Tag Archives: politics

Bow-Wow

I have decided to be a dog. Dogs don’t have a President. And they do just fine without one. Well, they could use a few more parks and a few less kennels.

Or a bird. Even better. Birds can fly above all this nonsense. They can fly to lakes or forests, over mountains or almost as high as the sun. Donald Trump cannot control the sunshine, or the land, or the oceans. Except for global warming, that is, which he won’t lift a finger for.

Our mistake is confusing reality with our society. You won’t find reality in this so-called world that we’ve created. Reality is in nature. It’s in the deserts and canyons and jungles and rivers. It’s in all the beautiful species who cohabitate. Go out and take a hike today, explore the hills, trees, whatever you can find. Be a dog. Chase a rabbit. Howl at the moon.

Ruff, ruff.

The Thinking to Talking Ratio

Recent years have seen world records smashed for both the highest and the lowest Thinking to Talking Ratio. For the highest Thinking to Talking Ratio, it is no contest: Stephen Hawking walks away with the title—not literally, of course, but morally. With a ratio of 936 to 1, there is no one even in his league.

Likewise, the new record-holder for the lowest Thinking to Talking Ratio is also a runaway. No one else comes close. But Mr. Trump is quite humble about having set this impressive record: an astounding 1 to 1,876. “Even though the media tried to rig the whole thing,” says Mr. Trump, “this world record is mine, and I’m keeping it. It’s not for sale.”

Hillary, by the way, has a ratio of 23.4 to 1, which, for a politician, is really pretty good.

The Donald J. Trump Presidential Library

“Welcome to the Trump Library. Are you here for the Survivors’ Conference?”

“No. Cancer Survivors?”

“Not really. Just anyone who’s still alive five years after the North Korean attack. You know—mostly rich people who bought one of the Trump Designer Fallout Shelters from his offshore holding company.”

“I see. It’s too bad Mr. Trump had to tweet those insults about Kim Jong Un’s haircut.”

“Yes. And calling him a putz in his inaugural address probably didn’t help either. How did you folks survive?”

“Oh, we were out of the country, visiting relatives in the Islamic Caliphate. Things are relatively peaceful there.”

“I was in Moscow. Any friend of Donald Trump’s is a friend of Putin, you know.”

“Why are there so many Secret Service people here? To maintain security at the conference?”

“Actually, they’re always here. We need them here to keep Mr. Trump out. He tends to wander down from the penthouse in his pajamas and annoy and molest young women here in the Library.”

“My stars! Are we the type he would, uh—?”

“No. I don’t think you ladies have anything to worry about. By the way, what were you interested in seeing on your visit today?”

“The books, mostly.”

“Books? Oh. Well, on the right you’ll find the Fifty Shades of Grey Room. We have over eight hundred first edition copies. And on your left is the Machiavelli Room, with ten thousand copies of The Prince. Enjoy your visit!”

What books will they write?

I do not want a future generation of world scholars to have to write books with titles like “The Rise of Fascism in America”. But the subject matter for such books is happening before our eyes, and such history cannot be unwritten.

If a major political party cannot manage its own organization, how can it expect to manage the country? If that party allows a dangerous fascist (dangerous because of his money and his cult following) to run for office under its banner, then that party may someday become a party of armbands.

The Republican Party needs to oust Mr. Trump from its membership list, and bar him from its primaries. I don’t believe there is any legal reason why it cannot do exactly that. He can run independently, if he wishes. This is America.

If the Republican Party does not expel Mr. Trump, I don’t see how it can be respected or taken seriously, let alone continue as a part of our central government.

Perhaps this is a good time to think about whether we want to begin moving away from partisan politics altogether. Maybe our system of government would function better if there were no parties or labels, only ideas and individuals. Could such a change be the silver lining of this whole scary episode? Could such a lovely reform be the final, happier chapter of those books that a future generation of scholars will be writing?

Mr. Trump Latches the Gate

“What’s your name?”

“Ouseph Al-Sabbagh.”

“I’m Donald Trump.”

“Yes, I—”

“Is it the hair?”

“It looks more natural on television.”

“Where are you from?”

“Syria.”

“So you’re a Muslim.”

“No, I’m Christian.”

“How do I know that?”

“Half my village was murdered by ISIS.”

“You might be a terrorist pretending to be a refugee. There’s something about your eyes that I don’t like.”

“I haven’t eaten or slept in days.”

“I’m sorry, you’ll have to try some other country. Maybe Texas.”

“I think Syria might be safer.”

“Boy you get all kinds. What’s your name?”

“Ismail Habib.”

“From?”

“Israel.”

“You gotta be Muslim with a name like that.”

“I’m Jewish.”

“You look more Middle Eastern than the last guy.”

“I am Middle Eastern. So what?”

“So you’re not coming in.”

“Mr. Trump, are you familiar with Crimes Against Humanity?”

“Is that that new reality show?”

“No it’s—oh nevermind. Jerusalem suddenly sounds very peaceful to me.”

“Next? Stand up please. Oh, you are standing up. How old are you?”

“Nine.”

“Do you have a name?”

“Mina.”

“And you’re from Iraq?”

“I think so.”

“And you’re a Muslim little girl, aren’t you? Don’t just shake your head, sweetie, I need an answer.”

“I’m Yazidi.”

“That some kind of Islam thing, right? Well, you can’t come here, sweetie. You might grow up to be a terrorist. You don’t know what that is? Guns. Killing. Bang, bang.”

“I’m afraid of guns.”

“I’m not. You should see my collection.”

“Please don’t send me back, mister. Those bad men took me and, and—. Please don’t make me go back there.”

“Now, now. This is a very expensive suit, sweetie, I can’t have it water-spotted. Somebody take this little girl to the return line. Name, sir?”

“Mohammad Mohammad.”

“From?”

“Cleveland.”

“So why are you coming from Istanbul?”

“International human rights conference. I’m a U.S. District Court Judge.”

“You’re Muslim, and this time I’m not listening to any alibis.”

“I am Muslim. Non-practicing. But I’ve been thinking about becoming more observant.”

“Yeah, yeah. Tell it to the bleeding hearts back in Istanbul.”

“Hey, you can’t—I have a full docket tomorrow, I have to pick my robe up at the cleaners!”

“Get him outa here, boys. One less troublemaker. OK. Let’s have the name.”

“Johnny Jones.”

“British passport, Mr. Jones?”

“Righto.”

“Let’s see. You’ve just come from Pakistan.”

“Indeed.”

“With a stopover in Libya.”

“Quite.”

“I trust you had a pleasant holiday.”

“Splendid, actually. Business and pleasure, you know.”

“Wonderful. What business, may I ask?”

“Oh, I’m a group organizer, also an internet strategist. And I do a little munitions acquisition as well.”

“Ah, a man after my own heart. Now, please forgive me, Mr. Jones, but I have to ask this question, purely routine: are you now or have you ever been a person of the Muslim persuasion?”

“Mr. Trump. Do I look like a Muslim?”

“That’s the answer I was looking for! Welcome to the U.S., Mr. Jones.”

“Thank you awfully. Say, I wonder if you might help me. I would love to find the nearest wholesale/retail weapons emporium. Would you by any chance—”

“Mr. Jones, there’s a wonderful outlet not three blocks from my penthouse. Here, take one of my cards. You tell em Donald sent you. They’ll give you 15% off. Plus free delivery within a ten mile radius.”

 Chuck Redman

 

Farsightedness

What ISIS is is the world’s largest street gang: made up, like all street gangs, of wayward and disaffected youth exploited by a handful of megalomaniacs. ISIS is simply the 18th Street gang gone viral; the Mara Salvatrucha with a Middle Eastern flavor.

Where there is poverty, there will be fertile ground for the cultivation of such groups. Where feudalism or unbridled capitalism create such disparities between rich and poor, haves and have nots, a violent discontent is often the chief economic product. As long as poverty rampages, so will its youth.

This concept may not provide much insight for dealing with ISIS in the short term, but is it possible we might want to use a little foresight as well? When ISIS is old news, who will be the new bully on the block? Who will be the new boyz in the hood?

Honoring Peace

It’s only right that we honor the people who have fought for us against tyranny and aggression.  But please remember that going to war is not always right or justified.  We have been wrong just as many times as we have been right, I’m afraid.  We must make better decisions.  And we must honor peace more than war.  Books I have read in the recent past have said it much better than I could ever say it:

 

And some day we’ll remember so much that we’ll build the biggest goddamn steamshovel in history and dig the biggest grave of all time and shove war in and cover it up. — Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451 (1950)

 

The soldier never becomes wholly familiar with the conception of his foes as men like himself; he cannot divest himself of the feeling that they are another order of beings, differently conditioned, in an environment not altogether of the earth. — Ambrose Bierce, “A Son of the Gods”, Tales of Soldiers and Civilians (1892)

 

. . . all the scenes he had since been through had not dimmed the horror, the terror of that moment, when his boy comrade fell, with only a breath between a laugh and a death groan. — Hamlin Garland, “The Return of a Private”, Main-Travelled Roads (1891)

 

In trench warfare five things are important: firewood, food, tobacco, candles, and the enemy.  In winter on the Zaragoza front they were important in that order, with the enemy a bad last. . . The real preoccupation of both armies was trying to keep warm. — George Orwell, Homage to Catalonia (1938)

 

One of the most horrible features of war is that all the war-propaganda, all the screaming and lies and hatred, comes invariably from people who are not fighting. — George Orwell, Homage to Catalonia (1938)

 

It was like an allegorical picture of war; the trainload of fresh men gliding proudly up the line, the maimed men sliding slowly down, and all the while the guns on the open trucks making one’s heart leap as guns always do, and reviving that pernicious feeling, so difficult to get rid of, that war is glorious after all. — George Orwell, Homage to Catalonia (1938)

 

It is doubtful whether our soldiers would be maintained if there were not pacific people at home who like to fancy themselves soldiers.  War, like other dramatic spectacles, might possibly cease for want of a ‘public’. — George Eliot, The Mill on the Floss (1860)

 

Above all, innocence alone

Commands a kingdom of its own.

This kingdom needs no armed defense,

No horseman, nor that vain pretence

Of Parthian archers who, in flight,

Shoot arrows to prolong the fight.

It has no need of cannon balls

And guns to batter city walls.

To have no fear of anything,

To want not, is to be a king.

This is the kingdom every man

Gives to himself, as each man can.

Let others scale dominion’s slippery peak;

Peace and obscurity are all I seek. . .

Death’s terrors are for him who, too well known,

Will die a stranger to himself alone.

— Seneca, Thyestes (1st century A.D.) – translation by E.F. Watling