Saturday, July 4, 2015

Unalienable Rights

Last week a friend was cleaning out her study, preparatory to repainting and –carpeting it, and she came across a box o’ letters and cards. Naturally she had to sit down and read them—as you do. One of them was an email I’d sent round in 2002, which she had printed out and saved, because for her it struck to the heart of the Independence Day matter.

I’d completely forgotten about it—this was six years BP (before Parallax Views), after all. But it seems appropriate, in light of some recent events, to revisit these thoughts. So, I’m going to recycle, with some tweaks.

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It’s the Fourth of July, and most of you have the day off and are involved in family activities, acts of home improvement and incineration of various food items. But since my improvement efforts are limited to the not inconsiderable task of decluttering, and I am forbidden by state and local law from handling flammable substances, I’m spending some time thinking about this holiday. Here are my thoughts:

In June 2002 I made a trip to Gettysburg and Valley Forge. It had been years since I’d last visited the former and I’d never been to the latter, so I decided it was time to see both places…to contemplate someone else’s spilt blood for a change, but also to refresh my intellect with some more visceral stimuli. (I may need to rethink the idea of trying to escape depression by visiting battlefields; but I have to say that it’s not a bad thing to be reminded that, no matter how dreadful our life might seem at any given time now, it was made possible by the sacrifices of generations of men and women who thought—no, who believed—that the idea of the United States was worth a lot more than most of us ever consider today.

At Valley Forge, because it’s so peaceful now, and the weather was so gorgeous, I had to push my imagination to picture what those men (yes—and women) endured all those years ago. But the winter of 1777-78 was as harsh and miserable climatically as the Continental Congress was mean with supplies. The men encamped there for six months faced elements of the finest army then known just a few miles away, fat and happy in Philadelphia, while they huddled in tents and log cabins and tried to ignore hunger pangs by staying busy mending gear or being drilled by imported professional soldiers.

More than anything, I think, those six months represented an act of faith. How could they possibly have found logical reasons to support the idea that from those wretched conditions, and with those few, hungry, poorly-equipped citizen-soldiers, they’d be able to find a way to defeat an imperial force at the height of its power?

It was a very bleak winter indeed for those men camped on those slopes that are now green with the exuberance of summer. I wondered how the commanders stopped the desertions, when it must have been so easy for the individual soldier—unpaid, underfed and ill-clothed—to just disappear in the night. From where I was standing, it looked like they had very little to keep them in Valley Forge, and plenty to draw them anywhere else. But, for the most part, they stayed. They trained. They learned how to act in contravention of their natural instincts as pioneering types who valued the interests of the individual above all; they banded together to face forces in superior numbers and with superior arms, and to keep coming back again and again even when they lost battles.

(And they actually had very few victories. The astonishing thing I recall from my embarrassingly brief studies of our rebellion against Mother England is how Washington managed to win the war without ever really winning any decisive battles until Yorktown—time after time, he would nip at the British heels, or leave the enemy holding the ground, but always manage to stay in the game…until the French joined forces with us and until Parliament decided that they were tired of the American sinkhole. Pity we didn’t study that model as we began wading into the big Muddy 55 years ago…)

The name of the place is certainly apt, for it was the forge of the Continental Army that in turn transformed the Declaration of Independence into the reality of the United States. (Back in November 2000, my colleagues in the UK took great glee in sending me that “Notice of Revocation of Independence.” You know—the one that starts out, “In the light of your failure to elect a President of the USA and thus to govern yourselves, we hereby give notice of the revocation of your independence, effective today.” And goes on to trash our beer, our cars and our sports. After laughing jovially [the first couple of times] and politely [the next seven times] I finally had to draw the line. I made a point-by-point rebuttal that concluded with the irrefutable reminder that no one, and certainly no Brit, could revoke our independence because it wasn’t GIVEN to us, we took it by force of arms. That seemed to dampen the hilarity.)

Think about it: the challenge of creating a citizen army of farmers, merchants, lawyers, tailors, doctors, teachers. Men who struggled with the idea of breaking away from Mother England; whose only substitute loyalty for the King was to their individual colony, being forged into a single fighting force that would eventually send packing the imperial forces of the most powerful nation then on earth. That deceptively peaceful valley was where that citizen army—the first ever—was created: forged and tempered, like weapons-grade steel.

A hundred miles west and nearly 90 years later, the ground of Gettysburg was more actively baptized in blood than that of Valley Forge. Three days in July, in the ghastly heat of a mid-Atlantic summer, with the soldiers on both sides wearing woolen uniforms and carrying 60-pound packs; two armies of Americans making use of all the technology and “best practice” at their disposal to destroy one another. The term “killing ground” comes to mind as you pass through the various battle sites and landmarks—the Lutheran seminary, Cemetery Hill, Big Round Top. So many names of places; so many more names of the dead left there. At one area near Little Round Top, they reported that you could walk across the entire field without your boots ever touching the ground, it was so thick with corpses.

Two armies, 75,000 in grey and butternut brown, 93,000 in blue, descending on a town of a few hundred. It must have seemed like Armageddon to the residents. Summer stillness broken by the sounds of marching infantry, artillery carriages being positioned, skirmishers testing the opposition. Then Hell came to town.

I was once shooting (photography) the commissioning of a new cruiser for the Navy. When they fired the ceremonial cannon I popped a contact lens. I cannot imagine the unholy din of the mechanics (field guns, rifles) mixed with the more chilling screams of wounded and dying men and horses. For three days, in heat like today, the two armies fought themselves to exhaustion. Over the issue of whether national sovereignty can be broken by its component parts through secession.

In my own family there were men who fought on both sides of that war. Men who believed that the individual states should shape the destinies of their citizens (including the practice of owning other humans) and men who believed that the Union, once formed, was indivisible, and that chattel slavery is an abomination to God and man.

Now, when you get past the carnage of those three days in Gettysburg (the costliest battle ever fought on the North American continent, and the one that broke the back of Confederate hopes), and the two more years it took for Grant and Sherman to finish the job, here’s the remarkable thing about that war: when it finally ended, and the cannons were spiked and the men returned home, the nation reunited and life resumed with a genuine peace. Even with an assassinated President being replaced by a man of considerably lower abilities, and even with the 30-odd years of Reconstruction (not a stellar period in our history), the people of the South returned to full citizenship, their representatives clogging up Congress to this day.

And this brings me to the point of this, well, rather lengthy ramble, which is the whole point of this holiday. I.e., the anniversary of the founding of this nation. Nearly 240 years ago, representatives of the thirteen colonies got together and decided that the time had come to put up or shut up. They tasked the gentleman from Virginia with putting into words both their grievances with Mother England, and their aspirations for a new sort of nation-state. Here’s what he said:

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. –That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed…”

What a concept! And it ends just as strongly as it begins:

“We, therefore, the Representatives of the united States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by the Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States; that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do. And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.”

Lives, fortunes and honor were on the line at Valley Forge, and again at Gettysburg. The ideals that are enumerated in the Declaration (and codified in the Constitution) so clearly are the same ones that still make the United States the beacon of hope throughout the world. Ideals that caused people for generation after generation to leave homes and families, risk dangerous ocean and land journeys to come to places like Massachusetts, Louisiana, Wisconsin or Oregon to begin new lives. Catholics, Old Believers, Jews, Buddhists, Muslims, Baptists, atheists; and all the colors that skins can come in. Many brought nothing with them but their dreams and their willingness to work long hours come day, go day, year after year to build a new life here—a life they could not possibly have imagined in their countries of origin. They didn’t always have such an easy time, and they didn’t always find a warm welcome, but they came, they worked and they created something really unimaginable in any other country on earth.

One difference I noticed immediately on my arrival in the UK for an ex-pat assighment was the underlying principle that shapes all actions, both business and personal there. The Old Country still operates on the premise that the economic and social conditions into which you are born are your basic lot in life. Efforts at bettering your status through education, industriousness and innovative thinking bring the risk of disapproval in a number of ways. (Not in every case, but most of them) The class system is alive and well, and oddly, some of the most ardent proponents are from the working and middle classes. I actually heard the expression “She has ideas above her station” used by more than one of my contemporaries. Needless to say, my gob was smacked, and I found it hard to keep my eyeballs from bugging so far out of my face that they bounced off the walls.

In contrast, the idea that has permeated American society from the get-go is the conviction that, no matter what your starting point, if you work hard enough, if you come up with a more effective way of doing things, if you play a new angle, you can make life better. If not for yourself, then for your children. Those unalienable rights: Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. That hope brought some of my family to the East Coast in the early years of the 17th Century, and the most recent additions to the West Coast at the end of the 19th. It made some of them take that trans-continental journey without benefit of the internal combustion engine or air conditioning. It induced others to put on those woolen uniforms and 60-pound packs and risk everything in support of that promise: Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

It’s also what leads some individuals to fly commercial aircraft into buildings where people are working to fulfill that dream.

I have to say that, with all our flaws, that ideal still prevails. Think about it—four years of blood-soaked warfare that cost more than 500,000 American casualties amidst the greatest bitterness and rancor imaginable, and we managed to literally pull ourselves together again pretty quickly, sublimating the regional differences to professional sports rivalries. Contrast this with what’s gone on in Ulster, the Balkans or the Middle East. Even with the khaloshes of the 2000 presidential election, and whatever your opinion of W., it is a tribute to the Founding Fathers that the government they crafted didn’t collapse that November, nor did the military step in to “save the day”. We get to be the source of amusement for the entire world, the press goes wild for a couple of months, that big-haired broad gets a shot at the Florida governorship (remember her?), and life goes on.

Contrast that with post-Perestroika Moscow in the early 90s. Remember those tanks outside the Duma building?

What the Founding Fathers put together back in the days when Mozart was composing still works. Despite our abysmal history of racism, our reprehensible record of national conquest, our lamentable policy of child impoverishment and the appalling behavior of our greedy corporate executives, people from all over the world are still lining up to leave everything and risk all for the chance at Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

Millions over the past four hundred years have come to these shores to build a decent life for themselves and their families. In the course of this individual pursuit they built an economy that, for all its periodic woes, still manages some amazing feats. Among other things, that economy and our belief in the improvement of the condition of man enabled us 70 years ago to spend billions blasting most of Western Europe back to the Stone Age to combat Nazism, and then spend billions more rebuilding the infrastructure and economies of those same countries. Where else in history will you find that kind of thing?

So, listen, folks. I’d just like you to think about how this all came about. The pledges of life, fortune and honor to the ideal that Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness are unalienable rights. The frozen faith of Valley Forge, the horror of Gettysburg. The men and women over the past few centuries who, in the words of Lincoln, “gave the last full measure of devotion” for that ideal.

I know we have miles to go (or possibly kilometers, if we want to join most of the world). But we’ve already come so far.





Friday, July 3, 2015

Peas in our time

I just do not know about this week—we may be headed for End of Days.

First, the New York Times opens the gates to hell with their recipe for guacamole. Which includes…peas.

Which, I suppose, is only what you can expect from a stodgy old institution in New York City with a great big how-can-we-show-how-trendy-we-are poker up its collective butt. But, seriously—peas in guacamole?

No. Just no.

As the Twitterverse rushed to point out, gracias a Dios. 

But then, hard upon #GuacamoleGate came news that the company that manufactures Bubble Wrap is moving to a product that won’t pop when you press it. They’re calling it (of course they are) iBubble.

What the hell? Seriously—what the all bleeding hell?

Evidently, to save space, the product formerly known as Bubble Wrap will come to the user flat and the user will have to inflate it. Instead of individual cells, therefore, there are long rows of connected air chambers.

Euw. #Deflategate all over again.

I don’t know what people are going to use for therapeutic bubble-popping. They certainly can’t drown their anxiety sorrows in the NYT’s guacamole. Maybe just move straight to margaritas.

Or if cutting limes is too onerous, just a bottle of tequila and a straw. Maybe more than one.




Thursday, July 2, 2015

Belieb it or not

You know, the Twitters-dot-com just crack me up.

I mean, yes—on the Internet, no one knows you’re a dog. I get that. But what’s up with nearly 1500 people following a Twitter account called Friend of God, which hasn’t tweeted a single thing?
  

And, no—I have no earthly idea why FoG followed me. But at some point when I didn’t follow back, s/he (or it; or they) unfollowed.

I can understand more than two million people following God, AKA @The TweetOfGod. His/her tweets rival Dorothy Parker’s wit on a whole range of topics. Like encapsulating Canada and the US:


Or various events of last week:


But you also have to purely admire someone with more than two million followers who follows only Justin Bieber.

Because on the Internet god and dog are nearly interchangeable.



Wednesday, July 1, 2015

Crispy treats

If you’re ever in the mood to explore weird consumer packaged goods, head down to the nearest World Market, especially in the foods section.

Honestly, I can spend quite a bit of time, looking at the things on offer and examining the ingredients lists.

Here are a few examples from a recent trip:


I’m not exactly sure what you’d do with chocolate-flavored egg noodles, and I don’t actually want to spend a lot of time thinking about it.

The various flavors of potato chips (or “crisps”, because these all originated in Great Britain) kind of stop my thought processes, too.



Caramelized onion is apparently a whole thing there.

As it is in Ireland, apparently.


But I don't know what to say about the roast ham or prawn varieties. Except that it could be worse: Mackie's also produces a haggis crisp. Which WM did not have on display.


Personally, I’m a potato chip purist—if I wanted ranch, BBQ, grilled steak, roasted garlic or garden tomato and basil flavors, I’d get some dip. (Well, I don’t know about the steak in any event.) And I lament the fact that at a cafeteria or social event you almost never get the chance for just plain old potato chips, so I end up going without.

Which is probably not a bad thing. But in the meantime, I might go back and get a packet of those sea salt ones. From Ireland, so must be kosher, right?





Tuesday, June 30, 2015

Kind regards

Well, it’s been quite a month, hasn’t it? Some momentous things going on that either made you break out in hives or the happy dance.

Since I’m still getting used to my wrists in splints, I’ll make this one short. I came across this from a company I follow on Twitter, and it resonated the hell out of me:


And a variant on that theme:


Listen—if someone as cynical and cranky as moi can attempt to follow these precepts, why don’t you give it a shot your own self.



Monday, June 29, 2015

Gratitude Monday: Love wins

Many things to be thankful for on this Gratitude Monday, but I’m going to focus on the Supreme Court’s ruling on Friday that marriage is a basic human right regardless of one’s sexual preference. And that it may not be infringed upon or denied by any state.

Truthfully—I did not think that would come out of a court that gave us whack-job decisions like Bush v. Gore and Citizens United v. FEC.

This is about gratitude, so I’m not going to spend a lot of time on how a small minority of Americans are reacting to the ruling with scripture-infused hissy fits. If a SCOTUS decision didn’t piss off a segment of society, they wouldn’t be doing their job. I believe they ruled not only correctly but compassionately, and that’s not something you find every day anywhere in our nation’s capital.

Obviously there are many elements to work out. Obergefell v. Hodges speaks to the right to marry in civil law; how various religious and other institutions deal with it in a freedom-of-expression context will make interesting watching. (Eyes on you, caterers and cake bakers.)

What’s clear is that no civil authority—state or local—may now refuse to issue two adults a license to marry and to live their lives as a married couple. As a historian who focuses on the catastrophic human costs of warfare—ingesting the statistics and the stories of how hate, fear, greed, pride, power-hunger and other motivations drive us to kill one another in our tens of thousands—it seems to me to be a good thing that we recognize and encourage men and women to instead to live in love and mutual support.

For those with religious objections to the notion of marriage equality—I understand that you’re disappointed, and I’m sorry about that. Pray, if you like. March and wave flags. But obey the law.

As for those counties in Mississippi, Alabama, Louisiana, Utah and Tennessee that are scuffing their toes in the dirt and proclaiming, “Well, okay then—we just won’t issue marriage licenses to anyone! So, there!”—what are you, like FOUR?