October 28, 2006

  • Why I Quit the Klan

    I'll be interested to see what truths my readers derive from this excerpt of the interview with C.P. Ellis.

    EDIT:  I was wondering if anyone would pick up on Ann Atwater's contribution to C.P. Ellis' "conversion".  She had to put aside her entirely legitimate fears and prejudices in order to work with C.P. the Klan member.  Ellis probably wouldn't have had his change of heart and mind without her influence.

    Interestingly enough, mejicojohn came closest with his comment that "black chicks are hot...I've known that for years!"  Hahahaha!

    **********

    “Why I Quit the Klan” — An Interview with C.P. Ellis

    by Studs Terkel

    [C.P. Ellis was born in 1927 and was 53 years old at the time of this interview with Studs Terkel. For
    Terkel, America's foremost oral historian, this remains the most memorable and moving of all the
    interviews he's done in a career spanning more thanseven decades, for C.P. Ellis had once been the
    Exalted Cyclops of the Ku Klux Klan in Durham, N.C. During the interview, Terkel learned that Ellis had
    been born extremely poor in Durham, North Carolina;had struggled all his life to feed his family; had
    felt shut out of American society and had joined theKlan to feel like somebody. But later he got involved
    in a local school issue and reluctantly, gradually,began to work on a committee with a black activist
    named Ann Atwater, whom he despised at the time. Eventually, after many small epiphanies, he realized
    that they shared a common concern for their children,common goals as human beings. More surprising still,
    Ellis became a union organizer for a janitor's union—a long way from his personal philosophical roots. The
    Ellis-Atwater story is best documented in The Best of Enemies, a book by Osha Gray Davidson that tells of
    the unlikely friendship that developed between Ann andC.P. Ellis, when they first met in the 1960's.
    Apparently, their commonalities as oppressed humanbeings proved far stronger than the racial hatred that
    initially divided them.]
    All my life, I had work, never a day without work, worked all the overtime I could get and still could
    not survive financially. I began to see there's something wrong with this country. I worked my butt
    off and just never seemed to break even. I had some real great ideas about this nation. They say to abide
    by the law, go to church, do right and live for the Lord, and everything'll work out. But it didn't work
    out. It just kept getting worse and worse...

    Tryin' to come out of that hole, I just couldn't do it. I really began to get bitter. I didn't know who to
    blame. I tried to find somebody. Hating America is hard to do because you can't see it to hate it. You
    gotta have somethin' to look at to hate. The natural person for me to hate would be Black people, because
    my father before me was a member of the Klan... So I began to admire the Klan... To be part of
    somethin'. ... The first night I went with the fellas ... I was led into a large meeting room, and this
    was the time of my life! It was thrilling. Here's a guy who's worked all his life and struggled all his
    life to be something, and here's the moment to be something. I will never forget it. Four robed Klansmen
    led me into the hall. The lights were dim and the only thing you could see was an illuminated cross... After
    I had taken my oath, there was loud applause goin' throughout the buildin', musta been at least 400
    people. For this one little ol person. It was a thrilling moment for C. P. Ellis...

    The majority of [the Klansmen] are low-income Whites,people who really don't have a part in something. They
    have been shut out as well as Blacks. Some are not very well educated either. Just like myself. We had a
    lot of support from doctors and lawyers and police officers. Maybe they've had bitter experiences in this life and
    they had to hate somebody. So the natural person to hate would be the Black person. He's beginnin' to come
    up, he's beginnin' to ... start votin' and run for political office. Here are White people who are
    supposed to be superior to them, and we're shut out... Shut out. Deep down inside, we want to be part of this
    great society. Nobody listens, so we join these groups...

    We would go to the city council meetings and the Blacks would be there and we'd be there. It was a
    confrontation every time... We began to make some inroads with the city councilmen and county
    commissioners. They began to call us friend. Call us at night on the telephone: "C. P., glad you came to
    that meeting last night." They didn't want integration either, but they did it secretively, in order to get
    elected. They couldn't stand up openly and say it, but they were glad somebody was sayin it. We visited some
    of the city leaders in their homes and talked to 'em privately. It wasn't long before councilmen would call
    me up: “The Blacks are comin' up tonight and makin' outrageous demands. How about some of you people
    showin' up and have a little balance?”

    We'd load up our cars and we'd fill up half the council chambers, and the Blacks the other half.
    During these times, I carried weapons to the meetings, outside my belt. We'd go there armed. We would wind up
    just hollerin' and fussin' at each other. What happened? As a result of our fightin' one another, the
    city council still had their way. They didn't want to give up control to the Blacks nor the Klan. They were
    usin' us.

    I began to realize this later down the road. One day I was walkin' downtown and a certain city council member

    saw me comin'. I expected him to shake my hand because he was talkin' to me at night on the telephone. I had
    been in his home and visited with him. He crossed the street [to avoid me]... I began to think, somethin's
    wrong here. Most of 'em are merchants or maybe an attorney, an insurance agent, people like that. As
    long as they kept low-income Whites and low-income Blacks fightin', they're gonna maintain control. I
    began to get that feelin' after I was ignored in public. I thought: . . . you're not gonna use me any
    more. That's when I began to do some real serious thinkin'.
    The same thing is happening in this country today. People are being used by those in control, those who
    have all the wealth. I'm not espousing communism. We got the greatest system of government in the world.
    But those who have it simply don't want those who don't have it to have any part of it. Black and White.
    When it comes to money, the green, the other colors make no difference.

    I spent a lot of sleepless nights. I still didn't like Blacks. I didn't want to associate with them. Blacks,
    Jews, or Catholics. My father said: "Don't have anything to do with 'em." I didn't until I met a Black
    person and talked with him, eyeball to eyeball, and met a Jewish person and talked to him, eyeball to
    eyeball. I found they're people just like me. They cried, they cussed, they prayed, they had desires.
    Just like myself. Thank God, I got to the point where I can look past labels. But at that time, my mind was
    closed.
    I remember one Monday night Klan meeting. I said something was wrong. Our city fathers were using us.
    And I didn't like to be used. The reactions of the others was not too pleasant: "Let's just keep fightin'
    them niggers."

    I'd go home at night and I'd have to wrestle with myself. I'd look at a Black person walkin' down the
    street, and the guy'd have ragged shoes or his clothes would be worn. That began to do something to me
    inside. I went through this for about six months. I felt I just had to get out of the Klan. But I wouldn't
    get out...
    [Ellis was invited, as a Klansman, to join a committee of people from all walks of life
    to make recommendations on how to solve racial problems in the school system. He very reluctantly
    accepted. After a few stormy meetings, he was elected co-chair of the committee, along with Ann Atwater, a
    combative Black woman who for years had been leading local efforts for civil rights.]

    A Klansman and a militant Black woman, co-chairmen of the school committee. It was impossible. How could I
    work with her? But it was in our hands. We had to make it a success. This gave me another sense of belongin',
    a sense of pride. This helped the inferiority feeling I had. A man who has stood up publicly and said he
    despised Black people, all of a sudden he was willin' to work with 'em. Here's a chance for a low-income
    White man to be somethin'. In spite of all my hatred for Blacks and Jews and liberals, I accepted the job.
    Her and I began to reluctantly work together. She had as many problems workin' with me as I had workin' with
    her.
    One night, I called her: "Ann, you and I should have a lot of differences and we got 'em now. But there's
    somethin' laid out here before us, and if it's gonna be a success, you and I are gonna have to make it one.
    Can we lay aside some of these feelin's? She said: "I'm willing if you are." I said: "Let's do it."

    My old friends would call me at night: "C. P., what the hell is wrong with you? You're sellin' out the
    White race." This begin' to make me have guilt feelings. Am I doin' right? Am I doin' wrong? Here I
    am all of a sudden makin' an about-face and tryin' to deal with my feelings, my heart. My mind was beginnin'
    to open up. I was beginnin' to see what was right and what was wrong. I don't want the kids to fight
    forever...

    One day, Ann and I went back to the school and we sat down. We began to talk and just reflect... I begin to
    see, here we are, two people from the far ends of the fence, havin' identical problems, except hers bein'
    Black and me bein' White... The amazing thing about it, her and I, up to that point, has cussed each
    other, bawled each other, we hated each other. Up to that point, we didn't know each other. We didn't know
    we had things in common...

    The whole world was openin' up, and I was learning new truths that I had never learned before. I was
    beginning to look at a Black person, shake hands with him, and see him as a human bein'. I hadn't got rid of
    all this stuff. I've still got a little bit of it. But somethin' was happenin to me... I come to work one
    morning and some guys says: "We need a union." At this time I wasn't pro-union. My daddy was antilabor too.
    We're not gettin' paid much, we're havin' to work seven days in a row. We're all starvin' to death... I
    didn't know nothin' about organizin' unions, but I knew how to organize people, stir people up. That's
    how I got to be business agent for the union.

    When I began to organize, I began to see far deeper. I begin to see people again bein' used. Blacks against
    Whites... There are two things management wants to keep: all the money and all the say-so. They don't
    want none of these poor workin' folks to have none of that. I begin to see management fightin' me with
    everythin' they had. Hire antiunion law firms, badmouth unions. The people were makin $1.95 an hour,
    barely able to get through weekends...

    It makes you feel good to go into a plant and ... see Black people and White people join hands and defeat
    the racist issues [union-busters] use against people... I tell people there's a tremendous
    possibility in this country to stop wars, the battles, the struggles, the fights between people. People say:
    "That's an impossible dream. You sound like Martin Luther King." An ex-Klansman who sounds like Martin
    Luther King. I don't think it's an impossible dream. It's happened in my life. It's happened in other
    people's lives in America...

    When the news came over the radio that Martin Luther King was assassinated, I got on the telephone and
    begin to call other Klansmen... We just had a real party... Really rejoicin' 'cause the son of a bitch
    was dead. Our troubles are over with. They say the older you get, the harder it is for you to change.
    That's not necessarily true. Since I changed, I've set down and listened to tapes of Martin Luther King. I
    listen to it and tears come to my eyes 'cause I know what he's sayin' now. I know what's happenin'.

    Copyright © 1980 by Studs Terkel. Reprinted with permission from Studs Terkel, American Dreams: Lost
    and Found (New York: Pantheon Books, Random House, Inc., 1980). Cyrano receives no pecuniary benefit from this link to Amazon.com. It is provided as a convenience to our readers, and to help the sale of
    this title.


October 24, 2006

  • A Brief Musing About "Race"

    This short essay by Maya Angelou embodies my basic philosophy that, in order to overcome our stereotypes and prejudices, there is no substitute for having close personal relationships with the "other"...who is, we discover, not so very different from ourselves after all.

    Excerpt from Wouldn’t Take Nothing For My Journey Now

    By Maya Angelou

    Our Boys

                The plague
    of racism is insidious, entering into our minds as smoothly and quietly and
    invisibly as floating airborne microbes enter into our bodies to find lifelong
    purchase in our bloodstreams.

                Here is a
    dark little tale which exposes the general pain of racism.  I wrote ten one-hour television programs
    called Blacks, Blues, Blacks, which
    highlighted Africanisms still current in American life.  The work was produced in San
    Francisco at KQED.

                The program
    “African Art’s Impact on Western Art” was fourth in the series.  In it I planned to show the impact African
    sculpture had on the art of Picasso, Modigliani, Paul Klee, and Rouault.  I learned that a Berkeley
    collector owned many pieces of East African Makonde sculpture.  I contacted the collector, who allowed me to
    select thirty pieces of art.  When they
    were arranged on lighted plinths, the shadows fell from the sculptures on to
    the floor, and we photographed them in dramatic sequence.  The collector and his wife were so pleased
    with the outcome that at my farewell dinner they presented me with a piece of
    sculpture as a memento.  They were white,
    older, amused  and amusing.  I knew that if I lived in their area, we
    would become social friends.

                I returned
    to New York, but three years
    later I moved back to Berkeley to
    live.  I telephoned the collector and
    informed him of my move.  He said, “So
    glad you called.  I read of your return
    in the newspaper.  Of course we must get
    together.”  He went on, “You know I am
    the local president of the National Council of Christians and Jews.  But you don’t know what I’ve been doing since
    we last spoke.  I’ve been in Germany
    trying to ameliorate the conditions for the American soldiers.”  His voice was weighted with emotion.  He said, “You know, the black soldiers are
    having a horrific time over there, and our boys are having a hard time, too.”

                I asked, “What
    did you say?”

                He said, “Well,
    I’m saying that the black soldiers are having it particularly tough, but our
    guys are having a bad time, too.”

                I asked, “Would
    you repeat that?”

                He said, “Well,
    I’m saying…”  Then his mind played back
    his statement, or he reheard the echo of his blunder hanging in the air.

                He said, “Oh,
    my God, I’ve made such a stupid mistake, and I’m speaking to Maya Angelou.”  He said, “I’m so embarrassed.  I’m going to hang up.”  I said, “Please don’t.  Please don’t. 
    This incident merely shows how insidious racism is.  Please, let’s talk about it.”  I could hear embarrassment in his voice, and
    hesitations and chagrin.  Finally, after about
    three or four minutes, he managed to hang up. 
    I telephoned him three times, but he never returned my telephone calls.

                The
    incident saddened and burdened me.  The
    man, his family and friends were lessened by not getting to know me and my
    family and friends.  And it also meant
    that I, my family, and my friends were lessened by not getting to know
    him.  Because we never had a chance to talk, to teach each other and learn
    from each other, racism had diminished all the lives it had touched.

                It is time
    for the preachers, the rabbis, the priests and pundits, and the professors to
    believe in the awesome wonder of diversity so that they can teach those who
    follow them.  It is time for parents to
    teach young people early on that in diversity there is beauty and there is
    strength.  We all should know that
    diversity makes for a rich tapestry, and we must understand that all the
    threads of the tapestry are equal in value no matter their color, equal in
    importance no matter their texture.

                Our young
    must be taught that racial peculiarities do exist, but that beneath the skin,
    beyond the differing features and into the true heart of being, fundamentally,
    we are more alike, my friend, than we are unalike.

     

    …Mirror twins are different

    although their features jibe,

    and lovers think quite different
    thoughts

    while lying side by side.

     

    We love and lose in China,

    We weep on England’s
    moors,

    And laugh and moan in Guinea,

    And thrive on Spanish shores.

     

    We seek success in Finland,

    Are born and die in Maine,

    In minor ways we differ,

    In major we’re the same.

     

    I note the obvious differences

    Between each sort and type,

    But we are more alike, my friends,

    Than we are unalike.

     

    We are more alike, my friends,

    Than we are unalike.

    We are more alike, my friends,

    Than we are unalike.

     

    Pages 121-125

October 22, 2006

  • Perilous Times?

    2 Timothy 3:1-5

    (1)  This know also, that in the last days perilous times shall come.
    (2)  For men shall be lovers of their own selves, covetous, boasters, proud, blasphemers, disobedient to parents, unthankful, unholy,
    (3)  Without natural affection, trucebreakers, false accusers, incontinent, fierce, despisers of those that are good,
    (4)  Traitors, heady, highminded, lovers of pleasures more than lovers of God;
    (5)  Having a form of godliness, but denying the power thereof: from such turn away.


October 17, 2006

  • Target Iran?

    Has Scott Ritter lost his mind?


     


    October 16, 2006
    Democracy Now!

    Target Iran
    The Truth About the White House's Plans for Regime Change
    by Scott Ritter

    [Scott Ritter is the author of new book with the same title. He is a former intelligence officer, marine, and ballistic missile advisor to General Norman Schwarzkopf. He served as chief weapons inspector for the United Nations Special Commission in Iraq.]


    . . .the most important thing is to understand the reality that Iran is squarely in the crosshairs as a target of the Bush administration, in particular, as a target of the Bush administration as it deals -- as it relates to the National Security Strategy of the United States. You see, this isn't a hypothetical debate among political analysts, foreign policy specialists. Read the 2006 version of the National Security Strategy, where Iran is named sixteen times as the number one threat to the national security of the United States of America, because in the same document, it embraces the notion of pre-emptive wars of aggression as a legitimate means of dealing with such threats. It also recertifies the Bush administration doctrine of regional transformation globally, but in this case particularly in the Middle East. So, we're not talking about hypotheticals here, regardless of all the discussion the Bush administration would like you to believe there is about diplomacy. There is no diplomacy, as was the case with Iraq. Diplomacy is but a smokescreen to disguise the ultimate objective of regime change. . . .

    The true power in Iran rests with the Supreme Leader. The Supreme Leader is the Ayatollah Khamenei. He is supported by an organization called the Guardian Council. Then there's another group called the Expediency Council. These are the people that control the military, the police, the nuclear program, all the instruments of power. And not only has the Supreme Leader issued a fatwa that says that nuclear weapons are not compatible with Islamic law, with the Shia belief system that he is responsible, in 2003 he actually reached out to the Bush administration via the Swiss embassy and said, "Look, we would like to normalize relations with the United States. We'd like to initiate a process that leads to a peace treaty between Israel and Iran." Get this, Israel and Iran. He's not saying, "We want to wipe Israel off the face of the earth." He is saying, "We want peace with Israel." And they were willing to put their nuclear program on the table.

    Why didn't the Bush administration embrace this? Because that leads to a process of normalization, where the United States recognizes the legitimacy of the theocracy and is willing to peacefully coexist with the theocracy. That's not the Bush administration's position. They want the theocracy gone. . . .

    On the ground, the CIA is recruiting Mojahedin-e-Khalq, recruiting Kurds, recruiting Azeris, who are operating inside Iran on behalf of the United States of America. And there is reason to believe that we've actually put uniformed members of the United States Armed Forces and American citizens operating as CIA paramilitaries inside Iranian territory to gather intelligence.

    Now, when you violate the borders and the airspace of a sovereign nation with paramilitary and military forces, that's an act of war. That's an act of war. So, when Americans say, "Ah, there's not going to be a war in Iran," there's already a war in Iran. We're at war with Iran. We're just not in the declared conventional stage of the war.

    VIDEO, article, and more at     http://www.twf.org/News/Y2006/0727-Iran.html



     

October 13, 2006

  • America For Sale

    Last night I joined some of my “left-wing” colleagues at a
    screening of “Iraq For Sale: The War Profiteers”, a documentary film by Robert
    Greenwald about how “independent contractors” such as Halliburton have bilked
    American taxpayers out of billions of dollars while taking over the conduct of
    war to an unprecedented extent.  Even
    some of the interrogators at Abu Ghraib prison were what they call “khaki
    interrogators” – private contractors whom the female Brigadier General running
    Abu Ghraib appeared to be unaware of.

    Greed, of course, drives the system, and the incestuous relationship
    between our politicians and corporate America
    mitigates against any sort of Congressional oversight.

    I didn’t stick around for the discussion following the
    film.  No one was going to come up with
    any novel solutions.  We either have to
    educate ourselves and vote out the despicable neo-conservatives who are
    currently running our nation into the ground, or we have to have some sort of
    revolution or at least massive acts of civil disobedience reminiscent of the
    civil rights movement.  It’s that simple.  Or we can, I suppose, wait for Jesus to come
    back, and hope that He is not a neo-con as He has been portrayed by some.

    I don’t feel too sorry for the “small fry” independent
    contractors – ex-military personnel who went over to Iraq
    to earn six times as much as a soldier doing a similar job, and died
    there.  Their families (in the film) were
    wanting to blame Halliburton, the American government, anyone they could think
    of.  It seems to me that if you go to a combat
    zone for the purpose of transporting fuel to military bases in a “pre-emptive”
    war, you might expect to get fired upon and maybe even injured or killed.  The “small fry” knew the risks.  And they were motivated by greed, too.

    I do, however, feel sorry for the American people, who go
    without adequate health care and pay increases while Halliburton execs earn $40
    million a year on no-bid contracts that are not even performed, and drive leased
    Cadillac Escalades in the deserts of Iraq.

    But none of this is even my main point.
     

    I came home yesterday evening after seeing “Iraq For Sale”, and
    watched Nightline on TV.  And Nightline –
    deep, probing news show that it is since Ted Koppel left – had a feature on the
    dispute between a tony fashion boutique in Beverly Hills (“Kitson’s”, I believe
    it was) and one of the women’s magazines. 
    It seems that women read the magazines and see photos of celebrities wearing
    clothes and carrying purses from Kitson’s, and they want to own exactly the
    same thing.  The entire concept of Kitson’s,
    in fact, according to its founder and owner, is to make “ordinary” women (those
    with sufficient assets, that is) feel like celebrities.  Kitson’s has sued one of the women’s
    magazines, if you can believe this, because it claims that the women’s magazine,
    due to some vendetta, now blocks Kitson’s logos out of its photographs.

    Now my main point is this. 
    If we as Americans are so out of touch with our own souls that we have
    to wear whatever Paris Hilton is wearing, and have our nails done just like hers, how on earth can we expect to improve the quality of our lives in truly
    meaningful ways?  When will we find the
    time to understand what corporations
    like Halliburton are doing to our world, to resist self-serving appeals to our “terror” in order to justify “pre-emptive”
    wars, to prevent the needless deaths
    of Iraqi children and American citizens without adequate health care and the
    steady erosion of American jobs overseas and global warming?  If we allow corporate America
    to manipulate us in such utterly mindless ways…in even SMALL mindless ways…how
    can we even remotely perceive the approaching train wreck?  Do you
    see the connection    ??

    With men it’s sports, I suppose.  Just as women identify with Paris Hilton or
    whoever is the celebrity du jour, so
    men identify with their athletic teams and heroes, and feel somehow more manly
    by rooting for their favorite athletes. 
    It’s substantially the same phenomenon, and it’s mindless and illusory and
    it siphons off time and energy that is much needed for far more important
    things.

    But that’s just my opinion. 
    What’s yours?

October 7, 2006

  • Losing the Blessing

    Last December I told you about the guy I've been friends with since high school, who became a doctor and is quite prosperous.  Last year Dr. John wrote his mother a check for $250,000 to purchase the family home, and he has since been extensively renovating it while also maintaining an apartment (a "pied a terre", as he calls it) in one of the more exclusive neighborhoods of Chicago.  So he has a 3-bedroom house plus the apartment, and is single with no children.


    My friend Dr. John actually works about 4 hours a day, 4 days a week.  He goes in to the office around noon, converses with his receptionist, maybe sees a patient or two, then goes for a 2-hour lunch.  After that he is ready to see patients again until about 6 PM.  He frequently gets quite grumpy at the end of his long, exhausting day at the office, but a good prime rib and a few drinks will generally loosen him up a bit.


    My friend goes on three or four exotic vacations a year.  A month ago he took his office receptionist on a 2.5 week visit to Germany and Poland.  Not having heard anything from him since his projected return date, I phoned him at the office yesterday to see if he had gotten home safely (he had) and how his trip was (it was great).  He was still at lunch when I called at 3:30 PM, and the receptionist sort of apologized that Dr. John hadn't gotten in contact with me his oldest and dearest friend, explaining what a very busy man he is.  Dr. John called me back around 4:30 in a somewhat agitated state, saying that his office was full of patients.  We had time to exchange just a bit of news.


    "I've had a 'guest' in my home since September 8," he said exasperatedly, naming a friend of his from his college days.  "That's a month," I said, "and you were on your trip for some of that time. Is he homeless?"  "Homeless and penniless," Dr. John said with obvious disgust.  "And it looks like it's up to ME to save his sorry ass."  "Well, there are a lot of us poor souls who need saving," I replied. "Consider it a privilege.  Perhaps that's what God has put you on this earth for."  He sort of harumphed, and thus the conversation basically ended.


    I thought about the conversation afterward.  I don't know much about his college buddy's circumstances.  And there are certainly people who will abuse our kindness.  But I, having far fewer resources than Dr. John, consider it an absolute privilege to be in a position to help someone else in a meaningful way.  One of the reasons I miss my former 3-bedroom house is because I now no longer have the room to take in more than the occasional short-term stray.  If I could afford it I would fill a mansion with the lost souls of the earth, asking only that they contribute some simple household chores and the pleasure of their company.


    Dr. John, on the other hand, while he does extend help to some people, always does so grudgingly, complaining about it all the while.  And it occurs to me that in so doing he loses a great deal of his blessing, both here and in the world to come.


     

October 4, 2006

  • A Brief Rumination on School Shootings and Related Phenomena

    Yeah, some people are just plain crazy, and there's nothing much that can be done for them.  But here are two thoughts, based on much observation and personal experience:

    1) On a microcosmic level, every time you reject someone it tears the fabric of their soul.  It causes them to hate themselves, to hate you, and to hate the world.  If at all possible (and it usually IS possible), try to embrace the different, the seemingly unlovely, the occasionally disagreeable.  Otherwise don't be surprised if some day the cumulative rejection comes back to bite you in the ass.  I'm talking to YOU on this one.  Embracing the unlovely is not someone else's job.  It's YOUR job.  And of course it's MY job.

    2) On a macrocosmic level, how can we expect a society - a world, for the most part - that from the very top down glorifies violence and has virtually no respect for individual human worth and dignity to NOT produce school shooters and workplace shooters and serial killers and "terrorists"?  How many prisons can we build, and who will be left to operate them?

    I don't want to argue about this, but your thoughts are most welcome.


September 30, 2006

  • A Moment of Silence...

    This brings tears to my eyes, and I wanted to share it with YOU...

     
    A MOMENT OF SILENCE BEFORE I START THIS POEM
     
    September 11, 2002
    by Emmanuel Ortiz
     
     
     
    Before I start this poem, I'd like to ask you to join me
    In a moment of silence
    In honour of those who died in the World Trade Center and the Pentagon last September 11th.
    I would also like to ask you
    To offer up a moment of silence
    For all of those who have been harassed, imprisoned, disappeared, tortured, raped, or killed in retaliation for those strikes,
    For the victims in both Afghanistan and the US.

    And if I could just add one more thing ...

    A full day of silence
    For the tens of thousands of Palestinians who have died at the hands of US-backed Israeli forces over decades of occupation.
    Six months of silence for the million and a half Iraqi people, mostly children, who have died of malnourishment or starvation as a result of an 11-year US embargo against the country.

    Before I begin this poem ...

    Two months of silence for the Blacks under Apartheid in South Africa,
    Where homeland security made them aliens in their own country.
    Nine months of silence for the dead in Hiroshima and Nagasaki,
    Where death rained down and peeled back every layer of concrete, steel, earth and skin
    And the survivors went on as if alive.
    A year of silence for the millions of dead in Vietnam - a people, not a war - for those who know a thing or two about the scent of burning fuel, their relatives' bones buried in it, their babies born of it.
    A year of silence for the dead in Cambodia and Laos, victims of a secret war .... ssssshhhhh....
    Say nothing ... we don't want them to learn that they are dead.
    Two months of silence for the decades of dead in Colombia,
    Whose names, like the corpses they once represented, have piled up and slipped off our tongues.

    Before I begin this poem ...

    An hour of silence for El Salvador ...
    An afternoon of silence for Nicaragua ...
    Two days of silence for the Guatemaltecos ...
    None of whom ever knew a moment of peace in their living years.
    45 seconds of silence for the 45 dead at Acteal, Chiapas
    25 years of silence for the hundred million Africans who found their graves far deeper in the ocean than any building could poke into the sky.
    There will be no DNA testing or dental records to identify their remains.
    And for those who were strung and swung from the heights of sycamore trees in the south, the north, the east, and the west ...

    100 years of silence ...

    For the hundreds of millions of indigenous peoples from this half of right here,
    Whose land and lives were stolen,
    In postcard-perfect plots like Pine Ridge, Wounded Knee, Sand Creek, Fallen Timbers, or the Trail of Tears. Names now reduced to innocuous magnetic poetry on the refrigerator of our consciousness ...

    So you want a moment of silence?
    And we are all left speechless
    Our tongues snatched from our mouths
    Our eyes stapled shut
    A moment of silence
    And the poets have all been laid to rest
    The drums disintegrating into dust.

    Before I begin this poem,
    You want a moment of silence
    You mourn now as if the world will never be the same
    And the rest of us hope to hell it won't be.
    Not like it always has been.

    Because this is not a 9/11 poem.
    This is a 9/10 poem,
    It is a 9/9 poem,
    A 9/8 poem,
    A 9/7 poem.
    This is a 1492 poem.

    This is a poem about what causes poems like this to be written.
    And if this is a 9/11 poem, then:
    This is a September 11th poem for Chile, 1971.
    This is a September 12th poem for Steven Biko in South Africa, 1977.
    This is a September 13th poem for the brothers at Attica Prison, New York, 1971.
    This is a September 14th poem for Somalia, 1992.

    This is a poem for every date that falls to the ground in ashes
    This is a poem for the 110 stories that were never told
    The 110 stories that history chose not to write in textbooks
    The 110 stories that CNN, BBC, The New York Times, and Newsweek ignored.
    This is a poem for interrupting this program.

    And still you want a moment of silence for your dead?
    We could give you lifetimes of empty:
    The unmarked graves
    The lost languages
    The uprooted trees and histories
    The dead stares on the faces of nameless children
    Before I start this poem we could be silent forever
    Or just long enough to hunger
    For the dust to bury us.
    And you would still ask us
    For more of our silence.

    If you want a moment of silence
    Then stop the oil pumps
    Turn off the engines and the televisions
    Sink the cruise ships
    Crash the stock markets
    Unplug the marquee lights
    Delete the instant messages
    Derail the trains, the light rail transit.

    If you want a moment of silence
    Put a brick through the window of Taco Bell
    And pay the workers for wages lost.
    Tear down the liquor stores,
    The townhouses, the White Houses, the jailhouses, the Penthouses and the Playboys.

    If you want a moment of silence
    Then take it
    On Super Bowl Sunday
    The Fourth of July
    During Dayton's 13 hour sale
    Or the next time your white guilt fills the room where my beautiful people have gathered.

    You want a moment of silence
    Then take it NOW
    Before this poem begins.
    Here, in the echo of my voice,
    In the pause between goosesteps of the second hand,
    In the space between bodies in embrace,
    Here is your silence.
    Take it.
    But take it all ...
    Don't cut in line.
    Let your silence begin at the beginning of crime.
    But we,
    Tonight we will keep right on singing ...
    For our dead.

    EMMANUEL ORTIZ, 11 Sep 2002

    --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Emmanuel Ortiz is a third-generation Chicano/Puerto Rican/Irish-American community organizer and spoken word poet residing in Minneapolis, MN. He is the author of a chapbook of poems, The Word is a Machete, and his poetry has appeared in numerous publications, including two books published in Australia: Open Boat - Barbed Wire Sky (Live Poets' Press) an anthology of poems to aid refugees and asylum-seekers, and Passion for Peace: Exercising Power Creatively (UNSW Press). His poetry will also appear in the forthcoming FreedomBook, an anthology of writings in support of Puerto Rican political prisoners. He currently serves on the board of directors for the Minnesota Spoken Word Association, and is the coordinator of Guerrilla Wordfare, a Twin Cities-based grassroots project bringing together artists of color to address socio-political issues and raise funds for progressive organizing in communities of color through art as a tool of social change.
     
     

September 28, 2006

  • A Pravda Moment

    Below is a link to the MSNBC/Newsweek web site.  As pictured on the left of your screen, there are various international
    editions of Newsweek tailored to the different continents. Wednesday's edition (I hope it still displays) has one cover page for
    the European, Asian, and Latin American markets ..... and a different one for the U.S.A.

    Take a look at the USA edition in comparison with the others. All the
    others have a cover that says "Losing in Afghanistan."  The U.S. edition has as its cover "My Life in Pictures",
    about Annie Leibovitz photographing celebrities.

    Do you think that America is in danger of being subverted by the "liberal media"?  (Be careful!  It's a trick question!)

September 23, 2006

  • Swell New Video Game!

    If you're not a member of the Liberal Media or part of the Bash America First crowd, this post is not for you.

    There's a swell new video game on the market that every normal red-blooded patriotic American will soon be playing, or buying for his/her kids.  It's in the finest traditions of American history and culture, and will prove to be an excellent educational tool.  Here's a description of the game, and a way that you can try it out for free:

    **********

    SEEING IS BELIEVING.   CLICK ON THE BORDER PATROL GAME AND CHECK IT OUT FOR YOURSELF.  YOUR MOUSE IS
    THE TRIGGER.

    Video Game
    Genocide

    by
    Xiuhcoatl
    AztlanRising.com
    May 14, 2006

    The recent debate over immigration and the
    inevitable backlash from the brown community have made headline news throughout
    the nation. Despite the broad coverage of the anti-H.R. 4437 movement by the
    mainstream media, they have failed to address the real issues concerning
    immigration reform. They do not dare venture into the root of the problem, for
    they know that it has nothing to do with terrorism or border security. In
    reality, immigration reform in America is driven by widespread
    xenophobia, the colonizer’s mentality, and yes, plain old racism.

    Now, with Minutemen on the border and the
    President promising National Guard deployment there, the anti-Mexican sentiment
    and reactionary xenophobia in this country has been manifested in a video game.
    “Border
    Patrol    ,” which is credited to the bigoted neo-Nazi Tom Metzger, puts you in
    the role of a hunter/murderer who patrols the southern border with Mexico.
    Your objective: “Keep them out…at any cost!” “Them,” by the game’s definition,
    are the “wetbacks” trying to cross the border from Mexico.

    As if the mere concept of a game that requires
    you to shoot indigenous migrants were not insulting enough, Metzger identified
    each character with a common stereotype of Mexican people.

    The “Mexican nationalist” holds a Mexican flag
    and totes two guns as he runs across the river. The “drug smuggler” carries a
    bag of marijuana on his back. The most offensive target is the “breeder,” a
    pregnant Mexican woman who lugs two children behind her. In true neo-Nazi
    fashion, the author exhibits an obvious lack of respect for all women,
    identifying those who give us life with the label of an animal. The game credits
    you with four kills if you shoot her – one for the mother, one for each child,
    and one for the unborn baby.

    This “kill them all” mentality isn’t mere
    fantasy – it’s Western history relived on a video screen. No mainstream video
    game better illustrates the point than “Gun,” set in the American Old West.
    Colton White, a hunter turned gunslinger, must kill Apache Indians in order to
    “advance.” As White, you slaughter the Apache people, scalping as many as you
    can with your “scalping knife.” The message of these games is clear – genocide
    against indigenous people is still accepted and encouraged in the US.

    Since the introduction of television in the
    US, indigenous people have been
    portrayed as villains, savages, rivals of righteous white cowboys against whom
    anything goes. In modern times one can see the same relationship in the struggle
    between the “upright” white police officer and brown skinned gang members.
    Racism against Indians has always been commonplace, but these “games” take it to
    new proportions.

    The purpose of the games is threefold: as a
    recruitment tool for hate groups; they portray people of color as sub-human;
    they serve to desensitize the public and potential recruits to very real crimes
    against humanity, like mass deportations, hate crimes, and mass incarceration.
    If the people can be numbed to this brutality and convinced that the targets are
    sub-human, the next step will be one we have seen before – genocide.

    Europeans colonists engaged in the wholesale
    slaughter and enslavement of Indians and Africans with no remorse. 100 million
    Native Americans – our ancestors – and 100 million Africans were ultimately
    killed at the hands of white colonialists and slavers. European culture was
    desensitized to these atrocities by the dehumanization of non-whites. This
    condition is known as the colonizer’s mentality, and it is recreated, and meant
    to be recreated, in the mind of everyone playing these “games.”

    The neo-Nazi “National Alliance,” creators of
    the video game Ethnic Cleansing, knows this all too well. Released on Resistance
    Records, a low-budget white nationalist label, Ethnic Cleansing encourages you
    to play as a skinhead or a noose-wielding Klan member. You patrol the streets of
    a city which has been devastated by gangs of “sub-humans.” From the words of the
    creators, you “run through the ghetto blasting away various blacks and spics.”

    Ethnic cleansing in the US is
    not an implausible course. The government is already building concentration
    camps for migrants. Soon, the law will allow them to stop anybody on the streets
    with brown skin to ask for proof of citizenship. We have been stripped of our
    rights by the Patriot Act. The American Indian holocaust is very real; it has
    endured the test of time, and it continues, both in the real world and in the
    media. These “games” are nothing but video genocide.

    This article was originally
    written for Mexica Tlahtolli, the voice of
    the Aztlan Mexica Nation / Harmony Circle    .
    Xiuhcoatl is an independent
    writer from South Modesto,
    CA. For more info visit Aztlan Rising

    The Racist "Border
    Patrol" Game