Category Archives: Commentary on the news

Like Northern Minnesota

Summer                                                                     Moon of the Summer Solstice

misty mayA rainy week here on Shadow Mountain. The El Nino has given us an early summer reprieve from wildfires. Last night Jon said it felt like northern Minnesota. It did. The rain and the cool down at night brought back Burntside Lake, Magnetic Lake, Lutsen. No need for a.c. so far and we’re at July 1st already. Not a good environment for growing tomatoes though.

Nate Silver has given Hillary Clinton an 80% shot at winning the presidency. Not a lock, but pretty good odds. Even though Hillary’s politics are not mine, she’s a helluva lot closer than the Hairdo. And, in spite of her centrist politics, the thought of our sitting President, an African-American, campaigning in tandem with a female candidate for the office, excites me. Our little country might be growing up.

Colorado Republicans nominated a tea-bagger conservative to run against Democratic senator Mike Bennet. This should make it very difficult for the Republicans even though Cory Gardner (R) did oust Mark Udall (D) in the 2014 senate race. There are many lefties, Sanders won the Colorado Democratic primary, but there are also libertarians and far right wingers in large numbers. The contours of the state’s politics have not opened up for me yet. I hope by the end of this election cycle to have a much clearer understanding of Colorado’s political dynamics.

And, hey Minnesotans! How about that Iron Range guy that chopped his friend’s head off with a machete? Whoa.

 

 

American Horror Story

Beltane                                                Moon of the Summer Solstice

Here’s another strange phenomenon with the American nightmare. Each time a mass shooting happens, no matter the apparent motivation, no matter the carnage, pro-gun forces use it to emphasize how we need more guns. And, in another very peculiar and sad phenomenon, organizations like the NRA convince gun owners or would be gun owners that the ensuing backlash will, this time, restrict weapons purchases. The result? More people buy guns.

This is a world of inverted value, a world in which George Orwell would have felt at home, a world of a never ending Feast of Fools. Common sense notions like people use guns to kill other people become a rallying cry for increasing gun ownership.

The American dream. Yes, a true and continuing nightmare from which we seem unable to awake. Gunpowder falls over us like an evil pixie dust. People die beneath its enchantment. What other than a curse could explain the twisted logic we find in our newspapers, our online news sources?

Into this toxic environment clomps the drum major of fear’s dark parade: Donald Trump. Could he be the Lord of Misrule who finally captures real power? If we wish to sleep peacefully in our own beds, he had better be stopped. Otherwise angry dreams will more and more intrude on waking life, making this great country a Day of the Dead version of itself.

Terrorism or Good Old American Homegrown Violence?

Beltane                                                     Moon of the Summer Solstice

Orlando. The Pulse shooting. A strange phenomenon is emerging in the reporting of mass shootings, at least strange to me. A question arises early in the news cycle. Was it an act of terrorism? There is then a back and forth about the shooter, their background, their possible motivations. If it’s determined that the shooter had jihadi links, then we put the act over here with a smug “I told you so.” See the Donald’s reaction to Pulse.

On the other hand, if the shooter does not seem to have Middle Eastern terrorist ties, then it becomes a person who was mentally ill and yet another instance, from the NRA perspective, where a gun was misused. No need to control the tool which, like plague bacteria, spreads death in its wake.

Do you see the strangeness here? The peculiar and often commented upon violent tendencies in American culture have become indistinguishable from the very enemy we fight. So much so that an initial analysis is required to separate good old homegrown American violence, just another mass shooting by some whack job, from an act of venal terrorism.

Pogo, “I have seen the enemy and he is us.” I said it before here. The NRA must be seen an organization that supports terrorism, both domestic and foreign. It’s policies have led directly to the rise in mass violence. Let’s shut it down.

Hillary, Yes

Beltane                                                               Moon of the Summer Solstice

Hillary. Not my candidate. Not my politics. Though. A hell of lot closer to me than that one with the hair. Even so. A woman.

Back in the early seventies I was in seminary in New Brighton, Minnesota. It was there that the feminist movement and I made solid contact. My girlfriend of the time, Tina, and my then best friend’s wife, Carol, began going to conscious raising sessions. Still drinking at that point I would grab David and we’d head out to the bar for what I called conscious lowering sessions. It took me a while to get it. But not too long.

Once the notion of patriarchy and sexism became clear to me I began to change. The sixties and the anti-war movement had not been a feminist moment, but those of us involved back then, men and women alike, had been self-educated in criticism/self-criticism. Not the Marxist variety, but the internal, self-directed challenges to establishment thinking which made many of us say no to the draft, avoid careers in business, and fight the government directly through marches, guerilla theater, saying hell no, I won’t go.

Another fundamental shift in our thinking, our behavior, was possible, I believe, because of those years struggling against the military-industrial complex. This time the foe was not Congress, not the President or the Selective Service, but ourselves. We were all children of the fifties, Leave It to Beaver and Father Knows Best. A time when women appeared with fond affection for kitchen appliances in magazine and television ads. A time when, still, women changed their minds just because, you know, they were women. Women, no matter how well educated, stayed at home once children, their primary mission, came into the family. These were our mothers, the models for what a woman’s role was.

Hillary was one of us. So was Bill. Hard as it is to imagine the early seventies are now forty years in the past. Forty years is not so long in the life of a culture and its bedrock assumptions, but over those forty years women’s lives opened up, blossoming into the sort of possibilities appropriate to those who hold up half the sky. Yet our political culture proved very resistant, especially at the presidential level. Now, though, Hillary is the first female candidate for president representing a major political party in the U.S.

The fact that she is so disliked is a raised fist for the success of the feminism. She’s disliked for actions she’s taken as a person wielding power. She’s not being dismissed because of her gender. She’s being disagreed with as a person of significance. Of course, there is much sexism in resistance to her candidacy, but it needs to be cloaked in the phony Benghazi incident or her use of an email server-while Secretary of State.

Even though Hillary is not my first choice, even though her politics are more centrist than my own, I’m excited and proud to have her running for the presidency. In fact, thinking of first Barack Obama, then Hillary as candidates of the Democratic Party almost restores my faith in party politics. Almost. I will not vote for Hillary because she’s a woman. I’ll vote for her because she’s the politician left standing that most closely represents my politics.

But that she’s the one left standing makes me proud of our country. It makes me as proud of our country, ironically, as Trump makes me ashamed and bewildered.

 

The Madhatter Zone and Kairos

Beltane                                                                             Running Creeks Moon

This is no longer a silly season. We’ve passed over silly into the Madhatter zone. How did the richest and most powerful country in the world, renowned for its democratic experiment, manage to nominate for the presidency two its most reviled citizens? This is a question that will puzzle the world, this country, political scientists, pundits and historians for decades. Not, to make it all that much worse, that there were any really better options. A crazed Texan whom nobody liked? A sneaky far right winger with a Cuban pedigree? An Ohio governor who masked a cruel streak? An aging and not very presidential democratic socialist from the Green Mountain State? This is the best we can do?

Feeling the Bern, for those us of a leftist persuasion, has been great fun, but he was no more presidential in his way that triumph of skyscraper buffoonery, Donald Trump. Hillary does have the chops, the gravitas for the job, I’ll give her that. And, it may have to be enough this year. As a country, we simply cannot afford to put an idiot in the Whitehouse. Hillary is a centrist, a hawk and definitely uninspiring.

The people who raise her negatives are not all boiling over tea party crackpots. She’s wonky and sort of anti-charismatic. Her inability to reach younger women has put a bright line down in the lane markers of contemporary feminism. Older women who want a woman, a competent, dues paid up woman like Hillary are in a slow lane to the right of the millennials who want what the feminist revolution promised, to choose a candidate based on her politics, not her gender. This may be one of the larger ironies of our time. The very success of mid to late 20th century feminism has made breaking the ceiling with the toughest glass difficult for one its champions.

I wish I could view this as a phenomenon, a circus act, a sideshow moment in our political history. This way to see the most incredible hair in all of American politics. See the amazing slippery Hillary explain it all. It’s not, though.

It’s a time Christian theologians of the crisis school would call kairotic. A time of kairos, a time that requires action, definitive action that will dramatically affect the future. Climate change has a deadline and that deadline is 2050. If we don’t reduce the use of fossil fuels by 80% by 2050, a huge amount, then the degree of climate change that will be baked in will alter our grandchildren’s world beyond our recognition.

This single issue has many political inflection points: fracking, tar sands, the whole Middle East mess, the funding of terrorism, how to support renewable fuels, funding new modes of transportation, shifting the world’s manufacturing and home heating energy sources and perhaps most importantly the economic impacts of all these.

Climate change and its hydra headed nature is not, however, the only critical issue. The continued rise of Asia, China and India foremost there, will change the geopolitical nature of our world, already has changed it. The tensions in the South China Sea are a leading indicator. India, within the next decade, will pass China as the world’s most populous country. How these two Asian giants manage their economies, their militaries, their internal politics will demand creative responses in U.S. foreign policy.

Internally, we have an economy that has thrust a demagogue and a left-wing populist into national prominence. This is a gilded age more patinaed than that other Gilded Age which Mark Twain satirized. The fault lines in our economy are many. The un or undereducated young have an unemployment rate of 17.8% according to today’s New York Times. The radical union busting of the post-Reagan era, all too successful, has diminished the clout of those in working class jobs like hotel cleaners, janitors, minimum wage factory workers, convenience store clerks, fast food workers.

Meanwhile, the gutting of Glass-Steagall led to the very catastrophe it was enacted to prevent, runaway banks and cunning, rather than sensible, financial instruments and markets. This had the perverse effect of giving the already muscular top 1% of our economic elite a sustained regime of fiscal steroids leading directly to the dangerously top heavy accumulation of wealth in our distributional pyramid. It’s more of an inverted pin really, a pinhead of unimaginably concentrated power and a thin column of those who barely count economically. This is a recipe for revolution, a recipe which has already led to Trump and Sanders, the mildest menu items on the list.

The Black Lives Matter movement continues a history of our nation long struggle to open our society to descendants of the enslaved. Changing demographics will alter the relative power of Latinos, African-Americans, Asians, Native Americans and Whites. The surge of angry white men wanting to make America Great Again is an attempted stiff arm to the increasingly powerful rush of these forces.

Finally, although not at all really the end, we have in the West, where I know live, a movement, the SageBrush Rebellion, which wants to take public lands and turn them over to state control, eventually for sale to private parties. This movement is a quixotic but potent mix of NRA supporters, libertarians, would be right-wing revolutionaries, ranchers, constitutional wingnuts. All of them find the economic and demographic changes going on now threatening in the extreme. The economies of the West are often fragile, subject to market forces beyond their control and now water issues made more difficult by a changing climate.

None of these are trivial matters, none of them will be blustered away or easily solved, even with the best of intentions. The world, our planet, needs, deserves leadership that will address these problems, not avoid them. Given the choices in this madhatter political season here in the U.S., I say Hillary. She’s the best still standing.

 

Sad

Samhain                                                                       Thanksgiving Moon

Routine disrupted. My loft computer is now downstairs where I can hook it up to the internet. On Monday I have a serious computer service company coming out to create a wi-fi or hardwire setup. Calmed down after I made a decision to get it done once, then forget about it. My problem is that I obsess about these things until they get taken care of. If I’m trying and failing to fix things, then I keep obsessing. Tiring.

Sad about guns, about the killing, about terrorism, about the obtuse beliefs of NRA fanatics, about climate change deniers, about the too slow pace of change toward a sustainable future. Angry, too. Yes, angry. In the past sadness and anger have pushed me into political work. Got started when I was a freshman in high school and found the school itself a barrier to learning.

Today, though, I find myself on the sidelines watching a circus where the acrobats miss the trapeze, where the fire eater gets consumed by his element, where the animals smash the cages and trample the crowd. The world has once again sunk into madness.

Yes, the world is always mad. War began thousands of years ago. Slavery, too. People without power did terrible, unthinkable things to break free. So, in a way, the diagnosis of madness, of chaos and insanity, is a tautology. The world is. The world is mad.

It’s also true that any one action, any one person, even any political movement has little chance of creating change systemic enough to bring sanity. Yet, as Margaret Mead said, “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has.” It might be this action, this person, maybe you. It might be this political movement, this one you choose to support.

Where am I going here? What I want to say is that the only way to avoid despair is to choose to act in some way. I won’t be on the sidelines much longer, the projects of our making this home ours will finish and I’ll find somebody to team up with. Somebody to shake a fist with. To make what strangled sort of cry we can. Fatalism just doesn’t work for me. Might be about the third phase and our lives in it.

Life is a tale told by fallible beings…

Summer                                                                        Healing Moon

It would be easy to assume that the world is worse off now than it has ever been. Bernie Sanders calls the various smaller wars going on around the world, “World War III in segments.” There was an article in today’s NYT called for a new period of black radicalism. Not difficult to see why. The gap between the 1% and the 99% has widened, it has become not a gap but a canyon, a Grand Canyon. We can see each other across the canyon’s width but the distance is so great that the people on the other rim appear faintly, if at all.

The ocean’s acidify, the average temperature goes up, the ice caps melt and Shell Oil heads to the Arctic to drill oil wells. When the price of gas goes down a bit, Americans shift away from fuel economy to bigger and faster. Some scientists contend we are in the midst of a sixth great extinction, this one anthropogenic.

And yes, the macro view, the perspective from above, has all these things and so many more to see: poverty, epidemics, drought and water crises, forest desertification.

Yet. Men and women, men and men, women and women fall in love, get married. Babies are born, joy coming into the world with them. Children learn about the Wizard of Oz or Tin Tin or Ganesh or the Monkey King. They play in alleys, parks, war zones, schools and forests. Dreams and hopes trail in their wake like the contrails from a jet.

Here’s what I believe. We are a destructive, adaptive, mean, resilient, loving, biased species. When we push ourselves too far in war, in climate change, in racism and sexism, in concentrations of wealth and power, we take corrective actions. Clumsy and too hopeful probably, ill thought out and filled with flaws, yet with enough right to get us past the current mess.

Life is not a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury signifying nothing. Life is a tale told by fallible creatures, full of love and misguided dreams, signifying everything.

Recent Headlines

Fall                                                                                  Falling Leaves Moon

Police: Drunken Santa zombie enters St. Paul home

Woman topless at bus station: RTD guard started confrontation that led to husband’s arrest

They went to the sperm bank but didn’t get what they selected, so they sued

Love it or leave it

Lughnasa                                                                          College Moon

Cool nights. I’m enjoying these. A great advantage of mountain living is that most nights are cool nights. Looking forward to that. Also, realized that after we move Coming Down the Mountain will take on a new meaning in our life.

The push this week is getting things ready to make efficient use of the SortTossPack folks. A major emphasis will be sorting art, objet d’arts, souvenirs, all that stuff that hangs around because it got set down long ago and never moved. This is the love it or leave it sort.

Which reminds me of a conversation with Tom Crane at the War Memorial during the Woolly Meeting last week.  Pondering the weirdness around patriotism, the notion that the only patriots were veterans and flag wavers. I said, yes, and recalled the 60’s when the love it or leave it bumper stickers pretended to sort out the patriotic, worthy of citizenship folks from those of us with long hair and in opposition to the Vietnam War.

Love of country does not equate to love of government and pride in all its decisions. Nor does it equate to love of the economic system that sorts folks into the 1% and the 99%. Love of country has many roots and more than one flower.

With a son in the military I appreciate the dedication and sacrifice those who serve in the armed forces make, even in peace time. That some in the country want to remember and honor those who serve seems like a natural impulse to me. Most nations have needed warriors over the millennia and they are often the difference between freedom and servitude.

But, the warriors in our country serve at the discretion and for the policies of our elected officials. This means that the work they do passes through the sausage works of politics before it comes to marching orders. Not all wars (most wars?) are just. Thus, it is not reasonable to conflate opposition to war, or to a particular war, with opposition to the military per se.

The love I feel for my nation has three main sources: the people as a collective, the nobility of our experiment and the vast diversity of the land itself. Though we become separated by distance, by values, by history, by future potential each person in our nation is my fellow citizen, a person whose rights and responsibilities I respect.

This great experiment, whether a people with roots in other lands can flourish as one country, is a noble one because it represents in microcosm the world. The fact that our history has many regional, ethnic, even religious conflicts does not take away from the experiment, rather it underwrites it. Can we live with and grow together in spite of the depth of our differences? That a nation can persist, can become great under such circumstances is hopeful.

Finally, this land that is our land. The oceans and their shores. The rivers and lakes. Old mountains like the Appalachians and young vibrant mountains like the Rockies. Vast areas of level fertile soil in a humid climate. Even vaster areas of thin, rocky soil in arid climates. The forests and the wildlife, the farms and the ranches. The wild places and the domesticated. It is a wonder and a full lifetime, even two full lifetimes would not be enough to explore it.

It is this combination of people, political purpose and powerful geography that makes me love where I was born and where I will die. The good old U.S.A.