Depending on your party affiliation, the State of the Union speech is either a highpoint of American political life or a sick joke. I’m not looking forward to W’s rendition tonight, and I’m ninety-five percent sure that I won’t bother watching.
Bush will tell us that the Iraq Occupation is going just great, thank you; that the air and water are cleaner in America than ever, the trees and wildlife flourishing; that the massive tax cuts for the wealthy are spurring an economic recovery that is the envy of the civilized world; that his Medicare drug plan is the best thing to happen to our senior citizens in at least half a century; that the reconstruction of the Gulf Coast is proceeding according to plan; and finally, that we are safer because the government is keeping watch on the bad guys in our ranks.
Morning in America, all’s well, if you don’t believe it just ask Karl Rove.
Bush will spin like a top, and if that means calling white black and black white, well, who’s keeping score? What is truth but spin, and who spins better than the Conservative machine? Bill O and Rush L, and all the rest of the blowhards will echo the president’s assertions across the land, lending credence to the exaggerations and outright falsehoods, but like I said, who’s keeping track except a few powerless Liberals out on the fringes?
George Orwell, wherever he is, will not laugh tonight; Martin Luther King won’t either; Robert F. Kennedy will flop around with angst; Tom Paine will scream. A society that cannot tell truth from fiction is in trouble. A society that is so easily led around by its nose is doomed. A society that allows its laws to be trampled cannot long stand.
Osama bin Laden may chuckle tonight. Osama and perhaps Dick Cheney, sitting in different locations on this spinning planet, chuckling because doing what they do is so damn easy.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Fanfare for Failure
According to reporting in the Los Angeles Times, Ford will slash 30,000 US jobs and close or scale back operations at 14 of its plants. Ford chairman Bill Ford says this scheme will put the once-revered automaker on track for profitability. Wall Street ate the news whole, bidding up Ford’s stock.
As usual, blue-collar workers will bear the brunt of the cuts. Goodbye to decent wages, benefits, and pensions. In his statement to the press Bill Ford said, “We will be making painful sacrifices to protect Ford’s heritage and secure our future. Going forward, we will be able to deliver more innovative products, better returns for our shareholders, and stability in the communities where we operate.”
Not a word in there about the working men and women of Ford. I guess their well-being isn’t worth consideration. Five or six years from now, when this plan, like all of Ford’s previous realignment plans, fails to turn the company’s fortunes around, you’ll hear Bill Ford or some other lavishly compensated chairman declare that what the company needs is more sacrifice from the blue-collar work force: more wage cuts, more health insurance cost-sharing, more pension concessions. Wall Street will swallow that story, too.
What’s amazing to me about these sad tales from once great American companies is how infrequently the lavishly compensated chairmen admit that much of the fault lies in the executive suite, where mediocre designs are approved and green-lighted, where accounting sleight-of-hand is encouraged, and where executive pay and perks rise even when the company is losing money hand over fist. It’s so much easier to blame the United Auto Workers.
It’s all of a piece, when the puzzle is disassembled and put together again, three decades of legislation and regulation favoring capital over labor; three decades of transferring risk from corporations to individual workers without a corresponding increase in the means to cover that risk; three decades of chasing cheap labor around the globe. It won’t be much longer before the average Ford line worker will be unable to buy the cars and trucks he plays a part in building.
///
Ownership society, no thanks. The Bush Medicare plan is an unmitigated disaster, yet another scandal, yet another example of how Bush and his pals serve their corporate constituents to the detriment of average citizens. Democrats didn’t have the numbers to prevent the GOP-controlled Congress from passing this horribly convoluted and unjust plan, so its failure sits at the feet of the GOP.
As usual, blue-collar workers will bear the brunt of the cuts. Goodbye to decent wages, benefits, and pensions. In his statement to the press Bill Ford said, “We will be making painful sacrifices to protect Ford’s heritage and secure our future. Going forward, we will be able to deliver more innovative products, better returns for our shareholders, and stability in the communities where we operate.”
Not a word in there about the working men and women of Ford. I guess their well-being isn’t worth consideration. Five or six years from now, when this plan, like all of Ford’s previous realignment plans, fails to turn the company’s fortunes around, you’ll hear Bill Ford or some other lavishly compensated chairman declare that what the company needs is more sacrifice from the blue-collar work force: more wage cuts, more health insurance cost-sharing, more pension concessions. Wall Street will swallow that story, too.
What’s amazing to me about these sad tales from once great American companies is how infrequently the lavishly compensated chairmen admit that much of the fault lies in the executive suite, where mediocre designs are approved and green-lighted, where accounting sleight-of-hand is encouraged, and where executive pay and perks rise even when the company is losing money hand over fist. It’s so much easier to blame the United Auto Workers.
It’s all of a piece, when the puzzle is disassembled and put together again, three decades of legislation and regulation favoring capital over labor; three decades of transferring risk from corporations to individual workers without a corresponding increase in the means to cover that risk; three decades of chasing cheap labor around the globe. It won’t be much longer before the average Ford line worker will be unable to buy the cars and trucks he plays a part in building.
///
Ownership society, no thanks. The Bush Medicare plan is an unmitigated disaster, yet another scandal, yet another example of how Bush and his pals serve their corporate constituents to the detriment of average citizens. Democrats didn’t have the numbers to prevent the GOP-controlled Congress from passing this horribly convoluted and unjust plan, so its failure sits at the feet of the GOP.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
You're a Pig, Yes, I Am
My wife says to me, “Who the hell do you think you are?” I say, “What are you talking about?” She says, “That garbage you wrote in your last blog, about how stupid the Golden Globes are, about how stupid I am for watching them!” I say, “I never said you were stupid, I said that whole red carpet entertainment parasite feeding frenzy, that inane gushing over the stars is stupid.” She says, “No, you were implicitly calling me and anyone who watches stupid. You sounded like an arrogant snob, a pig, though I noticed you had no trouble pulling yourself away from ‘Literature’ in order to gawk at Scarlett Johanssen’s breasts!” I say, “Well, they were right there, damn near exploding through the TV screen! You said yourself that her breasts arrived thirty minutes before she did!” She says, “You’re a cultural snob, case closed. You think you’re better than me because you read Philip Roth and I watch the Golden Globes. Want to know something? I think Philip Roth is a pig, too! Oh, he may be the greatest living American novelist, a genius, but that doesn’t make him any less of a pig! A smart pig is still a pig!”
Oink, oink.
Oink, oink.
Monday, January 16, 2006
Martin Luther King and Lab Mice
Behind me my wife is watching the stars and near-stars walk the red carpet to the Golden Globes. This is one of the stupidest rituals in pop culture -- this red carpet stroll, with airhead entertainment parasites asking inane questions that some of the stars seem exasperated to answer. "Who are you wearing?" "What did you eat for lunch?" and so on. It's like a competition to see which talking head can ask the lamest question.
This is particularly difficult for me to take, after lying on the sofa this afternoon, finishing Philip Roth's magnificent novel, I Married a Communist. Roth has written some stunning novels about 20th century America -- the Human Stain, American Pastoral, and I Married a Communist -- novels which detail our contradictions and hyprocrisies, our fear and paranoa, our weakness and confusion. Roth writes about flawed characters -- human beings, in other words, who strive, who fail, who seek revenge, who lie (for all sorts of reasons), who hate, and on and on, the full human panorama. What a pleasure it is to read Roth's sentences, the perfect cadence, the pitch, the blinding intelligence and insight, the powerful narrative drive. I was disappointed when the novel came to an end.
My children tested me today, as only they can do, with their arguments and fights, their screaming and whining, their demands for immediate gratification, their smiling obstinancy. I separate them like a referee stepping between two prizefighters, point them toward neutral rooms, only to hear them going at it again as soon as I turn my back. They know how to push my buttons, and far too often I respond like a mouse in a laboratory experiment; my kids make me perform for bite-sized food pellets. C'mon, Dad, stand on your head, one more time!
As the afternoon turns to evening, I wonder what Martin Luther King would say if he could see America, circa 2006. Would he still express hope for social and economic justice? Would he look at what Bush & Cheney have done to America in less than half a decade and still feel sanguine? Could he listen to leading Democrats without declaring the whole shebang a hopeless mess? We give Martin sainthood, but of course he was merely a man, human, as flawed as any Philip Roth character.
This is particularly difficult for me to take, after lying on the sofa this afternoon, finishing Philip Roth's magnificent novel, I Married a Communist. Roth has written some stunning novels about 20th century America -- the Human Stain, American Pastoral, and I Married a Communist -- novels which detail our contradictions and hyprocrisies, our fear and paranoa, our weakness and confusion. Roth writes about flawed characters -- human beings, in other words, who strive, who fail, who seek revenge, who lie (for all sorts of reasons), who hate, and on and on, the full human panorama. What a pleasure it is to read Roth's sentences, the perfect cadence, the pitch, the blinding intelligence and insight, the powerful narrative drive. I was disappointed when the novel came to an end.
My children tested me today, as only they can do, with their arguments and fights, their screaming and whining, their demands for immediate gratification, their smiling obstinancy. I separate them like a referee stepping between two prizefighters, point them toward neutral rooms, only to hear them going at it again as soon as I turn my back. They know how to push my buttons, and far too often I respond like a mouse in a laboratory experiment; my kids make me perform for bite-sized food pellets. C'mon, Dad, stand on your head, one more time!
As the afternoon turns to evening, I wonder what Martin Luther King would say if he could see America, circa 2006. Would he still express hope for social and economic justice? Would he look at what Bush & Cheney have done to America in less than half a decade and still feel sanguine? Could he listen to leading Democrats without declaring the whole shebang a hopeless mess? We give Martin sainthood, but of course he was merely a man, human, as flawed as any Philip Roth character.
Thursday, January 12, 2006
Who's Up, Who's Down
I'm dog tired
from boxing and beer
a shot to the head, one to the gut
Don't care who's up or who's down
which Hollywood star is pregnant
or suffering the pain of betryal or struggling to kick an eating disorder
don't care about the Dow Jones Industrial average
my wife's got a pain in her hip and I worry about that
I'm flying to San Diego in the morning, through friendly skies -- but only after
I remove my shoes for the TSA, take all the stuff from my pockets,
show my boarding pass and ID, just another decent American, boys,
law-abiding, no threat to anyone, you got nothing to fear from me
I got Philip Roth in the bag, an iPod in my ear, clean underwear, pictures of my
family
I can't help but think of these fleeting moments, the pang of mortality
jab, jab, duck and cover
from boxing and beer
a shot to the head, one to the gut
Don't care who's up or who's down
which Hollywood star is pregnant
or suffering the pain of betryal or struggling to kick an eating disorder
don't care about the Dow Jones Industrial average
my wife's got a pain in her hip and I worry about that
I'm flying to San Diego in the morning, through friendly skies -- but only after
I remove my shoes for the TSA, take all the stuff from my pockets,
show my boarding pass and ID, just another decent American, boys,
law-abiding, no threat to anyone, you got nothing to fear from me
I got Philip Roth in the bag, an iPod in my ear, clean underwear, pictures of my
family
I can't help but think of these fleeting moments, the pang of mortality
jab, jab, duck and cover
Thursday, January 05, 2006
A Bowl of Dead Roses and other Thoughts
75 degrees in January. this is why we live in Fat City, on this Platinum Coast. to the asswipe who read my last poem and hypothesized that I'm just a rich snob who has never worked a day in his life, I say, bite me. for your information I've been working since I was 17 years of age; I was in the Air Force in Japan serving my country at 18; my net worth is a joke, though I live a solid, happy life that is full of love. tell me where your "shop" is and I'll gladly come down and give you a hand with whatever it is you do. in an effort to further educate you, I'm an aging Idealist who still clings to a shred of belief that this tortured world can be made better, that people can set aside their differences and cooperate, that justice is possible, that teachers are heroic souls, that women are the salt of the Earth, that public service is noble, etc. o.k? I'm sure you are a decent person, whoever you are.
Texas didn't win the Rose Bowl game last night, USC lost it. Too many mistakes for the Trojans, from Reggie Bush's inexplicable lateral in the first quarter to a defensive unit that forgot the fundamentals of tackling. It was a terrific contest, and for Vince Young, perhaps the greatest individual performance in college football history. I don't watch football or profess to understand the game particularly well, but when SC failed on fourth and two I knew the Trojans' goose was baked. The only way they could have stopped Vince Young was with an elephant gun loaded with depleted uranium ammo.
Anyway, peace out everybody!
Texas didn't win the Rose Bowl game last night, USC lost it. Too many mistakes for the Trojans, from Reggie Bush's inexplicable lateral in the first quarter to a defensive unit that forgot the fundamentals of tackling. It was a terrific contest, and for Vince Young, perhaps the greatest individual performance in college football history. I don't watch football or profess to understand the game particularly well, but when SC failed on fourth and two I knew the Trojans' goose was baked. The only way they could have stopped Vince Young was with an elephant gun loaded with depleted uranium ammo.
Anyway, peace out everybody!
Monday, December 26, 2005
2005, Goodbye
2005, Goodbye
Tsunami
HST R.I.P
George W. Bush, “Stay the Course. We’re Winning!”
Katrina – There are poor in America, who knew?
Gas $3 a gallon
Warning: The NSA might be spying on you
Scandal masters: DeLay, Scooter, Abramoff, et al.
Arnold Schwarzenegger, the overreaching Austrian
The price of real estate
Warning: The NSA is spying on you
Milestone – 2,000 killed, and counting
Fact: Global warming is real – someone tell W and Dick
Rent, the movie
Bird flu
Intelligent Design (Translated: ignore science)
Brad & Jen, Splittsville
Chicago White Sox Sweep
Devils & Dust, “Got my finger on the trigger/but I don’t know who to trust”
The delicate soul of a good woman
The lies of a hopelessly flawed man
The unfiltered joy of two healthy children
Thoughts
Dreams
Fantasies
Nightmares
Loss, pain, destruction
Life
Shirtless in December, sky perfect blue
Leaves from the tree of life cut loose and soar
Tsunami
HST R.I.P
George W. Bush, “Stay the Course. We’re Winning!”
Katrina – There are poor in America, who knew?
Gas $3 a gallon
Warning: The NSA might be spying on you
Scandal masters: DeLay, Scooter, Abramoff, et al.
Arnold Schwarzenegger, the overreaching Austrian
The price of real estate
Warning: The NSA is spying on you
Milestone – 2,000 killed, and counting
Fact: Global warming is real – someone tell W and Dick
Rent, the movie
Bird flu
Intelligent Design (Translated: ignore science)
Brad & Jen, Splittsville
Chicago White Sox Sweep
Devils & Dust, “Got my finger on the trigger/but I don’t know who to trust”
The delicate soul of a good woman
The lies of a hopelessly flawed man
The unfiltered joy of two healthy children
Thoughts
Dreams
Fantasies
Nightmares
Loss, pain, destruction
Life
Shirtless in December, sky perfect blue
Leaves from the tree of life cut loose and soar
Saturday, December 17, 2005
Poem - Apology to Mother Earth
Sorry about the methane gas rising from our
Garbage dumps
The dead and dying coral in the seas
Clear cutting & “Mountain Top Removal”
Sorry about the benzene in the ground water, acid in the rain
The radiation buried near your heart
When the meek inherit they will find a wasteland
A lonely place destroyed by indifference
Collective greed & arrogance
The insane notion that you were ours to subdue
And enslave
Despite clear signs & warnings
We keep slashing & burning, drilling & pumping
Lured, driven, goaded by profit, profit, profit
Our true God
Entitled to waste what we can afford to buy
Or so we think in our twisted way
We can’t leave well enough alone, let it be;
I ask the question I know the answer to:
Are such fools to be forgiven?
Garbage dumps
The dead and dying coral in the seas
Clear cutting & “Mountain Top Removal”
Sorry about the benzene in the ground water, acid in the rain
The radiation buried near your heart
When the meek inherit they will find a wasteland
A lonely place destroyed by indifference
Collective greed & arrogance
The insane notion that you were ours to subdue
And enslave
Despite clear signs & warnings
We keep slashing & burning, drilling & pumping
Lured, driven, goaded by profit, profit, profit
Our true God
Entitled to waste what we can afford to buy
Or so we think in our twisted way
We can’t leave well enough alone, let it be;
I ask the question I know the answer to:
Are such fools to be forgiven?
Thursday, December 08, 2005
One Day Real Soon
One of these days, swear to God, I’m going to write something light and amusing, and stick it on the Balcony, but for now, the best subject in town is G.W. Bush and the Reign of Terror.
Bush is on the PR circuit, trying to persuade Americans that great and magical things are happening in American-occupied Iraq. That’s a tough sell these days if the latest polling numbers are accurate; the majority of Americans aren’t buying the Administration line, no matter how much the Bush people spin.
And those folks must be getting dizzy, their fat heads about to explode, spinning at the rate they are, supersonic speed.
Bush and Co. are also trying to convince Americans that the economy is percolating just fine, with job growth and rosy profit predictions, and plenty of people in the shopping malls, plunking down cash or plastic. That may be true when it comes to the American elite, the ownership class, but it’s absolute fantasy for the rest of Americans. GDP may be up, but workers are staring at stagnant wages and continued erosion of employer-paid health benefits. One segment of our population is happy as pie because everything is going their way – their pal Bush and his enviable Congressional majority gets huge tax cuts passed, so they are keeping even more of what their investments earn.
Lucky buggars.
The majority of us are struggling, sinking, or holding on for dear life, up to our ears in debt, one uninsured illness from ruin. We’re getting by but going nowhere near the hallowed ground where the American elite dwell. They segregate by wealth, buying distance between themselves and the great unwashed, stinking rest of us.
The problem is that Bush’s numbers don’t add up, doomed by an overpowering combination of huge budget and trade deficits, the massive expense of the Iraq Occupation, and the incredibly generous tax cuts for the elite. Bush has maxed out the American charge card. We’re tapped, and the Chinese are raking it in, getting our money front and back, from the purchases of goods and services to the cash we pay them in the form of interest. Does anyone get the funny feeling that we’re sinking while the Chinese are rising?
Yeah, one of these days I’ll get around to writing something optimistic and upbeat.
Bush is on the PR circuit, trying to persuade Americans that great and magical things are happening in American-occupied Iraq. That’s a tough sell these days if the latest polling numbers are accurate; the majority of Americans aren’t buying the Administration line, no matter how much the Bush people spin.
And those folks must be getting dizzy, their fat heads about to explode, spinning at the rate they are, supersonic speed.
Bush and Co. are also trying to convince Americans that the economy is percolating just fine, with job growth and rosy profit predictions, and plenty of people in the shopping malls, plunking down cash or plastic. That may be true when it comes to the American elite, the ownership class, but it’s absolute fantasy for the rest of Americans. GDP may be up, but workers are staring at stagnant wages and continued erosion of employer-paid health benefits. One segment of our population is happy as pie because everything is going their way – their pal Bush and his enviable Congressional majority gets huge tax cuts passed, so they are keeping even more of what their investments earn.
Lucky buggars.
The majority of us are struggling, sinking, or holding on for dear life, up to our ears in debt, one uninsured illness from ruin. We’re getting by but going nowhere near the hallowed ground where the American elite dwell. They segregate by wealth, buying distance between themselves and the great unwashed, stinking rest of us.
The problem is that Bush’s numbers don’t add up, doomed by an overpowering combination of huge budget and trade deficits, the massive expense of the Iraq Occupation, and the incredibly generous tax cuts for the elite. Bush has maxed out the American charge card. We’re tapped, and the Chinese are raking it in, getting our money front and back, from the purchases of goods and services to the cash we pay them in the form of interest. Does anyone get the funny feeling that we’re sinking while the Chinese are rising?
Yeah, one of these days I’ll get around to writing something optimistic and upbeat.
Saturday, December 03, 2005
Sing, a Poem
Our lord
My lord
King of Kings
Prince of peace
Sing for the dead & deformed
Sing for the Last of the Mohicans
Sing for the lost loons
Sing for December
Sing for pale afternoons
Sing for the broken-hearted
Sing for the babies & the old
Sing for this tri-tip sandwich served by a blonde bimbo
Sing for shapely ladies talking on cell phones
Sing for the souls of the Armenians
Sing for the Jews
Sing for the Tibetans
Sing for Saddam & his victims
Sing for Dick Cheney (then crack the whip on his flabby white ass)
Sing for the rain forest & the tundra
Sing in a falsetto, sing in a baritone
Sing over the sound of tolling bells
Sing in protest
Sing in praise
Sing over flag-draped coffins
Sing for the residents of Skid Row
Sing, Sing, Sing, Sing
My lord
King of Kings
Prince of peace
Sing for the dead & deformed
Sing for the Last of the Mohicans
Sing for the lost loons
Sing for December
Sing for pale afternoons
Sing for the broken-hearted
Sing for the babies & the old
Sing for this tri-tip sandwich served by a blonde bimbo
Sing for shapely ladies talking on cell phones
Sing for the souls of the Armenians
Sing for the Jews
Sing for the Tibetans
Sing for Saddam & his victims
Sing for Dick Cheney (then crack the whip on his flabby white ass)
Sing for the rain forest & the tundra
Sing in a falsetto, sing in a baritone
Sing over the sound of tolling bells
Sing in protest
Sing in praise
Sing over flag-draped coffins
Sing for the residents of Skid Row
Sing, Sing, Sing, Sing
Thursday, December 01, 2005
Bush Lays Out Plan, Sort Of
Stay the course. Vital national interests. The front in the War. Total victory.
George W. Bush must be crazy, delusional, disassociated from reality. All this gibberish spewed to a captive crowd of Naval cadets, some of the best and brightest of our privileged youth, with the blood of more than 2,000 US soldiers on Bush’s hands, and despite a mountain of evidence, the President continues to believe this “war” can be won.
Won, how? First of all, Bush has it wrong – what is happening in Iraq isn’t a war, it’s the back end of an invasion, an occupation of one nation by another of superior military might. Iraq never posed a credible or imminent threat to the US, never attacked the US, and was most certainly not in cahoots with Al Qaeda.
And note to George: Iraq wasn’t the center of the War on Terror until your deluded policies made it so.
As the political winds blow, Bush’s rationale for the Invasion/Occupation changes; in the beginning it was all about WMD, anthrax stockpiles, mustard gas and whatnot. When the WMD failed to turn up on cue, the rationale changed to creating democracy in Iraq, giving the long-suffering Iraqis the magic power of self-determination.
Guaranteeing US oil interests access to Iraq’s reserves never enters into the discussion, though OIL hovers in the background of every purported reason for our spilling blood in Iraq in the first place.
Bush is right to say that a war cannot be won on a timetable, but wrong to make this assertion regarding Iraq. An occupation can most certainly be ended on a predetermined timetable.
As long as the US maintains a military presence on Iraqi soil, there will be fighting, car bombs, suicide missions, and strife. When and if we depart, Iraq may descend into civil war or its various factions will figure out a way to coexist, either in a democratic framework or something else.
W has got to stop channeling LBJ and Nixon. The Occupation is not going well, the American citizenry are fed up with the human and monetary cost, and the longer the US remains the worse this wretched deal gets.
Sometimes the greatest act of leadership is to stare reality in the face, admit error, and call for a retreat. This takes guts and wisdom in equal measure, traits that W doesn’t appear to possess.
George W. Bush must be crazy, delusional, disassociated from reality. All this gibberish spewed to a captive crowd of Naval cadets, some of the best and brightest of our privileged youth, with the blood of more than 2,000 US soldiers on Bush’s hands, and despite a mountain of evidence, the President continues to believe this “war” can be won.
Won, how? First of all, Bush has it wrong – what is happening in Iraq isn’t a war, it’s the back end of an invasion, an occupation of one nation by another of superior military might. Iraq never posed a credible or imminent threat to the US, never attacked the US, and was most certainly not in cahoots with Al Qaeda.
And note to George: Iraq wasn’t the center of the War on Terror until your deluded policies made it so.
As the political winds blow, Bush’s rationale for the Invasion/Occupation changes; in the beginning it was all about WMD, anthrax stockpiles, mustard gas and whatnot. When the WMD failed to turn up on cue, the rationale changed to creating democracy in Iraq, giving the long-suffering Iraqis the magic power of self-determination.
Guaranteeing US oil interests access to Iraq’s reserves never enters into the discussion, though OIL hovers in the background of every purported reason for our spilling blood in Iraq in the first place.
Bush is right to say that a war cannot be won on a timetable, but wrong to make this assertion regarding Iraq. An occupation can most certainly be ended on a predetermined timetable.
As long as the US maintains a military presence on Iraqi soil, there will be fighting, car bombs, suicide missions, and strife. When and if we depart, Iraq may descend into civil war or its various factions will figure out a way to coexist, either in a democratic framework or something else.
W has got to stop channeling LBJ and Nixon. The Occupation is not going well, the American citizenry are fed up with the human and monetary cost, and the longer the US remains the worse this wretched deal gets.
Sometimes the greatest act of leadership is to stare reality in the face, admit error, and call for a retreat. This takes guts and wisdom in equal measure, traits that W doesn’t appear to possess.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
GIANT NO MORE
Over the Thanksgiving weekend I saw an editorial cartoon in the Santa Barbara News-Press (often referred to around here as the Snooze-Mess), syndicated from the Orange County Register, that depicted a vehicle emblazoned with the General Motors logo, an engine labeled United Auto Workers, and an exhaust tank which read, Revenues.
The exhaust tank was festooned with cobwebs, clearly rendering the meaning of the cartoon: GM’s money woes are the fault of the United Auto Workers.
All I can say to that notion is Bullshit. GM’s problems are bigger than its unionized blue-collar workforce, and to lay the blame for the decline of this American industrial icon at the feet of the men and women who assemble GM cars and trucks is to miss the larger picture.
GM has been lurching into irrelevancy for nearly two decades. Remember Roger & Me, Michael Moore’s 1989 film about the effects of a GM plant closing in Flint, Michigan? From the mid-80’s on GM was struggling to compete with Toyota and Honda, Japanese manufacturers who built high-quality, fuel-efficient, front-wheel drive vehicles. GM still held the title of world’s biggest manufacturing company, but every passing year saw Honda and Toyota chip away at GM’s market dominance.
How did giant GM respond to the threat from abroad? First, CEO Roger Smith pushed through the acquisition of Hughes Aircraft Company, a defense contractor, ostensibly to milk Hughes’s hi-tech expertise. Smith and other GM honchos thought a dose of space-age technology could help GM build more appealing vehicles.
The only problem with this billion dollar experiment was that GM never quite figured out how to harness Hughes’s strengths and marry them with its own.
With great fanfare, GM then announces the creation of a brand new car division called “Saturn” that would not only revolutionize GM but the American auto industry as well. Saturn, Roger Smith assured the Wall Street crowd, would operate completely outside the GM box; in itself, this boast was a backhanded indictment of GM’s bloated processes. Saturn wasn’t necessarily a bad idea, just one that came to fruition too late to halt GM’s slide.
GM’s core problem was never entirely its blue-collar workforce. Bloated and inefficient management lay at the center of GM’s woes. Year after year the giant reorganized and restructured, closing a plant here, shifting production to Canada or Texas, tinkering with its supply chain, but nothing could stem the tide. The cars and trucks coming off the GM drawing board simply paled in quality and style to those imported from abroad.
At one point it got so bad that GM entered into a joint venture with Toyota to build the Corolla, Toyota’s flagship vehicle, in Fremont, California using Japanese manufacturing processes and UAW represented labor. Soon, Honda was building cars in the US using the same framework.
GM was so dominant for so long, with far flung operations so massive and intimately connected to the fortunes of the US economy, that the company – management and labor – grew fat, happy, and complacent. Toyota and Honda were mere upstarts way back when, nothing to worry about.
By the time GM realized it was in a fight for market share with savvy adversaries it was too late for the giant to shake its behemoth mindset and change for the future.
Sure, the blue collar workforce represented by the UAW bears some of the responsibility, but don’t lay the whole enchilada at the feet of working men and women.
The exhaust tank was festooned with cobwebs, clearly rendering the meaning of the cartoon: GM’s money woes are the fault of the United Auto Workers.
All I can say to that notion is Bullshit. GM’s problems are bigger than its unionized blue-collar workforce, and to lay the blame for the decline of this American industrial icon at the feet of the men and women who assemble GM cars and trucks is to miss the larger picture.
GM has been lurching into irrelevancy for nearly two decades. Remember Roger & Me, Michael Moore’s 1989 film about the effects of a GM plant closing in Flint, Michigan? From the mid-80’s on GM was struggling to compete with Toyota and Honda, Japanese manufacturers who built high-quality, fuel-efficient, front-wheel drive vehicles. GM still held the title of world’s biggest manufacturing company, but every passing year saw Honda and Toyota chip away at GM’s market dominance.
How did giant GM respond to the threat from abroad? First, CEO Roger Smith pushed through the acquisition of Hughes Aircraft Company, a defense contractor, ostensibly to milk Hughes’s hi-tech expertise. Smith and other GM honchos thought a dose of space-age technology could help GM build more appealing vehicles.
The only problem with this billion dollar experiment was that GM never quite figured out how to harness Hughes’s strengths and marry them with its own.
With great fanfare, GM then announces the creation of a brand new car division called “Saturn” that would not only revolutionize GM but the American auto industry as well. Saturn, Roger Smith assured the Wall Street crowd, would operate completely outside the GM box; in itself, this boast was a backhanded indictment of GM’s bloated processes. Saturn wasn’t necessarily a bad idea, just one that came to fruition too late to halt GM’s slide.
GM’s core problem was never entirely its blue-collar workforce. Bloated and inefficient management lay at the center of GM’s woes. Year after year the giant reorganized and restructured, closing a plant here, shifting production to Canada or Texas, tinkering with its supply chain, but nothing could stem the tide. The cars and trucks coming off the GM drawing board simply paled in quality and style to those imported from abroad.
At one point it got so bad that GM entered into a joint venture with Toyota to build the Corolla, Toyota’s flagship vehicle, in Fremont, California using Japanese manufacturing processes and UAW represented labor. Soon, Honda was building cars in the US using the same framework.
GM was so dominant for so long, with far flung operations so massive and intimately connected to the fortunes of the US economy, that the company – management and labor – grew fat, happy, and complacent. Toyota and Honda were mere upstarts way back when, nothing to worry about.
By the time GM realized it was in a fight for market share with savvy adversaries it was too late for the giant to shake its behemoth mindset and change for the future.
Sure, the blue collar workforce represented by the UAW bears some of the responsibility, but don’t lay the whole enchilada at the feet of working men and women.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Anniversary of the Balcony
As the calendar turns and the crow flies I see that Shouts from the Balcony is a year old this month.
The blogosphere is full of crackpots, and I am certainly one, sitting here week after week – day after day in some instances – writing to a worldwide yet largely invisible audience. This still seems self-indulgent and screwy to me, a loon on a street corner shouting into a gale force wind.
Folks trip across the Balcony by accident, stay for less than a minute, on average, and split in search of something more interesting.
A couple of readers have asked why I write about external things like national politics and very little about my family. Basic privacy is one reason, point of view would be another; sometimes it’s easier to draw a bead on a far off target than one nearby. Another reason for my choice of subjects is that the current national political scene pisses me off and compels me to add my voice to the din. When you look at your country, even from afar, and don’t recognize it, that’s cause for alarm.
Interest in the Balcony spiked after I posted a rant against a local school board member. I had no idea that the piece would be referred to in the Santa Barbara News-Press as an “angry” blog, or that the blog address would be printed in the paper. Lots of people visited after that.
But like I said, now it’s the occasional day-tripper, my in-laws, my mother, Bubba who lives in Arizona, a few colleagues from the school district where I work. I started this thing on a lark and never expected much. Writers are notorious feedback hounds, however, and it’s gratifying when someone posts a comment, reports that something struck them as funny, insightful or even downright pigheaded.
Whether or not the Balcony will see a second anniversary is an open question. Time and events will tell, but for now, I thank all those who have visited.
The blogosphere is full of crackpots, and I am certainly one, sitting here week after week – day after day in some instances – writing to a worldwide yet largely invisible audience. This still seems self-indulgent and screwy to me, a loon on a street corner shouting into a gale force wind.
Folks trip across the Balcony by accident, stay for less than a minute, on average, and split in search of something more interesting.
A couple of readers have asked why I write about external things like national politics and very little about my family. Basic privacy is one reason, point of view would be another; sometimes it’s easier to draw a bead on a far off target than one nearby. Another reason for my choice of subjects is that the current national political scene pisses me off and compels me to add my voice to the din. When you look at your country, even from afar, and don’t recognize it, that’s cause for alarm.
Interest in the Balcony spiked after I posted a rant against a local school board member. I had no idea that the piece would be referred to in the Santa Barbara News-Press as an “angry” blog, or that the blog address would be printed in the paper. Lots of people visited after that.
But like I said, now it’s the occasional day-tripper, my in-laws, my mother, Bubba who lives in Arizona, a few colleagues from the school district where I work. I started this thing on a lark and never expected much. Writers are notorious feedback hounds, however, and it’s gratifying when someone posts a comment, reports that something struck them as funny, insightful or even downright pigheaded.
Whether or not the Balcony will see a second anniversary is an open question. Time and events will tell, but for now, I thank all those who have visited.
Sunday, November 20, 2005
THE CTM CHRONICLES - On the Road with Alice
Alice DuPont lit a fresh cigarette with the butt of an old one, passed Chuck a bottle of Old Parr scotch, and stomped on the gas, pushing the Corvette up to ninety miles an hour. “That’s good stuff,” she said. “Aged twelve years. My soon-to-be-ex-husband distributes the crap. Go ahead, have a pull. There’s more in the trunk.”
Chuck took a drink and passed the bottle back. He wasn’t sure if Alice DuPont was tipsy or flat-out crazy, but for the moment, his fate was intertwined with hers and there was nothing to be done about it except settle back and watch South Carolina flash past. On the one hand he felt happy. With every passing mile he was putting distance between himself and Patricia. On the other – and that’s the problem with the other hand, it jumps in at inopportune moments – he was nagged by a vision of her lying in the bathtub with her wrists slashed. (Years later when her book came out he would learn that Patricia had indeed tried to do herself in by swallowing forty-seven aspirin tablets.)
Alice looked to be in her early 50’s though it was hard to be certain because her face was puffy from crying. Her hair was reddish-brown and naturally curly. Her eyes were blue, sad, and bloodshot. Even before she started talking about the tangled mess her life had become, Chuck sensed her sadness and pain; the story was etched in the lines around her eyes and in the furrows between her eyebrows.
Alice began by saying, “My husband is a miserable, duplicitous bastard, a liar, a cheat and a thief. He stole the prime of my life from me. Twenty-four years of marriage and only this morning do I discover that the sonofabitch has a second family, in Scotland, where he spends half the year on business. Can you believe that crap? Pretty young wife, two small kids, a house, a dog, the whole nine yards. In Scotland. I’d kill him if I thought I could get away with it, I really would. I’d slice his dick off and feed it to his dog. That stuff about a woman scorned is true, though I suppose you’re too young to understand. But you will and I’d bet my last dollar that one day you’ll do the same damn thing to some poor, unsuspecting girl. Men are no better than pigs! Here, have another drink!”
Chuck had another swig and handed the bottle back.
“What are you running away from?” Alice asked.
“The circus,” Chuck said. “I’m a high-wire man but the gig was getting to be a drag, so I asked the boss if I could try my hand at taming the lion. He said no, so I split.”
“Sounds like a load of crap to me,” Alice said. “Don’t most people run away to join the circus?”
“Not me.”
Alice grunted. “You travel light. Looks like you left in a hurry. Maybe the fire-eater was chasing you?”
“It was the bearded lady, all three hundred and ten pounds of her. She wanted me, I wasn’t into her, it was an awkward situation that affected my concentration and when your job is the high-wire, the last thing you need is a distraction like that. It was time for me to bail.”
“Aren’t you a clever one,” Alice said dryly. “I can see why she was hot for you.”
“What can I say? People who defy death for a living have a certain aura about them.”
“Christ. What a load of crap. You’re a born bullshitter, aren’t you?”
“What’s in New York City?” Chuck asked.
“My brother, Sam, the only sane member of my entire family. He lives in the Village with his wife and daughter, plays the sax for a living. Sweet, big-hearted Sammy, who managed to escape the genetic madness that plagues our family. Now Jan, my sister, who I’m on my way to visit if I can remember where she lives, is as eccentric as the day is long. Even when we were kids she was off. She got married right out of high school, moved to Oregon, decided one day that she wanted to be a lesbian, divorced her husband and moved to Manitoba with her new lover. That lasted four or five years, until Jan decided that being a lesbian wasn’t for her after all. She moved to Seattle and met a Chinese engineer by the name of Hai Le Chang. Chang was about five feet tall and weighed less than a hundred pounds soaking wet, a computer geek who designed software for Boeing. Hai had some sexual issues, liked to be spanked, dressed in a diaper, that sort of thing. Oh, we’re a colorful dysfunctional family all right. You want to jump out?”
“Not yet,” Chuck said. “Where are we?”
They were driving in the suburbs now, in a town called Goose Creek, past modest homes on generous lots, tree-lined streets, all-American, picket fences and bicycles in the yard, RV’s parked alongside the houses.
“Do you know how Jan decided to move here?” Alice asked. “She threw a dart at a map of the United States and without a second thought packed her things in a U-Haul and came here. She keeps a Great Dane for protection. She also has a python named Monty that lives under her bed.”
Chuck spotted Jan’s house before Alice did, not that it was hard to pick out. Sweetwater Street was neat and orderly, spilling over with middle-class pride, until suddenly one house ruined the entire mosaic, Jan’s place, of course. There was a 1962 VW Bug in the driveway, sitting on its rims, dented and splattered with bird droppings, speckled with rust; a life-size bronze statue of Robert E. Lee, saber drawn and ready to defend the Old South against all comers, stood on the front lawn. General Lee was surrounded by the weirdest collection of stuff Chuck had ever seen: wrought-iron birds, clay jaguars, a toilet sunk in a flower bed, a claw-footed bathtub full of bicycle tires, a lamp post, golf clubs, aluminum baseball bats, lobster traps, a full-size trampoline; a male mannequin with a noose around its neck hung from a tree; another mannequin, this one headless, sat in a rocking chair on the porch pointing a toy gun at passers-by.
“She’s a junk collector?” Chuck said as Alice parked.
“No, just a crazy woman. The neighbors have been trying to boot her out of here for years, but Jan won’t budge. Annoying people gives her pleasure. Steel yourself, young man. Have another drink. We’re about to enter the Twilight Zone.”
Chuck took a drink and passed the bottle back. He wasn’t sure if Alice DuPont was tipsy or flat-out crazy, but for the moment, his fate was intertwined with hers and there was nothing to be done about it except settle back and watch South Carolina flash past. On the one hand he felt happy. With every passing mile he was putting distance between himself and Patricia. On the other – and that’s the problem with the other hand, it jumps in at inopportune moments – he was nagged by a vision of her lying in the bathtub with her wrists slashed. (Years later when her book came out he would learn that Patricia had indeed tried to do herself in by swallowing forty-seven aspirin tablets.)
Alice looked to be in her early 50’s though it was hard to be certain because her face was puffy from crying. Her hair was reddish-brown and naturally curly. Her eyes were blue, sad, and bloodshot. Even before she started talking about the tangled mess her life had become, Chuck sensed her sadness and pain; the story was etched in the lines around her eyes and in the furrows between her eyebrows.
Alice began by saying, “My husband is a miserable, duplicitous bastard, a liar, a cheat and a thief. He stole the prime of my life from me. Twenty-four years of marriage and only this morning do I discover that the sonofabitch has a second family, in Scotland, where he spends half the year on business. Can you believe that crap? Pretty young wife, two small kids, a house, a dog, the whole nine yards. In Scotland. I’d kill him if I thought I could get away with it, I really would. I’d slice his dick off and feed it to his dog. That stuff about a woman scorned is true, though I suppose you’re too young to understand. But you will and I’d bet my last dollar that one day you’ll do the same damn thing to some poor, unsuspecting girl. Men are no better than pigs! Here, have another drink!”
Chuck had another swig and handed the bottle back.
“What are you running away from?” Alice asked.
“The circus,” Chuck said. “I’m a high-wire man but the gig was getting to be a drag, so I asked the boss if I could try my hand at taming the lion. He said no, so I split.”
“Sounds like a load of crap to me,” Alice said. “Don’t most people run away to join the circus?”
“Not me.”
Alice grunted. “You travel light. Looks like you left in a hurry. Maybe the fire-eater was chasing you?”
“It was the bearded lady, all three hundred and ten pounds of her. She wanted me, I wasn’t into her, it was an awkward situation that affected my concentration and when your job is the high-wire, the last thing you need is a distraction like that. It was time for me to bail.”
“Aren’t you a clever one,” Alice said dryly. “I can see why she was hot for you.”
“What can I say? People who defy death for a living have a certain aura about them.”
“Christ. What a load of crap. You’re a born bullshitter, aren’t you?”
“What’s in New York City?” Chuck asked.
“My brother, Sam, the only sane member of my entire family. He lives in the Village with his wife and daughter, plays the sax for a living. Sweet, big-hearted Sammy, who managed to escape the genetic madness that plagues our family. Now Jan, my sister, who I’m on my way to visit if I can remember where she lives, is as eccentric as the day is long. Even when we were kids she was off. She got married right out of high school, moved to Oregon, decided one day that she wanted to be a lesbian, divorced her husband and moved to Manitoba with her new lover. That lasted four or five years, until Jan decided that being a lesbian wasn’t for her after all. She moved to Seattle and met a Chinese engineer by the name of Hai Le Chang. Chang was about five feet tall and weighed less than a hundred pounds soaking wet, a computer geek who designed software for Boeing. Hai had some sexual issues, liked to be spanked, dressed in a diaper, that sort of thing. Oh, we’re a colorful dysfunctional family all right. You want to jump out?”
“Not yet,” Chuck said. “Where are we?”
They were driving in the suburbs now, in a town called Goose Creek, past modest homes on generous lots, tree-lined streets, all-American, picket fences and bicycles in the yard, RV’s parked alongside the houses.
“Do you know how Jan decided to move here?” Alice asked. “She threw a dart at a map of the United States and without a second thought packed her things in a U-Haul and came here. She keeps a Great Dane for protection. She also has a python named Monty that lives under her bed.”
Chuck spotted Jan’s house before Alice did, not that it was hard to pick out. Sweetwater Street was neat and orderly, spilling over with middle-class pride, until suddenly one house ruined the entire mosaic, Jan’s place, of course. There was a 1962 VW Bug in the driveway, sitting on its rims, dented and splattered with bird droppings, speckled with rust; a life-size bronze statue of Robert E. Lee, saber drawn and ready to defend the Old South against all comers, stood on the front lawn. General Lee was surrounded by the weirdest collection of stuff Chuck had ever seen: wrought-iron birds, clay jaguars, a toilet sunk in a flower bed, a claw-footed bathtub full of bicycle tires, a lamp post, golf clubs, aluminum baseball bats, lobster traps, a full-size trampoline; a male mannequin with a noose around its neck hung from a tree; another mannequin, this one headless, sat in a rocking chair on the porch pointing a toy gun at passers-by.
“She’s a junk collector?” Chuck said as Alice parked.
“No, just a crazy woman. The neighbors have been trying to boot her out of here for years, but Jan won’t budge. Annoying people gives her pleasure. Steel yourself, young man. Have another drink. We’re about to enter the Twilight Zone.”
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
Mishmash
I was getting the kids ready for school yesterday morning when I overheard Charlie Gibson from ABC ask someone from the White House about President Bush’s trip to Asia. I didn’t catch the entire statement, but would swear on a stack of Bibles that the White House mouthpiece said something close to, “The president is going to China to represent the interests of American workers.”
The interests of American workers! Holy cow! In China, no less, the home of thousands of manufacturing jobs once held by American workers. What “interests” could the president possibly represent? I can see Bush now, standing before a hand-picked, sanitized crowd of average Chinese factory workers, flashing his best monkey sneer while lauding the workers for doing a “heckuva job” as corporate America’s low-wage workshop.
As far as George W. Bush is concerned, things are just peachy for American workers. Wages are stagnant, health and retirement benefits have been slashed, what’s not to be happy about? Wal-Mart is always hiring, various shifts in a friendly atmosphere, not to mention that the Gulf Coast will need thousands of carpenters, plumbers, and roofers once the reconstruction effort shifts into full swing; workers can go down there and enjoy the benefits of low wages, now that the president has suspended the Davis-Bacon Act.
Bush wouldn’t recognize an average working American if one walked up and smacked him in the forehead with a rubber mallet. Bush serves one constituency and one only: the wealthy. Look at the record, the lavish tax breaks and corporate giveaways, the fat no-bid contracts given to well-heeled political supporters.
Responding to Charlie Gibson’s question about the president’s plummeting public approval rating and the cloud of scandal hovering over the Administration, the White House mouth said – and again this is a rough paraphrase – that it is irresponsible for Democrats to continually raise questions about the decision to invade and occupy Iraq, the validity of pre-invasion intelligence, or whether or not the Administration tweaked that intelligence to justify the invasion.
Let’s see, the Congress of the United States was duped into supporting an invasion/occupation that has turned up zero WMD, become a rallying point for terrorists, violated the sovereignty of a nation (yes, even a despotic one), and cost over 2,000 American lives and maybe fifty times that many Iraqi lives, and put Iraq on course for a bloody, protracted civil war. It would seem that Congress has an obligation to find out what went wrong and who is responsible so that such folly cannot be repeated anytime soon.
The Administration believes that such questions are irresponsible and give comfort and aid to our enemies, not to mention a terrible inconvenience.
I’m just a simple guy, an average American citizen trying to raise children and get along in this great land of ours, but for the life of me I can’t understand why George W. Bush is not in the midst of an impeachment trial. For lying about Oval Office hanky-panky, Congress went after Bill Clinton hammer and tongs, fangs dripping blood; but when it comes to Bush, a president who plunged the country into a useless and disgraceful invasion/occupation, Congress sits on its hands.
The interests of American workers! Holy cow! In China, no less, the home of thousands of manufacturing jobs once held by American workers. What “interests” could the president possibly represent? I can see Bush now, standing before a hand-picked, sanitized crowd of average Chinese factory workers, flashing his best monkey sneer while lauding the workers for doing a “heckuva job” as corporate America’s low-wage workshop.
As far as George W. Bush is concerned, things are just peachy for American workers. Wages are stagnant, health and retirement benefits have been slashed, what’s not to be happy about? Wal-Mart is always hiring, various shifts in a friendly atmosphere, not to mention that the Gulf Coast will need thousands of carpenters, plumbers, and roofers once the reconstruction effort shifts into full swing; workers can go down there and enjoy the benefits of low wages, now that the president has suspended the Davis-Bacon Act.
Bush wouldn’t recognize an average working American if one walked up and smacked him in the forehead with a rubber mallet. Bush serves one constituency and one only: the wealthy. Look at the record, the lavish tax breaks and corporate giveaways, the fat no-bid contracts given to well-heeled political supporters.
Responding to Charlie Gibson’s question about the president’s plummeting public approval rating and the cloud of scandal hovering over the Administration, the White House mouth said – and again this is a rough paraphrase – that it is irresponsible for Democrats to continually raise questions about the decision to invade and occupy Iraq, the validity of pre-invasion intelligence, or whether or not the Administration tweaked that intelligence to justify the invasion.
Let’s see, the Congress of the United States was duped into supporting an invasion/occupation that has turned up zero WMD, become a rallying point for terrorists, violated the sovereignty of a nation (yes, even a despotic one), and cost over 2,000 American lives and maybe fifty times that many Iraqi lives, and put Iraq on course for a bloody, protracted civil war. It would seem that Congress has an obligation to find out what went wrong and who is responsible so that such folly cannot be repeated anytime soon.
The Administration believes that such questions are irresponsible and give comfort and aid to our enemies, not to mention a terrible inconvenience.
I’m just a simple guy, an average American citizen trying to raise children and get along in this great land of ours, but for the life of me I can’t understand why George W. Bush is not in the midst of an impeachment trial. For lying about Oval Office hanky-panky, Congress went after Bill Clinton hammer and tongs, fangs dripping blood; but when it comes to Bush, a president who plunged the country into a useless and disgraceful invasion/occupation, Congress sits on its hands.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
The Day After, and the Day After That
November 8, Election Day, was a great day for unionized public workers in California – we beat back a power grab by Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger.
Simple hubris played a big role in Schwarzenegger’s defeat. The fire that eventually engulfed him began with his State of the State speech in January when he essentially boasted that he would play his trump card – popularity – and take his case directly to the voters if the legislature refused to play ball his way.
One can’t completely fault Schwarzenegger for over-confidence. Any pol with a 60% approval rating would likely feel invincible.
Schwarzenegger won the recall election on star power and the fact that the recall campaign was brief. Instead of talking about ideas and vision and mixing it up with voters on bread and butter issues like health care, education and public safety, Schwarzenegger merely smiled and tossed T-shirts to adoring fans. Running for the top office in the state seemed like an easy, pleasant gig.
And it continued to be so until early this year when the Governor ticked off organized nurses. That mistake snowballed until it eventually mobilized a broad coalition of peace officers, firefighters, public workers, school employees and teachers.
Rhetorically, Schwarzenegger suffered from stunted development. His campaign was all sound bites and one-liners and references to action movies rather than solid reasons for his initiatives – initiatives which bore the fingerprint of the Grover Norquist wing of the Republican Party. The idea that the numerous problems facing California could be solved by tinkering with teacher tenure, redistricting along Texas-Tom DeLay lines, granting a sitting governor extraordinary power over the budget, and making it difficult for unions to throw money at Democrats, was at best laughable.
Going to the mat, rhetorically and via ballot initiatives, with a number of public employee unions simultaneously was a tall order, even for a popular Governor, and the decision to plunge ahead exposed Schwarzenegger’s rookie status. More than that, it called into question the wisdom of his inner circle.
Considering the magnitude of Tuesday’s defeat, it’s a sure bet that Schwarzenegger will shake up his team of advisors, with significant input from wifey, Maria Shriver. Look for more moderate figures to join the Governor’s team. After all, Schwarzenegger has a lot of ground to make up in the trust department if he’s going to be re-elected in 2006.
For the moment, the power dynamic in Sacramento is altered. Schwarzenegger has little choice but to moderate his rhetoric and reach across the aisle. No more can he threaten to bypass the legislature. That should make things very interesting in the months ahead.
And what of the victors? Tuesday’s outcome proved that the union movement is alive and kicking in California, and that despite the AFL-CIO fracture, unions can still work together toward common aims. Labor should take a moment to celebrate this success, but then get back to organizing new members and educating current ones.
For those of us fortunate to be members of public employee unions, it’s time to get back to serving the public that pays our wages, proving day after day that unions are not only good for workers, but good for the commonwealth as well.
Simple hubris played a big role in Schwarzenegger’s defeat. The fire that eventually engulfed him began with his State of the State speech in January when he essentially boasted that he would play his trump card – popularity – and take his case directly to the voters if the legislature refused to play ball his way.
One can’t completely fault Schwarzenegger for over-confidence. Any pol with a 60% approval rating would likely feel invincible.
Schwarzenegger won the recall election on star power and the fact that the recall campaign was brief. Instead of talking about ideas and vision and mixing it up with voters on bread and butter issues like health care, education and public safety, Schwarzenegger merely smiled and tossed T-shirts to adoring fans. Running for the top office in the state seemed like an easy, pleasant gig.
And it continued to be so until early this year when the Governor ticked off organized nurses. That mistake snowballed until it eventually mobilized a broad coalition of peace officers, firefighters, public workers, school employees and teachers.
Rhetorically, Schwarzenegger suffered from stunted development. His campaign was all sound bites and one-liners and references to action movies rather than solid reasons for his initiatives – initiatives which bore the fingerprint of the Grover Norquist wing of the Republican Party. The idea that the numerous problems facing California could be solved by tinkering with teacher tenure, redistricting along Texas-Tom DeLay lines, granting a sitting governor extraordinary power over the budget, and making it difficult for unions to throw money at Democrats, was at best laughable.
Going to the mat, rhetorically and via ballot initiatives, with a number of public employee unions simultaneously was a tall order, even for a popular Governor, and the decision to plunge ahead exposed Schwarzenegger’s rookie status. More than that, it called into question the wisdom of his inner circle.
Considering the magnitude of Tuesday’s defeat, it’s a sure bet that Schwarzenegger will shake up his team of advisors, with significant input from wifey, Maria Shriver. Look for more moderate figures to join the Governor’s team. After all, Schwarzenegger has a lot of ground to make up in the trust department if he’s going to be re-elected in 2006.
For the moment, the power dynamic in Sacramento is altered. Schwarzenegger has little choice but to moderate his rhetoric and reach across the aisle. No more can he threaten to bypass the legislature. That should make things very interesting in the months ahead.
And what of the victors? Tuesday’s outcome proved that the union movement is alive and kicking in California, and that despite the AFL-CIO fracture, unions can still work together toward common aims. Labor should take a moment to celebrate this success, but then get back to organizing new members and educating current ones.
For those of us fortunate to be members of public employee unions, it’s time to get back to serving the public that pays our wages, proving day after day that unions are not only good for workers, but good for the commonwealth as well.
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
Judgment Day for the Terminator
It has been a long slog up a steep slope, but here we are, on election day. For many of us, this campaign began in January when the Governor laid out his “Year of Reform” plan during his State of the State speech. Schwarzenegger was riding tall in the saddle then, with an approval rating in the mid-60’s and enough hubris in his tank to mount an assault on California’s caretakers.
Arnold has talked a lot about greedy union bosses in this campaign, but much less about the influence of corporate money. If the Democrats are in the pocket of public employee unions, then it’s fair to say the Republicans are in the same boat with insurance, finance, and drug companies.
All along most level-headed folks have said that this special election is unnecessary, a perversion of the initiative process, a sideshow that does not come close to addressing the real issues facing Californians. Only in Arnold’s (and maybe Petey Wilson’s) mind is this a true “Year of Reform.”
We have talked, telephoned, walked precincts, turned out at the Governor’s invitation-only staged events, survived the barrage of TV and direct mail advertising from both sides, and now it’s time to mark the ballots and tally the votes.
By late tonight or early tomorrow morning, the political landscape in California will be changed, one way or another.
Arnold has talked a lot about greedy union bosses in this campaign, but much less about the influence of corporate money. If the Democrats are in the pocket of public employee unions, then it’s fair to say the Republicans are in the same boat with insurance, finance, and drug companies.
All along most level-headed folks have said that this special election is unnecessary, a perversion of the initiative process, a sideshow that does not come close to addressing the real issues facing Californians. Only in Arnold’s (and maybe Petey Wilson’s) mind is this a true “Year of Reform.”
We have talked, telephoned, walked precincts, turned out at the Governor’s invitation-only staged events, survived the barrage of TV and direct mail advertising from both sides, and now it’s time to mark the ballots and tally the votes.
By late tonight or early tomorrow morning, the political landscape in California will be changed, one way or another.
Friday, October 28, 2005
Scooter, We'll Miss You
Scooter’s history, now we need to get the rest of Bush’s posse, starting with Rove, then Cheney and Rumsfeld, all the players who had a hand in duping the country into believing that invading and occupying Iraq was both justified and the next logical step in the “War on Terror.”
It’s about time someone in this criminal administration is sanctioned, called to task, held accountable. Thousands of people have waited a long time for the monkey smirk to be wiped from W’s face. We’d love to see Cheney drop his trademark sneer, but that won’t happen even if the VP is perp-walked down Pennsylvania Avenue at high noon. No, Cheney is too hard-core to change his ways; W is simply too dense.
All in all, this was a banner day for those of us who have felt like we lived in an alternate reality the past four years, Bush-World, a dim and awful place where truth is meaningless and criminal behavior goes unpunished.
It’s about time someone in this criminal administration is sanctioned, called to task, held accountable. Thousands of people have waited a long time for the monkey smirk to be wiped from W’s face. We’d love to see Cheney drop his trademark sneer, but that won’t happen even if the VP is perp-walked down Pennsylvania Avenue at high noon. No, Cheney is too hard-core to change his ways; W is simply too dense.
All in all, this was a banner day for those of us who have felt like we lived in an alternate reality the past four years, Bush-World, a dim and awful place where truth is meaningless and criminal behavior goes unpunished.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Note to CA GOP: Leave Me Alone
October 25, 2005
California Republican Party
1903 West Magnolia Blvd.
Burbank, CA 91506-1727
Inre: BS Mailing for Arnold’s BS Agenda
Dear Republicans:
You miserable bastards.
How did my name get on your freaking mailing list? For your information, I am a registered Democrat with a decidedly Progressive outlook, and a union member active in the political arena. In fact, I just returned home from an Alliance for a Better California phone bank that was calling voters to urge them to reject the Governor’s ridiculous “reform” agenda.
To open my mailbox and see a photograph of our doofus Governor nearly made me keel over -- first with anger, then laughter.
Schwarzenegger is a joke and a disgrace to our state. The man is utterly clueless and his slate of initiatives will do nothing – NOTHING – to address the problems facing California.
I wouldn’t join Arnold for a walk across the street let alone in his misguided effort to screw public school teachers, silence union members, and give the Governor’s office extraordinary powers over our fiscal future.
I don’t know where you bought my name and address, but kindly remove me from your database. I don’t believe I could stand the shock of seeing Arnold’s face on a piece of mail addressed to me again.
Sincerely,
Brian Tanguay
Progressive Union Activist
California Republican Party
1903 West Magnolia Blvd.
Burbank, CA 91506-1727
Inre: BS Mailing for Arnold’s BS Agenda
Dear Republicans:
You miserable bastards.
How did my name get on your freaking mailing list? For your information, I am a registered Democrat with a decidedly Progressive outlook, and a union member active in the political arena. In fact, I just returned home from an Alliance for a Better California phone bank that was calling voters to urge them to reject the Governor’s ridiculous “reform” agenda.
To open my mailbox and see a photograph of our doofus Governor nearly made me keel over -- first with anger, then laughter.
Schwarzenegger is a joke and a disgrace to our state. The man is utterly clueless and his slate of initiatives will do nothing – NOTHING – to address the problems facing California.
I wouldn’t join Arnold for a walk across the street let alone in his misguided effort to screw public school teachers, silence union members, and give the Governor’s office extraordinary powers over our fiscal future.
I don’t know where you bought my name and address, but kindly remove me from your database. I don’t believe I could stand the shock of seeing Arnold’s face on a piece of mail addressed to me again.
Sincerely,
Brian Tanguay
Progressive Union Activist
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Land of Wonder
Sometimes you start to wonder what’s happening in this world.
A school principal in some East Coast city cancelled prom night because the kids had a history of getting hammered on booze and drugs, staging orgies, and spending too much money on parties and limos.
Damn, you think, that’s horrible. But then what do we expect. We wean our kids on glitzy celebrity shows, tales of the rich and famous, the Paris Hilton’s, the supermodels, the actors and athletes who make more in a week than the average working stiff in America makes in two or three years. We show kids the glitz and gilt-edged world that some lucky folks inhabit, dangle it in front of them like diamonds hanging from a perfect earlobe.
In LA’s Skid Row, a permanent underclass lives on the streets in the shadow of ongoing gentrification. Thousands of people – some of them mentally ill or physically handicapped or both – make their way through rat and roach infested streets, past dealers and pimps and whores, boarded-up buildings and rusted cars. Maybe it’s one city, but it’s two completely different worlds.
Same in other cities, of course. The past twenty-five years haven’t been easy for the working class, with wages stagnant and jobs leaving for China faster than you can say, “So long manufacturing base.” Call for decent jobs at decent wages with decent benefits and people think you’re crazy or naive.
Capitalism, man, free enterprise, though when the going gets sticky Capital likes a hand from Government, a tax break, a subsidy, a guarantee; Capital likes to steal from the public and then make the public pay the tab.
So you see multi-million dollar condos going up alongside Skid Row, glitz and luxury above and beyond Third World poverty and hurt. Don’t look out the window and you won’t see it. Nobody’s fault, right, just the way it is, there have always been rich and poor, and hey, maybe them folks on the street deserve their sorry lot.
We fashioned this deal by placing capital over labor, profit above people, private gain above public good. It came like a wave that just kept coming, surging, washing away everything in its path. For the fortunate minority, this big wave ushered in the best of times; the rest were left to pick through the waterlogged rubble.
America.
A school principal in some East Coast city cancelled prom night because the kids had a history of getting hammered on booze and drugs, staging orgies, and spending too much money on parties and limos.
Damn, you think, that’s horrible. But then what do we expect. We wean our kids on glitzy celebrity shows, tales of the rich and famous, the Paris Hilton’s, the supermodels, the actors and athletes who make more in a week than the average working stiff in America makes in two or three years. We show kids the glitz and gilt-edged world that some lucky folks inhabit, dangle it in front of them like diamonds hanging from a perfect earlobe.
In LA’s Skid Row, a permanent underclass lives on the streets in the shadow of ongoing gentrification. Thousands of people – some of them mentally ill or physically handicapped or both – make their way through rat and roach infested streets, past dealers and pimps and whores, boarded-up buildings and rusted cars. Maybe it’s one city, but it’s two completely different worlds.
Same in other cities, of course. The past twenty-five years haven’t been easy for the working class, with wages stagnant and jobs leaving for China faster than you can say, “So long manufacturing base.” Call for decent jobs at decent wages with decent benefits and people think you’re crazy or naive.
Capitalism, man, free enterprise, though when the going gets sticky Capital likes a hand from Government, a tax break, a subsidy, a guarantee; Capital likes to steal from the public and then make the public pay the tab.
So you see multi-million dollar condos going up alongside Skid Row, glitz and luxury above and beyond Third World poverty and hurt. Don’t look out the window and you won’t see it. Nobody’s fault, right, just the way it is, there have always been rich and poor, and hey, maybe them folks on the street deserve their sorry lot.
We fashioned this deal by placing capital over labor, profit above people, private gain above public good. It came like a wave that just kept coming, surging, washing away everything in its path. For the fortunate minority, this big wave ushered in the best of times; the rest were left to pick through the waterlogged rubble.
America.
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