This extraordinary intellectual is an astonishing man of peace among a loud and vociferous cacophony of war and hatred; his name is Norman Finkelstein and he is an American Jew who appears on media outlets across the globe, except in America where no news network will touch him.
Finkelstein was born in Brooklyn, NY in 1953 to Jewish parents who survived the Holocaust; his mother, Maryla Husyt Finkelstein, survived the Warsaw Ghetto and Maidanek concentration camp and his father, Zacharias Finkelstein also survived the Warsaw Ghetto and Auschwitz concentration camp.
His parents survived the Holocaust and would you believe that he’s been labelled an ‘anti-Semite’? Believe it.
The reason for this is that he criticizes Israeli treatment of Palestinians and other Arabs, he’s written extensively on the suffering that Zionists have caused to Jews and to the people of the Middle East, he’s attacked regularly, viciously and with malice by fellow Jews, Zionists and NeoCons who are determined to shut him up by destroying his reputation, livelihood and credibility.
Among the most malicious and vile of his attackers is Alan Dershowitz, a Jewish Zionist NeoCons who sounds more like a Nazi than a tenured Harvard professor of law; Dershowitz and his Zionist minions were successful in denying Finkelstein tenure at DePaul University after a well executed and vicious campaign to discredit and destroy Finkelstein’s career. The Dershowitz campaign of hatred and character assassination was launched after Finkelstein wrote a paper proving that Dershowitz’ book ‘The Case for Israel’ was not only entirely false but, plagiarized aswell.
As is the current climate of promoting and spreading unbelievable hatred, war and raw murder on a massive scale, the voice of this extraordinary man of peace and many others like him is systematically silenced by those who want us to be ignorant and to believe the lies and propaganda of the Zionists and the NeoCons.
Visit Mr.Finkelstein at http://www.normanfinkelstein.com
Friday, July 4, 2008
When Americans and Israelis fart it smells like roses
One of the most nauseating things about the current political discourse is the delusional pedestal that Americans put themselves on and the arrogantly deceptive high horse of Israel ; the only difference between the two nations self-aggrandizement is that Jewish Zionists know they’re up to no good but, Americans truly believe they’re the good guys.
When Americans slaughter innocent men, women and children well that’s just accidental, unintentional and collateral damage, just the cost of doing war. When Bin Laden or Iraqi Resistance fighters do it, they’re savage terrorists.
When Americans rape Iraqi women and children, they’re just a few bad apples and when Iraqi criminals rape it’s because they’re all savage terrorists who need Jesus; which always amusing that the arrogant fanatical nut job American Zionists want to tell the Arabs about Jesus because Jesus was an Arab Jew born to Palestinian parents.
When the Arab world demands America change their foreign policy to deal with the Middle East as if it were populated with human beings, Americans bark ‘how dare you tell us what to do’, followed by ‘what needs to happen is regime change in Iraq, Iran, Lebanon, Syria’.
See, when America farts it smells like roses but, when other parts of the world farts, well it just stinks.
Israel is one insane, maniacal nation created by Jewish Zionist terrorists that is responsible for this entire religious mess the globe is in; their decades of astonishingly effective propaganda in the United States to demonize and dehumanize Arabs is only trumped by Zionist efforts to manufacture and enflame mutual hatred between Muslims and the west.
What?! How dare you??!!
Israelis and especially Jews fart roses but, they’re even more sacred than Americans because Israelis and Jews fart rainbows and butterfly wings every time they kill a sleeping Palestinian mother and her four children! And when Israelis and Zionists lie and cheat and manipulate America into invading Iraq and now Iran, well that is sanctioned by God Himself and then all the Americans get on their knees and give a Jew a blow job.
There are many religious Americans on AC, I’m shocked by how this website is being over run by the bible thumping end timers preaching about a Jesus they know nothing about and using this Jesus to justify genocide, murder, imperialism, rape and misery but, they’re Americans so they’re the good guys and they fart roses.
Jewish terrorists launch rockets from a religious school and all anyone wants to talk about is WWII, you can’t reason with this kind of stupidity because Jews fart roses and rainbows and so do the Americans who worship them.
When Bin Laden and other Muslim radicals use their religion to spout hatred and distort God into a Being of war and death, they’re evil terrorists who follow the devils religion but, when Jews spend 110 years killing Arab Muslims and Christians in the name of their insane religious interpretations, they’re just victims of WWII.
What do those two things have in common, you might ask? Not one god damn thing but, supporters of Israel don’t have reason, history, international law or human rights on their side so they resort to the old stand by: a war that ended 60 years ago and Jews were not even one percent of deaths that global disaster. Oh and the Arabs had nothing to do with WWII or what happened to the Jews so, when they make Palestinians, Lebanese, Iraqis, Iranians and Syrians pay for what Europeans did, that’s not Blood Libel, that’s just Jews farting roses and penguin hugs.
When the global terrorist threat of American Evangelical Zionist nut jobs use their perverted, distorted and blatantly inaccurate interpretations of the bible to justify slaughtering millions of Arabs and Muslims all in the name of Jesus to bring on the Apocalypse so that all good White American Evangelical Zionists can be taken up in the spaceship with other good White American Evangelical Zionists to live together in eternal bliss, well that is just more rose farts.
Oh and this blessed event takes place with Israel’s help but, Israel is continues to be a holy saint, victimized by the evil Arabs and Muslims, even though in their magical bible stories, Israel will instigate the Apocalypse by launching nuclear war heads at Iran murdering millions but, those nuclear bombs will smell like roses and angel breath.
No matter what manner of grotesque massacre or war crimes or human catastrophe Israel visits upon the innocent people of the Middle East, the Jews are the victims and they’re farts smell like roses.
Regardless of the tens of thousands an America murder, tortures, falsely imprisons rapes, humiliates and terrorizes, they’re always the good guys fighting for freedom and they’re farts smell like roses.
Israel and America: what a shitty smelling rose garden.
When Americans slaughter innocent men, women and children well that’s just accidental, unintentional and collateral damage, just the cost of doing war. When Bin Laden or Iraqi Resistance fighters do it, they’re savage terrorists.
When Americans rape Iraqi women and children, they’re just a few bad apples and when Iraqi criminals rape it’s because they’re all savage terrorists who need Jesus; which always amusing that the arrogant fanatical nut job American Zionists want to tell the Arabs about Jesus because Jesus was an Arab Jew born to Palestinian parents.
When the Arab world demands America change their foreign policy to deal with the Middle East as if it were populated with human beings, Americans bark ‘how dare you tell us what to do’, followed by ‘what needs to happen is regime change in Iraq, Iran, Lebanon, Syria’.
See, when America farts it smells like roses but, when other parts of the world farts, well it just stinks.
Israel is one insane, maniacal nation created by Jewish Zionist terrorists that is responsible for this entire religious mess the globe is in; their decades of astonishingly effective propaganda in the United States to demonize and dehumanize Arabs is only trumped by Zionist efforts to manufacture and enflame mutual hatred between Muslims and the west.
What?! How dare you??!!
Israelis and especially Jews fart roses but, they’re even more sacred than Americans because Israelis and Jews fart rainbows and butterfly wings every time they kill a sleeping Palestinian mother and her four children! And when Israelis and Zionists lie and cheat and manipulate America into invading Iraq and now Iran, well that is sanctioned by God Himself and then all the Americans get on their knees and give a Jew a blow job.
There are many religious Americans on AC, I’m shocked by how this website is being over run by the bible thumping end timers preaching about a Jesus they know nothing about and using this Jesus to justify genocide, murder, imperialism, rape and misery but, they’re Americans so they’re the good guys and they fart roses.
Jewish terrorists launch rockets from a religious school and all anyone wants to talk about is WWII, you can’t reason with this kind of stupidity because Jews fart roses and rainbows and so do the Americans who worship them.
When Bin Laden and other Muslim radicals use their religion to spout hatred and distort God into a Being of war and death, they’re evil terrorists who follow the devils religion but, when Jews spend 110 years killing Arab Muslims and Christians in the name of their insane religious interpretations, they’re just victims of WWII.
What do those two things have in common, you might ask? Not one god damn thing but, supporters of Israel don’t have reason, history, international law or human rights on their side so they resort to the old stand by: a war that ended 60 years ago and Jews were not even one percent of deaths that global disaster. Oh and the Arabs had nothing to do with WWII or what happened to the Jews so, when they make Palestinians, Lebanese, Iraqis, Iranians and Syrians pay for what Europeans did, that’s not Blood Libel, that’s just Jews farting roses and penguin hugs.
When the global terrorist threat of American Evangelical Zionist nut jobs use their perverted, distorted and blatantly inaccurate interpretations of the bible to justify slaughtering millions of Arabs and Muslims all in the name of Jesus to bring on the Apocalypse so that all good White American Evangelical Zionists can be taken up in the spaceship with other good White American Evangelical Zionists to live together in eternal bliss, well that is just more rose farts.
Oh and this blessed event takes place with Israel’s help but, Israel is continues to be a holy saint, victimized by the evil Arabs and Muslims, even though in their magical bible stories, Israel will instigate the Apocalypse by launching nuclear war heads at Iran murdering millions but, those nuclear bombs will smell like roses and angel breath.
No matter what manner of grotesque massacre or war crimes or human catastrophe Israel visits upon the innocent people of the Middle East, the Jews are the victims and they’re farts smell like roses.
Regardless of the tens of thousands an America murder, tortures, falsely imprisons rapes, humiliates and terrorizes, they’re always the good guys fighting for freedom and they’re farts smell like roses.
Israel and America: what a shitty smelling rose garden.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Book Review: Bright Shiny Morning by James Frey
Yes, THAT James Frey; the man skewered on national television by Oprah for embellishing his memoir, A Million Little Pieces. I believe he was unfairly crucified and I knew while reading the book that it was fictionalized in certain spots and altered in others, I don’t know how anyone could not know, frankly. When you read non-fiction you’re still responsible for what you chose to believe as truth and just because a book is classified as a memoir, does not mean literary license is suspended; you still have to think for yourself.
Story telling is about the truth at the heart of the story, not about the minute facts of an event. Cold and tangible data is what scientific and medical journals are for but, the act of consuming art is that act of going on an internal journey to self.
I digress; back to the original book review and this extraordinary story that takes a slice of gritty Americana and dissects the American dream in the land of Hollywood; dozens of stories are told but, we’re only expected to follow the plot of four storylines to fruition and you will go along willingly and with great anticipation in this compulsively readable story. The other unforgettable characters that appear however briefly are very effective in creating a larger canvas for the clamouring voices of the lost souls of LA to be heard and momentarily seen, like burned out stars in the night sky.
The four main stories consist of Joe the homeless guy who wakes up everyday looking for an answer which appears to show up in the battered face of a teenager, there is Esperanza a Mexican-American woman who has a perceived physical flaw and an unexpected love story that emerges from the gaping hole of her employers soul, we meet Dylan and Maddie a young couple desperately clawing their way out of a small town and ugly parentage and finally Amberton and Casey, big movie stars who are married to each other but have a commitment only to their own hideous hedonism, lies and horrendous egos.
As a former television writer, Frey knows his way around the dankness of Hollywood so we can’t help but believe we’re getting an insiders view of movie making and the shadowy corruption that this industry is built upon. I came away with a sense that this is an industry that attracts people with a bottomless desperation for something phantom and unknowable, a quest for salvation in all its mysterious reflections and promises of rest.
Frey utilizes a story telling technique in this novel of listing names, ages and dreams of those who flock to LA with big dreams of seeing their names in lights but fail to achieve anything except how to mix a martini and serve lunch; it’s a devastating reminder that for every moronic actor telling the camera that they’re living their dreams, there are thousands who were used up, thrown away and left to rot in the graveyard of their own hopes.
Interspersed in the story is the historical time line of the creation of Los Angeles and facts about the birth of this city that captivates tens of millions of people world wide and the facts are sobering, at the end of this journey you will know without a doubt that people are captivated with the illusion of LA because the reality can be staggeringly ugly and hard.
Bright Shiny Morning is written in the same highly effective, stream of consciousness style as 'A Million Little Pieces'.a unique and evocative literary tool making it impossible to put this book down. Frey very deftly paints a portrait of desperate people all clamouring for a piece of the pie and stomping on each other in the process, a world of wolves and sheep, haves and have-nots, predators and prey; he also directly stares the racial make up of LA directly in the eye and doesn’t blink from the violence, rage and death that is a quintessential American disaster.
Here is the irony of what this story reveals; there is an aching, beautiful innocence in all that desperation which is unique American disaster aswell.
Bright Shiny Morning is a shattering examination of the underbelly of the American dream which is revealed to be filthy and the stench is that of broken hearts and hollowed out souls. This book has the unique achievement of being both entertaining and effecting in its handling of complicated human dramas.
This novel reinforces that James Frey is a great story teller and talented artist; I recommend this book for both men and women which speaks to Frey’s’ unique ability to reach both genders and satisfy their very different reading expectations. 'My Friend Leonard' is another great read by Frey.
Story telling is about the truth at the heart of the story, not about the minute facts of an event. Cold and tangible data is what scientific and medical journals are for but, the act of consuming art is that act of going on an internal journey to self.
I digress; back to the original book review and this extraordinary story that takes a slice of gritty Americana and dissects the American dream in the land of Hollywood; dozens of stories are told but, we’re only expected to follow the plot of four storylines to fruition and you will go along willingly and with great anticipation in this compulsively readable story. The other unforgettable characters that appear however briefly are very effective in creating a larger canvas for the clamouring voices of the lost souls of LA to be heard and momentarily seen, like burned out stars in the night sky.
The four main stories consist of Joe the homeless guy who wakes up everyday looking for an answer which appears to show up in the battered face of a teenager, there is Esperanza a Mexican-American woman who has a perceived physical flaw and an unexpected love story that emerges from the gaping hole of her employers soul, we meet Dylan and Maddie a young couple desperately clawing their way out of a small town and ugly parentage and finally Amberton and Casey, big movie stars who are married to each other but have a commitment only to their own hideous hedonism, lies and horrendous egos.
As a former television writer, Frey knows his way around the dankness of Hollywood so we can’t help but believe we’re getting an insiders view of movie making and the shadowy corruption that this industry is built upon. I came away with a sense that this is an industry that attracts people with a bottomless desperation for something phantom and unknowable, a quest for salvation in all its mysterious reflections and promises of rest.
Frey utilizes a story telling technique in this novel of listing names, ages and dreams of those who flock to LA with big dreams of seeing their names in lights but fail to achieve anything except how to mix a martini and serve lunch; it’s a devastating reminder that for every moronic actor telling the camera that they’re living their dreams, there are thousands who were used up, thrown away and left to rot in the graveyard of their own hopes.
Interspersed in the story is the historical time line of the creation of Los Angeles and facts about the birth of this city that captivates tens of millions of people world wide and the facts are sobering, at the end of this journey you will know without a doubt that people are captivated with the illusion of LA because the reality can be staggeringly ugly and hard.
Bright Shiny Morning is written in the same highly effective, stream of consciousness style as 'A Million Little Pieces'.a unique and evocative literary tool making it impossible to put this book down. Frey very deftly paints a portrait of desperate people all clamouring for a piece of the pie and stomping on each other in the process, a world of wolves and sheep, haves and have-nots, predators and prey; he also directly stares the racial make up of LA directly in the eye and doesn’t blink from the violence, rage and death that is a quintessential American disaster.
Here is the irony of what this story reveals; there is an aching, beautiful innocence in all that desperation which is unique American disaster aswell.
Bright Shiny Morning is a shattering examination of the underbelly of the American dream which is revealed to be filthy and the stench is that of broken hearts and hollowed out souls. This book has the unique achievement of being both entertaining and effecting in its handling of complicated human dramas.
This novel reinforces that James Frey is a great story teller and talented artist; I recommend this book for both men and women which speaks to Frey’s’ unique ability to reach both genders and satisfy their very different reading expectations. 'My Friend Leonard' is another great read by Frey.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Hypocrisy of the Hollywood Environmental Movement
As multi-millionaires who lie and pretend for a living continue their vapid lecturing about the need to save the planet gains momentum, I often wonder if these gas bags ever tire of hearing their own voices blathering about subjects that are above their IQ level.
Harrison Ford pontificates about saving trees and then takes a helicopter to work every day he filmed the latest Indian Jones movies and Oprah is always the loudest and most obnoxious with her preaching and she regularly flies around in a private jet and her decades of obesity contributed to the strain on farming and the planet.
Every botoxed and enhanced starlet makes PSA announcements about ‘alternative fuel’ without on ounce of information or research otherwise these vacuous morons would know that producing ethanol is actually more environmentally consumptive than oil and destroys arable land reducing farming productivity and creating food shortages.
The most dangerous thing in the world is giving a microphone, a platform and an audience to an intellectual black hole with a cause; celebrities promote ‘environmentalism’ in the same insufferable way as they whine about Africa.
Every ten years of or so, for the past few decades the entertainment business latches onto a cause, in the 1980s it was Africa with their campaign to save starving black children however there is just one problem, all the billions we sent to the continent were siphoned away by corrupt governments and passed onto varying thugs to buy guns and tanks to keep fighting their border wars and their tribal conflicts.
In the late 1990s and now with the offensively simplistic and inaccurate Al Gore documentary, An Inconvenient Truth, the environment is the Hypocrisy du jour; in the 1990s corporations took advantage of the manufactured frenzy of environmental hysteria by reducing the amount of product they sell consumers and increasing the price and labelling it ‘Concentrated’ for the health of the environment making us pay more for less. We’re still paying those exorbitant prices for products that used to come in larger quantities.
Companies are hard at work figuring out how to best take advantage of the average consumer in this latest wave of environmentalism.
As the mindless sheep get herded in a Zombie like trance into hollow chanting about Kyoto, hybrid cars and other such paper tigers, I find myself asking, yet again, when the human race will wake up.
The Masses Mentality prevents recognition of the Truth and promotes intellectual lethargy that makes societies vulnerable to mass manipulation and hysteria; hypocrisy and deception rules and flourishes best in the midst of the herd.
Over consumption is the plague of our continent and if you want to truly help the planet, here are a few practical things you can do:
1. Lose weight, obesity is putting a strain on the food supply chain and damaging our environment.
2. Conserve energy and paper products; don’t leave the lights on or the television on if they’re not being used, unplug small appliances like coffee makers and toasters.
3. Recycle; if your community doesn’t have a Blue Box program, create one or take your own recyclables to your neighbourhood depots. Stop buying bottled water, get reusable containers and fill those with water.
4. Reduce; cut down on the amount of paper towels and napkins you use, eat less processed food because the excess packaging creates unnecessary waste and unless your transporting manure or hauling cars out of ditches there’s no reason to be driving a massive SUV or truck.
This is a world of competing deceptions and the only way to live authentically is to break away from the herd, stop believing the vapid liars and start thinking for yourself.
Harrison Ford pontificates about saving trees and then takes a helicopter to work every day he filmed the latest Indian Jones movies and Oprah is always the loudest and most obnoxious with her preaching and she regularly flies around in a private jet and her decades of obesity contributed to the strain on farming and the planet.
Every botoxed and enhanced starlet makes PSA announcements about ‘alternative fuel’ without on ounce of information or research otherwise these vacuous morons would know that producing ethanol is actually more environmentally consumptive than oil and destroys arable land reducing farming productivity and creating food shortages.
The most dangerous thing in the world is giving a microphone, a platform and an audience to an intellectual black hole with a cause; celebrities promote ‘environmentalism’ in the same insufferable way as they whine about Africa.
Every ten years of or so, for the past few decades the entertainment business latches onto a cause, in the 1980s it was Africa with their campaign to save starving black children however there is just one problem, all the billions we sent to the continent were siphoned away by corrupt governments and passed onto varying thugs to buy guns and tanks to keep fighting their border wars and their tribal conflicts.
In the late 1990s and now with the offensively simplistic and inaccurate Al Gore documentary, An Inconvenient Truth, the environment is the Hypocrisy du jour; in the 1990s corporations took advantage of the manufactured frenzy of environmental hysteria by reducing the amount of product they sell consumers and increasing the price and labelling it ‘Concentrated’ for the health of the environment making us pay more for less. We’re still paying those exorbitant prices for products that used to come in larger quantities.
Companies are hard at work figuring out how to best take advantage of the average consumer in this latest wave of environmentalism.
As the mindless sheep get herded in a Zombie like trance into hollow chanting about Kyoto, hybrid cars and other such paper tigers, I find myself asking, yet again, when the human race will wake up.
The Masses Mentality prevents recognition of the Truth and promotes intellectual lethargy that makes societies vulnerable to mass manipulation and hysteria; hypocrisy and deception rules and flourishes best in the midst of the herd.
Over consumption is the plague of our continent and if you want to truly help the planet, here are a few practical things you can do:
1. Lose weight, obesity is putting a strain on the food supply chain and damaging our environment.
2. Conserve energy and paper products; don’t leave the lights on or the television on if they’re not being used, unplug small appliances like coffee makers and toasters.
3. Recycle; if your community doesn’t have a Blue Box program, create one or take your own recyclables to your neighbourhood depots. Stop buying bottled water, get reusable containers and fill those with water.
4. Reduce; cut down on the amount of paper towels and napkins you use, eat less processed food because the excess packaging creates unnecessary waste and unless your transporting manure or hauling cars out of ditches there’s no reason to be driving a massive SUV or truck.
This is a world of competing deceptions and the only way to live authentically is to break away from the herd, stop believing the vapid liars and start thinking for yourself.
Monday, May 26, 2008
You’re not Angry with Me
We’re all so angry in North America; we yell at one another, we curse each other out, we attack one another’s character, amid all this yelling and screaming one truth gets buried: you’re not angry with me.
You’re angry with your government and your culture; so am I. We are all angry at the system and the people in power and instead of yelling at the source of our upset, we attack our neighbour.
Governments stoke this irrational behaviour by pitting us against each other by separating us into those who ‘hate us for our freedoms’ in the west and those who support democracy and freedom, the ‘patriots’; so, if you oppose the current wisdom of killing and torture and more killing, well that’s because you hate us for our freedoms.
It’s an effective tool to deeply divide the masses and let them cannibalize friend and foe; while we devour each other, the people we’re truly angry with are doing whatever they want. Governments, religious fanatics and special interest groups are malignantly planning and executing wars for profit, Raptures and Apartheid.
Divide and conquer.
We are a continent divided and conquered and we’re heading towards a final dénouement; how it will end is a mystery but, a wave of such rage and lies can only build to a crescendo and then implode.
I am not angry with you.
You are not angry with me.
We are angry at our leaders and our culture for being lead down a path of vapid, empty, meaningless consumerism and soulless language of hate, war and death.
You’re angry with your government and your culture; so am I. We are all angry at the system and the people in power and instead of yelling at the source of our upset, we attack our neighbour.
Governments stoke this irrational behaviour by pitting us against each other by separating us into those who ‘hate us for our freedoms’ in the west and those who support democracy and freedom, the ‘patriots’; so, if you oppose the current wisdom of killing and torture and more killing, well that’s because you hate us for our freedoms.
It’s an effective tool to deeply divide the masses and let them cannibalize friend and foe; while we devour each other, the people we’re truly angry with are doing whatever they want. Governments, religious fanatics and special interest groups are malignantly planning and executing wars for profit, Raptures and Apartheid.
Divide and conquer.
We are a continent divided and conquered and we’re heading towards a final dénouement; how it will end is a mystery but, a wave of such rage and lies can only build to a crescendo and then implode.
I am not angry with you.
You are not angry with me.
We are angry at our leaders and our culture for being lead down a path of vapid, empty, meaningless consumerism and soulless language of hate, war and death.
Consequences of being a Soldier
Every choice has two consequences: intended and unintended. Intended are the ripples in the water that we can see or project and unintended are the ones we could not imagine.
It’s been my experience that the unforeseen results of the choices we make leave the most lasting impressions and create the most changes within us and alter our lives most dramatically.
The wars being unleashed in the Middle East against innocent people have no honour and no purpose except corporate profit and Israeli hegemony; without a draft soldiers who volunteered to kill, terrorize, rape, oppress and humiliate innocent men, women and children face staggering consequences when they get back home.
Here is a list of some of the unintended consequences of volunteering to kill in wars: suicide, mental destruction, drug and alcohol addiction, murder, assaults, domestic violence, divorce, alienation from children, homelessness, guilt, rage and prison.
If you transform a man into a savage killing machine, turn him loose on unarmed souls and encourage him to slaughter, attack, rape and humiliate the innocent, no one comes out unscathed. The innocent are ravaged and snuffed out and the guilty soldiers with blood and suffering on their hands and souls emerge animals and once back in “civilized society” become caged predators who hate you.
Make no mistake, these soldiers hate the civilian world because we got to stay behind and live in our stupid cushy suburbs and pathetic arm chair generals got to pontificate about military strategy and “Al-Queda” while soldiers were turning children into shattered pieces of headless corpses.
For female soldiers they’re facing a consequence previously unseen in military ranks, thanks to a misguided tenet of feminism women are now equal opportunity killers and the unintended consequence of this development is devastating. Women in combat are losing their children and being raped by their fellow soldiers; first their friends betray them and then the military establishment colludes to prevent prosecution of sexual assault from ever seeing the light of day.
Many female combatants are mothers and wives and they are discovering that being over seas for months and years at a time is not conducive to keeping a marriage or a family together; soldiering is costing these women their children and their spouses.
Just as they’ve caused millions of Iraqi women to lose their children, American mothers are losing theirs; just as they’ve turned millions of Iraqi women into widows, American female soldiers are losing their spouses.
The death and destruction and suffering you bring to the doorstep of another family will show up in the heart of your own homes.
For generations the corrupt and criminal American government has succeeded in convincing their citizenry that consequences are for other people and other nations; it’s time to stop believing their lies.
The consequences of imperialism, mass murder and lies always come home to roost.
It’s been my experience that the unforeseen results of the choices we make leave the most lasting impressions and create the most changes within us and alter our lives most dramatically.
The wars being unleashed in the Middle East against innocent people have no honour and no purpose except corporate profit and Israeli hegemony; without a draft soldiers who volunteered to kill, terrorize, rape, oppress and humiliate innocent men, women and children face staggering consequences when they get back home.
Here is a list of some of the unintended consequences of volunteering to kill in wars: suicide, mental destruction, drug and alcohol addiction, murder, assaults, domestic violence, divorce, alienation from children, homelessness, guilt, rage and prison.
If you transform a man into a savage killing machine, turn him loose on unarmed souls and encourage him to slaughter, attack, rape and humiliate the innocent, no one comes out unscathed. The innocent are ravaged and snuffed out and the guilty soldiers with blood and suffering on their hands and souls emerge animals and once back in “civilized society” become caged predators who hate you.
Make no mistake, these soldiers hate the civilian world because we got to stay behind and live in our stupid cushy suburbs and pathetic arm chair generals got to pontificate about military strategy and “Al-Queda” while soldiers were turning children into shattered pieces of headless corpses.
For female soldiers they’re facing a consequence previously unseen in military ranks, thanks to a misguided tenet of feminism women are now equal opportunity killers and the unintended consequence of this development is devastating. Women in combat are losing their children and being raped by their fellow soldiers; first their friends betray them and then the military establishment colludes to prevent prosecution of sexual assault from ever seeing the light of day.
Many female combatants are mothers and wives and they are discovering that being over seas for months and years at a time is not conducive to keeping a marriage or a family together; soldiering is costing these women their children and their spouses.
Just as they’ve caused millions of Iraqi women to lose their children, American mothers are losing theirs; just as they’ve turned millions of Iraqi women into widows, American female soldiers are losing their spouses.
The death and destruction and suffering you bring to the doorstep of another family will show up in the heart of your own homes.
For generations the corrupt and criminal American government has succeeded in convincing their citizenry that consequences are for other people and other nations; it’s time to stop believing their lies.
The consequences of imperialism, mass murder and lies always come home to roost.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Indignity , A Short Story
There are so many indignities that we suffer in life that in the end its the most subversive of these attacks that end up bringing us to our knees. This story really begins on a day I went grocery shopping but, context is required because our history foretells our destiny and path into the future; ignorance of the past changes nothing.
My parents immigrated to Canada from Britain in 1972 to escape the controversy surrounding their relationship; the relentless night time family meetings trying to talk some sense into my father and the cold rejection from my mothers’ parents, all of these tactics were in hopes of breaking them apart. I firmly believe they succeeded in destroying my parents’ relationship; it just took a long time for them to finally give up on each other. My fathers’ family is from Mumbai, a member of an upper caste Brahmin family that owned a dozen dry cleaners around London, he was the only son of four children and my mother was the only child of Dutch expats who made their paltry living as writers. Mother used to say that even their names suggested she and father were destined to meet , his name being, Adi meaning the first in Hindu and Anke is my mothers name, meaning graceful, the Anglicized version of her name is Ana, so that is what everyone called her: Ana. They tumbled into each others’ lives like a tired man hits a pillow, sinking deep, hard and stubborn.
My parents fell in love in a park surrounded by a dozen of their friends that were oblivious to the destiny being manifest before their young eyes; both students were sitting on the ground at Cambridge University with classmates fanned out around them when their eyes locked and they moved toward one another and stayed that way for over a decade. Both families were vehemently opposed to their interracial coupling and would never support the two of them marrying so Ana and Adi eloped and moved into a small, dank one room flat within walking distance of the University and spent their first year as husband and wife finishing up their degrees in English. After graduation my parents decided they needed to get as far away from their families as possible and applied for entrance in the English masters programs at several Canadian universities, finally settling on the University of Toronto. Unbeknownst to my parents on the flight from Heathrow to Toronto, I was already conceived and they would find out soon enough on a hot, muggy day in August just days before classes started. Instead of being immersed in intellectual pursuits they both became buried in diapers and bills and menial jobs and this is when they began to crumble. My father worked two jobs, waiting tables at night and then the midnight shift at a corner gas station, while my mother spent her days working at a bookstore around the corner from their apartment. Barely making ends meet and unable to be in the same room without emanating blame and contempt for the other, soon no love remained. When I was seven years old, after years of bitterness and rage, my father returned to England and two years after leaving us he married an Indian woman of his same caste and they went on to have five daughters that I never met. Mothers’ relationship with her parents remained strained as they refused to accept a mixed child as their granddaughter and so it was just the two of us until I was nineteen when cancer killed her and then it was just me.
Her death left me unmoored, I was clearly unwanted and unwelcome by both the Indians and the Dutch so I would need to find my own way and it’s not easy to do that as a girl, alone in this world. Of course I am broken now so I no longer have the pride that prevents me from admitting the truth of my vulnerabilities. I finished university with a useless degree in political science and went to work at the Ontario Motor Vehicles Department, processing drivers’ permits applications; I had a few friends to spend my time with and it was these friends that would unwittingly take me to my breaking place and point. My life was empty and lonely and I had the pulled in look of people who live uncared for and thrown away, I’ve seen others like me wandering the streets of this city and I know we are kin but, there’s no one to reach out to; lips pursed, head down, shoulders tense and pushing through life is how I lived.
A friend called to invite me to drive down to Chatham for an outdoor concert of a rising country singer; I set my grocery bags down, the same bags found at the beginning of my story. I dialed her number to arrange the details of our trip.
Sally, Cindy and Lisa picked me up early on a Saturday morning in June to drive the more than two hours to Chatham, each of them various shades of blond and tanned and gearing for a good time, my black hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail and my dark skin was made darker by the sun. As we set off, we began to talk at the same time excitedly and bursting into giggles at unexpected moments and as we got close to the concert area the scene began to look like a college rodeo. Sally parked her car and we climbed out stretched, surveyed the scene and a couple of guys sauntered by, scoping out the blonds I came with; I didn’t mind, I was used to being invisible to men who seem to hound after white girls with yellow hair as if their blondness holds salvation.
Growing up in a city like Toronto it was difficult to know what my ethnicity was, I blended, we were all from somewhere else and it didn’t seem to matter so it was a complete shock to learn as an adult, it’s the only thing that matters. Even when it doesn’t seem to matter, it does.
In this place and time is when my final stance snapped like a glass swan; that is to say in half, cleanly and with serrated edges. A concert, of all places is where I shattered for good. Those of us who walk broken in this world will fall into the abyss from a shallow grave and a mild breeze even after a lifetime of carrying burdens and catastrophes; who can say why without revealing the mystery of the deep?
The blonde girls and I gathered our back packs filled with beer and satchels full of sandwiches and began our trek to the stage; it began to feel cold immediately. Confusion and fear set in but, I kept my head down and pushed through but every foot forward became heavy and burdensome. A quiet had settled on my side of the grounds, it was palpable, terrifying in its silence and spreading quickly. Lifting my head and looking around I noticed dozens of trucks ahead with American flags flapping on their antenna and so many white people with hate in their eyes and all of it was cutting a hole through me.
My breath caught in my chest and I smiled, thinking if I showed I was friendly and unthreatening their cold contempt would soften but, it did not, their glares hardened and intensified and began to smell of violence. My friends began to feel the different air as it became infested with rage and our walk down the plank slowed, they looked at the glares and then looked at me and then we heard a woman spit venom with her words.
“Fucking Arab Cunt” the disembodied voice hissed.
I’m not Arab, I thought to myself! They’re talking about someone else. The relief allowed me to exhale the breath I was choking on and I turned to see who the Arab was but, there was no one; it was only me. I stared at my friends, who stared back at me, their faces red and their embarrassment so consuming it was thrumming with heat, coming off of them in waves; they said nothing. I swallowed and heard something snap, I put my head down and picked up my leaden legs and started moving towards the stage once more.
My heart beat in my throat for the entire concert as I sat on the grass and hoped the Americans wouldn’t come looking for me. The sadness that I worked daily to keep at bay swallowed me whole while a blonde woman with big hair, cowboy boots and tassels twanged about good ole boys and love in a haystack. I felt the lights go out on my hope and quietly I disappeared, knowing I could never find that place to be safe and my grandparents had been right all along; I am the offspring of disaster.
After the concert it was dark and we went back to the car by scurrying in the other direction so as to avoid any confrontations with the Americans; we were scared and ashamed for unknown reasons.
We drove back to Toronto in miserable silence, they dropped me off at my apartment first and drove off without a backward glance; not even a flick of the eyes.
That is how the long road ended for me; finally, at a concert underneath the watching sky with false friends on one side and virulent, unknown enemies on my other.
How quietly my heart broke.
I turned into my locked door and went into my darkened apartment, unpacked my bag and laid out my clothes for the next morning, set up my coffee and had a bowl of cereal and with my shoulders bowed I went to bed.
My parents immigrated to Canada from Britain in 1972 to escape the controversy surrounding their relationship; the relentless night time family meetings trying to talk some sense into my father and the cold rejection from my mothers’ parents, all of these tactics were in hopes of breaking them apart. I firmly believe they succeeded in destroying my parents’ relationship; it just took a long time for them to finally give up on each other. My fathers’ family is from Mumbai, a member of an upper caste Brahmin family that owned a dozen dry cleaners around London, he was the only son of four children and my mother was the only child of Dutch expats who made their paltry living as writers. Mother used to say that even their names suggested she and father were destined to meet , his name being, Adi meaning the first in Hindu and Anke is my mothers name, meaning graceful, the Anglicized version of her name is Ana, so that is what everyone called her: Ana. They tumbled into each others’ lives like a tired man hits a pillow, sinking deep, hard and stubborn.
My parents fell in love in a park surrounded by a dozen of their friends that were oblivious to the destiny being manifest before their young eyes; both students were sitting on the ground at Cambridge University with classmates fanned out around them when their eyes locked and they moved toward one another and stayed that way for over a decade. Both families were vehemently opposed to their interracial coupling and would never support the two of them marrying so Ana and Adi eloped and moved into a small, dank one room flat within walking distance of the University and spent their first year as husband and wife finishing up their degrees in English. After graduation my parents decided they needed to get as far away from their families as possible and applied for entrance in the English masters programs at several Canadian universities, finally settling on the University of Toronto. Unbeknownst to my parents on the flight from Heathrow to Toronto, I was already conceived and they would find out soon enough on a hot, muggy day in August just days before classes started. Instead of being immersed in intellectual pursuits they both became buried in diapers and bills and menial jobs and this is when they began to crumble. My father worked two jobs, waiting tables at night and then the midnight shift at a corner gas station, while my mother spent her days working at a bookstore around the corner from their apartment. Barely making ends meet and unable to be in the same room without emanating blame and contempt for the other, soon no love remained. When I was seven years old, after years of bitterness and rage, my father returned to England and two years after leaving us he married an Indian woman of his same caste and they went on to have five daughters that I never met. Mothers’ relationship with her parents remained strained as they refused to accept a mixed child as their granddaughter and so it was just the two of us until I was nineteen when cancer killed her and then it was just me.
Her death left me unmoored, I was clearly unwanted and unwelcome by both the Indians and the Dutch so I would need to find my own way and it’s not easy to do that as a girl, alone in this world. Of course I am broken now so I no longer have the pride that prevents me from admitting the truth of my vulnerabilities. I finished university with a useless degree in political science and went to work at the Ontario Motor Vehicles Department, processing drivers’ permits applications; I had a few friends to spend my time with and it was these friends that would unwittingly take me to my breaking place and point. My life was empty and lonely and I had the pulled in look of people who live uncared for and thrown away, I’ve seen others like me wandering the streets of this city and I know we are kin but, there’s no one to reach out to; lips pursed, head down, shoulders tense and pushing through life is how I lived.
A friend called to invite me to drive down to Chatham for an outdoor concert of a rising country singer; I set my grocery bags down, the same bags found at the beginning of my story. I dialed her number to arrange the details of our trip.
Sally, Cindy and Lisa picked me up early on a Saturday morning in June to drive the more than two hours to Chatham, each of them various shades of blond and tanned and gearing for a good time, my black hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail and my dark skin was made darker by the sun. As we set off, we began to talk at the same time excitedly and bursting into giggles at unexpected moments and as we got close to the concert area the scene began to look like a college rodeo. Sally parked her car and we climbed out stretched, surveyed the scene and a couple of guys sauntered by, scoping out the blonds I came with; I didn’t mind, I was used to being invisible to men who seem to hound after white girls with yellow hair as if their blondness holds salvation.
Growing up in a city like Toronto it was difficult to know what my ethnicity was, I blended, we were all from somewhere else and it didn’t seem to matter so it was a complete shock to learn as an adult, it’s the only thing that matters. Even when it doesn’t seem to matter, it does.
In this place and time is when my final stance snapped like a glass swan; that is to say in half, cleanly and with serrated edges. A concert, of all places is where I shattered for good. Those of us who walk broken in this world will fall into the abyss from a shallow grave and a mild breeze even after a lifetime of carrying burdens and catastrophes; who can say why without revealing the mystery of the deep?
The blonde girls and I gathered our back packs filled with beer and satchels full of sandwiches and began our trek to the stage; it began to feel cold immediately. Confusion and fear set in but, I kept my head down and pushed through but every foot forward became heavy and burdensome. A quiet had settled on my side of the grounds, it was palpable, terrifying in its silence and spreading quickly. Lifting my head and looking around I noticed dozens of trucks ahead with American flags flapping on their antenna and so many white people with hate in their eyes and all of it was cutting a hole through me.
My breath caught in my chest and I smiled, thinking if I showed I was friendly and unthreatening their cold contempt would soften but, it did not, their glares hardened and intensified and began to smell of violence. My friends began to feel the different air as it became infested with rage and our walk down the plank slowed, they looked at the glares and then looked at me and then we heard a woman spit venom with her words.
“Fucking Arab Cunt” the disembodied voice hissed.
I’m not Arab, I thought to myself! They’re talking about someone else. The relief allowed me to exhale the breath I was choking on and I turned to see who the Arab was but, there was no one; it was only me. I stared at my friends, who stared back at me, their faces red and their embarrassment so consuming it was thrumming with heat, coming off of them in waves; they said nothing. I swallowed and heard something snap, I put my head down and picked up my leaden legs and started moving towards the stage once more.
My heart beat in my throat for the entire concert as I sat on the grass and hoped the Americans wouldn’t come looking for me. The sadness that I worked daily to keep at bay swallowed me whole while a blonde woman with big hair, cowboy boots and tassels twanged about good ole boys and love in a haystack. I felt the lights go out on my hope and quietly I disappeared, knowing I could never find that place to be safe and my grandparents had been right all along; I am the offspring of disaster.
After the concert it was dark and we went back to the car by scurrying in the other direction so as to avoid any confrontations with the Americans; we were scared and ashamed for unknown reasons.
We drove back to Toronto in miserable silence, they dropped me off at my apartment first and drove off without a backward glance; not even a flick of the eyes.
That is how the long road ended for me; finally, at a concert underneath the watching sky with false friends on one side and virulent, unknown enemies on my other.
How quietly my heart broke.
I turned into my locked door and went into my darkened apartment, unpacked my bag and laid out my clothes for the next morning, set up my coffee and had a bowl of cereal and with my shoulders bowed I went to bed.
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