I’m glad I’m no longer the lamest blog run by Pembrokers. Thanks
Open Letter to Pembroke Hill About Politics and Other Things You Recently Started Caring About (Give Me a Chance, I Might Raise Your Spirits, William Kristol)
Having been implored contacted to pen an article on why I’m excited about an Obama presidency, I had to sit down and cerebrate (Good WC, right English teachers?) for a while to ensure my arguments fit the world-limit were concise and presented legitimate, policy-based reasons to be excited about four years of Barack (not just ideological propaganda involving the words “hope,” “change,” and other inspirational buzzwords). So, with this task in mind, where does someone in my position start?
How about in the least likely of places – international response to the election. As the Washington Post points out:
Wherever you look, it would seem, the world is celebrating Barack Obama’s landslide win in Tuesday’s US presidential election. To people around the globe, Obama’s victory signals a new American willingness to converse with the world instead of imposing our will upon it. (Zimmerman, 11/4/08)
Obama represents not just a new face in the White House, but a new type of American politics. Even anti-American leaders have been cordially congratulating Obama, the likes of Hugo Chavez of Venezuala, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad of Iran, and more have all sent messages of encouragement and increased relations between the United States and their respective nations. Obama has said that, unlike Bush, he will sit down with leaders around the world and discuss issues affecting both our nation and others. In an age where the world’s opinion of America is plummeting, Obama represents a paradigm shift in our governmental system and in our public opinion. His election has been called a “mandate” and the defeat of McCain strongly signals that the American public strongly dismisses the politics and foreign policy of the last eight years, which in turn signals to foreign diplomats and leaders that we are willing to reverse the course we have been on: end imperialist, militaristic expansionism; change economic policies; and open ourselves to bilateral relationships and increased presence in international organizations. Whether these things will be accomplished is indeed an unanswerable question, but whether they are or not, world opinion of the United States has softened and the Obama presidency gives us the perfect opportunity to reestablish our international standing and “soft power.” But how?
I think everyone knows Barack Obama is going to be working on the economy as a top priority (and also that Jorack OStalin is going to move our nation towards socialism at a breakneck pace) so I figured I’d fix my attention elsewhere, specifically on a few issues I feel most assionately about. So, without further ado, The Obama List (short, sweet, sexy):
1. Closing Guantanamo Bay – as the Associated Press reports, Obama plans on closing Guantanamo and moving current prisoners onto American soil, stating “Under the plan being crafted inside Obama’s camp, some detainees would be released and others would be charged in U.S. courts, where they would receive constitutional rights and open trials” (Matt Apuzzo 11/10/08). Guantanamo has long been a stain upon America’s global reputation. As Harvard scholar Joseph Nye writes in 2004,
“the American Supreme Court has asserted its independence … by recently ruling that detainees at Guantanamo Bay … must have access to legal representation. One of the greatest sources of American soft power is the openness of our democratic processes. Even when mistaken policies reduce our attractiveness, our ability to openly criticize and correct our mistakes makes us attractive to others at a deeper level.”
Thus the closing of the prison itself would be the next step in the process of self-criticism that Nye indicates. Even though closing the prison would present many new interesting legal and security issues, it would rapidly reverse much long-held anti-American sentiment. Reports indicate that much of the anti-American sentiment in areas like Iraq arises directly from our actions in Guantanamo and the secret prisons (I’ve been told they exist, but they wouldn’t be secret if I could find some hard proof) that are placed around the world.
2. Reverse Bush Executive Orders – one of the first priorities of the incoming Obama team is to quickly reverse many of the destructive policies set in place by George W. Bush. These include, of a long list of items, the Gag Rule and stem cell research prohibitions.
- The Gag Rule was an executive order, first issued by Ronald Reagan, that halted taxpayer dollars from reaching non-governmental organizations operating throughout the world if they discussed or performed abortions. The policy stops many family planning clinics across the world from providing vital information about sexually transmitted diseases, pregnancies, and marriage to women across the world. The policy has had direct results: “Family planning organizations that reject the gag rule have been forced to close clinics, cut services and increase fees …. Leading family planning agencies in another 16 countries—mostly in Africa—have lost access to much-needed U.S. condoms and contraceptives as a result of their refusal to accept the gag rule restrictions …. Research from several countries reveals a lower reliance on abortion in areas where contraceptive use is higher, reflecting greater access to family planning services …. the gag rule prevents the United States from working with some of the most effective front-line partners serving two of the populations at greatest risk of STIs, including HIV/AIDS—women and youth” (Population Action International 6/1/04). The Gag Rule has led to increased spread of HIV/AIDS and led to an increase in unsafe abortions across, the exact opposite impact of its intended purpose. Repealing the policy could be the difference between life and death for women in developing and non-developing countries across the world.
- In a 2001 speech, George Bush stated that he would permit the study of stem cell technologies but that government limits would be placed on funding and direction of research. Many reports indicate that the Bush policy on stem cell research has significantly slowed any major developments in the field, but stem cell research is vital. As the National Institute of Health reports, “Perhaps the most important potential application of human stem cells is the generation of cells and tissues that could be used for cell-based therapies. Today, … the need for transplantable tissues and organs far outweighs the available supply. Stem cells, directed to differentiate into specific cell types, offer the possibility of a renewable source of replacement cells and tissues to treat diseases including Parkinson’s and Alzheimer’s diseases, spinal cord injury, stroke, burns, heart disease, diabetes, osteoarthritis, and rheumatoid arthritis” (stemcells.nih.gov). Having known, both through the wonderful world of film and television and personally knowing people who suffer or, worse, have died from all of the above, I view any opportunity to make significant strides in new medical treatment something that requires the utmost attention.
Sure, that’s a gross over-simplification of things that Charack OBarkley is going to do for/with/against/towards America, but the thing that I’m most excited about with an Obama presidency is the increasing importance of us. Vainglorious? Perhaps, but if me and John McCain learned anything from this presidential election, it’s that there is a new political body in America that is mobilized and ready to shape our very way of life – young people! We aren’t just the ones who listen to music they don’t understand and understand how to navigate the interwebs they can’t comprehend anymore. We are a vital part of the electorate; a part of the electorate with the power to bring about the change we desire. During his campaign, Obama created an electronic database of people supporting the campaign who could eventually be contacted and called on for assistance in the future, and that’s the real “change” that America will see. Sure Obama can alter international and domestic policies, but how much do they ever really change with the president alone? The real shift that an Obama presidency could create would be the increasing importance of youth voices in the political system (YIG is cool, but come on peeps, I’m talking about real change) and with those voices come brand new experiences, ideas, and ways of understanding the world. The Obama presidency could shift the very epistemology of the federal government (hopefully with positive outcome) forever.
Sincerely yours,
Brad Bolman
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Disappear Here
I see bright U. M. B. shine from across the way. Streets lights interspersed off and on continue into the seeable distance. Sullen roads stretch into obsidian dark with nothing but recycled music groaning from warbling ancient 8-track sound system.
Streets of anonymous name and variety flow past a solitary grey Japan-made vehicle. I am one with the capitalist consumerism its flaws clumsily coalesce into subconscious acceptance; conscious reluctance to admit I’m another prostitute for the “machine.”
Listlessly the distance stares back into blank brown eyes. Strips of white submerged in the blackest of blacks slide by underneath my torso. Car stutters mutters unheard alien love discussions from a radio channel change I hear it all and transfer back to the music.
Every night I have the same nightmare that I wake up and there’s nothing left for me to see. That globalized gluttonous mass-culture continued on and left behind a Nietzschean paradise for me, that I feel nothing stronger than she imagines.
Every night I have the same dream, that you wake up and know about these flaccid feelings left unrelated unexpected in a heart’s abysmal crevices. That I escape awkward repetitive conversations that I’m more than internet 2.0 and Reality TV create, that you feel it too like every stale cliche. Did you feel it Allen Ginsberg before the Hep’ took you away?
These city roads have no life after 10 p.m., that’s when it all shuts down, when the city men head to cocktail hours late nights meeting women of dubious quality but “disease-free” their contact assures phoning in “late” again to worried wives. Soon investment banks restaurants bars everything: closed. That’s when the ‘burbs get busy when the jubilant kids own the limitless night.
I see abundant cars poorly parked surrounding charming cul-de-sacs lined with same-design mansions, constant streams progressing up slanted artisan grass, footmarks desecrate masterful landscaping, labor of love by Nikolai, hot Russian import tennis moms can’t stop flirting with behind high-end sunglasses and tumblers of Arnold Palmer’s favorite.
I see you pass red plastic cups, brimming with forbidden tonics, stigmatized conversations pass like fleeting chirps of newborn birds under bass overtones on Tech N9NE’s newest track. You who said local was “alright,” who ate country club meals for country club prices, wearing Polo-brand shirts (seafoam!) Punching in Dad’s pin number.
Who imagine interest in what lacks, in television shows you sober find sickening, in books of minimal literary achievement, in boys and girls whom parents thought were attractive 5th graders but nothing more. Who started out slow but floundering reached for more dazzling rebellious addictive alternatives.
Who crack jokes in between cup flips, who crack smiles at cute boys, who crack lies to unwitting adults, who live in a perpetual world of summer an incessant state of sycophantic Hollywood lifestyle mimicry tasting everything in public parks in vacant tennis courts in hidden alcoves. Who little brothers sisters and cousins look up to and can’t look away from at tedious melodramatic family reunions that don’t quite “touch” you anymore.
Who take their sloppy one-night lovers by the hand, staggered by not-so-foreign substances, lacking capacity for thought possessing thought enough for copulation, discarding bottles and blunts and innocence on familiar staircases going up to bedrooms you’ve never seen and won’t forget. Caught on a repeating Gravity’s Rainbow-esque adventure.
Who dread the coming of the week because it means paradise lost, sleeping through monotonous lesson plans, pop quizzes, tests, essays, essay tests, quests, school, time. Who pre-gamed Art History because you just wanted to feel alive again because you needed to make it through the day.
Who travel abroad to escape a mundane “small town” existence only to end up passed out friendless in Hungarian raves where thumping techno rhythms drown out the beat of your heart and the voice inside your head saying “go home.” Who wanted to lose it to the suave French dropout with chain smoker’s voice and “fuck the world” attitude.
Who frequent the frats like a bum patronizes the soup kitchens, always hungry for more of that love lust desire and safety of muscled arms marooning your Sancho Panzas in exchange for momentary indiscretion and thrill. Who travel home dreading the feeling that you’re a Meursault in your own house.
Who struck mothers and howled at fathers over heated screaming contests when you were found out how you ignored the tears and disappointment in exchange for another night of insouciant exploration of youth and vitality how you changed your middle name to vice.
I think of you all as city council-forgotten vicious pot-holes remind me I’m cruisin’ on Prospect with prospects, oh mother, irony overwhelms! I see single moms carrying multiple tired children and infants home to dismal hovels quick glances around in multiple protective circles (be warned!) She’s not someone to mess with tonight.
Of puffy black-coat-wearing wannabe gangsters and thugs trying to replicate the Tupac and Biggy style and avoid the Tupac and Biggy outcome glocks riding inside pockets and dimebags situated in safe zip-up havens Timbaland boots tap broken sidewalks, all children of broken homes. Which one do I get it from?
But constant road vibrations mix with cellular vibrations, reminding me of what I missed requesting I join the fun. Will I be there soon? Who’s calling? Silence. Lapse of control so momentary I’ll forget it happened in the morning none of this happened. Just another night.
Just turn right then left then right again. A man walking home to his lack of a home. This city lost its life and why didn’t anyone let me know? Thunder clap cacophonous sends bolts of light plummeting earthward furiously but you don’t affect me.
I come to a red light, with an urge to drive through, and I pump the break when I see a billboard sign. All it says is “Reappear Here” and it’s an advertisement for a lifestyles magazine. Am I just like Clay? Am I feeling less than zero? I turn off the ignition to make it all stop.
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When the President Talks to God
A short story.
When the President talks to God, does he ever think that maybe he’s not? That the voice is just inside his head when he leans next to the presidential bed? Does he ever smell his own bullshit, when the President talks to God? (“When the President Talks to God” by Bright Eyes)
* * * * *
The president’s knees met the familiar, blue carpeting of his bedroom. He felt a quickly evaporating soreness in his left thigh, a reoccurring pain left by the quadriceps tear during his senior year as middle linebacker for St. Mary’s high school football team. As his muscular hands closed together, the quiet blue eyes, now framed with three distinct wrinkles, shut slowly. This was a quotidian activity, one of the few elements in his daily schedule that he could always count on as a relaxant.
“Glory to you, Lord. That this evenin’ may be holy, good and peaceful, let me pray with a unified heart and mind. As my evening prayer rises before you, O God, so might your mercy come down ‘pon me to cleanse my heart and set me free to sing your praise now and forever. Amen.”
The deep, gravelly voice that had kept him off of the school choir but in the girls’ hearts rose quietly above the music emanating from elsewhere within the White House. “A waltz,” he thought to himself. He paused and took the gentle breeze that whistled past his window as a sign that he ought to continue talking.
“Lord, I have before me a problem. A problem — well, Lord, this is a big one.” The wind stopped and the music was no longer audible. Rarely did these conversations venture into territory as important as this, and he was uncertain how to proceed on such a delicate query.
“Today I received a briefing statin’ the People’s Republic of Waki— Wari — Waziristan— may have completed the construction of a nuclear warhead. Now, as I’m sure you’ve been hearin’ on the news recently, well, Lord, relations between our nations aren’t so hot. I’m worried we are facin’ a grave threat — I’m worried they’ll attack us.” He waited at least ten seconds before continuing, hoping the magnitude of the situation might settle in for both of them.
“As you know, Lord, I’m a believer in the powers of diplomacy, but this time, I think… well, I think war looks to be our only option.”
At this point, he opened his eyes, looking directly past the red, pleated curtains, out the window towards the dark, equinoctial sky. Silence.
“Lord, I’ll give you some time to think this matter over, and I’ll be back tomorrow night to hear your answer. Until then, I’m a bit tired, so I bid you farewell.”
Maybe he was just tired, but swore he heard a voice inside his head reply, “Thank you, Goodnight, Mr. President.”
* * * * *
The Secretary of State meandered back and forth in front of the strategy table. Her back was to the figures seated at the table, but she could have named and placed each participant with her eyes closed. The President, of course, was seated at the head of the table, manning the leather-backed chair built two decades back, staring straight at her with those piercing blue eyes, gathering in the information displayed on her PowerPoint. The Secretary of Defense was seated on the left of the President, a slight, sneering grin the only decoration on his otherwise toneless face. The Vice President occupied the seat at his right hand, right knee crossed over the left with his Brooks Brothers suit shimmering from a recent cleaning.
“Gentlemen, as you are aware, the situation in Waziristan is worrying, but given that very little information has been confirmed, we need to act cautiously. I’m certain that, even if the intelligence is confirmed, this situation can be resolved peace—”
“Madam secretary, I’d first like to commend you, you’re doing a heck of a job. To the point though, I think we in this room have got to decide to what lengths we’re willing to go to solve this problem,” said the Vice President, his voice full of that strength, so admired on the campaign trail. It was the reason he had been chosen for the position, even though, as Mayor of a small Mississippi town, he was relatively unqualified for the position.
“Well, Mr. Vice President, I feel that, with all due respect, we can rule out the use of invasion, air strikes, or a nuclear strike—”
The Secretary of Defense interjected, “Madam, I happen to agree with the Vice President in this situation. We know from previous dealings that these Muslims cannot be trusted to act as clearheadedly and predictably as we might expect from someone like, Russia, or another Western nation. I think that we’ve got to decide whether we’re willing to use force, even the bomb, to protect the interests of America. And, because we are like the ‘city on the hill’ that President Reagan used to talk about — well, I believe we represent the interests of the Western world. That means our response will be accepted and applauded by our friends around the globe. I happen to be of the persuasion — and perhaps this is a radical view — but I happen to be under the belief that we’ve got to be willing to solve this problem with the purest utilitarian means.”
“Are you seriously sugges—” the Secretary of State tried to add before she was interrupted again.
“Yes, madam, I am suggesting the use of a nuclear missile against Waziristan. At this point, I view it as the best course of action.”
“Think about Ira—” but she thought better of bringing up that bit of history. She paused and remembered the aide who had been fired last week arguing that America had lost in Iraq. She looked at the Secretary of Defense with a look of utter disbelief written visibly across her face. “We don’t even know for certain if they have the bomb!”
“And we may never know,” replied the Secretary of Defense, “but I do know one thing, and that is — and I think I speak for most of us here — I’m willing to break a few eggs to saves the lives of our civilians. If it means saving the lives of millions of Americans, if it means saving everything that we stand for, I think I’m willing to advocate pushing that button.”
The color drained from her newly tanned face. For a moment the Secretary of State stood in silence. Then she mustered some hidden reserve of courage and, in a voice of rising hostility, said, “You can’t possibly! This goes against every part of the Non-Proliferation Treaty! Nothing has even been confirmed yet, we’re running on — well we’re running on pure speculation right now! And let me remind you, that up until that oil pipeline debacle, we had been on very cordial terms with the administration in Waziristan.”
The President, having sat quietly until this point, fumbling absently with the ripped arm on his chair, decided it was time to calm down the room. “Now, I think you’ve both got some very good points. But she’s right, we couldn’t authorize an attack on what we’ve got now. At the same time, I don’t think we, as leaders of the free world, could sit by and allow atrocities like these to occur against our Western brothers.” Once again, there was a pause. He looked around the room, measuring the degree to which they were following him before he continued. “What we need is a reason, a good reason, maybe backed by some hard data, that will the unite the American people against this threat.”
“Sir?” A voice seemed to come from nowhere.
“Who is that?”
“Mr. President, I’m right here.” It was the mousy intern he had hired to take notes for him during meetings. Sitting in an ill-fitting corduroy jacket, Lenovo laptop placed on his right leg, the intern took a sip before continuing. “Mr. President, I think I might have an idea. If you’ll remember, there were some rumors a few months back that President Bajir of Waziristan had been keeping secret prisons in a southern section of the country. I’m thinking that if we play this up as a violation of human rights, we can win over a lot of liberals, including some positive CNN and New York Times coverage.”
“Who is this fellow?” the Secretary of State wondered out loud.
“Well who he is doesn’t matter, now does it? He’s got a good idea, so we need to follow up a little. Jim? —”
“It’s James, sir.”
“Right, James, don’t worry, I never forget a name. Get this story out there as fast as possible and let me know what the reaction is. Look, gentlemen and ladies , I believe — we believe, I should say — that this administration has received a silent blessing from God. I think we’ve got to make the Christian decision here. Even if this whole ‘human rights violator’ piece doesn’t go over so well, we’ve all got to be willing to make the right decision when the choice comes to us. By tomorrow, I expect we may have to make a decision that we cannot undo. Everyone is dismissed.”
* * * * *
“Well God, I’m back. I hope you had plenty of time to think the situation over, and I’m interested in hearin’ your thoughts.” Once again, silence fell upon the presidential bedroom. Directly in front of the President’s face, his sheets lay, crisply pressed by Matilda. It was another of the “perks” he was always bragging to his brother in South Carolina about.
“Well, Mr. President, this is certainly not an either/or situation.”
“You got that right, big guy.”
“The choice you make will probably reveberate for decades. People, not only Americans, will be affected by your choice.”
“And that’s why it’s so hard. Jesus! Why can’t these choices be easier? Why can’t there be a nice, little, black and white decision? The question I keep askin’ myself is, ‘Can these Muslim souls be saved?’ But I need your help findin’ the answer.”
The deep, soothing voice reverberated inside his head. “Mr. President, I can’t make the decision for you. But I can assure you that whatever choice you make, it will be the choice Heaven intended you to make, and that you will be my messenger. Mr. President, it is your job to maintain America’s status as leader of the free world. You must do whatever it takes.”
“Thank you. Knowin’ I’ve got your confidence means everything. I’ll do the right thing tomorrow. ‘Night.” A long silence fell upon the President, the searing pain in his thigh again became apparent and he winced slightly, leaning to shift the burden of his body to the other leg. But that didn’t solve the problem, so he shifted back. After a few seconds of restless movements back and forth, he stood up slowly and turned to the door. He walked out into the hallway, steps echoing on the marble floor, turned right into his office, then stood pensively in front of his solid oak desk. He took out a small, silver key, tucked behind the twelfth grade yearbook photograph of his daughter in his wallet, and unlocked the third drawer in the desk. “Took a tree to make this desk,” he would’ve said if there were an aide behind him. They, in turn, would have responded that it was a “remarkable tree indeed,” and an awkward silence would have ensued. After withdrawing a small bottle, he unscrewed the cap and took a long swig. “Boy, were things different than the old days working the family farm in Virginia during the summers back from college,” he thought. After a second swill from the bottle, he felt assured of himself. He re-screwed the cap, deposited the bottle back into its resting place, slid shut and locked the drawer, walked back to his bedroom and quickly fell asleep.
* * * * *
The next day at exactly 12:37 p.m., Eastern Standard Time, the President of the United States of America received clearance to launch one, hair-trigger, inter-continental ballistic missile targeting the Democratic Republic of Waziristan. A mere three minutes later, he pushed the red button, activating the warhead and beginning the countdown to launch. The President was later told that the death toll estimated to be 274,000. At 1:20 p.m., the Vice President uncorked a bottle of Dom Perignon Vintage 1998 in a newly crowded White House Conference Room and cheers arose from the surrounding staff and cabinet members. Some aides had converted one of the Conference Room tables to a poker game and on a day like this, who could blame them? One aide could be heard shouting above the bunch that “Fukuyama was wrong, THIS was the end of history!” Hearing this, the President smiled to himself and looked towards the ceiling, giving a quick wink that only his highest advisor noticed.
Posted in Ars Tagged brad bolman, Bright Eyes, english, President, religion, short story, When the President talks to God Leave a comment
The Forced Choice (Or Our Lack of Freedom)
Much like new seasons of my favorite television shows (*cough* Lost *cough*), Pembroke Hill has an incredible ability to disappoint me with the changes made each new season that I return to. The changes this year, shockingly considering Pembroke’s historically pre-historic take on technology (I’m looking at you, Oregon Trail 2 in 5th grade!), center around increasing and, also surprisingly, decreasing our use of new-fangled technological devices. I know the question that you are jumping to ask, and yes, we finally upgraded from Word 2000 to Word 2003. I was just as excited as you are. But EVEN bigger changes were afoot this time around. *Gasp*
How wide Wi-Fi?
The largest of these big changes (other than that Cafe, of course, which refuses to accept my patronage because it refuses to accept my credit card) was the introduction of Wi-Fi internet access for all the students who desired to finally be able to turn on their laptops at school and log directly on to the World Wide Web. Well, except for people without laptops. Oh, and it’s only for people with Windows laptops (Seriously, it’s not like Apple’s market-share is growing faster than any other computer company. Oh wait, it is!). Oh, and it’s also only for people who spend their entire school day sitting inside the Commons. Jump for joy you sliding seniors! Everybody else… just wait. Well wait right there Brad, maybe Wi-Fi is just a gift for the hardest working of Pembroke’s illustrious students. Maybe, but I’ll wager that the hardest working upperclass(people) aren’t the ones with enough time to surf Facebook from their laptops in the Commons.
The Forced Choice
If you are anyone else (Well, I’ll be, that’s me!), you can justifiably raise your hand and say that you are just a little bit pissed-the-fuck-off. And rightly so, fine student, because this (is injustice too strong?) injustice is exemplary of a theme that I’ve noticed has become more and more pronounced with every year that I get closer to leaving this institution of higher (or, since it’s not University, as a French fellow might say, lower) learning: “Freedom with responsibility” is a lie. Well, no. That’s not exactly right. As Slovenian psychoanalyst Slavoj Zizek said:
What is this famous “freedom with responsibility” if not a new version of the good old paradox of forced choice: you are given a freedom of choice – on condition that you make the right choice; you are given freedom – on condition that you will not really use it.
That, I think, is exactly what “freedom with responsibility” is becoming: we have all the freedom we could ever want, so long as we only make the choice forced upon us. More bluntly, we are only free so long as we accept the freedom that the school decides we deserve. “You have the freedom to gain access to Wi-Fi, so long as you only use it in the Commons and don’t ask for more.”
The Gift
Indeed, while this originally seems an expansion of freedom, the “gift” of Wi-Fi is, as Marcel Mauss describes it in his famous book, The Gift, part of a larger reciprocal exchange, i.e. we accept the gift of Wi-Fi but give up our ability to fully use it everywhere. Under this framework, we can view every “expansion” of our freedom at school as an attempt to nullify, pacify, even eliminate, our anger at our real lack of freedoms. Is it not very peculiar that the “gift” of Wi-Fi comes at the same time that dress codes are strengthened, at the same time that cell phone penalties are increased, at the same time that iPods are banned?
I view the strengthening of the punishments for use of cellphones and iPods as a direct contradiction of the motto that is supposed to govern activities throughout Pembroke Hill, not just for the students, but also for the faculty and administration. We do not have any real “freedom” to have our cellphones. Our freedom exists only to legitimate other freedoms being taken away. In other words, our choice of freedom denotes how inherently not free we are. With this in mind, it is not surprising to realize that the school is not responsible in the wake of our irresponsibility: a detention should not correspond to one student forgetting to turn off their ringer before biology. Warnings, lunch duties, detentions, all of these attempts to rehabilitate merely refine and encourage so-called “criminal” activity. Nearly all who frequently get detentions no longer view it as punishment (just ask Carlton).
The iPod policies (specifically the section that bans the use of iPods even in the library) does not even hide behind some image of improving discipline. It is a direct violation of our freedom. Why should the motto not be violated both ways? Are we really to hold ourselves to a lower ground than the administration? Now certainly, as we are students at a private school, the administration certainly possesses the ability to drastically reduce our in-school rights, but they should do so openly, so that our parents, our students, our clubs and organizations might also be able to openly address these issues. We do not have freedom with responsibility, inversely, we have responsibility with the limited freedoms that we are given. We are stuck in a limbo where each violation of our freedom must be addressed by some new “gift” to pacify any nature of rebellious tendencies.
Every year, Mr. Bellis gives me a speech on the first day of school, usually proposing some ideal by which I ought to hold myself to throughout the year. If we were to ask for the inverse of this (what we students give to the faculty and administration as our “ideal” of how they ought to act in the school year) we would find nothing. I think now is the time for that “ideal.” I certainly do not claim to speak for everyone, but, at the same time, I claim that as just another student of the mass, my word is, in a way, the word of every student. The ideal that we ought to hold the faculty to: you maintain our freedom if we maintain our responsibility. Give us back our iPods, as long as we do not listen to them while a teacher is lecturing. Give us internet in every room in the building and for every type of computer. Sure, these seem like pitiful requests, but as someone who gives up five days of every week towards “school” I think the few freedoms we do have ought to be respected. That, or drop any pretenses of this motto and state simply that, “This school deprives every student who enters its doors of certain freedoms, and that you, as students, may never hope to get these freedoms back.” Perhaps we might laugh and say that that motto is ridiculous! Perhaps, even unfair! But, in reality, the Golden Rule is a poor diversion for an increasingly harsh disciplinary society at Pembroke.
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Returning the Broken Kettle
(Soon to be published in the Voice, this one has a few added bonuses. Who knew you couldn’t say “clusterfuck” in a school paper?.)
In a 1939 radio address, Franklin Delano Roosevelt stated that “repetition does not transform a lie into truth.” Nearly seventy years later, it is miraculous how his words seem tailor-made to rebuke the Bush administration’s strategy in Iraq. Before the invasion, the American people were told repeatedly that Iraq represented a direct danger to our interests — Iraq possessed weapons of mass destruction (not really), Saddam had strong connections with al Qaeda (ouch, wrong again) — and 933 other Bush administration lies and canards (Jumping Jesuits, Batman!). Sorry George, we aren’t studying for a Graves test; repetition doesn’t work like that. As if Bush would know anyways. The last time he studied something he was trying to understand the deeper meaning of The Very Hungry Caterpillar.
In 2003, swept up in post-911 patriotic fervor, citizens of the United States were willing to accept any drastic steps deemed necessary to defeat the “terrorists.” Billed as the Pepto-Bismol for world stability, Iraq was that step. Five years later, we’ve created more terrorists than ever existed before, we are faltering in our mission in Afghanistan, and increasingly Iraq looks like a colossal imbroglio from which we will never escape. I may differ from the “loyal Bushies” and other right-leaning acolytes, but I refuse to accept that supporting a blatantly colonial war in a country that Ms. South Carolina couldn’t even point out on a map is representative of “American” ideals. Considering the loss of American lives that President Bush’s project has wrought, the only appropriate American stance on the war in Iraq is to stand firmly against it. I, therefore, agree with leading Democrats (and many Republicans) for a phased withdrawal from Iraq. Let’s elaborate, shall we?
So What’s the Plan?
A friend told me that the problem with the Iraq war is that there is no clear exit. I agree, anonymous friend. We are lost in the consequences of American superiority: in our innocence and beliefs in America’s exceptionalism inculcated since kindergarten, we are lost in a pre-Vietnam confidence in our own power. There will be no easy exit strategy. True. But there will also be no clear victory. At what point can we declare that “we” have won? When Iraq becomes the 51st state? We are in over our heads as a nation; and sadly, no action in Iraq will foster a miraculous hegira back to glory, nor will they win us allies and supporters around the world. We need to stop kidding ourselves – Iraq will never be the secular nation we are attempting to create, because religion and Islam are too important to its culture and history. Thus, the best strategy is withdrawal. As the expression goes, “When the going gets tough, the tough get going.” Let’s get going. Barack Obama proposes a 16-month full withdrawal from Iraq. But let’s clear up a common misconception about such a withdrawal – we aren’t abandoning the Iraqis in a torrent without an umbrella. The Obama plan mandates soldiers to stay in Iraq and to protect embassies and diplomats. If al Qaeda should attempt to create a stronghold in Iraq once we are gone, U.S. forces stationed in Iraq will carry out strikes on their terrorist positions. “But Brad,” you say in an insouciant voice. “Why would we want to take our soldiers out of Iraq?” Fearless reader, I’m glad you asked….
Just Like Governor Spitzer’s Hookers, Iraq’s Been Costly
Every war requires an honest evaluation of the costs of battle in comparison to the benefits. From the first days of shock and awe to 2008 (Wait, the mission was accomplished in May 2003? Right?), more than 95,000 Iraqi civilians have died. And 4,031 American soldiers have lost their lives thousands of miles away from their families, friends, and homeland. We cannot eschew these statistics or their implications unless we are willing to complacently and naively hand over our lives (and those of Iraqis) to a government in Washington willing to “sacrifice” them on what now seems like a whim.
For those as concerned about money and our economy as about the loss of American lives, the economic costs of this war effort have been equally staggering. The Iraq war has cost the U.S. of A. nearly one trillion dollars. If you consider the impecunious state of the American economy and then imagine adding a booster shot of one trillion dollars back into our economy, the picture becomes clearer and a hell of a lot brighter.
Just Like the Pope at a Tech N9ne Concert, We Shouldn’t Be There
The U.S. invasion of Iraq must also be examined on the basis of international legality. The invasion not only violated the sovereignty of the Iraqi people, but also a majority of international laws. The United States scoffed in the face of The Hague and Geneva Conventions, “which clearly restrict the right of occupying powers to interfere in the internal affairs of an occupied people” (Arnove 68) and quickly assumed the undisputed distinction of “World’s Largest Hypocrite.” We scold China about its human rights abuses and tell the government of Darfur not to wage war against its own people, while we occupy a sovereign nation in the name of their freedom and ignore a host of international legal standards.
Just Like Tipsy, Trigger-Happy Security Guards, We’re Aren’t Making Anyone Safer
Recent studies suggest that the American occupation of Iraq has increased, rather than decreased, the number of terrorists (Arnove 76). While accomplishing the opposite of his plans may be a Bush trademark, as a nation, America does not have to continue down this path. Al Qaeda didn’t show up in Iraq until after the invasion, and any ostensible links between Saddam and bin Laden have been proven incorrect. Once George W. Bush leaves office, Osama bin Laden will no longer have an “old, neo-conservative president” to direct his hatred at, and Sunni fighters in Iraq will no longer seek intiqaam (revenge) for the destruction wrought on their families, friends, and property. Once we withdraw from Iraq, the terrorism and insurgency will slowly cease.
Many proponents of continuing the war argue that withdrawal will lead to a regional civil war. These people (who will not, by the way, be joining the army because they have “more important things to do”) obviously don’t read the newspapers. The longer our forces stay in Iraq, the more resistance our occupation breeds. As American forces leave, the predominately-Shiite government has the opportunity to rule without the stigma of being seen as “puppets” of foreign “infidels.” Sunnis would be more likely to meet with Shiite leaders and begin the needed reconciliation process (Nir Rosen). Some proponents of the war insist that al Qaeda would create a stronghold in the region if the U.S. were to withdraw. This is less likely than finding the Golden Ticket. Al Qaeda and other foreign terrorist groups make up a numerically insignificant part of the insurgency. Often overlooked but crucially important is the fact that there are other Middle Eastern nations, and they can serve as regional watchdogs to keep Iraq in check. Iran, Syria, Egypt, and even Israel, all see a peaceful, militarily prostrate Iraq as beneficial to regional stability – and can invest in making sure that happens. Were Iraq to fall into civil turmoil, these nations would ensure minimal fallout. It’s in their vested interest to do so.
Just Like Nixon, You Can’t Cheat The System And Maintain Power
The war in Iraq has damaged our reputation as a nation and as a world power. Much of America’s influence in the international arena lies in what has been termed soft power. “[Soft power] is the ability to get what you want through attraction rather than coercion or payments. It arises from the attractiveness of a country’s culture, political ideals, and policies” (Joseph Nye). Iraq has permanently damaged America’s reserves of soft power. The impact is clear and visible to us all. A homeless man whom I asked for a quote for this article told me that the best way to win an election is to have the most friends. Wise words, sir. In an era where the United States must increasingly compete for the role of international “hegemon” in a global contest with a rapidly growing China and expanding European Union, friends become of the utmost importance. Iraq alienated not only Middle Eastern nations, but European and African nations as well. We must rebuild the trust of these nations to strike up lasting military, economic, and political ties. Withdrawing from Iraq is the first, and most critical, step in this process.
Posted in Ars, Asides, Opinio Tagged brad bolman, fdr, george bush, Iraq, iraq withdrawal, pope, soft power, tech n9ne, terrorism, the voice Leave a comment
This Is Debate – Rejected by The Voice
Imagine two suit jacketed boys seated in desks in front of a large audience of people. One boy stands, ready to deliver an oration qua snarky, Southern drawl on the quirks and eccentricities of the C.I.A.’s covert involvement in Iran…
Snoozefest. That’s the past and this is now, so there has to be something better, right? Enter policy debate. It’s like a presidential debate on ‘roids combined with a little heady politico-philosophical jargon and a hefty bit of International Relations theory. Or, more simply, two teams of two people attempting to make the other team look like fools about issues far beyond the intellectual capacities of your average high schooler. (This is not to say that you are stupid, but until a student can come up to me and literately argue either pro or con for United States assention into the UNCLOS or the ability of Lacanian theory to be applied to modern politics, then we’ll talk.) Now, imagine all of this discussion being done at speeds from 250-400 words per minute. As fun as it is exciting, as entertaining as it is time-consuming. Policy debate is the single greatest school activity you will sign up for. It’s got the research of newspaper, the computers from computer club, the sex appeal from fashion club, the fancy-pants intellect of book club, the political involvement without the ignorance of Liberals and Conservatives club, and the delicious food of cooking club. Debate is kind of like an auto-replenishing refrigerator: it’s all you’ll ever need (for sustenance).
The activity is simple, every round one team will affirm a topic and one team will negate. The only rule in debate are the speech time limits. Everything else is… up for debate. Get it? It’s funny because the sport is called debate… The cool beans bit is that you can affirm or negate from literally any angle. You could rap, you could dance, or you could just read an enormous amount of research that you’ve done. The options are endless and the space for creativity is enormous.
I’ve seen debate rounds won on the argument that federal government bill texts are racist, that bombing Iran is good, that humanity must traverse the psychoanalytical fantasy to break down capitalism, that nuclear winter will engulf the entirety of the world bringing food production to a standstill and cause the extinction of the entire human race. In an essence, policy debate is a forum for ideas, both ridiculous and not, to be interrogated and better understood. Policy debate helped me to near-perfect History test grades on international history, gave me a new ability to discuss almost any issue, regardless of whether or not I have any knowledge about it, and brought incredible research know-ho to my table.
Debate also brought a lot of trophies and plaques and medals to my mantle. It made me and a host of fellow fools top-ranked debaters in the nation. And you can be that guy/girl too! Now, you’re probably saying “I’m not smart enough” or “I don’t have time.” Neither is true because debate is the great equalizer. Anyone can become good if they’re willing to try, and just like Pringles, once you pop the fun don’t stop. You might be busy, but so is everyone on the team and trust me there’s still plenty of time for anyone else your heart could desire.
At the end of the day, all this article is is a typed-up infomercial. SHAMWOW! In one minute the majority of you will walk away and forget you ever read this piece of demi-propaganda or any other articles in the paper forever, or, you can change that. You can be like “Heck yeah, I wanna debatez!” Making a change in your life used to equal starting a diet, but not anymore. Unless by starting a diet you mean a diet from lameness… by joining debate. That joke wasn’t good, but debate is. Here’s how to do it: 1. Contact anyone on the team, 2. Email pembrokedebate@gmail.com 3. Talk to Mr. Douglas Miller. SHAMWOW! If you’d prefer nobody know you are on the debate team, don’t worry, we understand.