All That Is Bitter and Sweet (73 page)

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Although it is an account of my individual journey, the making of this book in many ways represents a group conscience, the sustained work and suggestions of, in particular, Maryanne Vollers, Trena Keating, and Pamela Cannon. I am deeply indebted to Maryanne’s unflinching, steady hard work, which included becoming intimately acquainted with no less than six hundred fifty pages of diaries I have kept on trips to the global south, plus my other writings (published, unpublished, academic, etc.) and speeches, which she cleverly suggested I incorporate into the diaries in order to tell more of my personal story (which I resisted, but that’s another story, because in the end, here it is). Maryanne also pushed me hard on the structure and sequence of the chapters, and without her, given I was in graduate school and then on two films, this book would remain but a dream. She is scary smart, which is why I liked her in the first place, and I am grateful she wears her intelligence loosely, and never lorded it and her lengthy experience as a war journalist in sub-Saharan Africa over me! Trena had astonishing confidence in my writing and me, believing my diaries had to be published. She gently guided—without ever directing—me toward the right folks. Those ended up being the good people at Ballantine, including Pamela Cannon, whose reputation as a rigorous and hard-nosed editor suited me fine. I wanted to learn, and all three of these women provided outstanding on-the-job training. Thank you so much for every call, email, word of encouragement, and, I might add, extended deadline.

This book has its inception in the experiences of friends and family who read my diaries sent from around the world, beginning in 2002, and gave their feedback and encouragement. Harold Brown, my attorney, firmly maintained there was a book in these writings when such an idea seemed to me far fetched and grandiose; Penny Gummerson said she waited each day for a diary, and at times folded her arms on her desk, laid her head upon them, and wept; Cary Berman said when daily missives arrived, he would close his office door, and read in them in their entirety right away, then help me find work that would pay my bills while I disappeared again into slums and brothels. Cathy Lewis, Ric and Donna Moore, and others like them, sent checks, large and small, to PSI and its partner programs, motivated by the narratives in the diaries. These people are but a few of the scores of my fellow sojourners who, as I endeavored to honor others by witnessing their life experiences, honored mine. And all I do not mention is not from lack of gratitude but from the tyranny of limited space in which to do so.

I thank Kate Roberts, who invited me to these front lines of hope and has with her perorations encouraged me to keep going; Marshall Stowell, who has given me gentle friendship in the most daunting of settings; and Papa Jack, for expert advance work, safety and protection, intelligence, essential moments of levity, and scouting the least stinky places to pee in ten countries, then tolerating my infernal habit of popping a squat anywhere. And, deepest thanks to my PSI family around the world, past and present, who welcome me to their platforms with generous hospitality in the midst of their heroic work advancing PSI’s public health mission among the most poor and vulnerable. You have generously provided an aspirational idealist with an exquisite education in generosity, passion, and tolerance. Thanks especially to those of you who read this manuscript to confirm its technical veracity, as well as our able president, Karl Hoffman, and Frank Loy, chairman of our board, who insist, however improbably, that I am indeed an asset to this phenomenal agency. And last, but certainly not least, thank you to PSI’s thousands of local field staff who do brave, brilliant, compassionate service work every day of your lives. This book, in many ways, is for you, and it certainly is for those you seek to serve.

Nicholas Kristof sets the platinum standard of comprehensive knowledge about international development, compassion, and incisive, evocative writing. His willingness to provide the foreword for this book is a testimony to his dedication to a world without poverty and not to the quality of my work. I am very grateful for the notes he generously provided, which were as precise and helpful as his legendary
New York Times
columns.

Equally, I thank the many other extraordinary, innovative, dedicated organizations and their worldwide staffs, who work with urgency and love, doing their part to create peace, safety, equality, and empowerment everywhere. I admire you, and am so grateful you allow me to participate in your work. This is but a partial list, and I regret I cannot include everyone who deserves recognition: The One Campaign to End Poverty, Apne Aap Worldwide, The International Center for Research on Women, Women for Women International, The Enough! Project, Equality Now, Defenders of Wildlife, among others.

I must acknowledge my longtime agent and advocate, Michelle Bohan, who introduced me to Trena Keating, and has graciously abided my retreat from acting, and has unflinchingly supported my various and sundry adventures around the world and in graduate school. Equally, I am so fortunate to have a delightful oxymoron in my life: discreet publicists. Annett Wolf and Cara Trippichio help publicize my work with dignity, and protect my privacy with integrity. Thank you!

Several people who are exceedingly special to me took the time to read portions or all of the manuscript, offering sensitive, nuanced feedback from their deep expertise and souls. Ted Klontz, PhD, Tennie McCarty LCDC, ADC III, CEDC, CAS, Gloria Steinem, Sue Monk Kidd, Carol Lee Flinders, PhD, and Archbishop Desmond Tutu: I l love each of you, and you have changed my life, especially because your audacious authenticity emboldens my own.

Ted and Tennie, in particular, have given me as an adult what I so often needed as a child, “a good listening to.” Thank you for taking my calls, night and day, and giving me that safe container in which to process, heal, and grow, and the tools that work under
all
conditions. I hope I can give away to others a modicum of what you have so freely given to me.

My time at the Harvard Kennedy School was enriched by powerful relationships with faculty and students, and supported by a nurturing administration. In particular, I honor and thank Professors Marshall Ganz (my glorious advisor), Bernard Steinberg, Diane Rosenfeld, Martha Chen, and Sofia Gruskin, and Ambassador Swanee Hunt, for not only their devoted scholarship of the highest caliber, but how their work and study is motivated by, and infused with, the unapologetically spiritual belief that every single individual is of infinite worth, and that the base must be empowered. Moral leadership, the role of narrative in building social movements and creating peace, eradicating gender violence, economic empowerment of the poor, health and human rights: I was the luckiest student in the world. In addition to these and many other professors, I am indebted to my classmates: your diversity (my midcareer Masters Public Administration group represented ninety-eight countries), your brilliance, your earnest diligence, your humility in sharing how at times you, too, were overwhelmed by everything going on in that school of copious abundance, and your unabashed belief that we can change the world, all while helping me know that while no one can play my role in the struggle for peace, I never have to fight alone. I especially acknowledge my feminist social justice cohort: You light me up. Whether in the classroom, or in corridors where great moments often spontaneously transpired, during office hours, or off campus for tea or “dinners for seven,” Harvard was a constant source of stimulation, inspiration, reflection, and challenge. Thank you, Professor Volnay Gay, for having suggested the School to me; I never would have dreamt of it for myself.

Thank you to friends such as Michelle McGrath, Bobby Shriver, and Seane Corn, who graciously permitted what should be private elements of our friendship to be published. Such are the hazards of friendship with a famous person, and I appreciate your trust in allowing me to share aspects of our conversations and interactions.

I thank my entire family, living and ancestral, American and Scottish, perhaps most especially my dad, Michael Ciminella. He withstood numerous inquiries from both Maryanne and me that necessarily rehashed the darkest and most painful aspects of our family’s past. His fortitude in repeatedly sharing, devoid of all defensiveness or attempts to duck his former shortcomings, is remarkable. Both my mother and he have given me the gift I have come to believe every child deserves: having her reality and experiences while growing up validated, understanding that a day in the life of a child is very different from a day in the life of an adult. I am profoundly grateful to sit with you today in a circle of unity, forgiveness, empathy, and humor, knowing not just intellectually, but feeling in my heart, that “that was then, this is now.” Or, as Tennie would say, “So what. Now what?” Our “now” is a joy, and I love you both. My joyous affection naturally includes my sister and her beloved children, Elijah and Grace.

As for my husband, Dario Franchitti, simply put: I love and adore you. Always have, always will. As some of our more mischievous friends say, “And there ain’t nothing you can do about it!” I cherish our home, our four-legged family, and our quiet time, which has so often been my port in the storm. For a girl who grew up unsure who her emergency person was, I sure am lucky it became you.

Speaking of home, this inventory must include Jamie Mangrum, our exceptional housekeeper, whom we rather seriously call “the mortar between the bricks.” In a real sense, Jamie, without home, I do fall down, and thus the logic goes, you hold me up. Thank you.

To recovering folks everywhere: Although it has been said, “We are people who would not normally mix,” you are my brothers and sisters. Wherever I go, I know we share the sunlight of the spirit, and I am grateful to trudge this road of happy destiny with you. It is my humble prayer that in some way this book thanks you for carrying the hope of recovery to me, and that it can also carry the message to those who still suffer. If one person who reads this book receives the suggestion that a simple and practical plan of action can lead you to a God of your own understanding, relieve you of the burdens of your past, and help you to live as God intended, precious, empowered, and free, then in my opinion, the book is as successful as Kentucky’s 1996 National Championship team.

And, of course, to the God of my understanding: Thank you for doing for me what I cannot do for myself, and especially for my beloved grandparents and all the animals you have put in my life, Buttmemilk, Shug, Percy, Audrey—goodness, the list is long! They have shown me what you mean by unconditional love, which in some measure, I am thus able to pass on. Oh, how I love you. Thy will be done.

NOTES

The following notes are not meant to be a complete list of the sources consulted in the writing of this book, but rather a guide for further inquiry. Most of the facts and figures have been derived from multiple sources, including original research by Population Services International and reports published by United Nations agencies and the World Bank. In some cases, I have cited the sources for unique or hard-to-come-by facts, and in others, I have added extra clarification. For more information on each country, please see
www.unicef.org/infobycountry
.