Monkey See, Monkey Do

I heard the pundits” talking this morning on MSNBC about “doing" Iran, as in, invasion, as in pre-meditated attack, as in sexual fantasy emboldened by Imperial Viagra—god knows how many fantasies must be simultaneously in play for this blather to be fully aired aboard the Kow-Towing media barges.

The way it works in today’s Washington is that the decision is made—the Republic spins in counter-revolution to the sun; then the Bushies tell the pundits to talk it up (which they get paid handsomely to do—remember that talking isn’t the same as truth telling)—and the cycle of proposed vainglory and real violence begins afresh—this time we will have a “Gulf of Tonkin” but without a resolution, eh Gov?

That’s right. There will be no Congressional oversight at all. Look at the passivity and vacuous language of the pundits. I don’t see anyone standing up and calling for the restoration of reason. We’re in a terrible way in America when “reason” is “treasonous” and yet that’s where we seem to be. Viva Viagra! As if two failed wars aren’t enough, let’s start another one!

Does anyone remember the closing scene in the film “Aguirre, The Wrath of God”? Klaus Kinski stands on a battered raft somewhere in the Amazon—conquistador haunted by sun stroke and a thousand monkeys, the raft just spinning and all that merciless sunlight. That’s the perfect image of imperial failure—which is of course imaginative failure with real lives in the balance.

S.K.

The Blind Have Vision, Too

I am teaching a film course this summer at the University of Iowa. I imagine that for one or two students the sight on day one of a blind professor entering the classroom (replete with a guide dog) was a minor surprise.

I like to think this was a "minor" surprise because I choose to think that we have come a long, long way as a nation when it comes to how we think about people with disabilities in general and blind people in particular.

When I say that I "like" to think these are the new conditions I’m really saying that I’ve learned to see the glass as being just a little more than half full.

That’s a position rather than a verifiable condition. I recognize the difference.

Speaking on behalf of blind and visually impaired people I know that the struggles that we face are steep and often quite enervating. Doors lack Braille signage; guide dogs are misunderstood by store owners or cab drivers;audio and video technologies are not properly accessible for blind users; the blind have a higher degree of unemployment and a greater likelihood of not matriculating in higher education. There are so many problems. The way forward still appears steep, even in the 21st century in America.

Last evening Katie Couric of CBS News interviewed Governor David Paterson of New York about his experiences over the past 100 days—a traditional period of political "seasoning" in the United States—yet her questions were largely focused on the Governor’s blindness.

The conditional nature of blindness became the true subject of her presentation: Governor Paterson’s "vision"for New York was not under discussion. His assessment of the state’s economy or its pressing difficulties when it comes to assisting the eroding middle class were not part of the interview.

Instead Katie Couric wanted to know how the Governor processes information.

I think the glass is more than half full but really, after almost two centuries during which we have understood in western societies that blind people are indeed literate and therefore are capable of reasoning, this line of questioning or observation was really out of step with the times—"our times"—and by turns, such reporting does a disservice to the blind at large. I wish this wasn’t the case. I like the glass with more Malbek grapes in it. I like the notion that the broader American public is better informed and better educated about disability than this CBS interview would suggest.

And So I choose to imagine that we are farther along the road when it comes to thinking about disability in cultural terms.

In my film class this week we looked at one of the foundational American films concerning blindness—" The Miracle Worker" which is still a great film. That movie introduced to the broad American public the story of Annie Sullivan and Helen Keller. Sullivan fought hard to teach the young Helen Keller the very precepts of language—the foundations of consciousness. That was a profoundly important story "then" and it’s a important story "now"—save with this one difference. We know that the blind and the "blind-deaf" can read, correspond, "talk" and play like other citizens.

We do know that, don’t we?

Let me continue to think the glass is at least a little more than half full.

S.K.

Of Medicine and Scrooge

I saw the report this morning about the death of Esmin Green who died in the emergency room of a New York City psychiatric hospital.

Her death was preserved on surveillance tape. If you’re a sighted person you can watch the video at ABC News: http://abcnews.go.com/US/story?id=5284151&page=1

This is horrifying footage for it shows two security officers and a doctor walking in and out of the emergency room where Mrs. Green was lying "in extremis" on the floor. They ignored her very presence and she subsequently died. It is no exaggeration to say that this woman’s death is a direct result of the corrupt behavior of the hospital’s staff.

Was her race the problem? Was her mental illness and her race the problem? Was her status as an American in question because her home country was Jamaica? Was she the wrong height or weight for medical care? Was she forced to wait for 24 hours in the emergency room because she was insufficiently personable, convenient, clean, soulful, wise, or articulate?

Only the corporate ownership of this Brooklyn psychiatric facility can explain how a human being, a fellow child of God could be treated with such inhumane inaction. 24hours awaiting a bed! And left alone to die on a floor.

Already we hear that the doctor in question has been relieved of his duties. I should say this is not enough. Prison time and the loss of a medical license is the bare minimum for such terrifying behavior.

Or will the perpetrators of this offence against morality and medical ethics be allowed to "walk" because , after all, in American health care circles "you get what you pay for?"

Esmin Green was mentally ill and awaiting a bed.

What did those hospital employees say to themselves upon seeing Mrs. Green on the floor after a full day of waiting for care? Did they say like Scrooge:

Are there no prisons? Are there no workhouses?

S.K.

Continue reading “Of Medicine and Scrooge”

Autobiographia Litteraria

         

            Johnny Nolan has a patch on his ass
            Kids chase him

                    –Lawrence Ferlenghetti

            O I had that thing—
Patch on the ass,
Guaze-y S.O.S. dangling
Like a fig,
Stain on the world–
            & the kids who ate dirt
Geniuses all—
They knew
The sign–
            Bull’s Eye;
Local flag;
Dog in the manger;
Birth mark;
            Patch on the ass;
& God have mercy—
Running for your life
Hoping
Just that once
To cut out
Into stray eternity;
Morse code in your head;
            Patch on the ass;
            Patch on the ass;

& street lights coming on.

Anything is Possible!

This week went by so fast.  I was barely able to tie my shoes and catch the bus or so it seemed most days.  And yet, chaos and broken shoe laces aside, I would be deeply remiss if I didn’t point out that on Wednesday last, the U.S. House of Representatives overwhelmingly passed the ADARA by a vote of 402 to 17.

Now the number “17” is a huge thing if you’re talking NBA championships a la the Boston Celtics.

But it is merely a dropped feather in the corn when it comes to legislative opposition and I’m for one going to send each of those 17 nay sayers a motley feather as soon as I can round them up.

As for the Boston Celtics one has to be forever charmed by the sight of Kevin Garnett half singing, half shouting “Anything is Possible !”   

S.K.

Sound Familiar?

The news that Barack Obama is willing to support amnesty concerning illegal wiretapping of American citizens by the communications companies,(see: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2008/06/25/obama-on-fisa-security-tr_n_109257.html) (presumably  as a piece of real- politic to gain the White House) reminded me of this bit of prose by Allen Ginsburg, written almost fifty years ago in July, 1959. 

S.K.

“The stakes are too great-an America gone mad with materialism, a police-state America, a sexless and soulless America prepared to battle the world in defense of a false image of its authority. Not the wild and beautiful America of the comrades of Walt Whitman, not the historic America of William Blake and Henry David Thoreau where the spiritual independence of each individual was an America, a universe, more huge and awesome than all the abstract bureaucracies and authoritative officialdoms of the world combined.

Only those who have entered the world of spirit know what a vast laugh there is in the illusory appearance of worldly authority. And all men at one time or other enter that Spirit, whether in life or death.

How many hypocrites are there in America? How many trembling lambs, fearful of discovery? What authority have we set up over ourselves, that we are not as we are? Who shall prohibit an art from being published to the world? What conspirators have power to determine our mode of consciousness, our sexual enjoyments, our different labors and our loves? What fiends determine our wars?

When will we discover an America that will not deny its own God? Who takes up arms, money, police, and a million hands to murder the consciousness of God? Who spits in the beautiful face of poetry which sings of the glory of God and weeps in the dust of the world?”

Poor Me

Melissa’s a  Failure.  (Is she EVER!)
Blue girl is too.
So does that mean that even though I may be a "Poor" 1930’s wife, I’m still superior to them?

25

As a 1930s wife, I am
Poor

Take the test!

Don’t
tell them  I just missed being a "failure" by one point.  They don’t
need to know I may have stretched the truth just a bit when I said I
"dress for breakfast".  Considering the fact that I am usually in my birthday suit when I roll out of bed, anything I might put on is considered dressing, isn’t it?

~ Connie

Ota Benga Blues

I confess that war, pestilence, natural disasters and the nation’s collapsing infrastructure have recently done a good deal to erode my sense of humor. I’m guessing that you, in turn, likely have your own inner struggles with our blemished planet.

To cheer myself I decided to take a little walk around my neighborhood. The weather was fair after the Biblical Midwestern floods. I was feeling cautiously optimistic. As far as I could tell I wasn’t dead. 

Then I met them: a middle aged couple strolling about ten to fifteen yards ahead of me on the sidewalk.

Now you may well ask: “How do you know they were a middle aged couple, etc. since you can’t see worth a damn,” and I’d say to you that you’re absolutely right—they might have been past middle age—they could have been Senior Citizens, or perhaps they were a couple of lumpy Sasquatch wearing Izod shirts and shorts.    

And you’d be right to point out this “wrinkle” of veracity not merely in this instance but in all narrative employments rendered by means of my pen. 

It’s true: I have no idea what these two individuals look like. But if you want truth I suggest you read the “Style” section of the New York Times.

They were slow. And they were trying to go faster because I was coming up quickly from behind with my guide dog.

Their respective feet suddenly went “skippy-scuppy, skippy scuppy” and I could hear the drape of their considerable shorts making “zith zith” noises.

Yep. They were almost running to stay ahead of me. Then they reached the perpendicular turn that I was planning to take, and sure enough: they stopped and spun around (shorts making little gulping noises) and they stared as I came toward them.

In the split second when they might have said “Hello Citizen” or “Boy Howdy Pardner!” they said nothing.  They were staring. They were also blocking the very turn I was planning to take and since they had enough time to look at me and say something and chose instead to say zilch I felt the old “creepy crawly disabled person being stared at by toddling pink people blues”. 

It happens sometimes. I have a nickname for these kinds of people. I call them “Bob and Betty Boop”.

Continue reading “Ota Benga Blues”

Below Zero

Someone has stolen the mannequins

From the dress shop window,

Though thieves did not break in,

And according to police,

No one forced the door.

The owner of the shop

Works solely with his wife;

Surely they are innocent.

Small village , main street,

Mary, the Mother of God displayed

In half buried bathtubs…

O mannequin rapture!

Dusk comes early

To the faded storefronts.

S.K.