I was a sucker. I will fully admit that I have had my political favorites over the years, and that I gave them some leeway with regards to their actions both personal and professional. However, by and large I don't tolerate most illegal or immoral acts by such men and women. This administration is the bottom of the barrel.
I am not sure I have seen as much blatant disregard for US and International Law in a seven-year period. Illegal wiretapping for five years straight is one example. While during a related civil court case, a US judge declared that the President "undisputely violated" the First and Fourth Amendments of the Constitution, and also statutory law. The Justice Department did not move on filing criminal charges.
The administration organizes illegal prisons world wide, in countries where torture is acceptable. The Bush Administration feels that if we torture abroad, our agents are not subject to US law. I don't care what has been done to Americans, torture is never an acceptable measure. It has always been what separated us from so many of our enemies, and never been any more important than it is now.
We watch movies like "Clear and Present Danger", where the President oversteps his bounds. We cheer the main character as he uses US law to put him in his place, to make him pay for his crimes against the people. Now, as we are faced with a real life example of the illegal misuse of power, I shudder that most Americans will ignore the threat to their liberties that it poses. The Monica Lewinsky affair got Clinton into some serious trouble, but Bush's illegal wiretapping is apparently acceptable. Perhaps if they knew their name was on the list of those affected Americans might feel differently.
Haliburton, Bechtel, and other US firms getting unbidded construction contracts in Iraq and Afghanistan? Bush's ties to these firms aren't just traceable; their executives are some of his best friends. In addition, these contracts are not only construction based; they are far more intricate, and it explains the core of US involvement there. Read Confessions of an Economic Hit Man; do it now. It will open your eyes to how these firms work, and our government's foreign policy with them. You may never look at our relations with the Developing World the same way again. If, after reading it and learning about how our world works, you find this acceptable, prepare for a long, unending war. A war with no winners, no real solution. We may not have started the fighting, but you may be shocked at how many seeds of violence we have planted.
No American wants to think that we (the US) hold any blame for terrorism. But then, that's what makes us such suckers...the mover and shakers in many of our corporations and government count on that. We are becoming those enemies that the US has fought in past wars; Nazis, Communists, British Imperialists. Now we wiretap our own people, torture our prisoners, and form a global (though unspoken) empire for our economic gain.
It is one of the scariest things I have had to come to terms with, to admit and understand.
But you don't have to believe me. Read all you can and find out for yourself.
The evidence is there.
Don't be a sucker.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Sky Scene
My return flight from Orlando last night was late by over an hour. It was pretty empty, with maybe 10 passengers with a 9:30 departure.
Within about a half hour of Reagan National Airport, the full moon shown through crystal clear skies above, lighting up the sea of the clouds below us. Off to the east, the main part of a storm appeared to be settling, with cloud-to-cloud lightning flashes rumbling like a father into his chair after a full meal. From inside the quiet cabin, it was perhaps one of the most beautiful views I have experienced in my life. Breathtaking. Without sound, the distance and vastness of the scene took on new importance, presenting just a glimpse of the feeling astronauts must get when looking out to the heavens. Pure, dynamic, colorful.
July 28, 1999
Within about a half hour of Reagan National Airport, the full moon shown through crystal clear skies above, lighting up the sea of the clouds below us. Off to the east, the main part of a storm appeared to be settling, with cloud-to-cloud lightning flashes rumbling like a father into his chair after a full meal. From inside the quiet cabin, it was perhaps one of the most beautiful views I have experienced in my life. Breathtaking. Without sound, the distance and vastness of the scene took on new importance, presenting just a glimpse of the feeling astronauts must get when looking out to the heavens. Pure, dynamic, colorful.
July 28, 1999
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Birkenau Walk
I remember listening to the sound of the wind as we ambled through the camp. Most of our thoughts were too frightening to speak, so we shared an occasional affirmation of the view that lay before us. What lay beneath those words was something far more terrifying to confront lightly; the brutality of man.
My companion had been to Dachau, outside of Munich. That concentration camp had been razed to the ground, and all that remained was a memorial landscape. He conveyed this to me expressing the difference he felt while absorbing Auschwitz II, aka Birkenau, the Nazi death camp that we now tread upon. Here, the original buildings still stood, the train tracks still ran, and the fence still encased. Most of the wooden barracks were relatively dilapidated, though a few were modestly renovated by the Polish government so visitors could peek in to try and imagine the horror that they once contained.
As we walked toward the rear of the camp, huge chasms appeared in the ground that in the past held the bodies of those who were brought here to die. The end of the train tracks were marked by a memorial for the victims, and the flames of candles lit in their memory were the only sign that any people had recently passed this way. Beyond the memorial were the cremation ovens that lay in rubble, their backs broken when the Soviet army arrived in early 1945.
October was not the height of tourist season in Europe, especially SW Poland in 1992. The Berlin Wall was a memory, but still fresh was the West’s disdain for the East for all but old relatives seeking their families across the rusted Iron Curtain. We were alone this day, the only others around had left the physical world long ago. The wind was still here, making the same sound it had forty eight years earlier. Only now, we were there to hear the voices it carried through the years, and to try and listen to what they were saying to us.
My companion had been to Dachau, outside of Munich. That concentration camp had been razed to the ground, and all that remained was a memorial landscape. He conveyed this to me expressing the difference he felt while absorbing Auschwitz II, aka Birkenau, the Nazi death camp that we now tread upon. Here, the original buildings still stood, the train tracks still ran, and the fence still encased. Most of the wooden barracks were relatively dilapidated, though a few were modestly renovated by the Polish government so visitors could peek in to try and imagine the horror that they once contained.
As we walked toward the rear of the camp, huge chasms appeared in the ground that in the past held the bodies of those who were brought here to die. The end of the train tracks were marked by a memorial for the victims, and the flames of candles lit in their memory were the only sign that any people had recently passed this way. Beyond the memorial were the cremation ovens that lay in rubble, their backs broken when the Soviet army arrived in early 1945.
October was not the height of tourist season in Europe, especially SW Poland in 1992. The Berlin Wall was a memory, but still fresh was the West’s disdain for the East for all but old relatives seeking their families across the rusted Iron Curtain. We were alone this day, the only others around had left the physical world long ago. The wind was still here, making the same sound it had forty eight years earlier. Only now, we were there to hear the voices it carried through the years, and to try and listen to what they were saying to us.
Driving in the Mekong Delta
Yesterday was a big day. Flew from Hue to Ho Chi Minh City, then motorbike into town, and got a ticket on a bus (really a van) to Chau Doc in the Mekong Delta close to the Cambodian border.
The ride was to take 6 hours, which for the most part was fine. Why it took 6 hours is another matter - especially since our driver was interested in getting there in 5. You see, the roads in Vietnam are often less than satisfactory, not to mention busy with motorbikes - but I've told you that before. Now, put them under construction too. That was the ride to Chau Doc.
Beep Beeeep!
Our driver passes every bicycle, cyclo, motorbike, car, van, and truck on the way there. Each time he passes he honks the horn, about once every 10 seconds or so.
Beep Beeeeeeeeep!
For the full 6 hours.
Beep beeeeeep! Beep! Beeeeeeeeeeeeep!
The view outside is nice - extensive waterways running all over the place, each filled with paddled canoes and motorized junks, crossed by foot bridges. Palm trees have taken over the vegetation realm, and hang over the canals and rivers like a canopy, protectiing boats and homes parked underneath.
Beep beeeeeep!
Now we hit construction. The driver is still flying, and as we hit potholes in the limestone gravel road, the van bounces back and forth in teeter - toter fashion. From the amount of give in the shock absorbers, this van has clearly been here before. It's really fun.
Beep beep beeeeeep!
We're passing vehicles on the shoulder that has developed in the middle of the road so the van is tilted to the left about 30 degrees, with oncoming traffic veering off to make way for us. Strangely I don't mind. I am giving us a 50-50 chance of rolling, but somehow it's adventurous.
Beep beep bebeeeep!
I am certain he is going to take out a motorbike or bicyclist with his right rear-view one of these times. We narrowly miss whole families with livestock on single motorbikes who appear resigned to the reality of their local byways. Our fearless leader would have been arrested in the States at least 16 times by now for reckless driving. And I don't mind one bit......except for the horn.
Beeep beeeeeeeeeeeeep beep beep!
CHAU DOC
We arrive in the city of Chau Doc around 6pm, and I quickly get a hotel room for $10 and a ticket on tomorrow's boat to Phnom Penh. I then splurge on a dinner at the Victoria Hotel - a 4 star style resort right on the water and out of my typical budget for this trip, but hell, they take credit cards (few places do in Vietnam) and I earned it today. After dinner, I sip a glass of Bordeaux on the deck, the lights of the opposite bank of the Mekong
in view as I write.
Tommorrow, I travel the "Mother of All Waters"
Chau Doc, Vietnam (sent from Phnom Penh, Cambodia
Thursday, August 24, 2006
The ride was to take 6 hours, which for the most part was fine. Why it took 6 hours is another matter - especially since our driver was interested in getting there in 5. You see, the roads in Vietnam are often less than satisfactory, not to mention busy with motorbikes - but I've told you that before. Now, put them under construction too. That was the ride to Chau Doc.
Beep Beeeep!
Our driver passes every bicycle, cyclo, motorbike, car, van, and truck on the way there. Each time he passes he honks the horn, about once every 10 seconds or so.
Beep Beeeeeeeeep!
For the full 6 hours.
Beep beeeeeep! Beep! Beeeeeeeeeeeeep!
The view outside is nice - extensive waterways running all over the place, each filled with paddled canoes and motorized junks, crossed by foot bridges. Palm trees have taken over the vegetation realm, and hang over the canals and rivers like a canopy, protectiing boats and homes parked underneath.
Beep beeeeeep!
Now we hit construction. The driver is still flying, and as we hit potholes in the limestone gravel road, the van bounces back and forth in teeter - toter fashion. From the amount of give in the shock absorbers, this van has clearly been here before. It's really fun.
Beep beep beeeeeep!
We're passing vehicles on the shoulder that has developed in the middle of the road so the van is tilted to the left about 30 degrees, with oncoming traffic veering off to make way for us. Strangely I don't mind. I am giving us a 50-50 chance of rolling, but somehow it's adventurous.
Beep beep bebeeeep!
I am certain he is going to take out a motorbike or bicyclist with his right rear-view one of these times. We narrowly miss whole families with livestock on single motorbikes who appear resigned to the reality of their local byways. Our fearless leader would have been arrested in the States at least 16 times by now for reckless driving. And I don't mind one bit......except for the horn.
Beeep beeeeeeeeeeeeep beep beep!
CHAU DOC
We arrive in the city of Chau Doc around 6pm, and I quickly get a hotel room for $10 and a ticket on tomorrow's boat to Phnom Penh. I then splurge on a dinner at the Victoria Hotel - a 4 star style resort right on the water and out of my typical budget for this trip, but hell, they take credit cards (few places do in Vietnam) and I earned it today. After dinner, I sip a glass of Bordeaux on the deck, the lights of the opposite bank of the Mekong
in view as I write.
Tommorrow, I travel the "Mother of All Waters"
Chau Doc, Vietnam (sent from Phnom Penh, Cambodia
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Roads of Vietnam and the Cu Chi Tunnels
Today's Vocabulary:
Cyclo (-taxi): A bicycle with two wheels and a passenger seat in front, and
one wheel and driver in back. Typically piloted by a skeleton with skin and
inconsistent teeth who, after hire, will pedal you around in circles, claim
he is lost, and demand payment. AKA a rickshaw.
Motorbike (-taxi): A 100cc scooter dominating streets and also
found parked on all of its sidewalks. Drivers will hound you on every corner
in attempts to earn a 10000 Dong ($0.65) fare, even when you tell him you
are walking another 20 feet.
Street Food: Noodles, typically served pho-soup style, literally cooked on
the sidewalks and served at plastic table and chairs best sized for a
toddler tea party. Frequented by locals at all hours of the day. Frightening
disregard for the principles of hygene, especially in utensil cleaning and
meat refrigeration (complete lack of).
Typhoid Cafe: Same as street food except found in open-air store fronts with
motorbikes parked in them.
Viet-frogger: Crossing any street in , dodging motorbikes, cars, and
cyclos while they beep at you and ignore traffic signals despite the
presence of policemen on each corner.
The Cu Chi Tunnels
Today was an experience; I met my driver at for my trip to Cu Chi, where during the war the Viet Cong had an extensive tunnel system that the US Army was unable to take over. I was definitely interested in the trip, but a bit apprehensive about the 40 km trip on the back of a motorbike. Each day you should try to do something that scares you, so I committed.
I have to admit, just riding through the city was pretty fun. I was finally on the other side of the game of Viet-frogger I'd been playing the past two days. Imagine a flock of birds in flight avoiding objects in their path, flying in unison. Riding a motorbike is pretty similar, with lots of beeping horns but no road rage. Traffic signals are a guideline at best, but typically irrelevant on everything but the most major thoroughfares.
My driver takes me to a staging area and transfers me to a subordinate, a woman of about 30. We got under way, riding through the real Saigon, away from the tourist sites and hotels. We followed a polluted creek for awhile, and it was trash day so all the containers were out cooking in the tropical sun and smelling up whole city blocks as we passed numerous typhoid cafes and motorbike repair centers, but friendly people and actually decent neighborhoods in general. We then got on to a sort of interstate highway that was a little bit like US Route 1 but wider and with less stops (kind of like NJ). The only holdup was a jack-knifed cyclo, a 1970s model that was nearly completely covered with rust.
After about 20 minutes, we turned right on to a back road, and the scenery quickly turned rural, with rice paddies, water buffalo, and cyclos carrying fruit and rice. The smells changed too, directly related to the cultural landscape we passed: bad (standing water in a small town), decent but strange (rice paddies), and good (forest / open country).
25 minutes more put us in Cu Chi. My driver let me know where to find her when I was done, and I made my way to the ticket window. I was quickly escorted to a video room where I was shown a 1970s film about the fighters of Cu Chi. It was wonderful Communist propaganda (a lot like the Guinness brewery: "as soon as I could take nourishment..."). "Trinh dong Nguyen was awarded the ____ medal for killing 23 Americans, all while growing rice during the day; a true hero of the revolution!"
I then met my guide and two companions: guy about my age and his retired father both originally from Boston and they make good company. The first stop our guide shows us an entry hole into the tunnels that is (no lie) about 2' x 1'. We stare in disbelief as he places his 4'6" frame into it, pulls the door on top, and disappears from the forest. I look in and claustrophobic doesn't begin to describe it. Craters from B-52 bombs are all over the place, and we can hear AK-47s being fired on the firing range some 100 yards away in the forest ($1.6 /round - anyone can do it).
We tour a number of other sites there, and finally come to a place where you can crawl through a section of the tunnels. I quickly jump at the chance, but my tour mates decline. Upon getting in and waddling about 5 yards, it takes all of about 10 seconds for me to just about freak out. It's dark, hot, and completely cramped. There are numerous turns and I get a little lost, but eventually find my way out, sweating like a champ, rattled, and respectful of what the VC did here.
The tour ended shortly thereafter, and I walked over to the typhoid cafe where I found my driver asleep in a hammock. She woke up, ordered us some noodles, and we ate. I knew it wasn't good for me, but I blew it off. I'd had food poisoning so many times in the past that I figured my hardened stomach could take it. We ate and then waved goodbye to the slackers in the hammocks and were on our way. I was right - a few abdominal grumbles on the ride home would do it, and I survived.
On the way home I took my camera out and snapped photos directly from the moving motorbike of the scenery. My favorite is the one on a country road where I held it backward to get a look at my head and the big truck riding about 6 ft. off of our asses and beeping its horn full bore in attempts to pass.
Ho Chi Minh City - Cu Chi,
August 19, 2006
9:30am-2pm
Cyclo (-taxi): A bicycle with two wheels and a passenger seat in front, and
one wheel and driver in back. Typically piloted by a skeleton with skin and
inconsistent teeth who, after hire, will pedal you around in circles, claim
he is lost, and demand payment. AKA a rickshaw.
Motorbike (-taxi): A 100cc scooter dominating streets and also
found parked on all of its sidewalks. Drivers will hound you on every corner
in attempts to earn a 10000 Dong ($0.65) fare, even when you tell him you
are walking another 20 feet.
Street Food: Noodles, typically served pho-soup style, literally cooked on
the sidewalks and served at plastic table and chairs best sized for a
toddler tea party. Frequented by locals at all hours of the day. Frightening
disregard for the principles of hygene, especially in utensil cleaning and
meat refrigeration (complete lack of).
Typhoid Cafe: Same as street food except found in open-air store fronts with
motorbikes parked in them.
Viet-frogger: Crossing any street in , dodging motorbikes, cars, and
cyclos while they beep at you and ignore traffic signals despite the
presence of policemen on each corner.
The Cu Chi Tunnels
Today was an experience; I met my driver at for my trip to Cu Chi, where during the war the Viet Cong had an extensive tunnel system that the US Army was unable to take over. I was definitely interested in the trip, but a bit apprehensive about the 40 km trip on the back of a motorbike. Each day you should try to do something that scares you, so I committed.
I have to admit, just riding through the city was pretty fun. I was finally on the other side of the game of Viet-frogger I'd been playing the past two days. Imagine a flock of birds in flight avoiding objects in their path, flying in unison. Riding a motorbike is pretty similar, with lots of beeping horns but no road rage. Traffic signals are a guideline at best, but typically irrelevant on everything but the most major thoroughfares.
My driver takes me to a staging area and transfers me to a subordinate, a woman of about 30. We got under way, riding through the real Saigon, away from the tourist sites and hotels. We followed a polluted creek for awhile, and it was trash day so all the containers were out cooking in the tropical sun and smelling up whole city blocks as we passed numerous typhoid cafes and motorbike repair centers, but friendly people and actually decent neighborhoods in general. We then got on to a sort of interstate highway that was a little bit like US Route 1 but wider and with less stops (kind of like NJ). The only holdup was a jack-knifed cyclo, a 1970s model that was nearly completely covered with rust.
After about 20 minutes, we turned right on to a back road, and the scenery quickly turned rural, with rice paddies, water buffalo, and cyclos carrying fruit and rice. The smells changed too, directly related to the cultural landscape we passed: bad (standing water in a small town), decent but strange (rice paddies), and good (forest / open country).
25 minutes more put us in Cu Chi. My driver let me know where to find her when I was done, and I made my way to the ticket window. I was quickly escorted to a video room where I was shown a 1970s film about the fighters of Cu Chi. It was wonderful Communist propaganda (a lot like the Guinness brewery: "as soon as I could take nourishment..."). "Trinh dong Nguyen was awarded the ____ medal for killing 23 Americans, all while growing rice during the day; a true hero of the revolution!"
I then met my guide and two companions: guy about my age and his retired father both originally from Boston and they make good company. The first stop our guide shows us an entry hole into the tunnels that is (no lie) about 2' x 1'. We stare in disbelief as he places his 4'6" frame into it, pulls the door on top, and disappears from the forest. I look in and claustrophobic doesn't begin to describe it. Craters from B-52 bombs are all over the place, and we can hear AK-47s being fired on the firing range some 100 yards away in the forest ($1.6 /round - anyone can do it).
We tour a number of other sites there, and finally come to a place where you can crawl through a section of the tunnels. I quickly jump at the chance, but my tour mates decline. Upon getting in and waddling about 5 yards, it takes all of about 10 seconds for me to just about freak out. It's dark, hot, and completely cramped. There are numerous turns and I get a little lost, but eventually find my way out, sweating like a champ, rattled, and respectful of what the VC did here.
The tour ended shortly thereafter, and I walked over to the typhoid cafe where I found my driver asleep in a hammock. She woke up, ordered us some noodles, and we ate. I knew it wasn't good for me, but I blew it off. I'd had food poisoning so many times in the past that I figured my hardened stomach could take it. We ate and then waved goodbye to the slackers in the hammocks and were on our way. I was right - a few abdominal grumbles on the ride home would do it, and I survived.
On the way home I took my camera out and snapped photos directly from the moving motorbike of the scenery. My favorite is the one on a country road where I held it backward to get a look at my head and the big truck riding about 6 ft. off of our asses and beeping its horn full bore in attempts to pass.
Ho Chi Minh City - Cu Chi,
August 19, 2006
9:30am-2pm
Driving at Night
Summer is over, autumn is here - the road tells the story. Gone are the tourists of the season that crowded the highways of the west; the mini vans, the SUVs, the stations wagons. Some cars and pickups (both beat-up and new) with local license plates remain, along with cargo vans and semi tractor trailers. This is the North Country. Construction, begun at the height of the summer, is in mop-up stages, but single lane traffic has little effect on one car, all alone. I pass through countless zones with minor difficulty; a moments delay, if any.
Goodbye to population, hello wilderness. The grid pattern roads and farms of Minnesota and eastern North Dakota give way to the hilly "Badlands" topography of western ND and Montana. The interstate begins to twist and turn, passing tiny hamlets and dry creek beds as it grips the shores of the Yellowstone River. Radio stations that had strong signals a short time ago, disappear into static and no replacement can be found. Through a foggy patch of cirrus clouds, the crescent moon pokes through, illuminating the cockpit of my stuffed car. Its light siloulettes the conifers standing tall on the top of the surrounding hills, giving boundary to the night.
110 miles, 90 minutes to go
Off ramps pass, some occupied, some not. These nameless exits lead to empty roads, few or no houses in sight, that in turn provide passage to ranches deep in the interior of the hills where Montana has gone to retire. Its residents are home now, nestled under blankets, bellies full, skin warm, bodies tired, minds fading.
50 miles, 40 minutes to go
A short stop at a rest area finds a surprise; silence. Trucks parked, drivers and engines sleep. A well lit but unoccupied rest station stands as a sentry for the traveler of the northern crossing. The wind is dead, and the desolate highway emits no sound. An engine starts, a truck awakes. A return to the car brings music that contrasts the peacefulness outside. I turn it off and quietly depart.
Arrival
Like an oasis, the horizon comes alive with the lights of civilization. The white bluffs and buttes the locals call rimrock encase the city brighten with the reflection; beyond them is wilderness. The river, too, reflects the city. Pair of deer approach the neon abyss, look down, sigh, and turn away into the night.
Billings, MT, 10:30pm, Mountain Time October 2000
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