kriya, when a man with grown children has lived an honorable life and passed away at an age that, in these parts, is considered decent.
On the sixth evening of kriya, after Aamaa and I had eaten dinner, I rounded up Neru and Kanchaa from next door. Lighting our way with flashlights down the stone path toward Rotepani, we left for Malika's house.
As we approached the house, a warm mist of voices bubbled up in the cold black night. We found a tarp stretched out over the yard from the edge of the roof, to shelter the stream of visitors from sun during the day and provide some warmth at night.
Three men were sitting on the mud-smoothed porch, leaning against the wall of the house. I recognized Krishna dai, who I've known since the first week I came to Kaskikot twelve years ago.
"Namaste," I said, raising my hands.
"We don't say Namaste now," Krishna dai said.
"Sorry." I looked down. I had trouble figuring out where to replace my hands. Lesson one, of many.
Malika's brothers were peering through the door of an attached room on the small house – I'm guessing that at some point it was used for goats – sitting on the ground with white blankets wrapped around them, like bowling pins. Until the thirteenth day they will only wear new white clothes with no seams, and they'll wash these clothes daily.
We talked quietly with Krishna dai and the other men outside for about ten minutes. They are all friends and relatives of the deceased. Their role is to sleep on mats on the porch and guard the door of the house, because the sons are not to touch anyone or anything during kriya.
"For example, if a chicken comes by," Krishna dai said, "we shoo it away. So it won't touch them." This seemed awful and gorgeous.
Krishna dai asked about our mourning traditions in the United States. I said they vary a lot according to religion and habit, but that I am Jewish, and our rules mandate a quick burial – strictly speaking, we don't cremate. I explained how we have a gathering where people stand up and tell stories about the life of the person who has died, so that everyone can share and honor these memories in one place. The sons leaned in closely by the door of the goat room to listen to me. I said we bury our dead in a special place that's marked with a stone, where we can return to do puja and be with our loved one. That we return from the cemetery and wash our hands and fill our stomachs with food, and people stream through our houses with flowers and food while we sit shiva – a mourning period when we keep our homes full of life, because we must keep living. By contrast, kriya imposes strict and challenging rules on almost every movement of the bereaved: fasting, washing, praying, isolation, burning. In some ways, everyone has died.
It occurs to me now how little I know about the orthodox dictates of Judiasm and mourning. Is there a period of purification? I have no idea. I could look it up easily for this post. But it's more interesting that I have no idea. So I'll look it up afterwards.
As we were talking, a slight woman with her uncombed hair falling over her shoulders came out of the house. Malika and I haven't seen each other in about eight years, but she heard my voice from inside the house. Despite the circumstances, it was a really lovely moment. There wasn't a lot that needed saying, other than, "I heard."
We entered the small house. Malika's widowed mother was sleeping by herself on a bed of straw – she too must observe kriya for thirteen days. "Say 'Aamaa,'" Malika said.
"But what do I say if I can't say Namaste?" I asked.
"Just say 'Aamaa,'" Malika said. So I softly said, "Aamaa," and her mother sat up. There wasn't really much more to add after that.
But just on the other side of a low wall, a crowd of women was gathered around a fire, where a kettle of tea was brewing for all the visitors. Mourning customs for daughters are lighter than for sons and wives: Malika and her two sisters observed kriya for four days, and on the fifth day, they added salt to their food and were allowed to touch other people. Their straw beds, upgraded now to straw mats, are still arranged on the floor of the house. They'll sleep there together and continue cooking their own food and eating only once a day for thirteen days. Their hair will stay uncombed until then.
Neru and I sat by the fire for about an hour. Between other chatter, the huddle of women asked me all kinds of things about death rites in the U.S., and also about my family and what I've been up to. There was lots of quiet laughing. We spent a long time on the topic of marriage, which, in these parts, is almost always arranged by parents. People here are endlessly enthralled by the concept that I am tasked with finding my own spouse.
"Love marriage," I said by way of explanation. Here the phrase has an illicit undertone, like eloping. "That's our culture."
An old lady next to me was having trouble following. The expectation she's always known is that you are paired with a spouse who is astrologically compatible with you and socially compatible with your family, and then you sign up for a life together, and then you go from there. A younger auntie jumped in to help out.
"Love," the auntie said, looking up at us from her seat by the fire. "When two people make things work between them—that's love, right?"
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In the picture, she tagged the baby's father, the 23-year-old grandson Dakota, telling him she was very proud of him and that he will be an amazing father.
Last Saturday of shopping before Christmas ?Good luck to all of you who wait till the last minute ..we'll be over here at the martini Bar ?
The birth of her grandson comes less than two months after Beth underwent emergency surgery in Los Angeles after her throat cancer returned.
?Merry Christmas from our house 2 yours ?????????
Beth was first diagnosed with stage II throat cancer back in September 2017, and received a cancer-free diagnosis that same year, before news that her cancer had spread to her lungs.
An attorney of the Chapman family told Us Weekly that the treatments are going well but they are certainly taking their toll on her.
The Chapmans have a lot on their plate right now. They just started filming for the new WGN show while Beth's been going through treatment.


Have you ever wanted to be an antihero and be a villain? You don't want to be a hero anymore. You can destroy everything and defy the law. You want to destroy the whole city and throw it into chaos. You are a bad person and there is no limit to freedom. When you kill a cop, you get money to unlock a new character. Have fun playing Villain Simulator. Mouse click to attack, WASD or arrow keys to move, C to change character, Esc to pause the game.


Money Orders, Checks, or Paypal (must clear bank before shipment) We will except Visa/Mastercard or Discover Credit Cards for phone orders and at the Farm Store. A 10% restock fee applies, if I have to special order item not in stock and you decide to return item. Items bought that are in stock and returned for refund, must be returned in 15 days or $10.00 will be charged. PayPal and credit card fees are not cheap and they don't refund us for their fees.
I generally use USPS for delivery (Priority Mail with $50 of insurance). Products generally shipped within 2 days of receiving payment. Will insure at higher value at customer's request, due to Postal damage in transit or lost package. Some items are shipped direct from supplier, only if I don't have size, color or item in store.
Full money back guarantee with return of merchandise in condition that it was sent to customer. No refund for return of damaged merchandise (unless merchandise is flawed upon arrival, does not cover damage due to shipping, unless insured). We check merchandise for flaws before shipping. All items are kept in smokefree/non-smoking store. A 10% restock fee applies, if I have to special order item not in stock and you decide to return item. Items bought that are in stock and returned for refund, must be returned in 15 days or $10.00 will be charged. PayPal and credit card fees are not cheap and they don't refund us for these fees.
Some items have to be ordered, usually can get items in a few days from our vendor for shipment. We can't get all items that quick, some items are special order and I have to wait for the shipment from Peru. I will call our vendor and will call or email you back ASAP with what is available at that time. Thank You.
A restocking fee of 10% applies, if I have to special order item not in stock and you decide to return item.


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Looking Back at China's First Major HIV Outbreak
The southwestern city of Ruili is often held up as a model for its response to the HIV/AIDS, but have we been drawing the right lessons from its experience?
Fang Hongxin
2022-12-01 12:04:45 Voices
Fang Hongxin Anthropologist
Fang Hongxin is an assistant professor at East China University of Science and Technology's Department of Sociology.
One afternoon in the fall of 2016, Meizi took me for a stroll along the streets of Ruili, a small city on China's border with Myanmar. Meizi was a core member of a local HIV support group and a key informant for my dissertation research. She also became something of a friend, one who helped me navigate life in this remote part of China. (To protect the names of my research participants, I have given them all pseudonyms.)
Partway through our walk, a middle-aged man came over and struck up a conversation with Meizi. The pair updated each other on their lives before she introduced him to me as a fellow longtime HIV support group volunteer.
Meizi had once joked that, "Nearly everyone you see walking around in Ruili is HIV-positive." That's an exaggeration, but this part of southwest China, once a hub of the cross-border heroin trade, is home to thousands of people living with HIV. The man she was introducing me to was more unique than most, however. "You know how you keep saying that they initially found 146 positive HIV cases here?" Meizi asked. "Well, he was one of them."
In 1989, a year after the World Health Organization commemorated the first-ever World AIDS Day, a drug rehab center in Ruili tested its patients for the virus. One hundred and forty-six of the tests came back positive. It was China's first recorded major HIV outbreak.
Almost three decades later, the man, who according to Meizi had once gone to Beijing and met national leaders to discuss the HIV/AIDS crisis, still seemed embarrassed about his condition. Nevertheless, our conversation filled me with hope. His story is that of so many other individuals living with HIV I met in Ruili: Despite the blow of their diagnosis and the stigma attached to HIV, they have managed to rebuild their lives and livelihoods and form new communities for support and care.
China's southwestern border regions were hit hard by the country's HIV/AIDS crisis. After border controls were relaxed in the 1980s, heroin imported from northern Myanmar spread quickly throughout the region — and with it, HIV.
Ruili was portrayed nationally and even globally as an 'epicenter' of HIV in China, and locals began to live in collective fear of the virus.
- Fang Hongxin, anthropologist
Between 1989 and 2009, more than 4,500 people tested positive for HIV in Ruili, according to official statistics; more than 1,150 died. The real number may be much higher, as prior to 2004 many deaths of AIDS were not recorded.
At the time, awareness of HIV in this region was low. As late as the 1990s, Ruili's epidemic management and prevention measures were limited to a handful of programs and drug rehab centers. The local government focused its energies on economic development and social stability, while the pain and emotional distress caused by the outbreak, especially among rural lower- and middle-class families, went largely overlooked.
By the end of the 1990s, however, the HIV epidemic had become a major focus for international donors and organizers. International HIV-related programs arrived in Ruili around 2000. The Chinese government also began paying more attention to the HIV epidemic around this time. In 2003, it rolled out the "Four Frees and One Care" policy, which promised free drugs, counseling, testing, and schooling to several key populations, as well as care and economic assistance to households affected by HIV.
Official government-level attention can be a double-edged sword, however. Although it injected significant resources into projects aimed at managing HIV, it also spread stigmas related to HIV/AIDS. Ruili was portrayed nationally and even globally as an "epicenter" of HIV in China, and locals began to live in collective fear of the virus.
In the 2000s, Ruili began carrying out "widescale screening," with the state-sanctioned aim of "finding all HIV" cases, resulting in a surge in HIV diagnoses. Based on the accounts of HIV-positive people, these new diagnoses amounted to a permanent black mark on their lives. Government officials branded carriers a "high-risk population" and worked to segregate them from the rest of society. Locals discriminated against and avoided HIV carriers. Unsurprisingly, given the situation, many individuals living with HIV refused to cooperate with public health officials, which made it hard for the local government and international programs to treat and monitor cases and bring the epidemic under control.
It was the appearance of HIV peer groups that helped break the deadlock.
Although in many Western countries, people with HIV had been quick to form associations to carry out social action, oppose negative stereotypes surrounding HIV, and spread public awareness of treatment methods, similar groups were slow to emerge in the Chinese countryside.
Cards with wishes made by the members of an HIV peer group. Courtesy of Fang Hongxin
That they did so at all in a place like Ruili is testament to the work of Qi Fang, a pioneer behind numerous local NGO projects, and Li Fu, managing principal at the Ruili Center for Disease Control's AIDS center, who helped promote the formation and expansion of peer groups in the region.
Faced with such a large outbreak in the countryside, Qi and Li thought that groups composed of HIV-positive people from rural backgrounds could help patients come to terms with their diagnoses. Soon, with the support of several cross-regional NGOs, including AIDS Care China, Save the Children, and Oxfam, peer groups began to form both in Ruili proper and the surrounding countryside.
At the heart of these early peer groups was the "coming out" performance. For example, when the HIV-positive husband of Yingle, who was also HIV-positive, died, she began to believe that she would soon follow him to the grave. Caiyun, one of the earliest peer group founders in Ruili, helped pull her back from the ledge, in part by being willing to talk about her own diagnosis.
They shared their experiences with one another, and Caiyun gave Yingle information about medication options, encouraging her to keep living. Yingle was so moved by Caiyun's message that she also joined a peer group, so that she might help other people living with HIV.
Today, Ruili is often held up as a model area for managing HIV/AIDS in China, but its success was not just about increased access to medication or the region's investment in monitoring, treatment, control, and care for HIV-positive people. Equally important were the changes in HIV-positive people's attitudes and ways of life — changes made possible by the work of peer groups.
These groups represent a novel kind of social force where members are bonded together through a common biological reality. Apart from physical assistance, the compassion members offer helps people living with HIV as they adjust their family lives and find new means of supporting themselves post-diagnosis.
"Society must be defended." As Michel Foucault noted, that is so often the mindset behind standardized top-down governance and securitization of health. If there's a lesson to be learned from Ruili, it's that offering the subjects of this governance sufficient space to operate independently can help make society healthier, more open, and more vibrant for all.
Dec. 1 is World AIDS Day. For more of Sixth Tone's coverage on this issue, click here.
Translator: Kenrick Davis; editors: Cai Yineng and Kilian O'Donnell; portrait artist: Wang Zhenhao.
(Header image: VCG)
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Jan Horst Keppler is professor of economics at the Université Paris – Dauphine, where he directs the Chair European Electricity Markets (CEEM). His principle research is on the competitiveness of low carbon technologies such as nuclear energy and renewables, taking into account their full costs at the system level. He also advises the OECD Nuclear Energy Agency on issues relating to economics and electricity markets. Recent publications include The Costs of Decarbonisation: System Costs with High Shares of Nuclear and Renewables(2019), The Full Costs of Electricity Provision (2018), "Determining Optimal Interconnection Capacity on the Basis of Hourly Demand and Supply Functions of Electricity" (Energy Journal, 2018) and "Rationales for Capacity Remuneration Mechanisms" (Energy Policy, 2017). Current work centres on the optimal provision of flexibility and dispatchable power generation in decarbonising electricity systems. Professor Keppler intervenes regularly in the media and was until 2018 a member of the Exchange Council of EPEX Spot, the European electricity market operator.
Jan Horst Keppler also works in the history of economic ideas, in particular on Adam Smith and the origins of economic analysis as a specific form of capturing the transformation of individual impulses into social interactions.


750.356c Retail fraud in first degree. Sec. 356c. (1) A person who does any of the following in a store or in its immediate vicinity is guilty of retail fraud in the first degree, a felony punishable by imprisonment for not more than 5 years or a fine of not more than $10,000.00 or 3 times the value of the difference in price, property stolen, or money or property obtained or attempted to be obtained, whichever is greater, or both imprisonment and a fine: (a) While a store is open to the public, alters, transfers, removes and replaces, conceals, or otherwise misrepresents the price at which property is offered for sale, with the intent not to pay for the property or to pay less than the price at which the property is offered for sale, if the resulting difference in price is $1,000.00 or more. (b) While a store is open to the public, steals property of the store that is offered for sale at a price of $1,000.00 or more. (c) With intent to defraud, obtains or attempts to obtain money or property from the store as a refund or exchange for property that was not paid for and belongs to the store, if the amount of money or the value of the property obtained or attempted to be obtained is $1,000.00 or more. (2) A person who violates section 356d(1) and who has 1 or more prior convictions for committing or attempting to commit an offense under this section or section 218, 356, 356d(1), or 360 is guilty of retail fraud in the first degree. For purposes of this subsection, however, a prior conviction does not include a conviction for a violation or attempted violation of section 218(2) or (3)(b) or section 356(4)(b) or (5). (3) The values of the difference in price, property stolen, or money or property obtained or attempted to be obtained in separate incidents pursuant to a scheme or course of conduct within any 12-month period may be aggregated to determine the total value involved in the offense under this section. (4) If the prosecuting attorney intends to seek an enhanced sentence based upon the defendant having 1 or more prior convictions, the prosecuting attorney shall include on the complaint and information a statement listing the prior conviction or convictions. The existence of the defendant's prior conviction or convictions shall be determined by the court, without a jury, at sentencing or at a separate hearing for that purpose before sentencing. The existence of a prior conviction may be established by any evidence relevant for that purpose, including, but not limited to, 1 or more of the following: (a) A copy of the judgment of conviction. (b) A transcript of a prior trial, plea-taking, or sentencing. (c) Information contained in a presentence report. (d) The defendant's statement. (5) A person who commits retail fraud in the first degree shall not be prosecuted under section 218(5) or 356(2). (6) If the sentence for a conviction under this section is enhanced by 1 or more prior convictions, those prior convictions shall not be used to further enhance the sentence for the conviction pursuant to section 10, 11, or 12 of chapter IX of the code of criminal procedure, 1927 PA 175, MCL 769.10, 769.11, and 769.12. 750.356d Retail fraud in second degree. Sec. 356d. (1) A person who does any of the following in a store or in its immediate vicinity is guilty of retail fraud in the second degree, a misdemeanor punishable by imprisonment for not more than 1 year or a fine of not more than $2,000.00 or 3 times the value of the difference in price, property stolen, or money or property obtained or attempted to be obtained, whichever is greater, or both imprisonment and a fine: (a) While a store is open to the public, alters, transfers, removes and replaces, conceals, or otherwise misrepresents the price at which property is offered for sale with the intent not to pay for the property or to pay less than the price at which the property is offered for sale if the resulting difference in price is $200.00 or more but less than $1,000.00. (b) While a store is open to the public, steals property of the store that is offered for sale at a price of $200.00 or more but less than $1,000.00. (c) With intent to defraud, obtains or attempts to obtain money or property from the store as a refund or exchange for property that was not paid for and belongs to the store if the amount of money or the value of the property obtained or attempted to be obtained is $200.00 or more but less than $1,000.00. (2) A person who violates subsection (4) and who has 1 or more prior convictions for committing or attempting to commit an offense under this section, section 218, 356, 356c, or 360, or a local ordinance substantially corresponding to this section or section 218, 356, 356c, or 360 is guilty of retail fraud in the second degree. (3) A person who commits retail fraud in the second degree shall not be prosecuted under section 360. (4) A person who does any of the following in a store or in its immediate vicinity is guilty of retail fraud in the third degree, a misdemeanor punishable by imprisonment for not more than 93 days or a fine of not more than $500.00 or 3 times the value of the difference in price, property stolen, or money or property obtained or attempted to be obtained, whichever is greater, or both imprisonment and a fine: (a) While a store is open to the public, alters, transfers, removes and replaces, conceals, or otherwise misrepresents the price at which property is offered for sale, with the intent not to pay for the property or to pay less than the price at which the property is offered for sale, if the resulting difference in price is less than $200.00. (b) While a store is open to the public, steals property of the store that is offered for sale at a price of less than $200.00. (c) With intent to defraud, obtains or attempts to obtain money or property from the store as a refund or exchange for property that was not paid for and belongs to the store, if the amount of money, or the value of the property, obtained or attempted to be obtained is less than $200.00. (5) A person who commits retail fraud in the third degree shall not be prosecuted under section 360. (6) The values of the difference in price, property stolen, or money or property obtained or attempted to be obtained in separate incidents pursuant to a scheme or course of conduct within any 12-month period may be aggregated to determine the total value involved in the offense under this section. (7) If the prosecuting attorney intends to seek an enhanced sentence based upon the defendant having 1 or more prior convictions, the prosecuting attorney shall include on the complaint and information a statement listing the prior conviction or convictions. The existence of the defendant's prior conviction or convictions shall be determined by the court, without a jury, at sentencing or at a separate hearing for that purpose before sentencing. The existence of a prior conviction may be established by any evidence relevant for that purpose, including, but not limited to, 1 or more of the following: (a) A copy of the judgment of conviction. (b) A transcript of a prior trial, plea-taking, or sentencing. (c) Information contained in a presentence report. (d) The defendant's statement. 600.2953 Retail fraud; liability; civil damages; demand for payment; text; noncompliance; effect of payment; jurisdiction; civil action against parent; formal police report; violation by merchant precluding recovery.
(1) In addition to applicable penal sanctions, a person who commits an act for which he or she could be charged with retail fraud in the first, second, or third degree under sections 356c and 356d of the Michigan penal code, 1931 PA 328, MCL 750.356c and 750.356d, is liable to the merchant who is the victim of the act for the full retail price of unrecovered property or recovered property that is not in salable condition, and civil damages of 10 times the retail price of the property, but not less than $50.00 and not more than $200.00.
"We have cause to believe that on (date) you, or your minor child (child's name), committed retail fraud in the first, second, or third degree by (description of action and property involved) in our store or in its immediate vicinity.
[ ] Return the property in salable condition or pay to us $ ______, which represents the full retail price or the remaining balance of the full retail price of the property.
[ ] Pay to us $ ______, which represents the full retail price of the recovered property that is not in salable condition.
[ ] Pay to us civil damages in an amount equal to 10 times the retail price of the property involved, but not less than $50.00 or more than $200.00, equaling a total amount of $ ______.
This notice is a formal demand for return of the property involved, if applicable, and the payment of the amounts indicated above, equaling a total amount of $ ______. If you return any unrecovered property and pay the amounts indicated above to us within 30 days after the date this notice was mailed, we will not take any further civil action against you.
You are not required to respond to this demand if you believe that you or your minor child are not guilty of committing retail fraud or if you choose not to respond. If you fail to comply with this demand, we will be authorized by state law to bring a civil action against you to determine your legal responsibility for the return of any unrecovered property and the payment of the amounts indicated above plus the cost of the action, including reasonable attorney fees.
These civil proceedings do not prevent criminal prosecution for the alleged act of retail fraud.".
(3) If the person to whom a written demand is made under subsection (2) complies with the written demand within 30 days after the date the written demand is mailed, that person shall incur no further civil liability to the merchant from the act of retail fraud.
(4) A person who commits an act described in subsection (1) and who fails to comply with a written demand under subsection (2) is liable to the merchant for the full retail price of the property, unless the property was recovered in salable condition, plus civil damages of 10 times the retail price of the property but not less than $50.00 or more than $200.00, and costs of the action, including reasonable attorney fees.
(5) If a civil action is filed pursuant to this section and before the trial of the action is commenced the person to whom a written demand was made under subsection (2) pays the merchant in cash the amount demanded, subsection (4) does not apply.
(6) An action under this section may be brought in the small claims division of the district court or in any other court of competent jurisdiction. If the amount demanded exceeds the jurisdiction of the small claims division, the action may still be brought in the small claims division, but the amount recovered shall not exceed the jurisdiction of the small claims division.
(7) A merchant may recover damages in an amount allowable under this section in a civil action in a court of competent jurisdiction against the parent or parents of an unemancipated minor who lives with his or her parent or parents and who commits an act described in subsection (1).
(8) A merchant may recover the amount for which a person is civilly liable under this section only if a formal police report is filed with a local law enforcement agency that has jurisdiction over the location where the violation took place, which report sets forth facts alleging that the person has committed retail fraud in the first, second, or third degree or violated a local ordinance substantially corresponding to section 218, 356, 356c, or 356d of the Michigan penal code, 1931 PA 328, MCL 750.218, 750.356, 750.356c, and 750.356d, regardless of the outcome of any criminal action.
(9) Notwithstanding any other provision of this section, a merchant shall not recover civil damages for an act of retail fraud in the first, second, or third degree with regard to a particular item of property if the merchant violated section 3 of 1976 PA 449, MCL 445.353, with regard to that item of property and the violation was not caused by the person who committed the act of retail fraud.
600.2917 Liability of library, merchant, agent, or independent contractor for conduct involving person suspected of larceny of goods or library materials, or of violating § 750.356c or § 750.356d; definitions.
Sec. 2917. (1) In a civil action against a library or merchant, an agent of the library or merchant, or an independent contractor providing security for the library or merchant for false imprisonment, unlawful arrest, assault, battery, libel, or slander, if the claim arises out of conduct involving a person suspected of removing or of attempting to remove, without right or permission, goods held for sale in a store from the store or library materials from a library, or of violating section 356c or 356d of the Michigan penal code, Act No. 328 of the Public Acts of 1931, being sections 750.356c and 750.356d of the Michigan Compiled Laws, and if the merchant, library, agent, or independent contractor had probable cause for believing and did believe that the plaintiff had committed or aided or abetted in the larceny of goods held for sale in the store, or of library materials, or in the violation of section 356c or 356d of Act No. 328 of the Public Acts of 1931, damages for or resulting from mental anguish or punitive, exemplary, or aggravated damages shall not be allowed a plaintiff, unless it is proved that the merchant, library, agent, or independent contractor used unreasonable force, detained the plaintiff an unreasonable length of time, acted with unreasonable disregard of the plaintiff's rights or sensibilities, or acted with intent to injure the plaintiff.


A tasty meal to look after your physical health and wellbeing.
Brush the steaks lightly with oil. Season the steaks with a little sea salt and freshly ground pepper. Preheat the barbecue char-grill to hot before adding the steaks.
Cook on one side until the first sign of moisture appears. Turn the steaks once only. Test for the degree of doneness with tongs. Rare is soft, medium feels springy and well done is very firm.
Remove the steaks from the heat, loosely cover with foil and allow to rest for 2 to 4 minutes before serving. While the steaks are resting, toss together all of the salad ingredients. Serve the salad and mustard alongside the steaks.
T-bone steaks are the quintessential Aussie BBQ steak. They're tender, rich and flavoursome. A T-bone has a little tenderloin on the smaller side of the bone and a sirloin on the other.
Only buy steaks of an even thickness, not wedge shaped – this way they'll cook evenly.
Always heat the barbecue before you add the steak. The steak should sizzle as it makes contact with the heat.
Newly appointed beef ambassador, Nick 'The Honey Badger' Cummins, has teamed up with Australia Beef to create a range of delicious meals, packed full of 13 essential nutrients.
A simple but mouthwatering dish. A good T-bone steak is really nice cut of meat to cook up for a meal.


Engine: 2.0L Turbo I4 Includes ECO stop/start technology. FFV option is not available in all states please consult your retail dealer and/or MBUSA to determine availability in your state.
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text:
SWP Newsletter
To Humbly Submit
Jeff Thomas | May 17th 2021, 6:29:43 pm
Submission to the state is a time-honoured tradition, a concept supported by governing bodies since time immemorial. In days of yore, men submitted to whichever member of the tribe was the mightiest in battle. By doing so, they stood a better chance of succeeding in battle, thereby diminishing the likelihood of their own death or enslavement. Later on, as tribes became more tied to the land and communities sprang up, the idea of a strong leader still made sense. Not only might he do the best job of leading the protection of the town or village, he might also travel outside the community to attack other communities, bringing back spoils for all to benefit from. (Not too civilised, maybe, but still, the reasoning behind submission to the leader made sense.) Later, settlements grew larger and, increasingly, many villages and towns would find themselves joined together collectively, under a national banner, with a single army to protect them. And, again, the leader would most likely be a fierce and formidable warrior. But a significant change was taking place. Whilst the warrior leader was away (sometimes for years), invading other communities, it was necessary to have leadership at home – administrative leadership. Predictably, this leadership also sought the loyalty and submission of the people. There was a new wrinkle at this juncture as the administrative leadership did not have to prove itself repeatedly in battle to gain submission. It was expected merely due to the fact that the leaders held power over the people.
Submission to the state is a time-honoured tradition, a concept supported by governing bodies since time immemorial.
In days of yore, men submitted to whichever member of the tribe was the mightiest in battle. By doing so, they stood a better chance of succeeding in battle, thereby diminishing the likelihood of their own death or enslavement.
Later on, as tribes became more tied to the land and communities sprang up, the idea of a strong leader still made sense. Not only might he do the best job of leading the protection of the town or village, he might also travel outside the community to attack other communities, bringing back spoils for all to benefit from. (Not too civilised, maybe, but still, the reasoning behind submission to the leader made sense.)
Later, settlements grew larger and, increasingly, many villages and towns would find themselves joined together collectively, under a national banner, with a single army to protect them. And, again, the leader would most likely be a fierce and formidable warrior. But a significant change was taking place. Whilst the warrior leader was away (sometimes for years), invading other communities, it was necessary to have leadership at home – administrative leadership. Predictably, this leadership also sought the loyalty and submission of the people.
There was a new wrinkle at this juncture as the administrative leadership did not have to prove itself repeatedly in battle to gain submission. It was expected merely due to the fact that the leaders held power over the people.
The expectation of loyalty and submission to a government simply because it is the government is an unnatural and invalid one.
Today, most leaders are primarily political rather than military, and even those who wear a military uniform almost never take part in actual battle, let alone lead the charge. For this reason, the original reason for loyalty and submission should be outmoded.
Why, then, does it persist? Well, in fact, it generally persists as long as there is prosperity and a people are prepared to tolerate dominance. However, should prosperity diminish dramatically, obeisance tends to diminish accordingly. At some point, the leaders conclude that they may be losing the submission of the people and need to reinforce it. This is done by one of two methods and, on occasion, both at the same time.
The first is force. An increased police state can create a greater assurance of submission through fear of those in uniform.
The second is inspiration. A condition of warfare often succeeds as a method of inspiring people to give up some of their rights and fall in behind a leader. Although, in the modern world, we never see a national leader actually suiting up for battle, the mere fact that he's in charge of the fight from a safe distance often works to inspire people to be more submissive to an administrative government.
Following the English Revolution of 1688, we Britons found that our political leaders made the decision for us as to what our relationship should be to our new leaders at the time. They declared to the new joint monarchs, William and Mary, "We do most humbly and faithfully submit ourselves, our heirs and posterities, forever."
Quite a mouthful. It certainly left no doubt as to the intent of Parliament – that the people of England were never again to question their rulers and, further, that regardless of the many possible changes in policies, laws, and edicts by future kings, the people swore submission … permanently.
This did not sit well with all Englishmen – not surprisingly since they hadn't been asked whether they wished to make such a declaration of submission. In 1774, an Englishman named Thomas Paine (on the advice of his American friend Benjamin Franklin) emigrated to the Pennsylvania colony and began writing pamphlets that dealt directly with the concept of "unquestioned loyalty and submission", a concept with which he heartedly disagreed. Perhaps he stated it best in his book, The Rights of Man, first published in 1791:
"Submission is wholly a vassalage term, repugnant to the dignity of freedom."
Mister Paine's pamphleteering in the late eighteenth century did not actually create the consciousness that brought on the American Revolution, but his phrasings did provide focus for the colonists in stating their grievances against King and Parliament.
Although Mister Paine's pamphlets served as guidebooks to liberty and his input contributed to the framing of the US Constitution, he's not remembered today as one of the seven founders of the United States. But one of those who is recognised today as a founder, Thomas Jefferson, took a very similar view to that of Thomas Paine:
"When the Government fears the people, there is liberty. When the people fear the government, there is tyranny."
Both men believed that it was (and is) essential to assure that any government be reminded continually that it exists to represent the people who pay for its existence. They each echoed a view taken 2,100 years earlier by Aristotle, who commented,
"[G]overnment should govern for the good of the people, not for the good of those in power."
Although these words were not quoted in either the Declaration of Independence or the Constitution, Aristotle's principles were well-known to all of the Founding Fathers and were frequently the basis of clauses written in each of The US's founding documents.
Another quote from Jefferson suggests that it's entirely predictable that any government is likely to continually work toward increasing its own power over a people. That being the case, from time to time, any government needs to be slapped down and reminded that its task is to serve the people, not to subjugate them:
"Whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, it is the right of the people to alter or abolish it, and to institute new government."
Here's a final thought to consider:
The concept of government is that the people grant to a small group of individuals the ability to establish and maintain controls over them. The inherent flaw in such a concept is that any government will invariably and continually expand upon its controls, resulting in the ever-diminishing freedom of those who granted them the power.
In reviewing all of the above, it should be clear that it's the nature of all governments to seek to increase their power over those that they are sworn to represent. It should also be understood that they will not give up this power willingly. At some point, they become successful enough in establishing submission that the populace must either toss out the people in the government, toss out the governmental system, or take exit from the system. The last of these may be chosen in order to more peacefully regain liberty.
Each of these possible choices requires dramatic change, although the last of these entails less upheaval or danger to the individual.
The alternative to making such a choice, and the one that the great majority of people in any culture, in any era, choose, is to humbly accept submission. Only a very small minority will actually take positive action to attain freedom over tyranny through internationalisation.
Other Posts By this Author: Jeff Thomas
Rulers Seek to Rule | Jan 14, 2022
"Capitalism Has Failed" | Jan 5, 2022
Six Impossible Things Before Breakfast | Dec 28, 2021
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