1) The power of status vs. the power of action.
Question: How can black liberation theology claim an analogy between the suffering of African-Americans and the suffering of Jesus Christ. This question should lead us to discuss the possibility of a catholic [small c] or universalist interpretation of the suffering of Jesus Christ and it's application to current identity politics.
2)Bush wants to send more troops to Iraq in 2009. Secretary Gates wants to send more troops to Afghanistan in 2009. The problem of moral equivalency when discussing just war theory, and their application to the Afghan and Iraqi campaigns, respectively.
3) Why philosophy is so critical for the future. How philosophy creates "intellectual space" for new ideas. Discuss Plato and Aristotle and the dark ages; Hegel and Marxism and evolution; and Rawls with 20th century liberalism.
Follow up with what ideas we need now, and how will philosophy create space for them?
4) The difference between justice and forgiveness. Hypothesis: Justice is retribution against another side, while forgiveness is the return of equilibrium between two sides with a grievance against the other side. The real question this post should address is why we think justice is a better form of conflict resolution than forgiveness.
5) Discussing why I have a personal beef against metaphysics and new age crap, but why i seem to respect organized religion.
Answer: one has cultural and historical relevance, one is a snake oil with the primary aim being to enrich the author.
6) Why am I a Liberal Democrat? I'm pro-war, pro-globalization and pro-Israel. Pretty vague and loaded terms, to be sure. But as Kurt Campbell once said: "People don't realized that democrats with foreign policy expertise are democrats because of domestic policy reasons, not foreign-policy reason." The purpose of this exercise to ensure that, in the future, i don't turn into some joe lieberman/henry "scoop" jackson nutball that used my differing views on foreign policy to fuck over the party I love so much.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Leave Hillary out of this!
Senator Barack Obama did a rather good job on May 6th. He clobbered Senator Hillary Clinton in North Carolina, I state where I volunteered for the Obama campaign. Sen. Obama also put up a spirited fight in Indiana, where he lost by 14,000 in an election that cast over 1.3 million votes, a mere 1%!
Mathematically speaking, Senator Clinton has a small, nay, impossible chance to make up the difference in terms of pledged delegates and those over analyzed superdelegates in the remaining 6 democratic primaries. Thus, while there is certainly a symbolic aspect to Sen. Clinton's continued efforts through June, she will not win the Democratic nomination to be President of the United States.
That being said, there have been varying strains of debate within the pundit class about whether or not Sen. Clinton should continue, how should could continue her campaign, how she should concede to help unify the Democratic party, etc. I want to focus on the debate surrounding the calls to have Sen. Clinton leave versus the few voices of dissent that prod her forward.
The most upsetting essay I read was from Ellen R. Malcolm, the founder and President of Emily's List. She published an essay called "Quitters never win" in the Saturday edition of the Washington Post. She makes a spirited defense of Hillary's significance to feminism and womens' rights, but makes the absolutely erroneous declaration that "here we are in the fourth quarter of the nominating process and the game is too close to call". No, Ellen. It's game over! And no one wants to see Sen. Clinton embarrass herself and all that she's done by forcing an overtime that will not alter the mathematical victory of Sen. Obama.
This betrayal of her argument is incredibly upsetting. I consider myself an ardent feminist. I love women and I objectify them and have committed all the sins of the classic misogynistic male. But I know that our country will do better when women and other marginalized group seeks and receives the many gifts of civilized society. However, I do not approve of any advocate using false arguments to make their case more convincing than it is. That is hope-peddling at its worst and ultimately undermines the cause.
That being said, even if Ellen where to delete that particular line from her essay, she still has a contextual fallacy that is not fully acknowledged. What Ellen does not realized is that she's making a general election argument. Yes, Hillary has a strong, progressive campaign that is in stark contrast to McCain's dream of a resurrected Bush Presidency. And her symbol as a female commander-in-chief will provide so much more hope and promise to the 3 billion women that currently occupy our globe. But Ellen, we're talking about a DEMOCRATIC PRIMARY! You cannot make general election arguments about a primary election! It is just illogical! And I'm sorry, but while people love Al Smith, Geraldine Ferraro and Joseph Lieberman as the first Catholic, Women and Jew nominated on a presidential ticket, no one remembers or appreciates their conduct during the primary campaign. They appreciate and admire their groundbreaking work in the general election. Hillary's symbolic role that Ellen believes is happening, historically speaking, can only be true within the context of a general election and not party primary.
Thus, Ellen, a declaration to you: Your quote that you "believe Hillary also has a responsibility to play the game to its conclusion. For the women of my generation who learned to find and channel their competitiveness, for the working women who never falter in the face of pressure, for the younger women who still believe women can do anything, Hillary is a champion." is the wrong argument to make at this time. Please stop! This has nothing to do with Emily's List. This, on the surface, appears to be you making a sycophantic plea in order to display your unconditional loyalty to Hillary Clinton. Good for you, Ellen. But don't drag the Democratic Party and the general election with you. These kinds of false arguments hurt the party, and ultimately the United States of America. I will refuse to allow people like you to be 2008's Ralph Nader! Please STOP!
That being said, there is the other side, the supramajority's side of the argument. They understand the trends in the race are outside Sen. Clinton's control. Some, like Ellen, think this control was unjustly taken away from her. Ellen, sadly, is furthering the feminine stereotype that girls just aren't good at math. But these members of the supramajority, being a large group, have members who are offering dispassionate analysis and those who are perhaps more emotional than rational. Take Bob Herbert's essay in the May 10th edition of the New York Times. He is reiteration the argument that he's been making all throughout primary process: Hillary's only winning strategy is the 'southern strategy' of shoring up white support by playing on African-American stereotypes. However, I did not appreciate the tone of Bob Herbert's May 10th essay. The fact that the monotone Bob Herbert has a tone at all, the paradigm of rational thought itself, the advocate of vanilla issues like living wages and education standards, is perhaps news in itself. But his passion, or anger, has erupted at a poor time as well. Bob writes: "The Clintons should be ashamed of themselves. But they long ago proved to the world that they have no shame." He writes that Clinton's poor conduct during the primary campaign was foreshadowed during their behavior during Bill's presidency; particularly the last-hour pardons of felons related to the Clinton's familial and social circles. I wholeheartedly agree with Herbert's analysis of Clinton's primary rhetoric. But to tie that in with early, unethical behavior stretches the limits of credulity. Come on, Bob! Sen. Clinton is not running for Jesus Christ. I understand that she was bound to get into something that would be a conflict of interest while her husband was president. Many people do. To be impervious to original sin seems like a poor litmus test for any candidate for office, including the Presidency. What,perhaps, would have made a better argument would have been: Despite her previous behavior, Sen. Clinton refuses to apologize for previous-poor judgment and conduct. Her mirroring of President Bush's sense of righteous immunity and lack of accountability are not qualities that one seeks in any party's presidential nominee. One should not assess Clinton's leadership potential to an absolute level of morality. One should, honestly, evaluate her many personal and professional failings by seeing how she has overcome those obstacles. That is a test of true leadership.
Perhaps that was insinuated in Herbert's essay. But that is clearly not the focal point of his essay. Therefore, instead of hearing Herbert imploring us to take an honest assessment of Clinton's heart, he does what poor pundit's do: Only see the flaws in your opponent and harp on them like they are the defining quality of their character. For some, that is true. But I refuse to believe that someone as accomplished as Sen. Clinton is just a self-destructive ladder-climber.
In closing, the problem with both Ellen and Bob's essays are that they are not really about Sen. Clinton. They're not about the election. They seem to reflect the personal biases of the authors rather than that what the authors has hoped to reflect from society's in their essays.
The winner for that prize of an honest assessment of the dynamics of the election goes to Susan Faludi, author of “Backlash,” “Stiffed” and “The Terror Dream: Fear and Fantasy in Post-9/11 America.” Her essay, titled: "The Fight Stuff", tries to explain the rise of Clinton's share of the white, male, working class vote throughout the primary season. I think because she traces the trend of feminist crusaders in American History and pulls away from the personal conduct or value of the candidate, she illuminates the external environment in order to illuminate Clinton's position within history. This is an austere counterpoint to the other essays, which zooms in on Hillary's conduct and symbolism to such a degree that their analysis further blinds the reader to her actual role and place within this primary, the general election and American history. For her prescient analysis, I give a round of applause to Faludi.
....
In many years from now, this will look like an amateurish rant. And history's fact will bore out that argument. But right now, this is how I feel.
Citation:
Ellen R. Malcolm's Quitter's Never Win
Bob Herbert's Seeds of Destruction
Susan Faludi's The Fight Stuff
Mathematically speaking, Senator Clinton has a small, nay, impossible chance to make up the difference in terms of pledged delegates and those over analyzed superdelegates in the remaining 6 democratic primaries. Thus, while there is certainly a symbolic aspect to Sen. Clinton's continued efforts through June, she will not win the Democratic nomination to be President of the United States.
That being said, there have been varying strains of debate within the pundit class about whether or not Sen. Clinton should continue, how should could continue her campaign, how she should concede to help unify the Democratic party, etc. I want to focus on the debate surrounding the calls to have Sen. Clinton leave versus the few voices of dissent that prod her forward.
The most upsetting essay I read was from Ellen R. Malcolm, the founder and President of Emily's List. She published an essay called "Quitters never win" in the Saturday edition of the Washington Post. She makes a spirited defense of Hillary's significance to feminism and womens' rights, but makes the absolutely erroneous declaration that "here we are in the fourth quarter of the nominating process and the game is too close to call". No, Ellen. It's game over! And no one wants to see Sen. Clinton embarrass herself and all that she's done by forcing an overtime that will not alter the mathematical victory of Sen. Obama.
This betrayal of her argument is incredibly upsetting. I consider myself an ardent feminist. I love women and I objectify them and have committed all the sins of the classic misogynistic male. But I know that our country will do better when women and other marginalized group seeks and receives the many gifts of civilized society. However, I do not approve of any advocate using false arguments to make their case more convincing than it is. That is hope-peddling at its worst and ultimately undermines the cause.
That being said, even if Ellen where to delete that particular line from her essay, she still has a contextual fallacy that is not fully acknowledged. What Ellen does not realized is that she's making a general election argument. Yes, Hillary has a strong, progressive campaign that is in stark contrast to McCain's dream of a resurrected Bush Presidency. And her symbol as a female commander-in-chief will provide so much more hope and promise to the 3 billion women that currently occupy our globe. But Ellen, we're talking about a DEMOCRATIC PRIMARY! You cannot make general election arguments about a primary election! It is just illogical! And I'm sorry, but while people love Al Smith, Geraldine Ferraro and Joseph Lieberman as the first Catholic, Women and Jew nominated on a presidential ticket, no one remembers or appreciates their conduct during the primary campaign. They appreciate and admire their groundbreaking work in the general election. Hillary's symbolic role that Ellen believes is happening, historically speaking, can only be true within the context of a general election and not party primary.
Thus, Ellen, a declaration to you: Your quote that you "believe Hillary also has a responsibility to play the game to its conclusion. For the women of my generation who learned to find and channel their competitiveness, for the working women who never falter in the face of pressure, for the younger women who still believe women can do anything, Hillary is a champion." is the wrong argument to make at this time. Please stop! This has nothing to do with Emily's List. This, on the surface, appears to be you making a sycophantic plea in order to display your unconditional loyalty to Hillary Clinton. Good for you, Ellen. But don't drag the Democratic Party and the general election with you. These kinds of false arguments hurt the party, and ultimately the United States of America. I will refuse to allow people like you to be 2008's Ralph Nader! Please STOP!
That being said, there is the other side, the supramajority's side of the argument. They understand the trends in the race are outside Sen. Clinton's control. Some, like Ellen, think this control was unjustly taken away from her. Ellen, sadly, is furthering the feminine stereotype that girls just aren't good at math. But these members of the supramajority, being a large group, have members who are offering dispassionate analysis and those who are perhaps more emotional than rational. Take Bob Herbert's essay in the May 10th edition of the New York Times. He is reiteration the argument that he's been making all throughout primary process: Hillary's only winning strategy is the 'southern strategy' of shoring up white support by playing on African-American stereotypes. However, I did not appreciate the tone of Bob Herbert's May 10th essay. The fact that the monotone Bob Herbert has a tone at all, the paradigm of rational thought itself, the advocate of vanilla issues like living wages and education standards, is perhaps news in itself. But his passion, or anger, has erupted at a poor time as well. Bob writes: "The Clintons should be ashamed of themselves. But they long ago proved to the world that they have no shame." He writes that Clinton's poor conduct during the primary campaign was foreshadowed during their behavior during Bill's presidency; particularly the last-hour pardons of felons related to the Clinton's familial and social circles. I wholeheartedly agree with Herbert's analysis of Clinton's primary rhetoric. But to tie that in with early, unethical behavior stretches the limits of credulity. Come on, Bob! Sen. Clinton is not running for Jesus Christ. I understand that she was bound to get into something that would be a conflict of interest while her husband was president. Many people do. To be impervious to original sin seems like a poor litmus test for any candidate for office, including the Presidency. What,perhaps, would have made a better argument would have been: Despite her previous behavior, Sen. Clinton refuses to apologize for previous-poor judgment and conduct. Her mirroring of President Bush's sense of righteous immunity and lack of accountability are not qualities that one seeks in any party's presidential nominee. One should not assess Clinton's leadership potential to an absolute level of morality. One should, honestly, evaluate her many personal and professional failings by seeing how she has overcome those obstacles. That is a test of true leadership.
Perhaps that was insinuated in Herbert's essay. But that is clearly not the focal point of his essay. Therefore, instead of hearing Herbert imploring us to take an honest assessment of Clinton's heart, he does what poor pundit's do: Only see the flaws in your opponent and harp on them like they are the defining quality of their character. For some, that is true. But I refuse to believe that someone as accomplished as Sen. Clinton is just a self-destructive ladder-climber.
In closing, the problem with both Ellen and Bob's essays are that they are not really about Sen. Clinton. They're not about the election. They seem to reflect the personal biases of the authors rather than that what the authors has hoped to reflect from society's in their essays.
The winner for that prize of an honest assessment of the dynamics of the election goes to Susan Faludi, author of “Backlash,” “Stiffed” and “The Terror Dream: Fear and Fantasy in Post-9/11 America.” Her essay, titled: "The Fight Stuff", tries to explain the rise of Clinton's share of the white, male, working class vote throughout the primary season. I think because she traces the trend of feminist crusaders in American History and pulls away from the personal conduct or value of the candidate, she illuminates the external environment in order to illuminate Clinton's position within history. This is an austere counterpoint to the other essays, which zooms in on Hillary's conduct and symbolism to such a degree that their analysis further blinds the reader to her actual role and place within this primary, the general election and American history. For her prescient analysis, I give a round of applause to Faludi.
....
In many years from now, this will look like an amateurish rant. And history's fact will bore out that argument. But right now, this is how I feel.
Citation:
Ellen R. Malcolm's Quitter's Never Win
Bob Herbert's Seeds of Destruction
Susan Faludi's The Fight Stuff
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
The Aesthetics of Picture Frames
When I was a kid, my mom would take me to the art supply store on occasion. In our town, it chain art supply store was called A.I. Friedmans. That was our place to go for holiday decorations, supplies for Halloween costumes or science fair cardboard display boards. And my mom is a huge fan of scrap booking and making photo albums. This artistic side of her was never formally developed in any educational setting. Nor did it rub off on me, much.
But I went to the local Target that opened up recently to go get a picture frame. This is exactly the kind of activity my mom would be into. I have two paintings chilling out in my room right now. One is a splendid water color of orchid-like flowers emanating from a creme background. The other is a landscape of a farm overlooking hills with wild yellow grass subsuming a few trees. Both paintings are exposed to the elements, and I felt it was time to protect them.
So, I went to the Target because there isn't an A.I. Friedman's in town, Michael's is too far away, and the Bed Bath and Beyond was asking for too much money for their manufactured, pressed wood frames.
The problem, is seemed to me, was that there was a much greater diversity of frames than I realized. For this trip, I wanted to get a frame for the orchid water colors. It was the smaller of the two painting I own, and therefore, the most cost effective frame to buy, from my underemployed point of view.
It seemed that that most appropriate purchase would be a walnut-colored brown picture frame. [EXHIBIT 1] I would enjoy the feeling of looking outside through a pleasant, New England Colonial window frame. The brown color has an organic feel to it, so it complements, and does not harshly contrast, with the floral patterns. A picture frame is what you'd imagine the frames of your glasses would be when you wear them. You think: "How do I want to see the world?"
In contrast, there were some other, out-of-this world, ugly, pedestrianly ostentatious picture frames. Take for example the "Artistan" Frame. [EXHIBIT 2] This is the kind of frame you'd expect to see surrounding an El Greco, a Van Gogh or a Caravaggio. Thus, the artist whose painting I posses would be equally flattered and insulted to have such a ridiculously pompous picture frame. This frame screams pretentious yuppie who finds aesthetics are statistically correlated to price tags. This frame gives a false sense of agedness, and therefore anything that is bound by it must have aged well and stood the test of time. Plus, the contrast between the newly minted water colors on canvas paper with the false burn marks of cigarette lighters wearing the gilded edges of this frame would bring a visual falsetto to the otherwise crisp and robust water colors.
Then there is the obligatory sterling silver frame, otherwise known as the photo frame. [EXHIBIT 3] Now, everyone has at least one of these in their bedroom or their living room, stuffed with a picture of grandma, the kids from summer camp, or your boyfriend/fiance/boyfriend. Conventional wisdom states that this is the "go-to" picture frame for any photo with sentimental value. Why? Doesn't it look like you're viewing the person through some futuristic prison window? Or, perhaps an oddly rectangular window on an airplane, submarine or the International Space Station.
Just imagine this silver border wrapping around my orchid painting, like mechanic tentacles. That would be straight out of the Matrix. Again, a picture frame should complement and add to the viewing pleasure of the art lover. And if you're trying to make a statement about the duality and conflict between man and machine, that's one thing. But trying to induce migraines in people who suffer from astigmatism is quite another thing.
And finally there is the plain, black frame. [EXHIBIT 4] I would dub this the "Daria" picture frame, since they give off a intelligent, witty, artistic, cynical, and sarcastic feel. This is the kind of picture frame I'd expect to see at some hipster's whitewashed, industrial stupid in the Meatpacking District, aiming to provide some environmental contrast without erroneously giving off the impression of something lively, optimistic or corporal. This is the frame for the artsty-fartsy crowd that wants an understated frame to not steal the show, so the speak, from the art itself. That is pretentious, in it's own way. Plus, something that is understated will automatically contrast and inevitably draw attention away from the art itself.
So, I've stuck with the brown, walnut-hued picture frame. What do you guys think?
But I went to the local Target that opened up recently to go get a picture frame. This is exactly the kind of activity my mom would be into. I have two paintings chilling out in my room right now. One is a splendid water color of orchid-like flowers emanating from a creme background. The other is a landscape of a farm overlooking hills with wild yellow grass subsuming a few trees. Both paintings are exposed to the elements, and I felt it was time to protect them.
So, I went to the Target because there isn't an A.I. Friedman's in town, Michael's is too far away, and the Bed Bath and Beyond was asking for too much money for their manufactured, pressed wood frames.
The problem, is seemed to me, was that there was a much greater diversity of frames than I realized. For this trip, I wanted to get a frame for the orchid water colors. It was the smaller of the two painting I own, and therefore, the most cost effective frame to buy, from my underemployed point of view.
It seemed that that most appropriate purchase would be a walnut-colored brown picture frame. [EXHIBIT 1] I would enjoy the feeling of looking outside through a pleasant, New England Colonial window frame. The brown color has an organic feel to it, so it complements, and does not harshly contrast, with the floral patterns. A picture frame is what you'd imagine the frames of your glasses would be when you wear them. You think: "How do I want to see the world?" 
In contrast, there were some other, out-of-this world, ugly, pedestrianly ostentatious picture frames. Take for example the "Artistan" Frame. [EXHIBIT 2] This is the kind of frame you'd expect to see surrounding an El Greco, a Van Gogh or a Caravaggio. Thus, the artist whose painting I posses would be equally flattered and insulted to have such a ridiculously pompous picture frame. This frame screams pretentious yuppie who finds aesthetics are statistically correlated to price tags. This frame gives a false sense of agedness, and therefore anything that is bound by it must have aged well and stood the test of time. Plus, the contrast between the newly minted water colors on canvas paper with the false burn marks of cigarette lighters wearing the gilded edges of this frame would bring a visual falsetto to the otherwise crisp and robust water colors.
Then there is the obligatory sterling silver frame, otherwise known as the photo frame. [EXHIBIT 3] Now, everyone has at least one of these in their bedroom or their living room, stuffed with a picture of grandma, the kids from summer camp, or your boyfriend/fiance/boyfriend. Conventional wisdom states that this is the "go-to" picture frame for any photo with sentimental value. Why? Doesn't it look like you're viewing the person through some futuristic prison window? Or, perhaps an oddly rectangular window on an airplane, submarine or the International Space Station.Just imagine this silver border wrapping around my orchid painting, like mechanic tentacles. That would be straight out of the Matrix. Again, a picture frame should complement and add to the viewing pleasure of the art lover. And if you're trying to make a statement about the duality and conflict between man and machine, that's one thing. But trying to induce migraines in people who suffer from astigmatism is quite another thing.
And finally there is the plain, black frame. [EXHIBIT 4] I would dub this the "Daria" picture frame, since they give off a intelligent, witty, artistic, cynical, and sarcastic feel. This is the kind of picture frame I'd expect to see at some hipster's whitewashed, industrial stupid in the Meatpacking District, aiming to provide some environmental contrast without erroneously giving off the impression of something lively, optimistic or corporal. This is the frame for the artsty-fartsy crowd that wants an understated frame to not steal the show, so the speak, from the art itself. That is pretentious, in it's own way. Plus, something that is understated will automatically contrast and inevitably draw attention away from the art itself. So, I've stuck with the brown, walnut-hued picture frame. What do you guys think?
Friday, April 4, 2008
What will it take?
I was hoping for an uplifting post today, but I have to ask: What will it take?
How much sacrifice do I need to endure?
How many opportunities do I need to spurn to demonstrate my unwaivering dedication to the vanguard?
How many years do I have to wait until I can be free of this pain and doubt?
How many people do I have to convince that I'm serious about doing this?
"Oh, it's not safe."
"There are so many other people you can help, right?"
"Why don't you just go to law school?"
NO
NO
NO!
It's Afghanistan! I have to go to Afghanistan! Not Iraq. Not Sudan. NOT PERU. AFGHANISTAN.
What will it take to get me to Afghanistan? What?!?! Just tell me and I'll do it.
How much sacrifice do I need to endure?
How many opportunities do I need to spurn to demonstrate my unwaivering dedication to the vanguard?
How many years do I have to wait until I can be free of this pain and doubt?
How many people do I have to convince that I'm serious about doing this?
"Oh, it's not safe."
"There are so many other people you can help, right?"
"Why don't you just go to law school?"
NO
NO
NO!
It's Afghanistan! I have to go to Afghanistan! Not Iraq. Not Sudan. NOT PERU. AFGHANISTAN.
What will it take to get me to Afghanistan? What?!?! Just tell me and I'll do it.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Humanitiarian Intervention
I went to the gym today. It was the usual: cardio, free weights and some more cardio. I pushed myself just the the precipice of dizziness. That usually means I was working around 80 to 85% intensity. I left the gym a bit dazed, but feeling great.
I was going to stop by the CVS in order to buy a Gatorade or a bottle of water, but the 54 bus just pulled into the bus stop. So instead of turning right into the CVS I hopped left onto the bus.
Considering it was before 4pm, the bus was moving briskly along 14th Street. I noticed a plurality of the people on the bus were children. That made sense. Schools and after school programs were letting out students for the day.
We pulled into the U St. bus stop; always the busiest one on 14th St. I could already hear her, cursing in her poor grammar. SHUT UP. STOP DAT NOISE! WHAT I TOLD YOU?
Because of the higher proportion of bus customers at the U St. bus stop, there is also a higher probability that you'll run into one of the weirdos. The people who talk to themselves. The drunkards. The people who eat KFC or Popeye buckets of chicken on the bus despite the myriad of white and blue signs that say "No food allowed on the bus". Today, however, proved quite different.
I saw the little boy step onto the bus. Precious. I rarely say that about children. I used to babysit, but now I'm a Northeastern intellectual snob. Children are so...pedestrian. I made little notice until I saw that his body made an unnatural swoop against gravity. His "mother" was yanking him up by his coat. She probably grabbed and bruised some of his ebony skin beneath the little coat he was wearing.
The little boy didn't seem to notice. Perhaps her physical augmentation of his natural motion was something he was accustomed too. Seeing parents frustrated with children everyday, it's understandable that sometimes one's patience runs thin and you just push a kid a little bit. What made this different, however, was the utter paradoxical contempt and obliviousness the "mother" had for the winces erupting on the child's face.
The boy seems lost. Maybe he doesn't ride the bus that often. She yelled at him to sit down. Being that the seat eye level with the boy, he didn't gracefully sit down on the bus seat like an adult, but rather, catapulted himself, a belly flop, onto the seat. That, apparently, was too much for her to handle.
SIT THE FUCK UP. I SAID SIT DOWN. WHAT YOU LOOKIN' AT? SIT DOWN
The child looked perplexed. His ivory eyes, clear as day, shimmering at the anticipation that something was about to strike him. Those eyes struck me first.
WHACK!!!
The first blow. Her left hand haphazardly hit his shoulder as she grabbed him from his right shoulder and neck and forcibly posed him like a Barbie doll into the posture she seemed proper for a D.C. Metro bus. The manipulation was so quick and so forceful that the boy's neck bent in the oppose direction from where his body was. He was slammed into the chair, and those ivory eyes filled with tears.
OH YOU CRYIN' NOW? WHAT I TOLD YOU? SHUT THE FUCK UP! YOU DON'T GET WA SHUT THE FUCK UP MEANS?
The boy was only 24 to 36 months old. Too young for preschool. I would venture to guess that the "mother" didn't spoil her child with a perspicacious vocabulary. He seems scared and unable to find the words to express his emotional and physical pain. He slouched in his seat. Again, the "mother" exploded.
She pulled him up by the collar of his jacket and flipped him over like a human wad of pizza dough. Then she proceeded to flatted his ass with a firm, wooden right hand. WHACK WHACK WHACK His crying became so loud that others on the bus began the notice.
WHAT I TOLD YOU? GET YOUR FUCKING HAND OUTTA YA MONTH OR I'LL BUST UP YA MOUTH TILL YOU STOP FUCKING CRYING! She stared him down like a lion on its prey. Rubbing her nose against his tear-ridden cheeks, she breathed on him. Breathes of intimidation. The boy started to wail.
OH, THAT'S IT. WE GETTIN' OFF THIS HERE BUS. FUCK THAT. I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP. YOU FUCKING IMPORTAN' OR SOMETHIN'? YOU AIN'T SHIT. SHUT THE FUCK UP. She did not pull the yellow string above her head to indicate she was getting off at the next stop.
I looked at the bus driver. He looked straight ahead through the windshield. He must have seen this scene many times, maybe even multiple times in one day. He knew that that kid was a martyr, no matter what he could have done. Should he have gotten involved? An ambulance would have been called to bring an injured child and bus driver to the nearest hospital, the bus driver must have thought.
I looked around the bus, hoping to see someone as enraged and frightened as I was. Downcast eyes outnumbered frightened eyes witness the most public display of child abuse I'd ever witnessed. Some adults even appear to approve of the caustic disciplinarian. "Oh, dat boy 'bout to get his ass whooped", muttered someone under their breath.
My conscience was crying: "Say something! Say 'Mama, that is ENOUGH! THAT IS ENOUGH!!'"
I looked at the child, wailing, tears streaming down his face like Niagara Falls. I put my finger to my mouth. Sssh, I was miming. But to no avail.
WHAT YOU GOT A HEART ATTACK OR SOMETHIN' WELL I GIVE YOU ONE CUZ IT SOUND LIKE YOU WANT ONE. OH, I'M GONNA FUCK YOU UP WHEN WE GETS OFF DA BUS.
Should I call the police? What would I tell them? "Umm...there is a young African-American women in a green shirt covered with panda bears shaking her child violently on the 54 bus. We're currently on 14th and Euclid, so please intercept her as soon as possible"
For some reason, that didn't seem very plausible to me. The police must deal with all sorts of domestic violence and child abuse cases every day. And at least they deal with criminals who stay in one place and beat their family members. This criminal was on the move, and who knows when or where she was going to get off.
By the time I realized where I was, the bus was about to reach the Columbia Rd. bus stop. I jumped off, avoiding the glare the "mother" was inflicting on her child. He was flopping now, like a fish on the deck of the boat. Most people think fish flop on a boat deck because they are out of the water and begin to panic. I've always thought a fish flops on a boat deck in order to avoid capture by hitting and possibly injuring one of his capturers. I felt like this boy was flopping left and right to avoid the calibrated strikes his "mother" was landing on his tender muscles and soft bones. I grabbed my cell phone and instantly called my mother.
"Hi mom. [Sniff]"
"What's wrong dear?"
"I was on the bus, and this women kept hitting her child, and swearing, and I wanted to call the police, and no one was doing anything, and I was so afraid that she'd hit me if I intervened, then I'd hit her back and things would spiral outta control and..."
"Luis, calm down! Are you safe?"
"Yes, but that child!"
"Was she Hispanic?"
I paused. What an odd question. But, sadly, a statistically valid one for my mother, who lives in Connecticut.
"No. That's no relevant. Bad people are bad people, mom."
"Well....you were right to leave, Luis. You didn't have to be a hero. Let's pray that the child grow up okay."
It was heartening to see at least my mom was concerned with the general welfare of the child and not his immediate safety. Yet, the rationalization that was occurring was wiping me clean of the responsibility to protect. I felt dizzy again.
All those political science classes were I fervently argued for humanitarian interventions around the world, from Rwanda to Afghanistan to Darfur and even Iraq, those soliloquies seemed like a moot point when I couldn't even stand up to a fucked-up mother on the 54 bus in the District of Columbia.
My god forgive me.
I was going to stop by the CVS in order to buy a Gatorade or a bottle of water, but the 54 bus just pulled into the bus stop. So instead of turning right into the CVS I hopped left onto the bus.
Considering it was before 4pm, the bus was moving briskly along 14th Street. I noticed a plurality of the people on the bus were children. That made sense. Schools and after school programs were letting out students for the day.
We pulled into the U St. bus stop; always the busiest one on 14th St. I could already hear her, cursing in her poor grammar. SHUT UP. STOP DAT NOISE! WHAT I TOLD YOU?
Because of the higher proportion of bus customers at the U St. bus stop, there is also a higher probability that you'll run into one of the weirdos. The people who talk to themselves. The drunkards. The people who eat KFC or Popeye buckets of chicken on the bus despite the myriad of white and blue signs that say "No food allowed on the bus". Today, however, proved quite different.
I saw the little boy step onto the bus. Precious. I rarely say that about children. I used to babysit, but now I'm a Northeastern intellectual snob. Children are so...pedestrian. I made little notice until I saw that his body made an unnatural swoop against gravity. His "mother" was yanking him up by his coat. She probably grabbed and bruised some of his ebony skin beneath the little coat he was wearing.
The little boy didn't seem to notice. Perhaps her physical augmentation of his natural motion was something he was accustomed too. Seeing parents frustrated with children everyday, it's understandable that sometimes one's patience runs thin and you just push a kid a little bit. What made this different, however, was the utter paradoxical contempt and obliviousness the "mother" had for the winces erupting on the child's face.
The boy seems lost. Maybe he doesn't ride the bus that often. She yelled at him to sit down. Being that the seat eye level with the boy, he didn't gracefully sit down on the bus seat like an adult, but rather, catapulted himself, a belly flop, onto the seat. That, apparently, was too much for her to handle.
SIT THE FUCK UP. I SAID SIT DOWN. WHAT YOU LOOKIN' AT? SIT DOWN
The child looked perplexed. His ivory eyes, clear as day, shimmering at the anticipation that something was about to strike him. Those eyes struck me first.
WHACK!!!
The first blow. Her left hand haphazardly hit his shoulder as she grabbed him from his right shoulder and neck and forcibly posed him like a Barbie doll into the posture she seemed proper for a D.C. Metro bus. The manipulation was so quick and so forceful that the boy's neck bent in the oppose direction from where his body was. He was slammed into the chair, and those ivory eyes filled with tears.
OH YOU CRYIN' NOW? WHAT I TOLD YOU? SHUT THE FUCK UP! YOU DON'T GET WA SHUT THE FUCK UP MEANS?
The boy was only 24 to 36 months old. Too young for preschool. I would venture to guess that the "mother" didn't spoil her child with a perspicacious vocabulary. He seems scared and unable to find the words to express his emotional and physical pain. He slouched in his seat. Again, the "mother" exploded.
She pulled him up by the collar of his jacket and flipped him over like a human wad of pizza dough. Then she proceeded to flatted his ass with a firm, wooden right hand. WHACK WHACK WHACK His crying became so loud that others on the bus began the notice.
WHAT I TOLD YOU? GET YOUR FUCKING HAND OUTTA YA MONTH OR I'LL BUST UP YA MOUTH TILL YOU STOP FUCKING CRYING! She stared him down like a lion on its prey. Rubbing her nose against his tear-ridden cheeks, she breathed on him. Breathes of intimidation. The boy started to wail.
OH, THAT'S IT. WE GETTIN' OFF THIS HERE BUS. FUCK THAT. I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP. YOU FUCKING IMPORTAN' OR SOMETHIN'? YOU AIN'T SHIT. SHUT THE FUCK UP. She did not pull the yellow string above her head to indicate she was getting off at the next stop.
I looked at the bus driver. He looked straight ahead through the windshield. He must have seen this scene many times, maybe even multiple times in one day. He knew that that kid was a martyr, no matter what he could have done. Should he have gotten involved? An ambulance would have been called to bring an injured child and bus driver to the nearest hospital, the bus driver must have thought.
I looked around the bus, hoping to see someone as enraged and frightened as I was. Downcast eyes outnumbered frightened eyes witness the most public display of child abuse I'd ever witnessed. Some adults even appear to approve of the caustic disciplinarian. "Oh, dat boy 'bout to get his ass whooped", muttered someone under their breath.
My conscience was crying: "Say something! Say 'Mama, that is ENOUGH! THAT IS ENOUGH!!'"
I looked at the child, wailing, tears streaming down his face like Niagara Falls. I put my finger to my mouth. Sssh, I was miming. But to no avail.
WHAT YOU GOT A HEART ATTACK OR SOMETHIN' WELL I GIVE YOU ONE CUZ IT SOUND LIKE YOU WANT ONE. OH, I'M GONNA FUCK YOU UP WHEN WE GETS OFF DA BUS.
Should I call the police? What would I tell them? "Umm...there is a young African-American women in a green shirt covered with panda bears shaking her child violently on the 54 bus. We're currently on 14th and Euclid, so please intercept her as soon as possible"
For some reason, that didn't seem very plausible to me. The police must deal with all sorts of domestic violence and child abuse cases every day. And at least they deal with criminals who stay in one place and beat their family members. This criminal was on the move, and who knows when or where she was going to get off.
By the time I realized where I was, the bus was about to reach the Columbia Rd. bus stop. I jumped off, avoiding the glare the "mother" was inflicting on her child. He was flopping now, like a fish on the deck of the boat. Most people think fish flop on a boat deck because they are out of the water and begin to panic. I've always thought a fish flops on a boat deck in order to avoid capture by hitting and possibly injuring one of his capturers. I felt like this boy was flopping left and right to avoid the calibrated strikes his "mother" was landing on his tender muscles and soft bones. I grabbed my cell phone and instantly called my mother.
"Hi mom. [Sniff]"
"What's wrong dear?"
"I was on the bus, and this women kept hitting her child, and swearing, and I wanted to call the police, and no one was doing anything, and I was so afraid that she'd hit me if I intervened, then I'd hit her back and things would spiral outta control and..."
"Luis, calm down! Are you safe?"
"Yes, but that child!"
"Was she Hispanic?"
I paused. What an odd question. But, sadly, a statistically valid one for my mother, who lives in Connecticut.
"No. That's no relevant. Bad people are bad people, mom."
"Well....you were right to leave, Luis. You didn't have to be a hero. Let's pray that the child grow up okay."
It was heartening to see at least my mom was concerned with the general welfare of the child and not his immediate safety. Yet, the rationalization that was occurring was wiping me clean of the responsibility to protect. I felt dizzy again.
All those political science classes were I fervently argued for humanitarian interventions around the world, from Rwanda to Afghanistan to Darfur and even Iraq, those soliloquies seemed like a moot point when I couldn't even stand up to a fucked-up mother on the 54 bus in the District of Columbia.
My god forgive me.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
The Inaugural Edition
This is the inaugural edition of the "Puzzles Make Perfect" blog. I'm keeping this blog for a couple of reasons:
1) I want to have a place to record my nuggets of wisdom, those timeless truths with a capital T that you want to write down on a post-it note that you never have at the right time.
2) To muse, stretch out and extrapolate truths with a capital T by engaging in philosophical banter regarding my life experiences and questions that just bother me too much to be left alone.
3) To practice the craft of writing. I know practice is critical for any skill development.
4)I'm secretly hoping The Atlantic, Rolling Stone, Vanity Fair or GQ will find this blog and offering me a column after reading a couple of entries.
I don't really know what will be the end purpose of this blog. Perhaps it'll be published. Perhaps I'll look back at it and point to it as evidence for my kids: see, I was cool, a troublemaker, a lost youth, incorrigibly immature and handsome for my height! {okay, maybe not the latter}. But the end goal of this blog is quite irrelevant. I just need a venue to pretend I'm still an intellectual.
There will be no regular schedule as to when new entries will come. I'll publish anytime between two times a day to once a month. Inspiration is the perfect storm of timing, experience and knowledge, so let it happen as it may.
Also, this blog is for me and for me only. Though a private eye could probably tie this blog to me, I am hoping that the title and the blog signature are enough of a smokescreen to cover up the connection to me and our connection will only be revealed to my closest of friends and perhaps a FBI background check.
Let the games begin:
1) I want to have a place to record my nuggets of wisdom, those timeless truths with a capital T that you want to write down on a post-it note that you never have at the right time.
2) To muse, stretch out and extrapolate truths with a capital T by engaging in philosophical banter regarding my life experiences and questions that just bother me too much to be left alone.
3) To practice the craft of writing. I know practice is critical for any skill development.
4)I'm secretly hoping The Atlantic, Rolling Stone, Vanity Fair or GQ will find this blog and offering me a column after reading a couple of entries.
I don't really know what will be the end purpose of this blog. Perhaps it'll be published. Perhaps I'll look back at it and point to it as evidence for my kids: see, I was cool, a troublemaker, a lost youth, incorrigibly immature and handsome for my height! {okay, maybe not the latter}. But the end goal of this blog is quite irrelevant. I just need a venue to pretend I'm still an intellectual.
There will be no regular schedule as to when new entries will come. I'll publish anytime between two times a day to once a month. Inspiration is the perfect storm of timing, experience and knowledge, so let it happen as it may.
Also, this blog is for me and for me only. Though a private eye could probably tie this blog to me, I am hoping that the title and the blog signature are enough of a smokescreen to cover up the connection to me and our connection will only be revealed to my closest of friends and perhaps a FBI background check.
Let the games begin:
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