They are different. They are lazy. They are liars. They. Who are they?
They are the people we choose to group together: black, white, Chinese, Arab, European, anything, so long as we can make them a collective and put them in a box. I grew up in the world of they. We even made special laws. They were so different they had to live in different places, go to different schools, travel on separate buses, and use separate bathrooms. They were black. We were white. And it was all bullshit.
We, the giant collective we, are all alike in the same way that we are all different. I am as different from my brother, the boy-child born to my mother one year after my birth, as I am from Lin who lives in Beijing. I look different. I believe different things. I do different work. And I can relate to Lin the same way I relate to my brother, the same way I relate to myself. I feel. My brother feels. Lin feels. We laugh. We cry. We love. We hurt. We are the same.
Any soldier will tell you it is much easier to kill a gook, a rag-head, or a spook than it is to kill a person. That is why we have those names. It allows us to dehumanize another group of people. Once they are no longer human, we have no moral imperative to treat them well. Shit, we can do what we want with them. They are not human.
As long as we use them, the idea of the other, to define ourselves, we will always be at war. We will always be able to kill them, lie to them, steal from them, or oppress them. The world is too small for that now. We are one giant we. It is as easy, today, for me to speak to Lin in Beijing, as it is to speak to my brother in Canada, or as it is to speak to Thandi in Bulawayo, or Ahmed in Iraq, or Thiago in Brazil. And as we speak, we discover we are more alike than we are different.
We may have learned in school, or from our friends, or families, that we are unlike them, but we know differently. When we meet, when we look into the eyes of another person, it matters not in which country that person was born, what color their skin may be. We know we are the same. We spend years learning they are different. It only takes a moment for us to realize we are the same.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Return
Slammed down into the past at Oliver Tambo International Airport in Johannesburg this morning, a forgotten world of half-lamented could-have-beens; the friendly cabin crew all smiles and relief and welcome to South Africa happy goodbyes; the courteous immigration official who’s job is to let me in, not keep me out; and I’m home, surrounded by the smells, the sounds, the smiles, the buildings that used to be, but changed, and a road I took to work, a restaurant I visited once, my first kiss, an old friend’s house, the first time I got drunk. I’m home.
Hi. Hugs. How are you? Fine. And you? Fine. Great. Great. And the soles of my shoes tracking red mud up the steps, over the rug, and into the hall filled with photos from my childhood, of my childhood; the mirror that hung over the fireplace in another house, another time. Bags on the bed and the gifts stuffed beneath socks and crumpled cotton underwear sprout from matching set suitcases: chocolate for my parents. Coffee. And shoes. Some perfume for my sister. She smiles and says she likes it. Thanks. Not what she wanted? Magazines.
How’re things? Family? Friends? Job? Weather? Nice to see you. I love you. We don’t say that. We can’t. We haven’t practiced enough. Maybe in another life. Not this one. Too late.
And I’m home. Birds bicker in the thick summer shrubbery. A siren whines on the next block. Memories everywhere in the pictures on the wall, but it’s the smell and the thick red mud that trap me, so I take off my shoes and wash them under the tap outside and the water is cold on my hands.
Hi. Hugs. How are you? Fine. And you? Fine. Great. Great. And the soles of my shoes tracking red mud up the steps, over the rug, and into the hall filled with photos from my childhood, of my childhood; the mirror that hung over the fireplace in another house, another time. Bags on the bed and the gifts stuffed beneath socks and crumpled cotton underwear sprout from matching set suitcases: chocolate for my parents. Coffee. And shoes. Some perfume for my sister. She smiles and says she likes it. Thanks. Not what she wanted? Magazines.
How’re things? Family? Friends? Job? Weather? Nice to see you. I love you. We don’t say that. We can’t. We haven’t practiced enough. Maybe in another life. Not this one. Too late.
And I’m home. Birds bicker in the thick summer shrubbery. A siren whines on the next block. Memories everywhere in the pictures on the wall, but it’s the smell and the thick red mud that trap me, so I take off my shoes and wash them under the tap outside and the water is cold on my hands.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Natural Born Killers
Oliver Stone had it made. Great looking actors cast in yellows and oranges with acid induced flashback-type scenes of super-promiscuous archetypes on a killing spree across America. Or saving private Ryan (I don’t know who directed it. Who cares?), where handsome, wholesome, heterosexual, men risk their lives to save the life of an American icon: the last male child. Christ, there is Armageddon where America saves the world. And who is selling it to us? Hollywood. What are they selling?
Therein, to quote the bard, lies the rub.
Who stands to gain from this hyper-patriotic rhetoric vomited relentlessly from the great studios on the sunshine strip?
There is a famous (not that famous, of course, or you would have heard about it before) and controversial study commissioned by the U.S ministry of defense and undertaken by a General S.L.A Marshall. The General interviewed thousands of infantrymen who had been in battle. The results (contested, yes): only 15-20% of the soldiers actually shot to kill their enemy in battle. The other 80% either shot to miss (they aimed high for the most part) or did whatever they could to avoid shooting at the enemy. It seemed, according to this study, that we, as human beings, have an active aversion to killing.
This would not do.
The Department of defense changed its training methods. To start, it used human shaped targets instead of the traditional circles. In Korea kill rates were up to 55%. And by Vietnam (according to interviews) 95% of soldiers were shooting to kill. Or maybe they had just become better liars.
Think about the movies we watch. The Americans are the heroes. They villains are inhuman (in some way). The good guy always shoots to kill – that’s often how the movie ends. Good guys kill. Killing is important. Killing is good. Isn’t that what Hollywood is telling us?
Who are they telling that to? Soldiers. Not today’s soldiers, but tomorrow’s soldiers. Every summer Hollywood sells us a new line on killing. And then there are the video games where kids learn to kill over and over again.
Get them while they’re young, right, and in the next war we can get the kill rate up to 100%. Now that’s efficiency, and great marketing.
Therein, to quote the bard, lies the rub.
Who stands to gain from this hyper-patriotic rhetoric vomited relentlessly from the great studios on the sunshine strip?
There is a famous (not that famous, of course, or you would have heard about it before) and controversial study commissioned by the U.S ministry of defense and undertaken by a General S.L.A Marshall. The General interviewed thousands of infantrymen who had been in battle. The results (contested, yes): only 15-20% of the soldiers actually shot to kill their enemy in battle. The other 80% either shot to miss (they aimed high for the most part) or did whatever they could to avoid shooting at the enemy. It seemed, according to this study, that we, as human beings, have an active aversion to killing.
This would not do.
The Department of defense changed its training methods. To start, it used human shaped targets instead of the traditional circles. In Korea kill rates were up to 55%. And by Vietnam (according to interviews) 95% of soldiers were shooting to kill. Or maybe they had just become better liars.
Think about the movies we watch. The Americans are the heroes. They villains are inhuman (in some way). The good guy always shoots to kill – that’s often how the movie ends. Good guys kill. Killing is important. Killing is good. Isn’t that what Hollywood is telling us?
Who are they telling that to? Soldiers. Not today’s soldiers, but tomorrow’s soldiers. Every summer Hollywood sells us a new line on killing. And then there are the video games where kids learn to kill over and over again.
Get them while they’re young, right, and in the next war we can get the kill rate up to 100%. Now that’s efficiency, and great marketing.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Passing the Torch
It’s Olympic time. Think gold medals, flags, and Old Spice ads. Think China and dead monks. Think boycotts, but not; because a boycott of the Olympics will only hurt the athletes. And we care about the athletes. Right?
There was a time when South Africa deluded itself with the idea of separate but equal. You know: We are all the same, just different. We called it Apartheid and no-one was fooled, not even us. We had the gold and the diamonds, the platinum and the uranium. Shit, we had Table Mountain, which was fantastic on postcards. So we were forgiven, until the rest of the world, read people, not governments, by the way, caught on and started to call for sports boycotts. And we heard the same thing then. No. Don’t boycott sport. It will only hurt the athletes. They aren’t doing anything wrong. But eventually there was a sports boycott, and the rest of us non-sports people suddenly had nothing to do on a Saturday afternoon, so we started to take notice.
A sports boycott does hurt the athletes. It hurts everybody. It’s supposed to hurt, dammit. That’s the point. It’s supposed to cause discomfort.
China is a superpower. It holds enough foreign currency to bankrupt the US, if it so desires, though I won’t pretend I know enough about economics to understand how. But the Chinese government is repressive. It cannot, by any standards, be considered democratic. It’s actions against political dissidents, be they Tibetan monks or Falun Gong practitioners, is brutal.
European governments, excluding the British who have in recent times developed a reputation for servility, have mentioned, in passing, that they might, if pushed, consider boycotting the Olympics. There has been little support from the US. Ms Condoleezza Rice (remember the WMDs?) rejected an Olympic boycott to avoid "insulting the Chinese people'. Screw the Tibetans (who are, by her definition, Chinese people). We should be boycotting these Olympics. We should be boycotting Chinese products – probably more difficult. We should be. We aren’t.
After years of social, political, and economic isolation South Africa crawled out of the dark ages into a golden age of peace and love (just like a John Lennon song) and became the darling of the international community. It wasn’t only because of the sports boycott, but it helped, and it can only help in China.
There was a time when South Africa deluded itself with the idea of separate but equal. You know: We are all the same, just different. We called it Apartheid and no-one was fooled, not even us. We had the gold and the diamonds, the platinum and the uranium. Shit, we had Table Mountain, which was fantastic on postcards. So we were forgiven, until the rest of the world, read people, not governments, by the way, caught on and started to call for sports boycotts. And we heard the same thing then. No. Don’t boycott sport. It will only hurt the athletes. They aren’t doing anything wrong. But eventually there was a sports boycott, and the rest of us non-sports people suddenly had nothing to do on a Saturday afternoon, so we started to take notice.
A sports boycott does hurt the athletes. It hurts everybody. It’s supposed to hurt, dammit. That’s the point. It’s supposed to cause discomfort.
China is a superpower. It holds enough foreign currency to bankrupt the US, if it so desires, though I won’t pretend I know enough about economics to understand how. But the Chinese government is repressive. It cannot, by any standards, be considered democratic. It’s actions against political dissidents, be they Tibetan monks or Falun Gong practitioners, is brutal.
European governments, excluding the British who have in recent times developed a reputation for servility, have mentioned, in passing, that they might, if pushed, consider boycotting the Olympics. There has been little support from the US. Ms Condoleezza Rice (remember the WMDs?) rejected an Olympic boycott to avoid "insulting the Chinese people'. Screw the Tibetans (who are, by her definition, Chinese people). We should be boycotting these Olympics. We should be boycotting Chinese products – probably more difficult. We should be. We aren’t.
After years of social, political, and economic isolation South Africa crawled out of the dark ages into a golden age of peace and love (just like a John Lennon song) and became the darling of the international community. It wasn’t only because of the sports boycott, but it helped, and it can only help in China.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
On Presidents and Kings
Zimbabweans today elect their new, or old, president. And who cares? They do, right? They want somebody who will make their world a better place. Americans, too, are choosing their new president. And who cares? We do. Why?
We pick our leaders. Or they pick us. And for better or for worse we get to live with them. Shit, England has the queen. They had Margaret Thatcher, too, but she had an expiry date. The queen will just get old and die.
Who runs the country? Who cares? And what is the idea of a country? God forbid it has anything to do with prince Charles. And what is it with hats and feathers in England. God save the queen, but don’t spare the pheasants.
So we live in a world cut up into little squares that we pretend mean something, and then we pick men and women to organize them for us. And sometimes those men or women disagree, on ideological grounds, of course, so we gather up our sticks and stones (or knives and guns) and rush off to do some killing. All because our little patches of earth are important to us.
Remember playing with your friends in kindergarten? How we fought over the toys? Over the space on the jungle gym? Things haven’t changed much, just the toys are bigger and we’re in 24/7 recess. And now we don’t hit little Johnny over the head with a Tonker-Toy. We smart bomb his ass with an F16. But the idea is the same. Oh, how we have grown.
And we delude ourselves. We pretend it’s important.
Why do we genuflect so obsequiously when the man, or woman, we hired to run our country is in our presence? And what is with bowing to a gormless wonder with big ears just because of his family? We are still just kids in kindergarten. That’s all. I think it’s time we grew up. I think it’s time we stopped trying to buddy up to the playground bully because he has the biggest toys. I think it’s time we stopped picking on the new kid just because he wears funny pants.
Christ, and what is the problem with crossing the Colorado River in Arizona, or the Limpopo River in Mapumalanga, because you want to buy a loaf of bread. One day I think we’ll grow up, but until then we could at least let the other kids play with us on the jungle gym.
With love,
Remastigate
We pick our leaders. Or they pick us. And for better or for worse we get to live with them. Shit, England has the queen. They had Margaret Thatcher, too, but she had an expiry date. The queen will just get old and die.
Who runs the country? Who cares? And what is the idea of a country? God forbid it has anything to do with prince Charles. And what is it with hats and feathers in England. God save the queen, but don’t spare the pheasants.
So we live in a world cut up into little squares that we pretend mean something, and then we pick men and women to organize them for us. And sometimes those men or women disagree, on ideological grounds, of course, so we gather up our sticks and stones (or knives and guns) and rush off to do some killing. All because our little patches of earth are important to us.
Remember playing with your friends in kindergarten? How we fought over the toys? Over the space on the jungle gym? Things haven’t changed much, just the toys are bigger and we’re in 24/7 recess. And now we don’t hit little Johnny over the head with a Tonker-Toy. We smart bomb his ass with an F16. But the idea is the same. Oh, how we have grown.
And we delude ourselves. We pretend it’s important.
Why do we genuflect so obsequiously when the man, or woman, we hired to run our country is in our presence? And what is with bowing to a gormless wonder with big ears just because of his family? We are still just kids in kindergarten. That’s all. I think it’s time we grew up. I think it’s time we stopped trying to buddy up to the playground bully because he has the biggest toys. I think it’s time we stopped picking on the new kid just because he wears funny pants.
Christ, and what is the problem with crossing the Colorado River in Arizona, or the Limpopo River in Mapumalanga, because you want to buy a loaf of bread. One day I think we’ll grow up, but until then we could at least let the other kids play with us on the jungle gym.
With love,
Remastigate
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Conspiracy
I trust no one. I can’t. I think it started when THEY shot JFK. I don’t know who THEY are. But I know THEY are out there. THEY got Reagan elected. There is no way he did that by himself. What about Clinton? THEY got him impeached for lying. “I did not have sexual relations with that woman.” Remember? There was even a wagging finger. And then there was George. Seriously. There had to be a THEY to get HIM elected. And then reelected.
So who are THEY? I don’t know. All I know is that when I read the news, I get that tingling feeling along my spine. You know the one. And it’s obvious. Like when the white house put all their energies into promoting the war on Iraq. Everything was scripted. George, Condoleezza, Dick, Colin, they all repeated the same thing over and over. And then the networks, afterwards, mind you, admitted that they had “dropped the ball”. So maybe the THEY includes the Bush administration AND the news networks. I have no doubt that the THEY, in some way, includes members of the energy and armaments industries. I just don’t know who.
I have this fuzzy picture in my head of a group of powerful men. There may be one or two women. Almost everybody, if not everybody, considers himself an Aryan. It’s like an upscale meeting of the Klu Klux Klan where the sheets have been traded in for tailored suits and everybody is excruciatingly serious. THEY are deadly intent on creating a world they can control.
I have no doubt THEY will win the elections. I just don’t know who their candidate is. McCain? I like his credentials. He seems to have principles. But can THEY get to him? Bush senior has endorsed him. What does that mean? Obama? Will he make it to the finish line? What horrible revelations about him do THEY have that will be revealed at just the right moment? And Hillary? Is she one of THEM? THEY took down her husband. Did he join THEM? Did she?
Watch. THEY will appear. Something will happen. THEY wait. THEY watch. THEY act. And what about the Chinese? Where do fit in?
So who are THEY? I don’t know. All I know is that when I read the news, I get that tingling feeling along my spine. You know the one. And it’s obvious. Like when the white house put all their energies into promoting the war on Iraq. Everything was scripted. George, Condoleezza, Dick, Colin, they all repeated the same thing over and over. And then the networks, afterwards, mind you, admitted that they had “dropped the ball”. So maybe the THEY includes the Bush administration AND the news networks. I have no doubt that the THEY, in some way, includes members of the energy and armaments industries. I just don’t know who.
I have this fuzzy picture in my head of a group of powerful men. There may be one or two women. Almost everybody, if not everybody, considers himself an Aryan. It’s like an upscale meeting of the Klu Klux Klan where the sheets have been traded in for tailored suits and everybody is excruciatingly serious. THEY are deadly intent on creating a world they can control.
I have no doubt THEY will win the elections. I just don’t know who their candidate is. McCain? I like his credentials. He seems to have principles. But can THEY get to him? Bush senior has endorsed him. What does that mean? Obama? Will he make it to the finish line? What horrible revelations about him do THEY have that will be revealed at just the right moment? And Hillary? Is she one of THEM? THEY took down her husband. Did he join THEM? Did she?
Watch. THEY will appear. Something will happen. THEY wait. THEY watch. THEY act. And what about the Chinese? Where do fit in?
Monday, February 18, 2008
Week 3
Monday’s barreling down on us like Barak Obama in the primaries and there’s nothing to do except squeeze the last drops out of Sunday afternoon before it’s back to a desk full of unfinished business and an inbox full of unwanted emails; except for this week’s scintillating review of news from around the world.
The best of the week is a story about a car that runs on compressed air. And yes, it actually works. I’m all for it. I live in a city where ten million cars start up every morning and belch out a mixture of smog and smoke and carbon monoxide, and yes, I dream of a future where I can see the horizon through the blue smoke that smothers this city.
The worst of the week is that experts – those random people the news networks call when they need a sound bite – predict that the US is sliding inexorably down the slippery slope into a serious economic depression. No more euphemisms like ‘downturn’, or ‘correction’. It’s bad. Get your money out quick and throw it into China whose trade surplus for January was a whopping 22 billion dollars. The US trade deficit, in contrast, was a terrifying 58.8 billion dollars. I’m no economist, but I can do some math. If I’m spending 58 billion dollars more than I’m earning, I’m going to land somewhere nasty, sometime soon.
But it’s not all rosy in the land of the long stone wall. Where does all that money come from? It’s like that guy who lives down on the corner and who never works, but somehow has the best clothes, drives the most expensive car, and always buys everything cash. You know he’s not kosher. One of the places China buys its oil is Sudan. The oil’s cheap. Beijing pays in AK47s and nice roads in the north and east of the country. But at what cost? Human rights groups want China to use its influence to force Sudan to resolve the crisis in Darfur. Even the 'right honorable' Steven Spielberg resigned his post as artistic adviser for the Beijing Olympics in protest. “Hell no,” say the Chinese. “We want our cheap oil. Do not meddle in the affairs of the sovereign state of China.” It’s a bitch dealing with an errant superpower, especially if it isn’t us anymore.
While on the subject of death and suffering, Israel released its latest grades. In ‘Air Strikes 101’ it scored 75%. The most recent air strike killed 4 people. 3 were militants. Sorry about the other guy, though. Wrong place. Wrong time. An unfortunate casualty of war. Still, 3 out of 4 aint bad. The sixteen wounded don’t count. They’re kinda like bonus questions on a pop quiz. But I don’t mean to be flippant.
There is always Afghanistan where photographer Tim Hetherington won the 2007 World Press Photo Award. Remember mission accomplished? Democratic elections? A brave new world? But out there in the Hindu Kush Mountains it’s very messy, and they still haven’t got the 27 million dollar man, Osama Bin Laden.
But they got the next best thing. An explosion in Beirut killed Imad Mughniyeh, one of Hezbollah’s top leaders and the man responsible for killing more Americans than anyone except Osama. Surprisingly enough, the US had nothing to do with his death. US intelligence chief, Mike McConnel, said that it was probably rival Hezbollah groups, or maybe Syria, that got him. We believe him, of course, although he didn’t elaborate on what their motives might be. Hezbollah blames Israel. But who would believe Hezbollah. They blame Israel for everything, right?
And just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, when the world couldn’t get any worse, Zimbabwe announces a world first: inflation of 66 000% And that’s the official rate. Unofficial rates are double that amount. Cue some more amateur economics: That’s a monthly inflation rate of around 5500%, which means a daily inflation rate of about 180%, which means a 1-dollar loaf of bread today will cost around 3 dollars tomorrow. By the end of the week you’ll need to pay in installments.
And I leave you with an interesting human rights dilemma. Health officials on Mud Island intend to impose a smoking license on the general populace. Yes, if you are a slave to your nicotine cravings, you will have to own a license to buy cigarettes. What’s next? A license to have sex?
The best of the week is a story about a car that runs on compressed air. And yes, it actually works. I’m all for it. I live in a city where ten million cars start up every morning and belch out a mixture of smog and smoke and carbon monoxide, and yes, I dream of a future where I can see the horizon through the blue smoke that smothers this city.
The worst of the week is that experts – those random people the news networks call when they need a sound bite – predict that the US is sliding inexorably down the slippery slope into a serious economic depression. No more euphemisms like ‘downturn’, or ‘correction’. It’s bad. Get your money out quick and throw it into China whose trade surplus for January was a whopping 22 billion dollars. The US trade deficit, in contrast, was a terrifying 58.8 billion dollars. I’m no economist, but I can do some math. If I’m spending 58 billion dollars more than I’m earning, I’m going to land somewhere nasty, sometime soon.
But it’s not all rosy in the land of the long stone wall. Where does all that money come from? It’s like that guy who lives down on the corner and who never works, but somehow has the best clothes, drives the most expensive car, and always buys everything cash. You know he’s not kosher. One of the places China buys its oil is Sudan. The oil’s cheap. Beijing pays in AK47s and nice roads in the north and east of the country. But at what cost? Human rights groups want China to use its influence to force Sudan to resolve the crisis in Darfur. Even the 'right honorable' Steven Spielberg resigned his post as artistic adviser for the Beijing Olympics in protest. “Hell no,” say the Chinese. “We want our cheap oil. Do not meddle in the affairs of the sovereign state of China.” It’s a bitch dealing with an errant superpower, especially if it isn’t us anymore.
While on the subject of death and suffering, Israel released its latest grades. In ‘Air Strikes 101’ it scored 75%. The most recent air strike killed 4 people. 3 were militants. Sorry about the other guy, though. Wrong place. Wrong time. An unfortunate casualty of war. Still, 3 out of 4 aint bad. The sixteen wounded don’t count. They’re kinda like bonus questions on a pop quiz. But I don’t mean to be flippant.
There is always Afghanistan where photographer Tim Hetherington won the 2007 World Press Photo Award. Remember mission accomplished? Democratic elections? A brave new world? But out there in the Hindu Kush Mountains it’s very messy, and they still haven’t got the 27 million dollar man, Osama Bin Laden.
But they got the next best thing. An explosion in Beirut killed Imad Mughniyeh, one of Hezbollah’s top leaders and the man responsible for killing more Americans than anyone except Osama. Surprisingly enough, the US had nothing to do with his death. US intelligence chief, Mike McConnel, said that it was probably rival Hezbollah groups, or maybe Syria, that got him. We believe him, of course, although he didn’t elaborate on what their motives might be. Hezbollah blames Israel. But who would believe Hezbollah. They blame Israel for everything, right?
And just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, when the world couldn’t get any worse, Zimbabwe announces a world first: inflation of 66 000% And that’s the official rate. Unofficial rates are double that amount. Cue some more amateur economics: That’s a monthly inflation rate of around 5500%, which means a daily inflation rate of about 180%, which means a 1-dollar loaf of bread today will cost around 3 dollars tomorrow. By the end of the week you’ll need to pay in installments.
And I leave you with an interesting human rights dilemma. Health officials on Mud Island intend to impose a smoking license on the general populace. Yes, if you are a slave to your nicotine cravings, you will have to own a license to buy cigarettes. What’s next? A license to have sex?
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