Showing posts with label ww2. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ww2. Show all posts

Saturday, May 11, 2013

MEANDERING RAMBLE THAT STARTS THERE AND ENDS HERE

red, tj worthington

Talking with my friend Carole this morning, we noted how tired we both are of the word racism, how universal it is, and now Glen Beck calling Obama a racist and Limbaugh losing advertisers. If Boner were not disingenuous in everything he said, I'd laugh at him all the harder now that he wants to pay the US debt to China and stop paying federal employees until the debt is paid. He says that is "sound" reasoning. He gets a government paycheck too, but exceptions are made for the law makers. Maybe it is sound from the point of view of somebody who hates 99% of the American people. The one percent he is working for is not you and me. We're the ones he is working against. It's another stab at Social Security. A pattern I've seen too often is the republican method of chipping away at our democracy, social security, and the constitution, like woodpeckers, getting them out of the way of the corporatocracy: it always works. The democrats let them and never reverse the police state legislation. The "sequester" played into the republican hand. It hit the people who work for a living hard, the intent. Systematically, the republican lock-step defiance of the American people uses the more ignorant (dangerous) half of the population to help in the crusade against the educated, as in dictatorial regimes. First target of authoritarians is predictably the educated (liberals), starting with the intellectuals, the very people a society needs for self-awareness, equally important in a society as in an individual.


pine swamp and glade valley from air bellows, tj worthington

Hitler took the German people's progress and turned it against them, set them back half a century. And I don't mean to be beating the dead horse of comparisons to Hitler too obvious to mention, esp that he was none too brite. Germany in the 1930s was in the foreground of modern art, until the war der Fuhrer lock-step marched the German people into, lured by promises of wealth and power. Artist Max Beckmann and several other German artists of the time exiled themselves to escape the anti-human machine their country had become over money and security. The same happened in the time of ww1. It was the exiles (draft dodgers) who kept the continuum of German art going. In warrior cultures artists are exiles at home, so it is natural for an artist to leave war making to the warrior people that create war because they want war. Artists do not want war nor lean toward racism or nationalism. The most committed artists have no choice but to exile themselves. Max Ernst another one from the ww2 period with Marcel Duchamp, Man Ray, Andre Breton and plenty of others were run out of Paris by the German invasion, these to America. European artists in the time of ww2 spread over the world like dandelion seed-parachutes sailing on the wind, like Tibetan monks since 1957.


max ernst

Technologically advanced countries periodically run their artists and intellectuals off so the serious game of war can be played at the expense of as many people as possible, population control, enriching wealth the purpose. Weapons manufacturing is the biggest business on earth. The wars need to keep on going to keep the business going. The whole earth is covered with the weaponry of war, from Africa where they use machine guns mounted on the back of Nissan pickups and machetes, to Asian genocides, to American destruction of economies and lives in poverty stricken, defenseless countries without allies. I feel for the retired dictator in Guatemala sentenced for the rest of his life in prison for taking the American lure to destroy his own country from within to make it easier prey for corporate rape, and to make himself some money in the tradition of Latin American dictators. It went flip-flop on him. He was turned upon by the CIA, like Noriega and Pinochet. I doubt he'll be allowed to write a memoir. CIA is even more fickle than people with Money. Fickle behavior I take for absence of the most basic level of moral integrity. This is why I have never wanted money. I've never wanted the illusion of power or wealth, because moral integrity had, for some cluster of reasons, been more important to me in my youth. I don't mean to say in the absolute to the point of preaching, but practical, everyday-life forgiveness for slipping on the tightwire. It's not the straight line that is the Way, anyway. The Way is meandering like a mountain creek and a river, and farther along, the delta. I'm in my delta phase, wildly meandering slow-motion mind. I love it.


joan miro

Am I not a nutcase? Hmm. This could be an opening line in a Pinter play. I'm glad my time on earth overlapped Harold Pinter's time on earth. If I had any brains, I'd be reading Pinter's plays again, seeing them in new light, forty years later, including the experience of seeing a few on stage and film. There is much I'd like to re-read at this time of the life. The times I have tried it, I've been disappointed more than enlightened. Much of the time, it's I liked that? John Berryman's Dream Songs sing to me now. Before, they were obscure. They're still obscure, but now I can ride the flow in them like in music. I can hear the song. It's (distantly) like listening to John Lee Hooker, "One night I was layin down, I heard my papa tell mama, let that boy boogie woogie, it's in him, it's got to come out." I started Moby Dick once to re-read and was bored right away. I saved the big two-volume edition of Proust for my old age. Now that I'm here, I don't want to read it. What do I care about 19th Century pretentious French society? Maybe in a film by Andrzej Wajda, but not to sit and read when I could be enjoying so much more, like Ralph Stanley's memoir, or The Killing of Crazy Horse, or much else I feel like reading now, the Nation magazine, Gide's Journals, or The Way Things Go, Lucas Carpenter's new book of poems. .


Salvador dali
 
 
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Thursday, February 17, 2011

REBEL WITHOUT A PAUSE




Over the last couple weeks I've been idly looking at war films made in the field during WW2 and Vietnam. The WW2 footage is the tv shows in the 50s, Victory At Sea (Navy) and The Big Picture (Army) and You Are There, narrated by Walter Cronkite. Victory At Sea was my favorite. Saturday tv viewing in the time of b&w tv. Every time I see an episode or 2 now, seldom watch more than 2 in a row, I remember the time in childhood, 11 and 12, how seeing the war my daddy went through made me afraid there would be a war for me. Looking at American history, going to war has been a rite of passage. Discipline. The Army was the key to a young guy learning discipline. Discipline at home had nothing rational to it, becoming thus an anti-discipline. Mine was not the only home like that. Boys in America tend to be raised without guidance for being a responsible grown up man. Perhaps it is the ongoing war pattern that left discipline to the military the way parents leave teaching to the schools and reverence for God to church.



All through my teens I was afraid of having to be in a war, though by good fortune slipped in and out between Korea and Vietnam. There was no way I could know that in advance. By then I knew USA was about a war for every generation and I was next. Looking back from my late 60s, seeing these anti-war films at ages 11 and 12 made me all the more afraid of going to war. I knew by then I have no such thing as "good luck." I never won anything. If there were a hundred chances on something and I had 99, the o1 would get it. It taught me at an early age never to gamble. War was a gamble for your life. Everyone goes into it knowing the chance of survival or not being made a cripple for life is uncertain. It was the kind of odds I did not see worth betting on. But the draft gave me no choice. Like Bruce Springsteen, I was born in the USA. By no will of my own, I was an American boy and war is what you go through when you're American.



Now that generals are no longer presidential material, the presidents turn out to be men who didn't have to go to war. They are more ready to set a war in motion than the generals. Got an economy problem? Start a war. John Wayne, the great WW2 hero of the movies, was a draft dodger. I didn't have a choice. The draft was on. Daddy saw to it I was enlisted in Navy Reserve before high school graduation. By then, the military was about the same as absolute evil where I was concerned. Because I was born American I had to join the war machine and be an active cog. I was not a good sailor. Graded for my performance in those 2 years active duty, I'd give myself a D-. An F would be dishonorable discharge. I fell just short of that and going to the brig for incompetence and absence of interest. I was that guy in the 50s pop song, Please Mr Custer, I don't wanna go. There's a redskin waitin out there fixin to take my hair.



I didn't want any of it. Never wanted to wear a uniform. Never wanted to march. Never wanted to salute somebody just because he went to college and I didn't. Never wanted to kill anybody. Never wanted to live in hierarchy. Did not want my life to be about death. Did not want to die young. My desperation to live in that time is extraordinary to look back on from here. I wanted to live. Wanted a chance to see who I would become. Wanted to have a life. As far as I could tell, I hadn't had a life yet. In fact, I felt like the day I was released from military obligation for being born in the wrong country was the beginning of my life. Up to then, I had lived by other people's directions, had no idea of my own, except to be outside the constrictions of reliance on war and money, and the false religion that goes with it. It was like all that was sacred was my enemy. All 3 systems, plus, wanted me dead.



I'm not proposing this as rational thinking. It was the thinking of a teenager who felt no support from any quarter, but a grandmother, the grandmother who came from these hills. She taught me things I needed to know, like don't be looking around in church, how to transplant something so it would live. Parents never taught me anything but to stay away from them and church. By age 23 I was finally able to live by my own decisions, however poor and uninformed they might be. I wasn't going back. That's when I was released from involuntary servitude and decided that to live on I needed education, needed to learn something worth knowing besides how to hold a rifle or kill the enemy. The enemy was all around me, the whole system of servitude for bullshit reasons I'd grown up in. Everything around me was unreal. I wanted to be real, whatever that meant. Authentic, maybe. Sincere, maybe. I don't believe those questions ever got settled. Even today when I call something real or unreal, I don't know exactly what I mean. Maybe it's what we call gut response. I know it down deep, but not on the surface in the world of words.



One of my apprehensions, now, about growing old is they say memory of the distant past is present. I've consciously kept my mind out of that era before age 23 as much as I'm able. What memories from then jump to the surface leave me in a bad mood. I've spent my adult life reparenting myself, exploring in the mind, learning as much as possible without it being a fixation, unplugging mental / emotional logjams, staying outside society. Patti Smith's song, Rock & Roll Nigger is playing in my head, Outside of society--that's where I wanna be! Baby, Baby, Baby, I'm a rock & roll nigger. Patti didn't make no bones about it. Recalling at a Papa Roach concert ten or less years ago, when they did the song with the lines, I know my mother loves me, but does my father really care?, it became a male chorus. The crowd was louder than the band, and it was all guys singing. That moment, I realized this is not just my issue. It's a national epidemic. Born in the USA.



The overwhelming popularity of the song Man Of Constant Sorrow from the movie O Brother spread the song to the city audience of men that the men of the country listening to bluegrass have known very well since Ralph Stanley recorded it not long after WW2. We are a nation of men of constant sorrow. Of course, there are exceptions. Recalling the time I mentioned to Jr I'd found Man of Constant Sorrow copyrighted by Carter Stanley. He said, "It's older than that. That song goes a long ways back." Carter must have copyrighted his arrangement. The song goes way back, but the song before it was written probably goes all the way back. 6,000 years of patriarchy, this is what men have come to, constant sorrow, which we pass to the feminine via dependence and to the next generation via dependence. Authority is how men rule, and I never wanted to have authority, nor did I want to be subject to authority. I can only tolerate someone I respect having authority over me. That's why I've worked mostly for women. Didn't make much money, but respected intelligent authority.



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Wednesday, February 9, 2011

HOW I BECAME A PACIFIST




Not long ago I found a 2dvd set for $5 of the early 1950s tv show Victory At Sea, one of my favorite things on tv when I was 10, 11 and 12. Victory At Sea was video footage of the Navy on the stormy sea of war. I liked both of them, You Are There of the Army, but preferred Victory At Sea, because I loved looking at the ocean. I watch an episode or two at a time, times when there was no movie in the mail that day, or time I just want to sit and watch something that's not very long. Every one of them takes me back to childhood in that time. This is where I developed my anti-war attitude toward life. I think they were on every day during the summer, or maybe every Saturday, and I saw probably all of them several times. Watching submarines blow up ships, the glorification goes to the submarine and the enemy is a cloud of smoke. They leave out the several hundred young guys that were just like the guys shooting the torpedo, just the other side of the us and them divide, though not always.



I see dead guys on the beach, dead guys floating in the surf, guys getting shot, especially the ones doing the shooting. These were made in 1952, so the sanitizing of war footage for public viewing had not yet begun. Seeing them now, a bit more consciously than seeing them at age 11, I see what I saw then and have forgotten completely, except for the vastness of what I see over and over, European and Asian cities looking like Richmond after the Civil War. Dead people everywhere, desolate people everywhere, the horrors of war captured live on film, edited into half hour documentaries with music composed by Richard Rodgers. They were serious productions. They were the writing of history by the victors and taken very seriously as not only the big war we won, but the ugliness of war in your face to make an impression, to say enough of this. Seeing them now, I see anti-war films in the earliest years of the Military-Industrial-Congressional-Complex, just before the message became perpetual war to keep the economy going. Therefore, only the glory of war to be shown. No more pictures of our boys dead.



I watch these films now amazed at what I saw at age 11. All I remembered are billows of smoke, broken, burned out cities, planes bombing railroad lines, fighters shooting at each other, ships shooting cannons, and kamikazes, of course. There are no moments I remember, but the general impression of the whole is what I've carried unconsciously through time. I know now exactly where I got my anti-war attitudes. These films made war the worst thing I could imagine. Did I want to jump into that and get burned alive on a sinking ship? Did I want to get shot on a beach? Just because I was a boy? I didn't want to kill anybody, especially not some bozo like me on the other side who just wanted to live his life. I see the ships blow up into a cloud of smoke and while everybody on board the sub is shouting hooray, I'm thinking about the guys on the sinking ship, what they're feeling and thinking while the ground goes out from under them. Just because they're Japs wasn't a problem for me. They couldn't help where they were born any more than I could. They got caught up in a shit-happens moment just like me.



I believe these films were put together for the early years of television, 1952, seven years after the end of the war, with the intent to show us what "our boys" had been through, the horror of it, so we could appreciate the war effort, because the German element needed stopping, as did the Japanese. Both powers got out of control. This is the message. Get out of control and the whole world comes down on you. I watch these films seeing what I learned watching them, finding this is the source of some of my major attitudes toward life. The glory part passed me by. I never got that one. They show parades and people waving flags on liberation day, which is a great thing, but what a shame it was to need liberation. They show quite a lot of German and Japanese war footage too, perhaps captured film. Born too late for the propaganda before the war, I saw it all post-war when the Germans and Japs were not our enemies. I had 1/4 German blood, which I was ashamed of for a long time, until I got to Germany in my 40s and saw it was people just like us, a different culture, different language, but ultimately just folks getting by the best they know how.



What got me completely over blaming the German people for the Nazis was seeing the Bush-Cheney-Rummy takeover and how the American public fell for obvious propaganda, how well propaganda works. I watched my own country take the same path. I saw how popular fascism is everywhere, and now I am able to see fascism is not Germany specific. I watch these films made in an America that was very different from the America I live in now. Like I noticed when Obama won the election, after the week of being briefed on all the secrets the President needs to know, he has looked like a deer in the headlights ever since. Then, 1952, a working man could support a wife and kids, house payments, car payments, utilities, insurance, working in a factory, and even put away savings. Now a working man and his wife both have to work full time to keep a trailer rented. Forget savings. 30 years of inflation in what everything costs us, and wages have remained the same for the working people, while CEOs rake in many multiple millions, now billions. Our standard of living is gradually being brought down to that of Malaysia, Honduras, Nigeria, India, and will keep on going downward until we're willing to accept the wages of Indonesian sweatshops. The big wheel keeps on rolling.



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