A Question of Honor

Writing about Rambo, I was reminded of something that happened the last few years I was teaching. Every year, my students and I would read "Sir Gawain and the Green Knight," not to be confused with "Sir Gawain and the Loathly Lady" which is quite another story altogether.

So the story commences with the Green Knight barging into Arthur's court and issuing a challenge. He will let any knight present take a swing at his head with an axe and in return he will reciprocate a year from the date. Well, King Arthur's knights who are not exactly slouches must suspect something because not a one takes up the challenge. Finally, after much taunting on the part of the Green Knight, Arthur accepts in order to uphold the honor of his court. At this point Gawain springs into action and takes his liege lord's place. The now decapitated Green Knight picks up his head and rides off with a reminder of Gawain's pledge.

Every year, we would read the story, and my students would realize that Gawain was honor bound to find the Green Knight at the end of the year. He had given his word. That is until the last few years. One of my less intellectually inclined students raised his hand and said, "Mrs. N, what was this guy stupid or somethin'. Why's he going to let this guy chop off his head?" At first I thought it was just this young man, but as I looked around there were nods of agreement. They could not understand the concept of honor, of living up to your word. So I went home to complain to my daughter, who said, "tell you the truth, I never understood that."

For the last few years, I would have to teach the quaint notion of honor the way I would have to introduce the legendary world of Arthur. Scary, that.

Clueless in McKinney

I've gotten to the point where I just register the uniformed idiots who go down to Cuba, get the dog and pony show, and then come back spewing sweetness and light about the place. This one, though, got to me. First of all, I was peeved when this Texas deputation went down. Texas, the last bastion of individualism, one would think would be sympathetic to Cubans deprived of even the most basic of liberties. Can it be that these Texans are so ignorant or willfully blind that they don't know the score? I think it was the tourist picture, posing with the statue of Hemingway, that set me off.

Frank Walker, Sr, president of a food manufacturer, went down to sell the Cubans food. He's back home trying to put a deal together for desserts and sausages. Sausages, he says. Ordinary Cubans have not seen a sausage in years, despite having at least one substantial factory. Why? Doesn't take a brain surgeon to figure it out. And, come on, dessert is what you have after a meal, a bit difficult if you don't have enough to scrounge a decent meal. So who is this stuff for?

But the best is yet to be. Here's the kicker:

If America were to open up trade in Cuba, the population of the country would probably have a middle class, Walker said.

“We are the only civilized, modern country not openly engaging in free trade with Cuba, which is our policy, not theirs as all other countries that so desire, enjoy their business. Just who is our embargo affecting negatively? Think about it,”

How do you counter such utter ignorance and ethnocentrism? Oh, yeah, the entire rest of the world trades with Cuba and hasn't caused a seismic shift in the class structure: party apparatchiks on top, the mass of Cuban citizenry below. But he and his fellow cohorts are going to go down in their ostrich cowboy boots and Stetsons and wave their magic cheesecake and, shazaam, a middle class will appear. Of course, the crux of the matter is at the end of the quote. Just think of all the money we're missing out on. I think he might want to ask the Mexicans, the Japanese, the Russians, et al, how much money there is to be made by extending credit to Cuba. The faux embargo, however, will save those like Mr. Walker from themselves.

Comebola. Story here. Some days you just want to pull your hair out.

Raul's Latest Initiative

Big crackdown on illegal factories in Cuba reported today. Apparently the unauthorized manufacture of hair combs, plates, and the like is subversive. The sweep was conducted by the "Fight Against Social Indiscipline Task Force." I suspect the social indiscipline was the regime not getting its skim. What was that about the Chinese Model? Guess not, or not yet. By the way, as the article indicates, dumpster diving is also verboten.

Olbermann as Uberman

There's plenty in this week's New Yorker. In addition to Jon Lee Anderson's "Fidel's Heir" about Chavez, there is an admiring piece on Keith Olbermann and how he has transformed the news. As the teaser, something we are supposed to find laudable, is "Mr. Bush: Shut the hell up!" Apparently, Peter J. Boyer who wrote the piece sees nothing wrong with the tenor of this statement and instead dwells on the wonders he has performed for third place MSNBC. I wonder how those who absolutely adore Olberman would feel if the statement were "Mr. Obama: Shut the hell up!" But then, we'd never hear that, would we?

As to the Chavez piece, despite Anderson's Che bio, I made a noble effort to read it, but as I came across something like-when I was on the plane with Chavez the other day- you can guess what I did. You're on your own there.

Finally, as a former Staten Islander, I'm always on the lookout for island stories. Why in the world, the New Yorker would find a story about a guy hanging out at Duffy's who's already been defeated for the Libertarian line worthy of ink, I don't know. Well, maybe, seems Dad is running on the Republican line for Fosella's old seat.

Here's a link to the table of contents

No Metrosexuals Here: Movie Night

A few nights ago, we had "man-movie" night at the old homestead. Man-movies almost always tend to involve gratuitous violence, hot babes, lots of blood, and some incarnation of Arnold Schwarzenegger. And I must confess, they're usually fun.

First up was the latest Rambo, which franchise seems awfully dated. Was there ever a time that John Rambo's interminable silences, punctuated by the occasional grunt, were entertaining? The beginning of this one was reminiscent of Ahnold in Conan: the Barbarian. Remember, that's the one where he doesn't speak the whole first half of the movie, and when you spent the rest of the movie begging him not to. Well, he and his movies got better, and this one does too.

Anyway, it does perk up. First of all, the formula has been updated. The villains are now the Burmese generals. In a sign of the times, Rambo grows in self-understanding. But don't let that stop you: there's violence and gore aplenty with clots of unidentified body tissue galore at points, including an evisceration we had to watch twice. And by the end of the movie, a chord is struck. By the way, no babes here, just an earnest missionary.

In an age of moral relativism, there is something pure and noble in Rambo's simplistic adherence to his code: rescue the good, the oppressed and kill the evildoers, even if it means facing unrealistic odds and dying in the process. I'm not suggesting that killing is good in any fashion, but I'd like to posit that Rambo was so successful in its day because it appealed to that part of us that wanted to believe that Americans were good and noble people. Watching him now evokes nostalgia.

To shake up the evening, the next one was a variant of the man-movie in which bathroom humor, farts, and belches are considered hilarious: Witless Protection, the latest Larry the Cable Guy opus. I had really enjoyed his Health Inspector. This one wasn't as hilarious, although it does have its moments. Here, too, there's a message. The clueless, bumbling Deputy turns out to be the hero who outwits the millionaire villain and corrupt FBI types. (Sorry if I gave it away.)

It's interesting really. These unlikely fellows are in fact very much in the tradition of the archetypal hero, called from their conventional lives, journeying to the abyss, battling the darkness, facing themselves and returning transformed. They are also truly American- the quirky everyman, the underdog, taking his life in his hands to fight the evil establishment in the name of truth and justice.

Nothing wrong with that. At least it was a break from the artsy foreign stuff that we usually watch around here.

Shakespeare on Sunday

Get Thee to a Nunnery! Since there was all that hubbub recently about the young woman with the bandage over her booblets who was barred from the prom, this Brent Bozell column seemed timely. It is a subject near and dear to me, as I was horrified when I used to chaperone high school dances. It was all I could do to keep from walking over and yelling over the music, "Leave room for the Holy Ghost!"

O Brave New World! In keeping with the decline of civilization note, in this one Peggy Noonan crystallizes the differences between the Old America and the New. She sees the election as something of a contest between the two. Read the study in contrasts here.

Frailty, thy Name is Woman! In this case, it might be Andrea McMillan, who took off to get married in Cuba during the performance of which she fell in love with the bartender who promptly left his wife to hook up with Andrea who never consummated the marriage. The happy couple intend to wed soon. One might assume that no one is happier than Jose Miguel who will go from Cuban citizen to UK husband. Read the whole sorry, sordid mess here. Follow the link for pictures of both happy couples.

For You and I Are Past Our Dancing Days. This one is for fans of the old PBS series, Que Pasa, USA? A MySpace Page purportedly from Pepe Peña which fills us in on the goings on in the intervening years from the end of the show until today. Not to be missed is Pepe's description of the two Presidential candidates. H/T Babalublog

What's in a Name? If you've ever wondered about the real Mr. Darcy, wonder no more. According to the Bookworm Room, his name was Tom Lefroy, and here's a pretty miniture of a pretty Tom. I've always found it sad that while her heroines all walked away with the matrimonial prize, poor Jane Austen was a lifelong spinster. While you're there, read this interesting post by Don Quixote who sees the America of the 40's through the 70's as the greatest society ever.

There's No One Quite Like a Dad

And a Cuban dad- no offense to anyone else but…. He didn’t change a diaper, wash a dish, or clean any surface in the house until he was fifty. Up until he died, he would infuriate me by pushing his dinner dish in front of me when he was finished- on the assumption that it was my duty to take care of it. He was never handy. Things broke around him and stayed that way. But as a Dad, he was amazing.

I was cursed and blessed that he worked overnight at a textile mill when I was very young. He slept most of the day and wouldn’t let me stay outside with my friends, the rubiecitas, despite their mother’s entreaties and promises to watch over me. Even in those days of innocence, he was terrified something would happen to me.

Instead after lunch, he would wake up and take me along with him in his travels. We might stop at the hardware store (for what I don’t know) or at Dave’s Deli, or about once a week at the comic book store. It was a very dark, dingy candy store in an old Victorian tenement. The comics lined all the walls all the way up to the thirteen foot ceiling, so the owner would stand me on top of the Coke case. He always made a pit stop at the Cuban restaurant that had opened on the corner. Sometimes he made an exception and left me with my friends; others I tagged along. Whatever else, Dad would always order a cafecito. Then he would pour some for Macho in the saucer. It was like a mysterious ritual, known only to Cubans.

He took me all sorts of places- theme parks, beaches, Yankee Stadium, even Miami. Once after a prolonged campaign, I got him to take the subway into Manhattan to see the dinosaurs at the Museum of Natural History. He was ridiculous when it came to school. A stellar report card would result in a speech. Why wasn’t it a hundred? Didn’t he get me everything I wanted? And what was the only thing he asked of me? It was tough, because there was nothing I asked for that I didn’t get.

He was already dying when he would come early on a Saturday morning to take his beloved granddaughter to practices of The Nutcracker because her working mother had refused, when he would pick her up after school and make her BLT’s, when he took us to get a Christmas tree the first holiday after my marriage broke up, and my daughter and I were like refugees from some godforsaken country: broke, alone, disconsolate.

When he did die, I remember thinking, all common sense flown: “Who’s gonna make me homemade hot chocolate when I come in from playing in the snow?” No one was ever again going to have the irritating habit of pushing my hair behind my ears and asking my mother, “Isn’t she beautiful, Rosa?” I would never again feel safe quite the way I had all those years with him behind me.

So Fathers’ Days are sad for me. I find comfort, though, when I see my brother with his daughters- the same tenderness, indulgence, protectiveness. And then I think to myself, “He’s really not dead.” Fathers, too, touch the future.

Immigration Constraints on Exiled Cubans

No, not in the United States, in Europe. According to this email from Joel Rodriguez posted on Los Miquis....

A Cuban wanting to normalize his status in Europe has three options. The first is to marry a European, which often entails marrying someone 40 or 50 years older and sometimes results in being pimped out. The second is to apply for political asylum, a process that can take up to four years and a status that is not often granted. The person granted such can never again return to Cuba while the regime is in power. The third option is to remain illegal with all of its attendant risks. After 11 months, the Cuban government essentially disowns you, and you become the proverbial "man [or woman] without a country.
(My translation and summary)

Geez, and I thought the Europeans were the enlightened ones! Read the original here.

The Best and the Worst

I was saddened to learn yesterday of the death of Tim Russert. I am sure his family will miss him, as will his colleagues, as will boosters of Boston College. There is much that can and is being said ad infinitum about him. He was the last of a breed: the knowledgeable, hard-hitting, but fair interviewer. Russert upheld the highest traditions of the press in a democracy- to serve as an honest broker of information to the voting public. In a media world increasingly peopled by pretty faces and partisans with the combined intellect of a ring ding, he will be sorely missed.

Which brings me to what's left. If Russert exemplified all that is right, when the media is at its best, then MSNBC's Keith Olbermann represents what happens when you subsitute commentary for information, opinion for fact, and vituperation for due diligence. Initially, I was amused by his quick wit, but when he launched into personal attacks on the President of the United States, I was horrified. When a TV personality on a cable news network addresses a sitting president in a manner more befitting a barroom than a national TV show with impunity, there is something seriously wrong. As far I was concerned, he went far beyond the pale. There is the question of civility to be considered. As far as MSNBC and its parent company, General Electric, were concerned, he was a star in their dim constellation. So it was with no small interest that I read Frances Martel's piece here.

Here's a teaser:

Keith Olbermann fancies himself a Renaissance man. A beer-and-chips C-class football anchor by trade, Olbermann has managed to wrest the national spotlight out of the hands of respected media empires and turn it on himself, milking the gravitas in his voice and his “intellectual” glasses for all they’re worth.

You go, girl!

Anne in Flames and Bush in Retrospect

I have a confession to make: I've never believed that Bush is a terrible president. Sorry. I'll spot you monumental incompetence in the handling of Iraqi reconstruction. But then, we're not particularly practiced in nation building, particularly when our own press is working against our interests. Bush inherited the dot.com bust and neatly preempted a recession with the timely tax cuts. Most of his tenure has coincided with a healthy economy. He is no more responsible for the housing crisis, than Clinton was for the tech bubble, and than either is responsible for the orgy of greed that got us there. His concession to the "greenies" in the form of pushing ethanol has led to pressure on global food prices. Just goes to show.

His greatest sin, according to most who trash him, was "lying" to get us into Iraq. I'll give you my theory. Prior to 9/11, the most Osama had ever done really was cause handfuls of casualties. I can be sure that not even the most perspicacious of those self-proclaimed Cassandras- who are running around wringing hands and gnashing teeth in hindsight- ever imagined the scope of the damage he would inflict. I suspect that Bush, sometime in the evening of 9/11, said to himself, "Not on my watch ever again." Saddam, it was generally thought, had weapons of mass destruction, was hostile to the United States, and had at his disposal all the terrain and wealth of an entire nation. He removed him. Perhaps it was not morally right; perhaps it was. The result is that all the jihadis made post haste to Iraq, where they have been essentially defeated, and Saddam ain't going to be helping anybody.

Here's Anne Coulter's take on the Bush presidency in a must read column. Some days, she just has it. I wouldn't go as overboard in praise of Bush, but time will tell just how good a president he has been.

The Poet and the Journalist

A few days ago, I came across an interesting piece, entitled "Can a Poet be More Precise than a Journalist?" Part II details a trip to Cuba by Romanian Poet Andrei Codrescu, who was accompanied by producer Art Silverman and photographer David Graham. The tropical colors of the island he found overwhelming, as did Graham's lens. It's interesting to note his thoughts on undertaking his Cuban adventure:

Having grown up in Romania, I was more alert over the unseen horrors under all of the tropical brilliance, and I had planned to not allow myself to be seduced. Consequently the sober prose in the book I wrote as a result of this trip contrasts with David's delirious photographs.

The resultant book was the mirror image of Evan's The Crime of Cuba. He needn't have worried about being seduced, however, as the nature of things became apparent from the moment his Salvadorean guide entered their hotel. Accused of being a jinetera or prostitute, she is asked to leave. As an assertive non Cuban, she first tried to explain then took umbrage. The brouhaha resulted in a pretty uncomfortable encounter for all of them with State Security- during which she was nearly accused of terrorism- until the matter was resolved by her bureau chief husband's contacts higher up the food chain.

If you can read Spanish, it's worth the time. I don't know if the poet can be more precise, but his prose makes for better reading.

Read: Telex from Cuba

Due to be released on July 1, Rachel Kushner’s first novel Telex from Cuba is in part a portrait of the American community at Preston (now going by the unlikely name of Guatemala) and Nicaro in the 1950’s. It is a world unto itself, existing tangentially alongside that inhabited by Cubans. In point of fact, with the exception of the risqué dancer/loose woman with painted-on fishnets and a slimy and duplicitous investor, there are few Cuban characters in the novel.

One early reviewer has called it a “postcard,” perhaps because it leaves the reader with the glancing sensation of having touched someone else’s temporary sojourn in paradise. The point of view here, however, with its multiple narrators makes the experience more like that of picking up an old album, blowing the dust off the cover, and peeking at moments frozen in time. Much here rings true, perhaps because Ms. Kushner’s own mother grew up in these circles. Overall, as with much literature set in Cuba in the revolutionary years, there is an abiding sense of loss.

That is not to say that the Cuba of that era is presented as a utopia. Far from it, if anything, the novel errs in giving a skewed presentation by concentrating on poverty, social injustice, corruption, and general licentiousness. But then, that is how they saw us. Overall, what contact did they have with the Cuban community at large? I know my father, despite having letters of introduction, sat in the Americano Mr. Bienvenue’s office for three days waiting to see the great man before he threw up his hands in disgust and left for greener pastures.

However, Ms. Kushner’s achievement in this novel is that its time and place recedes into a greater probing of innocence and the consequences of its loss. There is the perverse innocence of the American enclave and its inhabitants, its strange blend of sophistication, social stratification, and cluelessness. There is the coming of age with its attendant losses of young KC Stites, whose father runs the United Fruit operation in Preston, and Everly Lederer, whose father is a lesser executive at the mine in Nicaro, both of whom come closest to approximating any sort of main character. There is the long lost innocence of Rachel K, abandoned at a “shimmy bar” as an adolescent and that of her sometime lover, gun-runner and former French Nazi La Maziere.

There is even young Del Stites’ flirtation with the revolution. The passionate believer who takes to the mountains and aids in setting his father’s operation aflame quickly abandons the revolution when he witnesses first hand its atrocities upon seizing power. I’m left with the thought that millions of Cubans did not have that option.

In the end, Kushner weaves the multiple threads of her narrative into a lyrical panorama that, as she writes about the eye, “both reflects and refracts the sky on which it gazes.” I really enjoyed this one. More info here.

A Scary State

Earlier much was made of Raul's call for frank discussion. At the time, a few noted that this was a time-tested Castro pattern used to identify potential enemies. Well, this analysis, published in the Miami Herald, lends a more sinister interpretation to the current "catch and release" policies of the new/old regime, particularly when it comes to the "Cambio" campaign in Cuba and should come as no surprise to those who know that the security services in Cuba patterned themselves after the East German Stasi.

Here's an excerpt:

Concurrently, the DCI coordinates with police and security forces to maintain moderate pressure on Cambio. This maintains the perception that Cambio attracts government attention and a level of harassment consistent with the other dissident movements. It also allows more opportunities to turn Cambio members into informants.

As years pass, the DCI will continue to infiltrate agents and officers, some of whom will become such trusted insiders that they eventually secure leadership positions.
During this period, Havana will continue to ''tolerate'' Cambio's existence and enjoy the favorable media coverage that results. Then, at the moment most politically advantageous to the regime, the government will move in and cripple it by detaining all its senior and mid-level leadership. Historically, such acts are timed to divert attention from a massive government failure or to seize a political opening in which it can avoid significant international repercussions.

During the crackdown, many DCI personnel who infiltrated the campaign will be ''detained'' along with legitimate Cambio members. This ensures the safety of its personnel and creates an opportunity for intelligence collection in the most unlikely of places -- a Cuban jail. Then, having crippled the movement, the DCI will reveal the identity of many of its penetration agents and officers, denounce Cambio as a CIA operation and assist in the show trials.

A Must Read

Skip the benighted picture of Jolie, and if you want; read the article about her and her growing brood, if you wish. By the way, what is it with these pictures? Have you seen the God awful photo of Sarah Jessica Parker on the cover of this month's Vogue? No, the article to read is "Commie Ball: A Journey to the End of a Revolution" by Michael Lewis. Detailing the travails of Gus Dominguez and, arguably more importantly, ballplayers in Cuba, it's enlightening. Lewis seems fascinated with the idea that Dominguez did not profit considerably and instead lost money. Most of us understand. I say we launch a campaign to free him. Anyway, I'm not even finished reading all twelve pages, and I'm driven to recommend it. And while you're at it, read the article that drove Bill Clinton to call the writer, husband of long time associate Dee Dee Myers, a "scumbag."

Oh, and for an interesting take on the baseball article, watch the cutesy video intro by Graydon Carter. Baseball article here.

A Little Close Reading and a Good Bit of Audacity

The other day, Henry on Babalu singled out a prize passage in Obama's accepting the mantle of Democrat nominee speech worthy of a closer look:

I face this challenge with profound humility, and knowledge of my own limitations. But I also face it with limitless faith in the capacity of the American people… I am absolutely certain that generations from now, we will be able to look back and tell our children that this was the moment when we began to provide care for the sick and good jobs to the jobless; this was the moment when the rise of the oceans began to slow and our planet began to heal… This was the moment — this was the time — when we came together to remake this great nation…

From the first sentence, I am suspicious. In my experience, people who feel the need to tell you they are humble, or honest, or even religious are almost never humble, or honest, or even religious. Okay, he has faith in the American people. That's fair enough and good boilerplate. Let's see "generations from now"..... I don't know about him, but I don't intend to play Tithonus. Right about that time, I should be pushing up organically grown daisies. But I do like that "this was the moment" bit as Obamamoses leads us to the promised land of free healthcare and full government employment. Sound familiar? It should. I do find the end of that sentence somewhat intellectually dishonest. The construction makes it seem as if there are people dying in our streets and bread lines in the cities. Not quite.

That pales in comparison to the next line in which Obama, Moses like, is apparently going to raise his Montblanc and still the rising ocean waters and perform a healing on the planet. Oh, but now I'm being intellectually dishonest. It's the American people under the able tutelage of Obama who are going to accomplish these supra herculean feats. Sure, appeal to American arrogance. Onward, behind Oprah, we will wage battle with those horrible polluters who feed us, heat us, power our vehicles, employ us, and who are essentially us. Who among us doesn't have a car?

But I digress. Back to our reading. Whoa, Betsy, what's this "remake this great nation" bullshit? There, oh, my brothers, is the scariest bit of all. This is supposed to be an election, not a revolution. Two hundred odd years ago, the founding fathers took care of that, and they did a pretty good job of it. Somehow I'd rather leave it in their hands than in those of a neophyte Senator with a propensity for bombast.

Sunday Signs of the Times

Hazard. My American friends, it was bad enough to hear that one of the names being touted for attorney general was that of Janet Reno's deputy in the Elian affair, Eric Holder. But this Dick Morris column on the selection of this same worthy for Obama's VP search team introduces new worrisome associations. Show me your friends, and I'll tell you who you are. I know, I know, Obama's the only virgin in the cathouse.

Road Narrows. According to Reuters, the number of major internet players will shrink to two: Google and Amazon. According to this scenario, Yahoo will be acquired by Microsoft, and eBay will go the same route to another buyer. Gone is the hour of splendor in the grass and glory in the flower.

Yield. According to this article on MSNBC, dumpster diving isn't just for the homeless anymore. In an interesting look at a new phenomenon, Allison Linn presents everything from "average" people who make a habit of stopping by the grocery dumpster to "freegans" who try to live outside the "conventional economic model."

Roadwork. With gas crossing the 4 dollar a gallon threshold, it seems timely to examine our driving habits. Here's a quiz for you. Me, I've got an old Honda Dream that was in somebody else's garage for a long, long time that's lookin' mighty tempting right about now.

Detour. When I first saw the commercial for this upcoming TV series, I thought- "How cool, they really seem to have captured the flavor of the 70's." Incidentally, it is a decade I remember tres fondly. Take a look at this video clip, however. And this on CBS. Just when you thought they couldn't go lower. As me good old Mom is wont to say, "Sodom and Gonorrhea."

Now About Sarasota

There was a most excellent column in Friday's Herald Tribune by Max Ernst who asks whether we're in a budget crunch or not. The subject is the proposal for a new $70 million dollar stadium to lure the Boston Red Sox for Spring training. As he correctly points out, we lost the Cincinnati
Reds when voters rejected $40 million in improvements.

On the one hand, libraries and parks have been cut. Beach improvements were linked to the charging for parking, an idea so unpopular it was removed from consideration. At the same time, we are contemplating new investments, and my favorite:

County government workers just spent $112,000 on role-playing games to explain why they can't afford to provide services we've come to appreciate.

For some reason, the knee jerk reaction when money gets tight is to cut the front line troops, the people who actually provide services to the community, and who cost the county much less. I was once at a meeting of parks and libraries when a county official, who shall remain nameless, in the course of his/her speech happened to mention that employees made an average of 48 thousand dollars a year. Although I was one of the more fortunate, I looked around the room at the vast bulk of parkies and clerks who made nowhere near that amount and whose expressions were less than friendly as they did some basic math, namely calculating how much the people at the top make when they cause the average to rise to 48 thou. Add that to the amounts spent on consultants, and maybe there are economies to be found. For what it's worth.

About Vertientes

Vertientes as a town came into being with the Central or Sugar Refinery established there in the early 20th century. You can buy a stock certificate to the Vertientes - Camaguey Sugar Company of Cuba, originally issued to John Jacob Astor's son here. Although owned by Americans and run by El Americano, some savvy, entrepreneurial Cubans like my great uncle reasoned that the refinery and its workers would need goods and services. Ergo, they packed up their families and settled just outside the boundaries of the refinery. I believe that in the beginning they were essentially squatters. It was this frontierlike outpost to which my grandfather first brought my grandmother, along with her widowed mother, as a new bride.

With time, the town grew and prospered. It boasted a rice processor, a school, and a Catholic church, as well as a rail depot and later, access to the central highway. Paved streets, however, awaited the future. Sometime in the late thirties, the entire town burned down, reputedly the result of a love triangle. Rebuilt, the city has grown over the decades, and the population is now roughly near 60 thousand.

Beny and Vertientes

A while back, Nelson posted a Beny Moré musical tour of Cuban municipalities on Assymetric. At the time I pointed out in a comment that he had missed Beny's "Vertientes, Camaguey," an omission he recently rectified when he discovered it by its actual title.

Beny knew Vertientes well, as he once worked at the rail station there. Mom always loved Beny, and she is fond of telling a story about him. I don't vouch for all of the details, as Mom's stories get more apocryphal the older she gets. Still, she usually builds her confabulations around a nugget of truth. Anyway, after his stint in Vertientes, Beny went off to fame and fortune. He was invited back to play at the Club in town. The club as an institution was a social club/ ballroom/dance hall.

Some of the older, more staid members expressed concern that Beny would be a no show, as he had developed something of a reputation. Of course, the younger generation made sure Beny heard what was being said. "Oh yeah," he is reputed to have said. So on the night in question, he showed up on time and stone, cold sober, whether he stayed that way is not in my purview. That night, he sang song after song, taking requests, and bringing the house down. It was an evening long remembered in Vertientes.

Link established. All's well that ends well.

Maslow's Triangle, Baby

This started out as my response to the survey taken surreptitiously in Cuba. The media have made much of the fact that vast majority of respondents were more concerned about economic than political issues. Well, that's certainly not surprising. People who are hungry care about eating. Wow! What an insight!

So it occurred to me that some might need a refresher course, so here's the Wikipedia take on the triangle. In the course of digging around, I came across this post. It's a bit dated, but the discussion on class in America is fascinating. And to me, it rings somewhat true.

A Fly in the Ointment

In a case of you're gonna bully me; I'm gonna get my boyz; Cuba is standing in the way of agreement at the UN food summit in Rome. At issue is Cuba's demand that embargoes be condemned. As a member of the Spanish delegation explains in this AP article:

``We are looking for an agreement to solve the dramatic situation'' of widening hunger in the world, Lopez told The Associated Press. ``We cannot have political declarations coming at the advantage of a single nation.''

Since there is no embargo on food, it would seem that what Cuba wants is credit that they are not likely to repay, as in witness their dismal record. As my Mom would say, limosna con escopeta. Or maybe access to US markets. That's it. Trading with the US is magically going to erase the economic mismanagement of half a century. And all those unemployed young men in Havana are going to race out to get a job because now they will make $30 dollars a month instead of $20. Oh and by the way, the sound you hear is the rustling of that olive leaf.

Raul of 100 Days

Yesterday marked two milestones or is that two more millstones? Not only did Raul Castro turn 77, but his reign reached the 100 day mark. In a positively gushing Reuters article, the septuagenarian is celebrated the "embodiment" of change to the Cuban people. Included is the requisite quote from Phil Peters, as well as this doozy from Julia Sweig from the Council on Foreign Relations:

"a year from now we're going to look back and track even more changes, more substantive changes, than we've seen to date."

Toasters aside, lest they get too carried away with the great white hope, I thought I'd share just what it is that Raul embodies. Here are just some headlines from the island for the last two days or so:

Suffering the Oppression and Maltreatment of These Monsters: Letter from Kilo 7 Provincial Prison.

Repression Against Participants in the Carmen [Mass offered weekly for political prisoners] Does not Cease

Sanatoriums for Aids Patients Closed

President of Gay Organization Goes on Hunger Strike

Raul Castro Consolidates his Power; Repressing the People

Accused and Threatened Activists from the Opposition Movement for a New Republic

Attack Against the Home of Oswaldo Paya Sardinas

Opposition Members Provoked and Threatened at the Conclusion of Activity

Opposition Members Threatened in Santa Clara

Christian Pastor and Family Beaten in Holguin

???

"There is some thought that there might be a very big shoe dropping on Michelle Obama tomorrow."
-Democratic Strategist Bob Beckel on Fox News today. What it is, he wouldn't say.

Putting Sunday to Bed

There is nothing new under the sun. Given all the moralistic hoopla lately about how we should soften our policy towards Cuba, I thought I might share this little 2002 release about a Jimmy Carter directive. Click on the link. It sounds familiar.

Good things come in small packages? Before I decided to tune in, drop out, and run away to FL, I was a teacher, studying for my certification in administration. So I was shocked to find that Sarasota was building brand new, very large schools, virtually student warehouses, when all the literature was pointing to small schools as the best environment for learning. This Newsweek article examines the theory and results of the small schools movement in one Bronx High School. Upshot: mixed.

My, Grandma, what big eyes you have. This next one is no joke for many seniors who are either being overmedicated or prescribed drugs with unfavorable interactions. If you have an elderly parent, do yourself a favor and read the CNN report here.

Better late than never. Seems the government has been investigating oil markets for the past six months. Speculation, anyone? As one strategist in this AP report via MSNBC puts it, if you eliminated the excess money.... Gee, where have I heard that before? I know, I know, there are other factors.

It's that time of year again. Summer and shark attacks. The latest spate has occurred in Mexico where 2 have been killed. Read it here.

Those were the days, my friend. To end on an up note, here's a list of the top 50 classic rock songs. How's it compare to yours? Link is working at the moment. It comes and goes.

Of Cars and Other Mishaps

In the midst of our national obsession with the automobile, it seems unreal that those of us who are middle-aged can remember a time when most people didn't own one- at least if you grew up in a Brooklyn tenement like I did.

Few people on our block could lay claim to their own set of wheels. There was the reclusive old gent in our building who rented one of the three garages across the street in which to keep his two-tone, meticulously maintained Chevy. I think it was a Belair. There was the kid next store who actually had a powder blue 1963 Sting Ray when it truly merited the name. There were a few others, enough to line both sides of the street, but there was no problem getting a spot in the daily ritual of alternate side of the street parking. Most in the neighborhood just hoofed it or used mass transit. Please note, the price of ride was a dime.

Now Dad loved his cars, although he never had a truly fancy one, unless you count the few years when he would trade in his Pontiac Catalina every three years for a new one. The last one, a greenish turq almendron we kept well into the 70's. I know because I was driving it, when it burst into flame about a half a block from our new house in the 'burbs. Fortunately Abuelo came running to the rescue, having spotted the trouble from the kitchen window. Seems Dad got tired of taking the cover off the air filter every time he had to shove a screw driver into the choke get it started. Remember carburetors?

Anyway, that was but one of many events that should have made me leery of cars, but it didn't. I'm not referring to events like the time Dad's 1959 Buick with the two-toned paint job just rolled to a stop in the middle of the street. I remember looking in the rear view mirror and seeing what even my 5 year old mind knew was the gas tank.

No, I mean driving along the New Jersey Turnpike at 4 in the morning with the fog rolling in on the way back to Staten Island from South Carolina, when between exits 1 and 2, the transmission went on my relatively new Jeep Woody, not to be confused with the time the Mercedes gave up the same ghost on New Years Eve in the early 80's right outside of Sarasota on the way back from Miami. At least that time, the whole extended family was in the car. In New Jersey, it was a thirty something me and a 7 year old. Talk about scary.

Also catalogued as scary was the night, I was driving the same 7 year old, now turned 17, to her college interview in Tallahassee. Pulling off the 75 for gas, I emerge from the convenience store in the middle of nowhere, to see smoke billowing from the engine of my car. Fortunately, it turned out to be....you guessed it- the transmission. Even more fortunately, it was the one interchange that had a repair shop across the highway, next to the tattoo parlor, next to motel, next to the restaurant. The garage was run by a transplant Indian and his young wannabe homeboy nephew. And so, we spent three days sitting in the bay watching the traffic go by before I called the hubster to come get us.

All of this is prelude to what happened two days ago. On the way home to Sarasota from the Tampa airport with the same child, now a 23 year old grad student, I lost control of the car on the 75 at 70 miles an hour. Somehow, I am still here to tell the tale. In one instant, I looked death in the face, not that I thought about it, being too busy trying to react. A simple, aborted lane change, as in some jerk decided to come into the same lane because he didn't see me, led to the scariest moment in my life. I keep trying to think if I oversteered, but I wasn't panicked. I knew I had enough time to get back in my lane. I just cut the wheel, but not particularly much. It's a gesture I've had to make countless times, only this time to my disbelief the car would not straighten out. Instead, it kept going, making a 270 degree arc then traversing back to the other lane, skidding right and left in a scissor motion until it had crossed another two lanes in the opposite direction.

The only experience I'd ever had to compare it to was one night when I had a blowout on the highway, but that was my front tire, and I quickly gained control. Anyway, by this point, I had wrested some measure of control and attempted to steer into the grass on the side of the road, hoping it would slow us down. There was the little matter of some guard posts, which I actually managed to get the car between. As I hit the grass, I felt safe to floor the brakes, which not only finally stopped the front of the car but also caused it to fishtail, hitting the aforesaid post sideways.

At this point, I am shaken, still not believing that we're still breathing, that no one has whacked into us. I'm afraid to even get out of the car, so I get the car on the road, drive to the next exit, figuring I should check out the damage. Damage? Fine scratches, easily buffed out, and a flat tire. I'm pretty sure the flat was the result of guard post. So I'm left wondering. I'm a cautious, experienced driver, so what the hell happened? I was driving my midlife crisis car, a Hyundai Tiburon with low profile tires. Yeah, I know, they were on there when I bought it.

So here I am, suffering from post-traumatic stress, thoroughly shocked that life can be over in an instant, that you can be driving your beloved child home one instant and fighting for your life the next. And extremely grateful for all the years I spent driving in snow, as well the divine hand that kept the tires on the ground and the other cars away from us

Leading Bookstore Indicators?

I admit I've been feeling pretty pessimistic about the fall. First, there were the losses of "safe" Republican seats. Then, I've noticed an interesting phenomenon at the bookstore where I've been working in the AM's and any magazine with Obama's visage seems to fly out the door. The other morning, there was a mad rush to pick up the McClellan book, and Bugliosi has broken my heart by penning a tome proposing that Bush is guilty of war crimes. Can you picture anyone writing such a thing accusing FDR over the bombing of Dresden and other cities full of civilians?

Then today I came across this Patrick Buchanan column. Now I'm not a particular fan of Buchanan, particularly when he gets his panties in a twist over illegal immigration. I realize we have to stem the tide, but there is a racist undertone to his rants. So why was my heart lifted to read a column in which he trashes Bush? Easy. Take a look at the comments.

So in the end, I'm figuring that maybe a bookstore is not the best indicator of the general populace. Neither is Human Events, I suspect. Guess I'll just have to wait until this fall.

More on Oil Prices

• Financial speculation has led to acquisition of oil based on the assumption that scarcity will lead to greater prices.

• Institutional investors, protecting themselves of a weakening dollar, are buying not only oil but also gold, platinum, copper and other raw materials.

Just two of the factors cited by Gustavo Coronel in a column in Human Events in describing the perfect storm that has created ever incresing oil prices. I highlight these because they are my own bete noire. Mr. Coronel is himself doubly interesting. A petroleum geologist who lost his seat in the Venezuelan parliament thanks to Chavez, he would seem to know of what he writes. Particularly depressing is the stark realization that some of the largest producers are inimical to the United States. His prognosis is pretty grim.

I'm Not the Only One

from Anne Coulter's latest column in which she also seems to have picked up Obama's ability to reframe the discussion. Here she anticipates his version of "detente" with Iran:

Perhaps in the spirit of compromise, Obama could agree to let Iran push only half of Israel into the sea. That would certainly constitute "change"! Obama could give one of those upbeat speeches of his, saying: As a result of my recent talks with President Ahmadinejad, some see the state of Israel as being half empty. I prefer to see it as half full. And then Obama can return and tell Americans he could no more repudiate Ahmadinejad than he could repudiate his own white grandmother. It will make Chris Matthews' leg tingle.

A Time for a Change?

Perhaps, but certainly not by lending countenance to a murderous, illegitimate regime, which even now plots against our interests by fanning the flames in the entire Southern half of our hemisphere and which has made a half a century avocation of denouncing the United States.

What all of the wouldbe talkers fail to see is that the regime has not softened one iota in its rhetoric, let alone its repression, and has not expressed a single inclination to talk to us. Listen to their demands. They demand a unilateral lifting of the "blockade." There is no talk of rapprochement, not even the slightest hint of movement on the human rights front, aside from the hoopla over signing the human rights accords, signing only.

Despite media reports, there have been no "olive branches" extended. In fact, every time the United States has attempted to thaw relationships, the Cuban regime has put the kibosh on it. Don't believe me. After preliminary efforts by Nixon, Ford came close to normalizing relations, until Cuba sent troops to Angola, that is. Reagan and Carter, too, attempted to deal with the regime. Each time, Cuba returned the favor with a further provocation. Moreover, it is disingenuous to pretend that there is not communication going on behind the scenes.

Face it, the regime has no incentive to make nice with us. Are they going to negotiate their way out of existence? Based on their performance, how many in the "government" would get elected in a free and fair plebiscite? The military in particular is not going to turn. Few seem to realize the absolutely diabolical genius of how Raul set things up. Since the military runs practically all of the viable business on the island, particularly tourism, the generals have a vested monetary, as well as political, interest in the status quo and the arms and men to maintain it.

It is time for change, sure. As Cuban Americans we have been bested by the regime because we tend to be honest and forthright in our positions, sometimes too blunt, too empassioned. We are like boxers who swing wildly at the opponent. They, on the other hand, are shameless, calculating liars, expert cynics. It seems to me that we need to change not our policy but our rhetoric. The regime is, I believe, in dire straits. We can offer them a way out in which they can save some face, which they cannot accept, as cynically as they would.

For instance, instead of the punitive way in which we address the issue, why on the announcement of the death of the surely putrescent fidel, whether nominally living or dead, should the United States not be the caring, compassionate good neighbor, who would on the basis of our own economic success love to help them "streamline" their economy, once the little difficulty of outstanding liabilities is settled and the "government" has taken steps to enact the provisions of the human rights accords they have signed? Why not congratulate them on joining most of the rest of the world in signing these and anticipate that they will live up to them? Why not with our reasonable rhetoric show them up to the rest of the world? I understand that most them already know, but they will no longer be able to run around admiring the dictatorship's new clothes.

Sure, it's time for a change, a change in which we frame the narrative so that we can no longer be portrayed as the big bully attempting to impose our will on a hapless Cuba. And who knows, miracles do happen all the time, or so I'm told.

What May be Coming

For a while now, disturbing hints have been coming from Cuban bloggers and independent journalists of an incipient crackdown by the regime. One well known opposition member has likened the current atmosphere to that just shortly before the Black Spring arrests. Not lost on Cubans is the castroite penchant for holding back, even inviting criticism, in order to identify their enemies.

That established, yesterday there was a violent raid on the home of well-known dissident Jorge Luis "Antuñez" Garcia Perez so large that it has actually hit the AP. Perhaps not so co-incidentally, Antuñez was one of the opposition members who spoke to President Bush recently.
The full frontal assault was no doubt intended to send a message, as all were eventually released.

There is an interesting subtext here. 30 people were rounded up in that raid, 30 people who knew they were risking their well being by joining together to remember one of the most symbolic figures in the Cuban struggle for freedom: Pedro Luis Boitel. That more than a dozen or so were together is indicative of the gently swelling numbers of people willing to take a stand against oppression. When the Washington Post recently posted a dismissive story about Cuba Solidarity day referring to a "scattering" of events marking the day, they missed the real story. At least twelve of those were in Cuba itself. With the "Agenda for the Transition" and other similar initiatives, the Cuban opposition is starting to take the first steps toward co-ordinated action.

Marc at Uncommon Sense has the details of the raid and a link to the story of Boitel.

On Memorial Day

Standing in a park in Philadelphia underneath a pergola I had sought out for shade, I stumbled upon a sign reading, "the men buried beneath your feet died for your freedom." It was a Revolutionary War burial site. The men buried here are the proud and tragic heirs to that mantle.

About that Obama

Whatever you do, don't look in his eyes! aaargh! I'm really starting to wonder about this Svengali effect. First it was CANF, now the Damas en Blanco or Ladies in White who have written an open, rather supportive, letter to Mr. Obama. Reading it, it did not seem an open endorsement of his candidacy as one commenter at Babalu deemed it. At the same time that they wrote it at all is a de facto endorsement.

All of which makes my hair stand on end. I'm not particularly concerned with Obama's sudden election year epiphany about the embargo. As long as he keeps to the terms of the deal: "I'll maintain the embargo if you vote for me," there is nothing practically wrong with a politician moving to meet the needs of the electorate, not to mention that he needs congress to lift it.

My fear is that he will continue to practice direct diplomacy with Cuban Americans all the time he sells us down the river. He will continue to talk a good game while he lifts restrictions against family travel. Well, now your average Americans, already feeling left out and smarting from all the tropical fun the Europeans are having, are going to want to jump in the pool, too. Then, it will be business's turn. Before you know it, all sanctions will be lifted, and Cuba will be no more free than it is today. And every step of the way President Obama (God forbid!) will be there to reassure us that he really cares about freedom for Cuba. We need no further proof of this decided possibility than the way in which he has successfully managed to turn a major gaffe in a debate answer into the linchpin of his stated foreign policy.

I never thought I would live to see the day when this country would be enmeshed in the throes of the cult of personality. That Cuban Americans should fall for this snake oil boggles the mind. Have we learned nothing about pretty words and charismatic figures? Take a look at the candidate. He is young, has run nothing in his entire life, his only non political occupation seemingly that of a rather nebulous "organizer." Who are the friends we know about? There is the black power preacher, ranting about the evils of "White America" all the way to the bank and the $3 million dollar home. There is the unrepentant, self-indulgent radical who having failed at blowing up society is slowly poisoning it from within by teaching future generations of educators. There is the somewhat shady businessman through whom Obama obtained his house in deal worthy of some of the more odoriferous Macauliffe/Clinton transactions. And that's just the surface.

I begin to understand how my father must have felt all those years ago when he was one of the few who openly expressed his suspicions of Fidel. Tread warily, my friends, lest Obama make berracos of us all.

Sunday, Sunday

Monday morning gave me no warning.... Just when I'm getting really disaffected by his secure our borders' rants, O'Reilly comes through with this column. He cuts through the nonsense and offers a clear and pretty compelling list of suggestions to deal with the oil situation.

We don't need no education..... In this most excellent column, Suzanne Fields questions whether given the dismal state of education in this country, we are not rocking the ignorance instead of the vote. I always find it interesting that it is considered a good thing to drag young people from their college dorms and keg parties into a voting booth.

Hey! Hey! Get off of my cloud.... This piece asks whether "shunning" smokers helps. The answer, not surprising given that it's in that arbiter of political correctness, Newsweek, is "yes." I don't want to be ungrateful, given that Dr. Steven Schroeder (head of some Smoking Cessation place in CA) says we should hate the smoke, not the smoker. If knowing that I am killing myself, ruining my environment, and footing a monthly tab (combined) the equivalent of a car payment is not enough to make me quit, is not being able to go to Disneyworld going to do it?

Na, na, hey, hey, good bye.... Told you so. With the coming of age, comes wisdom, or so confirms a new book Progress in Brain Research. According to this Newsweek article, if old people are more distracted, it's because they have a lot more to remember.

There must be some way out of here.... Finally in a real life version of Open Water with a much happier ending, two divers, a Brit and an American were rescued after spending a night on the water after they became lost while diving. Read it here.

Picture of the Week

Sometimes a picture captures something ineffable. This week the award goes to Charles Dharapak for this AP picture. Take a look at the President's expression as he kisses Yamile Llanes Labrada, the wife of Cuban political prisoner Dr. Jose Luis Garcia Paneque. It must have been some ceremony.

Feeling Bookish

Missed two just released offerings in the last book post. First is Kathy Reichs' Devil Bones. For those who've forgotten or just never knew, Reichs is behind the TV Series Bones, which is based on the Temperance Brennan character. While I enjoy the show, kinda like a 21st century "Moonlighting" without Bruce Willis and Cybil Shepherd- same chemistry- the novels have a lot more substance. Having acknowledged that, I will venture that the franchise has been getting a tiny bit worn. Still, I'm making a bee line for the reserve list. There's an interesting video of the author at Barnes & Noble's website here.

Although Temperance Brennan is a metaphorical kinswoman to Patricia Cornwell's Kay Scarpetta character (without all the chi chi touches), Cornwell's latest- The Front- is not a Scarpetta novel. It's billed as an "at risk" team novel. So many sleuths; so little time.

Another new release generating buzz appeals to me because a portion of it is devoted to playing cricket at Walker Park in Staten Island. This bucolic spot is up the block from the chemical stew that is the Kill van Kull and is one I associate with many an adolescent evening revolving around the chugging of Tango on the ball field. Not surprisingly, there are no longer any Staten Islanders in the Staten Island Cricket Club. Ah, talk about your paradise lost. Read an article about Joseph O'Neill's Netherland in the times here.

If you should find yourself in London, stop by the Imperial War Museum, a venue I hear is really worthy of a visit in its own right, for the “For Your Eyes Only: Ian Fleming and James Bond” exhibition that will run until March of 2009. This New York Times article about it has some interesting info about the late author. Truth be told, those of you who have actually read the novels can attest that there is little correlation between the novels and the movies after the first few Bond features. By the bye, tried rereading them a few years ago; they are sexist, bigoted, and good as I remembered.

From Newsweek, an article about something I've noted before. There is a silver lining to the reading cloud: more teens are reading. A caveat- in examining the whys and wherefores, the article extols the freedom and breadth of subjects, all of that is code for some of the most popular books deal with substance abuse, rape, violence, and not your traditional family. The appropriateness depends on the personal circumstances and the emotional maturity of the teen reader. Just a heads up.

And to end on a double up note, although it pertains to TV and not the printed word.... Caught the last episode of Ugly Betty for the season and spotted the guy from Invasion. I'm still in mourning over the cancellation of the series. Sure enough, that young cutie and philandering coach is Cuban American.

Ahora sí le patina!

I like to think that Fidel actually dictates the reflections. One of the most recent, May 22, leads me to think: “Ño, ahora de verdad que le patina,” or “He’s really lost it now!” Of course, it could be the ghostly writer’s ghost writer.

Let’s pay a passing notice to the requisite egregious falsehood-

They refer to atrocious tortures, something that has never occurred in our country and which even the least informed of Cubans knows. And who speaks of tortures? McCain, the candidate and George W. Bush, the President.

What absolutely stun me are the virtually unrefuted quotes from Bush and McCain he includes:

“The freedom fighters who gained the independence of Cuba more that one hundred years ago could not have imagined that their descendants would be in a battle for liberty and democracy a century later.”

“One day Cuba will be an important ally in bringing democracy to our hemisphere.”

“The tyranny will not last until the end of time and as President I will not passively await the day the Cuban people enjoy the blessing of freedom and democracy. I will not wait.”

You can read the whole rambling thing in Granma.

Tata and All That

Cuba has expressed an interest in the small Indian car, the Tata Nano. Of course, the last time New Delhi did business with the regime, it wound up with some particularly worthless IOU's. Read all about it at the Hindu Business Line. You can read the specifications here.

Cubans can now envision a future in which they can drive their Tatas to their little plastic houses, a true socialist Utopia.

Not in My Name

"If Ra¿l is serious about his so-called reforms," Bush said, "he will allow these phones to reach the Cuban people."

Francisco J. "Pepe" Hernandez, president of the Cuban American National Foundation, called Bush's announcement "absurd." He urged the president instead to lift restrictions that limit Cuban Americans to one visit to the island every three years and to no more than $1,200 they can send to relatives annually.

Although cellular phones are on the lengthy U.S. list of items not allowed to be sent to Cuba, Hernandez said his organization and many others regularly ship them there. "With all due respect" to Bush, he said, "you can't eat cellphones."

If I needed an example of how pervasive the tenor of our present political discourse has become, take this quote from the president of CANF. Quite the wit, old Pepe there. He sounds more like some of our political hacks than the head of a national organization. The whole thing was terribly déclassé.

And is it George Bush's fault that Cubans don't have enough to eat? What about those who don't have relatives outside the country? What do they do, eat cake? I have to ask, despite the continuation of policies unpopular with many, has any other president in recent history done as much to publicize the plight of the Cuban people?

I suspect I know the root. One need only look at the invitation to Obama to surmise that the Joe Garcia wing is firmly in charge. One need only remind CANF that the last time they smiled on a Democrat, they got a tent city in Guantanamo, Wet Foot/Dry Foot, and Elian.

Washington Post article here.

America's Decline: A Matter of Perspective-Part 1

As I read about the decline of America, very fashionable at the moment, I am reminded of the wave of anti-war movies a while back. When they tanked (pardon the pun) the media rushed to interpret their failure as the war's lack of popularity rather than the public's distaste for criticizing the war in medias res, so to speak.

So when I came across an excerpt from Fareed Zakaria's new book, The Post American-World, my hackles were immediately raised. Surprisingly, or not so surprisingly if you were to judge from Zakaria's body of work, he avoids the usual liberal shibboleths. His thesis is more or less that it is not so much that the US is declining, but rather the rest of the world catching up. Bully for them! The piece was thought-provoking and I look forward to reading the book.

Too often in these reflections, however, the doom and gloom crowd is really disguising yet another "blame it on Bush" exercise, as in this piece, also from Newsweek. In my finest Brooklynese, I say "Get a clue, buddy." Yes, I'm sure Mr. Hirsh is very learned and very versed in foreign relations, and he is correct in saying that much of the damage is self-inflicted. I learned all about it in high school. People tend to take you as you present yourself. If we extrapolate, one has to ask how much of our "fall from grace" has been the result of the contemptuous self-criticism emerging from our side of the pond.

How can we expect anyone else to respect us when we have lost all respect for the office of president and the interests of our nation? I am not referring to differences with policy. I am referring to personal vituperation that goes far beyond the pale, being paraded across TV screens, magazines, blogs, etc... and to the unwise and immediate disclosure of sensitive and damaging information. Not only is it unseemly, but it has conceivably had much greater impact. I was struck by a Sunni Muslim in Fallujah who speaking of the much vaunted "awakening" said something to the effect that they had "discovered" Americans weren't that bad after all. Seems they believed the press. They thought we were going to take their oil, could not conceive that we would just want out. Can we say Abu Ghraib? Blood for oil? I'm sure it's not about being liked. I'm sure they hate us. It's about being respected.

There have been mistakes aplenty made, and there is much room for criticism, but it is the form that criticism takes, as well as the time frame, that has international repercussions. Yeah, they've always grudgingly admired us, but that's because we were sure of ourselves and our place in the world. Now we are a nation in middle-aged angst unsure of ourselves and desperately trying to be liked. Is it any wonder we are losing cache?

Little Plastic Houses

Actually, I don't know what color they'll be, but the regime is touting little plastic houses as a partial answer to the housing crisis in Cuba. The government will construct 14,000 of these beauties, made of PVC left over from the petrochemical processes from the Cienfuegos refinery, originally built by Americans, refurbished at Soviet expense, and now newly redone by Chavez & C0. I'm not making it up. Read here.

Cuba Solidarity Day: May 21, 2008: Updated

A day like today helps publicize the plight of Cubans in a way that no single individual can. You can read about the global effort here. There was a speech at the White House (see post below). But even more significantly, there were numerous small observations throughout Cuba, particularly surprising in light of the rumblings afoot about an incipient crackdown on dissidents. In particular peril are said to the Ladies in White and Antuñez. God watch over them all.

Henry over at Babalu posted a link earlier today to The Task at Hand that I found very moving. Sometimes a simple story can say much more than a thousand polemics. So I'll leave you with this.

Update: It warmed my heart to find this press release from the Moroccan American Center for Policy.

White House, Cuban National Anthem, Tears

I've just posted the last part because I found it the most moving. Check Babalu for link to the whole video.

The All-Seeing Eye

It was only a matter of time before the regime began taking note of Yoani Sanchez and her Generacion Y. First she came in for some public criticism. Now, according to this post from a few days ago, come the implied threats. Seeing the art she chose to illustrate the post, reminded me of this quote from the The Great Gatsby-

This is a valley of ashes—a fantastic farm where ashes grow like wheat into ridges and hills and grotesque gardens; where ashes take the forms of houses and chimneys and rising smoke and, finally, with a transcendent effort, of men who move dimly and already crumbling through the powdery air. Occasionally a line of gray cars crawls along an invisible track, gives out a ghastly creak, and comes to rest, and immediately the ash-gray men swarm up with leaden spades and stir up an impenetrable cloud, which screens their obscure operations from your sight. But above the gray land and the spasms of bleak dust which drift endlessly over it, you perceive, after a moment, the eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg. The eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg are blue and gigantic—their irises are one yard high. They look out of no face, but, instead, from a pair of enormous yellow spectacles which pass over a nonexistent nose. Evidently some wild wag of an oculist set them there to fatten his practice in the borough of Queens, and then sank down himself into eternal blindness, or forgot them and moved away. But his eyes, dimmed a little by many paintless days, under sun and rain, brood on over the solemn dumping ground.

By the bye, if you look at the latest post on the blog in which the wouldbe hikers were virtually turned into the authorities, you might be reminded of the emotional backdrop of Child 44.

Read: Child 44 by Tom Rob Smith

Set in the 1950's Soviet Union, but inspired by the much later story of real life serial murderer Andrei Chikatilo, Child 44 is in various ways a crime story, an exploration of truth, an examination of the tension between integrity and self-preservation, and the effects of fear on human relationships.

Most reviews I've read have trumpeted the novel as a thriller, but its greatest strength lies in its portrayal of the world of Stalinist Russia, one permeated by fear and falsehood. Smith is at his best in delving into the corrosive effects on human beings of the time and place, whether the horrible expedients to avoid starvation in the Ukraine, the denunciation of innocents in the basement torture chambers of the Lubyanka, or the mistrust bred into even the most intimate of human relationships.

It is the clash between these realities and the fantasy of official propaganda which fuels much of the plot. In this worker's paradise, nothing is as it seems. One of the many fictions perpetuated by the political apparatus is that there is no crime, no murder, as Leo Demidov, decorated member of the State Security Force at the beginning of the novel, prods a colleague whose son has been killed. By the end, Leo, demoted and disillusioned, comes full circle, risking his life and that of his wife in a frantic, all out hunt for a child predator. Ironically, it is in losing all that Leo gains his humanity.

Because of its setting and story, the comparison to Gorky Park is a natural. For my money, Martin Cruz Smith's novel is the better read. The plot here is too gimmicky, the characters not as developed, not to mention that Smith's protagonist is originally one of the bad guys. At the same time, Child 44 is in a different class altogether and is probably the better book. It rises above genre as it questions how far a human being will go to assure his survival.

If you like thrillers, have an interest in Russian history, or have a couple of hours to kill, you could do much worse that Child 44.

To Embargo or Not to Embargo?

I've been doing a bit of soul searching the past few days, ever since Marta Beatriz Roque asked President Bush to ease restrictions. The chorus coming from the island is nearly unanimous in asking that some aspect of the embargo and/or restrictions be lifted. I almost could have gone along, as- contrary to some opinion we are sentient beings- when I read this post by Henry, and I remembered.

I might be persuaded to back the softening of measures, even at the risk of enriching the coffers of the Havana Dons, but a few major issues stick in my craw. One is that quite a bit of American- not Cuban American- property was seized without compensation by the Cuban Capos. What are the odds that the Mendicant of the Antilles can or will pony up funds? If we lift the embargo, we are signalling other tin pot despots that American investments abroad can be seized with impunity. This I can see a way around, as long as the Havana High Commission can see its way to paying a surcharge on every commercial transaction (cash only, please) to be deposited in a fund to pay claimants. The real sticking point for me here is the release of political prisoners. Any dialogue, any softening has to be tied to the liberation of individuals languishing in Cuban jails for "thought crimes."

I can anticipate the rejoinders, what about China and Russia? It is a false parallel. In many of these countries the case could be made that bad as the government was the mass of the people were at least slightly better off. Cuba has the distinction of having been dragged back into the third world. But the real objection has to do with the level of support the criminals will get. Face it, how many people wanted to sunbathe in Siberia or really get down with Bulgarian salsa? By dint of propinquity, climate, and culture, Cuba is bound to be a hot destination. The take from the regime's "skim" will be enormous; the pressure on Cubans to play "happy natives and assorted prostitutes" despite their education and culture, inordinate; and the financially beneficial myopia; irresistible.

Generations

Had a great deal of fun at this weekend's "Cuba Nostalgia" where I finally got to meet a number of my fellow bloggers, picked up some reading material, and was introduced to some interesting authors. There were all sorts of experiences: watching the lines at the terminals to sign the petition to free Cuban political prisoners grow at least five deep, glancing at the same screen and seeing a gentleman's signature with his prisoner number appended, seeing the younger generations- even those who have raised well outside the Cuban milieu- helping the old codgers to sign, the same elderly who demanded to be allowed to register their voices.

Much has been said about younger generations of Cubans. I say, what caring, and well-mannered young people! My daughter has that sweetness, which I used to erroneously attribute solely to her character. Yesterday I realized that in part it is her upbringing. Ours is a culture that cares for our elderly, that values their wisdom, tolerates their ill-humor, and respects their experience. Our children absorb those values and act accordingly.

I suspect that the same can be said of the sense of loss and righteous anger over Cuba. True, there is a difference, even with the older generations. The anger now is more muted, buried under the strata of years, even lifetimes, of living in the United States, but still there waiting to be unearthed. Now it is expressed with a quiet dignity, with a purposeful tread, a defiant angle to the head, but it is still there and still being passed on to younger generations.

I was privileged to witness this mechanism first hand. A father in his late thirties, early forties, brought his son to the Babalu booth. The young boy, intent on showing off his computer savvy, sat down to enter his father's name as this gentleman looked on indulgently. They had turned to leave when the boy murmured something. His father led him back to the terminal and asked "What does it say there?" Bingo! I thought as he began to instruct the boy in terms a seven year old could understand. That's how it's done.