Many Times Worse

“The real power in America is held by a fast-emerging new Oligarchy of pimps and preachers who see no need for Democracy or fairness or even trees, except maybe the ones in their own yards, and they don’t mind admitting it. They worship money and power and death. Their ideal solution to all the nation’s problems would be another 100 Year War.” Hunter S. Thompson, Kingdom of Fear, 2003

Like most people, I remember where I was and what I was doing on September 11, 2001, the day the world changed and America became a different country. I was dropping my son at kindergarten at Roosevelt Elementary School on Laguna Street, on an absolutely gorgeous day, nothing but clear blue-sky overhead, sunshine, the weather my hometown is renowned for. My daughter was eight days old. Minutes after I deposited my son in his classroom my wife called and told me that an airplane had crashed into the World Trade Center in New York City. I drove home and, like millions of Americans, spent the next few hours glued to the television.

Later that day – and I remember this clearly because I wrote it down – I wondered if what was now being described as a terrorist attack by Islamic extremists would cause the United States to re-think and reconsider its policies in the Middle East.

Stupid me -- stupid, stupid, stupid.

There was, of course, no reflection whatsoever; the US was the victim of a horrific act of terror and would react in kind, anywhere in the world it deemed necessary. The language coming from the mouth of our illegitimate president was retributive. The world’s preeminent military power, the world’s sole superpower, was about to unleash the Global War on Terror. Our righteousness was just and justified. We would bring the evildoers to justice, chase them through the badlands, smoke them out and bring them down, dead or alive. The gloves were coming off. We would fight terror with terror and damn the consequences.

Little was made at the time of the national origin of the hijackers, Saudis nearly to a man, our close and dear friends and masters of one of the Middle East’s divine oil patches. Osama bin Laden, himself a Saudi, was our man, our new archenemy, and bin Laden was somewhere in Afghanistan, directing jihad against America with a satellite phone and a network of devoted, bloodthirsty acolytes. Our political leaders told us that bin Laden’s people were everywhere and called us to vigilance and faith in the American Way. W. Bush and Uncle Dick Cheney said we were attacked because the terrorists hated our freedom. The narrative lines were cast, fixed on by media mouthpieces and propagandists and politicians, and in very short order the horror of the terrorist attack was flipped on its head and became a once-in-a-century opportunity to redefine the world. Every neocon fantasy cooked up in think tanks during the preceding decade was pulled out and dusted off and shined up and carried into the public realm by Uncle Dick Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld and Paul Wolfowitz and Condi Rice.

The US invaded Afghanistan, quickly vanquished the Taliban (though the Taliban would just as quickly recover) and cornered, then lost, Osama bin Laden in the Tora Bora Mountains. The war was on in earnest now, and on its heels Bush and Co., aided and abetted by pusillanimous Democrats, brought us the Patriot Act and the creepy Department of Homeland Security, extraordinary rendition, “enhanced interrogation techniques,” indefinite detention, and the prison at Guantanamo. International law became something other nations had to obey. America reserved to itself the right to act unilaterally, to ignore borders and airspace.

Without much debate America adopted a permanent war footing, much of it outsourced to private contractors who made big profits with limited accountability. The brave men and women of the US military could do no wrong, and every man or woman in uniform was a hero, endlessly feted by the political class.

I remember when W. Bush made his case for the invasion of Iraq. It made no sense to me whatsoever, the premise and reasoning sounded like bullshit, and judging by the number of people who marched in the streets in cities around the world, most citizens agreed. W. Bush flipped the world the middle finger and ordered the invasion. It would become an unmitigated disaster for the people of Iraq, for the US, and for the region. Within a decade the US would be involved in armed conflicts in Libya, Yemen, and Syria. The thousands of refugees streaming into Europe from the Middle East today are a consequence of our meddling.

9/11 was a hideous crime. The response of the US to that crime made it many times worse.

Belly Up to the Genius Bar

I dropped my iPhone and shattered the display, not bad enough to put the phone out of commission, but enough to be annoying. My wife told me the display could be replaced at the Apple store on State Street, a suggestion I resisted at first because the thought of a visit to the Apple Store was sure to be annoying. Now, don’t get me wrong – Apple designs fine products of which I own three: iPhone, iPad, and Macbook Air. What annoys me about the Apple Store is that it reminds me of a cult. Young kids in black t-shirts or polos, Apple logo stitched above their hearts, running around, iPads at the ready, helping hapless middle-aged folks navigate their iPhone 6’s. There is an attitude of superiority among the denizens of Apple that I find off-putting. I have similar feelings about the hucksters who work in the Verizon Wireless store, a place I never exit without feeling like I have been violated.

I walked in and was set upon in less than ten seconds by a young lady who offered to lead me to the “genius bar” for assistance. I stood in line until another young kid, this one using an iPad to record information, asked me what sort of help I needed. I showed him my phone, the spidery cracks in the display. I asked him if it was repairable and he assured me it was. Then he took my vital information – name, phone number, e-mail address – tapping the data into the iPad, and told me to return in an hour and twenty minutes. He informed me that I would be receiving three text messages in the next hour or so.

I walked back home, past the County Courthouse where a wedding was taking place, bride and groom poised to take the grand plunge.

As promised, I received three text messages, the last of which summoned me back to the Apple Store. Once again I was escorted to a line where the same kid was checking customers in. He directed me to sit at a square table in front the genius bar where someone would assist me in just a few minutes. I sat on a black stool with my damaged iPhone on the table in front of me. Employees buzzed around, disappearing through a door behind the genius bar, then reappearing; nobody made eye contact with me. An ad for the iWatch played on a screen. Bored after five minutes of waiting, I got up to browse some accessories on the wall, leaving my phone on the table. I wasn’t away from the table more than 60 seconds, but when I turned from the wall my phone was nowhere to be seen. A security guard had swept it up and was walking away with it. “Hey man,” I said, “whoa now, can I have my phone back?” The security guard handed it over without a word.

I went back to sit at the table. Another ten minutes passed. Finally a young man came over and shook my hand and said he would be helping me. “Cracked display, right?” I nodded. “Well, let’s see if we can do something about it,” he said. He asked me to pull the protective case off. When I did he said, “Oh, yeah, this is a 4S, the display can’t be replaced.”

“Why didn’t someone tell me that when I walked in here an hour and a half ago?” I asked.

“I dunno, sorry.”

“Me too,” I said.

I slipped my cracked phone back into its case and left the store, muttering to myself about the overuse of the word “genius.”

The irony of this tale is that the day after I dropped my phone, my wife dropped hers and cracked the display…

Still Chained

“I was a descendant of Ham, who had been cursed, and that I was therefore predestined to be a slave. This had nothing to do with anything I was, or contained, or could become; my fate had been sealed forever, from the beginning of time.”  James Baldwin, The Fire Next Time

This week marks the tenth year anniversary of Hurricane Katrina. What has happened in New Orleans in this last decade? Have those displaced by the floodwaters found their way back? Are the schools up and operating for the benefit of all, or has the rebuilding effort been a financial windfall for the fortunate few? If Katrina had happened to a city with a predominately white population, would the Federal response have been faster and more effective?

The news is full of images from the storm and its aftermath. Images of New Orleans residents, mostly black, a few white, exiled to the Superdome, desperate for assistance, for food and water and basic sanitation; George W. Bush flying over the disaster area; entire families stranded on rooftops, waiting for help that was late to arrive – if it arrived at all; bodies floating in a flooded city.

It’s all of a piece, isn’t it, all connected? I mean the whole, rotten system. The financialized and unequal American economy, the mass incarceration of black men, the abandonment of programs to help people hard-pressed by life’s vicissitudes, the lack of investment in infrastructure, schools, universities and medical facilities, the outsourcing of jobs to countries where labor is easier to exploit, the deaf, dumb and blind corporate media, the inability of our political system to face facts about climate change, income inequality and austerity measures that guarantee even more income inequality, institutionalized racism, murderous blundering overseas, and hypocrisy when it comes to human rights?

All of a piece and no end in sight, our would-be kings and queen-in-waiting will not change these dynamics one bit.

We stumble on into an uncertain future. In this country, on the tenth anniversary of Katrina, people are forced to organize themselves for the purpose of asserting that “black lives matter.” Think of that for a minute or an hour. Shouldn’t it be obvious that black lives – all lives -- matter, just as the fact that this country was built on the buttocks, backs, and shoulders of African slaves is obvious? No mystery whatsoever. Slaves in the fields, slaves in the factory, slaves in the main house, slaves in the barn, slaves purchased and sold like mules or goats. All these years later, Django remains chained by history and brutal reality.

Ten years ago this week, dead bodies were seen floating along streets and avenues of a treasured, iconic American city. More than 1,800 people perished; thousands more were displaced and scattered. Help for the poor black folk of New Orleans was slow in coming.

Down in the Gabacho Pit

“Tomorrow dawns like a suicide.” U2, Sleep Like a Baby Tonight

Part I

Not having time to piss away, I didn’t watch the first GOP debate, either the Kid’s Table version or the Main Event. The whole thing is contrived and ridiculous and serves only to show how skilled our political schemers are at making a total mockery of democracy. From what I gather after skimming various media sources, bluster-king Donald Trump was the big “winner.” Most of the candidates made at least one patently absurd statement, and none of them talked about important issues like climate change, income inequality, race relations or prison reform. Classic! Just ignore what you don’t want to talk about and poof! it ceases to exist.

Over the next ten months or so Trump and Walker and Rubio and Bush and Paul will pound on one another, shove one another further right, spew all manner of blatantly false and stupid gibberish, while the talking heads on the tube will jabber about poll numbers and campaign coffers, which horse is surging and which is fading. Substance, depth, historical context? Forget it. Facts and coherence are completely optional in this day and age; Fox News requires neither. The candidates will bang on about illegal immigration, border fences, abortion and Planned Parenthood, Iran, their love and fidelity for Israel – all distraction issues. The GOP has spent the past six years obstructing every proposal, idea, or suggestion made by the White House, a stance which has paralyzed the government at a time when people, real people, are in need of help, and the most pressing issue of our time, climate change, requires real action.

Part II

Meanwhile, it’s Fiesta here on the American Riviera, Old Spanish Days, that magic time of year when white people make fools of themselves by donning sombreros and shawls and shouting “Viva La Fiesta!” at every opportunity. For five days the inconvenient fact that the Spaniards were brutal colonizers is ignored. All the local pols ride in the Fiesta parade up State Street (billed as the largest equestrian parade in the nation); they wave, blow kisses, point and smile to people they know, make sure they are seen by potential voters, photographed by the local papers. The best moment of the parade for me was when Nick Welsh, the Angry Poodle columnist at the SB Indy, tossed a cascarone (an egg filled with confetti) that barely missed County Supervisor Salud Carbajal.

De La Guerra plaza is a sea of vendors selling tacos, tortas, burritos, churros, roasted corn, soda, water, funnel cakes and lemonade. Grills hiss and smoke rises into the sky. Across the street at the beer garden – which I am renaming the Gabacho Pit – 20 and 30 something’s look for hook-up opportunities and cough up $6 for a plastic glass of beer. The guy I was standing next to nudged his buddy and said, “Man, all this fine architecture is making me rethink my wedding vows.” Have at it, pal. After one beer, my wife and I became bored and bailed from that scene.

The real Fiesta happens on the east side of town, off Milpas Street, at Our Lady of Guadalupe church, where the food is as authentic as the crowd. You will see pale faces at Guadalupe, but for the most part it’s a Latino crowd, people with deep roots in Santa Barbara, family ties, history. Long lines at the food booths and plenty of private security to make sure matters don’t spiral out of hand, lots of children, elderly people with knowing eyes, trinkets and wares for sale. Guadalupe is the place to be.

If only the presidential campaign were as short as Fiesta.

One Man's Obsession

“The truth is, we are all caught in a great economic system which is heartless.” Woodrow Wilson

My wife tells me I should spend more time writing about being a father to two teenagers and all the trials that entails. Why, she asks, do you bitch, moan, and whine about politics and social injustice and racism and climate change? What good does it do?

She has a point.

Perhaps the reason I obsess about politics and social injustice rather than my children is because I sense that it is those areas of life that have the potential to limit their choices for happiness. Perhaps it’s because I am amazed at how radically the world has changed in my short time on this planet. And perhaps I obsess because I am afraid.

Unlike most American political leaders, and the entire gaggle of Republican presidential candidates (the Democrats are equally hapless), I believe that climate change is real, happening every minute of every day, gaining momentum that will be irreversible and catastrophic. Sticking our heads in the sand will not work because in a relatively short time the sand is likely to be submerged under several feet of seawater.

The other day I was listening to Democracy Now and Amy Goodman was interviewing a Latin American economist whose name I never caught, but what he said stuck with me. The world’s political leaders, he said, the economic high priests, hedge fund managers, resource extractors and capitalist cheerleaders know we are headed off the cliff. They know. The tragedy is that they keep doing the same stupid things.

Stupid is going to destroy this planet. I can’t, under any circumstances, be described as a fan of the Catholic Church, but the recent missive issued by the Pope summed up our situation very well. Name one other world leader who has made the case for immediate fundamental change – economic, social, political -- with equal vigor? Most nations are marching in neo-liberal lockstep with the United States, denying the evidence and insisting on business as usual. The major network news outlets in this country – profit centers of corporate America -- never allow the words, “climate change,” to be uttered on air, opting instead for the more benign term “extreme weather,” as if the cause of extreme weather is a mystery.

What was it George Orwell said, first they steal the words, then they steal the meaning?

I sense that time is running short, and the stakes mounting. I wonder what it will take to make our leaders and the oligarchs who own them wake up to the fact that business as usual is fatal. The future I see in my head is that of Cormac McCarthy’s post-apocalyptic novel, The Road; society has collapsed, the sky is permanently gray, the landscape denuded of life, food is scarce, and death is always near at hand.

Yes, I obsess. Can you blame me?