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Showing posts with label commentary. Show all posts
Showing posts with label commentary. Show all posts

Tuesday, December 26, 2023

Lament





The pain of a cuíca is universal: paradoxically lingers and travels, leaves the song carrying all the beauty and pain humans suffer. The cuíca  sings the lament of the soul: long lost love romantic or otherwise, even Socrates does not have enough philosophy to explains its sound. If the Greek philosophers had listened to a cuíca's lament, Greece would be silent of poets, playwrights and muses, and the Turkish soldiers could have been kept at bay, if from Greece's shore had they heard the sound of a cuíca carried by the waves: lamenting its dying days on the crashing waves.

Only an African could have invented an instrument that refuses to be contained within the constraint of a song, an instrument that asks no permission to be free. if you want to support a negro join Black Lives Matter but if you want to understand his centuries old struggles and pain, listen to a cuíca. It carries 300 years of suffering.

At 3:33, you hear a cuíca in this song of Brazilian poet and diplomat, Vinícius de Moraes ( who called himself "the whitest negro in Brazil ") Sao Demais os Perigos Dessa Vida" which translates to "there are a lot of dangerous things in this world", which bring us right back to Black Lives Matter protesters who understand that sentiment throughout. 

In the United States of America jaywalking for a negro can be a death sentence; enjoying a late night walk listening to Motown's Hits, a suicidal gesture. Yet, I do this almost every moonlit night or otherwise in total safety unless I open my latino mouth; racism in America is a descending stairway to the  darkest corners of a red neck muted soul.

While we fight for a more just world for everyone, I listen to a cuíca; one day, I hope, our descendants will look back at us in dismay for how primitive we were, and they will play the cuíca to understand the pain, caused by the oppression of an entire group of people due to the color of their skin. It will echo  the lament of a mother watching her son dying under the weight of prejudice and despise.

It will echo the lament of Palestine.






Wednesday, October 11, 2023

A New Cottage Industry

     



     There's a new evil brewing in the greatest country in the world; don't pretend ignorance, for you know exactly the country I am referring to: the country that sends its boys to war around the world and call them heroes, offer them parades and a whole day out of the year to celebrate them. 

     A special day where the citizens of this magnificent country can enjoy a day of leisure and drive to the beach, to the mall; on the way there, at the traffic lights and sidewalks they can see the parade of veterans: missing limbs, hunted by ghosts and demons,  begging for scraps and living in tents. 

     A few romantic souls, still linger to the story they were sold and beg for money dressed in the uniform they used to fight the wars that provided us the freedom to walk the street as  free people.

     The country I am referring to has created agencies to protect its citizens and assure their safety; agencies such as the DIABETES FOUNDATION that links diabetes to fat consumption and advise the public that sugar in moderation is healthy; and the American Society for Nutrition and National Institute of Health that advises the public that there are no links between obesity, high calorie consumption and lack of exercise. It is all genetic and therefore only managed by prescribed drug use. For life.

     Coincidentally, this particular country gain billions of its revenues in two primary sources of income: the military and its pharmaceutical/health industry. And now, they have invented a new evil way to profit from its citizens: compassion.

     Politicians, known worldwide for their empathy and devoting service to the people, have began a campaign to "house" mentally ill people for up to an entire year while they are tested and treated for their illness. 

     We have to hand it to the pharmaceuticals companies creative way to acquire new customers. 

    The new evil, as it turns out, it's nothing new: the executives of pharmaceuticals companies and their lobbyists have aimed their sights at the homeless, as they finally see a new way to profit from them. Politicians have began singing their song of empathy, while other politicians appeal to the self centered selfish among us and talk about "cleaning the streets." 

     Pretty soon, to our joy and delight, our streets will be cleaned and safe once again. A few voices will rise in the defense of the unhoused but it will be muffled by our silence , as we drive to the beach and the mall and the clubs and restaurants and the tourist destinations. 

   As we go on with our lives, ignoring the sufferers as we do now.



   On the sidewalk of this great country there will be signs that read: " This clean sidewalk was brought to you by GSK, Pfizer, Johnson & Johnson, etc.."

     And this will be the great experiment of our lifetime as they open hospitals around this great country and harness their skills on the homeless until they have perfected the art of imprisoning people to test their new drugs. And make a profit for their investors.

     Once they are done with the homeless, they will come for our families, as they did in the 40's and 50's and 60's. Our children, fathers and mothersA full circle indeed.



A clown's perspective: " When the business people and politicians find a way to profit from the homeless you will see the streets of America clean up real goddamn fast. I guarantee you that." George Carlin




Monday, October 9, 2023

Gliders and Sufferers

     



     Only God can make a tree, but I can make trouble. I can hurt my fellow men and be content within myself; for getting my way, above his, hers and they be denied; because it is in my nature to do so. Am I created in His image? Has God bestowed his disdain to His creatures as we disdain ourselves daily.?

     In the cities of this world there are only two kind: sufferers and gliders; gliders being the ones that take to the city in enjoyment as his fellow men perish. And with the help of the ones and the zeros, display to the world to see. And envy. 

     A sure sign of a malady within is the pleasure to display as others suffer; but here I am also at fault, because the gliders suffer too: an existence is long enough for creatures to understand how weak, perishable and transient we all are. Every social media display is a desperate cry for help.

" Am I alone." "Do you feel my pain?" Can you for the time being enjoy my material things and make me feel happy and complete? Can you see me? But not in the way I see myself. Can you see me with envy, with desire, for it is through your eyes and likes that I can briefly feel enough; that I can feel that my existence is not in vain. 

     In a world where many profess the existence and the love of God Almighty for us, it begs the questions: why is that love not enough? Why must we search for likes and recognition in social sites?

     Surrounded by my family; while others have none. Surrounded by my beautiful friends; while others are alone. Surrounded by the fabric and materials of this Tesla; while besides me, at this traffic light in West Hollywood tents line up one after another on the sidewalk. Tents, trash and flies is all there is now. For the humans that surround it go unnoticed; unless they make themselves noticeable; to our despair. 

     Nothing, not even the pain I feel when I think of my mother, can hurt as much as the sight of another mother, or a father - I've seen them both - on a street corner, by a traffic light, begging for money; with signs that read: 

" Need money for food." " Need money for rent." 

     While CHILDREN as young as 4 years old sit by their side with an expression I have yet to understand. Or perhaps I chose not to as I try daily to forget all the memories I have of my mother spending her only existence inside a mental hospital so that well educated men could afford their vacation homes, automobiles and their social status. Prescribing electric shock treatments to the depressed until they are no longer there. Branding their children like cattle; for life.

     And that it is; the hypocrisy of it all. As my beloved grandmother would say: " when you point your finger at someone, three other fingers are pointing at you." We all display what we have for the world to see; in communion. It is the only way we have not to feel so alone. 

You display your things: families, friends and beautiful possessions. The rest of us display our pain. We are all beggars in this world, trading for love, understanding, acceptance. For pity. 

And so, as in Your Lord's Prayer,  we too beg. Not to be forgotten. Not to die.





Sunday, September 3, 2023

MOVIE STAR or someone like you and me.





So I’ve decided to change, to shed my proverbial skin and find myself; somehow. And that is what’s crazy and sad: I know that I’m in here and not out there; somewhere.

Desperate to be, I bought a Tesla. The car can fly. And yet, it takes me nowhere, for wherever I’ve been, I am not there. It’s a fast ride to a vacuum: big houses, noises, private planes and people. God, I know so many freaking people. Not a single flight alone anywhere. Flights to nowhere: a city, a beach somewhere, where I will walk alone and friends and family will tell me how lucky I am.  “you ought to be happy,” “do you know how many people want to be you?”

Really? Millions of people, according to this motivational speaker wannabe, want to be me, and I just want to meet these people and ask them: who am I? Because fuck if I know.

So I sold the Tesla, sold the house in the Hamptons, stopped pretending and said: “no more,” to all the busy bees.

And now they know who I am: I’m the irresponsible narcissist who threw all away for a dream of a better place, a place where I might be. “ Fuck you if you can’t breathe.” “What will you do? ”What will you do for me?”

Your what is a why for me, because all the material things you claim ought to make me happy led me here: a cul-de-sac where other people are trying desperately to be; grasping at windmills, worshipping Cardi B, sipping schadenfreude tea, and finding validation on the desperation of wannabes. I-I just wanna be me.


                                              



Saturday, July 22, 2023

The Anatomy of a Kiss


                                             ‘Beatrice’, by Marie Spartali Stillman


On the face of a girl, any girl, there is a protruding bone medical books erroneously named the zygomatic bone; a revision to this lack of romanticism is needed. 

The kissing bone is where an astute boy places his thumb to kiss a girl, his other four fingers should touch the back of her neck gently, and as he leans in for a kiss, presses a bit harder.

His fingers on the back of her neck exert just enough pressure that she feels all fingers against her skin throughout the kiss. When the kissing is over, the girl, if the boy has done exactly what was described above, will move her head back to look at his face, and as she does, his fingers on the back of her neck should feel like a light gentle breeze, breaking on the skin like waves.

Of course, there is the consideration of proper hygiene, and by that I mean, clean hands. If a girl is about to kiss a boy and he realizes his hands are unclean, a different protocol takes place . 

The boy must then place his hands firmly on her shoulders, that, however, is an extremely delicate place since the shoulders are so close to her breasts.

A boy with dirty hands then needs to squeeze her shoulders hard enough so that she feels all his fingers on her shoulders throughout the kiss, because you see, a kiss has nothing to do with lips touching lips; but where a hand is placed.

The first milliseconds of a kiss is when the girl determines whether or not she will enjoy kissing you. Kiss her in that manner and she will feel safe and lean into your kiss; allow your hands to be free and she will spend the entire kiss wondering where your hands will land.

A boy who thinks a girl wants to be touched in as many body parts as possible during a kiss is a fool. 

A girl who wants to be touched in as many body parts as possible during a kiss has already been kissed enough; you will waste a good kiss on the wrong girl.

Everything that matters in this world takes time and requires skill.

A kiss is an antidote to a hurried life. In a kiss you can bend and shape time, slow it down, disconnect from the physical world, and fly for a bit. Your hands, will determine how high you fly or if you take off at all.

Every girl in the world has a kissing bone and the memory of a kiss, a light gentle breeze she craves in her fingertips. 

If you've ever seen a girl lost in thought, running her fingers on the back of her neck; she's remembering a kiss.







Tuesday, May 16, 2023

BLUE MOON and the world inside


Every once in a blue moon, I know my place in the world; as if my GPS was roaming and it found me: my precise parallels, coordinates, latitude and longitude, set to now; and I feel that there is nothing beyond myself.

I feel like a tree or mountain would feel if it could feel; present in time, place and purpose. I ask if a tree or mountain would feel less, if it would want more, if it would desire, as we do, to be elsewhere, in order to  do what it can perfectly do right here.



For all the analogies we have for flying, it is on the stillness of these moments that I find myself utterly grounded, paradoxically one with the vastness of our universe.

Flying is aimlessly seeking for oneself outside of itself.

A monk sitting still in meditation and thankfulness needs no wings to fly further than a bird of any kind; nothing material can connect the vastness of the soul and oneself.




The invisible is not only essential as the Little Prince taught us, but also the only portal to ourselves, for we can't be found elsewhere of ourselves.

Every once in a blue moon we don't reflect light; light is the source inside and it shines until we once again forget to be blind to our place and time. Without our inner light, all we have left is our social climb.



                                                    




Tuesday, March 14, 2023

The Children in Each of Us.

      I recognize myself on the face of lost children; sad children, with eyes that beg an answer to unanswerable questions: why am I here? Where are you, mother? Why did you leave me here so alone? I am two years old, four, five, ten, twelve, fifty-seven. The questions are still there reverberating through the years but now I am certain there isn't an answer; or maybe there is, but it is not what I expected. 

     There is no rhyme or reason for anything that happens to us except for the magical explanations we created to try to make this life bearable. Desperate to feel nothing disturbing, others of my kind invented positive thinking, and they tell me sometimes: " I like to deal with people who are positive." I just smile. "I know" I think, but say nothing in response. 

     It hurts feeling life to its fullest so they need all the help they can get: alcohol, drugs, sugar, bread, coffee, positivity, visualization, God. 

     I hear and see and read in comments throughout the fabric of social medias. The "hurting ones" professing God's power and benevolence as the Los Angeles streets fill with tents and trash and homeless people. We have so much in common with the children of the documentary " A House Made of Splinters trying to make sense of their place in the world while every wall surrounding you reminds one of how immense life is. A child needs to be socialized into the common magical narrative of the community he/she/they lives; but orphan children learn only about reality.  

     I sit in my office in Santa Monica and watch people come and go, so full and certain of themselves, creating their Shangri-las. Some young, some old. 

     I watch them and I ponder if they believe it will hold for a lifetime;  the thin, brittle magic veil of delusion they wear to keep life at bay. 




Thursday, January 19, 2023

On the Issue of Social Problems - DRINKING



     In Greek mythology, Narcissus looked in the mirror and fell in love with his own reflection, not caring to see the substance of what was reflected to him. His infatuation spawned an array of selfish actions and judgment errors that would eventually destroy him. I love mythology; each culture in the world has its own, and yet sometimes they are so universal that they reflect our own fears and desires.

     Among the universal things we share, excessive drinking is the most common- and directly responsible for numerous social problems. If we asked any chief of police in the world, we would be told a terrifying first hand account of the dangers of alcohol. Because of it, police departments have taken upon themselves the responsibility of creating programs designed to educate our children about the dangers of drugs and alcohol. 

     Unfortunately, while we relentlessly preach abdication, all young people can see is our true reflection in the mirror. We have chosen, like Narcissus, to ignore it, but teenagers in their rebellious years refuse to participate in our charade. They take their cues from our actions. We go around telling them to forgo the use of alcohol, without providing them with a reasonable explanation for the existence of so many profitable liquor stores in every single community in the world.  And we shall not mention bars and clubs for the time being.

     In contrast to that, we struggle as a society to keep afloat one single library in each community, which seems to satisfy all of our thirst for knowledge. The majority of people in the world have no need for ballet or poetry and opera houses are considered a pastime of the affluent. Ironically, the same people who chastise the so called elite for their patronage of certain artistic expressions, tend to relinquish their prejudice when alcohol is concerned. They have no qualms about joining the high society in making the liquor industry one of the most profitable enterprises anywhere in the world-while, at the same time, subscribing to the notion that we are far apart from each other, primarily because of our economic differences. 

     Behavior is the blood vessel that delineates each distinctive social class . Most of us choose to patronize a bar instead of going to an opera, to a ballet, to a poetry recital. Drinking doesn’t require any sort of preparation or special garment. There isn’t but a single creative spark emanating from any building that sells alcohol, and it is precisely because the owners understand the mediocre nature of the addictive product they are selling. As members of any society, we are choosing to overlook the image that we are projecting when we get together to lecture our kids about drugs and alcohol. We are simply asking our sons and daughters to overlook our behavior and do as they are told. They refuse it, of course.                     

     Obviously, I am not implying that young adults engaging in excessive drinking are doing so with any sort of an ideological agenda. It is, I’m afraid, a lot simpler than that; our children are a daily testimony to the old adage: “ monkey see, monkey do”. So it’s perhaps not surprising that we are confronted with the televised images of young adults, out there, drinking to the point of not being able to stand up. It is also commonplace to blame parents for all that kids do, though many parents feel that it’s an unfair portrayal of who they are as human beings. 

     However we may wish to define ourselves, what influences our children most are the activities we engage in when we aren’t working. After we are done with our labor of the day, what do we adults do with the rest of our time? Do we go see a movie? Do we head to the theater to see a play? Do we read a book, or learn a new language, perhaps? Do we sit in front of our television or computer screens? In most cases, we reach for a beer or another alcoholic beverage to reward us for ending another hard day’s work. These are the lessons our children learn. How many officers of the law, after spending the day talking to children about alcohol, end their day at a bar, sharing a beer with their fellow officers? 
     
     The media outlets in the world step in and profit from this-you and your children-because advertisement dollars, and not communities' well-being, are their bottom line. The liquor store owners will continue selling to us and our kids free of guilt, for we are responsible for our own behavior. These businesses have a door-wide-open policy, ready to receive us every time we decide to intoxicate ourselves. These establishments are shelves upon shelves of useless products aimed at numbing our souls. I cannot think of another product being sold today, except perhaps for guns, that we humans need less. It’s somewhat ironic that we fight for our constitutional rights to keep our guns and consume as much alcohol as we wish, and yet we care so little about our own education. I’m not advocating closing liquor stores and bars, nor do I aim to vilify the owners of such stores: I am advocating that we adults stop drinking altogether before we advise teenagers of how dangerous alcohol is to their developing brains.



     The Narcissus myth is so important because it’s our story. Our struggle to find meaning when everything inside us wants to hide the truth. After all, to become a better person, one has to start by accepting that there is something wrong, and then one needs the courage to strive for change, no matter how painful and unpleasant it may be. Everywhere we look, we are bombarded with images of how precarious our situation is, and how extremely vulnerable we humans are to nature’s wrath and to our own. We are reminded daily of how short and fragile life really is and how we have to work hard for our survival. 

     It’s primordial that we create an outlet, an activity to lighten our burden.  We choose most times to drink with friends, but alcohol should not be treated as entertainment, for it just numbs the soul and prevents us from finding anything of true meaning in our daily lives. Human beings need to connect to one another. We crave spiritual growth precisely because we know that our bodies will perish. So we have our knitting, chess, book clubs, soccer leagues, bird watching, Facebook and Twitter.  All of which are created in an attempt to bring different people together in a common language we all share: our need, after a hard day, to replenish our souls, preferably in communion with something other than ourselves. There lies the lesson of Narcissus.                                          

     We are not going to convince teenagers to stop drinking until we apologize to them for our sins, for our mistakes. For the numerous commercials we produce to convince them of how cool they would look to one another with a drink in their hands. We have to beg their forgiveness to make it all so enticing and benign. We have to accept our share of blame for sprouting open so many liquor stores in their neighborhoods. 

     It is rare to find a prettier and more intoxicating environment made by man than a liquor store, with its neatly organized shelves, with bottles filled with liquid of every color. You walk in there when the sun is just right, and you can see the bottles splitting the sunlight into an array of colors so pretty and majestic that one can almost forget the destruction that lies within. I wonder, watching the beauty of it, who are they displaying that to, and how does it reflect on all of us?                                                                   





Monday, September 19, 2022

Saturday, April 30, 2022

Castles Within

 I’m alone; an alone animal roaming a Covid infested world. My fellow man, although forced to stay home didn’t miss a beat, full speed ahead: angry, selfish, entitled. To what, I ask? To everything. Their space, your space, my space; space itself as they lounge upwards, bored with the mess they made of things down here.

I lounge forward too; searching for myself in memories and places within; for pockets of light I hid, from demons I encountered along the way; demons that gorge on light. Your light, my light, the light of the world itself. With the little light left in me I rebuild an entire world, because my nature demands that of me; it refuses to die. 

Dying is easy, but living it’s not hard as the canto goes; just tricky…





Saturday, April 9, 2022

Wednesday, April 7, 2021

Saturday, November 28, 2020

Lua Cheia

 

De vez em quando, na lua cheia, eu encontro meu lugar no mundo; como se meu GPS estivesse em procura e me encontrasse: meus paralelos precisos, coordenadas, latitude e longitude apontando para agora; e eu sinto que não há nada além de mim.

Eu me sinto como uma árvore ou uma montanha sentiria se pudesse sentir, presente em tempo, lugar e propósito. Eu me pergunto se uma árvore ou montanha se sentiria menos, se desejaria mais, se desejaria, como nós, estar em outro lugar, pra fazer o que pode fazer perfeitamente aqui.



Apesar de todas as analogias que temos para voar, é na quietude desses momentos que me encontro totalmente com os pés no chão, paradoxalmente um com a vastidão de nosso universo.

Voar é buscar a si mesmo descontroladamente, fora de si mesmo.

Um monge sentado quieto em meditação e gratidão não precisa de asas para voar mais longe do que um pássaro de qualquer espécie; nada material pode conectar a vastidão da alma a si mesmo.


O invisível não é apenas essencial, como o Pequeno Príncipe nos ensinou, mas também o único portal para nós mesmos, pois não podemos ser encontrados em outro lugar senão em nós mesmos.

De vez em quando, na lua cheia, não refletimos luz; a luz é a fonte interior, e brilha até que mais uma vez nos esquecemos de ignorar nosso lugar e tempo. Sem nossa luz interior, tudo que nos resta é nossa ascensão social.



                                                    






Tuesday, May 26, 2020

Grapefruit


I find myself thinking of John Lennon lately. So much so, that I ended up in Yoko Ono’s lap. My mind wonders into “conceptual art” and grapefruit. I hate grapefruit. It is a bitter and unrealized fruit. The one fruit that God, if He exists, would come to admit as a blunder.
Yoko Ono appropriated the name for her book, hailed by critics, who certainly know more than I do, as a masterpiece. On this day and age, it says a lot about our way of living, that one can safely question God’s creations before one can disregard a well known personality. Nevertheless, I believe the title to be appropriate to her endeavor, and a “freudian slip” of sorts on her part.
When one creates art, one strives to completion above all, because to achieve it one must teach through whatever medium one has chosen. Countless artists have denounced this idea, humbly suggesting that an artist is lucky to stumble into truth of any sort. Regardless of the road traveled, there’s no such thing as art that doesn’t teach us something. 
The artist is solely responsible for the realization of the art, and a true artist will fail with the force of a hurricane that dismantles all in its path. In conceptual art, the artist never fails. He places on our shoulders the burden of the creation. He walks unpunished through what it is known by others as a torturous valley where one must connect with some sort of universal truth or face the wrath of the gods. Becker or Rank empathetically labeled this misfires as the “artiste-manqué.” I can’t quite remember who said it. Who’s the messenger and who’s the messiah. In the spirit of “conceptual art,” I will let you research who "said what" on your own. 
That’s conceptual art, I assign to you a work that should have been mine. The “conceptual artist” can work within the safety of someone who realizes that his success is only hindered by the lack of imagination of his audience. The canvas will be as white as the audience’s imagination allows it to be. 
I came to wonder today on how we can apply conceptual art to other art forms, such as cinema, science or technology. And it came to me: not as a film; for the Gods of  cinema are not kind- and to that art I gladly toil in pain. 

It came to me as  an invention


INSTRUCTIONS FOR AN INVENTION CALLED The remake of SHADES OF GRAY 

I now 
stand in an empty room
and you stand before me.
I insist
that your hands are clean
and I have a pair of white gloves
for you to wear.
I watch 
as you struggle to vest them.
I ask
that you close your eyes
for a brief time,
and I hand you
the most revolutionary device ever created by men
in the past four hundred years.
Can you see
the beauty of it?
What does it do?
Go out there
tell the others
tell the world of my invention.
Tell them of how brilliant I am. *

And now a sample of  GRAPEFRUIT by Yoko Ono



The most interesting piece of art in this book is a "conceptual art" entitled: PAINTING TO EXIST ONLY WHEN IT'S COPIED OR PHOTOGRAPHED

Legend has it that Yoko was inspired by a dream she had, wherein she found herself surrounded by some of the greatest artists in the world: Micheangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, Cézanne, Van Gough, Picasso. When they asked for a sample of her work, she was inspired to create... two samples below.

PAINTING TO EXIST ONLY WHEN IT'S COPIED OR PHOTOGRAPHED
Let people copy or photograph your paintings. Destroy the originals.

1964 Spring
PAINTING TRANSMITTED BY A MEDIUM
Yoko touched the shoulder of Leonardo, Cézanne, Van Gough and closed her eyes, vowing to transmit the painting she imagined. "Whenever you feel the urge, paint." -she said.

2020 la la land




* Mr. Aurelio owns the copyright for any device you come to imagine.

Friday, January 1, 2016

On the Issue of Social Problems - Immigration




  Turn your radio on this week to just about any radio station and you will hear someone screaming about Mexicans. That’s right, Mexicans. The word has become a synonym for all other illegal foreigners in this country. You will hear irresponsible talk show hosts call them “locusts that need to be taken care of” or “puss in our midst,” and the reference to their children as “anchor babies.” The word “patriot” always follows in justification of their remarks.

     I called one these programs today, only to be told that they have no problem with people like me, who have been here legally for almost two decades. The fault in their argument, however, is that for the first seven and a half years, before I became legal, I was just like all other illegal aliens you will meet anywhere in the country. According to the national chant, both my older children should be referred to as “anchor babies”.

  There lies the beginning of a huge problem: the criminalization of an entire group of people, since we have decided to make the issue so impersonal by making it about borders and laws. Yes, there are laws in this country that forbids people to come here on a visa and stay, like I did, or to just cross the border in search of a better life like, the Mexicans do. However, after allowing millions of people to settle and form families here, it is no longer reasonable to call for the government to simply round all of them up and send them back to wherever they came from. It is rarely that simple when it involves fathers, mothers, children and communities. It is never a good idea to join in the chant without thinking about the ramifications and the social problems it seeds for many years to come.

  We support our arguments by stating the law over and over again, and we feel justified. But what has become of the laws which stated that black people could not sit in the front seats on buses, or that they should not be allowed to vote or join the military? Do we as a nation feel that we should revisit this notion once again? Or we are finally in accord that humans are humans, no matter the color of their skins? The Germans passed many laws leading to the Second World War, one by one transforming a law-abiding community into criminals to be despised and blamed for all the economic problems of early 1930s Germany. Do we as a nation believe they were justified?

  One of the most telling questions humans pose has to do with one's placement in times of tragedy. Where were you when President Kennedy was assassinated? Where were you at 9 a.m. on September 11th? That’s how we define who we are, by where we stand when a visible line defines good and evil. When we talk about Hitler, we all say that if given the chance, we would kill him to prevent the demise of so many Jewish souls; but that is easily said now that we have all the facts. We know how differently we would treat the Japanese community during the Second World War, and we are all certain that as German natives, we would have had the fortitude to do the right thing and at least save the children.

  I have felt angry and embarrassed ever since I learned about the Holocaust and Slavery. It shaped me into a person who does not have much confidence in humans as a group, for in my eyes evolution always comes with the suffering of a few courageous and charismatic souls. They alone fight our battles and teach their disciples the importance of empathy and humanity. The problem always comes a few years down the road when the leaders die, and the disciples forget that it is their responsibility to pass on the knowledge to a new generation. When we forget our past, we begin once again chanting about a new group of people.

  So we have come full circle. You accuse us of being unpatriotic, and you think in return we are calling you a racist. For all of you misguided people out there who feel absolutely white, I will explain to you in simple terms why the rest of us are fighting you so hard. We as a human race chanted loudly about Jews, right before marching them into gas chambers and ovens and in fact, there are still some of us trying to convince the rest of the world that it never happened. We dragged black people across the ocean in chains, and after years of servitude we paid them back by dragging them from their homes- to the despair of their children- and we hanged them off trees because we knew that we could. We could not send the blacks back to Africa-or keep them from claiming their rights, because one black man stood up and said: “I have a dream...”

  We, the human race, have damaged the black community to such an extent that we were able to convince them that they do not belong here at all, that in fact they are not Americans; they are African- Americans. Even though the majority of blacks in this country have never been to Africa, nor can they afford the air fare to visit. We knew then that we could get away with it, because the rest of us would say nothing. We all had mortgages and social ladders to climb, just like today. We are busy chanting about Mexicans and Muslims, while all gay man and woman in this country have their noses pressed against their television sets, for they know they are next. Sometimes I feel funny for having to pay a psychologist to help me to get rid of, among other things, the unjustified anger and shame I feel about our lock of humanity when considering the Holocaust and Slavery. I am sure the majority of teenagers around the world, upon learning our human history, ask the same question: how could we ever? Sometimes I almost feel better until you people start chanting again.

  So there it is. We today chant about Mexicans just like the extreme Muslims chant about America, and of course China, North Korea, Iran and other countries join in with their own chant. It might surprise you to know that we think you are absolutely right about the social and economical impact of an open border, and that we know that this problem has to be addressed with no further delays. What make us different from you is that we do not apologize for liking the people while acknowledging the problem. We don't call them names and we respect their children, for history has shown us how silly is the notion that they are any different from the rest of us. Shame on all of you “patriots” who think otherwise, for we are still known worldwide as “the land of the free.” You should know that we agree with you on the need to close our borders; it is your “chant” we dislike. It is your hateful chant we are afraid of.



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