You probably never thought Wall Street as a frontier town, but that is just what it is in the minds who occupy it. It is the last great place where you can make a fortune without fear of regulation and rules. You can mine for whatever you want and even make up products that never existed before you invented them. It is the last frontier where the sharp guys from the East finally outsmart the cowboys and end up owning the ranch. The Western has been replaced by the Eastern.
No sheriff need apply. As soon as there is any mention of a sheriff, the Wall Street gun-slingers try to stonewall the suggestion, insisting that they have things under control, or if they don’t, the Market (God) will provide the correction necessary to bring justice sooner or later. Trust in the Market, they say.
There is no other money moving institution left on earth that does not have some sort of regulation or accountability imposed on the players. That’s what makes Wall Street the last frontier, the Dodge City of the 21st Century.
For example, even in one of the most rough and tumble worlds in existence, the NFL, the players are not left to merely say “my bad” when they make a mistake such as hitting someone out of bounds or grabbing a face mask. They are penalized by referees who manage the game and impose regulations agreed upon by the owners to protect their investments, keep the game sustainable, and exercise justice.
In the recent Wall Street catastrophe, by contrast, there was not only no accountability for error, there was not even an apology forthcoming from any Wall Street banker, other than from Bernie Madoff after he had been caught with his hand in the biggest cookie jar ever. Deregulation clearly had led to chaos.
We as Americans love Westerns. We love the idea of being able to do whatever we want whenever we want to do it. However, we have generally agreed on rules and constraints in almost every sphere of life except on Wall Street. We may not like the specifics of some rules, but we are not disobeying those rules in large numbers. We tend to be law-abiding citizens. Besides, in most Westerns there is a sheriff who sooner or later exercises justice.
In the traditional Western, the good guys wore the white hats, the bad guys the black with slightly shorter brims, and the nerds wore Eastern clothes with a derby. Occasionally the derby was a bad guy, but most of the time he needed the defense of the white hats against the black. The white hats always won in the end, and the derby was either saved or marginalized.
How is it, then, that we have allowed the American Western narrative to be taken over by the Eastern where the nerdy investment banker “gets the girl”? It is an appalling metamorphosis and probably explains why the second amendment is so popular with the Western-minded “cowboys” who drive their pick-ups to their militia gatherings on weekends. They are trying to hang on to the last vestige of the narrative they were taught to believe but have been emasculated by the Easterner who has made Wall Street the “false” last frontier.
The increase in gun purchase of late has more to do with this transformation in the American narrative than any other single factor. Much has been said about it being the result of the election of a black President. That’s true for some but for most it is a deflection or scape-goat for the resentment of the more invisible or amorphous Wall Street nerd who, like the Wizard of Oz, is hidden from sight, unexposed, and therefore hard to scope as a visible target. Obama’s inaction to date keeps him firmly linked to the Eastern narrative in the minds of many.
Until the government makes clear that it will regulate this last and essentially un-Western frontier, the Western narrative will remain resurrected and just as dangerous in its own way as the Eastern narrative of wild Wall Street as Dodge City.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Friday, December 25, 2009
And the Capons Keep Scratching Around*
I have a new, more fitting symbol for the Republican Party. The elephant never was an appropriate mascot for the GOP because the beast is not native to America. You might argue that it is appropriate because the elephant belongs in a zoo or a circus and should not be allowed to run wild in America. I, in turn, would argue that now that the elephant is “in the room” or “on the table,” he is no longer something anyone wants to recognize or discuss. Although the elephant may never forget, what he remembers is some kind of good old days that never existed. His past is a foreign country, not America.
The donkey is a good fit for Democrats. He’s a steady worker, doesn’t lose its cool in adversity, and goes where no mere horse would dare. He helped settle the West. He may be stubborn, but he is able to tackle any terrain with confidence. He sometimes makes an ass of himself, but generally he is dependably dedicated to whatever work needs to be done.
The new symbol I would suggest for the GOP is the capon, a rooster without reproductive capacity. The capon gets fatter and tastier than a rooster, and projects an image of power and stature, but is essentially sterile and impotent. It’s a sort of Baby Huey: large and soft, mostly in the head.
Like the elephant, the capon in sufficient numbers can serve as a roadblock. These are chickens that do not cross the road to get to the other side but make certain nobody gets down the road to progress no matter what. They just sit in the middle of the road to somewhere better and squawk about how the Democrats are on the road to damnation when, in fact, the road is clearly one to real progress.
These capons are a cross between Chicken Little and Foghorn Leghorn: they cackle about socialism or whatever ism other than capitalism lurks in their nightmares, but are too paralyzed by the dead weight of their own convictions to move. They stay their course to nowhere, never offering any direction that does not loop back to where it started or put resources where they are least needed.
The capon is also fitting because it is almost entirely white meat. As an example, just look at Mitch McConnell. Doesn’t he look like a capon? And doesn’t Mitch kind of talk like one would talk if it could? Yes, I know, Rush Limbaugh looks much more like a capon than does Mitch McConnell. Still, can’t you envision the whole Republican caucus with their hands in their pockets scratching around some barnyard looking for a grain of truth among the scattered kernels of their philosophy? Mostly their philosophy is only so much cracked corn.
Let’s go with the capon. It is a new face on an old image, but a more appropriate one for these modern times.
* not to be confused with: "And the Caissons Keep Marching Along"
The donkey is a good fit for Democrats. He’s a steady worker, doesn’t lose its cool in adversity, and goes where no mere horse would dare. He helped settle the West. He may be stubborn, but he is able to tackle any terrain with confidence. He sometimes makes an ass of himself, but generally he is dependably dedicated to whatever work needs to be done.
The new symbol I would suggest for the GOP is the capon, a rooster without reproductive capacity. The capon gets fatter and tastier than a rooster, and projects an image of power and stature, but is essentially sterile and impotent. It’s a sort of Baby Huey: large and soft, mostly in the head.
Like the elephant, the capon in sufficient numbers can serve as a roadblock. These are chickens that do not cross the road to get to the other side but make certain nobody gets down the road to progress no matter what. They just sit in the middle of the road to somewhere better and squawk about how the Democrats are on the road to damnation when, in fact, the road is clearly one to real progress.
These capons are a cross between Chicken Little and Foghorn Leghorn: they cackle about socialism or whatever ism other than capitalism lurks in their nightmares, but are too paralyzed by the dead weight of their own convictions to move. They stay their course to nowhere, never offering any direction that does not loop back to where it started or put resources where they are least needed.
The capon is also fitting because it is almost entirely white meat. As an example, just look at Mitch McConnell. Doesn’t he look like a capon? And doesn’t Mitch kind of talk like one would talk if it could? Yes, I know, Rush Limbaugh looks much more like a capon than does Mitch McConnell. Still, can’t you envision the whole Republican caucus with their hands in their pockets scratching around some barnyard looking for a grain of truth among the scattered kernels of their philosophy? Mostly their philosophy is only so much cracked corn.
Let’s go with the capon. It is a new face on an old image, but a more appropriate one for these modern times.
* not to be confused with: "And the Caissons Keep Marching Along"
Thursday, December 24, 2009
A Tale of Three Movies
Every Christmas I go to the movies more than I do at any other time of the year. I prefer to read good books if I can, but during the time around Christmas there are usually enough good reviews of movies to help me overcome some inertia, get off the reading couch, and get to the theatre.
This Christmas season I have seen three movies so far: two “feel good” flicks and one “feel bad” couched as a comedy. I happened to see the “feel bad” one first, and it turned out to be the best film of the three, partly because it portrayed most successfully and deeply one of the shallowest characters ever brought to life on page or film. That film is Up in the Air starring George Clooney as the cliché-ridden corporate downsizing surrogate who flies around the country firing employees so that cowardly managers can float above the discomfort that might arise from doing it themselves. His secret goal in life is to attain 10 million miles on American Airlines and thus achieve a status only a few frequent fliers have ever reached. If that isn’t shallow enough, he has a fling with a female fellow traveler, only to end up the victim of the very false sincerity and life compartmentalization he peddles.
The second movie I saw was Invictus, Clint Eastwood’s adaptation of the story by John Carlin of the developing relationship between Nelson Mandela and Francois Pienaar, the captain of the Springbok Rugby team and prominent symbol of the apartheid regime Mandela had just replaced by his election as President of South Africa. The book is titled Playing the Enemy, a title Eastwood dropped in favor of the title of the Victorian poem Mandela had memorized in captivity and used as his inspiration to keep himself from ever losing hope during his nearly three decades of imprisonment on Robben Island. Mandela is played by Morgan Freeman, who creates an image of Mandela as someone positioned between, say, Abraham Lincoln and God. Of course, playing God is old hat to Freeman who actually did so in the movie Bruce Almighty. Therefore, it is no wonder Freeman is able to infuse savior-like qualities into Mandela’s character. By the end of the movie whatever racial tension had been simmering in the country is resolved for a triumphant moment: South Africa wins the World Cup on its home turf and brings together in celebration the new nation without having to arise out of the ashes of civil war.
The third movie was The Blind Side, also based on a true story. This is a modern version of a Horatio Alger Jr. story in which an abandoned, gigantic, educationally malnourished and traumatized young African-American is taken in by an upscale white family. He had been recruited by a football coach at a Memphis Christian private day school that the white family’s kids attend. The person who takes the lead in both the movie and family is the mother, played by Sandra Bullock. The black youth is young Michael Oher, who, thanks primarily to the mother’s love and inspiration, becomes a star lineman for the school and eventually for Ole Miss.
A turning point occurs toward the end of the movie as Michael is trying to make the 2.5 grade point average necessary to qualify for a Division I college scholarship. It all hinges on a final essay, whose topic his adoptive “father”(Tim McGraw) suggests. It is a poem by Tennyson, “The Charge of the Light Brigade” that Michael identifies with, thanks to his “father’s” football allegory interpretation. Michael is able to analyze the poem successfully, finally pleasing his heretofore cynical English teacher to earn the scholarship.
Conspiracy theorists would insist that Hollywood’s turning to Victorian poetry for inspiration means they are up to some kind of bizarre leverage or subliminal messaging, but these two “feel good” films could not be philosophically further from each other. They are meant to move whole different species of human sensibilities. The movie Invictus is about the successful, bloodless revolution of South Africa in which the black majority gains representative power over the white minority that has ruled for centuries. It is about justice on a grand scale, not a personal one. It is about a hero who brings peace and hope to a whole country, not to just one individual or to one sector.
The Blind Side, on the other hand, is a personal “feel good” movie if there ever was one. It shows the individual actions of white individuals, identified as Republicans at one point when they hire a tutor (Kathy Bates), who happens to be a Democrat, to support their new “black son.” They gloat the irony of having a black son before they have ever even met a Democrat. They courageously reach out to a lost young man with lots of hidden potential and help him become a success on his own terms. He chooses his destiny, as the film painstakingly elaborates and insists. The family only helps him get there. The implied conclusion is: See? If Michael can do it, any one of those other guys back in the ghetto could have too, but they turned their backs on their opportunities and sank back down into the sucking morass of drugs, gangs, and violence. In short, it shows that it does not take a village to raise a child; it takes strong individuals who reach out from their stronghold of financial security and individual courage to do the right thing. It’s the few, the tough, the marines, the 600 (Light Brigade). “Theirs not to reason why, theirs but to do and die.”
It is manifold irony that two very different films involving race cite two Victorian poems written at the height of the British Empire, the ultimate manifestation of colonialism One poem is passed along from black leader to white; the other from white father to black son. The words of “Invictus” (meaning unconquerable), the poem by Henley, inspire hope for eventual justice for a whole country but are essentially about trusting yourself as the sole source of inspiration (I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul). In contrast, “The Charge of the Light Brigade” says, even if our leaders (the adults in our lives) are wrong, we must do our duty, uphold our honor, and show our courage no matter what. We must do it for the team! Both are incredibly individualistic inspirations that find application in such different ways: one to a whole country, one to a young man.
For Mandela, who is alienated from his family as he takes hold of the Presidency, sees the whole country as his family. He takes the time to learn the names of each of the Springbok players and as much personal information as he can about each. The movie shows Peinaar (Matt Damon) as the primary figure on the team, but we get to meet other individuals, including the black member of the otherwise white squad.
In The Blind Side, Michael’s football team members are nameless and faceless. His “team” is the Tuohy family that adopts him. Their uniqueness and goodness as a family serves as the base from which Michael will launch himself as a unique individual. He has his team, and it is the nuclear family. Mandela’s envisions his team as a whole country.
Is it just the difference between wholesale and retail? I think not. It is the difference between two completely different notions of freedom and justice: one is individual, self-contained, small scale. The other involves finding freedom and justice in belonging to something larger than the self; the larger, the better. One is libertarian; the other liberal. Both are valid, just as the microscope and wide-angle lens have their respective purposes. The question is: can we make room for both in our lives?
I wonder how long it would take for redemption or reconciliation to take hold if we rely solely on the goodness of individuals like the Tuohy family? On the other hand, there are still destitute townships in South Africa where poverty is alive and well. The provision of basic housing and sanitation is long in coming. Mandela’s rainbow coalition is still a dream, held back by a populace still slow to change, both black and white.
So far in America, we keep arguing about which is better: structural or individual justice. Maybe it is time to quit trying to dismiss one in favor of the other. Maybe both are the answer.
This Christmas season I have seen three movies so far: two “feel good” flicks and one “feel bad” couched as a comedy. I happened to see the “feel bad” one first, and it turned out to be the best film of the three, partly because it portrayed most successfully and deeply one of the shallowest characters ever brought to life on page or film. That film is Up in the Air starring George Clooney as the cliché-ridden corporate downsizing surrogate who flies around the country firing employees so that cowardly managers can float above the discomfort that might arise from doing it themselves. His secret goal in life is to attain 10 million miles on American Airlines and thus achieve a status only a few frequent fliers have ever reached. If that isn’t shallow enough, he has a fling with a female fellow traveler, only to end up the victim of the very false sincerity and life compartmentalization he peddles.
The second movie I saw was Invictus, Clint Eastwood’s adaptation of the story by John Carlin of the developing relationship between Nelson Mandela and Francois Pienaar, the captain of the Springbok Rugby team and prominent symbol of the apartheid regime Mandela had just replaced by his election as President of South Africa. The book is titled Playing the Enemy, a title Eastwood dropped in favor of the title of the Victorian poem Mandela had memorized in captivity and used as his inspiration to keep himself from ever losing hope during his nearly three decades of imprisonment on Robben Island. Mandela is played by Morgan Freeman, who creates an image of Mandela as someone positioned between, say, Abraham Lincoln and God. Of course, playing God is old hat to Freeman who actually did so in the movie Bruce Almighty. Therefore, it is no wonder Freeman is able to infuse savior-like qualities into Mandela’s character. By the end of the movie whatever racial tension had been simmering in the country is resolved for a triumphant moment: South Africa wins the World Cup on its home turf and brings together in celebration the new nation without having to arise out of the ashes of civil war.
The third movie was The Blind Side, also based on a true story. This is a modern version of a Horatio Alger Jr. story in which an abandoned, gigantic, educationally malnourished and traumatized young African-American is taken in by an upscale white family. He had been recruited by a football coach at a Memphis Christian private day school that the white family’s kids attend. The person who takes the lead in both the movie and family is the mother, played by Sandra Bullock. The black youth is young Michael Oher, who, thanks primarily to the mother’s love and inspiration, becomes a star lineman for the school and eventually for Ole Miss.
A turning point occurs toward the end of the movie as Michael is trying to make the 2.5 grade point average necessary to qualify for a Division I college scholarship. It all hinges on a final essay, whose topic his adoptive “father”(Tim McGraw) suggests. It is a poem by Tennyson, “The Charge of the Light Brigade” that Michael identifies with, thanks to his “father’s” football allegory interpretation. Michael is able to analyze the poem successfully, finally pleasing his heretofore cynical English teacher to earn the scholarship.
Conspiracy theorists would insist that Hollywood’s turning to Victorian poetry for inspiration means they are up to some kind of bizarre leverage or subliminal messaging, but these two “feel good” films could not be philosophically further from each other. They are meant to move whole different species of human sensibilities. The movie Invictus is about the successful, bloodless revolution of South Africa in which the black majority gains representative power over the white minority that has ruled for centuries. It is about justice on a grand scale, not a personal one. It is about a hero who brings peace and hope to a whole country, not to just one individual or to one sector.
The Blind Side, on the other hand, is a personal “feel good” movie if there ever was one. It shows the individual actions of white individuals, identified as Republicans at one point when they hire a tutor (Kathy Bates), who happens to be a Democrat, to support their new “black son.” They gloat the irony of having a black son before they have ever even met a Democrat. They courageously reach out to a lost young man with lots of hidden potential and help him become a success on his own terms. He chooses his destiny, as the film painstakingly elaborates and insists. The family only helps him get there. The implied conclusion is: See? If Michael can do it, any one of those other guys back in the ghetto could have too, but they turned their backs on their opportunities and sank back down into the sucking morass of drugs, gangs, and violence. In short, it shows that it does not take a village to raise a child; it takes strong individuals who reach out from their stronghold of financial security and individual courage to do the right thing. It’s the few, the tough, the marines, the 600 (Light Brigade). “Theirs not to reason why, theirs but to do and die.”
It is manifold irony that two very different films involving race cite two Victorian poems written at the height of the British Empire, the ultimate manifestation of colonialism One poem is passed along from black leader to white; the other from white father to black son. The words of “Invictus” (meaning unconquerable), the poem by Henley, inspire hope for eventual justice for a whole country but are essentially about trusting yourself as the sole source of inspiration (I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul). In contrast, “The Charge of the Light Brigade” says, even if our leaders (the adults in our lives) are wrong, we must do our duty, uphold our honor, and show our courage no matter what. We must do it for the team! Both are incredibly individualistic inspirations that find application in such different ways: one to a whole country, one to a young man.
For Mandela, who is alienated from his family as he takes hold of the Presidency, sees the whole country as his family. He takes the time to learn the names of each of the Springbok players and as much personal information as he can about each. The movie shows Peinaar (Matt Damon) as the primary figure on the team, but we get to meet other individuals, including the black member of the otherwise white squad.
In The Blind Side, Michael’s football team members are nameless and faceless. His “team” is the Tuohy family that adopts him. Their uniqueness and goodness as a family serves as the base from which Michael will launch himself as a unique individual. He has his team, and it is the nuclear family. Mandela’s envisions his team as a whole country.
Is it just the difference between wholesale and retail? I think not. It is the difference between two completely different notions of freedom and justice: one is individual, self-contained, small scale. The other involves finding freedom and justice in belonging to something larger than the self; the larger, the better. One is libertarian; the other liberal. Both are valid, just as the microscope and wide-angle lens have their respective purposes. The question is: can we make room for both in our lives?
I wonder how long it would take for redemption or reconciliation to take hold if we rely solely on the goodness of individuals like the Tuohy family? On the other hand, there are still destitute townships in South Africa where poverty is alive and well. The provision of basic housing and sanitation is long in coming. Mandela’s rainbow coalition is still a dream, held back by a populace still slow to change, both black and white.
So far in America, we keep arguing about which is better: structural or individual justice. Maybe it is time to quit trying to dismiss one in favor of the other. Maybe both are the answer.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Greek Mythology, American Reality
Once upon a time, but not that long ago, a country was founded by some folks who wanted to throw off the yoke of monarchy and see if they could create a democracy or at least a republic of the people, by the people, and for the people.
It grew steadily for two centuries until it became the world’s leading country and leader of the free world. At the time it assumed this lofty status, it also declared that a thing called a corporation could be considered a person and would acquire some of the same rights and privileges that a real person in that society already had. These special “persons,” who had been mere corporations before they were blessed with personhood, began to grow and grow to such gigantic proportions that they began to assume positions in that culture that rivaled the powers of mythological gods of Ancient Greece, had those ancient gods been real.
Unlike those great titans of old, these new “gods” who claimed the status of persons but who were often faceless, unless they were called before Congress, grew in real power to such a great degree that they began to rule not only the country that spawned them but the world itself. Politicians around the world and especially in the homeland of these neo-titans began to serve the titans rather than the people. Eventually the former world nations acquired new names such as, Wells Fargo, Microsoft, Exxon-Mobil, Pfizer, Halliburton, Health One, and even General Motors.
Some real people feared these titans and believed that they were conspiring to take over the world, but the reality was they were simply doing what they were born to do: make lots of money for their handlers and followers and eliminate the competition, usually by swallowing them whole.
The real people continued to worship their ancestral gods and prayed that these new “gods” would stop the warring or collapse of their own weight but they were too big to fail. Or they worshipped the products these new gods offered instead of praying to the old gods. Enough privileged real people kept betting on them and reaped great dividends until there were no more resources that the gods could extract.
Finally, these titans fouled their planet to the extent that it was no longer habitable to human kind and the planet died. All that was left was a vast wasteland of boiling water and desert without any sign of life.
Ozymandias (by Shelley, 1818)
I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
It grew steadily for two centuries until it became the world’s leading country and leader of the free world. At the time it assumed this lofty status, it also declared that a thing called a corporation could be considered a person and would acquire some of the same rights and privileges that a real person in that society already had. These special “persons,” who had been mere corporations before they were blessed with personhood, began to grow and grow to such gigantic proportions that they began to assume positions in that culture that rivaled the powers of mythological gods of Ancient Greece, had those ancient gods been real.
Unlike those great titans of old, these new “gods” who claimed the status of persons but who were often faceless, unless they were called before Congress, grew in real power to such a great degree that they began to rule not only the country that spawned them but the world itself. Politicians around the world and especially in the homeland of these neo-titans began to serve the titans rather than the people. Eventually the former world nations acquired new names such as, Wells Fargo, Microsoft, Exxon-Mobil, Pfizer, Halliburton, Health One, and even General Motors.
Some real people feared these titans and believed that they were conspiring to take over the world, but the reality was they were simply doing what they were born to do: make lots of money for their handlers and followers and eliminate the competition, usually by swallowing them whole.
The real people continued to worship their ancestral gods and prayed that these new “gods” would stop the warring or collapse of their own weight but they were too big to fail. Or they worshipped the products these new gods offered instead of praying to the old gods. Enough privileged real people kept betting on them and reaped great dividends until there were no more resources that the gods could extract.
Finally, these titans fouled their planet to the extent that it was no longer habitable to human kind and the planet died. All that was left was a vast wasteland of boiling water and desert without any sign of life.
Ozymandias (by Shelley, 1818)
I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Pashtun Follies
Obama promised to shift our war efforts from Iraq to Afghanistan as a campaign pledge. This is one pledge I wish he had not made; but given the fact that it’s impossible, it seems, for a Democratic Presidential candidate to win by simply opposing war, he had to pick a battle somewhere. Democrats are constantly badgered by Republicans about being soft on the ism of the day. For the past decade it has been terrorism, until the recent health care debate unfolded when the Republicans also resurrected attacks about being soft on socialism. Therefore, it was not surprising that Obama chose Afghanistan, the unfinished business, the battleground country never mastered by East or West. Of course the idea of winning in Afghanistan is delusional, given its make-up, its history, and its arbitrary construct.
We can partly blame the British for the problem on two counts. The first is they partitioned what is now Pakistan and Afghanistan in 1893 with the Durand Line, which they drew when the British Empire was at its peak in the region. It defined the northern frontier for British India but in the process managed to cut in half a people who would much rather have had a country of their own out of the deal but ended up on either side of a politically arbitrary and geographically challenging border. These people are the Pashtuns.
The other count is also historical: the Brits successfully brought the clans of Scotland together as a model of clan-nation transformation, albeit they did it mostly by serving as Scotland’s arch enemy and eventual conqueror for a considerable stretch. This success has served to feed the notion that such nation-building can be done elsewhere, even in impossibly difficult terrain in remote locations, not just next door. However, the actual means of that nation-building has been forgotten or ignored.
The very word Pashtun gets a red line under it on my Microsoft Word program, which means that it is not even an official word in the Microsoft dictionary. That’s no wonder, because Pashtuns haven’t gotten much recognition or respect from the West up to this point. We hear a lot about Afghanistan and Pakistan but only occasionally hear about Pashtun regions, which have no Karzai or Zardari to hold accountable for their actions. What the Pashtuns want, of course, if they have to belong to a country in the first place, is a Pashtunistan, not serve as second class subjects of two different foreign nations. If there was any place where “we don’t need no stinking badges” applies, it is Pashtun territory. The Pashtun regions make troublesome areas in Iraq look like Amish settlements in Indiana.
Don’t expect to be ordering Pashtun equivalent of tartan clothing or bedspreads from LLBean any time soon. Bringing them under control will make herding cats look like synchronized swimming. I downloaded the Wikipedia information on Pashtun tribes and found that there were twelve pages of named tribes, clans, sub-clans, fractions, and sub-fractions that encompass the 40 plus million Pashtun people in the region. The idea that General McChrystal and company will make a lasting impression on that population has as much chance as a stone thrown into a mill pond. It will ripple for a bit and then disappear. This war is sheer folly and the result of a continual misunderstanding of the needs and hopes of the region as well as how to prevent terrorism in the U.S. Chasing Al Queda operatives back and forth between Pakistan and Afghanistan isn’t the solution.
The region is not primarily about the Taliban or Al-Queda but more about Pashtun sovereignty. If we chase Al-Queda out of Afghanistan, it will set up shop in Pakistan; if we do the reverse, they will too. At best we’ll cobble together an exit strategy that gets us out “with dignity” but we should not look for any real success in the region. The Pashtuns have to deal with all three adversaries: the Taliban, Al Queda, and us. We will not win the hearts and minds of a people who have been promised, ignored, and meddled with for centuries. And we surely won’t be waiting around to meet Karzai’s timetable of five years for developing his security force capacity and fifteen years for financial self-sustainability.
I guess if the new surge had a remote chance of succeeding, McChrystal would be an appropriate choice to lead. After all, his Scottish heritage contains some elements in common with the Pashtuns, but I don’t think the Pashtuns will be hosting a golf tournament let alone paying homage to or willingly joining an alien government, namely Karzai’s, any time soon.
We can partly blame the British for the problem on two counts. The first is they partitioned what is now Pakistan and Afghanistan in 1893 with the Durand Line, which they drew when the British Empire was at its peak in the region. It defined the northern frontier for British India but in the process managed to cut in half a people who would much rather have had a country of their own out of the deal but ended up on either side of a politically arbitrary and geographically challenging border. These people are the Pashtuns.
The other count is also historical: the Brits successfully brought the clans of Scotland together as a model of clan-nation transformation, albeit they did it mostly by serving as Scotland’s arch enemy and eventual conqueror for a considerable stretch. This success has served to feed the notion that such nation-building can be done elsewhere, even in impossibly difficult terrain in remote locations, not just next door. However, the actual means of that nation-building has been forgotten or ignored.
The very word Pashtun gets a red line under it on my Microsoft Word program, which means that it is not even an official word in the Microsoft dictionary. That’s no wonder, because Pashtuns haven’t gotten much recognition or respect from the West up to this point. We hear a lot about Afghanistan and Pakistan but only occasionally hear about Pashtun regions, which have no Karzai or Zardari to hold accountable for their actions. What the Pashtuns want, of course, if they have to belong to a country in the first place, is a Pashtunistan, not serve as second class subjects of two different foreign nations. If there was any place where “we don’t need no stinking badges” applies, it is Pashtun territory. The Pashtun regions make troublesome areas in Iraq look like Amish settlements in Indiana.
Don’t expect to be ordering Pashtun equivalent of tartan clothing or bedspreads from LLBean any time soon. Bringing them under control will make herding cats look like synchronized swimming. I downloaded the Wikipedia information on Pashtun tribes and found that there were twelve pages of named tribes, clans, sub-clans, fractions, and sub-fractions that encompass the 40 plus million Pashtun people in the region. The idea that General McChrystal and company will make a lasting impression on that population has as much chance as a stone thrown into a mill pond. It will ripple for a bit and then disappear. This war is sheer folly and the result of a continual misunderstanding of the needs and hopes of the region as well as how to prevent terrorism in the U.S. Chasing Al Queda operatives back and forth between Pakistan and Afghanistan isn’t the solution.
The region is not primarily about the Taliban or Al-Queda but more about Pashtun sovereignty. If we chase Al-Queda out of Afghanistan, it will set up shop in Pakistan; if we do the reverse, they will too. At best we’ll cobble together an exit strategy that gets us out “with dignity” but we should not look for any real success in the region. The Pashtuns have to deal with all three adversaries: the Taliban, Al Queda, and us. We will not win the hearts and minds of a people who have been promised, ignored, and meddled with for centuries. And we surely won’t be waiting around to meet Karzai’s timetable of five years for developing his security force capacity and fifteen years for financial self-sustainability.
I guess if the new surge had a remote chance of succeeding, McChrystal would be an appropriate choice to lead. After all, his Scottish heritage contains some elements in common with the Pashtuns, but I don’t think the Pashtuns will be hosting a golf tournament let alone paying homage to or willingly joining an alien government, namely Karzai’s, any time soon.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Retarding the Spark
What is “retarding the spark” you may ask? Mechanically, it is asking the engine spark plug to fire after the piston has reached full compression, not before. Retarding the spark was something you did manually to get a Ford Model A started. Also, backing off on spark advance under conditions of severe load was standard practice - e.g., climbing a steep hill with a heavy load. Today’s modern combustion engine runs most efficiently when the spark is advanced or preemptive (ignites before the engine piston has reached full compression) resulting in greater power, better fuel economy, and less pollution.
My hypothesis in this essay is this: if we backed off a bit in how we operate our cultural and human engines and “fired our plugs” in a way that took into account the steep ascents we often encounter, we would not have to run so hot all the time to be efficient and fire our human cylinders in a surge-like fashion.* In firearms terms, the advance (preemptive) ignition sequence is FIRE-AIM-READY. If we retard the spark, we have the more deliberate READY-AIM-FIRE. I am not suggesting that we go back to the Model A as a means of transportation. I am merely suggesting that as human beings we have something to learn from the model A as a saner approach to life when things get heavy. Today, we tend to surge when we ought to be more mindful of timing. We have been conditioned to believe that nearly everything in life has to be done as a preemptive strike.
The day after Thanksgiving is now called Black Friday, the most glaring evidence yet that we have elevated consumerism to a god-like status. Its ritualistic aspect and participation numbers easily eclipse those of Good Friday, a Christian sacred holiday associated with Easter, a time of reflection for Christians. The whole thrust of Black Friday is to get consumers out buying Christmas presents at bargain prices so that they get into the mind set of shopping for holiday gifts until December 25th. That kick-off of the holiday shopping season produces a full month of activity characterized by greater than normal buying frenzy. Black Friday is so named because merchants hope they will end the year “in the black” or, profitably. The stores open well before dawn to ensure consumers that they are participating in something special, almost sacred, like a sunrise Easter service, but more active, like, say, the running of the bulls at Pamplona. Black Friday is turbocharged by the faith in the laws of supply and demand. If everyone wants a particular item, it must be good. That’s the operating value in a culture that ostensibly values values.
In Colorado we finally have a law outlawing texting while driving. What precipitated the law was a form of multi-tasking that produced carnage on the highway. While we like to see ourselves as a nation of multi-taskers, we have finally met a situation where multi-tasking needs to be strategically thwarted. The researched truth about multi-tasking is that nothing ever gets done as well as if it had been done as a single-focused task, but don’t tell that to Americans who believe first and never mind the facts that conflict with those beliefs. We Americans as a culture are in a hurry to get somewhere, go to the next level, climb the ladder, eat, exercise, achieve, acquire, all because we operate with the illusion that standard of living is synonymous with quality of life. If we have more, we somehow are more. ”He who dies with the most toys wins” served as the mantra of the ME generation. The ME generation has now blossomed into the ME culture.
Our politicians need to get something done because they must have some achievements under their belt or they will be turned out in the next election. Obama has not been in office for a single year and yet for months he has been criticized by the right and left for not accomplishing anything substantial yet. His trips abroad, the economy, the wars, health care, all have signaled no tangible results so far. The public wants results the way it collects purchases on Black Friday. It wants them, and it wants them now. We have become a data-driven society that is more interested in what we have to show for ourselves rather than how we live.
American culture needs to retard the spark. It needs to slow down and take another look at what quality of life really means. It is not solely based on GDP or interest rates or granite counter tops. Quality of Life is not even a derivative of Standard of Living. It is the measure of happiness and meaning a people has from its day-to-day existence on this earth, and it assumes not only personal budgets are in balance but that actual lives are. Research has demonstrated that Americans don’t become any happier when they rise above middle class status. A large portion of America has surged in spending without the actual income to pay for the surge. A focus on quality of life would suggest the only debt people should live with indefinitely is their debt of gratitude for that quality life.
What I am suggesting is heretical to ACM or American Cultural Momentum. Our collective ethos has been bigger and more is better, sooner is better than later except when it comes to paying for it, and surges are good for everything except computers and other small appliances. We can surge in Afghanistan, surge on the gridiron, surge at the fast-food drive thru, and surge in the polls. We can put on a surge and win at NASCAR, and we can surge out of the pack and win a golf tournament. Some of us can even surge our way into a White House state dinner if we have the appearance of surge power. Or we can surge out our driveway and into a fire hydrant and a neighbor’s tree, if things get too hot on the home front. Surging has become our mode of accomplishment, just as surfing (the internet) has become our preeminent pastime.
I urge us as a nation to slow down a bit and retard the spark. We could do without the surges and sloughs of Wall Street and their derivatives; we can avoid being trampled like runners in Pamplona by staying home on Black Fridays and shopping with greater deliberation rather than speed; we can be more than less by doing more with less. We have been on a power surge as a country since the 1960’s, and we are tired and worn out by the extraordinary energy our ACM has demanded and extracted from us.
Will the surge in Afghanistan be the surge that breaks our cultural back? I do not know. I look back on Vietnam and in the midst of its throes how wrong our leaders were about the long-term outcome and how close we came to our own cultural meltdown. It seems the lessons of history are never learned until the long view back is available, and even then our theories are subject to continual revision. The surge might work or it might not. As a concept it is more acceptable to the American psyche than simply going to war because our whole culture thinks in terms of surges and splurges. Right now it seems we are about to splurge on a surge that may turn into our scourge.
Perhaps it is time for our culture to take at least a small dose of Thoreauvian philosophy and begin to live a little bit more deliberately by retarding our cultural spark, and living consciously, less impulsively, and a little cooler in the process. It’s all right to drive a highly tuned machine: It’s not all right to become one. The end does not warrant the means. As Socrates so wisely offered thousands of years ago: “Contentment is natural wealth; luxury is artificial poverty.”
My hypothesis in this essay is this: if we backed off a bit in how we operate our cultural and human engines and “fired our plugs” in a way that took into account the steep ascents we often encounter, we would not have to run so hot all the time to be efficient and fire our human cylinders in a surge-like fashion.* In firearms terms, the advance (preemptive) ignition sequence is FIRE-AIM-READY. If we retard the spark, we have the more deliberate READY-AIM-FIRE. I am not suggesting that we go back to the Model A as a means of transportation. I am merely suggesting that as human beings we have something to learn from the model A as a saner approach to life when things get heavy. Today, we tend to surge when we ought to be more mindful of timing. We have been conditioned to believe that nearly everything in life has to be done as a preemptive strike.
The day after Thanksgiving is now called Black Friday, the most glaring evidence yet that we have elevated consumerism to a god-like status. Its ritualistic aspect and participation numbers easily eclipse those of Good Friday, a Christian sacred holiday associated with Easter, a time of reflection for Christians. The whole thrust of Black Friday is to get consumers out buying Christmas presents at bargain prices so that they get into the mind set of shopping for holiday gifts until December 25th. That kick-off of the holiday shopping season produces a full month of activity characterized by greater than normal buying frenzy. Black Friday is so named because merchants hope they will end the year “in the black” or, profitably. The stores open well before dawn to ensure consumers that they are participating in something special, almost sacred, like a sunrise Easter service, but more active, like, say, the running of the bulls at Pamplona. Black Friday is turbocharged by the faith in the laws of supply and demand. If everyone wants a particular item, it must be good. That’s the operating value in a culture that ostensibly values values.
In Colorado we finally have a law outlawing texting while driving. What precipitated the law was a form of multi-tasking that produced carnage on the highway. While we like to see ourselves as a nation of multi-taskers, we have finally met a situation where multi-tasking needs to be strategically thwarted. The researched truth about multi-tasking is that nothing ever gets done as well as if it had been done as a single-focused task, but don’t tell that to Americans who believe first and never mind the facts that conflict with those beliefs. We Americans as a culture are in a hurry to get somewhere, go to the next level, climb the ladder, eat, exercise, achieve, acquire, all because we operate with the illusion that standard of living is synonymous with quality of life. If we have more, we somehow are more. ”He who dies with the most toys wins” served as the mantra of the ME generation. The ME generation has now blossomed into the ME culture.
Our politicians need to get something done because they must have some achievements under their belt or they will be turned out in the next election. Obama has not been in office for a single year and yet for months he has been criticized by the right and left for not accomplishing anything substantial yet. His trips abroad, the economy, the wars, health care, all have signaled no tangible results so far. The public wants results the way it collects purchases on Black Friday. It wants them, and it wants them now. We have become a data-driven society that is more interested in what we have to show for ourselves rather than how we live.
American culture needs to retard the spark. It needs to slow down and take another look at what quality of life really means. It is not solely based on GDP or interest rates or granite counter tops. Quality of Life is not even a derivative of Standard of Living. It is the measure of happiness and meaning a people has from its day-to-day existence on this earth, and it assumes not only personal budgets are in balance but that actual lives are. Research has demonstrated that Americans don’t become any happier when they rise above middle class status. A large portion of America has surged in spending without the actual income to pay for the surge. A focus on quality of life would suggest the only debt people should live with indefinitely is their debt of gratitude for that quality life.
What I am suggesting is heretical to ACM or American Cultural Momentum. Our collective ethos has been bigger and more is better, sooner is better than later except when it comes to paying for it, and surges are good for everything except computers and other small appliances. We can surge in Afghanistan, surge on the gridiron, surge at the fast-food drive thru, and surge in the polls. We can put on a surge and win at NASCAR, and we can surge out of the pack and win a golf tournament. Some of us can even surge our way into a White House state dinner if we have the appearance of surge power. Or we can surge out our driveway and into a fire hydrant and a neighbor’s tree, if things get too hot on the home front. Surging has become our mode of accomplishment, just as surfing (the internet) has become our preeminent pastime.
I urge us as a nation to slow down a bit and retard the spark. We could do without the surges and sloughs of Wall Street and their derivatives; we can avoid being trampled like runners in Pamplona by staying home on Black Fridays and shopping with greater deliberation rather than speed; we can be more than less by doing more with less. We have been on a power surge as a country since the 1960’s, and we are tired and worn out by the extraordinary energy our ACM has demanded and extracted from us.
Will the surge in Afghanistan be the surge that breaks our cultural back? I do not know. I look back on Vietnam and in the midst of its throes how wrong our leaders were about the long-term outcome and how close we came to our own cultural meltdown. It seems the lessons of history are never learned until the long view back is available, and even then our theories are subject to continual revision. The surge might work or it might not. As a concept it is more acceptable to the American psyche than simply going to war because our whole culture thinks in terms of surges and splurges. Right now it seems we are about to splurge on a surge that may turn into our scourge.
Perhaps it is time for our culture to take at least a small dose of Thoreauvian philosophy and begin to live a little bit more deliberately by retarding our cultural spark, and living consciously, less impulsively, and a little cooler in the process. It’s all right to drive a highly tuned machine: It’s not all right to become one. The end does not warrant the means. As Socrates so wisely offered thousands of years ago: “Contentment is natural wealth; luxury is artificial poverty.”
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