Mr. Zuckerberg, Tear Down that Website

This is not a recruitment ad but a sobering view of hatred. The picture was taken from James von Brunn's website. He's the man who walked into the Holocaust Museum in Washington, DC, yesterday and fatally shot a security guard for the sole reason that the security guard was black and working at the Holocaust Museum. The shooter claimed to be a World War II veteran. Perhaps he was.

Many of you have read before about my favorite World War II veteran. A man who landed in Normandy on D-plus-14. Who told stories of the sky glowing orange on three sides from the fighting - the fourth side being the blackness of the Channel. A man who helped liberate a camp in Austria and was in charge of delousing the Russian POWs. Whose stories were first-hand accounts of the tragedy known as the Holocaust. Whose stories were scrubbed clean to become my bedtime stories as a child - of being separated from his unit in France, guarding the tanks during a hot summer night, attending Christmas service with a French family who invited him to eat with them.

How hatred develops is easy to understand. Perceived slights and indignities, one's feeling of entitlement not being supported by all around, grudges left to fester. But it's also learned. And quite frequently at an early age. One way of reaching younger and more impressionable people is through Facebook.

Facebook won't take down the Holocaust denier pages claiming that they are expressions of free speech, however ignorant. There's a fine line between free speech and Big Brother. We can't become like Iran which shutters access to websites, like Facebook, that the government considers to be a threat. Yet, there are stories from here in America of local government tyrants doing the same thing because certain online threads are undermining their credibility. But where can we draw the line?

What about people who declare that Dr. Tiller should die for his actions and someone following through on that? What about musicians who shout to the world about forcibly putting women in their place? What about people who claim the Holocaust never happened?

Any threat, verbal or written, against the President is perceived as real and investigated. All citizens should be given that same chance of survival. Whether an individual, like Dr. Tiller, or a group, such as Jews, and African-Americans, and Muslims, and Christians. For we've all been victims, at one time or another, of persecution and hatred and bigotry and ignorance.

Canal Street

Four years ago during Spring Break for our local schools, I was having lunch with my father, my husband, and our three children at Ruby Foo’s in Times Square. That big round table near the back. Back towards the ladies’ room with the attendant. You know the one. She always turns on the water for you and hands you a towel. And you always feel guilty if you don’t leave her a tip. Just before the entrees arrived, my cell phone rang. It was the mother of one of my eldest daughter’s lacrosse teammates calling to see if we had practice that week. When I told her we were in New York City for the week, she began to regale me with what great bargains she found in purses down on Canal Street.

The first thought that crossed my mind was, “I’m there.” In New York I always feel nickel-and-dimed to death, as with the restroom attendants and every other person who opens the door for you, hails you a cab or takes you on the tourist-trap carriage ride through Central Park. The flip side is the plethora of stores. Macy’s, Bloomingdale’s, Saks, Barney's, Bergdorf Goodman, not to mention the stand-alone designer stores in mid-town and up Madison Avenue. Having perused the wares at several retail stores, I was interested in finding a bargain. But alas, I never made it to Canal Street at all that trip.

The following Christmas I went with my husband to a post-holiday open house at one of his colleague’s. I just happened to plop down in a chair near another woman from the office and her husband. I told them about our trip to New York, the shows that we had seen and the shopping that I hadn’t gotten to but wanted to. You would have thought I’d announced that Osama bin Laden was my godfather! I was told, in no uncertain terms, that the merchandise that is hawked by the vendors along Canal Street is all fake. (That, I knew.) That it is basically stealing from the authentic brands. (That, I knew but didn’t focus on too much.) That buying the fake merchandise from the vendors along Canal Street not only promotes illegal activities but can also go to funding racketeering and even terrorist organizations. (Okay. That bothered me.) I decided then and there that, no matter how much I coveted the latest Gucci or Louis Vuitton handbag, I should wait until I could (if ever) afford to buy it. And then only from the Gucci store or a department store that carries Gucci bags. No supporting terrorists or black marketers, thank you very much.

On subsequent trips to New York, my husband and I drove down Canal Street to Broadway. I looked at the cute purses hanging along the storefront windows and laid out on blankets on the sidewalk. But that picture of Canal Street was from several feet away, and from a moving vehicle. It wasn’t until I took my Girl Scout troop to New York three summers ago that I ever encountered Canal Street up close and personal. I lead twelve fourth-, fifth-, and sixth-grade girls out of a subway stop and right into the middle of chaos. Street vendors were trying to sell videos of movies that hadn’t even opened in the theatres yet. There were my darling Gucci handbags. And Chanel sunglasses. And Rolex watches. But we weren’t there to shop. I was trying to get to Little Italy for a midday gelato-and-pastry snack. And coming up from the subway on an overcast day, I couldn’t tell which way was north to save my life.

So I asked one of the street vendors, “Excuse me, which way is Mulberry Street?”

“Sorry, don’t know,” was the response. Hmm, you’re selling your goods on Canal Street and you don’t even know which way Mulberry Street is?

I asked another, “Which way is Mulberry Street?”

“Don’t know.”

By this time, I was beginning to get a little anxious. Perhaps looking somewhat desperate with all those little girls huddled around me looking desperate too must have melted at least one of the street vendors’ hearts. At least enough for him to whistle at me and nod his head to the left. As I walked past him, I thanked him. Perhaps that was the most genuine thing that I saw on Canal Street that day.

So imagine my surprise when I logged onto my computer the other day. When my front-page website had loaded, I hopped over to MSN and scanned the “Today's Picks”. “Top 10 Cities for Shopaholics” was one of the offerings. Just my thing to read while I took a break with my cup of tea.

“1. Bangkok”, in my dreams. My husband and I are looking at three college tuitions fast approaching. I can’t be blowing money on a shopping spree on the other side of the world.

Two through Five weren’t any more reasonable for me either. Let’s move on to page two and see if there’s anything in the U.S.

“6. Los Angeles,” but it’s on the other side of the country. Might as well go back to Number Five, London.

Aha! “8. New York.” I can take the train for the day, albeit a long day. Let’s see if there’s anything I haven’t heard about.

There, in the first sentence, is Canal Street. Sure, the paragraph mentions other neighborhoods and a wide range of stores. But it actually said the goods along Canal Street were knock-offs. Doesn’t MSN know that those street vendors are skirting the law? Doesn’t MSN care that they are basically advertising an illegal activity? Isn’t MSN the same company as Microsoft? What would Microsoft do if the latest version of their software was laid out on a blanket on Canal Street ready to be gathered up at the corners whenever any possible federal agents walked by? How should I teach my children about what’s right and wrong if one of the largest corporations doesn’t see the harm that they do with a few words in one single sentence?

I suppose I’ll teach my children about drug cartels and terrorist groups. And hope that they’ll buy me a real Gucci handbag someday. Maybe on my way to Bangkok. Well, I can always dream, can’t I?