Showing posts with label social commentary. Show all posts
Showing posts with label social commentary. Show all posts

Monday, July 30, 2018

A New Shade of Orange

"The serious threat to our society is not the existence of foreign totalitarian states. It is our own personal attitudes and within our own institutions..." John Dewy

Ever since the USA election and BREXIT, I’ve been watching my Facebook news-feed closely. In particular, I have watched with interest, the third party voters in the Presidential election, aka Hillary-haters. Many hated Clinton with particular spiteful rhetoric highlighting their misogyny. Self-proclaimed liberals were among them. Despite their claim of liberalism, or political “independence”, they voted third party even though they knew the high-risk of Donald J. Trump being elected as president and the consequences that his presidency would carry in regard to the supreme court. There was a deep grievance among them for Bernie Saunders not getting the democratic nominee. Their protest votes helped Trump. The third party Jill Stein voters contributed to the Hillary losses in swing states. This, my friends, is partly why we ended up with the alt-Conservatives’ wet dream in the White House. Even those liberals voting third party just could not abide the thought of "crooked Hillary" being in the White House. Trump, an abuser of women, a pathological liar, corrupt businessman, and narcissist conned his way into the White House with lies, regarding immigration, crime, and jobs. The older white woman could not even trump those characteristics. The residing president has denigrated the very office of President with his twitter-storms attacking the press and opposing party and in turn, making the USA the laughing stock of the Western world. The Hillary-haters helped put him there.

Unlike “The Apprentice” that just concerned the contestants, and mere passive viewers, this reality TV show is being aired live to everywhere. Its affects, and effects are felt and experienced by everyone because we are contestants and observers. We find ourselves unable to switch this show off from a remote control. The ramifications of the onslaught on the Environmental Protection Agency, the conservative Supreme Court Justice appointment(s), and the looming death of Roe v Wade lurk overhead. This farce of a presidency has already tipped the balance of the supreme court and will have another chance to get another appointee to the court.

On the other side of the Atlantic, the Brexiteers are still crowing about “sovereignty”, and how they’ve “got their country back”. From what they've got their country back from is not quite clear. What has materialized is that the racists and other bigots are emboldened to abuse people on buses, and trains “to go home.” Somehow they think that is really British. Somehow hurtling themselves back to a 1970s backwater country crippled by tariffs, and brain-draining is more British than being a part of something larger and stronger -- a united Europe.

Now back to the USA side of the pond. Most recently, I have watched the third-party people in response to the separating of undocumented immigrant children from their parents who cross the border illegally proclaiming how, “Obama separated children too”. Note the cognitive dissonance here: they hated Hillary that much, so they justify, or explain Trump, and commit the false equivalence that, democrats and republicans “ are all the same”...

Obama never separated undocumented immigrant children from their parents upon arrival. There was no law mandating such action. The third-party people; AKA (they-are-all-the-same camp) are enablers propagating such nonsense. That makes them no better than the Trump supporters who they imagine they despise. Little do they realize that they share more commonalities than differences with the Trump supporters who sport their MAGA baseball caps while shaking a "Lock her up" sign like a medieval warrior rattling his saber. The difference between them is a shade of orange. The shade of orange people are the third-party, Brexiteers and of course Trump-supporters.

The degrees of magnitude on how the current and previous administration differ are unprecedentedly cruel in terms of vindictiveness, and building adversarial relationships with allies such as the European Union. Other clear examples are children dragged from their parents upon crossing the border undocumented, bans of entry into the USA based on cultural identity (Muslims), publicly mocking disabled people, and referring to a free-press as “fake news” because they speak out against the narrative of the alt-right, or question it. Those illustrations are not characteristic of a healthy thriving democratic country, but that of a near banana republic. The list is endless. I do not recall other republican administrations in very recent decades ever being vitriolic towards pillars of democracy, or hostile towards asylum seekers, refugees, and other undocumented immigrants.

Daniel Jonah Goldhagen explained in his book “Hitler’s Willing Executioners” how ordinary people came to believe that a single agent (the Jews) were responsible for what ailed Germany at that time. Hitler was able to tap into what belief system which was already there. That believe system was in an exceptionalism of the German people. That exceptionalism enabled the Nazis, and much of the population to dehumanize what they did not consider German. Those were groups who they believed to be the source of their country’s problems — the Jews, along with other groups that they deemed deviant, or unworthy of being a member of their cult of a master race.

What was particularly striking about Goldhagen's book (outside of the horrific descriptions of the persecutions during those times), were the similarities between Third-party supporters, Trump supporters, and the Brexiteers and those ordinary citizens in 1930s Germany. The shades of orange people are those “ordinary people” who Goldhagen describes. These “ordinary” shades of orange people maybe your neighbor, some of your colleagues, or your life-long friend from high-school. They might not emerge right away, but I have observed over the last two years, how these people slowly shed their veneer revealing all. Believe it when you see it.

Trump managed to tap into that same near-mystical concept of superiority (exceptionalism), that plagues the USA. Nigel Farage did the same thing across the pond in the United Kingdom by manufacturing the need to leave the European Union through lies and spreading fear about immigration, the NHS, and a disruption of sovereignty. The belief in the British Empire as virtuous, and an almost mystical belief in superiority and the good ol’ days runs deep in the same way as exceptionalism runs deep in America.

The USA and the UK have many things in common one of which is the inherent belief in exceptionalism. Exceptionalism is powerful, and a dangerous belief system because we can justify anything in the name of being superior. Being superior allows us to dehumanize groups, and become authoritarian. The historical outline in Goldhagen’s book shows how ideas are spread like a virus throughout a culture, and passed down from generation to generation.

Richard Dawkins, in his book, “The Selfish Gene” called ideologies “memes”. Memes are passed down like genes. We inherit ideas like we do genetic traits. Ideas spread like virus and replicate, sometimes mutating and becoming more viral -- intense. For example, “Make America Great Again” is a meme that spread like a virus. Nigel Farage’s UKIP campaign poster of, “Breaking point: the EU has failed us all” with a photo not of Syrian refugees, but migrants crossing the Croatia-Slovenia border in 2015. The meme was a lie to deliberately conflate the Syrian refuge crisis with EU-immigration. The meme spread fear, and galvanized xenophobia. Both worked.

Third-party Hillary-haters who just could not vote for Hillary are a mere shade of orange from the current resident in the White House, and his fan-base. This shade of orange has helped normalize Trump by even suggesting that the Democrats held the same policies as this administration. A friend recently described Trump as a symptom of this country. The shades of orange, are the agents. The agents spread the viruses (lies) contributing to this country’s chronic sickness.

The aforementioned countries never looked in the mirror and examined who they were. No introspection. A population does not look inward when they believe they are the best. When you imagine you are the brightest bulb on the tree, you don’t see how bright the other bulbs are shinning too. We are in trouble; a vortex from which we cannot escape. At least not for decades. Right now, there appears to be no antidote for the disease of exceptionalism that plagues both nations.


A collage of Facebook posts selected from over 200 screen shots that I took from my feed during and immediately after the 2016 presidential elections.

Saturday, March 12, 2016

The Giants

tall and stupid
they carry on
oh how some wish
they be gone!
stumbling
bumbling fools
brandishing fists
admonishing, astonishing
crushing us all

hour after hour
they stand tall
egos rising above them all
stumbling
bumbling fools
brandishing fists
admonishing, astonishing
crushing us all

the little people
they yell and holla
"they're here to make us great 'n' talla!"
silly, angry little people
stop, look and see
stumbling
bumbling fools
brandishing fists
admonishing, astonishing
crushing us all

stop! stop! pay attention all!
crush the fools
reject it all
don't sing along with those
stumbling
bumbling fools
brandishing fists
admonishing, astonishing
crushing us all

The gates of hate
hold the enemy inside
the closed minds
trap you and hide
it's how the tall
stumbling
bumbling fools
brandishing fists
admonishing, astonishing
crush us all

the giants remain
in spite of our call
stop! stop! these
stumbling
bumbling fools
brandishing fists
admonishing, astonishing
crushing us all

The giants blame the little folk
ain't it all a flipping joke?
laugh'n harder, and louder
stumbling
bumbling fools
brandishing fists
admonishing, astonishing
They've crushed us all

Saturday, January 17, 2015

Stand up to Elephants

A giant question mark hung over the world asking how France would respond to the massacre committed by Islamic terrorists at the Charlie Hebdo office. The answer was a surprise. On that fateful Wednesday of January 7th, 2015, the French did not announce the attack as an "act of war" or declare a "war on terror." And they did not react by calling upon allied nations to bomb or invade another nation in retaliation for such a heinous act. Instead of loading magazines in machine guns, writers and cartoonists joined together in the spirit of satire by putting pen to paper to fire rounds of words and cartoons at the absurdity of the murderous assault on the freedom of expression enjoyed by the free world.

France and the rest of the free-world was not going to be silenced by terror. The world's army of cartoonists delivered an important message on the value of freedom of expression. A plethora of cartoons, street art, and articles condemning the attack emerged over social media, and the press. One cartoonist illustrated the message with a diminutive figure of a terrorist holding a smoking rifle cowering in a corner surrounded by the biggest, and most effective of weapons; an array of pens aiming at him from the sky. Another cartoonist, from the Daily Telegraph responded in defiance with an illustration of a group of terrorists about to storm the offices of Charlie Hebdo and being warned, "Be careful, they may have pens..."

The following Sunday, France and other members of nearby European countries came together to attend unity rallies in Paris and across the country. The unity and solidarity of the rallies transcended age, ethnicity, political affiliation, faith, and socioeconomic status. The scene of one and a half million people swarming around Paris was a moving one. Reporters on national television conveyed the atmosphere and public responses. Francois Hollande announced, "Paris is the capital of the world today. Nothing stops France. With three revolutions; a reign of terror; the Nazi occupation, and subsequent liberation, the people of France know more than anyone, the value of liberty, and freedom of expression.

The French understand that being offended does not afford offended parties any protection from being offended. They do not compromise freedom of expression in the form of excessive political correctness. Nothing illustrates this more when Charlie Hebdo published its first edition after the massacre with a caricature of Muhammad on its front cover with the caption, "Tout est Pardonne'. Alas, media outlets failed to follow suit.

What followed, can only be described as a hypocritical act of betrayal by mainstream news sources when they failed to support Charlie Hebdo. Newspapers published only the top half of the front cover omitting the cartoon of Muhammad. SkyNews in the UK showed the ultimate cowardice in an act of self-censorship by cutting off Charlie Hebdo writer, Caroline Fourest in the middle of a live broadcast when she went to hold up the magazine cover for viewers. The news anchor even went on to "apologize for any offense caused."

It should be no surprise that France is the birthplace of enlightenment that eventually freed her from the reins of oppression by religion and tyrannous monarchies. It should be no surprise that writer, Evelyn Beatrice Hall summed up the French philosopher Voltaire's view of freedom of expression with "I disapprove with everything you say, but will defend to the death your right to say it." The staff at Charlie Hebdo died defending that right. Sadly, we betrayed them.

The rest of us should allow France and Charlie Hebdo to lead by example and not be pinned against the wall by the elephant in the room that is called religion. To deny ideology as a factor in oppression, war and terrorism is to disregard part of the problems of unshakable belief systems. On January, 7th, we were all Charlie Hebdo. Let's not stop there.





Monday, June 23, 2014

Hidden views

From the high trails of an Island across the bay, a cityscape gleamed and sparkled in the haze of an early morning sun. Silver slithers shimmered from east to west from across the bay. White horses decorated with diamonds speckled the bay and sparkled as they bobbed up and down in their azure blue arena. Occasionally, a flair of color would help the white horses along their way. Thin wisps of early morning fairy-tail mist enveloped a small island castle like fingers hiding a secret. White wispy fingers reached out across the bay and crept under the red span of a bridge whose towers watched over the enchanted city. The city shone and glistened like a jewel in a crown as sunbeams bounced around glass towers piercing the blue. Alas, this enchanting surreal scene exists only in the eyes of a few.

Hidden behind those sparkles are boxes of burnt-out candles entrapped in a cage of age, loneliness and poverty. Their flames long extinguished, the candles remain boxed up and invisible, but other candles burn through the night. Twinkling champagne juxtaposes extinguished flames.

The silver slivers are snakes of black with holes in their back squished by heat and heavy machinery slugging lost candles from hilltops to dark boxes below.

Those beautiful white horses had the wind in their sails whilst lifeless candles hid behind screens unseen by horses, champagne and flames. The unlit candles remain in their dark box waiting, and waiting for a match to strike that will signify their dawn... Locked in their box, not seeing the sunrise or the sunset, they never know when it is day or night.

And so it was; way up high on that lonesome trail where everything seemed so still. The scene was just a screen forming a backdrop for what is rarely seen.

Tuesday, June 3, 2014

Not Me

Sitting in an office 9-5
following deadlines

not me

why me?
it doesn't have to be
why think it of me
because you want it to be


overwhelmed
appointments
for appearance
hair
nails
facial
wax
(well may be a wax)

not me

meetings
brown bag lunches
fake breaks
games

not me

climb dizzy heights
up a corporate ladder
lose your footing
half-way up

not me

feet firmly bound
to the ground
stress free
with autonomy

that's me

wine sun
beers and cheers
chat and relax

that's me

so heed of my plea
listen to me
leave me be
to be me


Friday, January 10, 2014

Oh No, You Don't!



[This is an original piece that I wrote for Allvoices.com illustrating the different decision making processes and the battles of the Id, ego and superego.Original Article - November 5, 2010 

The infamous boots


Oh yes you do! And so the fight between the Id and the Superego continues. Your battle of so-called inner voices in very urgent irrational decision making processes are what Sigmund Fraud, I mean Freud (Freudian slip intended) called our stages of sexual development. The “Id” is our impulse of want and needs instant gratification. The Id, according to Freud, is our basic instinct. However, the battles of our want and needs clearly extended beyond sexuality as I experienced last week when a local shoe store beckoned me with their tantalizing recession-proof “Sale” signs screaming claims of “up to 70% off” emblazoned across the store-front window. Seemingly, it was an offer that I didn’t want to refuse. Well at least that is what my Id told me, but according to Freud, my superego had other ideas which I really did not want to hear. The superego is our “inner parent.” The superego tells us “No!” when all we really want to hear is “Yes.” My superego tells me, “There is no point in looking because you can’t buy anyway...” Our superego is where we internalize our moral judgment based on how we are socialized and is responsible for the nagging guilt we sometimes feel. My Id disagrees and appeals to my latest boot fetish, “There are some good deals that have your name on them! They are yours and they’re on sale!” I enter with caution like a lamb to the slaughter amid rows of shoes and boots that indeed were up to 70% off. My ego so far keeps me in check. The ego is what Freud called the balancing force between the Id. Our ego keeps our Id and Superego in check -- on a good day of judgment. It is where we make decisions that we are aware of. It is the umpire between the fighting forces of Id and Superego that we experience in the throes of a shopping spree. The Id appeals to our basic instincts whereas the superego is our inner Nancy Reagan  that wants to “just say no.”


Meanwhile, I am lost among a sea of shag me shoes and fuck-me boots all in my size and color. In a fog of calculations of 40% off, 30% off signs, I spot a pair of four-inch heel thigh high fuck-me boots. I try them on and pull them over my thigh over the tight jeans I have on. Oh yeah! At this point, my Superego starts to scream, “You’ll never wear them! You’re wasting your money! You cannot justify this expense! You already have 2 pairs of black boots!” “But,” my Id ego weighs in, “these are different! These boots have your name on them. You need these boots! They make you feel like a whore! There is something empowering about that!” Goodness knows why, but actually there is something empowering about that. I am not trying to intellectualize here, but attempting to demonstrate the irrationality of the subconscious mind versus the rational mind. While the battle continues, my ego needs approval; vindication of the “wrong” that I am about to commit. I take out my iPhone and take a photo of me in them in a hooker-like stance in front of a mirror and post it to my Facebook profile with the caption, “I soooo want these boots! Should I get them?” Needless to say, my friends positively reinforced me with comments, like “Cor yeah!” and “Wear them when you next see me! lol” exclaimed some male friends. Girlfriends backed my “dilemma” with, “Go get ‘em girl! You deserve them!” I immediately had confirmation from very reliable sources that I should go ahead with said purchase. Needless to say I followed their sound recommendations. Ignoring my superego with the nagging chiding of, “How are you going to explain this to significant other at home?” I proceeded to the check out regardless of the unanswered question reverberating in my mind.

I ventured homeward bound up Powell Street amid tourist shoppers, feeling proud of my “deal” yet guilty at the same time. After all, I really couldn’t justify $70 when I already had two pair of black boots. My superego was starting to kick in too little too late. Later on that evening when I met a friend for cocktails, she admired my purchase, and I smiled. There are times when validation is worth every penny, no matter what the id, ego or superego says.

Friday, November 8, 2013

Creative Writing Project: Dancing

Dancing. What happened to it? Classical dancing like ball-room, tap, jazz, swing remain intact, but modern dancing has fallen off the floor. Does footwork now mean the kicking that someone receives after crossing someone at a rap concert?

For real footwork, take a step back in time to the seventies and eighties for a glimpse of the footwork performed by, The Stylistics, Temptations, O'Jays, or The Whispers and savor the choreographed agility and synchronized moves of these artists. The 70s and 80s dances were formed by tricky twists and turns and were well choreographed to the beat. Those old school moves and grooves raised your spirit, soothed your soul, quenched your thirst for rhythm and cured your blues. Even the hybrid of "Ska" formed by a blend of a reggae and Caribbean upbeat had its unique steps resembling a cross between a hop and skip known as, "Skanking."

Recently, I found myself transformed back to the early 80s at an English Beat concert. The English Beat are a 2-tone/Ska band who during the early 80s popularized the wearing of pork-pie, Fedora hats and checkered black and white as worn by the 2-tone bands like Selector and The Specials. There were two types of people on the dance floor; those who could skank and those who watched those who could skank. The older people on the floor were those skanking. The younger people in the audience looked on.

On the one hand, remembering how to skank made me feel young again, but reminiscing to my younger friend who was twenty years my junior about how I danced to the Police's, "Walking on the Moon" made me feel old. I looked towards The Beat on stage where the members of that band were now in their fifties. Things looked and felt the same as they always did. The band members were in excellent shape and had as much energy bounding around the stage as they always did.  What's more, I too was in good shape and still had enough energy to skank the night away. My friend left a little earlier in order to get the last train home. I stayed and made my way to the front of the stage, just like I used to back in the day. And like I did back in the day, I cheered for an encore... They came back like they always do and then they left, but not before one of my "old" heroes caught my eye and shock my hand. I melted and felt young again once more. Back in the day blended with today. Today was back in the day.




Dancing Shoes

Sunday, April 28, 2013

A Tribute to Madame Bovary


you aspired to all not there
and found love you couldn't declare
lovers jilted you time and again
with no one there to dull your pain

you shielded Charles from all you knew
your true self revealed to only a few
your dreams hid under a veil of smiles
your mind meandered many fanciful miles

starved of sophistication you so admired
you sought what your heart truly desired
boredom encompassed your life external
fashions of Paris shimmered in your journal

but sadly Paris you never did see
alas your story is now history
forbidden love stole your life away
and now you'll not see another day

arsenic was the answer to your life pains
convinced you were you'd never love again
yield you couldn't to mundane contentment
your end was Charles' long death sentence

alas poor Charles he found your letters
leaving him estranged and torn in tatters
his awkwardness you grew to abhor
he hurt 'til his heart could ache no more

now Madame Bovary you'll never know
you were loved and tears for you flowed
but poor Charles just couldn't see
how both your lives were a tragedy

Madame Bovary and the bust of her creator, Gustave Flaubert

Saturday, October 1, 2011

Invisible


Darkness is falling without delay
As she wakes in her silent room
Led lights signal yet another day
More hours of persistent gloom

There's no reflection in her mirror
She only sees her invisible face
She misses all those who saw her
Perceiving her youth as full of grace

Alone she wonders around the shops
Everybody is busily running around
The faceless crowds cease to stop
Nobody hearing her silent sound

Nobody stopping just moving around
heads with no eyes blank and blind
Oblivious to others' sights and sounds
They fail to see her tumultuous mind

Nobody stopping, just running around
Mouthless heads utter useless words
Always mute to each other's sounds
She's so weary of this restless herd

She wonders why they never call
How did she become so invisible
Just always talking to a brick wall
They never listen to one syllable

Making her way towards the midspan
She silently scales the four foot fence
What a beautiful day for such a plan
Will the faceless crowd express lament

There she ponders for a little while
A passerby stops and yells hey
The shimmering sheet greets her smile
She's already in the deep blue bay

The unknown neighbors below her floor
Had never heard her dog before
The frantic bark could not be ignored
The next morning they called the law

Coast-guards found her along the shore
The heart ripped from her aorta
But really she'd gone years before
Nobody said a word not one iota

The paper makes an inch long story
Neighbors silently shake their heads
Mutter platitudes reading her obituary
She was always so quiet they said

Thursday, September 15, 2011

White Picket Fence

Oh how your garden looks so fab 
Looking like a home & garden ad 
How much time have you spent
Surrounded by a white picket fence

Waiting around for the 9:08 
Always wondering why it's late 
Time moves fast as you fall behind
Your watch is off by a decade you find

Oh dear what a crushing bore
You never looked behind before 
There's only the recording of your mind 
If only you could just rewind

What on earth have you done
But mother is proud of you my son 
Excuses excuses have you not heard
Your unseen play is so absurd

Happy family, wife and 2 kids 
Is that really all there is 
2 spare rooms mortgage paid
Bare as your future I'm afraid

Gaps wide open as a patio door
Garden furniture adorns the floor
Oh what a splendidly well-kept lawn 
Inside you suddenly feel forlorn

But you are the king of your castle
Trophy wife and a dog called rascal
Life is evaporating like a morning dew
And suddenly you ask where are you 

The question burns deep inside
A voice taunts your life is a lie
The unanswered question inside remains
Will you answer or just go insane 



Thursday, September 8, 2011

The Herd

A herd of cows behind the horse
Draws nearer ominously
I'm wary of these faltering beasts
They act so stupidly

Who are these mindless bovine
Slowly surrounding me
I lay afraid of their fear not mine
As they peer down curiously

Fear grows as they crowd around
I'm feeling their malevolence
I need to get up from the ground
And escape their omnipresence

I find myself pinned to a wall
My pleas for help unheard
I'm overwhelmed can't breath at all
Panicking amid this mindless herd

I turn around and see a door
And reach around to open
Why didn't I see this door before
Perhaps I should look more often


Pretending

Oh how your life is so drab
19 years and so full of life
I feel your love within

And that is not your love
The young man by your side
For he will never see
Your love buried deep within

Whatever you chose
Be real and true
Because right now

You are faking it my friend ....

Friday, September 2, 2011

Clowns










The laughing clowns are everywhere
The audience just stop and stare
Their large baggy pants look ridiculous
Yet the style remains so ubiquitous

Oblivious to the never ending circus
The audience remains without purpose
They look up to their current messiah
Who just turns into another liar

These circus clowns are just too slick
The audience miss yet another trick
The clowns get by it's no surprise
When faces gaze with such blind eyes

Throwing the audience pieces of bread
How they love to be mindlessly fed
Obediently applauding for an encore
Clowns simply comply and sling some more

A silent audience and chattering box
Mouths wide open absorbing the plot
Blaming their lot on the union man
Asking the bank for a helping hand

Clowns play the audience another tune
Will the audience sing along so soon?
They'll watch and obey each circus act
Without a clue of the hidden facts

Clowns repeating the same old verse
Different tune but same old words
The audience singing in perfect time
Reciting each verse like a nursery rhyme

They gravitate towards ringing bells
And listen to warnings of impending hell
Happy to engage in mindless rituals
Oh bizarre behavior is so habitual

Watching closely the clown on stage
Hanging on to every word of praise
How can they believe in the silly hat?
And be so comforted by silly acts

Monday morning as the clock stricks nine
They'll waste an hour of company time
They'll gasp at the sight of falling stocks
And wonder why the farce won't stop