[ Friday, March 28, 2003 ]
Day 31 to Day 33
Salinas, CA The National Steinbeck Center. Mostly de-politicized exhibit of his life and work. A few good quotes came out, such as his concern of a "creeping, all-pervading nerve-gas of immorality" among Americans, and his view that "having too many THINGS they spend their hours and money sitting on a couch searching for a soul . . ." (to Adlai Stevenson in 1959). A long time ago I saw a broadway production of the Grapes of Wrath and the only fragment of a line that I remember is ". . . everywhere there's a cop beating someone up, I'll be there . . ." etc. Somehow that always stuck with me. America. America and Americans.
Bagdad (by the Bay)
Rolling into the city yesterday, listening to Scott Ritter (former Marine military intelligence officer and UNSCOM leader) laying it out on the war. Feeling more and more disgusted and angry as the reality of "surgical airstrikes starts to leak out. Reading about the imminent humanitarian crisis caused by our act of aggression. All the while trying to feel or understand what it means for me to be an American.Decided finally that I am lucky to be an American, but not proud. And less proud than ever now that the veil has been lifted again and our foreign policy revealed as the overt imperialism that it is - all the crocodile tears for the people of Iraq and their suffering. A people who (mostly) don't want to be liberated. A people who, to whatever degree they may hate Saddam, hate us even more for waging an unprovoked and illegal war of aggression against their homeland.
And whatever happens in post-war Iraq, this war has instantly succeeded in creating a whole new generation of millions of people who hate America, and has laid the groundwork for another round of terrorist attacks against Americans, and ultimately imperialist perma-war against all of our "enemies." Way to go, George. Maybe Halliburton's stock price will compensate for the death, destruction, and horror. And that's really what matters, right?
No more American combat deaths. No more Iraqi combat deaths. No more Iraqi civilian deaths.
Soundtrack:KPFA; psy trance happy hour at the border Cantina
Reading List: SF Bay Guardian [3/28/2003]
Day 31 to Day 33
Bagdad, AZ.
Bagdad (by the Bay)
Soundtrack: psy trance happy hour at the Border Cantina
Reading List: SF Bay Guardian, [3/28/2003]
[ Tuesday, March 25, 2003 ]
Day 21 to Day 30
Tempe, AZ. The war. Withdrew from the rainy national forest campout to meet up with AZ Peace Action and some Greens on the Monday before the war started. Rush hour engagement at University and Mill, engaging motorists with antiwar signs. Reactions of automobile occupants: My informal survey - 80% indifference, 10% signal support with a wave or a smile or by leaning out of their car shouting "Fuck Bush", and 10% scream obscenities at us (every one of these is a young white male).
Bagdad, AZ. The war. Arrive in Bagdad the following day. There is no Bagdad cafe as far as I can determine. But there is "Sherrie's Kitchen," which serves me some great tacos and a diet coke. Overhear the three guys at the table next to me discussing the imminent war for about 30 seconds, the substance of which can be summarized by one of their remarks: "they oughta bomb every one of those ragheads." Rather than shouting across the restaurant, "I hope the air force goes to the wrong Bagdad and bombs your fucking house you stupid racist!", I decide that discretion is the better part of valor, finish my tacos, and drive to the Mohave desert.
Burning Woman 2003 (somewhere in the Mohave Desert, CA). Arrive at temporary autonomous zone otherwise known as Burning Woman on Wednesday, alone in the desert, sitting in my van in a huge dry lake bed, reading and thinking about the war, and feeling really bad. All that changed Thursday a.m. when Jenai and Linux reconoiter the area and discover me.
Working for the wo-man every night and day, relaxing, connecting, looking for simpatico and some sympathetic faces. Third-hand reports of the war and the protests coming in from those arriving Thursday and Friday and Saturday . . . rubber bullets in Westwood? . . . 1300 arrested in SF . . a protest in Barstow? . . . shock and awe beginning? . . . Some people wondering why we're in the desert when the world is on fire . . .
LOVE to all the freaky desert people, and the inspiration and vision and hard work of those that pulled it all off for four days in the middle of nowhere - Vlad, Jenai, Tedward, Eric, and on and on, and Aunt Daisy, whose unstoppable optimism and overall inherent goodness pulled me out of angst and anger mode - a welcome relief. Thanks to you, Desert Dragons, and pagans, and fire freaks, you all r-o-c-k!
Meeting Rik and learning about the Learning Party, and meeting Blue of the Theurgy Colorado Eco-Village brought to us by Mother and Father, and Johnny the 17th Level Raver Palladin for the words of wisdom on co-existing with the man.
Ball of confusion. The war. A stream of consciousness blocked by a flood of anger and aloneness in the world. Life, and focus, and carrying on.
Soundtrack: old hard core Frankfurt techno on cassette
Reading List: The Culture of Make Believe (half way there) [3/25/2003]
PAY ATTENTION BLACK ROCK CITY
