I don't think I'll ever see the great wall of China--and though less rich, I doubt my life will be any less complete for it. But I will miss not hearing the voices, seeing the eyes, touching the people who live there daily, cleaning, watering the plants, selling trinkets and just being local. Likewise, I think, I could do without the famous French intolerance for Americans, though I could easily pass for a foreigner--I do here all my life. But I would like a little coffee and a small, sweet pastry as I walk beneath, behind, around the tower or the museum.
They walk through the day, half-incorporeal, like the ghosts that night forgot behind; their eyes are blank, blind to anything but the spot they've convinced themselves is their destination even though their feet move with no greater urgency, energy or deliberation than their eyes might show.
Many a moon ago, I stood by the Dor0thy Chandler Pavillion looking at a playbill showing Raul Julia as Don Quixote, in Man of La Mancha. I remember being poor and adding in my head the money I had and subtracting all the obligations I still had to meet--and wondering why the latter were so much more than the former. Counting my pennies, I walked away. I missed the play. Within a year or so, he was dead, never again to sing of sacred basins and ghostly loves of things that might have been...
I want to stand on the sand at sunset--the sun won't rise over the Pacific--even if I can't hear the choir of angels. I wonder if the angels sing on the wuthering heights--though I would never hear them there.
Yesterday, I learned I can go home again. Understandably, this terrified me. I will have to think on this a while before doing anything about it.
In the meantime, I hope you all are well wherever you are, that you had a happy hannukah, and have a merry christmas, and that when the year ends it brings a bigger, better, more successful one, full of happiness and health, of good fortune and clear sailing days.
Be good.
Be well.
Monday, December 25, 2006
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Mountains o' things
The life I've always wanted
I guess I'll never have
I'll be working for somebody else
Until I'm in my grave
I'll be dreaming of a life of ease
And mountains Oh mountains o' things
To have a big expensive car
Drag my furs on the ground
And have a maid that I can tell
To bring me anything
Everyone will look at me with envy and with greed
I'll revel in their attention
And mountains Oh mountains o' things
Sweet lazy life
Champagne and caviar
I hope you'll come and find me
Cause you know who we are
Those who deserve the best in life
And know what money's worth
And those whose sole misfortune
Was having mountains o' nothing at birth
Oh they tell me
There's still time to save my soul
They tell me
Renounce all
Renounce all those material things you gained by
Exploiting other human beings
Consume more than you need
This is the dream
Make you pauper
Or make you queen
I won't die lonely
I'll have it all prearranged
A grave that's deep and wide enough
For me and all my mountains o' things
Oh they tell me
There's still time to save my soul
They tell me
Renounce all
Renounce all those material things you gained by
Exploiting other human beings
Mostly I feel lonely
Good good people are
Good people are only
My stepping stones
It's gonna take all my mountains o' things
To surround me
Keep all my enemies away
Keep my sadness and loneliness at bay
The life I've always wanted
I guess I'll never have
I'll be working for somebody else
Until I'm in my grave
I'll be dreaming of a life of ease
And mountains Oh mountains o' things
I'll be dreaming, dreaming... Dreaming...
tracy chapman
I guess I'll never have
I'll be working for somebody else
Until I'm in my grave
I'll be dreaming of a life of ease
And mountains Oh mountains o' things
To have a big expensive car
Drag my furs on the ground
And have a maid that I can tell
To bring me anything
Everyone will look at me with envy and with greed
I'll revel in their attention
And mountains Oh mountains o' things
Sweet lazy life
Champagne and caviar
I hope you'll come and find me
Cause you know who we are
Those who deserve the best in life
And know what money's worth
And those whose sole misfortune
Was having mountains o' nothing at birth
Oh they tell me
There's still time to save my soul
They tell me
Renounce all
Renounce all those material things you gained by
Exploiting other human beings
Consume more than you need
This is the dream
Make you pauper
Or make you queen
I won't die lonely
I'll have it all prearranged
A grave that's deep and wide enough
For me and all my mountains o' things
Oh they tell me
There's still time to save my soul
They tell me
Renounce all
Renounce all those material things you gained by
Exploiting other human beings
Mostly I feel lonely
Good good people are
Good people are only
My stepping stones
It's gonna take all my mountains o' things
To surround me
Keep all my enemies away
Keep my sadness and loneliness at bay
The life I've always wanted
I guess I'll never have
I'll be working for somebody else
Until I'm in my grave
I'll be dreaming of a life of ease
And mountains Oh mountains o' things
I'll be dreaming, dreaming... Dreaming...
tracy chapman
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
A mitad del camino de la vida...
Thus began Dante one of the best books I've ever read.
Something happens when we get to that cloudy area called the middle.
As my birthday approaches, I realize I'm nearly there.
And as so many before me, I reached a crisis.
So I got a toy. How typical.
This isn't the actual one, but mine looks just the same.
I didn't want to be anybody's aunt.
Something happens when we get to that cloudy area called the middle.
As my birthday approaches, I realize I'm nearly there.
And as so many before me, I reached a crisis.
So I got a toy. How typical.
This isn't the actual one, but mine looks just the same.
I didn't want to be anybody's aunt.
Monday, October 23, 2006
Volver
Has it really been since August?
I didn't realize I was this busy, but I must be, to have so heartlessly forgotten to come by and say hello. Perhaps I've finally run out of stories. Perhaps--at last--I'm speechless.
Or maybe it's all true: I am driven only by whim and lust and all the excitement's gone. Left to my own devices, am I taciturn, somnolent, and trite?
Where hath that spark now gone that once lighted my way to fresher, wilder grounds? Where is the crisp, cool smell of morning? The night has taken hold of my heart and even against the dark sky, darker clouds obscure what little light the stars might give. And already having leaned toward darker tastes, the shroud of anonimity brought by moonless autumn nights lets me walk down desolate streets in the valley, smoking and humming tonelessly tunes only I any longer recognize of all those whom I have known who still live. The dead! They took my songs.
Or maybe it is this well down which I went looking for wishes--only to find slimy toads.
These are the days we go through--when we really feel the "human condition" for which only humans would feel sorrow. Most other creatures seem just happy to be alive. And much like clouds and rainbows, these days pass--into nights that lead to newer days.
And all our days have lighted fools...
I should be a fool! Happy, friendly, outgoing, dancing till my legs can't hold me. I should chat it up with perfect strangers on the bus I now never take because it is beneath me. What putrid drivel! Were I but man enough to know I cannot be an island entirely to myself, I would be far wiser and less strong--and I would make a fool of myself everyday for a bit. No need to cry all the tears of the day in two minutes on your bed--they happily come as they are needed. No need for stiff upper lips that feel so frigid, lifeless and unloving when other lips should come looking for a kiss. Ne'er would I be afraid to hold another hand outstretched to grasp mine own only to keep mine clean.
No.
I should be like a child, who sees with true enthusiasm as genuinely new every moment that his eyes can manage to stave off that fiend: sleep--and not hiding in the cave I call a skull in the darkness of my dreams. I should run barefoot on hot sand, suffering the pain only because I can almost already feel the cool, salty water as it jumps and crashes and dances and flies just on the other side. I should be free of me! A stranger in a strange land seeking just to steal a quick, furtive smile from a shy lad or lass as I whistle past, my smile the beacon that shall guide their own unto the world.
I should be green like the grass; white like the puffy cottonballs the wind shapes into all kinds of things like I used to do to my father's shaving cream; blue, blue! I should be blue like the air all in between... strong, and gentle; cool, and intimate; and there, always there, never gone.
THAT, I should be: permanent. I should be constant.
Or I may simply be a single drop of rain.
I didn't realize I was this busy, but I must be, to have so heartlessly forgotten to come by and say hello. Perhaps I've finally run out of stories. Perhaps--at last--I'm speechless.
Or maybe it's all true: I am driven only by whim and lust and all the excitement's gone. Left to my own devices, am I taciturn, somnolent, and trite?
Where hath that spark now gone that once lighted my way to fresher, wilder grounds? Where is the crisp, cool smell of morning? The night has taken hold of my heart and even against the dark sky, darker clouds obscure what little light the stars might give. And already having leaned toward darker tastes, the shroud of anonimity brought by moonless autumn nights lets me walk down desolate streets in the valley, smoking and humming tonelessly tunes only I any longer recognize of all those whom I have known who still live. The dead! They took my songs.
Or maybe it is this well down which I went looking for wishes--only to find slimy toads.
These are the days we go through--when we really feel the "human condition" for which only humans would feel sorrow. Most other creatures seem just happy to be alive. And much like clouds and rainbows, these days pass--into nights that lead to newer days.
And all our days have lighted fools...
I should be a fool! Happy, friendly, outgoing, dancing till my legs can't hold me. I should chat it up with perfect strangers on the bus I now never take because it is beneath me. What putrid drivel! Were I but man enough to know I cannot be an island entirely to myself, I would be far wiser and less strong--and I would make a fool of myself everyday for a bit. No need to cry all the tears of the day in two minutes on your bed--they happily come as they are needed. No need for stiff upper lips that feel so frigid, lifeless and unloving when other lips should come looking for a kiss. Ne'er would I be afraid to hold another hand outstretched to grasp mine own only to keep mine clean.
No.
I should be like a child, who sees with true enthusiasm as genuinely new every moment that his eyes can manage to stave off that fiend: sleep--and not hiding in the cave I call a skull in the darkness of my dreams. I should run barefoot on hot sand, suffering the pain only because I can almost already feel the cool, salty water as it jumps and crashes and dances and flies just on the other side. I should be free of me! A stranger in a strange land seeking just to steal a quick, furtive smile from a shy lad or lass as I whistle past, my smile the beacon that shall guide their own unto the world.
I should be green like the grass; white like the puffy cottonballs the wind shapes into all kinds of things like I used to do to my father's shaving cream; blue, blue! I should be blue like the air all in between... strong, and gentle; cool, and intimate; and there, always there, never gone.
THAT, I should be: permanent. I should be constant.
Or I may simply be a single drop of rain.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Libre
With all the socio-political implications this might have in this day and age, here's a song from my dad's time... a long, long time ago:
Tiene casi veinte años y ya está cansado de soñar,
pero tras la frontera está su hogar, su mundo, su ciudad.
Piensa que la alambrada sólo es un trozo de metal,
algo que nunca puede detener sus ansias de volar.
Libre, como el sol cuando amanece, yo soy libre como el mar...
Libre, como el ave que escapó de su prisión y puede, al fin, volar...
Libre, como el viento que recoge mi lamento y mi pesar,
camino sin cesar detrás de la verdad y sabré lo que es,
al fin, la libertad.
Con su amor por bandera se marchó cantando una canción,
marchaba tan feliz que no escuchó la voz que le llamó,
y tendido en el suelo se quedó sonriendo y sin hablar,
sobre su pecho flores carmesí, brotaban sin cesar...
Libre, como el sol cuando amanece, yo soy libre como el mar...
Libre, como el ave que escapó de su prisión y puede, al fin, volar...
Libre, como el viento que recoge mi lamento y mi pesar,
camino sin cesar detrás de la verdad y sabré lo que es,
al fin, la libertad.
Libre, como el sol cuando amanece, yo soy libre como el mar...
Libre, como el ave que escapó de su prisión y puede, al fin, volar...
Libre, como el viento que recoge mi lamento y mi pesar,
camino sin cesar detrás de la verdad y sabré lo que es,
al fin, la libertad.
Nino Bravo
Tiene casi veinte años y ya está cansado de soñar,
pero tras la frontera está su hogar, su mundo, su ciudad.
Piensa que la alambrada sólo es un trozo de metal,
algo que nunca puede detener sus ansias de volar.
Libre, como el sol cuando amanece, yo soy libre como el mar...
Libre, como el ave que escapó de su prisión y puede, al fin, volar...
Libre, como el viento que recoge mi lamento y mi pesar,
camino sin cesar detrás de la verdad y sabré lo que es,
al fin, la libertad.
Con su amor por bandera se marchó cantando una canción,
marchaba tan feliz que no escuchó la voz que le llamó,
y tendido en el suelo se quedó sonriendo y sin hablar,
sobre su pecho flores carmesí, brotaban sin cesar...
Libre, como el sol cuando amanece, yo soy libre como el mar...
Libre, como el ave que escapó de su prisión y puede, al fin, volar...
Libre, como el viento que recoge mi lamento y mi pesar,
camino sin cesar detrás de la verdad y sabré lo que es,
al fin, la libertad.
Libre, como el sol cuando amanece, yo soy libre como el mar...
Libre, como el ave que escapó de su prisión y puede, al fin, volar...
Libre, como el viento que recoge mi lamento y mi pesar,
camino sin cesar detrás de la verdad y sabré lo que es,
al fin, la libertad.
Nino Bravo
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Unchained, a melody
so we got our hot dogs on the way in and walked around the lumber section, chatting randomly about the stuff on the shelves, the poor lighting in the store, the hot (or not-so-hot) employees, and all that we had missed in a few months of chatting--having been so busy we hadn't had a chance to catch up; I took it like a much-needed confession, sans the "bless me father" and the guilt.
i talked about carlos, who's name isn't carlos, my jewish boyfriend who got me eating kosher, and who is now my dearest friend, but not my boyfriend, and whose company i dearly miss even in these hot and humid summer nights. i told the story of how i broke his television accidentally and how we fixed his couch and how i still have a toothbrush by his sink--one i never get to use. i talked about ricardo, who's now moved somewhere in the middle of the country, who called just a couple of months ago and confessed his undying love to me as he told me of his friend's indiscretions and showed me again why it is we're not together--all with just a word. i talked about andrew and his boyfriend, and the crazy drinks they make, and how they sit in front of a blank t.v. watching xm-on-directv, which is odd because they have no video and so you just sit there watching a blank t.v., and how much fun that can be because you get to talking and before you know it you're deep in conversation and i hope george bush's ears are ringing mightily because there are very few conservative gay men in silverlake, and none of them watch xm-on-directv--at least not with me.
i talked of jose, who promises to be another ricardo, full of love and friendship, with no papers, no car, a lowly job and little promise of staying in the country longer than this blog has lived, and how i cannot get myself to hold him accountable for all the pain others have caused, so here i go headlong into a love i know better than to feel, thinking i'm crazy for loving just the feeling of falling in love and being willing to suffer the pain of having to get over it afterwards bacause in the end how can you have mountains without valleys, canyons and all the other great geological irregularities that make a map that much more fun?
i talked of work, and how busy we are, and how i love working there not because the work is any easier, but rather because everybody is so much fun to work with, and how we're making so much money we're bound to have a great christmas season... and that, of course brought me to the possibility of getting a new car and how i test drove the 350z convertible and just how fast the darned thing is. but i think i am too old and too big for such a little car, so i'm looking at the c70, though it might look like someone's aunt's car. what the hell, i'll be the aunt. and the hell do they put in those hotdogs? they're so tasty! but wait! don't tell me, "everything else"... whatever parts of the cow have no name and some i'd rather not name. Thank goodness for hebrew national. They answer to a higher authority.
we walked up and down the aisles, looking at the stuff that we might buy but wouldn't, because after all we were there just for the hotdogs and boy those were so good! by the time we got to the paint i was terribly confused as to what i really wanted to do with my room and made a mental note to watch a few more episodes of trading spaces before spending any money, as i might just want to go with a jungle theme instead of the slightly-overly-stuffy architectural digest take on the lincoln bedroom, though i highly suspect that room sees more action on a regular basis than mine does--and why don't they serve beer at home-improvement stores? i mean, that's what most guys drink when working with power tools.
the lighting aisle is way too hot. i don't care how cute the guy is that works it--and boy does he work it--i won't stay there a moment longer than it takes to pick a decent ceiling fan, you know the kind, the cabana-style, bungalo-on-malibu, i-found-it-at-a-good-will-store, $300 kind. and then we found we'd mostly run out of aisles and stood in line for half an hour, just to find the hot dog guy had left before we made it back outside, and i had little else to talk about... and just when we got outside i got a call from my friend in san pedro, who just bought the boat and i got invited to a weekend party and a three-hour tour of the bay! what to wear? what to wear?
i hate these hot summer days... oh but those hot summer nights...
i talked about carlos, who's name isn't carlos, my jewish boyfriend who got me eating kosher, and who is now my dearest friend, but not my boyfriend, and whose company i dearly miss even in these hot and humid summer nights. i told the story of how i broke his television accidentally and how we fixed his couch and how i still have a toothbrush by his sink--one i never get to use. i talked about ricardo, who's now moved somewhere in the middle of the country, who called just a couple of months ago and confessed his undying love to me as he told me of his friend's indiscretions and showed me again why it is we're not together--all with just a word. i talked about andrew and his boyfriend, and the crazy drinks they make, and how they sit in front of a blank t.v. watching xm-on-directv, which is odd because they have no video and so you just sit there watching a blank t.v., and how much fun that can be because you get to talking and before you know it you're deep in conversation and i hope george bush's ears are ringing mightily because there are very few conservative gay men in silverlake, and none of them watch xm-on-directv--at least not with me.
i talked of jose, who promises to be another ricardo, full of love and friendship, with no papers, no car, a lowly job and little promise of staying in the country longer than this blog has lived, and how i cannot get myself to hold him accountable for all the pain others have caused, so here i go headlong into a love i know better than to feel, thinking i'm crazy for loving just the feeling of falling in love and being willing to suffer the pain of having to get over it afterwards bacause in the end how can you have mountains without valleys, canyons and all the other great geological irregularities that make a map that much more fun?
i talked of work, and how busy we are, and how i love working there not because the work is any easier, but rather because everybody is so much fun to work with, and how we're making so much money we're bound to have a great christmas season... and that, of course brought me to the possibility of getting a new car and how i test drove the 350z convertible and just how fast the darned thing is. but i think i am too old and too big for such a little car, so i'm looking at the c70, though it might look like someone's aunt's car. what the hell, i'll be the aunt. and the hell do they put in those hotdogs? they're so tasty! but wait! don't tell me, "everything else"... whatever parts of the cow have no name and some i'd rather not name. Thank goodness for hebrew national. They answer to a higher authority.
we walked up and down the aisles, looking at the stuff that we might buy but wouldn't, because after all we were there just for the hotdogs and boy those were so good! by the time we got to the paint i was terribly confused as to what i really wanted to do with my room and made a mental note to watch a few more episodes of trading spaces before spending any money, as i might just want to go with a jungle theme instead of the slightly-overly-stuffy architectural digest take on the lincoln bedroom, though i highly suspect that room sees more action on a regular basis than mine does--and why don't they serve beer at home-improvement stores? i mean, that's what most guys drink when working with power tools.
the lighting aisle is way too hot. i don't care how cute the guy is that works it--and boy does he work it--i won't stay there a moment longer than it takes to pick a decent ceiling fan, you know the kind, the cabana-style, bungalo-on-malibu, i-found-it-at-a-good-will-store, $300 kind. and then we found we'd mostly run out of aisles and stood in line for half an hour, just to find the hot dog guy had left before we made it back outside, and i had little else to talk about... and just when we got outside i got a call from my friend in san pedro, who just bought the boat and i got invited to a weekend party and a three-hour tour of the bay! what to wear? what to wear?
i hate these hot summer days... oh but those hot summer nights...
Saturday, July 01, 2006
Annabel Lee
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulcher
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
e. a. poe
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulcher
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
e. a. poe
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Del Norte
What is the ultimate purpose of securing our southern borders?
I do not believe terrorism really plays an important part. No terrorist has ever been found who entered through Mexico. However, at least two were caught coming in from Canada, most flew in with visas, and a couple were born and raised here. By these facts, we should build the wall between us and Canada first.
I think the point is economics. Allegedly, there are 12 million illegal people siphoning medical care, education, and other services our incredibly generous, socialist government hands out to all who are in need. The problem is not that they get the services, but that we do not have enough money to pay for this. I agree.
So far, we've spent $400+ billion on Iraq. That is about $333+ dollars per illegal alien. We should have kept that money here. Add however much we've spent in Afghanistan, the "other" places and in Guantanamo, and tell me if it seems like a lot.
Also, although I do not have the time to research and annotate properly, here are a few thoughts. I heard an interview by NPR with a gentleman from Southern California who owns and operates a cabbage farm. This happened while the minuteman controversy was in full swing. The man said he traditionally paid the "usual" workers about $5/hr for their labors. However, with the minuteman interference, the "usual" workers were not coming around. He carefully stated that legal as well as illegal ones were not coming, mostly because they were being harassed, which is illegal, but was not stopped by the authorities. By the time of the interview, he said he might offer $12/hr to anyone who came to pick his cabbage but no one would. Half the crop would be lost. Consider the impact on pricing if we pay inexperienced workers $12/hr for what experienced workers get $5/hr to do. He speculated that the consumer price would triple easily. The only reason this did not happen is that most of the border stayed open most of the time. It isn't that these workers (many of whom are Americans) are taking jobs for less than Americans feel is fair for them--but that Americans just plain don't want those jobs.
Consider also that the trade deficit with China has multiplied many times between the 80's and now. It is currently at its highest. Large corporations like Wal-Mart are flooding the market with cheap imports. Just about anything we buy is made in China, Taiwan, Honduras, etc. Check your chonnies if you don't believe me. When's the last time YOU checked to make sure the avocados you were eating were raised and packaged in the good ole USA? How 'bout your beer cozies? Is your iPod made in Long Beach?
I find it awfully funny how most of those people who complain the most about the loss of American jobs are precisely the ones driving expensive Japanese or European vehicles, and outsource anything they can in their own businesses to increase profits. What irks these people is that the number one source of money to Mexico itself (more now than the automotive industry or petroleum exports) is remittances from Mexicans in the Unites States. No single industry in Mexico comes even close! I agree that the drain of money is lamentable, but I feel the people sending it have more than earned it. If you disagree, please point out a single business that deliberately overpays its immigrant work-force. I've done the hiring at some of these. I know that “Mexicans” get $5 for what Americans won't do for less than $10.
How much would YOU want to clean toilets for a living?
While it is true that they are here illegally, it has been demonstrated that the vast majority of the drain on social services comes from citizens. Consider this country still has 350 million people, and only 12 million illegal aliens. You cannot say with a straight face that it is the illegal aliens causing all the trouble. I contend that while they are responsible for a significant percentage of the trouble, they also contribute a disproportionately large percentage to the economy. I contend that, in the end, at the very least, these wash out. Even if they did not pay taxes, which is by no means stipulated, their incredibly low wages more than make up for their part of improving this country.
This country was founded by immigrants (recall that humans were neither created nor evolved in the Americas). It was built by immigrants. It achieved greatness from its immigrant roots. It wasn't that long ago that we still supported the puritan work ethic, the Asian's drive for educating their children, and the hard work of the slaves in the south. The hardest work is traditionally done by the lowest social strata. Socioeconomic forces here have put white people at the top of that list, and while they have been a majority while enjoying that superiority, it is quickly coming to an end. Most major cities in the Unites States already report a majority of "ethnically non-white" citizens (not accounting for non-citizen immigrants). California will have a majority of Latino/Hispanic citizens (the voting kind, not just the living-in kind) by the end of the decade. Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, Florida, and perhaps surprisingly, states like Georgia, are not that far behind. I have to wonder to what degree this new-found concern for security is not really a concern for racial supremacy.
I laugh when I see how the market is staying away from this argument. HBO is running shows not dubbed, but originally filmed in Spanish. Companies are entering a bidding war for the Spanish-language television network, Univision. The market knows the importance of the Spanish-speaking population, precisely because it knows that regardless of the legal status of the customer, the dollars spend just as well. Lending institutions bend the rules to allow non-resident (their word for illegal) aliens to get loans to buy cars or houses. The worst part of all this is that the majority of these negative views on immigration are all centered on Latino, specifically Mexican, immigrants. I commend the border patrol for managing to stay above this argument and still get their jobs done. I have never felt discriminated against, harassed, or in any way mistreated leaving or entering the country.
It wasn't too long ago that channel 9 here in Los Angeles ran a story a long-time veteran from the Long Beach Police Department who turned out to be an illegal immigrant from England. Nobody ever thought of asking him for his papers.
And now many people complain about all the immigrant-rights demonstrations. My biggest complaint is that we as immigrants are concentrating on the lowest rung of the social ladder, instead of asking also for the rights of the many doctors I know who came here to be nurses, college professors who came here to be teachers’ aides, engineers who came here to be draftsmen. I guess these good folks have gotten used to the placid, submissive, subservient immigrant clutching the straw hat against the chest and saying "si, señor!"
What has this world come to?
I do not believe terrorism really plays an important part. No terrorist has ever been found who entered through Mexico. However, at least two were caught coming in from Canada, most flew in with visas, and a couple were born and raised here. By these facts, we should build the wall between us and Canada first.
I think the point is economics. Allegedly, there are 12 million illegal people siphoning medical care, education, and other services our incredibly generous, socialist government hands out to all who are in need. The problem is not that they get the services, but that we do not have enough money to pay for this. I agree.
So far, we've spent $400+ billion on Iraq. That is about $333+ dollars per illegal alien. We should have kept that money here. Add however much we've spent in Afghanistan, the "other" places and in Guantanamo, and tell me if it seems like a lot.
Also, although I do not have the time to research and annotate properly, here are a few thoughts. I heard an interview by NPR with a gentleman from Southern California who owns and operates a cabbage farm. This happened while the minuteman controversy was in full swing. The man said he traditionally paid the "usual" workers about $5/hr for their labors. However, with the minuteman interference, the "usual" workers were not coming around. He carefully stated that legal as well as illegal ones were not coming, mostly because they were being harassed, which is illegal, but was not stopped by the authorities. By the time of the interview, he said he might offer $12/hr to anyone who came to pick his cabbage but no one would. Half the crop would be lost. Consider the impact on pricing if we pay inexperienced workers $12/hr for what experienced workers get $5/hr to do. He speculated that the consumer price would triple easily. The only reason this did not happen is that most of the border stayed open most of the time. It isn't that these workers (many of whom are Americans) are taking jobs for less than Americans feel is fair for them--but that Americans just plain don't want those jobs.
Consider also that the trade deficit with China has multiplied many times between the 80's and now. It is currently at its highest. Large corporations like Wal-Mart are flooding the market with cheap imports. Just about anything we buy is made in China, Taiwan, Honduras, etc. Check your chonnies if you don't believe me. When's the last time YOU checked to make sure the avocados you were eating were raised and packaged in the good ole USA? How 'bout your beer cozies? Is your iPod made in Long Beach?
I find it awfully funny how most of those people who complain the most about the loss of American jobs are precisely the ones driving expensive Japanese or European vehicles, and outsource anything they can in their own businesses to increase profits. What irks these people is that the number one source of money to Mexico itself (more now than the automotive industry or petroleum exports) is remittances from Mexicans in the Unites States. No single industry in Mexico comes even close! I agree that the drain of money is lamentable, but I feel the people sending it have more than earned it. If you disagree, please point out a single business that deliberately overpays its immigrant work-force. I've done the hiring at some of these. I know that “Mexicans” get $5 for what Americans won't do for less than $10.
How much would YOU want to clean toilets for a living?
While it is true that they are here illegally, it has been demonstrated that the vast majority of the drain on social services comes from citizens. Consider this country still has 350 million people, and only 12 million illegal aliens. You cannot say with a straight face that it is the illegal aliens causing all the trouble. I contend that while they are responsible for a significant percentage of the trouble, they also contribute a disproportionately large percentage to the economy. I contend that, in the end, at the very least, these wash out. Even if they did not pay taxes, which is by no means stipulated, their incredibly low wages more than make up for their part of improving this country.
This country was founded by immigrants (recall that humans were neither created nor evolved in the Americas). It was built by immigrants. It achieved greatness from its immigrant roots. It wasn't that long ago that we still supported the puritan work ethic, the Asian's drive for educating their children, and the hard work of the slaves in the south. The hardest work is traditionally done by the lowest social strata. Socioeconomic forces here have put white people at the top of that list, and while they have been a majority while enjoying that superiority, it is quickly coming to an end. Most major cities in the Unites States already report a majority of "ethnically non-white" citizens (not accounting for non-citizen immigrants). California will have a majority of Latino/Hispanic citizens (the voting kind, not just the living-in kind) by the end of the decade. Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, Florida, and perhaps surprisingly, states like Georgia, are not that far behind. I have to wonder to what degree this new-found concern for security is not really a concern for racial supremacy.
I laugh when I see how the market is staying away from this argument. HBO is running shows not dubbed, but originally filmed in Spanish. Companies are entering a bidding war for the Spanish-language television network, Univision. The market knows the importance of the Spanish-speaking population, precisely because it knows that regardless of the legal status of the customer, the dollars spend just as well. Lending institutions bend the rules to allow non-resident (their word for illegal) aliens to get loans to buy cars or houses. The worst part of all this is that the majority of these negative views on immigration are all centered on Latino, specifically Mexican, immigrants. I commend the border patrol for managing to stay above this argument and still get their jobs done. I have never felt discriminated against, harassed, or in any way mistreated leaving or entering the country.
It wasn't too long ago that channel 9 here in Los Angeles ran a story a long-time veteran from the Long Beach Police Department who turned out to be an illegal immigrant from England. Nobody ever thought of asking him for his papers.
And now many people complain about all the immigrant-rights demonstrations. My biggest complaint is that we as immigrants are concentrating on the lowest rung of the social ladder, instead of asking also for the rights of the many doctors I know who came here to be nurses, college professors who came here to be teachers’ aides, engineers who came here to be draftsmen. I guess these good folks have gotten used to the placid, submissive, subservient immigrant clutching the straw hat against the chest and saying "si, señor!"
What has this world come to?
Friday, March 10, 2006
Brenda's Little Quiz
Four jobs you have had in your life:
1. Kayvon’s little gopher.
2. Selling shoes at a god-forsaken strip mall in Cudahy.
3. Late-night inventory taker for second-rate company.
4. And inventory/purchasing guy for (going on) 14 yrs now.
Four movies you would watch over and over again?
1. I would say Creator, but I’m always sad when it’s done.
2. I would say Running on Empty, but I always cry when it’s done.
3. I would say West Side Story, but I never feel pretty when it’s done.
4. Monsters, Inc. cuz I should be the big blue thing in it.
Four places you have lived:
1. I don’t know if these memories are from the same place, and I don’t know where they are, but one is a house somewhere in Nicaragua, with an old, twisted avocado tree in the back that bears my name in its bark about three feet off the ground, carved when I was just a child and my dad was still Superman; and a house with a shiny-barked tree in the front with the warm and festive smell of Pinolillo from the big green balls it made as fruit, all around it, that made summers sweet and rain worth dancing in.
2. A dark, damp, cold apartment in San Jose, California, hidden under the stairs, three blocks from life and yet devoid of any happiness—there were just not enough blankets in the place to keep me from shivering through the night.
3. A big, empty, warm, airy apartment in Fullerton, California, where R (not the same from below) and I spent four years hosting friends and playing with my children every other weekend. Andre went blond there when he was 3. We’d all go swimming, go to Woolworths—when they were still around; now it’s Target—and walk over to the movies or to Starbucks or both.
4. A house made of concrete blocks, with weird, twisty, white texture laid on them like dried-up earthworms fleeing from the scorching tropical sun; a place where roaches fly and one lonely, little scorpion instilled in me a phobia from which I still suffer; an ever-shifting house always under construction or deconstruction or change or redesign, where life was never boring but not for that all that happy and still, where in 1983 my parents lived like I am told happy marriages can live, full of tenderness and peace, sharing secrets with a glance and simply enjoying their children’s breaking voices and longer, ungainly limbs.
Living, you see, is rarely about the place.
Four TV shows you love to watch:
1. NUMB3RS (ain’t he dreamy?)
2. Battlestar Galactica (I’m rooting for the cylons)
3. Extreme Engineering (yes, I’m a geek)
4. CSI Miami (I bet you can’t guess which one I find dreamy)
Four places you have been on vacation: (the tales these places could tell!)
1. Tijuana
2. Las Vegas
3. San Francisco
4. Rosarito
Four websites I visit regularly: (you don’t HONESTLY expect me to be honest, do you?)
1. Google. It’s clean, it’s simple, it’s fast, and it’s simply just what I need when I go there. And now Froogle will find it for you FOR LESS!
2. Hotmail. Did he write me back YET?
3. Ebay. (I still want my 6MT G35, 2005 or newer, for US$22,000 or less—is that too much to ask for? Is that SO WRONG?)
4. some places I wouldn’t repeat in church and thus, on advise of my attorney, respectfully decline to mention in writing on the grounds that I might incriminate m’self. ;-)
Four of my favorite foods:
1. Arroz a la valenciana as long as Ash makes it woot woot
2. Chilaquiles, rojos (how messican o’ me)
3. Uncle Howie’s Pizza (it’s in Redlands, near the University Of)
4. Fried Ripe Plantains (I should write a book hotter, spicier, and more fun than Fried Green Tomatoes)
Four places I would rather be right now:
1. The Holy Land
2. Home, in bed, still sleeping. Waking up early SUX.
3. @ R’s, herein traditionally refered to as Carlos, in bed, cuddling. This is PERFECT cuddling weather.
4. Seattle, Washington, preferably with R, in bed, cuddling. Those damned people ALWAYS have good cuddling weather.
Four friends I am tagging that I think will respond...
1. Nobody, cuz I hate chain letters
2. Nobody, cuz I hate chain surveys.
3. Nobody, cuz I hate gettin’ to know me better.
4. Nobody, bah humbug! (gimme a break, it’s too early to be in a good mood and it’s 35 degrees IN LOS ANGELES!)
Miguel
1. Kayvon’s little gopher.
2. Selling shoes at a god-forsaken strip mall in Cudahy.
3. Late-night inventory taker for second-rate company.
4. And inventory/purchasing guy for (going on) 14 yrs now.
Four movies you would watch over and over again?
1. I would say Creator, but I’m always sad when it’s done.
2. I would say Running on Empty, but I always cry when it’s done.
3. I would say West Side Story, but I never feel pretty when it’s done.
4. Monsters, Inc. cuz I should be the big blue thing in it.
Four places you have lived:
1. I don’t know if these memories are from the same place, and I don’t know where they are, but one is a house somewhere in Nicaragua, with an old, twisted avocado tree in the back that bears my name in its bark about three feet off the ground, carved when I was just a child and my dad was still Superman; and a house with a shiny-barked tree in the front with the warm and festive smell of Pinolillo from the big green balls it made as fruit, all around it, that made summers sweet and rain worth dancing in.
2. A dark, damp, cold apartment in San Jose, California, hidden under the stairs, three blocks from life and yet devoid of any happiness—there were just not enough blankets in the place to keep me from shivering through the night.
3. A big, empty, warm, airy apartment in Fullerton, California, where R (not the same from below) and I spent four years hosting friends and playing with my children every other weekend. Andre went blond there when he was 3. We’d all go swimming, go to Woolworths—when they were still around; now it’s Target—and walk over to the movies or to Starbucks or both.
4. A house made of concrete blocks, with weird, twisty, white texture laid on them like dried-up earthworms fleeing from the scorching tropical sun; a place where roaches fly and one lonely, little scorpion instilled in me a phobia from which I still suffer; an ever-shifting house always under construction or deconstruction or change or redesign, where life was never boring but not for that all that happy and still, where in 1983 my parents lived like I am told happy marriages can live, full of tenderness and peace, sharing secrets with a glance and simply enjoying their children’s breaking voices and longer, ungainly limbs.
Living, you see, is rarely about the place.
Four TV shows you love to watch:
1. NUMB3RS (ain’t he dreamy?)
2. Battlestar Galactica (I’m rooting for the cylons)
3. Extreme Engineering (yes, I’m a geek)
4. CSI Miami (I bet you can’t guess which one I find dreamy)
Four places you have been on vacation: (the tales these places could tell!)
1. Tijuana
2. Las Vegas
3. San Francisco
4. Rosarito
Four websites I visit regularly: (you don’t HONESTLY expect me to be honest, do you?)
1. Google. It’s clean, it’s simple, it’s fast, and it’s simply just what I need when I go there. And now Froogle will find it for you FOR LESS!
2. Hotmail. Did he write me back YET?
3. Ebay. (I still want my 6MT G35, 2005 or newer, for US$22,000 or less—is that too much to ask for? Is that SO WRONG?)
4. some places I wouldn’t repeat in church and thus, on advise of my attorney, respectfully decline to mention in writing on the grounds that I might incriminate m’self. ;-)
Four of my favorite foods:
1. Arroz a la valenciana as long as Ash makes it woot woot
2. Chilaquiles, rojos (how messican o’ me)
3. Uncle Howie’s Pizza (it’s in Redlands, near the University Of)
4. Fried Ripe Plantains (I should write a book hotter, spicier, and more fun than Fried Green Tomatoes)
Four places I would rather be right now:
1. The Holy Land
2. Home, in bed, still sleeping. Waking up early SUX.
3. @ R’s, herein traditionally refered to as Carlos, in bed, cuddling. This is PERFECT cuddling weather.
4. Seattle, Washington, preferably with R, in bed, cuddling. Those damned people ALWAYS have good cuddling weather.
Four friends I am tagging that I think will respond...
1. Nobody, cuz I hate chain letters
2. Nobody, cuz I hate chain surveys.
3. Nobody, cuz I hate gettin’ to know me better.
4. Nobody, bah humbug! (gimme a break, it’s too early to be in a good mood and it’s 35 degrees IN LOS ANGELES!)
Miguel
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Suicide Is Painless
Through early morning fog I see
Visions of the things to be
The pains that are withheld for me
I realize and I can see
That suicide is painless
It brings on many changes
And I can take or leave it if I please
Try to find a way to make
All our little joys relate
Without that ever present hate
But now I know that it's too late
And that suicide is painless
It brings on many changes
And I can take or leave it if I please
The game of life is hard to play
I'm going to lose it anyway
The losing card I'll someday lay
So this is all I have to say
That suicide is painless
It brings on many changes
And I can take or leave it if I please
The only way to win is cheat
And lay it down before I'm beat
And to another give a seat
For that's the only painless feat
'Cause suicide is painless
It brings on many changes
And I can take or leave it if I please
The sword of time will pierce our skins
It doesn't hurt when it begins
But as it works it's way on in
The pain grow stronger watch it grin
For suicide is painless
It brings on many changes
And I can take or leave it if I please
A brave man once requested me
To answer questions that are key
Is it to be or not to be
And I replied "Oh why ask me."
Cause suicide is painless
It brings on many changes
And I can take or leave it if I please;
And you can do the same thing if you please.
Mike Altman & Johnny Mandell
Visions of the things to be
The pains that are withheld for me
I realize and I can see
That suicide is painless
It brings on many changes
And I can take or leave it if I please
Try to find a way to make
All our little joys relate
Without that ever present hate
But now I know that it's too late
And that suicide is painless
It brings on many changes
And I can take or leave it if I please
The game of life is hard to play
I'm going to lose it anyway
The losing card I'll someday lay
So this is all I have to say
That suicide is painless
It brings on many changes
And I can take or leave it if I please
The only way to win is cheat
And lay it down before I'm beat
And to another give a seat
For that's the only painless feat
'Cause suicide is painless
It brings on many changes
And I can take or leave it if I please
The sword of time will pierce our skins
It doesn't hurt when it begins
But as it works it's way on in
The pain grow stronger watch it grin
For suicide is painless
It brings on many changes
And I can take or leave it if I please
A brave man once requested me
To answer questions that are key
Is it to be or not to be
And I replied "Oh why ask me."
Cause suicide is painless
It brings on many changes
And I can take or leave it if I please;
And you can do the same thing if you please.
Mike Altman & Johnny Mandell
Monday, March 06, 2006
Richard III
No beast so fierce it knows no touch of pity,
but I am not beast, and therefore I know none.
is it any wonder i love how the guy writes?
but I am not beast, and therefore I know none.
is it any wonder i love how the guy writes?
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Happy Mardis Gras!!!
As if I wasn't fat enough...
food!
drink!
merriment...
and damn this busy month...
back later... ;-)
food!
drink!
merriment...
and damn this busy month...
back later... ;-)
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Olvidar
El domingo lleve a los ninos a su casa temprano. Al salir, fui a la casa de mi hermano, donde mi mama y mi hermana estaban visitando. Comimos comida mexicana.
Saliendo de ahi, pase por el cementerio visitando al viejo.
El chamaco gay que tiene su tienda de flores frente al cementerio o contrato o encontro un par de guapitos que le ayuden a vender. Escogi unas flores que pense le gustaran an viejo: nada muy elegente, un poco sencillo a cambio, pero aun asi alegre. Eso si, le escogi un tulipan porque me gustan a mi. Digamos un poco de rebeldia porque el no se puede quejar.
El cementerio, a pesar de lo que es, es muy alegre. Hay familias, ninos, parejas. Siempre hay flores. Lo mantienen limpio y el cesped siempre verde. Siempre que voy hay una brisa sabrosa soplando la loma.
Me sente junto al viejo y me fume un cigarro. Le conte del Carlos (ya tenemos seis meses). Le conte del dolor de cabeza que son mis hijos. Me lo imagine riendoso al oir eso. El tiene el el bolsillo del saco que trea puesto mi foto favorita de mi hija cuando era nina. Ahora es toda una mujer de catorce anos y piensa tener veinte. El siempre la quiso mucho. Ella todavia se acuerda de que su bigote la hacia cosquillas en la mejilla cuando le daba un beso.
La piedra esa en que pusieron su nombre estaba sucia, no brillaba como lo hacia cuando era nueva. Estos cinco anos han sido largos. Me falta el viejo, pero no me duele ya pensar que se murio. No se si podria decirle esto a mi familia. No es que sea malo, pero siendo yo el que mas se le parecia--y todavia me parezco a el cuando el tenia mi edad--pienso que pensaran mal de mi por olvidarlo. O es que lo olvide? Solo yo?
Digo que es bueno que dios nos haya dado la habilidad de olvidar. Olvido le quita el filo al dolor de su muerte. Pienso que el me lo perdonaria.
Saliendo de ahi, pase por el cementerio visitando al viejo.
El chamaco gay que tiene su tienda de flores frente al cementerio o contrato o encontro un par de guapitos que le ayuden a vender. Escogi unas flores que pense le gustaran an viejo: nada muy elegente, un poco sencillo a cambio, pero aun asi alegre. Eso si, le escogi un tulipan porque me gustan a mi. Digamos un poco de rebeldia porque el no se puede quejar.
El cementerio, a pesar de lo que es, es muy alegre. Hay familias, ninos, parejas. Siempre hay flores. Lo mantienen limpio y el cesped siempre verde. Siempre que voy hay una brisa sabrosa soplando la loma.
Me sente junto al viejo y me fume un cigarro. Le conte del Carlos (ya tenemos seis meses). Le conte del dolor de cabeza que son mis hijos. Me lo imagine riendoso al oir eso. El tiene el el bolsillo del saco que trea puesto mi foto favorita de mi hija cuando era nina. Ahora es toda una mujer de catorce anos y piensa tener veinte. El siempre la quiso mucho. Ella todavia se acuerda de que su bigote la hacia cosquillas en la mejilla cuando le daba un beso.
La piedra esa en que pusieron su nombre estaba sucia, no brillaba como lo hacia cuando era nueva. Estos cinco anos han sido largos. Me falta el viejo, pero no me duele ya pensar que se murio. No se si podria decirle esto a mi familia. No es que sea malo, pero siendo yo el que mas se le parecia--y todavia me parezco a el cuando el tenia mi edad--pienso que pensaran mal de mi por olvidarlo. O es que lo olvide? Solo yo?
Digo que es bueno que dios nos haya dado la habilidad de olvidar. Olvido le quita el filo al dolor de su muerte. Pienso que el me lo perdonaria.
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Febrero
My daughter's birthday is the last day of January. She is now 14.
Do you remember the moment you realized your parents were just human, devoid of any supernatural powers?
She is growing up so fast, both physically and emotionally. This scares me. My father could never handle our growing up and treated us like five-year-olds well into our twenties. I am afraid I might never have learned how to deal with grown-up kids because I've never seen it done. Hopefully, she and I can figure it out as we go through it. Still, she's beginning to rebel like children often do. It's ok, I think. I'm sure I did it.
Do you remember the moment you realized that their lack of extra-natural abilities did not prevent them from being superheroes?
I think we only come to realize how truly remarkable parents are once we have children--perhaps a self-serving realization, but children are tiring, trying. Perhaps it is instinct that drives us; perhaps it is divine decree. Whatever it is, we endevor, we fight on, we persevere. And a chosen few do a good job. It is a challenge I will gladly face.
My ex-wife is getting a new divorce, and has a new boyfriend (all at once, mind you), and my kids are (understandably) requiring a lot more attention.
My new relationship is going very well, but as things improve, more and more time is required--not a bad thing, as I am the one who likes to spend time together more (I think). How odd that I should be the one less independent.
On an entirely unrelated topic, my brother's first anniversary of death is coming up, and with my mother having been so depressed this entire year, we're planning a bit of an event. Hopefully, we can help her work towards a bit of a closing while still giving the event the importance it is worth. Now I am the oldest--what a strange feeling for a "middle" child. Oftentimes, he was a prick, and I still miss him. Perhaps a little prayer can help us all get closer to peace over the unexpected death.
Also, the company for which I work is in the process of buying our biggest competitors. Sweet victory promises tons of work. All this while working (simultaneously) on the two largest machines ever made in our industry--one the biggest by a factor of ten over the largest to date.
Ah! February promises to be a busy month.
Do you remember the moment you realized your parents were just human, devoid of any supernatural powers?
She is growing up so fast, both physically and emotionally. This scares me. My father could never handle our growing up and treated us like five-year-olds well into our twenties. I am afraid I might never have learned how to deal with grown-up kids because I've never seen it done. Hopefully, she and I can figure it out as we go through it. Still, she's beginning to rebel like children often do. It's ok, I think. I'm sure I did it.
Do you remember the moment you realized that their lack of extra-natural abilities did not prevent them from being superheroes?
I think we only come to realize how truly remarkable parents are once we have children--perhaps a self-serving realization, but children are tiring, trying. Perhaps it is instinct that drives us; perhaps it is divine decree. Whatever it is, we endevor, we fight on, we persevere. And a chosen few do a good job. It is a challenge I will gladly face.
My ex-wife is getting a new divorce, and has a new boyfriend (all at once, mind you), and my kids are (understandably) requiring a lot more attention.
My new relationship is going very well, but as things improve, more and more time is required--not a bad thing, as I am the one who likes to spend time together more (I think). How odd that I should be the one less independent.
On an entirely unrelated topic, my brother's first anniversary of death is coming up, and with my mother having been so depressed this entire year, we're planning a bit of an event. Hopefully, we can help her work towards a bit of a closing while still giving the event the importance it is worth. Now I am the oldest--what a strange feeling for a "middle" child. Oftentimes, he was a prick, and I still miss him. Perhaps a little prayer can help us all get closer to peace over the unexpected death.
Also, the company for which I work is in the process of buying our biggest competitors. Sweet victory promises tons of work. All this while working (simultaneously) on the two largest machines ever made in our industry--one the biggest by a factor of ten over the largest to date.
Ah! February promises to be a busy month.
Saturday, January 21, 2006
Del Fondo De Mi Cueva...
...veo las estrellas en el cuadrito de cielo que alcanzo ver, cuando es de noche, y de dia las nubes que pasan empujadas por el viento. Oigo las voces de los que pasan, y hasta (a veces, si me atrevo acercarme a la boca de la cueva) les veo pasar.
La cueva es comoda, callada--y aunque no sea amplia, tiene espacio para todo lo que traje y lo que me encontre cuando llegue, y de vez en cuando hasta para acomodar a un visitante. Nadie pasa mucho tiempo aqui--aparte de mi. Vienen y van como las hojas que el viento trae. Me agrada encontrarlas; me imagino los arboles de donde habran caido: algunos altos, finos, de hojitas largas y delgadas como plumas adornando ramas que siempre apuntan hacia el cielo; otros chaparritos y hanchos, con hojas amplias como pequenitos parasoles, protegiendo a los animalitos que han de vivir bajo ellas. Unas huelen a limpio--como explicar eso?--aunque esten viejitas y arrugadas; otras traen aromas lejanos que en mi juventud aventurera haya encontrado en tierras lejanas. Estas ultimas guardo, por si acaso algun sueno me recuerde de esas tierras que ya no puedo ni imaginar despierto.
Creo que hay alguien en una cueva cercana con una guitarra. No se que otra cosa podria explicar los sonidos que oigo a veces aqui. Por supuesto, es imposible salir a buscar, interrumpir otra gente. Al cabo casi nunca se oye, asi que no es mucha molestia para mi pretender que no existe solo por unos minutos. Al cabo hay mucho que hacer aqui, y cuando el dia esta muy brillante, cuando el viento sopla muy fuerte, cuando la lluvia moja mi entrada o se oyen voces pasar, puedo ocuparme arreglando lo que tengo guardado al fondo, digamos la almacena, el pantry--lo que sea. Casi siempre, las voces pasan. Uno deja pequenas senales de ocupacion para avisar sin interumpir su viaje que este lugar no esta disponible, pero hay aquellos que por poco tiempo en este viaje or por total ignorancia de buenos modales, deciden visitar gente en sus lugares mas privados. No es que a uno no le guste platicar, o recibir visitas, pero despues hay que limpiar la cueva, quitar el olor ajeno... lavar todas las superficies que se hayan ensuciado--accidentalmente por supuesto.
A veces considero mover ciertas cosas del fondo de la cueva a la puerta--como pequena barrera. Seria bueno, porque protegeria contra el viento y el agua y el exceso de luz--estos ultimos dias el sol de mediodia es tan fuerte! He visto tuneles donde pense que habian paredes, al fondo de la cueva. Tal vez seria mejor investigar esos y dejar la puerta en paz. Si, eso es mejor, eso es mejor. Eso es lo que hare ahorita mismo que termine de limpiar, en cuanto este solo otra vez. No es que me moleste la compania, es que la soledad molesta menos, lo deja pensar a uno. Oh! No es que le este pidiendo que se vaya! Disculpe la mala educacion. Ni siquiera le he ofrecido algo... deme un momento, aqui tengo algo que ofrecer... al fondo de la cueva, en el pantry--almacena--permitame un momento y lo encuentro... solo un momento y ya vuelvo--no; no necesito luz; veo bien aunque este oscuro... un momento y encuentro algo... ya vuelvo...
La cueva es comoda, callada--y aunque no sea amplia, tiene espacio para todo lo que traje y lo que me encontre cuando llegue, y de vez en cuando hasta para acomodar a un visitante. Nadie pasa mucho tiempo aqui--aparte de mi. Vienen y van como las hojas que el viento trae. Me agrada encontrarlas; me imagino los arboles de donde habran caido: algunos altos, finos, de hojitas largas y delgadas como plumas adornando ramas que siempre apuntan hacia el cielo; otros chaparritos y hanchos, con hojas amplias como pequenitos parasoles, protegiendo a los animalitos que han de vivir bajo ellas. Unas huelen a limpio--como explicar eso?--aunque esten viejitas y arrugadas; otras traen aromas lejanos que en mi juventud aventurera haya encontrado en tierras lejanas. Estas ultimas guardo, por si acaso algun sueno me recuerde de esas tierras que ya no puedo ni imaginar despierto.
Creo que hay alguien en una cueva cercana con una guitarra. No se que otra cosa podria explicar los sonidos que oigo a veces aqui. Por supuesto, es imposible salir a buscar, interrumpir otra gente. Al cabo casi nunca se oye, asi que no es mucha molestia para mi pretender que no existe solo por unos minutos. Al cabo hay mucho que hacer aqui, y cuando el dia esta muy brillante, cuando el viento sopla muy fuerte, cuando la lluvia moja mi entrada o se oyen voces pasar, puedo ocuparme arreglando lo que tengo guardado al fondo, digamos la almacena, el pantry--lo que sea. Casi siempre, las voces pasan. Uno deja pequenas senales de ocupacion para avisar sin interumpir su viaje que este lugar no esta disponible, pero hay aquellos que por poco tiempo en este viaje or por total ignorancia de buenos modales, deciden visitar gente en sus lugares mas privados. No es que a uno no le guste platicar, o recibir visitas, pero despues hay que limpiar la cueva, quitar el olor ajeno... lavar todas las superficies que se hayan ensuciado--accidentalmente por supuesto.
A veces considero mover ciertas cosas del fondo de la cueva a la puerta--como pequena barrera. Seria bueno, porque protegeria contra el viento y el agua y el exceso de luz--estos ultimos dias el sol de mediodia es tan fuerte! He visto tuneles donde pense que habian paredes, al fondo de la cueva. Tal vez seria mejor investigar esos y dejar la puerta en paz. Si, eso es mejor, eso es mejor. Eso es lo que hare ahorita mismo que termine de limpiar, en cuanto este solo otra vez. No es que me moleste la compania, es que la soledad molesta menos, lo deja pensar a uno. Oh! No es que le este pidiendo que se vaya! Disculpe la mala educacion. Ni siquiera le he ofrecido algo... deme un momento, aqui tengo algo que ofrecer... al fondo de la cueva, en el pantry--almacena--permitame un momento y lo encuentro... solo un momento y ya vuelvo--no; no necesito luz; veo bien aunque este oscuro... un momento y encuentro algo... ya vuelvo...
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
MLK, jr.
"I refuse to accept despair as the final response to the ambiguities of history. I refuse to accept the idea that the "isness" of man's present nature makes him morally incapable of reaching up for the eternal "oughtness" that forever confronts him."
--from the Nobel Prize acceptance speech.
--from the Nobel Prize acceptance speech.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
Naturaleza Humana
Recently, I overheard a conversation between my daughter and her mother; here's a little excerpt:
"Hey, mom: I know why the snake eats the mouse..."
"Why is that?"
"It's human nature!"
Now, ain't that the truth?
"Hey, mom: I know why the snake eats the mouse..."
"Why is that?"
"It's human nature!"
Now, ain't that the truth?
Friday, January 13, 2006
¡Yo también!
Once again, a young lady I don't know in Mexico (whose name is Sylvia--find the link to her blog on the list to the right) has surprised me with her humor, insight, and timely advise.
Her post me uno a la campaña brought me to the advertising page of Librerías Gandhi, a funny bunch of guys trying to make a buck and (in the process) improve their country a little.
I am one of those weird people that never goes anywhere without a book (even to the movies), at the risk of having my kids make fun of me. I read most of what I can, and what I can't I have somebody translate for me.
I do, therefore, hereby add my humble vote to this campaign and hope you, too will read (in Spanish, even!).
And though this may be like preaching to the choir:
Read! Damn it! Read.
Monday, January 09, 2006
Del Idealismo
En hacernos humanos, la fuerza de la creación nos ha dejado sin muchas de las ventajas poseídas por los otros animales de la naturaleza, específicamente los dotados físicos que les permiten sobrevivir; pero sospecho su anhelo no era nuestra supervivencia, sino nuestra supremacía benéfica en el sistema cerrado que es nuestro mundo—para tal, esa fuerza nos otorgo capacidades intangibles y, por lo tanto, difíciles de enumerar y medir. Somos, en corto, conciencia y corazón del mundo, y al aceptarlo en capacidad comunal tomamos el peso de estas responsabilidades al hombro. A cambio de hormiga trabajadora que batalla, vive y muere miembro de un ejercito solo por la ventaja de una, y a cambio de hambriento reptil capaz de devorar su propia cría para disminuir la competencia, nosotros debemos balancear nuestros deseos personales inmediatos contra el futuro, nuestra necesidades familiares con el bienestar comunitario, nuestros sueños terrenales a luz de celestial justicia y compasión. El peor enemigo en la batalla a conseguir este máximo deseo es la avaricia—y nuestro mejor guía es el idealismo socio-económico e intelectual que nace del reconocimiento de nuestras debilidades personales y nuestras inextinguibles capacidades generales. Juntos, somos la mano de Dios.
Lamentablemente, el enemigo, siendo interno, toma uso de nuestras propias fuerzas para esclavizarnos y—pero aun—cegarnos a sus propósitos, tramas y estrategias, y en la confusión de tales planes, se apodera de nuestras mejores intenciones para crear conflicto, pleito y guerra. Todos deseamos mas, lo que no es malo, pero esa avaricia que ahora amenaza con ahogar al idealismo en ese mar de triunfos y tesoros nos previene conseguir el mas alto de todos los estados disponibles a la humanidad: el de felicidad no tenida por la sangre y las lagrimas de aquellos que mas contribuyen a tal felicidad. El que tiene la mano vacía quiere llenar su mano; el que tiene la mano llena quiere llenar sus brazos; el que tiene los brazos llenos quiere todo lo demás. Y todos consideramos esto divina obligación, bajo pretextos sociales, religiosos, económicos, morales—hemos divisado al horizonte una cambiable ética que podemos moldear y controlar cual brisa en vela para empujar la barca de nuestra avaricia a todo puerto ajeno que podamos piratear. Damos valor a la vida porque eso es todo lo que necesita para que la podamos comprar; y, siendo así, ¿Qué queda de lo que no nos podamos adueñar? Esta contra-fuerza es la que engendra jerarquías, dominios e imperios. Comprendemos correctamente que nuestro triunfo a corto plazo requiere el fracaso de nuestro prójimo, ignorando que el triunfo a largo plazo requiere la colaboración y consentimiento de aquellos de los que mas dependemos.
Con el próximo paso en la eliminación de esta dependencia, hemos creado el alto objetivo capitalista de la globalización, dañando sistemas estables económicos locales por el beneficio de los apoderados. Esta centralización, susceptible a las debilidades de sus encargados, tal cual aquella que llevo a su ruina a los soviéticos, es templada ahora con las fuerzas mercantiles que nacieron en Europa después del renacimiento, ignorando el bienestar de las multitudes por venir solo por la ganancia de los pocos que hoy estamos—ignorando las penas que tales presiones ponen sobre las masa obreras en los países productores para el beneficio de los países consumidores, y aun allí solo para el beneficio de pocos. Hemos bastardizado el significado de la democracia por la cual batallaron nuestros abuelos y nuestros padres y hecho con ella las cadenas con las cuales la mayoría someterá a las minorías que serán nuestros hijos, todo con nuestras propias manos, soñando ignorantemente que llevaremos a nuestros hijos a ser los carceleros y no los presos, sin darnos cuenta que los dos están atados a las mismas cadenas. Y por esto estamos hoy en conflicto: interno y externo; lateral y vertical—con adversarios a cada costado—todos supuestamente batallando por los mismos meritorios finales: patria, paz, y libertad.
Hay muchos, y habrán mas, que toman armas como ultimo recurso en contra de sus propios hermanos en búsqueda de la justicia que consideran debida ya por mucho tiempo, olvidando momentáneamente en su furia que no se puede matar a la pobreza y que el sufrimiento del enemigo no nos trae felicidad. ¿Cómo culpar al hombre honesto por estar dispuesto a dar su vida para mejorar la de otros? El que toma armas contra él tiene que considerar la posición que tal decisión indica. ¿Quién batalla contra la justicia en nombre de ella misma? Aun aquel que ve en las acciones de sus prójimos insensatez debe considerar el nivel de desesperación que ahí los trae. Es comprensible que tomen esa acción aquellos que ya por mas de quinientos años han sufrido bajo el injusto dominio de amos mas y mas parecidos a ellos mismos, mas y mas cercanos a su propia situación—muy a menudo sus propios hermanos tan agradecidos de haber sido permitidos membresía a la clase dominante que resultan ser los peores opresores. Esta guerra de ellos no es su propio fin, sino el método final de traer al ojo publico su intolerable condición. Su solución es simple: justicia, pero no aquella que requiere igualdad, pues esa es infinitamente inestable, sino la justicia que demuestra equivalencia, significado, y tolerancia. No siempre a todos de acuerdo a su necesidad; no siempre de todos de acuerdo a sus habilidades; pero casi siempre si. La nueva democracia debe ser moderada por el idealismo: la mayoría cede por el beneficio de todos; la minoría comprende que la superioridad económica es debida enteramente a la contribución de la mayoría. Dependiendo de perspectiva, nadie es siempre parte de toda mayoría: a todos nos toca ser parte de alguna minoría tarde o temprano. Nunca idílica, la nueva democracia es el producto de arduos esfuerzos por ambos partidos para conseguir la sabiduría que la inteligencia abandonó, y la fuerza que el estoicismo ignora.
El ímpetu necesario para tal cambio no nace espontáneamente, ni nace de la absurda e imaginaria superioridad en la que el provincialismo se basa. Nada se logra con excesos. La fuerza gradual que lleva a la semilla a germinar debe ahora actuar sobre la sangre que nuestros abuelos y nuestros padres plantaron en la tierra misma que los vio nacer, desde Sonora hasta Tierra del Fuego, de mar a mar a mar. Millones y millones de corazones en búsqueda de la mejoría, de libertad y mas aun en búsqueda de paz. ¿Qué mas impresionante fuerza puede haber que tantos millones en la unida labor de parir un mundo nuevo? Y no en un desquiciado sueño de imposibles metas, sino en la básica generación de las necesidades que nuestro pueblo mismo puede crear. No hay en tal multitud espacio suficiente para aislarse, para ignorar la ola que nos lleva a todos en una dirección u otra inevitablemente. Es a riesgo propio que tratamos de pensar que tal ola respetaría fronteras, barreras reales o imaginarias. Es a riesgo propio que cualquier gobierno piensa legislar su inexistencia. Y siendo la manifestación física de los mas básicos derechos que la creación misma nos otorga, no hay religión capaz de disminuir su espíritu. Van los que vengan—y los que no, conocerán la verdadera fuerza del huracán causado por tantos millones de suspiros. Pero, aunque imparable, tal fuerza puede ser dirigida—y debe serlo—en la trayectoria que nuestros padres y los suyos fallaron a reconocer. Es un exceso imperdonable tratar de utilizarla solamente en búsqueda de la liberación de uno solo—hombre, pueblo o país.
El aislamiento que creó la debilidad que ahora opaca el triunfo cubano es el resultado de las fallas de nuestros padres. Ese pudo ser el ejemplo necesario para impulsar la victoria popular en el resto de las américas, pero ahora es solamente la demostración del camino que debemos evitar. La vida de la violencia, como única posibilidad al triunfo, es la clara demostración de falta de real soporte popular, pues no hay gobierno capaz de gobernar el la ausencia de los gobernados. Tomemos como ejemplo el resultado de aquellos países que fueran parte de la unión soviética en finalmente cortar las cadenas de sus previos amos, que a pesar de sufrir la inevitable inestabilidad de una democracia imperfecta, han plantado las semillas de una prosperidad inimaginable bajo el control de un partido, una mente, un amo falto de humanidad y compasión. Consideremos también las posibilidades que la unión europea les ha otorgado a sus ciudadanos con solo reducir las barreras que sus fronteras representan. Es esta unidad, tan imperfecta como es hoy, lo que les llevará a grandes triunfos—pues ya (por fin) han regresado a ser rivales dignos del último superpoder que queda en el mundo. Tal vez, si lo consideran bien, los países de este hemisferio se den una oportunidad similar.
No hay solución fácil. La prosperidad económica que se consigue siguiendo las reglas que llevaron a los países anglo-germánicos a la supremacía los dos últimos siglos es efímera y mal ajustada a la realidad mulata y mestiza de nuestras junglas y playas. Deberemos ser mas creativos que ellos en saltar sobre la industrialización mecánica e insensible y adaptarnos directamente a la tecnología y comercio del futuro. Pagamos con las vidas de nuestros hijos nuestra falta de visión. Lo mejor de nuestra situación es considerar que por primera vez en muchos siglos, nuestra mejoría no se conseguirá en conflictos ni guerras—sino que a través de colaboración. La decadencia de los que fueron superpoderes no es necesaria para nuestra mejoría, aunque ayude, y su inestabilidad es contraproducente a nuestro progreso, así que al ayudarles nos ayudamos—aunque el motivo sea político y sarcástico como el de Venezuela.
Esto requiere que veamos a nuestros vecinos no como competidores en el mercado mundial, sino como socios, tal vez hermanos, cuyos triunfos ayudan a solidificar nuestros triunfos. Tal vez algún día los estados unidos de américa no sean estos estados unidos, y américa sea aplicada en mejor contexto. Habrá mucho que hacer para conseguir esto: la eliminación de la corrupción será una primera etapa—tan difícil como parece, no es meta, sino un paso a una meta mayor—y la creación de superestructuras económicas y sociales que trasciendan barreras políticas y naturales. Quizá lo mas difícil será la redefinición del patriotismo a un termino mas inclusivo y capaz, que sea adaptable y bondadoso, que busque mas la belleza de nuestra individualidad como parte de la comunidad que nuestra supremacía en un mar de inferiores.
Quizá algún día lleguemos, en verdad, a amarnos los unos a los otros. ¿Quién llora en Montevideo cuando un huracán pasa por Matagalpa? ¿Quién está dispuesto en Tamaulipas a perder tan solo una comida para que alguien que no tenga pueda comer en Coronel Oviedo? No es que se necesite santidad para conseguir este triunfo, es mas que el triunfo prevendrá la necesidad de tal santidad. Es precisamente cuando veamos esto, como comunidad hemisférica, que lograremos la meta mayor: dejar de ser pueblitos pobres (aunque alegres) con poca industria (aunque ardua) y un provincialismo arcaico que nos pesa alrededor del cuello como piedra de molino, y empezaremos a ser la fuerza, el alma, la conciencia de este mundo.
Y eso es un ideal digno de nuestros hijos.
Lamentablemente, el enemigo, siendo interno, toma uso de nuestras propias fuerzas para esclavizarnos y—pero aun—cegarnos a sus propósitos, tramas y estrategias, y en la confusión de tales planes, se apodera de nuestras mejores intenciones para crear conflicto, pleito y guerra. Todos deseamos mas, lo que no es malo, pero esa avaricia que ahora amenaza con ahogar al idealismo en ese mar de triunfos y tesoros nos previene conseguir el mas alto de todos los estados disponibles a la humanidad: el de felicidad no tenida por la sangre y las lagrimas de aquellos que mas contribuyen a tal felicidad. El que tiene la mano vacía quiere llenar su mano; el que tiene la mano llena quiere llenar sus brazos; el que tiene los brazos llenos quiere todo lo demás. Y todos consideramos esto divina obligación, bajo pretextos sociales, religiosos, económicos, morales—hemos divisado al horizonte una cambiable ética que podemos moldear y controlar cual brisa en vela para empujar la barca de nuestra avaricia a todo puerto ajeno que podamos piratear. Damos valor a la vida porque eso es todo lo que necesita para que la podamos comprar; y, siendo así, ¿Qué queda de lo que no nos podamos adueñar? Esta contra-fuerza es la que engendra jerarquías, dominios e imperios. Comprendemos correctamente que nuestro triunfo a corto plazo requiere el fracaso de nuestro prójimo, ignorando que el triunfo a largo plazo requiere la colaboración y consentimiento de aquellos de los que mas dependemos.
Con el próximo paso en la eliminación de esta dependencia, hemos creado el alto objetivo capitalista de la globalización, dañando sistemas estables económicos locales por el beneficio de los apoderados. Esta centralización, susceptible a las debilidades de sus encargados, tal cual aquella que llevo a su ruina a los soviéticos, es templada ahora con las fuerzas mercantiles que nacieron en Europa después del renacimiento, ignorando el bienestar de las multitudes por venir solo por la ganancia de los pocos que hoy estamos—ignorando las penas que tales presiones ponen sobre las masa obreras en los países productores para el beneficio de los países consumidores, y aun allí solo para el beneficio de pocos. Hemos bastardizado el significado de la democracia por la cual batallaron nuestros abuelos y nuestros padres y hecho con ella las cadenas con las cuales la mayoría someterá a las minorías que serán nuestros hijos, todo con nuestras propias manos, soñando ignorantemente que llevaremos a nuestros hijos a ser los carceleros y no los presos, sin darnos cuenta que los dos están atados a las mismas cadenas. Y por esto estamos hoy en conflicto: interno y externo; lateral y vertical—con adversarios a cada costado—todos supuestamente batallando por los mismos meritorios finales: patria, paz, y libertad.
Hay muchos, y habrán mas, que toman armas como ultimo recurso en contra de sus propios hermanos en búsqueda de la justicia que consideran debida ya por mucho tiempo, olvidando momentáneamente en su furia que no se puede matar a la pobreza y que el sufrimiento del enemigo no nos trae felicidad. ¿Cómo culpar al hombre honesto por estar dispuesto a dar su vida para mejorar la de otros? El que toma armas contra él tiene que considerar la posición que tal decisión indica. ¿Quién batalla contra la justicia en nombre de ella misma? Aun aquel que ve en las acciones de sus prójimos insensatez debe considerar el nivel de desesperación que ahí los trae. Es comprensible que tomen esa acción aquellos que ya por mas de quinientos años han sufrido bajo el injusto dominio de amos mas y mas parecidos a ellos mismos, mas y mas cercanos a su propia situación—muy a menudo sus propios hermanos tan agradecidos de haber sido permitidos membresía a la clase dominante que resultan ser los peores opresores. Esta guerra de ellos no es su propio fin, sino el método final de traer al ojo publico su intolerable condición. Su solución es simple: justicia, pero no aquella que requiere igualdad, pues esa es infinitamente inestable, sino la justicia que demuestra equivalencia, significado, y tolerancia. No siempre a todos de acuerdo a su necesidad; no siempre de todos de acuerdo a sus habilidades; pero casi siempre si. La nueva democracia debe ser moderada por el idealismo: la mayoría cede por el beneficio de todos; la minoría comprende que la superioridad económica es debida enteramente a la contribución de la mayoría. Dependiendo de perspectiva, nadie es siempre parte de toda mayoría: a todos nos toca ser parte de alguna minoría tarde o temprano. Nunca idílica, la nueva democracia es el producto de arduos esfuerzos por ambos partidos para conseguir la sabiduría que la inteligencia abandonó, y la fuerza que el estoicismo ignora.
El ímpetu necesario para tal cambio no nace espontáneamente, ni nace de la absurda e imaginaria superioridad en la que el provincialismo se basa. Nada se logra con excesos. La fuerza gradual que lleva a la semilla a germinar debe ahora actuar sobre la sangre que nuestros abuelos y nuestros padres plantaron en la tierra misma que los vio nacer, desde Sonora hasta Tierra del Fuego, de mar a mar a mar. Millones y millones de corazones en búsqueda de la mejoría, de libertad y mas aun en búsqueda de paz. ¿Qué mas impresionante fuerza puede haber que tantos millones en la unida labor de parir un mundo nuevo? Y no en un desquiciado sueño de imposibles metas, sino en la básica generación de las necesidades que nuestro pueblo mismo puede crear. No hay en tal multitud espacio suficiente para aislarse, para ignorar la ola que nos lleva a todos en una dirección u otra inevitablemente. Es a riesgo propio que tratamos de pensar que tal ola respetaría fronteras, barreras reales o imaginarias. Es a riesgo propio que cualquier gobierno piensa legislar su inexistencia. Y siendo la manifestación física de los mas básicos derechos que la creación misma nos otorga, no hay religión capaz de disminuir su espíritu. Van los que vengan—y los que no, conocerán la verdadera fuerza del huracán causado por tantos millones de suspiros. Pero, aunque imparable, tal fuerza puede ser dirigida—y debe serlo—en la trayectoria que nuestros padres y los suyos fallaron a reconocer. Es un exceso imperdonable tratar de utilizarla solamente en búsqueda de la liberación de uno solo—hombre, pueblo o país.
El aislamiento que creó la debilidad que ahora opaca el triunfo cubano es el resultado de las fallas de nuestros padres. Ese pudo ser el ejemplo necesario para impulsar la victoria popular en el resto de las américas, pero ahora es solamente la demostración del camino que debemos evitar. La vida de la violencia, como única posibilidad al triunfo, es la clara demostración de falta de real soporte popular, pues no hay gobierno capaz de gobernar el la ausencia de los gobernados. Tomemos como ejemplo el resultado de aquellos países que fueran parte de la unión soviética en finalmente cortar las cadenas de sus previos amos, que a pesar de sufrir la inevitable inestabilidad de una democracia imperfecta, han plantado las semillas de una prosperidad inimaginable bajo el control de un partido, una mente, un amo falto de humanidad y compasión. Consideremos también las posibilidades que la unión europea les ha otorgado a sus ciudadanos con solo reducir las barreras que sus fronteras representan. Es esta unidad, tan imperfecta como es hoy, lo que les llevará a grandes triunfos—pues ya (por fin) han regresado a ser rivales dignos del último superpoder que queda en el mundo. Tal vez, si lo consideran bien, los países de este hemisferio se den una oportunidad similar.
No hay solución fácil. La prosperidad económica que se consigue siguiendo las reglas que llevaron a los países anglo-germánicos a la supremacía los dos últimos siglos es efímera y mal ajustada a la realidad mulata y mestiza de nuestras junglas y playas. Deberemos ser mas creativos que ellos en saltar sobre la industrialización mecánica e insensible y adaptarnos directamente a la tecnología y comercio del futuro. Pagamos con las vidas de nuestros hijos nuestra falta de visión. Lo mejor de nuestra situación es considerar que por primera vez en muchos siglos, nuestra mejoría no se conseguirá en conflictos ni guerras—sino que a través de colaboración. La decadencia de los que fueron superpoderes no es necesaria para nuestra mejoría, aunque ayude, y su inestabilidad es contraproducente a nuestro progreso, así que al ayudarles nos ayudamos—aunque el motivo sea político y sarcástico como el de Venezuela.
Esto requiere que veamos a nuestros vecinos no como competidores en el mercado mundial, sino como socios, tal vez hermanos, cuyos triunfos ayudan a solidificar nuestros triunfos. Tal vez algún día los estados unidos de américa no sean estos estados unidos, y américa sea aplicada en mejor contexto. Habrá mucho que hacer para conseguir esto: la eliminación de la corrupción será una primera etapa—tan difícil como parece, no es meta, sino un paso a una meta mayor—y la creación de superestructuras económicas y sociales que trasciendan barreras políticas y naturales. Quizá lo mas difícil será la redefinición del patriotismo a un termino mas inclusivo y capaz, que sea adaptable y bondadoso, que busque mas la belleza de nuestra individualidad como parte de la comunidad que nuestra supremacía en un mar de inferiores.
Quizá algún día lleguemos, en verdad, a amarnos los unos a los otros. ¿Quién llora en Montevideo cuando un huracán pasa por Matagalpa? ¿Quién está dispuesto en Tamaulipas a perder tan solo una comida para que alguien que no tenga pueda comer en Coronel Oviedo? No es que se necesite santidad para conseguir este triunfo, es mas que el triunfo prevendrá la necesidad de tal santidad. Es precisamente cuando veamos esto, como comunidad hemisférica, que lograremos la meta mayor: dejar de ser pueblitos pobres (aunque alegres) con poca industria (aunque ardua) y un provincialismo arcaico que nos pesa alrededor del cuello como piedra de molino, y empezaremos a ser la fuerza, el alma, la conciencia de este mundo.
Y eso es un ideal digno de nuestros hijos.
Rarely pure and never simple.
La verdad es que nunca sabremos la verdad. Tenemos evidencia, posibilidades, indicaciones—a veces hasta admisiones y testigos. Pero la verdad nunca se conoce con tal certidumbre que podamos poner a un lado la fe de lo que creemos. La vida casi nos demanda mas de esto y menos de aquello. Al fin, tenemos que decidir de que lado estamos. Y no siempre estamos de nuestro propio lado.
Al principio, Dios creó al mundo y puso sobre él a dos que por amor o instinto, o los dos, lo poblaran con multitudes. Y con sus números aumentaron sus habilidades. Y un día construyeron una torre y Dios les castigó su orgullo. Pero no aprendieron la lección y hasta hoy todavía sufren la fuerza de sus habilidades controladas por tal orgullo.
No muy lejos del lugar donde esos dos primeros aparecieron, junto a un río de poca distinción, esta una tierra que, cotizada altamente por los habitantes del árido desierto, se convirtió de paraíso a tesoro y por lo tanto botín, premio de guerra, símbolo de triunfo. Con el tiempo, la importancia que al principio se debía solo a la fertilidad de la tierra fue transferida por tradición a patrimonio y la tierra que por muy cara era todavía tierra se convirtió en herencia, que vale mas por tradición que por tesoro. Vale más la carne muerta y la sangre que la fertiliza que la tierra misma.
Y unos se dieron la idea de que eran los favoritos de Dios, idea que fue ganando mas creyentes en las multitudes al ver triunfos militares en todos los frentes. Cuando por fin empezaron a perder, la idea de ser los favoritos de Dios era ya parte del mismo patrimonio, y buscaron ideas, teorías, posibilidades y explicaciones por cada derrota. A cierto punto, esto cambió de “favoritos” a “escogidos” y con eso tomaron mayores responsabilidades sociales, adjudicándose a si mismos el peso de toda la humanidad. Y construyeron mas y mejores templos a su Dios, al cual le habían agradecido ser sus favoritos pero a quien recriminaban ahora el ser sus escogidos. Llegaron a pensar que con tal responsabilidad deberían haber muchas ventajas, pero siglo tras siglo no las veían y terminaron convirtiendo tanto amor en tanta culpa, esperando interminablemente que cambiara la marea, pensando que llegaría un hombre un día a guiarlos de regreso al rebaño del Señor.
Cuando todavía no habían empezado a ganar, cuando eran todavía los favoritos, cuando todavía no tenían patrimonio, herencia, madre patria, escogieron una pequeña ciudad en una loma para poder defenderla de los muchos enemigos que ya vivían en esa tierra. Cuando la conquistaron, construyeron muros de protección, fortaleciendo el área contra cualquier ataque. Y así vivieron muchos años, pero al fin perdieron. Unos que vivían donde la torre original fue construida, por la cual Dios los castigó a todos, cuyo orgullo los llevo igualmente a triunfos tremendos, alcanzaron a los favoritos de Dios, y por motivos que solo El sabe, los extranjeros ganaron.
¿Cuanto tiempo toma para que los conquistadores dejen de ser extranjeros? Cuando los nuevos extranjeros llegaron, los favoritos, que ya no eran extranjeros, sufrieron la destrucción del templo—que unos dirían fue su propia torre, pero otros dirían la mera sugerencia de esa idea es herejía.
Pasando el tiempo, lo reconstruyeron, mas impresionante aun que el primero. Pero el segundo templo también fue destruido por nuevos invasores. Esta tierra, tan pequeña y tan retirada de la civilización sufrió miles y miles de años de guerra… y aparentemente así seguirá. Solo una pared queda de este segundo templo, donde todavía lloran, rezan, y dejan rollitos de papel donde han escrito sus deseos y peticiones como a un rey ausente que no tiene tiempo de atenderles ya. Ya no son los favoritos, sino los escogidos, señalados como muestras, ejemplos si no ejemplares de la humanidad. Rezan y rezan y rezan y rezan, pidiendo no sé que a un Dios que los ha degradado. Pero por lo que sea, volvieron. Ya tienen su tierra otra vez, pero como siempre es bajo balas y maldiciones. Pobre gente que ni en su tumba encuentra paz. De acuerdo a su propia historia, todavía les falta mucho sufrimiento. Y ahora construyen otra pared—la que les queda no es suficiente.
Es fácil, para los que sé sienten atacados tanto y tan a menudo, atacar antes de considerar lo que cada ataque implica—y eso va para los dos lados. Al fin de la historia, la búsqueda de la paz causa mas muerte que la búsqueda de libertad—y las dos combinadas son demasiado.
Y sin embargo, se mueve.
¿Quién, con sus pies en tierra firme, puede creer algo tan insólito? No sé mas de historia que de ortografía—pero sé cuando algo me da mal sabor en la boca. Esta paz que buscan hoy es un trago amargo, pero es uno que no pueden evitar. ¿Estaríais dispuestos a dar la vida de vuestros hijos—sin venganza—para que vuestros nietos vivan en paz? Después de tanta muerte, ¿Quién puede pedir tanto? ¿Cuántos millones de almas son suficiente paga por unas cuantas millas cuadradas de arena y sal?
Solo Dios sabe la verdad, y como de costumbre, cuando me habla, no le hago caso.
Digo yo, (y ¿Quién soy yo?) que la pared que hacen hoy será, al final, un simple símbolo del odio que tratan de evitar, un blanco mas con el cual practicar, culpa y pena (letra escarlata), y no insignia roja de valor. Es un paso atrás, que aunque necesario—si lo es—es también dañino, doloroso, culpa y pena. Ojala y no tenga yo la razón. Ojala y sea esta otra vez en que me equivoqué terriblemente. Ojala.
La verdad, no sé.
Al principio, Dios creó al mundo y puso sobre él a dos que por amor o instinto, o los dos, lo poblaran con multitudes. Y con sus números aumentaron sus habilidades. Y un día construyeron una torre y Dios les castigó su orgullo. Pero no aprendieron la lección y hasta hoy todavía sufren la fuerza de sus habilidades controladas por tal orgullo.
No muy lejos del lugar donde esos dos primeros aparecieron, junto a un río de poca distinción, esta una tierra que, cotizada altamente por los habitantes del árido desierto, se convirtió de paraíso a tesoro y por lo tanto botín, premio de guerra, símbolo de triunfo. Con el tiempo, la importancia que al principio se debía solo a la fertilidad de la tierra fue transferida por tradición a patrimonio y la tierra que por muy cara era todavía tierra se convirtió en herencia, que vale mas por tradición que por tesoro. Vale más la carne muerta y la sangre que la fertiliza que la tierra misma.
Y unos se dieron la idea de que eran los favoritos de Dios, idea que fue ganando mas creyentes en las multitudes al ver triunfos militares en todos los frentes. Cuando por fin empezaron a perder, la idea de ser los favoritos de Dios era ya parte del mismo patrimonio, y buscaron ideas, teorías, posibilidades y explicaciones por cada derrota. A cierto punto, esto cambió de “favoritos” a “escogidos” y con eso tomaron mayores responsabilidades sociales, adjudicándose a si mismos el peso de toda la humanidad. Y construyeron mas y mejores templos a su Dios, al cual le habían agradecido ser sus favoritos pero a quien recriminaban ahora el ser sus escogidos. Llegaron a pensar que con tal responsabilidad deberían haber muchas ventajas, pero siglo tras siglo no las veían y terminaron convirtiendo tanto amor en tanta culpa, esperando interminablemente que cambiara la marea, pensando que llegaría un hombre un día a guiarlos de regreso al rebaño del Señor.
Cuando todavía no habían empezado a ganar, cuando eran todavía los favoritos, cuando todavía no tenían patrimonio, herencia, madre patria, escogieron una pequeña ciudad en una loma para poder defenderla de los muchos enemigos que ya vivían en esa tierra. Cuando la conquistaron, construyeron muros de protección, fortaleciendo el área contra cualquier ataque. Y así vivieron muchos años, pero al fin perdieron. Unos que vivían donde la torre original fue construida, por la cual Dios los castigó a todos, cuyo orgullo los llevo igualmente a triunfos tremendos, alcanzaron a los favoritos de Dios, y por motivos que solo El sabe, los extranjeros ganaron.
¿Cuanto tiempo toma para que los conquistadores dejen de ser extranjeros? Cuando los nuevos extranjeros llegaron, los favoritos, que ya no eran extranjeros, sufrieron la destrucción del templo—que unos dirían fue su propia torre, pero otros dirían la mera sugerencia de esa idea es herejía.
Pasando el tiempo, lo reconstruyeron, mas impresionante aun que el primero. Pero el segundo templo también fue destruido por nuevos invasores. Esta tierra, tan pequeña y tan retirada de la civilización sufrió miles y miles de años de guerra… y aparentemente así seguirá. Solo una pared queda de este segundo templo, donde todavía lloran, rezan, y dejan rollitos de papel donde han escrito sus deseos y peticiones como a un rey ausente que no tiene tiempo de atenderles ya. Ya no son los favoritos, sino los escogidos, señalados como muestras, ejemplos si no ejemplares de la humanidad. Rezan y rezan y rezan y rezan, pidiendo no sé que a un Dios que los ha degradado. Pero por lo que sea, volvieron. Ya tienen su tierra otra vez, pero como siempre es bajo balas y maldiciones. Pobre gente que ni en su tumba encuentra paz. De acuerdo a su propia historia, todavía les falta mucho sufrimiento. Y ahora construyen otra pared—la que les queda no es suficiente.
Es fácil, para los que sé sienten atacados tanto y tan a menudo, atacar antes de considerar lo que cada ataque implica—y eso va para los dos lados. Al fin de la historia, la búsqueda de la paz causa mas muerte que la búsqueda de libertad—y las dos combinadas son demasiado.
Y sin embargo, se mueve.
¿Quién, con sus pies en tierra firme, puede creer algo tan insólito? No sé mas de historia que de ortografía—pero sé cuando algo me da mal sabor en la boca. Esta paz que buscan hoy es un trago amargo, pero es uno que no pueden evitar. ¿Estaríais dispuestos a dar la vida de vuestros hijos—sin venganza—para que vuestros nietos vivan en paz? Después de tanta muerte, ¿Quién puede pedir tanto? ¿Cuántos millones de almas son suficiente paga por unas cuantas millas cuadradas de arena y sal?
Solo Dios sabe la verdad, y como de costumbre, cuando me habla, no le hago caso.
Digo yo, (y ¿Quién soy yo?) que la pared que hacen hoy será, al final, un simple símbolo del odio que tratan de evitar, un blanco mas con el cual practicar, culpa y pena (letra escarlata), y no insignia roja de valor. Es un paso atrás, que aunque necesario—si lo es—es también dañino, doloroso, culpa y pena. Ojala y no tenga yo la razón. Ojala y sea esta otra vez en que me equivoqué terriblemente. Ojala.
La verdad, no sé.
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