NO SOY MONEDITA DE ORO
Raven is sitting in front of the computer screen, speakers blasting out the voice of Hugo Chávez.
Gee, Rave. You couldn’t make him any louder, could you?
“Hey”, Raven turns down the volume, “I thought he was The Leo of Your Dreams?”
He is, but I’m not completely deaf yet.
“When you figure out how to get some headphones to fit on my head, I won’t have to use the speakers anymore. I love this speech—where he says he’s not a little gold coin that everybody likes. But he stole my thunder, though.”
Really, guy—someone stole the thunder of the bird who stole the sun and the moon and stars and put them in the sky so that we have light?
“The bird who used to be white and who turned black going up the smoke hole with the sun, the moon and the stars.”
Oh oh. Rave, where is this going?
“You know Chávez. He said: “I’m ugly—black, not refined or anything—a little crude sometimes. Doesn’t that sound like your friendly neighborhood Raven?”
You’re not ugly! Black, well yes—obviously. Crude—sometimes. I see what you mean that he stole SOME of your thunder.
“He even said he wasn’t a communist.”
Has someone accused you of being one lately, Rave?
“Not since the 50s. Not since Charley McCarthy.”
Rave, I told you before: his name was Joe.
“Whatever.” Raven turns the volume back up. “I love this guy!”
Tuesday, June 10, 2003
Monday, June 09, 2003
A CRAB ON THE WALL
Sometimes you aren’t sure what is the product of your imagination, and what appeared on its own power. Yesterday I read a book by Antonio Skármeta, “La chica del trombón”, in which for at least the second time the author refers to the inhabitants of Gema, an apparently imaginary island in the Adriatic (first in “La boda del poeta”), who immigrate to Chile to escape from wars (a less dramatic version of Swimming to Antarctica….)
In the evening, I went down to my kitchen to make a cup of tea, and discovered a crab on the wall above the stove, almost at intersection of the wall with the ceiling. The crustacean seemed to be looking at me very intently—or maybe crabs only look intently because their eyes are very tiny? At first I thought the crab was an imaginary creature who was somehow a projection of a crab in my interior.
“Ha!” Raven, as usual is reading over my shoulder as I write this. “What a pile of crap: crab in your interior, indeed.”
I didn’t say it WAS; I said that was my first thought.
“Sounds like you were drinking more than tea. Are you sure you even saw SOMETHING?”
Rave, it was a crab. It was about 5 inches across, different shades of orange, and it wiggled its leg at me.
“Waving hello, no doubt. And did you happen to ask how it crawled up the cliff from the beach to your kitchen and then crawled up the wall?”
Not exactly. I asked it what it was up to. That’s when it wiggled its leg. I thought it was a sign, but it wasn’t in my language, so I didn’t understand.
“I think you spend too much time reading fiction. It’s taking over your daily life. Crabs are very tasty; you could have popped it into a pot of boiling water. Isn’t that what you people usually do to crabs?”
Rave, you’re impossible. For somebody so high-minded as you to even suggest killing a fellow creature is shocking. I wasn’t going to kill it. Besides, I’m allergic to shellfish. I just wanted to know its message.
“I’m not an assassin; I’m a scavenger. It’s my nature to know which creatures among the “possibly scavenged” are tasty. Probably there was no message. The creature was confused. All creatures are confused these days. We can’t believe the crazy stuff that’s happening on the planet. Another creature may have invaded its home and run it off. When we start imitating the behavior of your species, anything can happen.”
We’ve been down this road before, guy. I don’t want to take the heat for the nasty stuff some members of my species are up to.
“Fine. Some members of your species want to eliminate all the other species on the planet—not to mention that some members of your species want to eliminate a significant percentage of your own species just because they don’t agree with the Bush Gang. And they're trying to eliminate their historical memory, too, by destroying several thousand years worth of artifacts—so that history doesn’t begin in Sumer, but in a bar in Texas. But you’re not part of that. So what are you doing to stop it?”
I’m trying to raise people’s awareness.
“Great. And the crab? What did you do about it?”
Nothing, Rave. What could I do? I turned off the light and went back upstairs.
Sometimes you aren’t sure what is the product of your imagination, and what appeared on its own power. Yesterday I read a book by Antonio Skármeta, “La chica del trombón”, in which for at least the second time the author refers to the inhabitants of Gema, an apparently imaginary island in the Adriatic (first in “La boda del poeta”), who immigrate to Chile to escape from wars (a less dramatic version of Swimming to Antarctica….)
In the evening, I went down to my kitchen to make a cup of tea, and discovered a crab on the wall above the stove, almost at intersection of the wall with the ceiling. The crustacean seemed to be looking at me very intently—or maybe crabs only look intently because their eyes are very tiny? At first I thought the crab was an imaginary creature who was somehow a projection of a crab in my interior.
“Ha!” Raven, as usual is reading over my shoulder as I write this. “What a pile of crap: crab in your interior, indeed.”
I didn’t say it WAS; I said that was my first thought.
“Sounds like you were drinking more than tea. Are you sure you even saw SOMETHING?”
Rave, it was a crab. It was about 5 inches across, different shades of orange, and it wiggled its leg at me.
“Waving hello, no doubt. And did you happen to ask how it crawled up the cliff from the beach to your kitchen and then crawled up the wall?”
Not exactly. I asked it what it was up to. That’s when it wiggled its leg. I thought it was a sign, but it wasn’t in my language, so I didn’t understand.
“I think you spend too much time reading fiction. It’s taking over your daily life. Crabs are very tasty; you could have popped it into a pot of boiling water. Isn’t that what you people usually do to crabs?”
Rave, you’re impossible. For somebody so high-minded as you to even suggest killing a fellow creature is shocking. I wasn’t going to kill it. Besides, I’m allergic to shellfish. I just wanted to know its message.
“I’m not an assassin; I’m a scavenger. It’s my nature to know which creatures among the “possibly scavenged” are tasty. Probably there was no message. The creature was confused. All creatures are confused these days. We can’t believe the crazy stuff that’s happening on the planet. Another creature may have invaded its home and run it off. When we start imitating the behavior of your species, anything can happen.”
We’ve been down this road before, guy. I don’t want to take the heat for the nasty stuff some members of my species are up to.
“Fine. Some members of your species want to eliminate all the other species on the planet—not to mention that some members of your species want to eliminate a significant percentage of your own species just because they don’t agree with the Bush Gang. And they're trying to eliminate their historical memory, too, by destroying several thousand years worth of artifacts—so that history doesn’t begin in Sumer, but in a bar in Texas. But you’re not part of that. So what are you doing to stop it?”
I’m trying to raise people’s awareness.
“Great. And the crab? What did you do about it?”
Nothing, Rave. What could I do? I turned off the light and went back upstairs.
Friday, June 06, 2003
SWIMMING TO ANTARCTICA
Raven is holding his sides laughing. Pretty amazing when you consider that means he is levitating—no wing action at all.
What’s so funny?
“I don’t know if this is a joke or if it’s real, but this article says that Jason Blair is replacing Ari Fleisher as White House mouthpiece.” Raven wipes a tear from one beady eye and explodes in cackles.
It’s gotta be a joke, Rave! He’s that bogus alcoholic affirmative action bullshitter journalist that was fired from the NY TIMES.
“I know. I’m black and even I am offended by him. And the two head honchos from the TIMES just resigned. He brought down their house of cards, apparently.”
No way, Rave. They did it themselves by signing up to beat the war drums for the White House.
“My only hope is that he gets Bush back on the sauce. The world would be far better place with those two bozos falling off a barstool in Texas than sitting in the Oval Office.”
A very slender thread of hope, guy. I think we should consider heading south: Patagonia, or Tierra del Fuego.
“Swimming to Antarctica sounds about right….for you anyway. I can take the high road.”
Rave, straighten up and fly right.
Raven is holding his sides laughing. Pretty amazing when you consider that means he is levitating—no wing action at all.
What’s so funny?
“I don’t know if this is a joke or if it’s real, but this article says that Jason Blair is replacing Ari Fleisher as White House mouthpiece.” Raven wipes a tear from one beady eye and explodes in cackles.
It’s gotta be a joke, Rave! He’s that bogus alcoholic affirmative action bullshitter journalist that was fired from the NY TIMES.
“I know. I’m black and even I am offended by him. And the two head honchos from the TIMES just resigned. He brought down their house of cards, apparently.”
No way, Rave. They did it themselves by signing up to beat the war drums for the White House.
“My only hope is that he gets Bush back on the sauce. The world would be far better place with those two bozos falling off a barstool in Texas than sitting in the Oval Office.”
A very slender thread of hope, guy. I think we should consider heading south: Patagonia, or Tierra del Fuego.
“Swimming to Antarctica sounds about right….for you anyway. I can take the high road.”
Rave, straighten up and fly right.
Wednesday, June 04, 2003
SITTING ON A SEA OF....
Raven crouches on the windowsill.
Are you pretending to be a stuffed bird, or what?
“I’m depressed. The world is going to hell in a handbasket.”
Rave, you sound like my grandmother.
“I’ll bet she’s not even alive. Hendrix said: “There ain’t no life nowhere.” And he was right. He’s not alive either.
Yeah, on ARE YOU EXPERIENCED. The song was “I Don’t Live Today”. What IS this, guy: music trivia?
“There is no hope. First Wolfowitz told Vanity Fair that they invaded Iraq using the pretext of WMDs for “bureaucratic reasons.” Then he came out somewhere in Asia and said they didn’t care about North Korea because it wasn’t ‘sitting on a sea of oil’. All bets are off now, when those assholes can come out and say they invaded Iraq for the oil—without even making a pretext anymore.
I see your point, guy. But don’t take it personally. Outside that window is Pacific Ocean—bigger and bluer than any sea of oil in Iraq. And with blue skies overhead stretching at least to Guam.
Raven isn’t buying any of it.
“It’s all lies. Even the truth becomes a lie. War is peace. Oil is WMDS. Up is down. It’s a sea of shit….”
Some days are like that. You just have to sink to the bottom.
Raven crouches on the windowsill.
Are you pretending to be a stuffed bird, or what?
“I’m depressed. The world is going to hell in a handbasket.”
Rave, you sound like my grandmother.
“I’ll bet she’s not even alive. Hendrix said: “There ain’t no life nowhere.” And he was right. He’s not alive either.
Yeah, on ARE YOU EXPERIENCED. The song was “I Don’t Live Today”. What IS this, guy: music trivia?
“There is no hope. First Wolfowitz told Vanity Fair that they invaded Iraq using the pretext of WMDs for “bureaucratic reasons.” Then he came out somewhere in Asia and said they didn’t care about North Korea because it wasn’t ‘sitting on a sea of oil’. All bets are off now, when those assholes can come out and say they invaded Iraq for the oil—without even making a pretext anymore.
I see your point, guy. But don’t take it personally. Outside that window is Pacific Ocean—bigger and bluer than any sea of oil in Iraq. And with blue skies overhead stretching at least to Guam.
Raven isn’t buying any of it.
“It’s all lies. Even the truth becomes a lie. War is peace. Oil is WMDS. Up is down. It’s a sea of shit….”
Some days are like that. You just have to sink to the bottom.
Friday, May 30, 2003
WHO CARES ABOUT THE BIG LIES?
Raven is eating a grubby little muffin that’s called a “manteca” (lard) here. It’s the only bread we have left in the house, and I don’t blame him for feeling a little down in the beak about having to eat it.
I’m sorry, guy. Tomorrow I will try to go to Pochutla for food. I have two weeks of dirty laundry to wash in the kitchen sink, so we might be eating very late in the day.
“Want me to do a rain dance so that you won’t have to wash the clothes?” Raven looks at me slyly.
The problem with that is people are not going to want to see me running around naked. They seem to have developed an aversion to the truth lately. I am reading an article from The Independent about Wolfowitz admitting that “WMDs were just a convenient excuse for war.”
“Did he just say that today?” Raven sweeps the shreds of the muffin into the garbage with his right wing.
No, Rave, he didn’t. Apparently he said it to an interviewer from Vanity Fair for the July issue.
“For a fluff piece?” Raven is clearly not impressed.
These folks, besides being liars, are not exactly rocket scientists. He tries to obfuscate the issue by talking about another issue:
“That was the prospect of the United States being able to withdraw all of its forces from Saudi Arabia once the threat of Saddam had been removed. Since the taking of Baghdad, Washington has said that it is taking its troops out of the kingdom. "Just lifting that burden from the Saudis is itself going to the door" towards making progress elsewhere in achieving Middle East peace, Mr Wolfowitz said. The presence of the US military in Saudi Arabia has been one of the main grievances of al-Qa'ida and other terrorist groups. For bureaucratic reasons we settled on one issue, weapons of mass destruction, because it was the one reason everyone could agree on," Mr Wolfowitz tells the magazine.”
“I see”, Raven nods, “they invaded Iraq for ‘bureaucratic reasons’. Great motivation for bombing the crap out of a country, killing its people, and a big list of destructive etceteras.”
The article goes on to say:
“The comments suggest that, even for the US administration, the logic that was presented for going to war may have been an empty shell. They come to light, moreover, just two days after Mr Wolfowitz's immediate boss, Donald Rumsfeld, the Defense Secretary, conceded for the first time that the arms might never be found.
The failure to find a single example of the weapons that London and Washington said were inside Iraq only makes the embarrassment more acute. Voices are increasingly being raised in the US and Britain demanding an explanation for why nothing has been found.
Most striking is the fact that these latest remarks come from Mr Wolfowitz, recognized widely as the leader of the hawks' camp in Washington most responsible for urging President George Bush to use military might in Iraq. The magazine article reveals that Mr Wolfowitz was even pushing Mr Bush to attack Iraq immediately after the 11 September attacks in the US, instead of invading Afghanistan.
There have long been suspicions that Mr Wolfowitz has essentially been running a shadow administration out of his Pentagon office, ensuring that the right-wing views of himself and his followers find their way into the practice of American foreign policy. He is best known as the author of the policy of first-strike pre-emption in world affairs that was adopted by Mr Bush shortly after the al-Qa'ida attacks.”
“What’s this, another Prince of Darkness scenario? Everybody who has read The Plan knows that he was just one of its authors.”
Anyway, the author of the article says:
“Critics of the administration and of the war will now want to know how convinced the Americans really were that the weapons existed in Iraq to the extent that was publicly stated. Questions are also multiplying as to the quality of the intelligence provided to the White House. Was it simply faulty given that nothing has been found in Iraq or was it influenced by the White House's fixation on the weapons issue? Or were the intelligence agencies telling the White House what it wanted to hear?”
“I can’t believe that anyone really thought the weapons existed! Any idiot would conclude that if they had existed they would have been used when the US began the invasion.”
People want to believe stuff like that, Rave. They feel kind of creepy thinking that people who are running their governments just invent reasons to invade other countries. Even though it has been done over and over again.
“These are folks with no historical consciousness. And what about this silliness of biological weapons being produced in milk trucks?”
They do mention that, Rave. Here it says:
“As skepticism grows over the failure to find weapons of mass destruction in Iraq, London and Washington are attempting to turn the focus of attention to Iraq's alleged possession of mobile weapons labs.
A joint CIA and Defense Intelligence Agency report released this week claimed that two trucks found in northern Iraq last month were mobile labs used to develop biological weapons. The trucks were fitted with hi-tech laboratory equipment and the report said the discovery represented the "strongest evidence to date that Iraq was hiding a biowarfare program".
The design of the vehicles made them "an ingeniously simple self-contained bioprocessing system". The report said no other purpose, for example water purification, medical laboratory or vaccine production, would justify such effort and expense.
But critics are not convinced. No biological agents were found on the trucks and experts point out that, unlike the trucks described by Colin Powell, the Secretary of State, in a speech to the UN Security Council, they were open sided and would therefore have left a trace easy for weapons inspectors to detect. One former UN inspector said that the trucks would have been a very inefficient way to produce anthrax.”
“That’s an understatement, " Raven cackles. "Open sided. I still think they are milk trucks. Made obsolete by the elimination of Iraqui children….”
Raven is eating a grubby little muffin that’s called a “manteca” (lard) here. It’s the only bread we have left in the house, and I don’t blame him for feeling a little down in the beak about having to eat it.
I’m sorry, guy. Tomorrow I will try to go to Pochutla for food. I have two weeks of dirty laundry to wash in the kitchen sink, so we might be eating very late in the day.
“Want me to do a rain dance so that you won’t have to wash the clothes?” Raven looks at me slyly.
The problem with that is people are not going to want to see me running around naked. They seem to have developed an aversion to the truth lately. I am reading an article from The Independent about Wolfowitz admitting that “WMDs were just a convenient excuse for war.”
“Did he just say that today?” Raven sweeps the shreds of the muffin into the garbage with his right wing.
No, Rave, he didn’t. Apparently he said it to an interviewer from Vanity Fair for the July issue.
“For a fluff piece?” Raven is clearly not impressed.
These folks, besides being liars, are not exactly rocket scientists. He tries to obfuscate the issue by talking about another issue:
“That was the prospect of the United States being able to withdraw all of its forces from Saudi Arabia once the threat of Saddam had been removed. Since the taking of Baghdad, Washington has said that it is taking its troops out of the kingdom. "Just lifting that burden from the Saudis is itself going to the door" towards making progress elsewhere in achieving Middle East peace, Mr Wolfowitz said. The presence of the US military in Saudi Arabia has been one of the main grievances of al-Qa'ida and other terrorist groups. For bureaucratic reasons we settled on one issue, weapons of mass destruction, because it was the one reason everyone could agree on," Mr Wolfowitz tells the magazine.”
“I see”, Raven nods, “they invaded Iraq for ‘bureaucratic reasons’. Great motivation for bombing the crap out of a country, killing its people, and a big list of destructive etceteras.”
The article goes on to say:
“The comments suggest that, even for the US administration, the logic that was presented for going to war may have been an empty shell. They come to light, moreover, just two days after Mr Wolfowitz's immediate boss, Donald Rumsfeld, the Defense Secretary, conceded for the first time that the arms might never be found.
The failure to find a single example of the weapons that London and Washington said were inside Iraq only makes the embarrassment more acute. Voices are increasingly being raised in the US and Britain demanding an explanation for why nothing has been found.
Most striking is the fact that these latest remarks come from Mr Wolfowitz, recognized widely as the leader of the hawks' camp in Washington most responsible for urging President George Bush to use military might in Iraq. The magazine article reveals that Mr Wolfowitz was even pushing Mr Bush to attack Iraq immediately after the 11 September attacks in the US, instead of invading Afghanistan.
There have long been suspicions that Mr Wolfowitz has essentially been running a shadow administration out of his Pentagon office, ensuring that the right-wing views of himself and his followers find their way into the practice of American foreign policy. He is best known as the author of the policy of first-strike pre-emption in world affairs that was adopted by Mr Bush shortly after the al-Qa'ida attacks.”
“What’s this, another Prince of Darkness scenario? Everybody who has read The Plan knows that he was just one of its authors.”
Anyway, the author of the article says:
“Critics of the administration and of the war will now want to know how convinced the Americans really were that the weapons existed in Iraq to the extent that was publicly stated. Questions are also multiplying as to the quality of the intelligence provided to the White House. Was it simply faulty given that nothing has been found in Iraq or was it influenced by the White House's fixation on the weapons issue? Or were the intelligence agencies telling the White House what it wanted to hear?”
“I can’t believe that anyone really thought the weapons existed! Any idiot would conclude that if they had existed they would have been used when the US began the invasion.”
People want to believe stuff like that, Rave. They feel kind of creepy thinking that people who are running their governments just invent reasons to invade other countries. Even though it has been done over and over again.
“These are folks with no historical consciousness. And what about this silliness of biological weapons being produced in milk trucks?”
They do mention that, Rave. Here it says:
“As skepticism grows over the failure to find weapons of mass destruction in Iraq, London and Washington are attempting to turn the focus of attention to Iraq's alleged possession of mobile weapons labs.
A joint CIA and Defense Intelligence Agency report released this week claimed that two trucks found in northern Iraq last month were mobile labs used to develop biological weapons. The trucks were fitted with hi-tech laboratory equipment and the report said the discovery represented the "strongest evidence to date that Iraq was hiding a biowarfare program".
The design of the vehicles made them "an ingeniously simple self-contained bioprocessing system". The report said no other purpose, for example water purification, medical laboratory or vaccine production, would justify such effort and expense.
But critics are not convinced. No biological agents were found on the trucks and experts point out that, unlike the trucks described by Colin Powell, the Secretary of State, in a speech to the UN Security Council, they were open sided and would therefore have left a trace easy for weapons inspectors to detect. One former UN inspector said that the trucks would have been a very inefficient way to produce anthrax.”
“That’s an understatement, " Raven cackles. "Open sided. I still think they are milk trucks. Made obsolete by the elimination of Iraqui children….”
Thursday, May 29, 2003
SOMETIMES A GREAT YEARNING....
Today we have the barometric blahs—leaden skies droop over the bay, our eyelids are drooping, our spirits are heading feetward. Only righteous anger can save this day. Maybe.
Raven wrenches himself away from the screen, shuffles stuff on the table with his wings.
What are you looking for, Rave?
“Hoping for mezcal. Expecting the worst. Waiting for a bullet in the brain pan. Listen to the latest from the black hole of Ari Fleisher’s mouth”:
Just a minute. I thought he resigned.
“Yeah, well, he’s not gone yet. Let me read you this, okay?
‘Ari Fleischer, Bush’s press secretary, said during his daily press briefing Tuesday that Iran hasn’t taken the appropriate steps to round up al Qaeda terrorists allegedly hiding out within its borders. Moreover, Iran’s pursuit of nuclear weapons puts the U.S. in grave danger. Therefore, regime change is in order.’”
What is this, Rave, an exercise in logical fallacies?
“There’s more:
“The future of Iran will be determined by the Iranian people, and I think the Iranian people have a great yearning for government that is representative of their concerns,” Fleischer said.’”
Is he crazy? Er—forget I asked that. What an empathetic guy he is! Only with certain population groups, though. He can see right into the hearts and minds of Iranians—with whom he does not share a common culture or language—and feel their great yearnings. Wow! But I have just one question: if he’s so empathetic, why is he not able to look into the hearts and minds of the majority of US citizens and see that THEY are the folks with a great yearning for a government that is representative of their concerns?”
“Good point”, Raven nods. Especially since he goes on to talk about having second sight into what the people of Iran are going to do, too:
‘Fleischer also said Iran's claim that its nuclear program is designed to produce fuel for civilian nuclear reactors is a "cover story."
“Our strong position is that Iran is preparing instead to produce fissile materials for nuclear weapons,” Fleischer said. “That is what we see.”’ I guess he also has a crystal ball?”
Rave, don’t tempt me. You’re talking about crystal, and Ari Fleisher, and balls—all in the same sentence….? And who is this WE?
“Don’t ask me. I am not an empathetic guy. I can’t see into the mind and heart of Ari Fleisher. Nor into his nether regions organs.” Rave pours a shot of mezcal for himself. “Maybe the other guy in the WE is that dummy—what’s his name—Charley McCarthy?”
Joe, Rave. His name was Joe.
Today we have the barometric blahs—leaden skies droop over the bay, our eyelids are drooping, our spirits are heading feetward. Only righteous anger can save this day. Maybe.
Raven wrenches himself away from the screen, shuffles stuff on the table with his wings.
What are you looking for, Rave?
“Hoping for mezcal. Expecting the worst. Waiting for a bullet in the brain pan. Listen to the latest from the black hole of Ari Fleisher’s mouth”:
Just a minute. I thought he resigned.
“Yeah, well, he’s not gone yet. Let me read you this, okay?
‘Ari Fleischer, Bush’s press secretary, said during his daily press briefing Tuesday that Iran hasn’t taken the appropriate steps to round up al Qaeda terrorists allegedly hiding out within its borders. Moreover, Iran’s pursuit of nuclear weapons puts the U.S. in grave danger. Therefore, regime change is in order.’”
What is this, Rave, an exercise in logical fallacies?
“There’s more:
“The future of Iran will be determined by the Iranian people, and I think the Iranian people have a great yearning for government that is representative of their concerns,” Fleischer said.’”
Is he crazy? Er—forget I asked that. What an empathetic guy he is! Only with certain population groups, though. He can see right into the hearts and minds of Iranians—with whom he does not share a common culture or language—and feel their great yearnings. Wow! But I have just one question: if he’s so empathetic, why is he not able to look into the hearts and minds of the majority of US citizens and see that THEY are the folks with a great yearning for a government that is representative of their concerns?”
“Good point”, Raven nods. Especially since he goes on to talk about having second sight into what the people of Iran are going to do, too:
‘Fleischer also said Iran's claim that its nuclear program is designed to produce fuel for civilian nuclear reactors is a "cover story."
“Our strong position is that Iran is preparing instead to produce fissile materials for nuclear weapons,” Fleischer said. “That is what we see.”’ I guess he also has a crystal ball?”
Rave, don’t tempt me. You’re talking about crystal, and Ari Fleisher, and balls—all in the same sentence….? And who is this WE?
“Don’t ask me. I am not an empathetic guy. I can’t see into the mind and heart of Ari Fleisher. Nor into his nether regions organs.” Rave pours a shot of mezcal for himself. “Maybe the other guy in the WE is that dummy—what’s his name—Charley McCarthy?”
Joe, Rave. His name was Joe.
Wednesday, May 28, 2003
TEHRAN IN THE FRYING PAN?
The Bush Gang is flying high on testosterone from bombing Iraq into the abyss of no electricity, no water, no telephones, no museums, no hospitals, no archaelogical sites—in fact no anything except intact oil refineries. No matter that Afghanistan is a shambles, too, and that its people are crawling around with concentrations of toxic and radioactive uranium isotopes in their blood stream 400 times higher than in the Gulf veterans. Now The Bushies are circling like buzzards, looking for another country to destroy—harping that Iran is producing nuclear weapons and sheltering terrorists, they are gearing up to bomb the bowels out of their latest target.
Does anyone see something wrong with this picture—or are we so used to the view from the wrong end of the telescope that we have lost all perspective on reality?
Raven sees something wrong with it:
“Hey, folks—there is one country producing nuclear weapons and charging ahead to produce yet another generation of them: The United States of America.”
Right, Rave. And the shelter for the most dangerous terrorists on the planet is: The White House.
“The really scary thing about these terrorists is that they kill and destroy without even believing that they can go directly to paradise in the event of being “martyrs to the cause”. Or do they think they are going to take all the planet’s oil and all their ill-gotten money with them? What’s out there: a paradise of greenback mansions with petroleum swimming pools?”
The minority poor people are the martyrs to this cause, Rave. And it’s not their cause. They aren’t bringing back fat oil industry contracts for their families. They are coming back in body bags, trussed up in the US flag like Thanksgiving turkeys.
“Bon appetit, Bushies.”
The Bush Gang is flying high on testosterone from bombing Iraq into the abyss of no electricity, no water, no telephones, no museums, no hospitals, no archaelogical sites—in fact no anything except intact oil refineries. No matter that Afghanistan is a shambles, too, and that its people are crawling around with concentrations of toxic and radioactive uranium isotopes in their blood stream 400 times higher than in the Gulf veterans. Now The Bushies are circling like buzzards, looking for another country to destroy—harping that Iran is producing nuclear weapons and sheltering terrorists, they are gearing up to bomb the bowels out of their latest target.
Does anyone see something wrong with this picture—or are we so used to the view from the wrong end of the telescope that we have lost all perspective on reality?
Raven sees something wrong with it:
“Hey, folks—there is one country producing nuclear weapons and charging ahead to produce yet another generation of them: The United States of America.”
Right, Rave. And the shelter for the most dangerous terrorists on the planet is: The White House.
“The really scary thing about these terrorists is that they kill and destroy without even believing that they can go directly to paradise in the event of being “martyrs to the cause”. Or do they think they are going to take all the planet’s oil and all their ill-gotten money with them? What’s out there: a paradise of greenback mansions with petroleum swimming pools?”
The minority poor people are the martyrs to this cause, Rave. And it’s not their cause. They aren’t bringing back fat oil industry contracts for their families. They are coming back in body bags, trussed up in the US flag like Thanksgiving turkeys.
“Bon appetit, Bushies.”
Tuesday, May 27, 2003
B’WANA—HE NO HOME
(This is for all of us who would rather not be part of what is happening in the world right now, and whose strongest impulse is to isolate ourselves from the pain of living this nightmare.)
I want you to speak the English right,
I want you to smile and be polite,
Say “B’wana—he no home”….
Michael Franks
Despite our best intentions to connect with others,
there are mornings when we don’t feel like opening the door to the world.
Isn’t it enough to ratchet the ceiling fan up to its highest speed—
slicing the air into the lisping of the waves in the bay below
and the fluid screed of Carlos Santana’s guitar?
Why swing the hinge and invite the tenants of Pandora’s Box inside?
Shrieking harpy gangs of petrocriminals are roaming the planet,
their mouths like nozzles of gasoline pumps guzzling the resources
of other countries and belching out hunger, violence and
“endemic diseases, such as death” (Hugo Chávez dixit).
Satellites rise with the sun in the east and watch us
make our first trip of the day to the bathroom;
agents with the souls of proctologists sniff through our e-mails,
probe our recorded telephone calls,
and examine our credit card transactions for purchases from terrorists—
thinking of ways to strip us of our citizenship.
Maybe in their very perversity they have hit upon
the right idea: instead of suffering the outrage
of marginality, let all of us pariahs and potential
terrorists become citizens of the earth!
As citizens of the earth we will have the responsibility
to go where our skills are most needed;
we will assume the mandate to root out plots
disguised as regime changes, and liquidate them;
we will need to tear down the barriers separating countries—
not by invading them, but by honoring their common
humanity—so that people can join in peaceful conjugation;
we will have to work tirelessly to heal the planet
so that it provides nurturance for all of us,
instead of being victimized by a few for their own gain.
Those are just a few of the tasks that we should have
been doing all along—before we became too repulsed
by the savagery of our species to open our front doors
and proclaim, as Fidel Castro did yesterday in Buenos Aires:
“What a lot of light there is here!”
Raven has had his beak out of joint because I was gone for three days to Oaxaca. One of my professors reported that Raven flew into his kitchen and stole topping items from the pizzas he was making to sell on the weekend. When I arrived home Sunday evening I found one of his feathers prominently displayed on the dining room table, and he was slinging a string of complaints at me from the roof. By tomorrow I hope he will have forgiven my absence—or the absence of his chief cook and bottle washer—and will be ready to talk to me about being a citizen of the earth….
(This is for all of us who would rather not be part of what is happening in the world right now, and whose strongest impulse is to isolate ourselves from the pain of living this nightmare.)
I want you to speak the English right,
I want you to smile and be polite,
Say “B’wana—he no home”….
Michael Franks
Despite our best intentions to connect with others,
there are mornings when we don’t feel like opening the door to the world.
Isn’t it enough to ratchet the ceiling fan up to its highest speed—
slicing the air into the lisping of the waves in the bay below
and the fluid screed of Carlos Santana’s guitar?
Why swing the hinge and invite the tenants of Pandora’s Box inside?
Shrieking harpy gangs of petrocriminals are roaming the planet,
their mouths like nozzles of gasoline pumps guzzling the resources
of other countries and belching out hunger, violence and
“endemic diseases, such as death” (Hugo Chávez dixit).
Satellites rise with the sun in the east and watch us
make our first trip of the day to the bathroom;
agents with the souls of proctologists sniff through our e-mails,
probe our recorded telephone calls,
and examine our credit card transactions for purchases from terrorists—
thinking of ways to strip us of our citizenship.
Maybe in their very perversity they have hit upon
the right idea: instead of suffering the outrage
of marginality, let all of us pariahs and potential
terrorists become citizens of the earth!
As citizens of the earth we will have the responsibility
to go where our skills are most needed;
we will assume the mandate to root out plots
disguised as regime changes, and liquidate them;
we will need to tear down the barriers separating countries—
not by invading them, but by honoring their common
humanity—so that people can join in peaceful conjugation;
we will have to work tirelessly to heal the planet
so that it provides nurturance for all of us,
instead of being victimized by a few for their own gain.
Those are just a few of the tasks that we should have
been doing all along—before we became too repulsed
by the savagery of our species to open our front doors
and proclaim, as Fidel Castro did yesterday in Buenos Aires:
“What a lot of light there is here!”
Raven has had his beak out of joint because I was gone for three days to Oaxaca. One of my professors reported that Raven flew into his kitchen and stole topping items from the pizzas he was making to sell on the weekend. When I arrived home Sunday evening I found one of his feathers prominently displayed on the dining room table, and he was slinging a string of complaints at me from the roof. By tomorrow I hope he will have forgiven my absence—or the absence of his chief cook and bottle washer—and will be ready to talk to me about being a citizen of the earth….
Thursday, May 22, 2003
THE CAUSE OF FREEDOM?
Yesterday US Senator Robert Byrd made a speech on the floor of the Senate which has been published on the Common Dreams site. Raven and I check this site almost every day because it gives us a little clue as to whether consciousness is increasing in Fortress America—or whether the long arm of the unconscious has the upper hand….
Raven is reading over my shoulder.
“Ha! Nothing like a mixed metaphor. Mixed body parts, even.”
It’s too early in the morning for a blast of criticism, Rave. I just want to pass on a few bits from Byrd’s speech, okay?
“I am never one to fly in the face of new awareness. Especially about a piece called “The Truth Will Emerge”.
Okay. He begins by saying, “The danger is that damage is done before the truth is widely realized. “
“He’s right except that he should have added “usually” before “damage”.
He mentions the manipulation by the Bush Gang, the blurring of the faces of Osama Bin Laden and Saddam Hussein, the expoitation of fear. And then he talks about the cynical application of the term “liberation” to the process of destroying Iraq, saying: “But ‘liberation’ implies the follow up of freedom, self-determination and a better life for the common people. In fact, if the situation in Iraq is the result of ‘liberation’, we may have set the cause of freedom back 200 years.”
“How about that they’ve bombed it back to the Stone Age?”
Raven yawns and moves his beady eyes closer to the screen.
That’s pretty much the implication in what he goes on to say:
“Despite our high-blown claims of a better life for the Iraqi people, water is scarce, and often foul, electricity is a sometime thing, food is in short supply, hospitals are stacked with the wounded and maimed, historic treasures of the region and of the Iraqi people have been looted, and nuclear material may have been disseminated to heaven knows where, while U.S. troops, on orders, looked on and guarded the oil supply.
Meanwhile, lucrative contracts to rebuild Iraq's infrastructure and refurbish its oil industry are awarded to Administration cronies, without benefit of competitive bidding, and the U.S. steadfastly resists offers of U.N. assistance to participate. Is there any wonder that the real motives of the U.S. government are the subject of worldwide speculation and mistrust?
And in what may be the most damaging development, the U.S. appears to be pushing off Iraq's clamor for self-government. Jay Garner has been summarily replaced, and it is becoming all too clear that the smiling face of the U.S. as liberator is quickly assuming the scowl of an occupier. The image of the boot on the throat has replaced the beckoning hand of freedom. Chaos and rioting only exacerbate that image, as U.S. soldiers try to sustain order in a land ravaged by poverty and disease.”
“Well, what were they expecting, anyway?”
Let me finish reading, Rave:
“Democracy and Freedom cannot be force fed at the point of an occupier's gun. To think otherwise is folly. One has to stop and ponder. How could we have been so impossibly naive? How could we expect to easily plant a clone of U.S. culture, values, and government in a country so riven with religious, territorial, and tribal rivalries, so suspicious of U.S. motives, and so at odds with the galloping materialism which drives the western-style economies?”
“Isn’t that what I just asked?”
Yeah. And the predictable future looks bleak, too. Byrd says:
“We may have sparked a new international arms race as countries move ahead to develop WMD as a last ditch attempt to ward off a possible preemptive strike from a newly belligerent U.S. which claims the right to hit where it wants. In fact, there is little to constrain this President. Congress, in what will go down in history as its most unfortunate act, handed away its power to declare war for the foreseeable future and empowered this President to wage war at will…We cower in the shadows while false statements proliferate. We accept soft answers and shaky explanations because to demand the truth is hard, or unpopular, or may be politically costly.
But, I contend that, through it all, the people know. The American people unfortunately are used to political shading, spin, and the usual chicanery they hear from public officials. They patiently tolerate it up to a point. But there is a line. It may seem to be drawn in invisible ink for a time, but eventually it will appear in dark colors, tinged with anger. When it comes to shedding American blood - - when it comes to wreaking havoc on civilians, on innocent men, women, and children, callous dissembling is not acceptable. Nothing is worth that kind of lie - - not oil, not revenge, not reelection, not somebody's grand pipedream of a democratic domino theory.
And mark my words, the calculated intimidation which we see so often of late by the "powers that be" will only keep the loyal opposition quiet for just so long. Because eventually, like it always does, the truth will emerge. And when it does, this house of cards, built of deceit, will fall.”
“Nothing like pulling optimism out of the hat like a rabbit, is there?”
Raven wanders toward the window, poised for his getaway.
Where are you off to now, guy?
“Off to find that house of cards. To watch it fall.”
Senator Byrd is not alone in his optimism. Apparently.
Yesterday US Senator Robert Byrd made a speech on the floor of the Senate which has been published on the Common Dreams site. Raven and I check this site almost every day because it gives us a little clue as to whether consciousness is increasing in Fortress America—or whether the long arm of the unconscious has the upper hand….
Raven is reading over my shoulder.
“Ha! Nothing like a mixed metaphor. Mixed body parts, even.”
It’s too early in the morning for a blast of criticism, Rave. I just want to pass on a few bits from Byrd’s speech, okay?
“I am never one to fly in the face of new awareness. Especially about a piece called “The Truth Will Emerge”.
Okay. He begins by saying, “The danger is that damage is done before the truth is widely realized. “
“He’s right except that he should have added “usually” before “damage”.
He mentions the manipulation by the Bush Gang, the blurring of the faces of Osama Bin Laden and Saddam Hussein, the expoitation of fear. And then he talks about the cynical application of the term “liberation” to the process of destroying Iraq, saying: “But ‘liberation’ implies the follow up of freedom, self-determination and a better life for the common people. In fact, if the situation in Iraq is the result of ‘liberation’, we may have set the cause of freedom back 200 years.”
“How about that they’ve bombed it back to the Stone Age?”
Raven yawns and moves his beady eyes closer to the screen.
That’s pretty much the implication in what he goes on to say:
“Despite our high-blown claims of a better life for the Iraqi people, water is scarce, and often foul, electricity is a sometime thing, food is in short supply, hospitals are stacked with the wounded and maimed, historic treasures of the region and of the Iraqi people have been looted, and nuclear material may have been disseminated to heaven knows where, while U.S. troops, on orders, looked on and guarded the oil supply.
Meanwhile, lucrative contracts to rebuild Iraq's infrastructure and refurbish its oil industry are awarded to Administration cronies, without benefit of competitive bidding, and the U.S. steadfastly resists offers of U.N. assistance to participate. Is there any wonder that the real motives of the U.S. government are the subject of worldwide speculation and mistrust?
And in what may be the most damaging development, the U.S. appears to be pushing off Iraq's clamor for self-government. Jay Garner has been summarily replaced, and it is becoming all too clear that the smiling face of the U.S. as liberator is quickly assuming the scowl of an occupier. The image of the boot on the throat has replaced the beckoning hand of freedom. Chaos and rioting only exacerbate that image, as U.S. soldiers try to sustain order in a land ravaged by poverty and disease.”
“Well, what were they expecting, anyway?”
Let me finish reading, Rave:
“Democracy and Freedom cannot be force fed at the point of an occupier's gun. To think otherwise is folly. One has to stop and ponder. How could we have been so impossibly naive? How could we expect to easily plant a clone of U.S. culture, values, and government in a country so riven with religious, territorial, and tribal rivalries, so suspicious of U.S. motives, and so at odds with the galloping materialism which drives the western-style economies?”
“Isn’t that what I just asked?”
Yeah. And the predictable future looks bleak, too. Byrd says:
“We may have sparked a new international arms race as countries move ahead to develop WMD as a last ditch attempt to ward off a possible preemptive strike from a newly belligerent U.S. which claims the right to hit where it wants. In fact, there is little to constrain this President. Congress, in what will go down in history as its most unfortunate act, handed away its power to declare war for the foreseeable future and empowered this President to wage war at will…We cower in the shadows while false statements proliferate. We accept soft answers and shaky explanations because to demand the truth is hard, or unpopular, or may be politically costly.
But, I contend that, through it all, the people know. The American people unfortunately are used to political shading, spin, and the usual chicanery they hear from public officials. They patiently tolerate it up to a point. But there is a line. It may seem to be drawn in invisible ink for a time, but eventually it will appear in dark colors, tinged with anger. When it comes to shedding American blood - - when it comes to wreaking havoc on civilians, on innocent men, women, and children, callous dissembling is not acceptable. Nothing is worth that kind of lie - - not oil, not revenge, not reelection, not somebody's grand pipedream of a democratic domino theory.
And mark my words, the calculated intimidation which we see so often of late by the "powers that be" will only keep the loyal opposition quiet for just so long. Because eventually, like it always does, the truth will emerge. And when it does, this house of cards, built of deceit, will fall.”
“Nothing like pulling optimism out of the hat like a rabbit, is there?”
Raven wanders toward the window, poised for his getaway.
Where are you off to now, guy?
“Off to find that house of cards. To watch it fall.”
Senator Byrd is not alone in his optimism. Apparently.
Wednesday, May 21, 2003
JUST A BUNCH OF GRAPES
Raven is twiddling his feathers in front of the computer screen, thinking about why countries have laws.
And why is this your Issue of the Day?
“Because of this Belgian Business.”
Sounds arcane, Rave. Is this something like “Our Man in Havana”?
“No. Maybe. But without the vacuum sweeper store as a front for imaginary espionage. And without Alec Guiness, too. All seriousness aside, the Belgian Business is about trying Tommy Franks for war crimes. For dropping cluster bombs in civilan areas, for example.”
They may look like bunches of grapes to kids, but the unexploded ones are still killing them, too. So, are they putting out a warrant for Franks, or what?
“Doesn’t look like it. Some people from Iraq and Jordan filed the lawsuit. I have read several articles about what happened—pretty good ones in LA JORNADA and on the Commondreams web site. The article on Common Dreams, reprinted from THE GUARDIAN says:
‘Franks appears to have a case to answer. The charges fall into four categories: the use of cluster bombs; the killing of civilians by other means; attacks on the infrastructure essential for public health; and the failure to prevent the looting of hospitals. There is plenty of supporting evidence.
US forces dropped around 1,500 cluster bombs from the air and fired an unknown quantity from artillery pieces. British troops fired 2,100. Each contained several hundred bomblets, which fragment into shrapnel. Between 200 and 400 Iraqi civilians were killed by them during the war. Others, mostly children, continue to killed by those bomblets which failed to explode when they hit the ground. The effects of their deployment in residential areas were both predictable and predicted. This suggests that their use there breached protocol II to the Geneva conventions, which prohibits "violence to the life, health and physical or mental well-being" of non-combatants.
On several occasions, US troops appear to have opened fire on unarmed civilians. In Nassiriya, they shot at any vehicle that approached their positions. In one night alone they killed 12 civilians. On a bridge on the outskirts of Baghdad they shot 15 in two days. Last month, US troops fired on peaceful demonstrators in Mosul, killing seven, and in Falluja, killing 13 and injuring 75.’”
We wrote about that incident, Rave.“
"’The armed forces also deliberately destroyed civilian infrastructure, bombing the electricity lines upon which water treatment plants depended, with the result that cholera and dysentery have spread. Protocol II prohibits troops from attacking "objects indispensable to the survival of the civilian population such as ... drinking water installations and supplies".
The fourth convention also insists that an occupying power is responsible for "ensuring and maintaining ... the medical and hospital establishments and services, public health and hygiene in the occupied territory". Yet when the US defenses secretary Donald Rumsfeld was asked why his troops had failed to prevent the looting of public buildings, he replied: "Stuff happens. Free people are free to make mistakes and commit crimes and do bad things." Many hospitals remain closed or desperately under-supplied. On several occasions US soldiers acted on orders to fire at Iraqi ambulances, killing or wounding their occupants. They shot the medical crews which came to retrieve the dead and wounded at the demonstration in Falluja. The Geneva conventions suggest that these are straightforward war crimes: Medical units and transports shall be respected and protected at all times and shall not be the object of attack.’”
All of these sound like legitimate points on which to base a lawsuit, Rave. So what are they doing with it?
“Well, the US government responded very angrily. The State Department threatened Belgium that it will punish nations which allow political use of their laws. The Belgians didn’t feel like being bombed out of existence, I guess, because they already have amended the law that allowed for those kinds of crimes to be tried in their jurisdiction, and denounced the lawyer who filed the case.”
The US has been insisting, with its refusal to subscribe to a world court, that no laws apply to US citizens except US laws.
“Precisely. The article goes on to indicate:‘The Bush government's response would doubtless be explained by its apologists as a measure of its insistence upon and respect for national sovereignty. But while the US forbids other nations to proscribe the actions of its citizens, it also insists that its own laws should apply abroad. The foreign sovereignty immunities act, for example, permits the US courts to prosecute foreigners for harming commercial interests in the US, even if they are breaking no laws within their own countries. The Helms-Burton Act allows the courts in America to confiscate the property of foreign companies which do business with Cuba. The Iran-Libya Sanctions Act instructs the government to punish foreign firms investing in the oil or gas sectors in those countries. The message these laws send is this: you can't prosecute us, but we can prosecute you.
Of course, the sensible means of resolving legal disputes between nations is the use of impartial, multinational tribunals, such as the international criminal court in the Hague. But impartial legislation is precisely what the US government will not contemplate. When the ICC treaty was being negotiated, the US demanded that its troops should be exempt from prosecution, and the UN security council gave it what it wanted. The US also helped to ensure that the court's writ runs only in the nations which have ratified the treaty. Its soldiers in Iraq would thus have been exempt in any case, as Saddam Hussein's government was one of seven which voted against the formation of the court in 1998. The others were China, Israel, Libya, Qatar, Yemen and the US. This is the company the American government keeps when it comes to international law.
To ensure that there was not the slightest possibility that his servicemen need fear the rule of law, George W Bush signed a new piece of extra-territorial legislation last year, which permits the US "to use all means necessary and appropriate to bring about the release" of US citizens being tried in the court. This appears to include the invasion of the capital of the Netherlands.’”
Great—now the marines will be landing where—Rotterdam? They can change the song to include another round of invasions—from the halls of Montezuma to the shores of Tripoli to the dikes of Holland.
"Tilting at windmills with tanks and bombing fields of tulips...."
Raven is twiddling his feathers in front of the computer screen, thinking about why countries have laws.
And why is this your Issue of the Day?
“Because of this Belgian Business.”
Sounds arcane, Rave. Is this something like “Our Man in Havana”?
“No. Maybe. But without the vacuum sweeper store as a front for imaginary espionage. And without Alec Guiness, too. All seriousness aside, the Belgian Business is about trying Tommy Franks for war crimes. For dropping cluster bombs in civilan areas, for example.”
They may look like bunches of grapes to kids, but the unexploded ones are still killing them, too. So, are they putting out a warrant for Franks, or what?
“Doesn’t look like it. Some people from Iraq and Jordan filed the lawsuit. I have read several articles about what happened—pretty good ones in LA JORNADA and on the Commondreams web site. The article on Common Dreams, reprinted from THE GUARDIAN says:
‘Franks appears to have a case to answer. The charges fall into four categories: the use of cluster bombs; the killing of civilians by other means; attacks on the infrastructure essential for public health; and the failure to prevent the looting of hospitals. There is plenty of supporting evidence.
US forces dropped around 1,500 cluster bombs from the air and fired an unknown quantity from artillery pieces. British troops fired 2,100. Each contained several hundred bomblets, which fragment into shrapnel. Between 200 and 400 Iraqi civilians were killed by them during the war. Others, mostly children, continue to killed by those bomblets which failed to explode when they hit the ground. The effects of their deployment in residential areas were both predictable and predicted. This suggests that their use there breached protocol II to the Geneva conventions, which prohibits "violence to the life, health and physical or mental well-being" of non-combatants.
On several occasions, US troops appear to have opened fire on unarmed civilians. In Nassiriya, they shot at any vehicle that approached their positions. In one night alone they killed 12 civilians. On a bridge on the outskirts of Baghdad they shot 15 in two days. Last month, US troops fired on peaceful demonstrators in Mosul, killing seven, and in Falluja, killing 13 and injuring 75.’”
We wrote about that incident, Rave.“
"’The armed forces also deliberately destroyed civilian infrastructure, bombing the electricity lines upon which water treatment plants depended, with the result that cholera and dysentery have spread. Protocol II prohibits troops from attacking "objects indispensable to the survival of the civilian population such as ... drinking water installations and supplies".
The fourth convention also insists that an occupying power is responsible for "ensuring and maintaining ... the medical and hospital establishments and services, public health and hygiene in the occupied territory". Yet when the US defenses secretary Donald Rumsfeld was asked why his troops had failed to prevent the looting of public buildings, he replied: "Stuff happens. Free people are free to make mistakes and commit crimes and do bad things." Many hospitals remain closed or desperately under-supplied. On several occasions US soldiers acted on orders to fire at Iraqi ambulances, killing or wounding their occupants. They shot the medical crews which came to retrieve the dead and wounded at the demonstration in Falluja. The Geneva conventions suggest that these are straightforward war crimes: Medical units and transports shall be respected and protected at all times and shall not be the object of attack.’”
All of these sound like legitimate points on which to base a lawsuit, Rave. So what are they doing with it?
“Well, the US government responded very angrily. The State Department threatened Belgium that it will punish nations which allow political use of their laws. The Belgians didn’t feel like being bombed out of existence, I guess, because they already have amended the law that allowed for those kinds of crimes to be tried in their jurisdiction, and denounced the lawyer who filed the case.”
The US has been insisting, with its refusal to subscribe to a world court, that no laws apply to US citizens except US laws.
“Precisely. The article goes on to indicate:‘The Bush government's response would doubtless be explained by its apologists as a measure of its insistence upon and respect for national sovereignty. But while the US forbids other nations to proscribe the actions of its citizens, it also insists that its own laws should apply abroad. The foreign sovereignty immunities act, for example, permits the US courts to prosecute foreigners for harming commercial interests in the US, even if they are breaking no laws within their own countries. The Helms-Burton Act allows the courts in America to confiscate the property of foreign companies which do business with Cuba. The Iran-Libya Sanctions Act instructs the government to punish foreign firms investing in the oil or gas sectors in those countries. The message these laws send is this: you can't prosecute us, but we can prosecute you.
Of course, the sensible means of resolving legal disputes between nations is the use of impartial, multinational tribunals, such as the international criminal court in the Hague. But impartial legislation is precisely what the US government will not contemplate. When the ICC treaty was being negotiated, the US demanded that its troops should be exempt from prosecution, and the UN security council gave it what it wanted. The US also helped to ensure that the court's writ runs only in the nations which have ratified the treaty. Its soldiers in Iraq would thus have been exempt in any case, as Saddam Hussein's government was one of seven which voted against the formation of the court in 1998. The others were China, Israel, Libya, Qatar, Yemen and the US. This is the company the American government keeps when it comes to international law.
To ensure that there was not the slightest possibility that his servicemen need fear the rule of law, George W Bush signed a new piece of extra-territorial legislation last year, which permits the US "to use all means necessary and appropriate to bring about the release" of US citizens being tried in the court. This appears to include the invasion of the capital of the Netherlands.’”
Great—now the marines will be landing where—Rotterdam? They can change the song to include another round of invasions—from the halls of Montezuma to the shores of Tripoli to the dikes of Holland.
"Tilting at windmills with tanks and bombing fields of tulips...."
Tuesday, May 20, 2003
A DIRTY WORD—AND WHAT TO DO WITH IT
Raven is wretched;
kicking along in tidepools,
sniffing at garbage—
he feels the world is ending,
and there’s nothing he can do.
He’s probably right.
All of us feel impotent
in the face of death—
more so when life seems to be
moving along like always….
********************
Just a bit of minor transitory depression for The Bird for All Seasons. He’ll be rocking and rolling again in no time.
I--his lesser half, his anima--am a different story. After reading the Strategy Document of the National Endowment for Democracy, dated January 2002 and NOT FOR PUBLIC CIRCULATION (the pages of the plan dealing with North Korea, China and Burma are even “scrambled”—any Navajo code-busters interested in this one?), I am ready to upchuck my breakfast of, yes, scrambled eggs at the mere mention of the word DEMOCRACY.
Yesterday Raven and I talked about Instant Mix Democracy, Totalitarian Democracy and even Fascist Democracy. The word has become so perverted by its misuse as the rationale for imposing free trade zones, neutralizing competition, institutionalizing greed and violence and hunger, grabbing other countries’ natural resources, dumping surplus products to ruin other economies, mounting and supporting military coups against democratically elected presidents, authorizing the running of guns and drugs and dirty tricks all over the globe by the CIA, cluster bombing women and children in mideast markets—and generally heating the planet to the boiling point—that it would be difficult to find a more cynical word to substitute for Imperialism.
Give it a try, though. If you think of one, send Raven and me a message in a bottle with The Word written on the outside of an envelope containing anthrax, the SARS virus, a medal of Our Lady of Guadalupe minted in Florida and blessed by Jeb Bush or the Bill of Rights shredded into confetti. We don’t care what you put in the envelope—we won’t open it anyway—but here in this broken down beach town we’ll use just about anything as toilet paper. (Especially copies of the Strategy Document for the National Endowment for Democracy….)
Raven is wretched;
kicking along in tidepools,
sniffing at garbage—
he feels the world is ending,
and there’s nothing he can do.
He’s probably right.
All of us feel impotent
in the face of death—
more so when life seems to be
moving along like always….
********************
Just a bit of minor transitory depression for The Bird for All Seasons. He’ll be rocking and rolling again in no time.
I--his lesser half, his anima--am a different story. After reading the Strategy Document of the National Endowment for Democracy, dated January 2002 and NOT FOR PUBLIC CIRCULATION (the pages of the plan dealing with North Korea, China and Burma are even “scrambled”—any Navajo code-busters interested in this one?), I am ready to upchuck my breakfast of, yes, scrambled eggs at the mere mention of the word DEMOCRACY.
Yesterday Raven and I talked about Instant Mix Democracy, Totalitarian Democracy and even Fascist Democracy. The word has become so perverted by its misuse as the rationale for imposing free trade zones, neutralizing competition, institutionalizing greed and violence and hunger, grabbing other countries’ natural resources, dumping surplus products to ruin other economies, mounting and supporting military coups against democratically elected presidents, authorizing the running of guns and drugs and dirty tricks all over the globe by the CIA, cluster bombing women and children in mideast markets—and generally heating the planet to the boiling point—that it would be difficult to find a more cynical word to substitute for Imperialism.
Give it a try, though. If you think of one, send Raven and me a message in a bottle with The Word written on the outside of an envelope containing anthrax, the SARS virus, a medal of Our Lady of Guadalupe minted in Florida and blessed by Jeb Bush or the Bill of Rights shredded into confetti. We don’t care what you put in the envelope—we won’t open it anyway—but here in this broken down beach town we’ll use just about anything as toilet paper. (Especially copies of the Strategy Document for the National Endowment for Democracy….)
Monday, May 19, 2003
BRING TO A BOIL, ADD OIL, THEN BOMB
Raven and I made do with cinnamon rolls and coffee this morning.
“They would have been tastier if you had heated them.” Raven looks a bit sulky around the edges.
Maybe. Listen, Rave, I am reading a piece by Arundhati Roy in the Common Dreams site called “Instant-Mix Imperial Democracy”. Apropos your comment about heating things up, she says the following:
“Here we are, the people of the world, confronted with an Empire armed with a mandate from heaven (and, as added insurance, the most formidable arsenal of weapons of mass destruction in history). Here we are, confronted with an Empire that has conferred upon itself the right to go to war at will, and the right to deliver people from corrupting ideologies, from religious fundamentalists, dictators, sexism, and poverty by the age-old, tried-and-tested practice of extermination. Empire is on the move, and Democracy is its sly new war cry. Democracy, home-delivered to your doorstep by daisy cutters. Death is a small price for people to pay for the privilege of sampling this new product: Instant-Mix Imperial Democracy (bring to a boil, add oil, then bomb).”
“She is certainly right to call it Imperial Democracy, since it has little or nothing in common with the traditional use of the term. Maybe she should have gone for the whole hog (paz, domestic animals) and called it Totalitarian Democracy?”
Or even Fascist Democracy, to be congruent with the US government’s official policy of Doublespeak?
“The cooking instructions make it clear why the US government has fomented civil unrest in, for example, Venezuela—to bring social conditions to a boil.” Raven takes a swig of his coffee.
Oil was already part of the mix. Venezuela sits on a lake of oil and gas that comprises almost half of the reserves of this hemisphere. Since The Bush Gang planned to invade Iraq, and they weren’t sure to what lengths the Iraquis might go to keep their oil out of the US clutches, The Gang decided to go after Venezuela first.
“So they cooked up the idea that Chávez—excuse me, The Leo of Your Dreams—was a dictator, so that they could depose him and enforce their brand of what you called Fascist Democracy—I like that term—in Venezuela.”
And it was necessary to make a coup in order to throw out the Constitution which says that PDVSA is not privatizable. Remember that the first thing self-proclaimed president Pedro Carmona did on April 12, 2002, was annul the Constitution.
“No bombing was necessary.”
No, it was not a time-capsule replay of the coup in Chile of Sept. 11, 1973, when Pinochet ordered the bombing of the president, Salavador Allende, in La Moneda. But it could have been. Which is one of the reasons why in June of last year Chávez installed anti-aircraft weapons around Miraflores, cut the military budget by 25% and put the money to social programs.
“But the The Gang is still agitating for a takeover.”
And using the power of the media, which is what they used to bring things to a boil in the first place. The irony of Charley Shapiro orchestrating a Free Speech event to ridicule Chávez last week in the US ambassador’s residence in Caracas is the enormous power of the media in Venezuela. Lots of money from Gustavo Cisneros, fishing buddy of Daddy Warbucks Bush, is behind the media. Despite his crying “poormouth” that he doesn’t have enough money to send Miss Venzuela to compete for the Miss Universe crown.
“What!? I thought Venezuela was a veritable factory for beauty queens.”
That’s the point, Rave. To make folks think that Chávez’ monetary controls are unpatriotic because they are stopping poor little Miss Venezuela from displaying the wonders of silcone in a swim suit.
“Quite a complicated situation, ain’t it? Now it’s a cultural war they’re bringing to a boil. Seems like a good moment to feel nostalgia for the good old days of The Cold War.”
Well, Venezuelan intellectual Luis Britto called this The Hot Cultural War, so I guess you are right on target, Rave.
“I would be if I were ready to bomb Miraflores. With money from the National Endowment for Democracy crammed in my tiny pockets. But I wouldn’t like to see Chávez test his anti-aircarft weaponry on my very elegant and excruciatingly expensive War on Iraq army surplus toilet seats. Especially the pink ones.”
Jesus, Rave, you’re a one-note samba.
“No way, José. I am your friendly Rantin’ Raven Rock ‘n’ Roller—from way back in the days of The Cold War, baby.”
Raven boogies his way to the sink with his coffee cup.
Raven and I made do with cinnamon rolls and coffee this morning.
“They would have been tastier if you had heated them.” Raven looks a bit sulky around the edges.
Maybe. Listen, Rave, I am reading a piece by Arundhati Roy in the Common Dreams site called “Instant-Mix Imperial Democracy”. Apropos your comment about heating things up, she says the following:
“Here we are, the people of the world, confronted with an Empire armed with a mandate from heaven (and, as added insurance, the most formidable arsenal of weapons of mass destruction in history). Here we are, confronted with an Empire that has conferred upon itself the right to go to war at will, and the right to deliver people from corrupting ideologies, from religious fundamentalists, dictators, sexism, and poverty by the age-old, tried-and-tested practice of extermination. Empire is on the move, and Democracy is its sly new war cry. Democracy, home-delivered to your doorstep by daisy cutters. Death is a small price for people to pay for the privilege of sampling this new product: Instant-Mix Imperial Democracy (bring to a boil, add oil, then bomb).”
“She is certainly right to call it Imperial Democracy, since it has little or nothing in common with the traditional use of the term. Maybe she should have gone for the whole hog (paz, domestic animals) and called it Totalitarian Democracy?”
Or even Fascist Democracy, to be congruent with the US government’s official policy of Doublespeak?
“The cooking instructions make it clear why the US government has fomented civil unrest in, for example, Venezuela—to bring social conditions to a boil.” Raven takes a swig of his coffee.
Oil was already part of the mix. Venezuela sits on a lake of oil and gas that comprises almost half of the reserves of this hemisphere. Since The Bush Gang planned to invade Iraq, and they weren’t sure to what lengths the Iraquis might go to keep their oil out of the US clutches, The Gang decided to go after Venezuela first.
“So they cooked up the idea that Chávez—excuse me, The Leo of Your Dreams—was a dictator, so that they could depose him and enforce their brand of what you called Fascist Democracy—I like that term—in Venezuela.”
And it was necessary to make a coup in order to throw out the Constitution which says that PDVSA is not privatizable. Remember that the first thing self-proclaimed president Pedro Carmona did on April 12, 2002, was annul the Constitution.
“No bombing was necessary.”
No, it was not a time-capsule replay of the coup in Chile of Sept. 11, 1973, when Pinochet ordered the bombing of the president, Salavador Allende, in La Moneda. But it could have been. Which is one of the reasons why in June of last year Chávez installed anti-aircraft weapons around Miraflores, cut the military budget by 25% and put the money to social programs.
“But the The Gang is still agitating for a takeover.”
And using the power of the media, which is what they used to bring things to a boil in the first place. The irony of Charley Shapiro orchestrating a Free Speech event to ridicule Chávez last week in the US ambassador’s residence in Caracas is the enormous power of the media in Venezuela. Lots of money from Gustavo Cisneros, fishing buddy of Daddy Warbucks Bush, is behind the media. Despite his crying “poormouth” that he doesn’t have enough money to send Miss Venzuela to compete for the Miss Universe crown.
“What!? I thought Venezuela was a veritable factory for beauty queens.”
That’s the point, Rave. To make folks think that Chávez’ monetary controls are unpatriotic because they are stopping poor little Miss Venezuela from displaying the wonders of silcone in a swim suit.
“Quite a complicated situation, ain’t it? Now it’s a cultural war they’re bringing to a boil. Seems like a good moment to feel nostalgia for the good old days of The Cold War.”
Well, Venezuelan intellectual Luis Britto called this The Hot Cultural War, so I guess you are right on target, Rave.
“I would be if I were ready to bomb Miraflores. With money from the National Endowment for Democracy crammed in my tiny pockets. But I wouldn’t like to see Chávez test his anti-aircarft weaponry on my very elegant and excruciatingly expensive War on Iraq army surplus toilet seats. Especially the pink ones.”
Jesus, Rave, you’re a one-note samba.
“No way, José. I am your friendly Rantin’ Raven Rock ‘n’ Roller—from way back in the days of The Cold War, baby.”
Raven boogies his way to the sink with his coffee cup.
Friday, May 16, 2003
CLOWNING IN CARACAS
This morning Raven and I sent a letter to Colin Powell of the U. S. State Department, asking for the removal of Charles Shapiro as Ambassador to Venezuela, as well as a quick trip to the woodshed for a blast of traditional discipline for the same individual.
Venezuela is calling for an official apology on the part of the US government for Shapiro’s actions—which consisted essentially of hosting an event in his residence on Tuesday—ostensibly to call for free speech—in which he promoted a comedian’s ridiculing of President Hugo Chávez Frías (aka The Leo of My Dreams) by means of a puppet.
“There’s probably more free speech in Venezuela than in any other country in the world”, opines Raven, as he crunches a potato chip. “An excess of free speech, maybe. Anybody can say whatever he wants there and nobody does anything.”
Theoretically, Rave, democracies are like that. Unlike fascist countries like the US, where the FBI rummages through e-mails and taps phones and searches the houses of citizens without a warrant.
“Great country you’ve got there.” I can barely hear the bird for the crunching.
Rave, didn’t your mother ever teach you table manners?
“Ha! Our mother didn’t forage for potato chips for us when we were wee ones. We barged out of the eggshell and started downing earthworms.”
Let’s get back to the puppet incident, okay. Try to keep the crunching down to a dull roar?
“Whatever”, Rave clacks his beak. “Puppets are the key to this entire incident of boorishness, racism, arrogance, misbehavior and (in the words of the embassy’s official statement) bad taste. They trotted out a puppet of Chávez and made fun of it because Chávez refuses to be a puppet for the Bush Gang.”
More to the point, Rave, he has pretty much drawn a line in the sand in regard to them. A resounding NO to the free trade—aka imposition of US goods—agreement from Point Barrow, Alaska, to Tierra del Fuego. YES to Opec countries receiving decent prices for their non-renewable hydrocarbons. NO to being a colony, in short.
“Ah, colonies. Consumers of these greasy chips. Swillers of Coca-Cola.” Raven looks guilty.
Yeah. Inhabitants of the Heart of Darkness. Shrunken heads. Poachers. Ivory. Kurtz. The horror.
“More than that, in Latin America they are all characters out of Nostromo. Conrad had this all novelistically charted a hundred years ago. I guess nobody paid attention because they thought it was fiction?”
Sadly, Rave, we Sagittarians are always ahead of our time….
This morning Raven and I sent a letter to Colin Powell of the U. S. State Department, asking for the removal of Charles Shapiro as Ambassador to Venezuela, as well as a quick trip to the woodshed for a blast of traditional discipline for the same individual.
Venezuela is calling for an official apology on the part of the US government for Shapiro’s actions—which consisted essentially of hosting an event in his residence on Tuesday—ostensibly to call for free speech—in which he promoted a comedian’s ridiculing of President Hugo Chávez Frías (aka The Leo of My Dreams) by means of a puppet.
“There’s probably more free speech in Venezuela than in any other country in the world”, opines Raven, as he crunches a potato chip. “An excess of free speech, maybe. Anybody can say whatever he wants there and nobody does anything.”
Theoretically, Rave, democracies are like that. Unlike fascist countries like the US, where the FBI rummages through e-mails and taps phones and searches the houses of citizens without a warrant.
“Great country you’ve got there.” I can barely hear the bird for the crunching.
Rave, didn’t your mother ever teach you table manners?
“Ha! Our mother didn’t forage for potato chips for us when we were wee ones. We barged out of the eggshell and started downing earthworms.”
Let’s get back to the puppet incident, okay. Try to keep the crunching down to a dull roar?
“Whatever”, Rave clacks his beak. “Puppets are the key to this entire incident of boorishness, racism, arrogance, misbehavior and (in the words of the embassy’s official statement) bad taste. They trotted out a puppet of Chávez and made fun of it because Chávez refuses to be a puppet for the Bush Gang.”
More to the point, Rave, he has pretty much drawn a line in the sand in regard to them. A resounding NO to the free trade—aka imposition of US goods—agreement from Point Barrow, Alaska, to Tierra del Fuego. YES to Opec countries receiving decent prices for their non-renewable hydrocarbons. NO to being a colony, in short.
“Ah, colonies. Consumers of these greasy chips. Swillers of Coca-Cola.” Raven looks guilty.
Yeah. Inhabitants of the Heart of Darkness. Shrunken heads. Poachers. Ivory. Kurtz. The horror.
“More than that, in Latin America they are all characters out of Nostromo. Conrad had this all novelistically charted a hundred years ago. I guess nobody paid attention because they thought it was fiction?”
Sadly, Rave, we Sagittarians are always ahead of our time….
Thursday, May 15, 2003
RAVEN REDUX
***************************************************
He arado en el mar.
(I have ploughed the sea.)
S. Bolívar
***************************************************
Raven feels restless.
He’s combing the beach hoping
for inspiration
during the lunar eclipse,
for some flight information
to appear and lift
him out of this tropical
imagination.
He is ready to wing it,
now, just like in the old days—
freer than the bird
he has been here, hunkered down
in stale images
of waves, sand bars and palm trees.
He wants to sail on the big
wind currents again—
his beak aimed like an arrow
at the Andes, or
on to Patagonia—
his eyes ploughing the ocean,
planting reflections
of stars that burst into bloom
every moonrise;
in his retinae the failed
dreams of Simón Bolívar.
***************************************************
He arado en el mar.
(I have ploughed the sea.)
S. Bolívar
***************************************************
Raven feels restless.
He’s combing the beach hoping
for inspiration
during the lunar eclipse,
for some flight information
to appear and lift
him out of this tropical
imagination.
He is ready to wing it,
now, just like in the old days—
freer than the bird
he has been here, hunkered down
in stale images
of waves, sand bars and palm trees.
He wants to sail on the big
wind currents again—
his beak aimed like an arrow
at the Andes, or
on to Patagonia—
his eyes ploughing the ocean,
planting reflections
of stars that burst into bloom
every moonrise;
in his retinae the failed
dreams of Simón Bolívar.
Wednesday, May 14, 2003
TRADING MIGRANTS’ LIVES FOR PEMEX AND A PLAYER TO BE NAMED LATER
Raven is cheery this morning.
“Wow, cinnamon rolls! It’s about time we had something tasty for breakfast.” Raven reaches for a napkin and tucks in.
Gee, Rave, you know we are at the mercy of Puerto Angel, Village Without Services.
“Town Without Pity, too. And speaking of pitiless—or maybe pitiful—George Bush padre visited Fox in Los Pinos yesterday. What do you think that was all about?”
Well, considering that Mexico received a proposal from the Republicans just a few days ago to trade the long-sought migratory agreement for private—aka foreign—aka Bush Gang—investment in PEMEX, and the Congress here in Mexico is not eager to slither back to the old pre-Lázaro Cárdenas days—before Mexico’s petroleum pumping operation was nationalized—I believe we only draw one conclusion: that he was here to follow up the “offer” with arm-twisting, make it an “offer Fox couldn’t resist”, in the words of don Vito Corleone.
“The stuff that movies are made of, in short.” Raven flaps his wings slowly.
Rave, you’re getting cinnamon roll crumbs everywhere. Settle down, will you? Movies are made of celluloid. Well, they were.
“Is that a petroleum product?”
I don’t think so. I think it was made from plants. At least it pre-dated oil wells. Rave, you have the Internet in front of your beady eyes. Why not look it up?
“Naw. It’s a peripheral issue. So, do you think Fox promised Daddy Warbucks Mexico’s petroleum?”
I think even Fox is brighter than to have done that. Not with elections 6 weeks away and Mexicans equating PEMEX with patriotism. Fox has wrapped himself in the image of Our Lady of Guadalupe, not Malinche.
“So you think he put off making a decision.” Rave pours crumbs from his napkin into the garbage basket.
God knows what he did. Or what he said. It’s not his decision to make, anyway. And he should realize that if those petrocriminals got their hands on PEMEX production they’d be able to renege on any migratory agreement, leaving all the migrants unprotected—and he wouldn’t be able to do squat about it.
“Sounds like horse-trading, all right. Or baseball player trading. Wonder who the player to be named later is….”
Raven is cheery this morning.
“Wow, cinnamon rolls! It’s about time we had something tasty for breakfast.” Raven reaches for a napkin and tucks in.
Gee, Rave, you know we are at the mercy of Puerto Angel, Village Without Services.
“Town Without Pity, too. And speaking of pitiless—or maybe pitiful—George Bush padre visited Fox in Los Pinos yesterday. What do you think that was all about?”
Well, considering that Mexico received a proposal from the Republicans just a few days ago to trade the long-sought migratory agreement for private—aka foreign—aka Bush Gang—investment in PEMEX, and the Congress here in Mexico is not eager to slither back to the old pre-Lázaro Cárdenas days—before Mexico’s petroleum pumping operation was nationalized—I believe we only draw one conclusion: that he was here to follow up the “offer” with arm-twisting, make it an “offer Fox couldn’t resist”, in the words of don Vito Corleone.
“The stuff that movies are made of, in short.” Raven flaps his wings slowly.
Rave, you’re getting cinnamon roll crumbs everywhere. Settle down, will you? Movies are made of celluloid. Well, they were.
“Is that a petroleum product?”
I don’t think so. I think it was made from plants. At least it pre-dated oil wells. Rave, you have the Internet in front of your beady eyes. Why not look it up?
“Naw. It’s a peripheral issue. So, do you think Fox promised Daddy Warbucks Mexico’s petroleum?”
I think even Fox is brighter than to have done that. Not with elections 6 weeks away and Mexicans equating PEMEX with patriotism. Fox has wrapped himself in the image of Our Lady of Guadalupe, not Malinche.
“So you think he put off making a decision.” Rave pours crumbs from his napkin into the garbage basket.
God knows what he did. Or what he said. It’s not his decision to make, anyway. And he should realize that if those petrocriminals got their hands on PEMEX production they’d be able to renege on any migratory agreement, leaving all the migrants unprotected—and he wouldn’t be able to do squat about it.
“Sounds like horse-trading, all right. Or baseball player trading. Wonder who the player to be named later is….”
TRADING MIGRANTS’ LIVES FOR PEMEX AND A PLAYER TO BE NAMED LATER
Raven is cheery this morning.
“Wow, cinnamon rolls! It’s about time we had something tasty for breakfast.” Raven reaches for a napkin and tucks in.
Gee, Rave, you know we are at the mercy of Puerto Angel, Village Without Services.
“Town Without Pity, too. And speaking of pitiless—or maybe pitiful—George Bush padre visited Fox in Los Pinos yesterday. What do you think that was all about?”
Well, considering that Mexico received a proposal from the Republicans just a few days ago to trade the long-sought migratory agreement for private—aka foreign—aka Bush Gang—investment in PEMEX, and the Congress here in Mexico is not eager to slither back to the old pre-Lázaro Cárdenas days—before Mexico’s petroleum pumping operation was nationalized—I believe we only draw one conclusion: that he was here to follow up the “offer” with arm-twisting, make it an “offer Fox couldn’t resist”, in the words of don Vito Corleone.
“The stuff that movies are made of, in short.” Raven flaps his wings slowly.
Rave, you’re getting cinnamon roll crumbs everywhere. Settle down, will you? Movies are made of celluloid. Well, they were.
“Is that a petroleum product?”
I don’t think so. I think it was made from plants. At least it pre-dated oil wells. Rave, you have the Internet in front of your beady eyes. Why not look it up?
“Naw. It’s a peripheral issue. So, do you think Fox promised Daddy Warbucks Mexico’s petroleum?”
I think even Fox is brighter than to have done that. Not with elections 6 weeks away and Mexicans equating PEMEX with patriotism. Fox has wrapped himself in the image of Our Lady of Guadalupe, not Malinche.
“So you think he put off making a decision.” Rave pours crumbs from his napkin into the garbage basket.
God knows what he did. Or what he said. It’s not his decision to make, anyway. And he should realize that if those petrocriminals got their hands on PEMEX production they’d be able to renege on any migratory agreement, leaving all the migrants unprotected—and he wouldn’t be able to do squat about it.
“Sounds like horse-trading, all right. Or baseball player trading. Wonder who the player to be named later is….”
Raven is cheery this morning.
“Wow, cinnamon rolls! It’s about time we had something tasty for breakfast.” Raven reaches for a napkin and tucks in.
Gee, Rave, you know we are at the mercy of Puerto Angel, Village Without Services.
“Town Without Pity, too. And speaking of pitiless—or maybe pitiful—George Bush padre visited Fox in Los Pinos yesterday. What do you think that was all about?”
Well, considering that Mexico received a proposal from the Republicans just a few days ago to trade the long-sought migratory agreement for private—aka foreign—aka Bush Gang—investment in PEMEX, and the Congress here in Mexico is not eager to slither back to the old pre-Lázaro Cárdenas days—before Mexico’s petroleum pumping operation was nationalized—I believe we only draw one conclusion: that he was here to follow up the “offer” with arm-twisting, make it an “offer Fox couldn’t resist”, in the words of don Vito Corleone.
“The stuff that movies are made of, in short.” Raven flaps his wings slowly.
Rave, you’re getting cinnamon roll crumbs everywhere. Settle down, will you? Movies are made of celluloid. Well, they were.
“Is that a petroleum product?”
I don’t think so. I think it was made from plants. At least it pre-dated oil wells. Rave, you have the Internet in front of your beady eyes. Why not look it up?
“Naw. It’s a peripheral issue. So, do you think Fox promised Daddy Warbucks Mexico’s petroleum?”
I think even Fox is brighter than to have done that. Not with elections 6 weeks away and Mexicans equating PEMEX with patriotism. Fox has wrapped himself in the image of Our Lady of Guadalupe, not Malinche.
“So you think he put off making a decision.” Rave pours crumbs from his napkin into the garbage basket.
God knows what he did. Or what he said. It’s not his decision to make, anyway. And he should realize that if those petrocriminals got their hands on PEMEX production they’d be able to renege on any migratory agreement, leaving all the migrants unprotected—and he wouldn’t be able to do squat about it.
“Sounds like horse-trading, all right. Or baseball player trading. Wonder who the player to be named later is….”
Tuesday, May 13, 2003
DON’T BLAME ME; I’M FROM MASSACHUSSETS
Raven was singing in the garden while I was splattering bacon grease on myself in the kitchen. Some folks always choose the better part—as in the biblical story of Mary and Martha, the latter who was always “busy about many things”.
“This coffee is not delcious. Too much cinnamon.” Raven pushes his cup aside. “Who is this guy, George McGovern anyway? It says here he was the Democratic presidential candidate in 1972.”
That he was, Rave. An ill-fated campaign. Nixon was running for re-election, pulling dirty tricks like mad in his best style. McGovern was against the Vietnam war, so he looked like a real alternative to more of the same with Tricky Dick. Unfortunately, his first running mate bit the dust almost immediately because it came out that he had been treated for depression.
“How could any sane person not have been depressed, that’s what I´d like to know.” Raven bites into his peach jam-slathered toast.
We’re talking about the 70s, guy. When taking a pill for depression was hypocritically regarded as the same as dropping acid. Anyway, that candidate was jerked from the ticket and replaced by Sargent Shriver—one of the Kennedy clan who’d been running the Peace Corps, and my dissertation adviser, Harvey Swados, was recruited to write his speeches. A thankless task, but Harvey had to make the sacrifice to try to knock out Nixon—not to mention that a racist Alabama governor named George Wallace was making another run at the White House. We were living in Springfield, Massachusetts and drove up to Amherst to vote for McGovern.
“Springfield. The home of the Basketball Hall of Fame, right?”
It’s only claim to fame, probably. I didn’t know you were a basketball fan, Rave.
“I’m not. Too short. But I like sports trivia.”
All sports are trivial. Anyway, we voted because although we knew McGovern was not going to win, our polling place was an auction house in North Amherst and I wanted to preview the weekend’s selection of stuff.
“A bit cynical, aren’t we?”
Rave, I was trying to run an antiques business. Give me a break. McGovern lost, and because Massachusetts was the only state he carried, we printed up bumper stickers that said: Don’t blame me; I’m from Massachusetts. Unfortunately, Harvey Swados died a month after the presidential election. Writing political speeches literally killed the novelist.
“Ah. Politics killed the wrong person. But the bumper stickers were a good way to weasel out of the blame for Nixon. Didn’t he have to resign?”
Of course he did. But Rave, why did you bring up McGovern in the first place?
“Because he has a piece on the Common Dreams site. Republished from the Washington Post. It’s called A More Constructive Internationalism.”
What does he say?
“Basically, he takes offense at his being called anti-internationalist. Something like that.”
Because he opposed the Vietnam war?
“Maybe. It’s not too clear. Anyway, he gives a list of activities he’s done which he feels indicate his internationalism—especially his work to reduce global hunger. Not exactly a resounding success there, but…And goes on to say:
‘I am opposed to the Bush doctrine of "preemptive war" -- what heretofore has been known as aggression or invasion. I am also opposed to congressional resolutions that give the president a blank check to go to war when he pleases.
I have always thought America to be the greatest country on earth. One of the reasons I think so is because of our great founding fathers, including Thomas Jefferson, who spoke of "a decent respect to the opinions of mankind." Is there any doubt that the opinion of mankind was overwhelmingly against our wars in Vietnam and Iraq?’”
No doubt in my mind, at all, Rave. That’s why I am so angry and concerned about the US government’s completely blowing off world opinion.
“He also makes a little jab at Bush’s neo-Hitlerism:
'We don't measure a nation's internationalism by the number of troops it sends to other countries. By that test, Adolf Hitler would be the greatest internationalist of the 20th century. I might add thatI would not have won the Democratic presidential nomination in 1972 -- winning 11 primaries, including the two largest states, New York and California -- if I had been perceived as an isolationist. I also believe that if the disgraceful conduct of President Richard Nixon during that campaign had been known before the election, I would have been elected. If so, I would have led as an internationalist unafraid to use force in the national interest.'
Seems like he’s saying not to blame him. Is he from Massachusetts?”
No, Rave. From South Dakota. But South Dakota doesn’t look as good on a bumper sticker.
"Sounds like it's in the middle of Nowhere. Sort of like here." Raven looks very sly.
I think I see where you're going, Rave. Forget about Don't blame me; I'm from Puerto Angel....
Raven was singing in the garden while I was splattering bacon grease on myself in the kitchen. Some folks always choose the better part—as in the biblical story of Mary and Martha, the latter who was always “busy about many things”.
“This coffee is not delcious. Too much cinnamon.” Raven pushes his cup aside. “Who is this guy, George McGovern anyway? It says here he was the Democratic presidential candidate in 1972.”
That he was, Rave. An ill-fated campaign. Nixon was running for re-election, pulling dirty tricks like mad in his best style. McGovern was against the Vietnam war, so he looked like a real alternative to more of the same with Tricky Dick. Unfortunately, his first running mate bit the dust almost immediately because it came out that he had been treated for depression.
“How could any sane person not have been depressed, that’s what I´d like to know.” Raven bites into his peach jam-slathered toast.
We’re talking about the 70s, guy. When taking a pill for depression was hypocritically regarded as the same as dropping acid. Anyway, that candidate was jerked from the ticket and replaced by Sargent Shriver—one of the Kennedy clan who’d been running the Peace Corps, and my dissertation adviser, Harvey Swados, was recruited to write his speeches. A thankless task, but Harvey had to make the sacrifice to try to knock out Nixon—not to mention that a racist Alabama governor named George Wallace was making another run at the White House. We were living in Springfield, Massachusetts and drove up to Amherst to vote for McGovern.
“Springfield. The home of the Basketball Hall of Fame, right?”
It’s only claim to fame, probably. I didn’t know you were a basketball fan, Rave.
“I’m not. Too short. But I like sports trivia.”
All sports are trivial. Anyway, we voted because although we knew McGovern was not going to win, our polling place was an auction house in North Amherst and I wanted to preview the weekend’s selection of stuff.
“A bit cynical, aren’t we?”
Rave, I was trying to run an antiques business. Give me a break. McGovern lost, and because Massachusetts was the only state he carried, we printed up bumper stickers that said: Don’t blame me; I’m from Massachusetts. Unfortunately, Harvey Swados died a month after the presidential election. Writing political speeches literally killed the novelist.
“Ah. Politics killed the wrong person. But the bumper stickers were a good way to weasel out of the blame for Nixon. Didn’t he have to resign?”
Of course he did. But Rave, why did you bring up McGovern in the first place?
“Because he has a piece on the Common Dreams site. Republished from the Washington Post. It’s called A More Constructive Internationalism.”
What does he say?
“Basically, he takes offense at his being called anti-internationalist. Something like that.”
Because he opposed the Vietnam war?
“Maybe. It’s not too clear. Anyway, he gives a list of activities he’s done which he feels indicate his internationalism—especially his work to reduce global hunger. Not exactly a resounding success there, but…And goes on to say:
‘I am opposed to the Bush doctrine of "preemptive war" -- what heretofore has been known as aggression or invasion. I am also opposed to congressional resolutions that give the president a blank check to go to war when he pleases.
I have always thought America to be the greatest country on earth. One of the reasons I think so is because of our great founding fathers, including Thomas Jefferson, who spoke of "a decent respect to the opinions of mankind." Is there any doubt that the opinion of mankind was overwhelmingly against our wars in Vietnam and Iraq?’”
No doubt in my mind, at all, Rave. That’s why I am so angry and concerned about the US government’s completely blowing off world opinion.
“He also makes a little jab at Bush’s neo-Hitlerism:
'We don't measure a nation's internationalism by the number of troops it sends to other countries. By that test, Adolf Hitler would be the greatest internationalist of the 20th century. I might add thatI would not have won the Democratic presidential nomination in 1972 -- winning 11 primaries, including the two largest states, New York and California -- if I had been perceived as an isolationist. I also believe that if the disgraceful conduct of President Richard Nixon during that campaign had been known before the election, I would have been elected. If so, I would have led as an internationalist unafraid to use force in the national interest.'
Seems like he’s saying not to blame him. Is he from Massachusetts?”
No, Rave. From South Dakota. But South Dakota doesn’t look as good on a bumper sticker.
"Sounds like it's in the middle of Nowhere. Sort of like here." Raven looks very sly.
I think I see where you're going, Rave. Forget about Don't blame me; I'm from Puerto Angel....
Monday, May 12, 2003
HASTA AQUÍ LLEGUÉ
“So,” Raven takes a bite from his ersatz croissant (from Panadería 5 Regiones) “Castro has finally responded to José Saramago´s ‘Hasta aquí llegué’ commentary.”
I think standing up those 3 kidnappers against the wall and calling in the firing squad may have been an extreme reaction on the part of Castro. But I also remember when I was a child in the 50s there was a lot of controversy about the death penalty because of the Caryl Chessman case.”
“Before my time, I’m afraid. Don’t we have some jam for this bread?”
Check the refri, Rave. I am looking for something in Internet about Chessman for you. He was given 2 death sentences for a 1948 crime that charged him with being a kidnapper and rapist, and was finally executed in the gas chamber in San Quentin in 1960. He always claimed that he was not guilty. But the climate of the 50s was not apt for rebellious guys like Chessman, who was a pretty good writer, too. They basically slapped the kidnapping charge on him because since the Lindbergh baby kidnapping, it was a capital offense. Ah, here we have a quote from him:
“I learned too late and only after coming to Death Row that each of us ever must be aware of the brotherhood of man . . . . Circumstances may compel us to become our brother’s keeper; I think we destroy something in ourselves when we become his executioner.”
“He’s right about that.” Rave spreads some peach jam on his bread. “So he wasn’t really a kidnapper?”
It was a very intolerant time, Rave. Joe McCarthy was ranting and raving every day about Reds under the bed, in Hollywood, in the military, in Congress—you name it, Reds were in it. The Rosenbergs were electrocuted in Sing Sing in 1953 for supposedly passing atomic weapons secrets to the Russians. People were building backyard bomb shelters. It was a climate of mass hysteria. Caryl Chessman was too rational, too much of an individual. Somebody—I don’t remember who—said he was executed for being a smart ass.
“Sounds very much like this moment. And we also know that Bush presided over the execution of 153 people in Texas before he actualized his plan to preside over The World. So why has he been beating the pan about Castro’s government shooting 3 guys who were trying to get to the US in a little boat?” Raven scrapes the scraps of his eggs, delicately, into the garbage.
Because they were going to the US, I’m sure. If they had been heading for Venezuela, I am sure Bush would have applauded Castro’s sentence. As he applauded his own decision to lethally inject black and hispanic prisoners in Texas.
“Good point. And the stiff prison terms they gave the dissidents?”
Obviously, the US has a lot of guilt around that, as they gave the green light to those folks.
“And money, and tvs and other stuff, too.”
Apparently. So Saramago thought or felt that Castro had over-reacted, had gone too far. That dissent should have been allowed. And he said “Hasta aquí llegué” in the sense that this was as far as he was going, that he could not go along with Castro´s recent decisions—even as a long-time communist and supporter of the Cuban Revolution. Then he said a few days later that he was not withdrawing his solidarity from the Revolution. Frankly, I am confused. I can understand his being against the death penalty and against having political prisoners, and why he emotionally singled out Cuba for his disappointment. But maybe he should have thought it over before making a public statement. What did Castro say?
“Castro says :
‘Saramago is a good writer. It really hurts us that he hasn’t understood a word about the realities that the world and Cuba are living. He should have expressed his disagreement, but he shouldn’t have said anything to feed the agression of the US government against Cuba, nor offer arguments that would be received with delight by the brutal imperialist system that’s trying to justify an agression against Cuba.’
What he goes on to say is perhaps more important:
‘Something more worrisome—Saramago, and some others who have acted in good faith seem completely unaware that the planet is marching rapidly towards a global nazifascist tyranny. I am sure that he let himself be carried away by a moment of anger and disagreement which clouded his capacity to reason. Also, maybe a passing element of self-importance and vanity—nothing extraordinary in a good communist accustomed during many years to calumny and diatribes who has suddenly been elevated to the Olympus of a Nobel Prize.’”
Other people have said that Castro made a bad decision because he is senile, Rave. It doesn’t sound to me that he is. He is younger than Saramago by a few years, if I remember correctly. Maybe the point is that all of us oldsters should be talking less than we are?
“Okay…I’ll bite. Why?” Raven looks unsure.
Maybe if we had taken the world situation more seriously, had read the handwriting on the wall—so to speak—things would not have gotten to the point where it’s the Law of the Jungle.
Raven shakes his head. “I think I have mentioned before that the jungle is a peaceful place because it doesn’t have people in it.”
Bad word choice, sorry. I am trying to say that we all share the guilt of allowing what Castro very rightly has called a global fascist tyranny to take place. That it’s not just the moron Bush and his gang of petrocriminals who are to blame—but all of us who allowed them to come to power thinking that arrogance, stupidity, greed and violence could not possibly be institutionalized.
“I have also mentioned before than your species has not adapted very well to the realities of this planet. And is therefore bound for extinction. As I am bound, at this moment, for the beach.” Raven wings it from the windowsill.
Thanks for making my day, Rave….
“So,” Raven takes a bite from his ersatz croissant (from Panadería 5 Regiones) “Castro has finally responded to José Saramago´s ‘Hasta aquí llegué’ commentary.”
I think standing up those 3 kidnappers against the wall and calling in the firing squad may have been an extreme reaction on the part of Castro. But I also remember when I was a child in the 50s there was a lot of controversy about the death penalty because of the Caryl Chessman case.”
“Before my time, I’m afraid. Don’t we have some jam for this bread?”
Check the refri, Rave. I am looking for something in Internet about Chessman for you. He was given 2 death sentences for a 1948 crime that charged him with being a kidnapper and rapist, and was finally executed in the gas chamber in San Quentin in 1960. He always claimed that he was not guilty. But the climate of the 50s was not apt for rebellious guys like Chessman, who was a pretty good writer, too. They basically slapped the kidnapping charge on him because since the Lindbergh baby kidnapping, it was a capital offense. Ah, here we have a quote from him:
“I learned too late and only after coming to Death Row that each of us ever must be aware of the brotherhood of man . . . . Circumstances may compel us to become our brother’s keeper; I think we destroy something in ourselves when we become his executioner.”
“He’s right about that.” Rave spreads some peach jam on his bread. “So he wasn’t really a kidnapper?”
It was a very intolerant time, Rave. Joe McCarthy was ranting and raving every day about Reds under the bed, in Hollywood, in the military, in Congress—you name it, Reds were in it. The Rosenbergs were electrocuted in Sing Sing in 1953 for supposedly passing atomic weapons secrets to the Russians. People were building backyard bomb shelters. It was a climate of mass hysteria. Caryl Chessman was too rational, too much of an individual. Somebody—I don’t remember who—said he was executed for being a smart ass.
“Sounds very much like this moment. And we also know that Bush presided over the execution of 153 people in Texas before he actualized his plan to preside over The World. So why has he been beating the pan about Castro’s government shooting 3 guys who were trying to get to the US in a little boat?” Raven scrapes the scraps of his eggs, delicately, into the garbage.
Because they were going to the US, I’m sure. If they had been heading for Venezuela, I am sure Bush would have applauded Castro’s sentence. As he applauded his own decision to lethally inject black and hispanic prisoners in Texas.
“Good point. And the stiff prison terms they gave the dissidents?”
Obviously, the US has a lot of guilt around that, as they gave the green light to those folks.
“And money, and tvs and other stuff, too.”
Apparently. So Saramago thought or felt that Castro had over-reacted, had gone too far. That dissent should have been allowed. And he said “Hasta aquí llegué” in the sense that this was as far as he was going, that he could not go along with Castro´s recent decisions—even as a long-time communist and supporter of the Cuban Revolution. Then he said a few days later that he was not withdrawing his solidarity from the Revolution. Frankly, I am confused. I can understand his being against the death penalty and against having political prisoners, and why he emotionally singled out Cuba for his disappointment. But maybe he should have thought it over before making a public statement. What did Castro say?
“Castro says :
‘Saramago is a good writer. It really hurts us that he hasn’t understood a word about the realities that the world and Cuba are living. He should have expressed his disagreement, but he shouldn’t have said anything to feed the agression of the US government against Cuba, nor offer arguments that would be received with delight by the brutal imperialist system that’s trying to justify an agression against Cuba.’
What he goes on to say is perhaps more important:
‘Something more worrisome—Saramago, and some others who have acted in good faith seem completely unaware that the planet is marching rapidly towards a global nazifascist tyranny. I am sure that he let himself be carried away by a moment of anger and disagreement which clouded his capacity to reason. Also, maybe a passing element of self-importance and vanity—nothing extraordinary in a good communist accustomed during many years to calumny and diatribes who has suddenly been elevated to the Olympus of a Nobel Prize.’”
Other people have said that Castro made a bad decision because he is senile, Rave. It doesn’t sound to me that he is. He is younger than Saramago by a few years, if I remember correctly. Maybe the point is that all of us oldsters should be talking less than we are?
“Okay…I’ll bite. Why?” Raven looks unsure.
Maybe if we had taken the world situation more seriously, had read the handwriting on the wall—so to speak—things would not have gotten to the point where it’s the Law of the Jungle.
Raven shakes his head. “I think I have mentioned before that the jungle is a peaceful place because it doesn’t have people in it.”
Bad word choice, sorry. I am trying to say that we all share the guilt of allowing what Castro very rightly has called a global fascist tyranny to take place. That it’s not just the moron Bush and his gang of petrocriminals who are to blame—but all of us who allowed them to come to power thinking that arrogance, stupidity, greed and violence could not possibly be institutionalized.
“I have also mentioned before than your species has not adapted very well to the realities of this planet. And is therefore bound for extinction. As I am bound, at this moment, for the beach.” Raven wings it from the windowsill.
Thanks for making my day, Rave….
Saturday, May 10, 2003
HANDWRITING ON THE WALL
Raven is having a down day. So am I, for that matter; I didn't even get up to make our cups of earl grey until almost 11. Raven just picked at his mushroom and serrano chile omelet, and took his sweet roll out to the garden.
*************
Raven hears the roar
as the great incoming waves
gobble up the beach,
and he sees the sand shrinking.
Even as he watches it,
the ocean expands
its territory; inch by
inch it spreads across
the land with no intention
of receding. Now he knows
how the mammoth must
have felt when he saw the ice
approaching closer--
until it covered him up
like a fly trapped in amber.
Raven, though a bird,
has always lived on the land;
as pedestrian
as they come, he sees the sea
as an enemy taking
away his back yard,
sweeping him into the street
to scrap with the gulls
for his livelihood. Raven,
scavenging for ideas
on the beach, feels waves
erasing his best sources
and leaving tide pools
in their place. He knows that he
is becoming obsolete.
Raven is having a down day. So am I, for that matter; I didn't even get up to make our cups of earl grey until almost 11. Raven just picked at his mushroom and serrano chile omelet, and took his sweet roll out to the garden.
*************
Raven hears the roar
as the great incoming waves
gobble up the beach,
and he sees the sand shrinking.
Even as he watches it,
the ocean expands
its territory; inch by
inch it spreads across
the land with no intention
of receding. Now he knows
how the mammoth must
have felt when he saw the ice
approaching closer--
until it covered him up
like a fly trapped in amber.
Raven, though a bird,
has always lived on the land;
as pedestrian
as they come, he sees the sea
as an enemy taking
away his back yard,
sweeping him into the street
to scrap with the gulls
for his livelihood. Raven,
scavenging for ideas
on the beach, feels waves
erasing his best sources
and leaving tide pools
in their place. He knows that he
is becoming obsolete.
Friday, May 09, 2003
YESTERDAY CUBA, TODAY IRAN
Despite the bluster on the part of the Bush Gang in regard to:
first blowing Syria out of the desert and
then Cuba out of the water,
the reality of Iran’s enormous oil and gas reserves has situated it in the cross-hairs of the Petrocriminals as the real next target for invasion.
Supposedly, Iran has been developing nuclear weapons in the reactor at Natanz.
Wow, are they fast!
That installation was just visited 3 months ago by the General Director of the International Atomic Energy Agency, Mohamed el Baradei, who reported nothing illegal or even unusual....
Now the Petrocriminals announced in The New York Times that Natanz is an “obvious” nuclear weapons factory!
I am really beginning to wonder if the US public has been so brainwashed by its government and its mass media that it no longer has 2 digits to rub together to make an IQ....
Raven is not at all optimistic. He feels if they had to invent fire again, they wouldn’t be able to rub 2 sticks together either.
Despite the bluster on the part of the Bush Gang in regard to:
first blowing Syria out of the desert and
then Cuba out of the water,
the reality of Iran’s enormous oil and gas reserves has situated it in the cross-hairs of the Petrocriminals as the real next target for invasion.
Supposedly, Iran has been developing nuclear weapons in the reactor at Natanz.
Wow, are they fast!
That installation was just visited 3 months ago by the General Director of the International Atomic Energy Agency, Mohamed el Baradei, who reported nothing illegal or even unusual....
Now the Petrocriminals announced in The New York Times that Natanz is an “obvious” nuclear weapons factory!
I am really beginning to wonder if the US public has been so brainwashed by its government and its mass media that it no longer has 2 digits to rub together to make an IQ....
Raven is not at all optimistic. He feels if they had to invent fire again, they wouldn’t be able to rub 2 sticks together either.
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