It Should Be Clear

One point that seems to be lost in the Virginia Tech killings by Cho, is that when one truly does suffer from mental illness, at the point where they crack, they really do lose it. People do crack, and reality because a jumbled mess of illusions and perceptions. If he were under the influence of heavy duty psychoactive drugs, people would have chalked it up to that. Being crazed, without the help of any psychotropic substances, is not much different.

What Does it Mean?

What will the calamity at Virginia Tech amount to? Will it just go down in the history books as the worst mass murder in modern American history? Already it seems to lose some of the impact that we had with Columbine. Perhaps we were more innocent then. Perhaps in the midst of war we are hardened. While we look for meaning, while we look for reasons, what if there really aren't any? Only because of our believed significance do we attribute meanings and reasons to events that happen in our experience. If we do accept an existential existence, then events do indeed happen for no reason, without meaning. People are killed, you get cancer, the "Best and the Brightest" author gets broadsided and killed, a terrorist blows up a bunch of children, and there is no justice. There is no real meaning of any importance. A leaf floats on the wind and falls into the river. The currents take it into the rapids. Another leaf is whisked into the bank and finds refuge. What does it meaning? Nothing.

But is the meaning what we make of it? How we deal with it; how we face the challenges and randomness of life? Is this noise hiding a truer reality? Or is it nothing?

I think it is easier for those living to deal with these tragic events than those who are killed. This may be contrary to conventional wisdom, but actually it is a self-evident fact. The living have an opportunity to deal with it, despite their apparent difficulties. Thus while the living, grieving in their pain, can perhaps find meaning, what of the dead? What do they find? Are they the leaf pulled into the rapids?

Things get more difficult once we assume a non-existential existence. More on that later...

Poverty and Corruption

I've delayed about a month getting this post up, so I apologize, if only to myself.

An interesting article on Why Poor Countries are Poor appears in Reason Magazine. First, realize that while this is coming from a libertarian or at least free market perspective, one of the pernicious behaviors that is rampant in many countries, particularly less developed countries, is institutional corruption. Ultimately and succinctly, the brilliance of a nation of laws, cannot be understated.

Traditionally: Economists used to think wealth came from a combination of man-made resources (roads, factories, telephone systems), human resources (hard work and education), and technological resources (technical know-how, or simply high-tech machinery). Obviously, poor countries grew into rich countries by investing money in physical resources and by improving human and technological resources with education and technology transfer programs.

This is borne out by the examples of China, India, South Korea, Botswana, Mauritius, among others, which have become the fastest growing economies in the World. The return to investors has been tremendous, and thus, there is no shortage of money seeking opportunity in developing countries.

However, this breaks down when we consider acutely and chronically poor countries.

The premise is that in terms of economic growth a stable corrupt dictatorship while worse than a democracy is preferable than sheer instability. While this may be patently obvious, observing the different characteristics of governments in real terms proves illustrative.

A dictator with long term plans, cannot completely rape and pillage his country because then there will be nothing to steal subsequently. In terms of self-interest, a dictator must balance his parasitic greed with the health of his host (his people).

Cameroon is the poster child of the dysfunctional, totally corrupt, condemned country. One would think, following our premise, that the dictator Biya would have to keep the Cameroonian economy functioning in order to keep stealing from it. Yet the country is so totally crippled that apparently Biya is not the all powerful, self-interested dictator, but rather, Cameroon is filled with petty bandits, thieves and despots. As the article argues:

Government banditry, widespread waste, and oppressive regulations are all elements in that missing piece of the puzzle.

The lesson of the story might appear to be that self-interested and ambitious people in power are often the cause of wastefulness in developing countries. But self-interested and ambitious people are in positions of power, great and small, all over the world. In many places, they are restrained by the law, the press, and democratic opposition. Cameroon's tragedy is that there is nothing to hold self-interest in check.

The rot starts with government, but it afflicts the entire society. There's no point investing in a business because the government will not protect you against thieves. (So you might as well become a thief yourself.) There's no point in paying your phone bill because no court can make you pay. (So there's no point being a phone company.) There's no point setting up an import business because the customs officers will be the ones to benefit. (So the customs office is underfunded and looks even harder for bribes.) There's no point getting an education because jobs are not handed out on merit. (And in any case, you can't borrow money for school fees because the bank can't collect on the loan.)

While this article focuses on a clear and egregious example, we see elements of these problems all over the world where we try to bring "democracy" or "freedom" or believe we can "help" these countries into modern enlightenment without the benefit of almost 900 years contemplating the Magna Carta. Without honest institutions, without the "rule of law" and a societal desire of fairness, I am not sure what we can or should do other than carefully avoid.

Strangeness in Paradise

This will be a strange post.



I do not know quite what to say or how to begin.



It is a time far in the past. I must close my eyes to remember. Of course, I cannot remember, but I can reflect. Of a time, in the old country, of dusty roads and crowded spaces. Of warm seas and fresh fruits, a man was measured by the number of olive trees, or was it dates? A minority lived in a foreign land that was theirs a millennium ago. They must assimilate, get along, speak the language, and they did.



A heavy barrel of flour at the bakery floor took four men to load and unload. But "Fat Simon" would heave one up by himself. "Fat Simon", Shishman See-mon, though I wonder if that is the correct translation. Fat is a poor description since while he was wide, it may better described as broad. Somewhat tall for the age, he had forearms the size of fire hoses and a chest like a gorilla. If you saw him from the back, you would see a wall. And a "hard man", described him as a "hard man"...



For a family that you must provide, you work 14 hours a day. A dry good shop, rises from nothing and you feed the children of your self. You provide for your wife, you establish a nice house. Maybe even a vacation to a lakeside house. You work hard. You do not dream. You just work hard, working hard is good. Then an official's son shows up with 2 body guards expecting a tribute, wanting to rape you of your hard earned labors. He tells you you better cooperate if you know what is good for you, and the henchmen lean in...



What would they expect of "Fat Simon"? as the blood boils up in his veins, his thinking processes focus, decision gates shut down and the attack instinct targets. Fat Simon grabs one body guard like a barrel of flour and throws him through the door. Then he takes the other and brings him outside and plants his face in the dirt street. The official's son says you will regret this...



And in this story the weasel has the power, and the weasel ultimately wins.

Variation on a hum

Perhaps there is no time like now, to reflect on Glenn Gould. A good friend of mine recently attended a piano concerto and remarked that she felt calmed, cleansed and refocused. Her mental energies were aligned and sharpened unexpectedly, I might add, since she is not a classical music junkie.



In this crazy time and period of uncertainty, when noise blasts our senses and we squander our values and civilization, we need the eccentricity and brilliance of Glenn Gould. I enjoyed the movie Thirty Two Short Films About Glenn Gould but I think you need an understanding of Glenn Gould in order to fully appreciate it or desire for a glimpse into Gould's genius. For me, Gould combines the technique and art, with genuine inpspiration. The sounds he heard, the bathing of notes he swam in, he interpreted like Jimi Hendrix did for Rock. That is, Glenn transcended the pure or technical musical piece and reached into the metaphysical world where the music began.



Am I too dire, are the walls really crumbling? Do I long for my library, and comfortable chair, while pondering the Quest for Perfection? Once I did care about perfection, I cared or dared to ask "What is Best?" I considered my values and premises. Yet I have to ask, what happened? When Egypt's library burned, what did people do the next day?

Humpty Dumpty

This is quite an interesting read:
Empire Falls: Politics & Power: vanityfair.com
and I find Niall Ferguson to have a lot of interesting, thoughtful views on history.

While "going soft" is one marker of an empire's decline, perhaps the heart of the fracture, the wrench in the machine, is the disconnect between the people and the policy. Between the publius and the empire. The premise of America, the roots of America are anti-empire and you cannot discount the inherent isolationist and ingenuous tendencies. Despite dalliances or illusions of empire, the United States of America, the underpinning of our country, is inherently anti-empire.

An empire, an imperial dynasty, must be willing to pay the price, and perhaps, more stridently, this implies that the empire must exact the price from other people. We are undoubtedly soft. Even our unparalleled military relax in air conditioning, enjoy video games, eat steak and ice cream (at least on good days), but they pack a terrific punch. Compare this to our often n-th world enemy, living on a bowl of rice a week, never seeing a dentist, drinking water that we wouldn't bathe in...but you cannot convince an empire or a to-be conquered people like this, that their life will be better after we show them our enlightened ways.

How many times do you bring, what is best for Carthage, to Carthage, before you sow the salt? So now we march in with our delusions of empire, but unwilling to spread the salt, and Hannibal will continue to smite us. Must we resort to Pyrrhus' tactics?

We have neither the stomach for Pyrrhus, nor the blood of Scipio Africanus.

Thus rather than dwell on empires and traditional notions of power, we, as a nation, should think in more dimensions and consider what is in our nature and what resonates with our fundamentals, such that we are a true national success.

Mr. Smith Leaves Washington

 
I just finished watching Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. I couldn't help but draw parallels to today. Perhaps it helps to realize or think that they had the same problems 60 years ago - graft, Senatorial malfeasance, big business pulling strings and people not voting. In the movie there is essentially a quip that no one votes, so do what string puller says...

Today, I feel like Mr. Smith would leave Washington in disgrace and never have a chance for his filibuster. Or perhaps something more sinister.

Where are the Mr. Smiths? The Lincolns, the Jeffersons, the Adamses even the Eisenhowers? Can we ever get back to any ideals, any ideals whatsoever? You hear the same tired rhetoric, the same malformed logic, the same pandering to the sound bite.

Won't anyone ever invoke the words of Hayek or Friedman, or even Stiglitz? No one talks of Rousseau, or Locke or Rand. Maybe it is just no one cares. You get more coverage talking about gay marriage than true values or ideals.

Think!

Think! Think! Think! What is the Answer? Think! Think! Think! What is the Answer?

Maybe I should first consider the question?

Too often we look for answers. It is sometimes better to start with the question.

The Grains of Sand are a-Fallin'

The hand lifts into the air, grasping the sand from yesterday. The wind blows and scatters the sand that will not be contained by the hand.

What happens to potential as the years pass. Is it a shame that one who once was a star, the life of the party, the magnetic prince of the crowd, with the sterling education, who travelled the world, with a woman in every port or at least in every class, would scatter to the wind? The sky jumping that blew his mind led to much more destructive pursuits. And where does the sand go? When does the sand run out?

Should I be sad for Alejandro? Or perhaps being scattered far from the rest, he will find fertile ground that will welcome and cherish him. Yet it is too easy to be lost, for the star to dim, the fire to extinguish. The sand runs out.

At the End...

Friday, I had to put one of my dogs down. It was all very sudden. Our 8.5 year old Rhodesian Ridgeback had some health issues. She had kidney disease and a slight case of incontinence. Because of the kidney disease she drank a lot of water. Thursday night or Friday morning, she threw up judging from the spot on the carpet. The water was all gone, so I filled it up while I fed the dogs. She proceeded to drink about 3/4 of the bowl in about 15 secs and then regurgitated all the water. Apparently, this may have caused the GDV (bloat). We had no suspicion that anything was serious wrong until around noon time. We thought she was just sick or had an upset stomach. A little after noon, she was lying down and would come or react to my wife's calls. Upon closer inspection, she was nonresponsive. She was breathing and alive but would not open her eyes or move.

My wife called me at work and discussed what to do. Luckily she saw a couple of male neighbors across the street whom she was able to ask for help. They lifted our dog, Gabby, and carried her to the minivan and to the Vet. X-rays confirmed it was GDV and very serious. By the time I arrive at the Vet, Gabby was already in shock. The vet said she couldn't recommend surgery because the chances for success were too low. We decided to go ahead with the euthanasia. I wanted to be there with Gabby and stayed through the whole process. It was very emotional and I was choked up and crying. I stroked Gabby's brow and looked into eyes. I saw some recognition. They took her off the ventilator and then I put my nose up to her nose, kept petting her and looked her in the eyes as she passed. I think she knew that I was there, and if so, she trusted me to do the right thing, even in the end.

I brought Gabby home in a body bag, and buried her. I felt like I was in a haze. It all seemed blurry. The kids took it remarkably well. I guess they are still too young to really comprehend or maybe the understand better than we do...The kids were touching though, turning Gabby's grave into a memorial. They brought flowers, pine cones, special rocks...all for Gabby's enjoyment.

Even with 3 kids, and another dog, the house seems quieter. Strange considering Gabby was the quieter and smaller dog. I think our other dog is definitely more sedate, perhaps realizing that Gabby is missing and not understanding where she is. Or maybe he does? He was the one was was whining when Gabby first got sick, as if he knew something more serious was going on. Children, animals, possibly understanding or glimpsing things that we adult humans are too separated from?

I am grateful to be there at the end with Gabby. I pray she rests in peace.

Sienna's Talk of the Town - "Gabby" - 15 OCT 1997- 3 MAR 2006.

Efficiency

It is easy to say Life is so complicated these days. Between children, pets, work, career, chores, it is a wonder we even have time to update a blog. I thought I was busy before, but my life, with another kid, seems to have gotten exponentially busier.

Now, I've realized, you really cannot even hesitate to think about what should be done next or when you should do it. You just have to do it - something - right now. No Thinking. Just Doing. Act now. Don't think. Don't delay.

While I can romanticize that I will crack at some point, it is instructive to reflect that in a few blinks of the eye, I will wonder where all the time went, what happened to my kids and why I didn't play that little extra with them when I had the chance. I will remember fondly my sweet dogs and forget the messes they make.

It is like eating ice cream on a hot July day. It never lasts as long as you'ld like.

All Hallows' Even

Early Sunday, I woke up around 1:30am and couldn't get back to sleep. One of the things I thought about, was the people in my life who really touched me. Without consciously being aware, this was excellent preparation for Halloween - All Hallows' Even - traditionally, in the Church calendar, when vigils and preparations for remembering the Hallows would begin (Even being a contraction of Evening) for the day of honor and rememberance All Hallows' Day (All Saints Day).

Of my list of people who were my Saints and are no longer with us:

Ted Cronin - maybe on the surface an old, overweight, Boston Irish cop. A widower, who took care of his invalid sister. I remember in primary school he would be at the busy intersection of our school to make sure the kids crossed safely. When I got older, I did yard work for him and he always paid me twice what I asked for. In a quiet way, he was always helping people, he just always tried to do good. I observed a lot as a youth, but I wished I had taken the time to ask him his story.

Bob Davidson - grew up a tough townie. Found God and helped troubled teens. He was a very quiet man, a big bear of a man. He would drive way too slow in the slow lane in the mad Boston rush hour traffic. I chopped wood for him, raked leaves (actually used a commercial cart blower, which was quite rare in those days). He was so non-judgemental. If he caught you doing something you weren't supposed to, he didn't get mad at you, you didn't get in trouble, but you knew that he was there to help you - that he really loved you and wanted to help you. He and his wife were kind to my family and will always be remembered. They both died too young.

Beginnings of a Blog

This is the beginning. Soon there will be content.