...Wonder which of our rights they'll take away as a result this whole Tucson deal...
Well, hopefully this stays within the state. And, frankly, Arizona has pretty much zero gun legislation at the moment. The 2nd amendment is in full effect man, too many guns to take that away. Maybe they'll take away "Congress on your Corner" style events - I'd be far more concerned with what this is going to cover-up in terms of Media coverage.
But I agree, rights are being taken away. Legislation contrary to the will of the majority, or of some majorities, is somehow coming into effect, either through our representatives or through our courts. Some of these are heartfelt and passionate, like homosexual marriage on the Liberal agenda, some of these are coldly self interested like big business Republicans attacking Net Neutrality. It's a shame everybody else either doesn't care or seems to have a price - or at least everybody who's motivated enough and cold enough to run a company well, or run for office has a price - and the price buys complicity and complacence.
There is an uneasy and regularly changing balance between corporate interests and big gov't interests (to call them by the names they're called by their enemies) but ultimately, there is only one problem, man's lust. Specifically in this situation, man's lust for power. And! it runs deeper than that, there is a lust for safety, for security, and in unsafe places where money buys everything, money is security but don't ever think that more money doesn't come with more problems; catch-22. In a way, it's like "Skora" how can you blame Skora for his nature? It's our nature to seek security, both as a group and from the group, as families (real and imagined) and, especially in the modern, western milieu, as individuals.
Our society praises and treasures success, if only through our sycophantic worship of celebrity and wealth. The very idea of an entourage! It's nothing to celebrate to be a blue collar worker, nothing to celebrate to be middle management. It's really no wonder that the powerful, the price-tagged, are the people in charge of it. They're the people who have made their decision, whatever it may be, for good or for bad. Their movtivated and they make it happen. Think Frank Costello. The shame is how we need them. In some ways it's reminiscent of Mein Kampf, but it's not Jews, it's no ethnic other, it's just something akin to C. Wright Mills' "Power Elite." Our way of life is like an open-air prison, but it keeps us "safe" from most-everything but each other.
Somebody has to buy what's produced, or everyone has to find something else to do. The whole system is out of control man. I agree that "big gov't" isn't the answer, but until we change the way we live on a massive scale, "big corp." doesn't have another counter-balance. So we vote for guys like Russ Feingold... oh wait, I guess we don't anymore.
Or, that's just the way I see it Tony. Miss ya bud.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Life, Beyond the Stars
What a fantastic idea, that perhaps "we" are not alone in the vastness of the ever (at least for the moment) expanding universe. Broadcasting our presence via radio-waves, well... that one I'm not so sure about. We've got science and we've got sci-fi, either way we really don't know anything, if all our knowledge teaches us anything it should be humility - because we don't know jack. Maybe it's because I watched Star Trek the Motion Picture at a young age, but it just doesn't seem like a great idea. If the universe we know turns out to be like Star Trek and warp drive is the test of a civilization, we're still quite a ways off, and hopefully safe from outside forces until then. If it's a Battlestar Gallactica situation, there's a completely different set of problems and we're probably still a long ways off from whatever is going on in the universe. If it's more like Simbieda's Mechanoids, Bear's Von Neuman machines or even Michael Bay's interpretation of the Transformers, ultimately we're probably just f'd.
Stephen Hawking made his opinion on the matter known, and of course we're free to agree or disagree with him - and though on this matter I basically agree - I feel that something is going overlooked. Radiowaves. We're using radiowaves to show the universe how technologically advanced. Hawking made the connection to Columbus and the people of the "New World" that he found, but I'd only add to that, using radiowaves to show how advanced we are could be like using a smoke-signal to show how advanced we are to a group of people with radios.
I've been told that believing that humanity is God's chosen is arrogant but I must say, it seems just as arrogant to assume that we're the most advanced race in the universe and if we don't, if we aren't, I think it's probably a bad idea. If there is a more advanced race out there, I agree with Hawking that we might not want to be discovered, especially if they find radiowaves but a primitive technology.
The matter of language is a whole other development - imagine a group who was able to learn the language of another group without the other group knowing their language. In terms of codes and code-breaking, one can argue that this has had a lot to do with how wars have been won and lost in our own history. They'd know our language and we'd have no idea of theirs, they'd know what kind of technology we use to communicate, even if they were so far beyond it that it would have only struck them as white noise and gibberish had they just stumbled across us.
And besides, so long as we keep proving Bill Hicks right we don't deserve the stars.
Stephen Hawking made his opinion on the matter known, and of course we're free to agree or disagree with him - and though on this matter I basically agree - I feel that something is going overlooked. Radiowaves. We're using radiowaves to show the universe how technologically advanced. Hawking made the connection to Columbus and the people of the "New World" that he found, but I'd only add to that, using radiowaves to show how advanced we are could be like using a smoke-signal to show how advanced we are to a group of people with radios.
I've been told that believing that humanity is God's chosen is arrogant but I must say, it seems just as arrogant to assume that we're the most advanced race in the universe and if we don't, if we aren't, I think it's probably a bad idea. If there is a more advanced race out there, I agree with Hawking that we might not want to be discovered, especially if they find radiowaves but a primitive technology.
The matter of language is a whole other development - imagine a group who was able to learn the language of another group without the other group knowing their language. In terms of codes and code-breaking, one can argue that this has had a lot to do with how wars have been won and lost in our own history. They'd know our language and we'd have no idea of theirs, they'd know what kind of technology we use to communicate, even if they were so far beyond it that it would have only struck them as white noise and gibberish had they just stumbled across us.
And besides, so long as we keep proving Bill Hicks right we don't deserve the stars.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
New Years Day
Usually, over the course of my life, I have made time on New Years Eve or in the week before to go over my year, to process it and make some adjustments for the coming. 2010 was different. I spent some time before Christmas doing a fair amount of revaluation, checking my intentions and looking for possibilities. 2010 was a year of "plan b's." A year where things turned out, just not as planned. New Years Eve was like a microcosm of the entire year. Maddy and I threw together a fairly last minute party plan. We did a lot of inviting people who already had other plans, but that was fine in our book. This is the text message I sent to everyone, in two parts: "Maddy and I are throwing a lil party for NYE. Manhattans, Old Fashioneds and a Woodford Reserve midnight toast at my place tonight." Followed by, "If you don't have any plans, or even if you do. We're saying 6pm-???(after midnight); hors d'oeuvres, snaks and some casserole - stop through, even if it's on your way elsewhere." I arrived back in my town around noon from a quick trip out to visit my pops in his locale, so this message wasn't sent until the afternoon of New Years Eve. So it goes.
I spent the evening fielding polite no's from my friends, most of whom are lucky enough to be working but whose jobs require their working on days like New Years Eve. I have no grudges about it. In addition to the short timing, most of my friends are an hour (+) away, or have children and family plans for the holiday. That the party turned out to be me, my fiancee and her bestest friend with guest appearances by her aunt, sister and my brother, didn't bother me. Maddy though was basically stabbed in the back by her "friends." The "friends" in question were mostly people she works with and old pals from High School. We both put effort into the party, ultimately, she spent more of her time, effort and money on the party than I - and I never expect my friends to come to my functions, because I understand that they are regularly unable to.
There was an incredible fog in Madison all day and night New Years Eve, so dense it cancelled my flight home from Chicago and I got rerouted by bus. So it goes. I know the fog kept at least one of my friends away, no telling for hers though as they just come from across town. It's unfortunate that this has thrown her into not just doubt about the quantity and quality of her friends, but also about herself. Tough to deal with when you keep in mind that she's a "reep what you sow" ideologue.
That was 2010, and frankly, besides the importance of having contention plans (b, c and often d) all I learned in 2010 was that I don't have to talk about it if I don't want to. I am done with 2010. It's peaks were memorable, but I hope to keep it's valleys sheltered in the shade until they simply fade away, forgotten beneath the sands of time.
2011 is a year of big, though possibly bittersweet plans, and unmissable opportunities. From a semester in Spain, to a transfer into the University system from Community College. I'm making machinations to make 2011 the year I remember how to have fun and feel alive. 2011 is the year I test my boundaries. I don't have a good track record when it comes to being away from home, but I haven't tried it in twenty years - twenty years that have led me away from home and shattered my "home" into four or five different states (depending on how one counts). So it goes.
2011 is the year of the kindle, the year I read classics and see more of the world than I ever knew existed. 2011 should be the year I get a real job again, though we'll see what happens with that. 2011. Ok then, moving on...
I spent the evening fielding polite no's from my friends, most of whom are lucky enough to be working but whose jobs require their working on days like New Years Eve. I have no grudges about it. In addition to the short timing, most of my friends are an hour (+) away, or have children and family plans for the holiday. That the party turned out to be me, my fiancee and her bestest friend with guest appearances by her aunt, sister and my brother, didn't bother me. Maddy though was basically stabbed in the back by her "friends." The "friends" in question were mostly people she works with and old pals from High School. We both put effort into the party, ultimately, she spent more of her time, effort and money on the party than I - and I never expect my friends to come to my functions, because I understand that they are regularly unable to.
There was an incredible fog in Madison all day and night New Years Eve, so dense it cancelled my flight home from Chicago and I got rerouted by bus. So it goes. I know the fog kept at least one of my friends away, no telling for hers though as they just come from across town. It's unfortunate that this has thrown her into not just doubt about the quantity and quality of her friends, but also about herself. Tough to deal with when you keep in mind that she's a "reep what you sow" ideologue.
That was 2010, and frankly, besides the importance of having contention plans (b, c and often d) all I learned in 2010 was that I don't have to talk about it if I don't want to. I am done with 2010. It's peaks were memorable, but I hope to keep it's valleys sheltered in the shade until they simply fade away, forgotten beneath the sands of time.
2011 is a year of big, though possibly bittersweet plans, and unmissable opportunities. From a semester in Spain, to a transfer into the University system from Community College. I'm making machinations to make 2011 the year I remember how to have fun and feel alive. 2011 is the year I test my boundaries. I don't have a good track record when it comes to being away from home, but I haven't tried it in twenty years - twenty years that have led me away from home and shattered my "home" into four or five different states (depending on how one counts). So it goes.
2011 is the year of the kindle, the year I read classics and see more of the world than I ever knew existed. 2011 should be the year I get a real job again, though we'll see what happens with that. 2011. Ok then, moving on...
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Una Dia en Mi Vida (in espanglish)
Hoy! Today, what a day. Tons of unexpected problems, and plenty of amazing people to help me out with them. Vaguely, the agenda of my trip to the Windy City: acquire passport photos for my visa; finish the visa application, perfect and copy; get some sleep; get to N. Michigan avenue and turn everything in at ten thirty en la manjana; get on a bus back home at noon or five. No problem right?
I arrived in Chicago last night by megabus - the purpose of the trip, a visit to the Spanish Consulate to apply for my student visa - after the ride, I spent a little too long wandering around in the cold looking for an open Walgreens for my liking, but I lived. Earlier I'd tried at my local Walgreens but their photo-making-machine was broken and I was forced to delay my passport photos accordingly, I figured, hell, it's downtown Chicago, there's a Wallgreens on every corner, this shouldn't be a problem. Much to my surprise, at seven forty en la noche, when I arrived most were closed and the closest open one was closing at eight. So I walked, in the wrong direction for a bit, then got in touch with one in Greek Town, and turned around accordingly. Forty minutes of walking and bam, photos in my hands in less than five minutes, things are looking up (or so I thought!).
After wandering past some pretty fancy hotels, I found a Holiday Inn and warmed up with a nicely made Chicago pizza. I cozied up in my room while the Pats whooped the Jets, texting back and forth with friends about football and politics. After, I finished my Visa application. I got some pretty dark complimentary copies of my important documents from the Holiday Inn, and then headed off to dreamland after an extra-long and exceptionally warm shower (this is by my standards, so it was probably still not as hot or lengthy as the one you're imagining - but it's the archetype, the experience that counts - not the exact details).
I woke up at 1:30, 3:47, 4:45, 6:34 and 7:35 (two minutes before my second alarm - I apparently slept through the first at 7:00). Each wake-up was preceded by a dream where I was irreparably late for my appointment at the consulate. So, I just got up, packed up, and then called my Mom for some advice in booking my flight. At this point in the morning, my biggest concern was whether or not I had to have the flight booked to apply for the visa. After the call, I checked my email on a whim, something had gone wrong, the first of what would be many troubles raised its ugly head. My loan didn't come through as planned and my tuition check bounced. A few phone-calls to the bank and some extra legwork (thanks again to my Ma and Jessica at my bank) and it was worked out, but I wouldn't find out until after the solution to problem three presented itself.
I had planned to take a train and walk to the consulate, but there was a cab outside the hotel as I was leaving, thinking perhaps this is providential, I took it. The cab driver tried to tell me that the consulate wasn't on Michigan, but on Ashland, that it had recently moved. I said, Sir, I respectfully request that you take me to Michigan - and if it's not there, then you can take me to Ashland. I let my smart phone do some finding, and sure enough, the Mexican consulate had recently moved from Michigan to Ashland, I explained that we were both right, and we had a nice chuckle about the mixup - Spain, Mexico, I mean, what's the difference (plenty more than just the distance from Michigan Ave to Ashland). Dodged a bullet there.
I arrived at the Spanish consulate about an hour early for my appointment, but was glad that I saw the sign inside that said I needed copies of ALL my documents (not just the Visa application itself). OMG, this is my fear, am I dodging another bullet? I hope so, I'm doing everything I can to be prepared. With a little help from the doorman (my first excellent person of the day), I was off to Kinko's, where I also acquired an envelope that was a little too small, but with a little help from my second excellent person of the day, I also got a free, slightly damaged envelope that was much larger (but not too oversized as to be useless). I stopped for a Mocha across the street from the consulate and tried to kill about half an hour.
About ten minutes earlier than my appointment I headed to the consulate and I was immediately seen, an outright contradiction to the consulate's website. The website makes it sound like a cold, hard, unfeeling bureaucracy, but I met excellent people three and four here. I also came into my second problem of the morning. See, my dog chewed up my passport when I moved at the end of this past summer, not much, just a little, but it was enough to qualify my passport for "mutilated" status and by law this brings "null-and-void" status (it says so right in the passport, though of course I'd never read that before it was pointed it out to me). My passport is rendered useless, except to get another passport and the people at the consulate are optimistic, I might even be able to get it today, they say. In my little country world, a passport takes weeks (even when expedited) - fortunately this is not so in the Windy City where the State department keeps an office. Excellent persons three and four let me know I should go and do this now, and I might even be able to get back by two (when they close).
So, I book it down to the State Department offices. My "Last Supper" belt buckle gets a few good laughs out of the security guards, "I would definitely wear this," one of them says, to which I reply, Does this mean I'm going away? We all had a nice laugh - I wish airports had this kind of sense of humor, but it might be better that they don't. I get upstairs, I wait in line for the better part of an hour - the whole time, hoping and praying that I get a kind hearted person on a good day, like a mantra, kind hearted person on a good day, kind hearted person on a good day... I have no appointment, I have no travel itinerary - this is a problem, this is problem three. After a little cajoling and a lot of puppy dog eyes, excellent person number five decides that my letter of acceptance IS enough to qualify for the intention to travel, and that I can get an emergency passport replacement. But I don't have passport photos, or the proper paperwork filled out and I still might not be able to get it today. Minor problems, we'll combine them as problem four. She gives me the proper paperwork, and sends me on my way, "Just come right up to my window when you're done."
I get two sets of slightly overpriced but very quick passport photos from a specialty business across the street, fly through the application, including frantic phone calls to both of my parents (I needed both of their locations of birth for the passport application), and I'm back at the State department. At this point, I have no idea if I'll be able to get my emergency passport today, tomorrow or next week in the mail. Excellent person number five shuffles me down to excellent person number six, who checks me out and tells me to come back and pick it up at three - after we make some jokes about Dogs/cuteness, the cost of chewing up passports, and that even though I didn't list it on my list of countries I intend to visit, that I should check out Morocco. I nervously agreed, hoping it wasn't a trick question, So I've heard, I said. After raising my right hand and signing a hurtfully large receipt, I was back on my way to the consulate - which of course, closes at two. It was one.
I opt for a cab, because it is cold and I'm sick of walking and sweating, there is no middle ground for me in the winter, I am too hot or I am cold, period. We get back to Michigan avenue and my card is declining. SRSLY? I'm calling the bank to find out what's going on while the cabbie is telling me that I'm declined again, and again, I try to explain, I tell him to keep the meter running - I know I've got money, maybe it's because I'm in Chicago (out of my town) and I've spent a few hundred dollars in the past twenty four hours. He "lets" me out after about five minutes, says forget about it. He's been speaking in Afrikaans or Arabic on a bluetooth since I got in, so I give him some nice blessings in Arabic, maybe it assuaged the burn I accidentally gave him. Turns out, when I finally get ahold of someone at the bank, it must have been his machine because there was no record of the transactions on their end. I decide I've got to get some cash, silly me - when I changed pants before I left the night before I didn't transfer my twenty two dollars in small bills.
Upon my return to the consulate, excellent persons three and four remain amenable, helpful and nice. They help me get my papers in order, and tell me to just bring the passport and slip it in the mail slot after I pick it up from the State department at three pm. I make a quick trip to the post office to get a return envelope for the passport that I don't even have, and voila, all that's left is to make it back to the state department and then back to the consulate. Turns out, that smaller envelope that I bought at Kinko's is going to be needed after all. And all the while, I've got Gogol Bordello running through my head. I stop at an ATM and pay a crazy stupid fee to pull out some cash for later emergencies. At this point, I'm beginning to suspect that this is in fact, "just one of those days."
I hate eating corporate in a place like Chicago, I mean, there's so many options. Still, I opt for a chain because I need some normalcy and I'm craving a mozzarella and basil sandwich. I killed about an hour for lunch with a wi-fi connection, doing some correspondence, writing a little, helping a friend with his sociology woes and finally booking my return bus for 4:55 pm. My smart phone tells me that It'll take me seventeen minutes to walk to the State department building. At 2:17 I start the walk, after a couple of short detours, it's twenty to three and I'm checking through security for the third time. I get up stairs, I show them that my phone is off (NO phones allowed in the State department) again, they send me to the room to wait.
In the room, I see many of the same people I saw earlier, just grumpier, more excitable and looking pretty worn out. I wait my turn at the window. My passport isn't finished, it is in process, just wait, thirty/forty minutes - max, he says. My heart sinks, I see my bus-ride slipping away and I start to feel stupid for not buying the refundable ticket. I cheer myself up, plenty of time I think to myself, I'll still be at the terminal by four thirty, NBD. Besides, without access to my phone I probably couldn't cancel the ticket anyway.
At four, the gentleman calls my name, my heart leaps for joy but when I get to the window he's not holding one of the blue passport envelopes that he's been handing out. They misspelled your name, he tells me, they're remaking it, just a few minutes longer. He then, disappears for an indeterminate amount of time and people start packing up behind the windows. There is no clock in the passport room, and you're not allowed to turn your phone on - too bad my phone is my watch. After what feels like an eternity, the huffy woman at the next window over calls my name. She seems pretty flummoxed by this turn of overtime events for her - I'm not even the last one in the room. I sign for the passport, I grab my mighty selection of winter wear that I've been alternating between wearing and carrying all day, and head for the door.
By the time I get my phone turned on it says four thirty four. I have twenty minutes to make it ten blocks, take a fifteen story elevator ride up and then back down, and then make it twenty five blocks to the bus-station. Cripes. Whatever hope I have is looking like fumes on a gas gage. Taxi time! 180 N. Michigan please. Elevator ride up. Brand-new passport into the undersized envelope from earlier, slipped into the mail slot so that it falls with my name and purpose face up - success. Call the elevator, it takes forever (or about ten seconds), it stops on the way down and floods with ladies, positive, jubilant ladies. We make a couple of quick jokes - I told them they might not want to get on the elevator with me, they told me they'd been stuck in THIS exact elevator just hours earlier. I'm thrilled when we touch down. I yog past them through the revolving door, apologizing, but they seemed to understand that I was hurried. It is 4:47, my bus is twenty five blocks away and leaves in eight minutes.
The first cab passes me by, the second cab passes me by - one full, one empty. The third cab brings me excellent person number seven and is the nicest cab I've been in all day, a Mercury Sable? who knew. I've got twenty dollars if you can get me to the greyhound station by 4:50, or just before 4:55. It's 4:48 and in as thick an Eastern-European accent as I've ever heard from an immigrant, he says, "Woy - maybe in eight minute. You got your ticket?" Nope, it's will-call, gotta pick it up. He "Woys" again. We get cut off by the same car three times, we get stuck behind two out of service busses, we hit the first four possible red lights, but then traffic broke and lights were green for a mile. We laughed the entire time, I told him my story - or at least an abridged version - and by no small miracle, in Chicago rush-hour traffic, he got me to the terminal at 4:54. He got the twenty.
I ran in. I mixed up the young woman at the counter's prompt for "Your credit card or confirmation number," and I started reading her my credit card... What number are you giving me? My credit card - No, I need your card OR your confirmation number. Woy. I give her the card, flash my ID, sign my ticket and I'm off again. Sir, Sir, she calls after me, I look back, It's that side. I was running to the wrong exit. I shift direction like a young Fred Taylor, and somehow maintain my momentum, only to have my exuberance noted by a guard - Woah there he says to me. 4:55 to Madison? I say. I can see the bus. Oh, he says. Ok, you almost missed it. He signs me off, walks me out (I swear I'm still yogging at this point, like I never stopped) and says to the driver, "We got a runner." And we're all laughing again. This is how my entire day has gone, I clue them both in. I can't believe how hard I had to work to make this happen, but it's even harder to believe that it all actually worked out.
Going into this, all I could think about was how perfect my paperwork needed to be and how scared I was about being turned away for not having everything correct. It turns out, perfect as it was, my paperwork was barely glanced at and most of what I've had to do involved legwork, sweat and the kindness of others. I never imagined that my day would end with a race to the bus depot, a brand-new passport with my information sitting in an envelope on the floor of the Spanish consulate waiting to be discovered en la manjana, and me blogging about my day in Chicago on the Wi-Fi connection of a Greyhound bus - but it is out of my hands now and it's over. Dio mediante, إن شاءالله , there's nothing more for me to do but book my flight... (And the adventure begins again? Woy, I hope not.)
I arrived in Chicago last night by megabus - the purpose of the trip, a visit to the Spanish Consulate to apply for my student visa - after the ride, I spent a little too long wandering around in the cold looking for an open Walgreens for my liking, but I lived. Earlier I'd tried at my local Walgreens but their photo-making-machine was broken and I was forced to delay my passport photos accordingly, I figured, hell, it's downtown Chicago, there's a Wallgreens on every corner, this shouldn't be a problem. Much to my surprise, at seven forty en la noche, when I arrived most were closed and the closest open one was closing at eight. So I walked, in the wrong direction for a bit, then got in touch with one in Greek Town, and turned around accordingly. Forty minutes of walking and bam, photos in my hands in less than five minutes, things are looking up (or so I thought!).
After wandering past some pretty fancy hotels, I found a Holiday Inn and warmed up with a nicely made Chicago pizza. I cozied up in my room while the Pats whooped the Jets, texting back and forth with friends about football and politics. After, I finished my Visa application. I got some pretty dark complimentary copies of my important documents from the Holiday Inn, and then headed off to dreamland after an extra-long and exceptionally warm shower (this is by my standards, so it was probably still not as hot or lengthy as the one you're imagining - but it's the archetype, the experience that counts - not the exact details).
I woke up at 1:30, 3:47, 4:45, 6:34 and 7:35 (two minutes before my second alarm - I apparently slept through the first at 7:00). Each wake-up was preceded by a dream where I was irreparably late for my appointment at the consulate. So, I just got up, packed up, and then called my Mom for some advice in booking my flight. At this point in the morning, my biggest concern was whether or not I had to have the flight booked to apply for the visa. After the call, I checked my email on a whim, something had gone wrong, the first of what would be many troubles raised its ugly head. My loan didn't come through as planned and my tuition check bounced. A few phone-calls to the bank and some extra legwork (thanks again to my Ma and Jessica at my bank) and it was worked out, but I wouldn't find out until after the solution to problem three presented itself.
I had planned to take a train and walk to the consulate, but there was a cab outside the hotel as I was leaving, thinking perhaps this is providential, I took it. The cab driver tried to tell me that the consulate wasn't on Michigan, but on Ashland, that it had recently moved. I said, Sir, I respectfully request that you take me to Michigan - and if it's not there, then you can take me to Ashland. I let my smart phone do some finding, and sure enough, the Mexican consulate had recently moved from Michigan to Ashland, I explained that we were both right, and we had a nice chuckle about the mixup - Spain, Mexico, I mean, what's the difference (plenty more than just the distance from Michigan Ave to Ashland). Dodged a bullet there.
I arrived at the Spanish consulate about an hour early for my appointment, but was glad that I saw the sign inside that said I needed copies of ALL my documents (not just the Visa application itself). OMG, this is my fear, am I dodging another bullet? I hope so, I'm doing everything I can to be prepared. With a little help from the doorman (my first excellent person of the day), I was off to Kinko's, where I also acquired an envelope that was a little too small, but with a little help from my second excellent person of the day, I also got a free, slightly damaged envelope that was much larger (but not too oversized as to be useless). I stopped for a Mocha across the street from the consulate and tried to kill about half an hour.
About ten minutes earlier than my appointment I headed to the consulate and I was immediately seen, an outright contradiction to the consulate's website. The website makes it sound like a cold, hard, unfeeling bureaucracy, but I met excellent people three and four here. I also came into my second problem of the morning. See, my dog chewed up my passport when I moved at the end of this past summer, not much, just a little, but it was enough to qualify my passport for "mutilated" status and by law this brings "null-and-void" status (it says so right in the passport, though of course I'd never read that before it was pointed it out to me). My passport is rendered useless, except to get another passport and the people at the consulate are optimistic, I might even be able to get it today, they say. In my little country world, a passport takes weeks (even when expedited) - fortunately this is not so in the Windy City where the State department keeps an office. Excellent persons three and four let me know I should go and do this now, and I might even be able to get back by two (when they close).
So, I book it down to the State Department offices. My "Last Supper" belt buckle gets a few good laughs out of the security guards, "I would definitely wear this," one of them says, to which I reply, Does this mean I'm going away? We all had a nice laugh - I wish airports had this kind of sense of humor, but it might be better that they don't. I get upstairs, I wait in line for the better part of an hour - the whole time, hoping and praying that I get a kind hearted person on a good day, like a mantra, kind hearted person on a good day, kind hearted person on a good day... I have no appointment, I have no travel itinerary - this is a problem, this is problem three. After a little cajoling and a lot of puppy dog eyes, excellent person number five decides that my letter of acceptance IS enough to qualify for the intention to travel, and that I can get an emergency passport replacement. But I don't have passport photos, or the proper paperwork filled out and I still might not be able to get it today. Minor problems, we'll combine them as problem four. She gives me the proper paperwork, and sends me on my way, "Just come right up to my window when you're done."
I get two sets of slightly overpriced but very quick passport photos from a specialty business across the street, fly through the application, including frantic phone calls to both of my parents (I needed both of their locations of birth for the passport application), and I'm back at the State department. At this point, I have no idea if I'll be able to get my emergency passport today, tomorrow or next week in the mail. Excellent person number five shuffles me down to excellent person number six, who checks me out and tells me to come back and pick it up at three - after we make some jokes about Dogs/cuteness, the cost of chewing up passports, and that even though I didn't list it on my list of countries I intend to visit, that I should check out Morocco. I nervously agreed, hoping it wasn't a trick question, So I've heard, I said. After raising my right hand and signing a hurtfully large receipt, I was back on my way to the consulate - which of course, closes at two. It was one.
I opt for a cab, because it is cold and I'm sick of walking and sweating, there is no middle ground for me in the winter, I am too hot or I am cold, period. We get back to Michigan avenue and my card is declining. SRSLY? I'm calling the bank to find out what's going on while the cabbie is telling me that I'm declined again, and again, I try to explain, I tell him to keep the meter running - I know I've got money, maybe it's because I'm in Chicago (out of my town) and I've spent a few hundred dollars in the past twenty four hours. He "lets" me out after about five minutes, says forget about it. He's been speaking in Afrikaans or Arabic on a bluetooth since I got in, so I give him some nice blessings in Arabic, maybe it assuaged the burn I accidentally gave him. Turns out, when I finally get ahold of someone at the bank, it must have been his machine because there was no record of the transactions on their end. I decide I've got to get some cash, silly me - when I changed pants before I left the night before I didn't transfer my twenty two dollars in small bills.
Upon my return to the consulate, excellent persons three and four remain amenable, helpful and nice. They help me get my papers in order, and tell me to just bring the passport and slip it in the mail slot after I pick it up from the State department at three pm. I make a quick trip to the post office to get a return envelope for the passport that I don't even have, and voila, all that's left is to make it back to the state department and then back to the consulate. Turns out, that smaller envelope that I bought at Kinko's is going to be needed after all. And all the while, I've got Gogol Bordello running through my head. I stop at an ATM and pay a crazy stupid fee to pull out some cash for later emergencies. At this point, I'm beginning to suspect that this is in fact, "just one of those days."
I hate eating corporate in a place like Chicago, I mean, there's so many options. Still, I opt for a chain because I need some normalcy and I'm craving a mozzarella and basil sandwich. I killed about an hour for lunch with a wi-fi connection, doing some correspondence, writing a little, helping a friend with his sociology woes and finally booking my return bus for 4:55 pm. My smart phone tells me that It'll take me seventeen minutes to walk to the State department building. At 2:17 I start the walk, after a couple of short detours, it's twenty to three and I'm checking through security for the third time. I get up stairs, I show them that my phone is off (NO phones allowed in the State department) again, they send me to the room to wait.
In the room, I see many of the same people I saw earlier, just grumpier, more excitable and looking pretty worn out. I wait my turn at the window. My passport isn't finished, it is in process, just wait, thirty/forty minutes - max, he says. My heart sinks, I see my bus-ride slipping away and I start to feel stupid for not buying the refundable ticket. I cheer myself up, plenty of time I think to myself, I'll still be at the terminal by four thirty, NBD. Besides, without access to my phone I probably couldn't cancel the ticket anyway.
At four, the gentleman calls my name, my heart leaps for joy but when I get to the window he's not holding one of the blue passport envelopes that he's been handing out. They misspelled your name, he tells me, they're remaking it, just a few minutes longer. He then, disappears for an indeterminate amount of time and people start packing up behind the windows. There is no clock in the passport room, and you're not allowed to turn your phone on - too bad my phone is my watch. After what feels like an eternity, the huffy woman at the next window over calls my name. She seems pretty flummoxed by this turn of overtime events for her - I'm not even the last one in the room. I sign for the passport, I grab my mighty selection of winter wear that I've been alternating between wearing and carrying all day, and head for the door.
By the time I get my phone turned on it says four thirty four. I have twenty minutes to make it ten blocks, take a fifteen story elevator ride up and then back down, and then make it twenty five blocks to the bus-station. Cripes. Whatever hope I have is looking like fumes on a gas gage. Taxi time! 180 N. Michigan please. Elevator ride up. Brand-new passport into the undersized envelope from earlier, slipped into the mail slot so that it falls with my name and purpose face up - success. Call the elevator, it takes forever (or about ten seconds), it stops on the way down and floods with ladies, positive, jubilant ladies. We make a couple of quick jokes - I told them they might not want to get on the elevator with me, they told me they'd been stuck in THIS exact elevator just hours earlier. I'm thrilled when we touch down. I yog past them through the revolving door, apologizing, but they seemed to understand that I was hurried. It is 4:47, my bus is twenty five blocks away and leaves in eight minutes.
The first cab passes me by, the second cab passes me by - one full, one empty. The third cab brings me excellent person number seven and is the nicest cab I've been in all day, a Mercury Sable? who knew. I've got twenty dollars if you can get me to the greyhound station by 4:50, or just before 4:55. It's 4:48 and in as thick an Eastern-European accent as I've ever heard from an immigrant, he says, "Woy - maybe in eight minute. You got your ticket?" Nope, it's will-call, gotta pick it up. He "Woys" again. We get cut off by the same car three times, we get stuck behind two out of service busses, we hit the first four possible red lights, but then traffic broke and lights were green for a mile. We laughed the entire time, I told him my story - or at least an abridged version - and by no small miracle, in Chicago rush-hour traffic, he got me to the terminal at 4:54. He got the twenty.
I ran in. I mixed up the young woman at the counter's prompt for "Your credit card or confirmation number," and I started reading her my credit card... What number are you giving me? My credit card - No, I need your card OR your confirmation number. Woy. I give her the card, flash my ID, sign my ticket and I'm off again. Sir, Sir, she calls after me, I look back, It's that side. I was running to the wrong exit. I shift direction like a young Fred Taylor, and somehow maintain my momentum, only to have my exuberance noted by a guard - Woah there he says to me. 4:55 to Madison? I say. I can see the bus. Oh, he says. Ok, you almost missed it. He signs me off, walks me out (I swear I'm still yogging at this point, like I never stopped) and says to the driver, "We got a runner." And we're all laughing again. This is how my entire day has gone, I clue them both in. I can't believe how hard I had to work to make this happen, but it's even harder to believe that it all actually worked out.
Going into this, all I could think about was how perfect my paperwork needed to be and how scared I was about being turned away for not having everything correct. It turns out, perfect as it was, my paperwork was barely glanced at and most of what I've had to do involved legwork, sweat and the kindness of others. I never imagined that my day would end with a race to the bus depot, a brand-new passport with my information sitting in an envelope on the floor of the Spanish consulate waiting to be discovered en la manjana, and me blogging about my day in Chicago on the Wi-Fi connection of a Greyhound bus - but it is out of my hands now and it's over. Dio mediante, إن شاءالله , there's nothing more for me to do but book my flight... (And the adventure begins again? Woy, I hope not.)
Monday, November 15, 2010
Dear Scott Walker
You have made it apparent that you're very interested in cutting our high-speed rail project. By all accounts, you're looking into what it would take to give the money back, and you've said so much as well. Your emphasis, and I'm guessing impetus in cutting the rail project has to do with cutting government spending - in and of itself a noble goal, but nothing in life is free.
I fear that there is an idea that is gnawing at our American identity, this idea that things can just be had for free. It manifests in people who look to the government to provide for them without any, or with only limited personal involvement in the process. Welfare is a prime example of this, the government providing for the people (whether or not they deserve it is not up for debate, that's not my purpose), and in this last election, this idea was fostered by Republican across the country, including but not limited to this state. These candidates told us (the people) that they would bring the government budget(s) back into line with reality. Focusing on an ideology of independence and individual liberty, and tying big budgets to big government and high taxes. Americans are wary at the least of big, progressive government and the inherent loss of liberty that sort of forced taxation brings. But that is only one side of this coin.
The other side has to do with outsourcing, because you can't just cut from the budget without losing services - nature abhors a vacuum - what the government drops is either directly or indirectly outsourced to the private sector. Either civil programs that aid the underprivileged are cut never to return, which indubitably presents a raised cost to these hard-working, underprivileged, poor, tax-payers - or - other programs become privatized.
If you cut the Federal government funding from the train program, if you kill the train program, are you working in Wisconsin's best interests or are you working for the Federal government's best interests or are you looking out for the contractors who may pick up that cross and simply change the price-tag instead?
My point is this, you cannot outsource government programs to the private sector and claim any sort of aid to the taxpayer. Services that were once subsidized by tax dollars increase in price - possibly out of the range of those who would use them. Let's take a bus for example, or perhaps a high-speed train. If tax dollars, state or federal, are keeping a bus-fare low and that subsidy is taken away, the price to ride the bus increases (and people would demand more of the bus service accordingly - we already have non-public transportation in the form of personal automobiles and taxis) and the people who need it most are denied. In turn, the bus sees less business and less funding, then as though a miracle of the market, the bus folds and there is not public transportation. Obviously, because it is not profitable it is not beneficial - hopefully you can see through my sarcasm and recognize that as the bold-faced lie it is.
This is the myth of corporatism, of privatization, this is the cold, unfeeling hand of the market. It is dis-compassionate and it is based in an American mythology of the individual - even you sir could not have gotten to where you are (as an elected official) without the votes of people. You may be our face and you may be a very hard worker, but you are not the machine without us. Perhaps you could take the time out of your busy schedule to reevaluate your agenda.
You are the governor of our state, your duty is to the people of Wisconsin. Not to the upper classes, not to the privileged elites, not to the business interests who bankrolled you into office, not even to the Federal government - you are OUR governor and we are asking you to take notice of that. You were elected by less than a five percent margin, you have anything but a carte blanche to do what you will with this state and it's inhabitants. Your constituents include an incredible amount of working poor that transcends ethnic and racial lines.
And besides, wouldn't a high-speed train make your Milwaukee to Madison and back commute a little easier, I mean, you can afford it. Let the federal government worry about how much money they're going to give you or not, don't say no to help. This train isn't going to break the country, but your cuts into Wisconsin just might destroy the state - whether or not you can balance the budget because of them.
sincerely,
SAM
I fear that there is an idea that is gnawing at our American identity, this idea that things can just be had for free. It manifests in people who look to the government to provide for them without any, or with only limited personal involvement in the process. Welfare is a prime example of this, the government providing for the people (whether or not they deserve it is not up for debate, that's not my purpose), and in this last election, this idea was fostered by Republican across the country, including but not limited to this state. These candidates told us (the people) that they would bring the government budget(s) back into line with reality. Focusing on an ideology of independence and individual liberty, and tying big budgets to big government and high taxes. Americans are wary at the least of big, progressive government and the inherent loss of liberty that sort of forced taxation brings. But that is only one side of this coin.
The other side has to do with outsourcing, because you can't just cut from the budget without losing services - nature abhors a vacuum - what the government drops is either directly or indirectly outsourced to the private sector. Either civil programs that aid the underprivileged are cut never to return, which indubitably presents a raised cost to these hard-working, underprivileged, poor, tax-payers - or - other programs become privatized.
If you cut the Federal government funding from the train program, if you kill the train program, are you working in Wisconsin's best interests or are you working for the Federal government's best interests or are you looking out for the contractors who may pick up that cross and simply change the price-tag instead?
My point is this, you cannot outsource government programs to the private sector and claim any sort of aid to the taxpayer. Services that were once subsidized by tax dollars increase in price - possibly out of the range of those who would use them. Let's take a bus for example, or perhaps a high-speed train. If tax dollars, state or federal, are keeping a bus-fare low and that subsidy is taken away, the price to ride the bus increases (and people would demand more of the bus service accordingly - we already have non-public transportation in the form of personal automobiles and taxis) and the people who need it most are denied. In turn, the bus sees less business and less funding, then as though a miracle of the market, the bus folds and there is not public transportation. Obviously, because it is not profitable it is not beneficial - hopefully you can see through my sarcasm and recognize that as the bold-faced lie it is.
This is the myth of corporatism, of privatization, this is the cold, unfeeling hand of the market. It is dis-compassionate and it is based in an American mythology of the individual - even you sir could not have gotten to where you are (as an elected official) without the votes of people. You may be our face and you may be a very hard worker, but you are not the machine without us. Perhaps you could take the time out of your busy schedule to reevaluate your agenda.
You are the governor of our state, your duty is to the people of Wisconsin. Not to the upper classes, not to the privileged elites, not to the business interests who bankrolled you into office, not even to the Federal government - you are OUR governor and we are asking you to take notice of that. You were elected by less than a five percent margin, you have anything but a carte blanche to do what you will with this state and it's inhabitants. Your constituents include an incredible amount of working poor that transcends ethnic and racial lines.
And besides, wouldn't a high-speed train make your Milwaukee to Madison and back commute a little easier, I mean, you can afford it. Let the federal government worry about how much money they're going to give you or not, don't say no to help. This train isn't going to break the country, but your cuts into Wisconsin just might destroy the state - whether or not you can balance the budget because of them.
sincerely,
SAM
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Veteran's Day Redoux
This was written as a response to a lengthy Facebook comments feed on Veteran's day. A friend of mine (Jeff, a devoted and sincere pacifist and anarchist) said, "Soldiers are murderers, every single one signed up to kill. They sacrifice their own morality on the false altar of our corrupt government for lies of glory or desperation for money and education. Many of them don't have a choice in becoming soldiers, and for that I pity them. But I do not, and will not, respect anyone who CHOOSES to kill and die at the beck and call of the immoral fatcats." Needless to say, many of his friends took offense to this and responded in various ways - some personal, some with simply differing opinions. (the feed can be found here, or at least it was at one time.) I missed the entire conversation, but felt compelled to write the following - which I in turn much abbreviated and added as my two cents to the conversation.
I wrote,
Killers a killer. I know soldiers who are proud killers or at least like to say they are. Our military is being misused. Aggression and hegemony are not appropriate uses of military might.
My dad's birthday is Veterans day, he's the only one of his brothers who never served a day in the military. My Grandad was a sailor in the Navy during World War Two, he lied about his age to join up, he was sixteen. After the war he joined the Air Force, and served until he reached retirement. Neither of my Dad's older brothers were sent to Vietnam, my dad was too young to serve anyway. Rumor in my family is that Papa made a deal with the military, somehow. He had pretty high top-secret clearance, so my guess is he had some leverage. Wild conjecture but a good story nonetheless.
My step-brother is in the Army, he's been to Iraq four times. In his own words, he kills bad guys. I was socialized to love America, and in my own way I still do. As a child I read every history book about war I could get my hands on. I grew up wanting to be a soldier, but then when I was given the opportunity to break codes for Marine Intelligence, I decided I couldn't be a part of the machine that kills people. Jeff and I share the same month and day of birth in different years so I find that similarity to be an interesting correlation.
My Papa died of cancer when I was three. I barely remember it. Some of my earliest memories have to do with visiting him in the VA hospital with my parents, aunts, uncles and cousins. There's a good possibility that he died because of, or in relation to exposure to agent orange. I don't believe my Grandmother was ever able to be a part of the agent orange settlement, either because she chose not to participate, because my Papa's security level denied her access to his records, or perhaps one of uncountable other reasons.
Needless to say, my opinion of soldiers and soldiering is nuanced and mostly unimportant, and although I love the anarchist ideals that Jeff purports, they are not the way of the world and whether or not they should be is not what this discussion seemed to be about. I read all these comments and there are many good points that have been made - as well as an unfortunate amount of personal involvement. Something John Stewart said comes to mind, "We can have animus and not be enemies." You're friends, don't let THIS be what comes between you. Our differences are what make us strong, balanced. So the Jeff's are balanced out by the Killers, and vice versa.
That said, it's nice to bring up the the founding myth of the American Revolutionary war, and it's regular-fare to talk about Vietnam, but nobody talks about the US Civil War, which killed over six hundred thousand American soldiers. The north fought against the slaving south in as honorable a war for freedom as can be - and the south fought for their way of life, which they also described as freedom (just not for Blacks), but without Sherman's march to the sea, in which horrible atrocities were committed against the south, the victory of the Union, the country as we know it, history as we recall it would be very different. Horrible things are done to achieve and maintain.
After the revolution, we slaughtered the natives, then fought Mexicans, then each other, then the Spanish, then Mexicans again, then World War One, then World War Two, which ushered in the Nuclear age and the cold war. Then the hegemony and posturing against the communist menace - America as the world's savior. And! we won. But we didn't bring the troops home from Europe, we didn't bring them home from anywhere, we kept our military stationed worldwide; regardless of whether or not we want to admit it, we're acting as if the world is completely within our hegemony.
With the invention of the atomic bomb came the invention of National Security - nothing had ever been that big of a deal, and with good reason. What if the Nazi's had the bomb? (Some dude makes a mint writing about that.) The bomb put the President in charge of war, which is unconstitutional. One man isn't to be in charge of war, that's a king's duty or (a) God(s)'(s). It was extra-unconstitutional for our congress to give Bush II the right to declare war on Iraq, the pre-approved, pre-emptive strike (against a third world country that wouldn't admit they didn't have any WMD because they were worried they'd be invaded by Iran if they admitted it). Afghanistan, though much closer to a retributive strike for the attacks of 9/11 was still a violation of international law and the sanctity of Afghanistan as a nation - Afghanistan didn't declare war on the US, some people who happened to be hiding out there did. Now, we're still fighting in both places, eight and ten years after the fact. Struggles longer than either of the World Wars, longer than the US Civil War, and almost as long as the US involvement in Vietnam.
The grander point that I am trying to reach here is that regardless of how one feels about what happened on 9/11, our wars in the Middle East and Western Asia are not "just" wars - they are wars of hegemony. We decided that these other countries (or more accurately, what was going on in these countries) were (was) problematic for our interests, regardless of their national sovereignty. This is practically a dictionary definition of hegemony. This would be reverse of the situation regarding Switzerland and Nazi Germany - if the Nazi's had gone decided that the correct answer wasn't to bypass Switzerland to get to France, but instead to just simply invade Switzerland. Or if the rest of Europe had decided that Nazi Germany was to be stopped - which is the rhetoric that was used to whip up the pro-war frenzy in the wake of 9/11. The fundamental difference between the rhetoric and reality is the difference between a nation invading another nation and a nation invading a nation to get at a group of people hiding-out in that other nation. That'd be like Mexico invading the US to get at drug dealers hiding out here - or vice versa. But I think it's important to note the difference in feeling to our country being invaded vs. our country invading another country. One makes us the victim, the other the hero. By that same logic, that makes Afghanistan the victim, though we still like to imagine that we're the hero. The foil to a victim isn't a hero but a perpetrator of Evil.
Lastly, I think it's difficult to say who would do what, when x and/or y variable occurs. Reality makes, and history has a record of unlikely and awkward heroes, strange bedfellows and surprise killers for better and for worse. People complain about the media and a slanted message, they should turn that directly on the slanted lens of history. In a way I find it hard not to see this nation as a self important bully with a long and violent history of same, but we've stood against (what have been portrayed as) more-evil-states that could have otherwise shaped the world, for better or for worse, but we're writing the history books, because we're winning.
But the unfortunate side effect of our victories has left an unbalance - there's no ONE, clear enemy anymore, or at least not a NATION - and we're not willing to put down our dukes, even though we're drained like an aging punch-drunk champion fighting against shadows. It's just sad that though what lurks behind some shadows is genuinely unhappy and possibly willing to kill us, and behind the rest are innocent bystanders.
It takes a lot to kill but if you pay your taxes you're suporting it. So if you don't agree with it, either stop paying your taxes (in which case you go to jail and basically wind up a ward of the state who winds up contributing in other ways) or as some love to remind those who feel differently than they do about love of country and freedom, maybe it's best to just leave - but where does one go? Perhaps to a democratic-socialist state, like Switzerland, or anywhere in Scandinavia. No where's really perfect, because we're not, but if America wants to continue to see itself as the hero and savior of the planet, her people, liberty and freedom, we've got much harder work ahead of us that doesn't involve anything remotely akin to invading countries and waging war. We need to wage a war against our selves and see our own faults and flaws.
Killing is killing, a person who kills is a killer. Sometimes, killing can be done in the best interests of a large amount of people, but it is never in the best interests of the killed or their relations. If we don't change our methods and our ideologies, we are going to create a world that is hardly worth living in, let alone killing for, and far too many people are going to die. But then again, sooner or later, there's going to be too many of us for this lil'blue planet and we're going to have to figure something else out or we're all going to die.
I wrote,
Killers a killer. I know soldiers who are proud killers or at least like to say they are. Our military is being misused. Aggression and hegemony are not appropriate uses of military might.
My dad's birthday is Veterans day, he's the only one of his brothers who never served a day in the military. My Grandad was a sailor in the Navy during World War Two, he lied about his age to join up, he was sixteen. After the war he joined the Air Force, and served until he reached retirement. Neither of my Dad's older brothers were sent to Vietnam, my dad was too young to serve anyway. Rumor in my family is that Papa made a deal with the military, somehow. He had pretty high top-secret clearance, so my guess is he had some leverage. Wild conjecture but a good story nonetheless.
My step-brother is in the Army, he's been to Iraq four times. In his own words, he kills bad guys. I was socialized to love America, and in my own way I still do. As a child I read every history book about war I could get my hands on. I grew up wanting to be a soldier, but then when I was given the opportunity to break codes for Marine Intelligence, I decided I couldn't be a part of the machine that kills people. Jeff and I share the same month and day of birth in different years so I find that similarity to be an interesting correlation.
My Papa died of cancer when I was three. I barely remember it. Some of my earliest memories have to do with visiting him in the VA hospital with my parents, aunts, uncles and cousins. There's a good possibility that he died because of, or in relation to exposure to agent orange. I don't believe my Grandmother was ever able to be a part of the agent orange settlement, either because she chose not to participate, because my Papa's security level denied her access to his records, or perhaps one of uncountable other reasons.
Needless to say, my opinion of soldiers and soldiering is nuanced and mostly unimportant, and although I love the anarchist ideals that Jeff purports, they are not the way of the world and whether or not they should be is not what this discussion seemed to be about. I read all these comments and there are many good points that have been made - as well as an unfortunate amount of personal involvement. Something John Stewart said comes to mind, "We can have animus and not be enemies." You're friends, don't let THIS be what comes between you. Our differences are what make us strong, balanced. So the Jeff's are balanced out by the Killers, and vice versa.
That said, it's nice to bring up the the founding myth of the American Revolutionary war, and it's regular-fare to talk about Vietnam, but nobody talks about the US Civil War, which killed over six hundred thousand American soldiers. The north fought against the slaving south in as honorable a war for freedom as can be - and the south fought for their way of life, which they also described as freedom (just not for Blacks), but without Sherman's march to the sea, in which horrible atrocities were committed against the south, the victory of the Union, the country as we know it, history as we recall it would be very different. Horrible things are done to achieve and maintain.
After the revolution, we slaughtered the natives, then fought Mexicans, then each other, then the Spanish, then Mexicans again, then World War One, then World War Two, which ushered in the Nuclear age and the cold war. Then the hegemony and posturing against the communist menace - America as the world's savior. And! we won. But we didn't bring the troops home from Europe, we didn't bring them home from anywhere, we kept our military stationed worldwide; regardless of whether or not we want to admit it, we're acting as if the world is completely within our hegemony.
With the invention of the atomic bomb came the invention of National Security - nothing had ever been that big of a deal, and with good reason. What if the Nazi's had the bomb? (Some dude makes a mint writing about that.) The bomb put the President in charge of war, which is unconstitutional. One man isn't to be in charge of war, that's a king's duty or (a) God(s)'(s). It was extra-unconstitutional for our congress to give Bush II the right to declare war on Iraq, the pre-approved, pre-emptive strike (against a third world country that wouldn't admit they didn't have any WMD because they were worried they'd be invaded by Iran if they admitted it). Afghanistan, though much closer to a retributive strike for the attacks of 9/11 was still a violation of international law and the sanctity of Afghanistan as a nation - Afghanistan didn't declare war on the US, some people who happened to be hiding out there did. Now, we're still fighting in both places, eight and ten years after the fact. Struggles longer than either of the World Wars, longer than the US Civil War, and almost as long as the US involvement in Vietnam.
The grander point that I am trying to reach here is that regardless of how one feels about what happened on 9/11, our wars in the Middle East and Western Asia are not "just" wars - they are wars of hegemony. We decided that these other countries (or more accurately, what was going on in these countries) were (was) problematic for our interests, regardless of their national sovereignty. This is practically a dictionary definition of hegemony. This would be reverse of the situation regarding Switzerland and Nazi Germany - if the Nazi's had gone decided that the correct answer wasn't to bypass Switzerland to get to France, but instead to just simply invade Switzerland. Or if the rest of Europe had decided that Nazi Germany was to be stopped - which is the rhetoric that was used to whip up the pro-war frenzy in the wake of 9/11. The fundamental difference between the rhetoric and reality is the difference between a nation invading another nation and a nation invading a nation to get at a group of people hiding-out in that other nation. That'd be like Mexico invading the US to get at drug dealers hiding out here - or vice versa. But I think it's important to note the difference in feeling to our country being invaded vs. our country invading another country. One makes us the victim, the other the hero. By that same logic, that makes Afghanistan the victim, though we still like to imagine that we're the hero. The foil to a victim isn't a hero but a perpetrator of Evil.
Lastly, I think it's difficult to say who would do what, when x and/or y variable occurs. Reality makes, and history has a record of unlikely and awkward heroes, strange bedfellows and surprise killers for better and for worse. People complain about the media and a slanted message, they should turn that directly on the slanted lens of history. In a way I find it hard not to see this nation as a self important bully with a long and violent history of same, but we've stood against (what have been portrayed as) more-evil-states that could have otherwise shaped the world, for better or for worse, but we're writing the history books, because we're winning.
But the unfortunate side effect of our victories has left an unbalance - there's no ONE, clear enemy anymore, or at least not a NATION - and we're not willing to put down our dukes, even though we're drained like an aging punch-drunk champion fighting against shadows. It's just sad that though what lurks behind some shadows is genuinely unhappy and possibly willing to kill us, and behind the rest are innocent bystanders.
It takes a lot to kill but if you pay your taxes you're suporting it. So if you don't agree with it, either stop paying your taxes (in which case you go to jail and basically wind up a ward of the state who winds up contributing in other ways) or as some love to remind those who feel differently than they do about love of country and freedom, maybe it's best to just leave - but where does one go? Perhaps to a democratic-socialist state, like Switzerland, or anywhere in Scandinavia. No where's really perfect, because we're not, but if America wants to continue to see itself as the hero and savior of the planet, her people, liberty and freedom, we've got much harder work ahead of us that doesn't involve anything remotely akin to invading countries and waging war. We need to wage a war against our selves and see our own faults and flaws.
Killing is killing, a person who kills is a killer. Sometimes, killing can be done in the best interests of a large amount of people, but it is never in the best interests of the killed or their relations. If we don't change our methods and our ideologies, we are going to create a world that is hardly worth living in, let alone killing for, and far too many people are going to die. But then again, sooner or later, there's going to be too many of us for this lil'blue planet and we're going to have to figure something else out or we're all going to die.
Monday, November 8, 2010
sometimes, original works are not the best idea
I wish I had something profound to say to you today, something that would turn everything wrong on its head and make everything right again - the election didn't do that and neither can I. If you think it did, or I can, you are sadly mistaken and horribly wrong. Please connect the dots:
1.) Read this or, if you don't like to read and have lots of time, watch this, (good stuff starts @ the 2:50 mark) Bill Moyers speech @ Boston University on October 29th, just days before the election. It's long but informative, horribly informative. His argument appeals not to emotion but to logic and morality, and it finds an unfortunate amount of traction in reality.
2.) "Speak, money" by Roger D. Hodge, the article is referenced in the Moyers speech. It's not as long, but still long.
3.) This is Mitch McConnell, say what you will about Obama's double speak - this is about as duplicitous as it get - read what he's quoted as saying in the Moyers speech and then watch this.
(optional) Extra Credit: Read "So Much Damn Money" by Robert G. Kaiser, or listen to this reading of an excerpt from it on NPR.
AMERICA, WAKE UP! It's true, the politicians aren't working for us anymore, they're working for plutocracists or plutonomists. They are working for the people who are really running the show and calling the shots from behind the camera, like the difference between actors and the director. They will say anything to make you feel good about yourself and the direction of the country, but ultimately, neither the Republicans nor the Democrats are saying the truth, are doing the "right" thing by the people, and are guiding us towards a better, freer, more American future. We're being sold a giant satchel of lies. The people in office are just paying lip-service to the constitution and to our best interests, and way too many people are listening to them.
1.) Read this or, if you don't like to read and have lots of time, watch this, (good stuff starts @ the 2:50 mark) Bill Moyers speech @ Boston University on October 29th, just days before the election. It's long but informative, horribly informative. His argument appeals not to emotion but to logic and morality, and it finds an unfortunate amount of traction in reality.
2.) "Speak, money" by Roger D. Hodge, the article is referenced in the Moyers speech. It's not as long, but still long.
3.) This is Mitch McConnell, say what you will about Obama's double speak - this is about as duplicitous as it get - read what he's quoted as saying in the Moyers speech and then watch this.
(optional) Extra Credit: Read "So Much Damn Money" by Robert G. Kaiser, or listen to this reading of an excerpt from it on NPR.
AMERICA, WAKE UP! It's true, the politicians aren't working for us anymore, they're working for plutocracists or plutonomists. They are working for the people who are really running the show and calling the shots from behind the camera, like the difference between actors and the director. They will say anything to make you feel good about yourself and the direction of the country, but ultimately, neither the Republicans nor the Democrats are saying the truth, are doing the "right" thing by the people, and are guiding us towards a better, freer, more American future. We're being sold a giant satchel of lies. The people in office are just paying lip-service to the constitution and to our best interests, and way too many people are listening to them.
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About Me
- Sam Osborne
- I am a student @ MATC in Madison, WI. I am in the Liberal Arts Transfer Program. I plan on teaching, and on continuing my education إن شاء الله