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Hot on the heels of the US Senate’s failure to pass any kind of gun-control measures, and President Obama’s comments on it, arrived, in the midst of what normally would be a joyous event – the conclusion of the famed Boston Marathon – a percussive note which has riveted the nation’s attentions a whole week:  the bombing in Boston.  In this event, for some days the “suspects” remained unknown and hence, “on the loose,” though at one point the forces of the law announced they had a suspect, and promptly withdrew it, raising for some certain suspicions.  At a later point the FBI named its suspects, two Chechen brothers, and Boston and surrounding areas were then put in lock-down, with residents told to stay locked in their homes as an invading force of highly militarized police – city, State, Federal – fanned out in search of their quarry.  Here is the FBI announcement, which interestingly insists that only its photographs are to be accepted as accurate and real.   The mainstream press largely accommodated this request, and parroted the official line.  On the internet another story was unfolding, in the exchanges of Reddit, 4chan, or Infowars, and replicated across the political spectrum from far right to far left.  In the case of the former, the Boston bombing was another false-flag set-up, staged to lay the ground-work for a governmental confiscation of guns which had been, at least for the moment, politically defeated.  In the latter, it was something similar, but to lay the groundwork for the imposition of martial law at some future point.  The mainstream press, with Rupert Murdoch’s NY Post providing the exception, hewed to the official governmental line.  And as usual, their pundits cranked out the appropriate levels of outrage and “reasonableness,” sticking to the comfortable and safe “middle-of-the-road.”   Amidst all this tumult, naturally, many truths were swept under the rug, disappeared, ridiculed, or otherwise dismissed.

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Ignored by press and television news were many things, among them the presence of a number of militarized persons from a private security agency, TheCraft, whose members sported black backpacks much like that which the FBI said had contained a bomb, and who had clustered around the finish-line area where the bombs exploded.  Immediately following the bombing, these people gathered around a very high-tech vehicle close to where the attack had occurred.   To my knowledge the Boston Marathon organization has not said it had hired TheCraft for security, nor has anyone else explained their presence.  Sure a “story” will be forthcoming.  The motto of TheCraft, as seen on their “skull” patch, is “Despite what your Mama told you, violence does solve problems.”  I don’t know who these guys are, or why they were there, but they look and sound and seem to act like some form of American fascists.  I await the explanation for their being there, or more likely, their erasure from the “story.”

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While the nation was totally focused, with the assistance of the mass media, on events in Boston, the Congress passed by unanimous consent a new little law, which rescinded previously passed law, which forbade members of Congress from using their information for “insider trading.”  President Obama promptly signed the measure into law.  Likewise the House passed on Thursday, April 18, a law (CISPA) designed to clamp down on the internet and give the government access to all internet communications.

Meantime the citizens of Boston, and at a distance the entire Nation, were treated to a full-scale example of a state-of-siege, while highly militarized forces in helicopters, tanks, and large groups of highly armed soldiers and police combed the city, looking for two suspects, one a 19 year old boy.  While asserting these were heavily armed and dangerous, the forces deployed were in all cases incredibly disproportionate to the reality.  But, perhaps, the point was not really to capture these two suspects, but to impress upon the populace the extent of the forces which could be brought into play, perhaps for some other rather probable and likely future event, such as the failure of the economy to generate jobs, or the collapse of the dollar.  Perhaps…

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Shootings In Cambridge, Watertown Draw Massive Police Response

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A member of the SWAT team trains a gun on an apartment building during a search for the remaining suspect in the Boston Marathon bombings in Watertown

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Frightened into a supine compliance, Boston became a deserted place.  Of course one could say having heavily armed uniformed persons outside your window, and having been ordered to accept a 24 hour a day curfew, it was only common sense to obey.  I think this is a refrain we have heard in 1930-40′s Germany, in the USSR, and many other places.  What struck me was the seeming absence of complaint, and the utter lack of a sense of proportion to the supposed danger.  Two young men did not close down the city of Boston; rather the “authorities” – Federal, State, and city, working in collusion – closed down the city, and in a manner absolutely out of keeping with the purported threat.  Clearly something else was at work here.

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The FBI in short order “got their man.”  Though this perhaps has another meaning.  They have admitted to having, in 2011,  interviewed Tamerlan Tsarnaev supposedly at the request of an unnamed “foreign power,” (later revealed to be Putin’s Russia), and was supposedly found to be harmless.  Though his mother seems to see it otherwise, and says the FBI had been in contact with him over 5 years.  Naturally these little discrepancies have lit up the internet, though the mainstream press seems disinterested.  As they were in 9/11.   So, rather than question the very dubious official version – with one man dead, and the other now allegedly severely wounded but unable to talk – we are instead treated to that ever so American celebration of our togetherness, grit, and other wonderful traits that make us so exceptional.  And our heavily militarized police are being placed on pedestals for “protecting us.”

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Members of the public cheer as police officers leave the scene where Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, suspect in Boston Marathon bombings, was taken into custody in Watertown

I am not a conspiracy theorist – the worst epithet tossed at anyone who does not go along with the “official” story promulgated by our government or other supposed “authorities,” though “nut-case” and others work just as well.   I am though willing to look at facts and figures and images directly, and to sift through them to see what appears to be valid.  I am also willing to listen to the rhetorical talk of ideologues, and to try to figure out the what and why of their behaviors.

In the case in Boston I think the story is far from over, though I am equally sure that both the government, and its compliant corporately owned mass media system will not be too interested in pursuing the matter much further, aside from in patting us all on the back for being so cooperative as a major American city, the veritable birthplace of the American revolution, was placed under martial law on the flimsiest of pretexts, and very likely, once and if the entire story is exposed, an utterly false pretext.   One that should recall other now infamous phrases: The Gulf of Tonkin, WMD, and the myriad other fraudulent claims made by our supposedly democratically elected officials, in order to prompt the nation to do what they wish us to do.

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Addendum:  (I will be adding URLs to interesting looks at the whole Boston bombing etc. as time goes along.)

http://www.juancole.com/2013/04/fathers-sons-chechnya.html

http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/americas/the-fbis-big-miss-boston-bombing-fugitive-shot-dead-was-on-radar-two-years-ago-8581570.html

http://www.michaelmoore.com/words/mike-friends-blog/chechen-terrorists-and-neocons#.UXMRPV5Slto.facebook

http://www.salon.com/2013/04/20/how_boston_exposes_americas_dark_post_911_bargain/

http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/newsdesk/2013/04/dzhokhar-tsarnaev-is-found.html

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09funicello1_cnd-popupAnnette Funicello

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People try to put us d-down (Talkin’ ’bout my generation)

Just because we g-g-get around (Talkin’ ’bout my generation)

Things they do look awful c-c-cold (Talkin’ ’bout my generation)

I hope I die before I get old (Talkin’ ’bout my generation)

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The last months, traveling the western US, I’ve somewhat consciously sought to see as many of my old friends who are around this region as I could.  Consciously since it is likely I may well soon decamp for some distant place, perhaps never to return.  Consciously, as in many cases – my own included – the clock is running down, and this might be a last chance to see them, either because I or they will no longer be.  Such are the thoughts which the diminishing of time – as well as of muscle tissue, sight, energy and the blossoming of liver spots, lack of hair, and the other vicissitudes of aging – impose.  Seeing some old friends, I am struck, as surely they are likewise with me, by how much they have aged.

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Annette Funicello was in the first Mickey Mouse Show, which began in 1955.  I am sure that while Uncle Walt would be appalled at the thought (or perhaps perversely pleased) that Annette was the jack-off queen for a generation of suppressed 1950′s boys – she had visible tits and exuded a sensuality the other girls on the show lacked, she was our go-to girl.  I know because I asked friends if she were their fantasy of choice while pounding the meat – the restrictions those days being far more stringent than today.  Back then Elvis was cropped above the waist for some modest gyrations on the Ed Sullivan Show; today Lady Gaga can virtually lap-dance on your face and no one seems to raise an eyebrow.  But time indeed marches on, heedless of our wishes, and steadily grinds our bodies to bits.  Even those of stars, large and small, of the silver screen.  Annette dropped from social sight some time ago, a victim of time and MS.  She died today in Bakersfield, CA., 100 or so miles north of where I write in the San Fernando Valley where she once graced a sound stage, wearing the Mouseketeer ears with which the Disney Corporation made its global mark.  She was seventy.

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mag12JPG-2547289Maggie Thatcher, dead at 87les-art-bigLes Blank

The day before, on Sunday, April 7, Les Blank also joined the list of no-longer-here, hot on the heels of Roger Ebert, about whom I wrote only a few days ago.  Les was 77.  I met – and nothing more – Les a few times out on the festival circuit.  He was a well-known documentary filmmaker, a figure in the Bay Area film and cultural community, much liked by everyone I knew.  If I believed in such things, I’d imagine a raucous New Orleans wake going on now in his honor, for a life well spent.  But I don’t believe in such things, and know his spirit is now but a stiff piece of soon to disappear flesh, with everything that made him – like all of us – what we are in any way notable for, gone.  Sic transit gloria.

Les-Blank-at-CC-meeting.-Photo-Emilie-Raguso-1024x768Les last year, being “honored” in Berkeley

I will in another place try to get around to writing a bit more deeply about this process of aging – of watching one’s family and friends grow fat or gaunt, hobbled by infirmities, ravaged by disease, and finally slipping off into death, whether done with grace or rage or indifference.  It is, to say the least, an interesting process, one which our culture seems to do its best to avoid confronting except in a frantic effort to escape it.  Our medical system, our consumerist life-style, our shallow public philosophy of life in general sends us in flight from speaking of it, or contemplating it outside the dumb legal necessities which property imposes.

Today there was an article by Susan Faludi published in the New Yorker, on my long-ago friend Shulamith Firestone – an article prompted by her death in August 2012.  I’d tried to provide some information for Susan, not just about what little I could remember about Shulie back in 1964-67, but also things trying to give her a little sense of flavor to the tenor of the times, so I suggested she see a few short films made back then, one of which, unknown to me, was based on a real-life friend of Shulie’s — who had committed suicide while I was in prison.  Reading the article, for the first time in a fair while, I wept – for Shulie, her sister, and many others, including myself.  I wept for all the needless pain inflicted on us all, and which in turn provokes us into inflicting pain in our turn.

shulieShulamith Firestone

This Be The Verse

    They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
      They may not mean to, but they do.
    They fill you with the faults they had
      And add some extra, just for you.

    But they were fucked up in their turn
      By fools in old-style hats and coats,
    Who half the time were soppy-stern
      And half at one another's throats.

    Man hands on misery to man.
      It deepens like a coastal shelf.
    Get out as early as you can,
      And don't have any kids yourself.
            - Philip Larkin 

Charlotte Bacon, 6

Daniel Barden, 7

Olivia Engel, 6

Josephine Gay, 7

Ana Marquez-Greene, 6

Dylan Hockley, 6

Madeleine Hsu, 6

Catherine Hubbard, 6

Chase Kowalski, 7

Jesse Lewis, 6

James Mattioli, 6

Grace McDonnell, 7

Emilie Parker, 6

Jack Pinto, 6

Noah Pozner, 6

Caroline Previdi, 6

Jessica Rekos, 6

Avielle Richman, 6

Benjamin Wheeler, 6

They were very young, and in a sense they had no idea what hit them.  Nor, unlike those older, did they really understand what had been taken from them – the joys, sadnesses, the every day hum drum of life and the occasional ecstasies, all the things that make up a human life.  Their families and community will be traumatized and in some ways will never recover – lives altered in ways unexpected, with little defense for this kind of sudden shift, even if our country offers up repeatedly the example of its possibility.  “Normalcy” is shattered, sent into pieces with the rapid fire of a high-powered rifle which throughout America can be readily purchased at a hardware store, pawn shop or myriad other places.  The right is allegedly enshrined in the 2nd Amendment of our Constitution.  Whether in response to this tragedy, and the many which preceded it, we will, as a society, confront and materially deal with it, is an open question.  We will be drowned in prayers, which do nothing aside from delude the praying that they are doing something.  Whether real, material, actions will be taken seems doubtful – especially in a time when a million small-time drug users languish in prison, and the extremely wealthy managers of banks, laundering billions of dollars in drug (and weapons) money, when caught red-handed, are lightly slapped on the wrist and let go.  Or when the same society sits silent while drones patrol the skies of far away places, loosing Hellfire missiles on alleged “terrorists” which often prove to be wedding parties, and other gatherings of a social kind, or schools, like the one in Newtown, Conn.

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16shooting-lanza-articleInline-v2fxAdam Lanza, aged 20

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It is an irony that will doubtless be pointed out many times, that Adam’s mother, his first victim, was a gun fancier, and it was with her own gun with which she was slain.  What compelled her to keep an assault rifle, and several pistols capable of shooting many rounds automatically, along with a few run-of-the-mill hunting guns is something we won’t ever know.  Nor why so many other Americans seem to feel the same need despite the massive statistics which show they will most likely be their own victims.  But then living in a country of 300+ million which spends more than all the remaining 6.3+ billion people on the planet on “defense” makes such behavior seem in some way logical.  It is something evidently deeply ingrained in the American cultural DNA that God and Guns go together.  As does our propensity for simply deleting those who inconvenience us – from native Americans to the endless list of “others” who in varying manners find themselves on the wrong side of “our” interests.  Usually far away, culturally rather different, and in some way an affront to “the national interest” whether in Guatamala, Venezuela, Chile, Viet Nam, the Congo, or of late in some middle-eastern locale such as Iraq or Iran.  Once we sent the Marines to sing “from the halls of Montezuma to the shores of Tripoli;” now we send them if the drones and black bases and special service ops don’t do the job.

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So the nation will weep some crocodile tears, the President may make some small tentative steps towards a modest bit of gun control (no, the 2nd Amendment did not authorize citizen owning of tanks or anti-aircraft missiles…), there will be the customary weeping and wailing, and the drones will drone on, the military-industrial complex will crank out more fantastical weapons and their corporate partners will peddle them around the globe, and likely we will follow the historical trajectory of an empire – over-extending ourselves, bankrupting the communal finances, and becoming decadent and corrupt along the way.  You need only turn on your TV set to have proof of the latter, see Federal and State budgets for the prior, and sneak a look at the “top secret” reality which is our government’s practice, and punishable, as Bradley Manning can tell you, with “legal” draconian treatment should you slightly lift the curtain on it, for proof of the the first.

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Rachel Davino, 29

Teacher

Dawn Hochsprung, 47

School principal

Anne Marie Murphy, 52

Teacher

Lauren Rousseau, 30

Teacher

Mary Sherlach, 56

School psychologist

Victoria Soto, 27

Teacher

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Our national press did not see fit to publish the names of the 47 dead of this Afghan wedding party, “collateral damage” of a drone attack.

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Nancy-LanzaNancy Lanza, 52

Mother of gunman

gty_bradley_manning_dm_121108_wgBradley Manning

While the Obama administration has seen fit to approve the treatment of Bradley Manning, when confronted with criminal actions on a huge scale by international bankers, laundering drug money in the billions of dollars, and trading with “the enemy” (Iran), the Department of Justice (sic) chose not to prosecute.  See this for full details.

It’s been a while since I was last here – 2003 – when I attended in competition with Oui Non.  Yamagata is a documentary festival, and they have had me here now 5 times.  I’m told that’s the most anyone has been here.  For me it is a kind of little homecoming, though I find it hard to perceive of myself as a “documentary” filmmaker.  I think of the films of mine they have shown here, very few other documentary festivals would consider them as proper “documentaries”: Oui Non began as a fiction and remains one, and is rather “experimental” in its aesthetics; 6 Easy Pieces, which won a prize here, is similarly far removed from normal doc modes and methods; London Brief most would consign to the “experimental” ghetto.  Likewise Plain Talk and Common Sense, shown here at their first festival, in 1989.   In their opening ceremonies they mentioned that it had been 22 years since then, which reminds that the clock is definitely (and defiantly) ticking.  Since that first festival Yamagata has grown as a town, and as a festival, now being regarded certainly as the premiere documentary festival in Asia, and up with the best anywhere else.

Image from opening film, a rather charming TV documentary made in Yamagata in 1963, about immigrant farmers going to Tokyo to work in a bread factory over the winter.  Very nice and so unlike anything that could be made today.

This year’s festival seems subdued, clearly impacted by what they have recurrently called The Great Eastern Earthquake.  Fukushima is only 100 kilometers away, over a modest mountain range.  While Yamagata itself did not suffer serious damage in the earthquake, the neighboring areas to the east were devastated, and for some time Yamagata was a place for refugees to stay.  Clearly their economy, as all of Japan’s, has taken a severe hit.   The festival organizers, in their opening ceremony and remarks, were happy that those of us who came did so – it seems some or perhaps many of the filmmakers did not come.

This morning I saw at 10 am a first film, from Swiss filmmaker Thomas Imbach, titled Day is Done.   I found it completely absorbing, despite its self-chosen restrictions.  Made from a compilation of 35mm footage shot over a period of 15 years, largely from the window and roof of his loft-like space in an industrial neighborhood of Zurich.  The imagery is often strikingly beautiful with rich skies, rain, snow, and dramatic light shifts over the same cityscape imagery.   The sound track is a mix of telephone answering machine messages, coupled with sections of a mix of songs, used somewhat aggressively, the verbal content being used to prod the film’s seeming message along.  The film, as read between the lines, could readily be titled “Self-Portrait of myself as an asshole.”   Indirectly it paints a picture of Imbach as a voyeuristic, self-involved, irresponsible person.  Part of its fascination is in this self-exposure, but also in his seemingly obsessive voyeurism, and his ethical utilitarianism.  Using the tape recorded messages as a major part of his content, the voices of friends, bankers, ex-wife, son, father, businessmen and others are clearly manipulated to form a jig-saw puzzle of Imbach’s life at this time.  His father talks, gets ill, dies.   His affair with his wife comes, along with a child, and goes.  A number of evident lovers talk and disappear.  His career zooms along with nice notices.   The visuals are repeated shots across the city, with a prominent modern industrial chimney shot again and again, with planes taking off or landing at the nearby airport, birds, snow, rain, light and dark.  Other images show trains zipping by in time-lapse which often changes speed and exposure in the shot; the camera jerks around finding its image.  Down on the street below he obsessively tracks in hyper-telephoto a woman who goes into the same door; he catches other drama there – some fires caught on fire, a major motor-bike accident, a club opening opposite, lovers wildly kissing.   A few sequences take the viewer out of this confined viewpoint – a visit to his mother, his (ex) wife, his child at the beach – sort of home-movie.    The film is often gorgeous.   And “T”, as he names himself, appears periodically next to his camera in the reflection in a window.

From Day is Done, by Thomas Imbach

I am not sure it is a good film – for me it began to wear out its welcome perhaps 20-30 minutes before it ended, though it was not then boring at all.  What made it fascinating was the internal cross-fire in your own mind as you questioned the ethics of using the answering machine tapes; the somewhat lurid-feeling and repeated shots of the girl walking down the street; the constant sense of voyeurism compounded by T’s evidently irresponsible behaviors with his friends, family, wife and son.   Combined with the repetitive imagery, these all collided into a rich internal intellectual stew in my mind, and which in a sense were clearly intended to be provoked.   At the conclusion there was a kind of sour emotional sense of questioning whether one should “like” a film by someone who seemingly is a lout if a person.  An old conundrum:   good artists can often be lousy humans.

The girl

Whatever my reservations, it was a film which I enjoyed, felt was a good wedge to press the viewer to think for themselves, and certainly made me wish to see some of his other work, documentary and fiction.

Still from Travis Wilkerson’s Distinguished Flying Cross

The other film I saw today, also in competition, was Travis Wilkerson’s Distinguished Flying Cross.  Running just an hour, it consists of a set-piece of Wilkerson on one side of a table, his brother across from him, and his father at the end.  Rigidly composed, and with a few other shots of a close up of a beer glass, and of his brother’s profile inserted for a slight change of pace, this shot is interrupted frequently by very brief title cards, usually accompanied with a percusive sound or noise.  Wilkerson’s father essentially tells the story of his Viet Nam days, and of receiving his Distinguished Flying Cross medal as a helicopter pilot.  Four or five times this tableau is disturbed by longer sequences of somel minute’s length of Viet Nam combat footage taken by soldier cinematographers.  One of those sequences is strewn with VC corpses.    I found the story-telling less than engaging, in part owing to the distanced and rigid imagery, which was amplified by the sons’ less than lively presence.  Also the miking/EQ made it a bit difficult to understand as the bass and boominess of the room managed to smother the sound frequently.   Cumulatively it didn’t seem to add up, in part because the story Dad had to tell was ordinary military stuff, and failed to arouse much emotional contact one way or another.  The tepid applause at the end suggested I wasn’t alone in this view.  Travis is participating in the Far From Afghanistan omni-bus film I am taking part in, so this criticism is diplomatically touchy, but I think honesty is always the best medicine – especially for artists among themselves.

Imagens de uma cidade perdida

And then I had my own screening, first one, of Imagens de uma cidade perdida.   It was shown with an NTSC conversion of my PAL original, and apparently played off a Blu-Ray disk.  The cinema is very large and likewise the screen.  I must say it looked gorgeous, rather better than I thought it could, and sounded equally good.  The audience was not very large, and I think about 20-25% left after about 60-70 minutes.   Of those that stayed the applause was generous, and many came to a talk session in the lobby that went on 30 minutes or so, by which I’d guess the response was pretty positive.  Owing to a mistake of my own the version they saw was minus a few minutes of subtitles which should have been there, but….  My own error in sending an incorrect tape with no subtitles,  and while I said I’d send the correct one to festival they said they could take off the DVD I’d sent, which turned out to be an older one which I’d sent before changing the subtitles.  Not fatal, but, well, stupid. The price of haste when traveling.  Or an unraveling brain.

Imagens de uma cidade perdida

Tomorrow I’ll find out if the thin attendance (in the audience, at the festival HQ) is owing to it being the first day, or it being a weekday, or if instead it is because the reverberations of the earthquake/tsunami and the fear of radiation.  I’m told of the 15 invited filmmakers, only 8 or 9 are attending.  In any event I recall in my previous visits much more hustle and bustle surrounding the festival, and my guess the seeming quietness this time is owing to the disaster of last February.    Of which I will get a close look after the festival as I’m arranging to go visit some of the area devastated by the tsunami.

Wall Street this week

For the last week there have been protests on Wall Street, though one would have been hard-pressed to know it if you followed our nation’s “mainstream” press.   There was virtually nary a word, and if so, buried far in the back.  And this time it wasn’t a bunch of geriatric cases reliving their wild 1960′s youth, or at least those were not predominant at all.  Instead it was young people of today – the one’s who are really getting screwed by the actions of Wall Street, their future deleted by big business’ lunge for maximum profit via off-shoring, down-sizing and shelling out zillions in bonuses to themselves for their cleverness.

So the guys in the offices (actually, for the same profit-motive reasons, a lot of Wall Street offices are no longer located there as it is cheaper in New Haven, places across the river in New Jersey so they shipped them there) now have not only jitters about the American market, the collapse of the European markets and all that financial stuff, but also about getting out the door to catch a limo home.

For updates on Wall Street see                 https://occupywallst.org/

The thin blue line protects Wall Street

Of course, while our press hasn’t deigned to cover this story lurking right under their noses (because those on Wall Street own America’s press), the UK Guardian and Al Jazeera, apparently not under the yoke of big money, have.  The New York Times, finally, had an article today which in its manner covers the story, in a rather dismissive manner.  Earlier they’d had a few blog posts, one stating that the protestors “believe the financial system it weighted to the advantage of the rich.”  It was phrased as if this were a dubious proposition.

Of other sources of information, see this:

Of course the police are using their new tactics – caging and kettling, hemming in protesting groups, arbitrary arrests, and all the other practices of  a soft police-state.   Our media is now a form of Pravda, printing mostly trivia to distract the public, suppressing all signs of dissent, and grinding out propaganda 24/7.



Meantime while at least some people in the US shake off the lethargy of the last decades – during which our masters were very busy building the tools for a somewhat extensive police-state – on Wall Street it’s really been rough, though last Friday there was a tiny glimmer of hope as the day ended “positive” after a week of tumbling down the charts.  In the arcane language of the market, in the past few weeks several trillions of dollars in “value” has been lost.  Pity the poor traders and investors.

On behalf of Wall Street America sent Treasury Secretary Timothy Geithner to Europe to lecture them on the need to get their debt problems sorted out.  It is a bit absurd that he should do so, since he was instrumental in setting up the American collapse of 2008.  His real concern is not really Europe, but that using the trillions of dollars (16 of them, trillions) which the US pumped into the financial system back then, our wonderful banks, epigones of rectitude that they are, loaned with nice interest rates attached, mucho dinaro to those self-same banks now wobbling in France and Germany (because they loaned the money to Greece and Portugal and…. for even bigger interest: sound like some kinda ponzi scheme?) and should those banks go under then America’s banks would themselves take a nasty hit.  Again.  And doubtless Timmy would feel the need to nudge the Fed to print up some more trillions to bail them out.  Except, perhaps the demonstrators down on the street might suddenly find themselves joined by millions of others, and as recently shown in some of our good ally governments, like Egypt, even a really nasty police-state apparatus can’t cope when a majority rises against them.  Or even a significant minority.   So Mr Geithner’s trip is really a mix of political pressuring to try to make sure a European swoon doesn’t take America with it.  Which it would.

Tim Geithner shoring up the Eurocrats

And lastly, a little belated mention, now relevant to those young people out getting harassed and busted by New York’s Finest down on Wall Street, of Carl Oglesby, a founder of the long ago SDS (Students for a Democratic Society), of the once-upon-a-time New Left.  He died a week and a few days ago, aged 76.   It was SDS and its off-shoots, which were in a large part the organizational center of all that stuff you have heard about the 60′s, in case you are not of my age and aren’t familiar.  It wasn’t all just the Beatles and Stones and Dylan and hippies.  I was never in SDS, being too much an anarchist to join pretty much anything, but I was close to it for a while (my girlfriend of the time was in it and deeply engaged, and she’s still hotly involved in politics).   Oglesby was an exception in SDS – older, a former straight-laced business guy whose head got turned sharply.  For a while he was the SDS’s best spokesperson, though like many, he got chewed up in the usual splintering factionalism which political hot-heads usually devolve into.

Carl Oglesby, 1968

I print below a speech he gave in 1965.  I was in prison at the time, doing my 27 months for refusing the order to comply with Uncle Sam’s wishes.   Reading it now, one can have a handful of responses.  One might be to wax nostalgic, but I am unable to do so, that being an emotional state I rather abhor.  Another would be to see how seemingly dated some things are – names, places – all the usual detritus of history which zips by faster than you can imagine, though when immersed in it each of these little details seems gargantuan.  And another is to see how it suggests that the New Left lost, and lost badly.  Because what Oglesby says in these words, if we can brush away the cobwebs of time, some of the dated language and such, and read for the real content, is as pertinent today as it was when he spoke them.   Not much as really changed, or in truth it has changed for the worse:  the corporate control of America (and elsewhere in the world) is far stronger than it was then.   Today, as noted, the “mainstream press” can’t be bothered to report a little ruckus on Wall Street.  It was like that back then, but not in such a monolithic manner.  And today, like then, cops crack heads, make illegal busts, and in the lingo of the 60′s, “serve The Man.”  They still do.

On November 27, 1965, the new president of SDS, Carl Oglesby, spoke at another March on Washington. Responding to Paul Potter’s call to “name the system,” Carl went to the heart of contradiction between America’s revolutionary birth and its present foreign policy. 

Seven months ago at the April March on Washington, Paul Potter, then President of Students for a Democratic Society, stood in approximately this spot and said that we must name the system that creates and sustains the war in Vietnam – name it, describe it, analyze it, understand it, and change it.

Today I will try to name it – to suggest an analysis which, to be quite frank, may disturb some of you — and to suggest what changing it may require of us.

We are here again to protest a growing war. Since it is a very bad war, we acquire the habit of thinking it must be caused by very bad men. But we only conceal reality, I think, to denounce on such grounds the menacing coalition of industrial and military power, or the brutality of the blitzkrieg we are waging against Vietnam, or the ominous signs around us that heresy may soon no longer be permitted. We must simply observe, and quite plainly say, that this coalition, this blitzkrieg, and this demand for acquiescence are creatures, all of them, of a Government that since 1932 has considered itself to he fundamentally liberal.

The original commitment in Vietnam was made by President Truman, a mainstream liberal. It was seconded by President Eisenhower, a moderate liberal. It was intensified by the late President Kennedy, a flaming liberal. Think of the men who now engineer that war — those who study the maps, give the commands, push the buttons, and tally the dead: Bundy, McNamara, Rusk, Lodge, Goldberg, the President himself. They are not moral monsters. They are all honorable men. They are all liberals.

But so, I’m sure, are many of us who are here today in protest. To understand the war, then, it seems necessary to take a closer look at this American liberalism. Maybe we are in for some surprises. Maybe we have here two quite different liberalisms: one authentically humanist; the other not so human at all.

Not long ago I considered myself a liberal and if, someone had asked me what I meant by that, I’d perhaps have quoted Thomas Jefferson or Thomas Paine, who first made plain our nation’s unprovisional commitment to human rights. But what do you think would happen if these two heroes could sit down now for a chat with President Johnson and McGeorge Bundy?

They would surely talk of the Vietnam war. Our dead revolutionaries would soon wonder why their country was fighting against what appeared to be a revolution. The living liberals would hotly deny that it is one: there are troops coming in from outside, the rebels get arms from other countries, most of the people are not on their side, and they practice terror against their own. Therefore: not a revolution.

What would our dead revolutionaries answer? They might say: “What fools and bandits, sirs, you make then of us. Outside help? Do you remember Lafayette? Or the three thousand British freighters the French navy sunk for our side? Or the arms and men, we got from France and Spain? And what’s this about terror? Did you never hear what we did to our own Loyalists? Or about the thousands of rich American Tories who fled for their lives to Canada? And as for popular support, do you not know that we had less than one-third of our people with us? That, in fact, the colony of New York recruited more troops for the British than for the revolution? Should we give it all back?”

Revolutions do not take place in velvet boxes. They never have. It is only the poets who make them lovely. What the National Liberation Front is fighting in Vietnam is a complex and vicious war. This war is also a revolution, as honest a revolution as you can find anywhere in history. And this is a fact which all our intricate official denials will never change.

But it doesn’t make any difference to our leaders anyway. Their aim in Vietnam is really much simpler than this implies. It is to safeguard what they take to be American interests around the world against revolution or revolutionary change, which they always call Communism – as if that were that. In the case of Vietnam, this interest is, first, the principle that revolution shall not be tolerated anywhere, and second, that South Vietnam shall never sell its rice to China – or even to North Vietnam.

There is simply no such thing now, for us, as a just revolution – never mind that for two?thirds of the world’s people the Twentieth Century might as well be the Stone Age; never mind the melting poverty and hopelessness that are the basic facts of life for most modern men; and never mind that for these millions there is now an increasingly perceptible relationship between their sorrow and our contentment.

Can we understand why the Negroes of Watts rebelled? Then why do we need a devil theory to explain the rebellion of the South Vietnamese? Can we understand the oppression in Mississippi, or the anguish that our Northern ghettoes makes epidemic? Then why can’t we see that our proper human struggle is not with Communism or revolutionaries, but with the social desperation that drives good men to violence, both here and abroad?

To be sure, we have been most generous with our aid, and in Western Europe, a mature industrial society, that aid worked. But there are always political and financial strings. And we have never shown ourselves capable of allowing others to make those traumatic institutional changes that are often the prerequisites of progress in colonial societies. For all our official feeling for the millions who are enslaved to what we so self?righteously call the yoke of Communist tyranny, we make no real effort at all to crack through the much more vicious right?wing tyrannies that our businessmen traffic with and our nation profits from every day. And for all our cries about the international Red conspiracy to take over the world, we take only pride in the fact of our six thousand military bases on foreign soil.

We gave Rhodesia a grave look just now – but we keep on buying her chromium, which is cheap because black slave labor mines it.

We deplore the racism of Verwoert’s fascist South Africa – but our banks make big loans to that country and our private technology makes it a nuclear power.

We are saddened and puzzled by random backpage stories of revolt in this or that Latin American state – but are convinced by a few pretty photos in the Sunday supplement that things are getting better, that the world is coming our way, that change from disorder can be orderly, that our benevolence will pacify the distressed, that our might will intimidate the angry.

Optimists, may I suggest that these are quite unlikely fantasies? They are fantasies because we have lost that mysterious social desire for human equity that from time to time has given us genuine moral drive. We have become a nation of young, bright-eyed, hard-hearted, slim-waisted, bullet-headed make-out artists. A nation – may I say it? – of beardless liberals.

You say I am being hard? Only think.

This country, with its thirty-some years of liberalism can send 200,000 young men to Vietnam to kill and die in the most dubious of wars, but it cannot get 100 voter registrars to go into Mississippi.

What do you make of it?

The financial burden of the war obliges us to cut millions from an already pathetic War on Poverty budget. But in almost the same breath, Congress appropriates one hundred forty million dollars for the Lockheed and Boeing companies to compete with each other on the supersonic transport project?that Disneyland creation that will cost us all about two billion dollars before it’s done.

What do you make of it?

Many of us have been earnestly resisting for some years now the idea of putting atomic weapons into West German hands, an action that would perpetuate the division of Europe and thus the Cold War. Now just this week we find out that, with the meagerest of security systems, West Germany has had nuclear weapons in her hands for the past six years.

What do you make of it?

Some will make of it that I overdraw the matter. Many will ask: What about the other side? To be sure, there is the bitter ugliness of Czechoslovakia, Poland, those infamous Russian tanks in the streets of Budapest. But my anger only rises to hear some say that sorrow cancels sorrow, or that this one’s shame deposits in that one’s account the right to shamefulness.

And others will make of it that I sound mighty anti-American. To these, I say: Don’t blame me for that! Blame those who mouthed my liberal values and broke my American heart.

Just who might they be, by the way? Let’s take a brief factual inventory of the latter-day Cold War.

In 1953 our Central Intelligence Agency managed to overthrow Mossadegh in Iran, the complaint being his neutralism in the Cold War and his plans to nationalize the country’s oil resources to improve his people’s lives. Most evil aims, most evil man. In his place we put in General Zahedi, a World War II Nazi collaborator. New arrangements on Iran’s oil gave twenty-five year leases on forty per cent of it to three U.S. firms, one of which was Gulf Oil. The C.I.A.’s leader for this coup was Kermit Roosevelt. In 1960, Kermit Roosevelt became a vice president of Gulf Oil.

In 1954, the democratically elected Arbenz of Guatemala wanted to nationalize a portion of United Fruit Company’s plantations in his country, land he needed badly for a modest program of agrarian reform. His government was overthrown in a C.I.A.-supported rightwing coup. The following year, Gen. Walter Bedell Smith, director of the C.I.A. when the Guatemala venture was being planned, joined the board of directors of the United Fruit Company.

Comes 1960 and Castro cries we are about to invade Cuba. The Administration sneers, “poppycock,” and we Americans believe it. Comes 1961 and the invasion. Comes with it the awful realization that the United States Government had lied.

Comes 1962 and the missile crisis, and our Administration stands prepared to fight global atomic war on the curious principle that another state does not have the right to its own foreign policy.

Comes 1963 and British Guiana where Cheddi Jagan wants independence from England and a labor law modeled on the Wagner Act. And Jay Lovestone, the AFL-CIO foreign policy chief, acting, as always, quite independently of labor’s rank and file, arranges with our Government to finance an eleven-week dock strike that brings Jagan down, ensuring that the state will remain British Guiana, and that any workingman who wants a wage better than fifty cents a day is a dupe of Communism.

Comes 1964. Two weeks after Undersecretary Thomas Mann announces that we have abandoned the Alianza’s principle of no aid to tyrants, Brazil’s Goulart is overthrown by the vicious right?winger, Ademar Barros, supported by a show of American gunboats at Rio de Janeiro. Within twenty four hours, the new head of state, Mazzilli, receives a congratulatory wire from our President.

Comes 1965. The Dominican Republic. Rebellion in the streets. We scurry to the spot with twenty thousand neutral Marines and our neutral peacemakers – like Ellsworth Bunker Jr., Ambassador to the Organization of American States. Most of us know that our neutral Marines fought openly on the side of the junta, a fact that the Administration still denies. But how many also know that what was at stake was our new Caribbean Sugar Bowl? That this same neutral peacemaking Bunker is a board member and stock owner of the National Sugar Refining Company, a firm his father founded in the good old days, and one which has a major interest in maintaining the status quo in the Dominican Republic? Or that the President’s close personal friend and advisor, our new Supreme Court Justice Abe Fortas, has sat for the past 19 years on the board of the Sucrest Company, which imports blackstrap molasses from the Dominican Republic? Or that the rhetorician of corporate liberalism and the late President Kennedy’s close friend Adolf Berle, was chairman of that same board? Or that our roving ambassador Averill Harriman’s brother Roland is on the board of National Sugar? Or that our former ambassador to the Dominican Republic, Joseph Farland, is a board member of the South Puerto Rico Sugar Co., which owns two hundred and seventy?five thousand acres of rich land in the Dominican Republic and is the largest employer on the island – at about one dollar a day?

Neutralists! God save the hungry people of the world from such neutralists!

We do not say these men are evil. We say, rather, that good men can be divided from their compassion by the institutional system that inherits us all. Generation in and out, we are put to use. People become instruments. Generals do not hear the screams of the bombed; sugar executives do not see the misery of the cane cutters: for to do so is to be that much less the general, that much less the executive.

The foregoing facts of recent history describe one main aspect of the estate of Western liberalism. Where is our American humanism here? What went wrong?

Let’s stare our situation coldly in the face. All of us are born to the colossus of history, our American corporate system – in many ways an awesome organism. There is one fact that describes it: With about five per cent of the world’s people, we consume about half the world’s goods. We take a richness that is in good part not our own, and we put it in our pockets, our garages, our split-levels, our bellies, and our futures.

On the face of it, it is a crime that so few should have so much at the expense of so many. Where is the moral imagination so abused as to call this just? Perhaps many of us feel a bit uneasy in our sleep. We are not, after all, a cruel people. And perhaps we don’t really need this super-dominance that deforms others. But what can we do? The investments are made. The financial ties are established. The plants abroad are built. Our system exists. One is swept up into it. How intolerable – to be born moral, but addicted to a stolen and maybe surplus luxury. Our goodness threatens to become counterfeit before our eyes – unless we change. But change threatens us with uncertainty – at least.

Our problem, then, is to justify this system and give its theft another name – to make kind and moral what is neither, to perform some alchemy with language that will make this injustice seem a most magnanimous gift.

A hard problem. But the Western democracies, in the heyday of their colonial expansionism, produced a hero worthy of the task.

Its name was free enterprise, and its partner was an illiberal liberalism that said to the poor and the dispossessed: What we acquire of your resources we repay in civilization: the white man’s burden. But this was too poetic. So a much more hardheaded theory was produced. This theory said that colonial status is in fact a boon to the colonized. We give them technology and bring them into modem times.

But this deceived no one but ourselves. We were delighted with this new theory. The poor saw in it merely an admission that their claims were irrefutable. They stood up to us, without gratitude. We were shocked – but also confused, for the poor seemed again to be right. How long is it going to be the case, we wondered, that the poor will be right and the rich will be wrong?

Liberalism faced a crisis. In the face of the collapse of the European empires, how could it continue, to hold together, our twin need for richness and righteousness? How can we continue to sack the ports of Asia and still dream of Jesus?

The challenge was met with a most ingenious solution: the ideology of anti-Communism. This was the bind: we cannot call revolution bad, because we started that way ourselves, and because it is all too easy to see why the dispossessed should rebel. So we will call revolution Communism. And we will reserve for ourselves the right to say what Communism means. We take note of revolution’s enormities, wrenching them where necessary from their historical context and often exaggerating them, and say: Behold, Communism is a bloodbath. We take note of those reactionaries who stole the revolution, and say: Behold, Communism is a betrayal of the people. We take note of the revolution’s need to consolidate itself, and say: Behold, Communism is a tyranny.

It has been all these things, and it will be these things again, and we will never be at a loss for those tales of atrocity that comfort us so in our self-righteousness. Nuns will be raped and bureaucrats will be disembowelled. Indeed, revolution is a fury. For it is a letting loose of outrages pent up sometimes over centuries. But the more brutal and longer-lasting the suppression of this energy, all the more ferocious will be its explosive release.

Far from helping Americans deal with this truth, the anti?Communist ideology merely tries to disguise it so that things may stay the way they are. Thus, it depicts our presence in other lands not as a coercion, but a protection. It allows us even to say that the napalm in Vietnam is only another aspect of our humanitarian love – like those exorcisms in the Middle Ages that so often killed the patient. So we say to the Vietnamese peasant, the Cuban intellectual, the Peruvian worker: “You are better dead than Red. If it hurts or if you don’t understand why – sorry about that.”

This is the action of corporate liberalism. It performs for the corporate state a function quite like what the Church once performed for the feudal state. It seeks to justify its burdens and protect it from change. As the Church exaggerated this office in the Inquisition, so with liberalism in the McCarthy time – which, if it was a reactionary phenomenon, was still made possible by our anti-communist corporate liberalism.

Let me then speak directly to humanist liberals. If my facts are wrong, I will soon be corrected. But if they are right, then you may face a crisis of conscience. Corporatism or humanism: which? For it has come to that. Will you let your dreams be used? Will you be a grudging apologist for the corporate state? Or will you help try to change it – not in the name of this or that blueprint or ism, but in the name of simple human decency and democracy and the vision that wise and brave men saw in the time of our own Revolution?

And if your commitment to human values is unconditional, then disabuse yourselves of the notion that statements will bring change, if only the right statements can be written, or that interviews with the mighty will bring change if only the mighty can be reached, or that marches will bring change if only we can make them massive enough, or that policy proposals will bring change if only we can make them responsible enough.

We are dealing now with a colossus that does not want to be changed. It will not change itself. It will not cooperate with those who want to change it. Those allies of ours in the Government – are they really our allies? If they are, then they don’t need advice, they need constituencies; they don’t need study groups, they need a movement. And it they are not, then all the more reason for building that movement with the most relentless conviction.

There are people in this country today who are trying to build that movement, who aim at nothing less than a humanist reformation. And the humanist liberals must understand that it is this movement with which their own best hopes are most in tune. We radicals know the same history that you liberals know, and we can understand your occasional cynicism, exasperation, and even distrust. But we ask you to put these aside and help us risk a leap. Help us find enough time for the enormous work that needs doing here. Help us build. Help us shape the future in the name of plain human hope.

Perhaps, what is different today is that the internet exists, and it has not yet been brought under the control of our corporations and governments.  And in turn counters this cynical corporation which exists to spew out lies in support of our oligarchy, and manipulate the public to act against its own interests.

MLK and Washington Monuments

Battered by politics for some time now, the nation’s capitol was visited by a rare earthquake of another kind the other day, and the Washington Monument was closed down as it appears to have acquired cracks in the upper area.  The monument is the tallest stone structure in the world.  Given the present fractious state of the nation, this is perhaps a fitting alteration, symbolically betraying the truth in a city incapable of uttering a single honest word.  Washington’s monument to its first President is crumbling, and likewise is America.  But we can’t say it out loud.

MLK Memorial

Washington DC is a city which, according to recent (probably a bit incorrect) government data, is 50.7 percent black.  I think it is likely a bit higher, and certainly before Washington changed from the sleepy southern provincial city of my youth – I lived my high-school years nearby in Fairfax Virginia – and grew phenomenally into the imperial capital of the Empire-that-can’t-be-called-one (until the neo-cons of the New American Century did so in the very late 1990′s), it was much higher.   In the racist 50′s of Virginia, there was a local joke, that said the 14th Street Bridge, which crossed the Potomac from Alexandria Virginia into DC, was the longest bridge in the world:  it went from Virginia to Africa….

DC is 38.5% white, 19% Hispanic, 3.5% Asian, and .3% Native American, then there’s some others.  Perhaps some of this can be explained by the fact that Mr Washington, the city’s namesake, along with most of the founders of the nation, all owned black slaves, who, for political reasons at the time were legally regarded as 3/5ths of a person, but like women, those not owning land, and other such things, they could not vote in their new “democracy.”  They could only work for their masters, like Mr Washington.  Washington, like many of his peers, had a black mistress.  He also smoked hemp and had wooden false teeth.

George Washington

On August 28th, 2011, the new Martin Luther King Memorial in Washington will be commemorated.  In about every way it tells far more about America than it is intended to, though only by ironic metaphor.   Like most such monuments, it’s existence was instigated by public pressure, and an organization formed to direct that pressure.  A competition was held and a committee chose a design.  In this case the winner was Chinese, Lei Yixin.    As it happens Mr Yixin, whatever his talents or absence of them, had also in his earlier career, made some statues of Mao.  Looking at this “sculpture” one cannot but be reminded of certain characteristics found in Soviet/Communist style monuments – a certain imposing monumentality, a stiffness, a forceful pompousness.

MLK by Lei Yixin

The unhappy truth is that this is a rather bad sculpture, even within the strictures of a public monument – seldom are they good.  Nor does it really have much likeness to Mr. King himself, being more a kind of generic “black man,” somewhat akin to the generic “Chinese” to be found in much Chinese propaganda, or even in some of the “fine arts” of China, ancient and new.   That an American committee found it sensible to outsource this job to China seems counter-intuitive.  And then, to add insult to injury, the block of granite, virtually white, also comes from China.  It is said because there is no granite of equivalent quality in America.

It is no little irony that a sculpture of one of America’s most important black men should be made of a near-white stone.  Nor that the quotes taken from the man’s life, which bedeck the monument, are all carefully selected for their seeming innocuousness:

“Say that I was a drum major for justice. Say that I was a drum major for peace. I was a drum major for righteousness. And all of the other shallow things will not matter.” Feb. 4, 1968, Atlanta, Ga.

“We are all caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied into a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly.” April 16, 1963, Birmingham, Ala.

“If we are to have peace on Earth, our loyalties must become ecumenical rather than sectional. Our loyalties must transcend race, our tribe, our class, and our nation; and this means we must develop a world perspective.” – 24 December 1967, Atlanta, GA

“Make a career of humanity. Commit yourself to the noble struggle for equal rights. You will make a greater person of yourself, a greater nation of your country, and a finer world to live in.” – 18 April 1959, Washington, DC

“The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice.” – 16 August 1967, Atlanta, GA

Loc 4: “I oppose the war in Viet Nam because I love America. I speak out against it not in anger but with anxiety and sorrow in my heart, and above all with a passionate desire to see our beloved country stand as a moral example.”- 25 February 1967, Los Angeles, CA

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness, only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that.” – 1963, Strength to Love

“We are determined here in Montgomery to work until justice runs ‘down like water, and righteousness like a mighty stream.”‘ – 5 December 1955, Montgomery, AL

“I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. This is why right, temporarily defeated, is strongerthan evil triumphant.” – 10 December 1964, Oslo, Norway

“To return hate for hate does nothing but intensify the existence ofevil in the universe. Someone must have sense enough and religion enough tocut off the chain of hate and evil, and this can only be done through love.” – November 1957, Ebony Magazine

“I have the audacity to believe that peoples everywhere can have three meals a day for their bodies; education and culture for their minds; and dignity, equality, and freedom for their spirits.” – 10 December 1964, Oslo, Norway

“We must not wage war. It is necessary to love peace and sacrifice for it. We must concentrate not merely on the negative expulsion of war, but on the positive affirmation of peace.” – 24 December 1967, Atlanta, GA

“…The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of convenience and comfort, but where he stands in moments of challenge and controversy.” – 25 February 1967, Los Angeles, CA

“Hatred paralyzes life, love releases it. Hatred confuses life, love harmonizes it. Hatred darkens life, love illuminates it.”

“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are cauaght in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly affects all indirectly.” – 16 April 1963, Birmingham, AL

“True peace is not merely the absence of tension; it is the presence of justice.” – 16 April 1963, Birmingham, AL

For another view on this Hallmark card emasculation of King’s often fiery rhetoric, see this item from Princeton’s Cornel West.

Cornel West

But the ironies do not stop at the outsourcing of the carving of this imported Chinese granite to a Chinese “artist” or the failure to seek and find a black American to make this monument (certainly such artists do exist here) – which merely stand emblematically as corporate America’s practices of the last decades – the practices which have left wide swaths of Americans, especially black Americans, without jobs.   That China laced “the deal” with a 25 million dollar contribution only adds to the revealing aspects of this monument and how much it tells us about our country.  In another time this 25 million would have been called “corruption.”   Today it is just “business as usual.”

Sometime ago, a young French aristocrat came with a friend, to visit America and write a treatise on the nation’s prisons.  He ended up traveling a bit, and returned to France where he wrote something quite other than on our prisons, circa 1835.  He was Alexis de Tocqueville, and the book was Democracy in America.   Among the perceptions he had come these thoughts:

Born often under another sky, placed in the middle of an always moving scene, himself driven by the irresistible torrent which draws all about him, the American has no time to tie himself to anything, he grows accustomed only to change, and ends by regarding it as the natural state of man. He feels the need of it, more he loves it; for the instability; instead of meaning disaster to him, seems to give birth only to miracles all about him.

As one digs deeper into the national character of the Americans, one sees that they have sought the value of everything in this world only in the answer to this single question: how much money will it bring in?

America is great because she is good. If America ceases to be good, America will cease to be great.

I do not know if the people of the United States would vote for superior men if they ran for office, but there can be no doubt that such men do not run.

When the taste for physical gratifications among them has grown more rapidly than their education . . . the time will come when men are carried away and lose all self-restraint . . . . It is not necessary to do violence to such a people in order to strip them of the rights they enjoy; they themselves willingly loosen their hold. . . . they neglect their chief business which is to remain their own masters.

The surface of American society is covered with a layer of democratic paint, but from time to time one can see the old aristocratic colours breaking through.

There are many men of principle in both parties in America, but there is no party of principle.

A democracy cannot exist as a permanent form of government. It can only exist until the voters discover that they can vote themselves largesse from the public treasury. From that moment on, the majority always votes for the candidates promising the most benefits from the public treasury with the result that a democracy always collapses over loose fiscal policy, always followed by a dictatorship. The average age of the world’s greatest civilizations has been 200 years.

Alexis de Tocqueville

How’s them for some Freedom Fries?   Given his prescience about things American, one must still wonder if Alexis would be surprised to return and find so many of his predictions having come to fruition.  And certainly now would be an auspicious time to do a study of America’s prisons:  if the nation has been slipping from its self-congratulatory #1 position in many things, it can proudly lay claim to Prison Nation of the World.

# 1 United States: 2,019,234 prisoners
# 2 China: 1,549,000 prisoners
# 3 Russia: 846,967 prisoners
# 4 India: 313,635 prisoners
# 5 Brazil: 308,304 prisoners
# 6 Thailand: 213,815 prisoners
# 7 Ukraine: 198,386 prisoners

Of course this statistic doesn’t mention the population of the nation, and hence the sense of proportion is lost: China, #2, is 4 times our population.   It doesn’t mention that American Blacks, about 13% of the country’s population are overwhelmingly disproportionately represented in the American prison population:  almost 50%.

In a few days another seemingly alabaster – not in color tone, but culturally – American black, educated in Harvard, Princeton and having taught at the University of Chicago, and reputed also to have soaring rhetoric, will be present to formally open the Martin Luther King monument.  This man is America’s first “black” President, Mr. Obama.  Though, seemingly like the out-sourced generic statue of a white Mr King, he seems only to have been allowed onto the Washington Mall (and into the White House) by turning himself into a white-guy, despite his skin color.  His policies thus far have been white conservative, pro military-industrial complex, pro-Wall Street and the only thing black to be noticed is a certain jive-and-shuck, directed mostly at his ostensible “base” of the liberal-left.   Were Mr King to hear what will doubtless be an eloquent if neuterized eulogy that Mr Obama will probably deliver on Sunday, one imagines he’d thunder back with some thoughts on Afghanistan, the militarization of America, and other serious problems which he had far back in the 1960′s with the “sickness” of American society.   In the real terms which Doctor King took seriously, our nation is far more sick than it was back then – mired in wars, in corruption, in economic imbalances, in poverty, and his fellow black citizens are only symbolically better off – yes, there are more rich black entertainers, sports figures, and even businessmen and even a President.  But there are more blacks trapped in poverty, in prison, and wearing the fraudulent straight-jacket of America’s shabby version of “democracy” than there were in Mr King’s day.   Mr Obama himself is a living symbol of this moral and political corruption.

Change you got tricked into believing would come

However, it appears that nature may well this weekend deliver to the nation’s capitol (and much of the East Coast, even the holy canyons of downtown NYC, home of the untouchable Wall Street) yet another trauma in the form of Hurricane Irene.  In keeping with the global warming predictions of our scientists’ computer models, the warming atmosphere is making for larger, more dangerous weather systems, as in the massive tornadoes of this spring which leveled Tuscaloosa Alabama, and half of Joplin, Mo.   Whatever the refusal of some of our politicians and citizens to believe in scientists instead of other texts, the mean average temperature of the globe is incrementally moving higher.  And warmer air is able to hold more moisture; the collision of moist warm air masses produces a variety of effects, including tornadoes and hurricanes.

Thus, perhaps metaphorically, nature will deliver a message of a different kind on Sunday.   The newspapers indicate that the commemoration is likely to be cancelled in deference to Irene.

And speaking of Irene, prisons, and blacks in America:  here’s Huddie Ledbetter, more commonly known as Leadbelly, or in his own version Lead Belly.  He was a Louisiana Delta blues-man of the very early 20th century, with a temper to match a hot-pepper sauce.  Discovered in Angola State Prison by folklorists John and Alan Lomax, myth has it he was released from prison by the governor after the Lomax’s and others petitioned on his behalf.

Huddie Ledbetter, a.k.a. Leadbelly

Huddie sings on YouTube

Hurricane Irene, August 25, 2011

And to wrap it up before hurricane Irene hits the coast, or peters out, or does whatever it’s going to do, here’s another note on a Hurricane, about a black man framed by American “justice,” sung by a white (Jewish) guy from Minnesota:

Hurricane

[To add to the ironies, I write from Amsterdam, where I am staying with a long-ago friend of mine, who is black, and whom I met in prison in 1965.  We were both "doing time."]

Sept. 2:  Irene came and went, spent as a hurricane, it instead morphed into a tropical monsoon storm dumping water in massive amounts in New England, which is going to be digging out for a long time.   Of course this has nothing to do with man-made weather changes and global warming – just ask the current leader of the pack of Republican Presidential nominees, Rick Perry.   I am sure he feels it was only a God-directed punishment for certain liberal tendencies up there in the original colonies.  Just deserts.

 

Following the Mad-Hatter’s Tea Party in Washington, the world’s financial markets quivered and on Monday August 8 took a leap downward.   A lot of money and paper exchanged hands, and some won and some lost.  It is said 8 trillion dollars in value evaporated.   The Dow-Jones plummeted 600+ points.  Elsewhere markets did a similar swoon.

The next day, mimicking a yo-yo, the markets jumped up: DJ up 400+ points.  More money and paper changed hands, more was won and lost, and presumably 6 or so trillion of evaporated dollar value rematerialized.  It seems something akin to advanced quantum physics.  I await with baited breath the next contortion to which these trillions are subjected.  [On Wednesday the DJ index dropped 519, cancelling out the gains of the previous day and adding to the losses - another trillion vanished !]

Meanwhile, in the UK, where the not-quite-new regime of Cameron and Clegg imposed “austerity” conditions on the country following their election victory, the bill is coming in:


London riots, August 2011

Scurrying back to London belatedly from his Tuscan villa August vacation, David Cameron, PM, deplored the violence and ordered 10,000 more police onto the streets.   In the last months cuts had been ordered which would eliminate 9,000 police jobs.   The social media so lauded for the uprisings in Tunisia, Egypt, Libya and Syria suddenly came into play in London, with flash-mobs materializing here and there, and when bobbies were imported from elsewhere, the mid-lands joined the fray.   While Mr Cameron and Clegg may only recognize it when a crowd of football yobs riot, the UK is in fact still very much a class-riven culture, and it is full of un or under-employed people, of all colors, including Anglo-white, who clearly boil over with resentment at the harsh economic lines between them and the public face of Britain, its monarchy, The City, and the veneer of class suggested by the cultural dressing on this very ill society.   The tensions between economic classes is palpable, and as evidenced in these riots, very real.

Arriving in Paris the other night, at Orly, one sensed the same tension here in France: entering the RER train into Gare du Nord, the tone shifted to grim graffiti covered cars, a dominant population of empire come home to roost, and a sense of imminent violence pervading the air.

Riot, Paris banlieu, May 2011

According to the wizards of the financial world, the present tribulations of the mystical markets has now to do with European banks, private and “sovereign”, and their debts.  This makes it different from 2008 when it had mostly to do with American banks and their debts, say the sages.  Of course extracting actual information from these people is somewhat impossible.    To boil it all down to basics, it seems the European banks – mostly French and German – invested heavily in Greek and Irish and Portuguese and Spanish and Italian debt (along with many other things in those realms).   And now it seems they won’t be getting their money back, which leaves them holding the bag (empty) as it were.   Hence the current air of panic as the debt problem shifts from shifty places like Greece, to staid supposedly upright places like France and Germany (or, ho ho, the USA).

Financial institutions in the United States have one-third more capital than they did in 2007, and they are better positioned to weather the current storm. And they have reduced their risk-taking. Instead of lending $25 for every $1 dollar worth of capital they hold, they are now lending a more reasonable $16…

This process of lending what you do not have (see above) predicated on the hypothetical income to be derived from the loan (see underwater mortgages for example), is called “leveraging”.   Once upon a time it was “normal”, and legally required, for a bank to leverage itself by a ratio of 3 to 5 to 1:  i.e., I have a buck in reality, and I loan 3 to 5.    Banking was boring.  Then, along came the 80′s and the regulations were loosened at the behest of those on Wall Street.  And in a short time leveraging zoomed to this:

2009 bank leveraging

On September 30, 2009, Lewis announced his retirement from Bank of America effective as of December 31, 2009. Lewis released the statement “The Merrill Lynch and Countrywide integrations are on track and returning value already. Our board of directors and our senior management include more talent, and more diversity of talent, than at any time in this company’s history. We are in position to begin to repay the federal government’s TARP investments. For these reasons, I decided now is the time to begin to transition to the next generation of leadership at Bank of America.”[6] It was reported that this move was his own decision and that he did not receive pressure from the bank’s Board of Directors.[7] Based on the company’s most recent proxy statement, his full pension benefits total $53 million. Critics of the financial sector’s salary scale have cited this sum as indicative of poor oversight by the board of directors and as an example of inflated executive compensation. As his plan dates back more than seven years, he is still entitled to full benefits. Bank of America has since revised their compensation plan for retiring executives.[8] In October, 2009, at the suggestion of Kenneth Feinberg, the U.S. Treasury’s special master for compensation, Lewis decided to forgo salary or bonus in 2009. His 2008 salary was about $1.5 million. “He has taken home $148.8 million from cash and stock sales since taking over the bank in 2001, according to Equilar, a compensation research firm. He is also leaving with more than $135 million in retirement benefits, including the pension and $10 million in life insurance benefits, according to an analysis of corporate filings by James F. Reda & Associates, an independent consulting firm.”[9]  (wikipedia)

Greek riots, earlier this year

Having drawn the great public into the capitalist consumer Valhalla of buying on credit, and having done so itself, the governmental systems of the West (don’t worry, the East is soon to follow), are suddenly confronted with old Marx’s observation that inside of capitalism is a fat contradiction.  And indeed there is.

Old Karl

What Marx saw was that capitalism as a system was structured in a manner that those who are successful in it are in effect blinded by their own greed:  give a capitalist enough rope and he will hang on it.  And, as the headlines today repeatedly confirm, so it is.  Within their bubble of wealth and power, those at the pinnacle of a capitalist system are so far removed from the everyday realities of the world, that they are indeed blind.  Hence the stumbling moves of those in Europe, in America, in China (nominally “communist” but these days more a roaring cowboy capitalist place), who are so surrounded with wealth and those who share it, that they cannot imagine the brute lives of those who have almost nothing.  Nor can they imagine the nothing-to-lose psychology which those at the bottom of the pyramid feel.  They feel only the crushing weight of everything above them.   And so, in these days, the contradictions are bubbling upward, seen in cold statistical data, and seen in hot riots.  It doesn’t really require any kind of brilliance to see all this, in fact it seems rather obvious.  Today many things have been globalized:  the neo-liberal system of economics which places the private sector on an altar and imagines raw capitalism to the the fount of solutions for everything; at the same time the schism of wealth vs poverty is to be seen in the urban graffiti which now graces almost every city around the world – the voice of the dispossessed scrawled across the urban landscape.  To imagine that this voice will remain only “artistic” is to imagine a world in which the vast gulf between a tiny elite and the great masses doesn’t exist.

Central Paris – once confined to the outskirts, graffiti now is to be found everywhere

Under the present system it is only a matter of time before the contradictions erupt, as they have in England, and France and Greece in recent months, in a more fundamental conflict.  It really isn’t a matter of whether it will happen, but only how it will unfold.  Will the powers that be unleash their full police and military powers or not – to be like Assad in Syria, or to fold as did Mubarak in Egypt.

Walking yesterday in the neighborhood I lived in here in Paris, 1998-99, Belleville, there seemed a marked change.  I’d read that it had become more fashionable, with cafes and boutiques.  But the street I walked along was, for blocks, 99.5% north African – Moroccan, Tunisian – with a dense open market along Blvd. de Belleville.  The other .5% was myself, and a group of 4 tough looking policemen.    Here in France they seem always to be in a group of 4, sometimes more, never less.  Armed with truncheons and guns.  While they appear solid, it is clear they could be readily overwhelmed if those they are policing changed the tune.

When I lived here earlier it was more like 50/50, with half being North African, and the other half a mix of French and Asian, and similarly, the Gare du Nord, which was a rough area then, but mixed, now seems almost entirely black African.  There too, the same policing is evident.

France, May 2011

Of course Marx erred in failing to see that, like any kind of system, his own “socialist/communist” one also had its own internal contradiction, which, exactly as capitalism, is rooted in a fundamental failure in reading the executor of the system – we humans.  Marx imagined a withering of the State, and failed to understand that certain humans desire power, and will do whatever their historical circumstances provide to secure that power.  Communism, like capitalism, is a belief system that has quasi-religious psychological qualities: one believes, and hence neither logic nor concrete evidence serves to dissuade.  Lenin, Trotsky, Stalin and then the pallid pre-embalmed leaders who followed them all felt empowered by their beliefs to do whatever was necessary to “build communism” which in their minds was inseparable from themselves.  The result was murderous.

Capitalism is slightly more clever, though equally as murderous: it places an abstract distance between the murderer and the murder.   One buys stocks, invests; the purpose is to maximize profit.  The ideology of capitalism claims that this process will winnow out the good from bad, make production most efficient and separates the stock owner from the behaviors involved, and as long as the underlying purpose is accomplished, it doesn’t matter how fatal to others the process is.  The actual process is normally masked – the stockholder does not see the despoilation of the world, the exploitation of labor – he sees only the stock dividends and is happy; he does not want to see the process in any other way that as “profit.”  And so he willfully does not see.   The holy grail of capitalism is profit, and what happens in its pursuit is “holy.”   Pure greed is licensed as moral behavior, just as in communism certain kinds of pure “power” was.  The results are essentially the same: millions dead.

As a religion, Christianity has been remarkably successful, I think in part because it appeals to the individual ego:  god is personally looking after you it claims.  And hence one of its fundamental tenets circles around the self:  “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”   At first glance this seems a reasonable Golden Rule, but in truth it is toxic, for like capitalism, and like communism, it fails to account for the nature of human beings.  In centering ethics upon the self, the Golden Rule licenses the worst of human behavior and elevates it to the highest moral status.  Just as capitalism elevates profit and communism elevates some hypothetical wave of history.   There are some who desire material wealth so much that they do not think about or care what the real cost is; there are others who desire power and control over others so much that they will do whatever is needed to secure it, and if a quasi-religion such as Communism seems to authorize it, so much the better.  And there are some whose psyches desire punishment and torture, and the Golden Rule and its religion seems to authorize those wishes.  The history of Christianity is steeped in bloodshed, all in the name of doing unto others what one would have done to oneself.

A proper “golden rule” would be: do unto others what they would have done unto them.

Just prior to posting this the New York Times headlines:

Another Sharp Swing, This Time Up, for U.S. Markets

The market is “just a yo-yo,” said Myles Zyblock, chief institutional strategist and managing director for capital markets research at RBC Capital Markets. “I think the primary structure is still in place, and that is a structure of concern.”

“People are trying to bottom-pick today, and it might be the bottom,” said Mr. Zyblock. “I would like to see the collective message start to stabilize to give me confidence there is a hardened floor underneath this market.”

Eric Thorne, an investment advisor at Bryn Mawr Trust, called it a “shoot first, ask questions later” market.

[July 12, the DJ index swung up another 400+ points, though for the week and month it is cumulatively down]

All that glitters is not gold.

[As was predictable on the yo-yo logic, on Friday Aug 12, the DJ index did indeed pop back up, 400+ points.  However over the week it was down 2%, though clearly some traders are cleaning up - they get money on each sale, whichever way it goes - in some are pocketing a lot in these daily swings.   Another way to look at it, for those who ever had and understand cars, when your metal horse starts vibrating with wild oscillations usually you throw a rod shortly after.  For systems in which a steady up or down or even keel is the norm, usually wild oscillations are indicative of impending trouble. ]

Tower Bridge, London

London.  Jet-lagged.  The view out my friends’ penthouse shows the four-year lapse since I was here: to one side, beyond Tower Bridge and the now dwarfed London City building, rises a Renzo Piano skyscraper, to be the tallest in London, a thousand and some feet.    Out another window in the City is the nearly-completed foil to Foster’s Ghurkin, a vertical slab to counter its bulbous form.  And there are too many other leaps of hyper-modernity to tally.  The South Bank, a dank and presumably dangerous area of my youthful stays in London – 1963 -  and still similar when I stayed in in 1978 and then again in 80-81 – then a place of abandoned warehouses, narrow alleys, cheap working-class pubs and drugs has been subject to total urban renewal and is now home to swank apartment buildings,renovated warehouses with costly lofts, glittering office towers, boutiques, classy restaurants, and a generalized Disneyfication which runs from the London Eye ferris wheel across from the Houses of Parliament all the way down river past Tower Bridge to the failed Millennium Dome.   It is a place of mass tourism, with such gems as the National Theater (an architectural bit of 1970′s ugly “brutalism”), the Tate Modern made of the revision of a massive mid-20th century power station, the hokey half-timber replica (sort of) of Shakespeare’s Globe theater, and endless pubs, restaurants, shopping malls and the like lined up along the Thames, crowded with tourists and Londoners.  The only risk of the neighborhood remaining is of joining the lemming herd buying the costly baubles on offer:  15,50 sterling to enter the Tate’s Miro exhibit, 3.75 quid for a beer, or 4 for a Brit style hot-dog.  A one-day Tube pass for Central London runs 6.50 Sterling, or 10 bucks.  Though it would cost more if you merely took 2 short rides.   (A pound is $1.40 or so these days.)  Everything else is similarly scaled, meaning to enter into the consumerist wallow assumes a very healthy income, or a willingness to run up a pile of debt.  I suspect it is this latter, which merely emulates what the large scale economy did on a personal level. I took a long walk today, a Sunday, and avoided buying anything, though mingling with the many tongued mass was inescapable.  Elsewhere across the city – in Chelsea and South Kensington near the mythic consumer temple of Harrods, or in Oxford Circus, or Soho, or Portobello Road, or myriad other magnets of this vast city, similar hordes checked out the things on offer, usually for a stiff price.   Thankfully the major museums remain, as yet “free” though large signs urge that you donate 10 Pounds or so at each doorway.  Few seem to do so.

On the way back, after a calming stop at Southwark Cathedral during a service, I passed over the once-wobbly Foster-design Millennium footbridge towards St. Paul’s done, and on then through parts of the Sunday becalmed City, the financial district.   It is surely this area which has accounted for the flush of wealth which saw this transformation of London come to pass.  Frankly Britain doesn’t make much anymore – it’s industrial base is withered, a ghost of its once busy self (something readily noticed in the cities of the Midlands and north) and while tourism is a major economic factor in London’s economy, it doesn’t nearly make the kinds of money which has essentially rebuilt the city in the last 2 decades or so.  It has been the financial industry which did it – though as elsewhere this rickety house of cards, though capable of generating wealth, does so in curious ways which seem to side-step most of the community.  And it does as elsewhere in the world, warping the economy so that prices shift to match the sudden new wealth, however unevenly distributed.  So that a friend of mine, living in her family’s house in the Portobello area, which some decades ago was run-down, a haven for artists, musicians, drug-users and the like, now finds herself surrounded by investment bankers and their BMW’s and other accoutrements.  The area is now busy with fancy restaurants, costly antique stores, boutique fashions and the rest of what the wealthy new inhabitants “need.”   The locals who previously were the neighborhood find themselves forced out by a silent economic dictum.  And now, with the new government of Cameron and Clegg, local amenities like the public library, swimming pool and other “commons” are being closed down or privatized.  Luckily my friend, at least for the moment, can hold on to her house, the value of which has sky-rocketed, as property taxes for residences in London have a cap on them, such that whatever the market value, the top rate is as if it were worth 350,000 pounds.  Or if unoccupied then it is zero.  So for the moment she is able to manage, though, as she has no job and lives frugally, friends suggest she should sell out.  I suppose her place is “worth” some million and more quid.  She insists on staying.

Southbank shopping arcade Millennium Pedestrian Bridge

Curiously on arriving here my hosts had just returned from the Edinburgh Film Festival, since a few years moved from its old slot in the midst of the August Edinburgh Fringe Festival, which in the decades since I was there last has ballooned into a massive affair in which the film folks seem to have gotten lost.  They now do their thing in June.  My friends brought with them a DVD of a film they hadn’t managed to catch, Charles Ferguson’s Inside Job.  It is a very well done “talking head” film, cross cutting nicely done such heads, aerial over-views of the canyons of Manhattan, and news footage (most more talking heads, though some of prostitutes and coke snorting), all done in a brisk manner, quickly delineating this heist of the new century.   It back-tracks in history to the Reagan first steps towards deregulation of our economic mechanisms, all in the name of the theory that the “free market” is self-correcting, and in effect always comes up a winner.   Then to the Clinton-signed nullification of the Glass-Stegal Act which long ago – in the 30′s – limited the kinds of investments banks could make.  And then on through the wild west ride of the last several decades, with bubbles growing and bursting – dot.com etc. – on up to the 2008 housing mortgage bust.  The main characters are put in the place – Greenspan, Bernanke, Paulson, Geithner (the whole revolving-door system in which members of Goldman Sachs and other Wall Street titans go in and out of government service to the Fed or Treasury, rigging things for themselves) – and the steps by which the end-times Bush collapse came to be.  Then Paulson, Sec. of the Treasury, announced with a trembling Bush at his side that the global economy would simply collapse if the Federal government didn’t pony up a mere 800 billion dollars to the banks. Now!  No questions asked!   He did as commanded, and his successor, Mr Obama has done likewise, acquiescing to every wish of our financial titans.   The reason is simple: the financial community some time ago simply bought the entire governmental system – the Congress, the Executive and the Judiciary.  Hence, though as Inside Job clearly points out, while vast frauds and crimes were the root source of the economic crisis of 2008, virtually no one has been prosecuted or imprisoned, short of the sacrificial goat of Bernie, a small-fry Ponzi-schemer with good connections.   On watching the film clips of the sweaty, inarticulate likes of Angelo Mozilo (head of Countrywide mortgage outfit), or Lloyd Blankfein (CEO Goldman Sachs) during the mild Congressional questioning one could only think of mafioso dons, who these characters looked like, and seemed to act like, with their hands caught in the Fed’s fat cookie jar.   However, today they still masquerade in the same banker’s pin-stripes rather than in the other kind they properly should be wearing in the Big House.


Southwark Cathedral

Today, across the English Channel, comes the news that the French government is busy scrambling to salvage the nation’s banks from the effects of the looming Greek default.  As it happens they (along with other European banks, and by extension America’s – since the US banks loaned heavily their cheap .5% Fed loans to them for a far higher rate, a true cash-cow if ever there were one) are deeply enmeshed in the Greek situation, and should Greece default rather than bend to the extortionist’s demands of the banks, suddenly many a European bank will be minus hundreds of billions of Euro.  Poor dears.  Of course it is supposed to be that we should tremble at this word.   (Note:  Goldman Sachs was deeply involved in teaching the at-that-time right-wing/conservative government of Greece how to cook the books to meet EU community entry requirements.  Doubtless the same Goldman Sachs, knowing the truth, bought insurance on the collapse and will make a bundle when it happens.)  So the dominoes hidden from sight continue to tumble and the bankers and governments scramble to keep the illusion afloat.  And perhaps for some more months, or even a year or two, they’ll manage to juggle enough to do so.  Or perhaps not.

When it is all done, perhaps the Tube will cost a lot less since it is difficult to extract money from those with none of it.  Unless, of course, you’d like to borrow as some pleasant rate.

Underwood Hall, Yonsei University, Seoul, Korea

Some forty-nine years ago, having suffered 1 year of  “higher education” at the hands of the Illinois Institute of Technology, at the then-famed school of architecture (a factory for Mies van der Rohe clones), I quit, and was going to go to an art school to which I’d been accepted, unbeknownst to my parents, in Bath, England.  I visited Bath in June I think and immediately understood I shouldn’t be going there – a playground for upper-class kids who couldn’t hack college or university, but they could tootle around in their MG’s and play artiste.   I went hitch-hiking around Europe for the summer instead and didn’t show up in autumn for classes.

Now, nearly a half-century later, this morning I sent in my “I am resigning as Professor” note to Yonsei University, my employer of the last 4 years, and the only actual job in my life.   I’ve been in the Graduate Department of Communications and Arts, where I noted that the former was in scarce supply.  I didn’t see much of the latter either.  There was a fair bit of cookie cutter academic “art” preoccupied with the usual stuff.   I was here to fill in as the practical “guy who knows how to make films” and perhaps as a “famous name” to adorn the faculty.   Well, I do know how to make films/videos, and can teach that pretty well.  I demure on the other aspect.  However, in four years here in the grad dept., I’d say I had 4 or 5 students who were evidently talented, driven to work some, and actually made some very nice things under my guidance.  I think most of those were not, on the other hand, much at “scholarship.”   Which, for me, made it frustrating, along with the increasing problem of language – the first 2 years the majority of students had some or a good handle on English; the last two years most the incoming students have little or none.  In consequence for the last two terms no one signed up for the courses I offered, courses I was advised the students wanted.  So instead I did an undergraduate class (where in general the students are a bit better, more energetic and enthusiastic – some of them).  In turn the administration wondered why I was here, collecting my pay.  I did too.   Asking them 3 months ago to give me a solid yes/no on the coming year they lapsed into bureaucratic habits and inertia, though I’d told them I needed to know well in advance to plot my life in keeping with my reality.  A few weeks ago they said they’d let me know on Monday, the 20th of June, and other things hinted a likely no, or…?    So I talked with my wife Marcella, and decided to bring this little episode to an end, despite the fiscal and other benefits of being here (good pay, cheap city to live in, good hospital in case of need, and a very lax and easy job – day a week, on the absurd academic schedule Sept-Dec/March-June).  Given the global economy and all, one side was clearly tilted to suck on that teat.  However, such cynicism doesn’t sit well with me, and besides 4 years in one place is a very long stay for this soul.  So at 68 years of age, with little aside from savings, wits and some tools, I snipped the umbilical cord, kind of like I did 49 years ago.   Can’t say I am 19 anymore, but….

[Update a day later: school seems to be somewhat frantically trying to get me to stay on - maybe if they up the pay 50%, or give me carte blanche to go to autumn fests....  Marcella suggests staying one more year, but I really .....][ .... and a few days later, definitive - leaving.  I have felt so much better since informing them of my departure - invigorated!]

An hour or two after sending off my gone-fishin’ note, arrived in my email box a happy little notice: an invitation from the Yamagata Film Festival saying Imagens de uma cidade perdida, already shown in Rotterdam, has been selected for their competition.   I’ve been to this festival now four times before, starting I think in 1989 with Plain Talk and Common Sense (uncommon senses), which I sent to them thinking maybe Japanese culture sees things differently and a film like it might be considered, as I consider it, a kind of documentary-essay, instead of, as most Western places would have it, as an “experimental” film – a toxic word designed to say to most people, “you don’t want to see this.”  Later on they invited London Brief (1997), and then 6 Easy Pieces (2001) which won some kind of prize as I recall, and then OUI NON (2003), a film I am certain no Western doc festival would deem acceptable.   Yamagata has a nice hefty money first prize, and some good secondary ones as well.  Would be real nice to snare one and replace my now MIA income, but I think Imagens is likely too subdued and gentle for such things.  However it’ll be nice to be there.  And, as it happens, it is very near Sendei, the city that got pretty wasted by the earthquake and tsunami, as well as the devastated nuclear plant area of Fukushima.  I hope to stay an extra week or so and nose around, as well as to do some screenings in Tokyo.


Imagens de uma cidade perdida

I’ve sent Imagens to a handful of other documentary festivals – Margaret Mead in NYC, the Festival dei Populi in Florence Italy, the Lisboa Doc festival, something in not-so-far-from-here Vladivostock, Russia, and I think another one or two.  Also sent the newest, fresh off the griddle “documentary” DISSONANCE to those, along as to Venice.  It is maybe too weird for any takers, but we’ll see.  And there’s another, of which later some words, also sent to Venice.

Dissonance

Now if anybody out there has a job kinda like the one here, but with sharp students eager to learn and work, and in some other place than I’ve lived or been in before, let’s talk !  Meantime I’ll plod along like an official 9.1 % of Americans, or an unofficial something around 20%, being unemployed.  However, in my case no government relief, etc.  Just like it always was.

Sony VX700

Having needlessly dragged it around a few more years than sane, in a spring cleaning of the house and mind, I pulled the first DV camera I had – acquired in 1997 courtesy of the Dokumenta 10 Arts Exposition in Kassel, Germany – and set it ready for the garbage.  Reluctantly, since it was a camera I rather liked, and I suppose I have a vaguely nostalgic sense for it.   I liked it for visual qualities that others disliked it for, and wish I had another camera equivalent.  The first DV films I shot were mostly with it, and they utilize those qualities:  a capacity to make a lovely graininess, and a curious focusing mechanism, complaints about which caused SONY to pull the camera off the market within less than a year.  I shot a whole film using just what that system did.

Frames from London Brief

The VX700 had a nice gritty image, if that’s what you wanted, and it fit nicely with sense of London which I have.   Also it had a basic “flash” mode which let me shoot 1/3rd of a second in-camera optical printing of a kind, giving movements an animated look, which again worked very nicely with many things in London.

On the other hand, it had a totally other “look” it could do which I used for Nas Correntes de Luz da Ria Formosa, shot in Cabanas, Portugal in 1997.

Images from Nas Correntes de Luz da Ria Formosa

What caused Sony to pull the camera off the market was a focus system which seemed to cause a bloom of light around anything which had relatively bright light on it, though it didn’t do this when in focus.  I never figured out what caused this, but I found it beautiful and shot many hours of material willfully out of focus, and it was from this that 3 years of editing produced Nas Correntes.  It took so long as it has no narrative, runs nearly 2 hours, and pretty pictures alone do not make a film.  It took a lot of looking, sorting, and find an internal rhythm and “music” in the images to turn it into cinema.

At the same time I got the VX700, I also got the Sony VX1000, a 3-chip camera.  Also courtesy of the Dokumenta Exposition, which is in itself an interesting little story.  Originally they’d contacted me and asked, would I be interested in making something for them.  Naturally I said yes, especially when they said they’d get 1 million dollars and I could do whatever I wanted.  Along the way they said Sony had a new technology, DV, and they’d like me to play with it, though I could shoot in film or whatever if I wished.  I looked at the literature they sent, about the 2 cameras they had, and noted they were different in many ways, and I asked them to send both.  They did, along with an early deck, and two monitors.  When I got these, at the time in Scotland researching the film I thought I’d do for them, I had the VX700 in my hands a few minutes, playing with it, and something inside said “I am never working in film again.”  And I haven’t.  I did do a test at the time, taking some DV original and copying it ten generations away, confirming it was exactly as the original.  I was sold, for many reasons. Among them aesthetic, but also financial:  here was a tool that could do so many things, had its own beautiful qualities and, once you had the machines in hand cost almost nothing to use.

So I carried on preparing my million-dollar film, and when it came time to line up actors I informed the people at Dokumenta that I didn’t like asking people to set aside their time until I had money in the pipeline to pay them.  A long silence ensued, and after some prodding, they said they couldn’t come up with a million, but $250,ooo would be a snap.  I informed them that the idea for a million dollars wouldn’t work with $250,ooo, but I’d change horses and figure out something for 1/4 million.  I moved to Lisbon and started work.   No money arrived, but I trustingly assumed it would.  Then on pressing for funding, Dokumenta said, well, $250,000 wasn’t in the cards, but $50,000 for sure….  Having eaten up now more than a year with this, and only some months remaining before Dokumenta’s opening, I clenched my teeth and said OK.   Of course, some months went by with no money and 6 weeks before they were to open the exposition they inquired what I’d be sending.  I said, “Nothing.”   They seemed surprised, as if their wonderful art world reputation was so great one should crawl to be in in.  And they asked for the equipment back.  I wrote and told them the equipment, at the time worth $18,000, was not going to be going back to them, and it was really lousy pay for 18 months of being yanked around.  Their lawyer sent a letter insisting the equipment must be returned.  I then wrote the near-blind directress of Dokumenta that time around, a Parisian lady by the name of Catherine David, who had visited my apartment in London behind a coke bottle bottom thick set of glasses, and whom I had been told was a big film-fan.  I wrote and said that in light of her familiarity with American films, as regarded returning the equipment, I would quote from a famous film, and wrote: “Just make my day.”

Clint Eastwood in Dirty Harry

I never heard from them again.  And while it must be said that their treatment (I learned later I was not the only one so treated, just that some still gave them things to show) was at minimum ugly and inexcusable, I do look back on it as still a kind of favor.  Given my economic situation at that time (and normally), I suspect I would have waited 2 or 3 more years before I got a DV camera.  As it was I was able to get in early, learn, and make a lot of films I would never have been able to make in film.  Just as has been the case the last 10 years.

So those old cameras served a good purpose.  Made with them were also:

OUI NON

6 Easy Pieces

Muri Romani

Vergessensfuge

Roma – un ritratto

Chhattisgarh Sketches

Passages

Imagens de uma cidade perdida


Trinity

As I set these cameras out in the trash – having checked that they just can’t do anything anymore, not even be used for rewind machines – I find it is the same time I wonder if I should put myself out to pasture, creatively speaking.  Not so much because I feel dried up that way, but being a damned Taurus (though I being a Taurus naturally do not believe in such things), I find myself calculating the hard realities against the desires.  In the current and I think foreseeable times, there is no reason to think that the things I make and want to make will have any qualities that “sell” them – to put it bluntly while they might get shown here and there, at festivals or special places like museums and a few surviving alternative cinemas, this wouldn’t really make any money.  Nothing to pay the rent, put food on the table.  In fact the reverse – to make much of anything requires at least some spending, whether in money or time and energy.  And this money, and diminishing time and energy ain’t likely to come back.  So one wonders, WTF!?  These days the world is a bit hostile to what I do (and to many other things) and my guess is the political/cultural winds aren’t likely to shift anytime soon – not, perhaps, in my lifetime.  My hunch is we’re in for some real hard times, times in which the concerns I have – aesthetic and also political/social – are likely to be thought worthless or worse.  So plow on?  I have my doubts.

On the other hand I went yesterday to get a DSR-11 deck, a projector (Optoma) and Sony Vaio notebook computer all repaired.  On my shelves there’s 100-200 hours of material, most shot with those old cameras, waiting for me to find the 3-6 long films and myriad shorts hiding in there.   So something else must be stirring in my soul.  And 2 days ago I finally went out and spent and hour shooting with the EXcam HD camera.   Spring arriving?  Well, we’ll see.

Meantime to those two workhorses shown above, I finally give them the old heave ho,  and thank them for the service done.  They were great companions.

[DVDs of the films listed here are available in NTSC and PAL format at http://www.jon-jost.com in case anyone is interested.]

Ed Ruscha, Exit


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