Americans are Racist and Ethnocentric, of that there is no Doubt

In this summer of 2020 there has been a pronounced time of introspection and recrimination for many Americans. We look into our own societies and we see evidence of police brutality and unfair treatment towards people of minorities, we review and consider unfair economic disparities between the majority white populations and those of color, we debate and protest and cry for justice and the end of racism, that hurts peoples of color, to acknowledge that Black Lives Matter. It is a statement and a movement, it has become a fact of American life. I understand a lot of these matters and disputes.

However, I posit that us Americans are biased, partial, and ethno-centrically racist in other profound and sad ways. We think about ourselves as individuals, a bit as families, communities, states and a country. We talk all day and night about elections and our presidents and American people, small and great, unknown and famous. But, do we care about people outside our country, who make up 95 percent of the planet? Not many of us do. We do not care or even know about them because we are inherently ignorant, self-serving, and racist.

Do the illicit drug sellers of our nation know how many Mexican people die every day due to the trade and sales of their product? Do the dope traders and hustlers of the United States even care about the innocent victims of their violence and mayhem within the confines of the United States alone? No, it seems more Americans are concerned with getting stoned and high themselves than to think about how many die due to their lawless choices and purchases. Shame on them!

 

But all of us Americans should share in the shame of the concentration camps in China; we do not care enough for the the Muslims of Xinjiang being "re-educated" and forced to live the totalitarian values of the People's Republic of China. One NBA official in Houston tries to bring light to how those people are people too, the National Basketball Association, the wealthy and powerful club that just delayed three days of their playoff games to protest a young man getting shot in Kenosha, Wisconsin, swallowed up their complaints with China. No, Americans are racist and greedy. We need Chinese money and support to keep the NBA dream of profit and status quo alive. The Houston official was actually bringing up the case of the millions of protestors in Hong Kong being smothered, by the way. Yes, China has freedom issues.

 

Who cares about Uighur in China, a few hundred thousand Muslims in concentration camps? So what if a few million minorities in China are being oppressed and bullied, arrested and killed for their differences? Uighur lives do not matter, it would seem. Drink up, fellow Americans, swill your beers and wines and liquors, get high on weed, or maybe Fentanyl and Methamphetamine as did the celebrated martyr George Floyd, and ignore the rest of the planet. Protest the police of all colors who make mistakes while enforcing the law where a hundred times that victims' number go on slaying each other as criminals and the countless collateral victims of their egregious violence and intimidation, often at the end of weapon. We do not remember and lionize the names of the minors butchered and blown away. Shame on us, racist, biased, Americans of gross prejudice. No wonder there is no justice nor peace!

 

Rohingha in Burma? What? Who cares? They are not real lives to care about. They are Muslim, too, apparently Muslim foreign lives do not matter. Americans are idiotically ignorant and indifferent. But that is okay, because Christian black lives in the continent of Africa do not matter, either. Thousands of them are harassed, pursued, and killed every year in dozens of African nations. Christians, Muslims, black lives. But they are not American, so who cares? We do care more about the drunk man in a Wendy's drive through who would not be arrested after forty minutes of dealing with peace officers, and the overdosing unemployed man who left a convenience store, with his cigarettes, after being questioned about his form of payment. Neither should have died but they were already killing themselves. Meanwhile thousands around our planet, primarily of color, to include Mexicans, are being mowed down.

 

No, a sexual assaulter in Wisconsin who possesses a knife and resists detainment deserves our time and anger and cries for justice! Not fair! Shot seven times!

Look up countries like Niger, Mali, Nigeria, Burkina Faso, Chad, Central African Republic, South Sudan, Ethiopia... Those lives do not matter?

No, not to the grand majority of racist Americans. Shame on us! Shame on us. Black lives matter. Or is it: American Black Lives Matter? 

Chinese lives do not matter. Burmese minorities do not matter. Muslims of any country do not matter. Christians in black countries of Africa do not matter.

Who else does not matter? Kurds in the Middle-East, Yazidi in Iraq, Palestinians in the Holy Land, Filipinos anywhere, Pakistani minorities...

If you do not know what I am referring to, pick up a journal, read a magazine, read fair and probing websites and news outlets. Do not count on CNN, FoxNews, or MSNBC. Why? Because these American news channels represent the the ignorance and racism of who we already are. It would be like checking on the wiesel or fox for the status of the hens in the hen house. U.S. news organizations depend on money, profits, and your continued ignorance and jumping onto bandwagons focused on the criminals and their plights, right here in the U.S. of A. And our people are racist and ignorant to keep up the charade, not even dreaming that there are people outside their house or neighborhood that matter. Black and brown lives. In Mali. In Ethiopia. In Burma. Countless places on the map that do not count to the average American. Not even Mexico counts enough, where your American selfish, self-defeating drug habits and addictions kill countless thousands, in all of their 30 states because of American illegal trading and buying.

Black lives matter?

That is a disingenuous lie perpetuated by some Americans that keep us living a lie. They do not mean it. If they did, they would really do something about ALL BLACK lives.

 

I have not even touched on Central America, South America, and the Caribbean, where millions of more people of color and African descended people live.

 

They don't count either.

 

Because they are not American.

 

Disagree with my thesis? Fine. Tell me how you care and what ways to you put your money and efforts to work for the benefit of all those people around the planet who are suppressed, oppressed, and killed.

 

By paying taxes we do help fund the United Nations and a few other international organizations that purport to help those others outside our country.

 

But in the end, we don't care.

 

Only American lives matter, and sometimes a Canadian.

 

Police Have Problems, Criminals Have Problems, Citizens Have Problems 

With the shooting of Jacob Blake in Kenosha, Wisconsin, this past week near the end of August, 2020, many Americans are again convinced that police are too brutal against black people, and that there is systemic racism waged against people of color in the most powerful country in the world, the United States of America. All this, some 52 years since Martin Luther King, champion of the civil rights movement of the 1950s and 1960 , was tragically killed by a real racist man, so stupid and evil most of us do not remember his name. I have little qualms with evil people dying. Death and killing happen way too much in the existence of humans for natural reasons: when stupid and selfish men and women choose to harm and endanger and kill others, I believe that when tried and convicted for such wanton lawlessness those people should or could meet a death sentence, because they have forfeited those rights to life.

Due process, incontrovertible evidence, and sound justice through magistrates and trials by peers is part of the proper process of justice for the penalty of death in the United States to be levied. A break down or fault in any part of that process leads to a lot of heartache and often times injustice, and that is what I believe we witness, cases after case; now I am compelled to know and memorize the names of many them, in Manhattan, in Baltimore, in Ferguson, in Minneapolis, now in Kenosha. 

We are told to SAY THEIR NAMES. I can. I can also argue why each of those men died, and how each guy was not very smart and at times precipitated or provoked their own deaths. Did they deserve to die? In most of their cases, of course not. Did they put themselves in ridiculous positions where they were to be killed by police who made serious mistakes? Yes. Freddy Gray, of all of them, was the one who did the least to put his own life in danger. But was he doing some really dumb things to put himself in that position, to die in the back of a paddy wagon? Yes.

We could all argue each case, and how each guy did things that risked their own lives, and how the police also could have reacted better and not killed those suspects. But first of all: were they all suspects? Yes. They all did something, either big or small, to bring the scrutiny of the law onto themselves. I am tired, too, my brothers! Tired of foolishness of people of all colors and creeds. Most of the awful results do not happen  in a vacuum. Police are paid to uphold the law... Will people continue to flaunt that? Again, no one is perfect, so do not resist and fight the armed officer. The officer of the law. The laws that we all pretend to believe in. They have jobs to perform. Don't you? Only most of your jobs do not put you in potential danger every shift that you go outside. Police deal with a ton of stress, and we expect them to not be afraid and make mistakes?

Now when we talk about the circumstance of Breonna Taylor in Louisville, she was mixed up with others who put her in a bad position of danger. I am tired, too! I do not care what color you are! Stop it. Stop making people put out warrants of arrest on you! Stop flaunting the law!

 

Again, let me repeat:  in none of the cases mentioned above did the suspect deserve to die. But, when breaking the laws of the land and expecting justice, as we legally recognize it, accidents happen to people suspected and those on duty to protect the public and themselves. Let us reduce these deadly encounters, please. PLEASE. Stop putting yourselves and our officers in danger of violence because of sexual assaults, dealing drugs, armed or forced robbery, illegal drug possession and consumption! George Floyd was on track to kill himself by overdose, without the knee of the out of his mind policeman Derek Chauvin. Both were incredibly wrong and stupid. Agreed. All the other cases were needless and egregious deaths, but we cannot expect our law enforcement to be above human fear and error either. When you flash a dangerous light in front of a light chaser, what happens? Stupidity is answered by stupidity often, and we should not expect more or less... Michael Brown strong arms a convenience store, marches on the street like an idiot, is asked to step off the street by a passing squad car, then the police recognize him as the suspect of the robbery, then Brown, a huge guy, rushes the policeman and his weapon at his side... It is human nature that death or injury would result. 

A couple of points about race, before I continue.

1. Just because I am a white man, I have a white wife and children, and my extended family is Caucasian, does not mean that the words and argumentation that I am voicing here signifies that I am racist and my arguments are to be discounted or are less valid because of my background, either because I do not fall in line with all the stances of some on the left politically, or that I do align with those views of some people that think that all the police issues have to do with racism against people of color. Yes, I do not know what it feels like to be a black man being stopped by police, but there are many Black Americans who believe and argue the same as me or more so than me, so please do not make racist accusations towards me or against me by labeling my race. Some claim I only know white privilege, I say I know things about humanity. I will always try to do the same for everyone as far as considering people's positions. I will not base arguments on your ethnic background, but we should grant every person their own individual conscience regardless of their external appearance. That is the definition of not being racist or harboring prejudice.

 

 Logic, love, and passion are things bigger than skin color. I firmly believe that I live by my internal standards of conduct and behavior beyond what some think are the external factors of skin color or ethnic background. I believe that all human beings are capable of the same, and I expect as much in our everyday actions and motivations, expectations that Martin Luther King would hope we would live and act upon.

2. In the last 24 hours a baseball player for the New York Mets, Dominic Smith, who is African-American, gave an emotional plea on television about how things need to change. He openly cried and I respect his feelings and fears. I do agree wholeheartedly with him. Things have to change. Where I disagree with his words or message is that A) People still don't care and B) People hate.

Wrong, again, Dominic. I do care. I live my life that way. I really think that the majority of the people of the United States do care about black lives, white lives, all lives, especially American lives. And, I do not hate people, least of all the police of all backgrounds, men and women, or people based on their culture or outer race, i.e. skin color, simply based on their origin or choice of legal work . I do not start to dislike and then resent individuals and some of their groups until they take actions that merit my disapproval and my disdain, like selling deadly illicit drugs, violating and raping innocent victims, robbing and stealing from others, cheating and bilking others who are unaware of those who are ignorant and unaware.

And finally, Dominic Smith, thanks to the greatness and wealth and opportunity of our nation, that you accuse of not caring for or hating people of your color, I am pretty sure you are making more money than I will ever earn. No complaints, this is a great thing. Based on your talents you deserve millions of dollars. Way to go, keep it up.

But enough about your privilege and my privilege, Mr. Smith, let's expand the discussion of systemic racism in our society by discussing socio-economics in the United States. Black Americans in general do tend to be less financially sound than the average white person. People blame a lot of factors for these unfair disparities and most of them make a lot of sense. I happen to think that the disintegration of marriage and the nuclear family has hit the African-American communities of our nation worse than any single thing in the last sixty years, beyond mismanaged housing for the poor, welfare programs, community activation initiatives, imprisonment and recidivism rates, and dozens of other attempts small and large to enable generations of poverty in the Black community to overcome the ills of being behind, legacies sadly inherited since the days of slavery, Jim Crow laws, and other awful and terrible practices of segregation and racist policies, to include lower standards of lending and financial help, coupled with lesser opportunities in public, private, and higher education due to poorer tax bases and inheritance monies, generations and generations of less opportunities. But above all, the lack of parenting and tighter families have hurt Black families the most, in my opinion, for many decades up till now. Many others agree with me. 

Is this problem the fault of systemic racism, of white supremacy? You tell me. Who has been most responsible for the break down of the traditional family and parents collaborating to raise their own children? The war on drugs and high incarceration rates of Black men? The targeting of law enforcement cracking down on those non-violent offenses of so many African-Americans? The tax laws that create poorer educational environments for Black people? Predatory banks and financial organizations that keep African-Americans from owning homes and being in perpetual debt? Hollywood and music artists (of all races) that celebrate and grotesquely glorify violence, sex, and drugs? Churches and pastors that teach outdated practices and lifestyles that are now counter-productive to modern success? Bosses and corporations and human resources staff that purposely avoid working with and employing Blacks? We could point to many of these reasons, but at the end of the day: we need to change, we need to improve, we need to care, we need to not hate (but to love), and we need to know that of course, Black Lives Matter. Police need help on the streets and in their fighting crime and protecting us. All of us.

We all need to vote and work and tirelessly strive for social justice, to prove that we are good citizens, that we are ridding ourselves of criminality, and we will be better police and law enforcement.

Problems? Yes? Answers? They are out there! Questions? Let the dialogs continue.

We need to defeat racism and the real roots of what causes all the tears and heart aches of our communities, our cities and counties, our states and our nation.

We have the solutions to our problems, these cannot last. The problems of our communities of all races can be solved and resolved.

We all share the dream of Martin Luther King and countless others.

Black lives matter. Every single one. We will discuss these problems, tackle them, and continue to progress.

 The One Contentless

There was a man who had lived a while; he had struggled within himself, battled his own personal demons, or perhaps imaginary dragons, or simply dealt and coped with the internal inquietudes: those simple concerns or doubts or fears as so many others have; he was doing all right in the material and social and spiritual senses. He had overcome others and other things, temptations and vexations.

He had a lovely wife, fine young children and people that surrounded him and loved him. He had pretty good job security, a really good community and nation that surrounded him and supported him, for the most part. He had to do his part for them to do theirs. Like anything.

There were a few itches that he could not scratch, however, perhaps like so many others. He was bothered by some big things, and some small things, and he was always yearning for a few things beyond his reach. Some of those things he did not see himself or others achieving in this life.

He had faith in the beyond, but he was not sure about contentment of all those wishes in this life.

 

His God, like the God of all the others, would eventually make things right.

 

So this contentless one would hold on and dream and think of the contments that were already his.

And he would write of such worries in places like this.

 Two Crazy Missionaries in Cebu

     I have had the privilege of knowing two outstanding people, both linked in my mind because the two of them happened to serve missions for my faith in Cebu Island. I suppose over the decades thousands of full time missionaries of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints have served there, this 126th biggest island in the world, a densely populated tropical land of people speaking a mysterious language, unknown to the greater world.

     The first of the two was 59 years old and a few months; she died not too long ago, in this month of August 2020; she did not perish from COVID-19, as many have done this year, but she was taken by cancer. Cancer. This infirmity was not bigger than her, just a part of her life and epitaph. It is an affliction that she had battled for many years. Cancer can come in waves;  like sand banks or castles on the coast they can be battered and bruised by cancer, eventually succumbing to its onslaughts and perpetual incursions and pricks of better health. It takes millions, and the the rest of us billions die of other things as well. She lived a great life; Cebu was a part of it.

   The other person who served in Cebu Island as a missionary of the Church,  that I personally have come to know, I will call David. That is not his real name, but maybe it it close.  He is a great guy for a number of reasons, and I admire him. I admire both these Visayan speakers, and Cebu was perhaps only a small part of them. That is why they are linked in my mind. Different people, never knew each other, different lives, experiences, families, friends, choices, styles, genders, places of birth: all those things different. But this island brings them together.

David was born and raised in the Inter-Mountain West, by a conservative religious family. He grew up enjoying the outdoors and most normal things, and by the 1990s he was ready to serve a mission for his family's faith, which lead him to Cebu, some twenty or more years after the lady of whom I spoke above. I attended her funeral services where all her immediate family spoke. It was poignant and sublime Meanwhile, I have observed David for about a year and half; we have worked closely a few times, once for a few weeks at a time. He's very professional, he's dedicated and cares about what he knows and what he does, and it shows and people respect him. I like how he enjoys English literature and I ended up reading an author, Richard Russo, which he recommended. Safe to say Russo struck me as a writer who tells interesting truths through fiction, somewhat inspirational.

Both these people are inspirational in real life, and thus I wished to write and ponder about them.

Ponder about Cebu. About life and meaning, and what we are meant to do and be and know and touch and feel.

Craziness, preaching and teaching a foreign people in an exotic island called Cebu, learning to speak in their Cebuano.

There is more to write and say, but I feel I must let this out now. I will.

Suffice it to say I have been fortunate to know them both. And I believe that they and I have been blessed through the island of Cebu. I thank the heavens for such a place.

May we all go there some day. May we meet up with the Cebuano people and this dancing sister and this dedicated soldier.

 Aversion to Ice... Cultural Pulls

I grew up in an area where there was interest in hockey among some of the youth around me; not that many played the sport competitively. Of the closest 20 boys my age around my neighborhood in our university town not far from campus, maybe only one guy played hockey as a kid. My local high school district had an ice rink, which is pretty unusual for much of the middle of the United States, I came to realize later. And, unlike most of southern Indiana, we had a few influences like the Indiana University hockey club, or the minor league team an hour away in Indianapolis. Having thousands of students for most of the year in town from places like Chicago and New Jersey was probably influential, too. So I suspect that we had a higher chance in my town of hockey being available for youth than most places for many miles around. My part of Indiana has a climate like Washington D.C., which is like a segue to the South, where hockey historically was not that strong, a lot of it for climate and reasons of culture.

Southern Indiana is not as cold as the northern part of the state, accessible a few short hours away; the farther south you go in the United States, and even in Indiana, the less chance of playing out doors on a pond frozen over in the winter months. Most places with thriving hockey teams and players have frozen ponds and places to play, in the northern states of the United States, of course Canada to the great White North, and globally northern Europe. Cold parts of Asia do not seem to have much of a hockey presence, nor do the colder parts of the the southern hemisphere. My dad grew up north of Boston, in quite frigid New England, so he was used to the waterways freezing over more and he enjoyed skating. Not hockey however, so I do not recall watching it on T.V. as a kid, or perhaps ever, except for the Winter Olympics. Perhaps a little bit of Olympic hockey was observed by my dad when I was young.

Possibly due to my flat feet and turned-in toe direction, or ankles that naturally went "crow feet", I guess as they say, I did not like like ice skating or roller skating that much. I would fall down a lot, and part of it was my poor balance on wheels or blades, but I think it had to to do a bit with my feet. I remember going to the rink with my family, falling down a lot, and scraping my fingers and and hands. I should have had gloves for p I suppose I got some bruises on my back side and legs. I remember going to my biggest hockey aficionado friend's house for his birthday, and everyone went to the ice rink and I stayed at his house and worked on a jig saw puzzle...

As I grew into my teenage years I fell in love with playing American football; I had played some organized soccer and baseball, and then later basketball. Of all of those sports, ice hockey and skating (not to mention skiing and other winter sports) were not on the list for my likes, nor was it for most of my friends. I also played a lot of table tennis and regular tennis, and some miniature golf. Growing up with swim lessons and access to a neighborhood pool made swimming and some diving enjoyable. But skating and hockey? Not a part of my repertoire. We all have to make decisions where and when we participate in sports, and also what to follow.

As a burgeoning teenager (in the 1980s) I found myself watching many live sports and the subsequent highlight shows and reports on the major networks, ESPN and CNN. This became a regular part of my day and night, perhaps to an obsessive degree. By the time I was 16 I was an avid reader of Sports Illustrated magazine, plus the local daily newspaper and the occasional USA Today, and the major sports of the United States and parts of the world were an everyday routine, passion, and enjoyment. Perhaps as I felt somewhat alone or as a failure in other pursuits and interests, so sports seemed to fill some gaps for me and in me, and this pseudo world of reality, many would argue, became a better engagement for me than many subjects, or previous interactions with certain friends or other pursuits. 

I did not stop reading the news about world affairs, a definite passion of mine, or reading novels or magazines or watching movies and comedy and a host of other entertainments, to include religious materials, but the main sports of my interests took center stage. I became versed in the ways of sports talk and some analysis and lore. As I have written before, my church studies and associations probably promoted more attention and "reverence" for sports. Many of my faith held their close affections and passions for different personalities and teams, and even a few who may not seem like big sports teams aficionados who show their likes in the sport of volleyball, or maybe just golf, or bowling, or some recreational activity like boating or fishing...

 Boy Scouts and even the young adult magazine "Boy's Life" encouraged a respect or deep appreciation for baseball, which I could not help but notice and absorb. I sucked it in, and through television and the media, including newspapers and magazines, and a few real life connections I became a fan, a believer of sorts, a would-be raconteur and acolyte of the halls of heraldry and fortune of the courts, the pitches, the fields, the stadiums, the tracks, the pools, and the, the ... rinks? Ice not as much. And yet I still know my share of figure skaters, too!

I purposely, consciously, almost defensively, or rather for my own protection, in the sense of survival and limited resources and capacity, eased off the pull of the game of hockey. For time and effort of care and interest, I purposely cared less about hockey as a sport. And golf. I knew that I had too much passion for the other sports so something had to give. 

The National Hockey League did a good job of promoting its sport into southern American venues as I aged, but mostly what I stayed as far as hockey following with was U.S. Olympics and international competition on the ice; the NHL was  not part of my working vocabulary of the every day.

Ice sports were too far from me, culturally, internally, conscientiously. I went to live and study in places where hockey was not a part of their lexicon. I focused more on places where soccer, or rugby, or cricket, or basketball and baseball were of the norm.

Spain. South America. Israel. Egypt. Mexico. Afghanistan. Kuwait. The Caribbean. Immediate family was traveling to and living in other warm climes where the jungles were more present than icy venues: Cambodia, Indonesia. Across the U.S. I have family in some hockey markets, but they are not too plugged in...

And thus the cultural pulls have tugged me across the years. Sure, there have been times when I have enjoyed the U.S. versus Canada or Russia or Finland on the ice, which is great drama, where the super powers of the world resolve things between the nets. There have been other times where I have enjoyed the world class talent and some of the drama of the NHL, there are the highlights when they can be compelling, and the teams that finally overcome the years of toil, like the Washington Capitals since 2009 or so ... But I generally try to avoid it and confine my efforts to other sports. Even so, admittedly, I have spent time in watching hockey and its highlights throughout my life, I have listened to discussions, made some small talk about, even memorably took a victory photo of a random guy in 2013, when his beloved Blackhawks won the Stanley Cup. Wayne Gretsky or Bobby Orr or the wunderkind Crosby...  and many of the greats are still part of my and most sports' fans conversations and models.

However, over the course of my life I have been driven from the skates and realms of ice sports for my own personal enjoyment, and purposefully to not take more of my time, valuable as it is, when I actually dedicate it to other pastimes that seem to have no redeemable qualities on the surface, to many, including to me at times. As far as it relates to me personally and projecting the future of sport, the game of icing and face-offs and power plays, I still think that soccer, baseball, and basketball will grow globally, perhaps even rugby and cricket, but I do not see hockey going on to be that powerful in comparison to these other sports. Too many warm places have too many other athletic competitions to employ.

I am not trying to project my own personal habits and feelings onto a whole global sport by predicting it will not grow as much as these others cited. I just realistically do not see it spreading and going as far into bigger cultures. Field hockey, maybe has better chances due to lack of ice, and even metal blades? Lacrosse? Maybe that sport, too, has better chances with no need for ice and the colder, harder to obtain surroundings.

That's just me; I could be as wrong as my misaligned feet in skates, both the wheeled and the bladed kind.

 

Young People Unite!

 

This is a letter to those who have recently finished high school, a mission, or some college. Who are from my ward.

I was grateful to observe the three of you speak yesterday. Watching the two new high school grads, it fills me with nostalgia as to when I was able to amble my way through high school (not that easy!) and latch on to hopes in the "grown up" world. You may not think that 1989 was similar to now, but it was, in my opinion.  Problems in the Middle East, presidential candidates accusing one another of losing their minds, sex scandals, same gender attraction issues and debates, race issues of poverty, drug overdoses, many youth just wanting to party.. drink or get high on weed, take your pick. Most of my friends thought believing in God, or even worse, a religion was lame.

Sound familiar? I am not saying that I fully understand what it has been to be a teenager in the age of social media, ubiquitous smart phones, the last two presidents, ongoing wars, a pandemic and race/justice riots, but I am strongly positing that the issues of today, 2020, are not unfamiliar to me in the 1980s. AIDS was pretty scary back then. When Magic Johnson, a bigger name than Michael Jordan at the time, announced that he had HIV a few days after returning from South America, my world was rocked as I thought he was a gonner. We had just defeated Saddam Hussein for the first time and China and Iran were still menacing...

Yet, Magic is still alive, and the epidemic of my teenage years has been abated. Some countries still seem menacing, as always. On to other things, as it were. But much of the same.

I enjoyed hearing about the families interacted with in the San Joaquin Valley. Never forget what they taught you, and never forget why you were privileged to know and love them. As Sting sings, "There is a Deeper Wave Than This". God puts us in each others' lives for real reasons. Of the four of you, I am confident that Spanish will be a significant part of your lives. Well, maybe French or Portuguese for the fourth. ? Quien sabe? They all assist each other. Keep learning.

Anyway, trying to wrap this up: thanks for being who you are and where you are. I am excited for the future, excited for you in this stage of your lives more than I was for my own when 18, 19, or 21. And in my humble opinion or assessment, I am doing all right some three decades later. I still have some goals to work on.

But, no matter what, it has been a pleasure to associate with you great youth of 2020 and be a part of something much bigger and longer lasting than the mere individuals that we are. We are a part of something that is bigger than we truly comprehend, and every person you meet, yea (scripture phrase!), every word that we learn and share in our lives has meaning and impact, beyond what we see and know.

God bless you in your endeavors! Que Dios les acompane y les cuide siempre.

Atentamene,

Hermano C., tambien conocido como "Lalo" a algunos... o Papa (con accento al final).

 Human Morality

Most of us believe in constructing and practicing a moral code. As individuals we all have our inclinations and predilections, some of which boil down to rather capricious pet peeves or even involuntary tastes or turn offs. We know that individually we all have our own standards, hopes, and expectations of moral thinking and behavior, some of which can change over time or even can change in the instant, or from day to day. 

As an example, let's take the case of a person who eschews caffeine and caffeinated products. Avoiding and not consuming this chemical is his/her normal way of life. They do not drink caffeinated coffee, tea, or soda, which contain higher amounts of caffeine. Chocolate, on the other hand, which has trace amounts of the substance, is consumed with little consideration for its caffeine content. Also, once in a while the individual who is opposed to higher caffeine consumption drinks a Coca Cola or Pepsi that has higher amounts of it than chocolate. However, based on the infrequency of its consumption, the non-caffeine consumer believes he/she is conforming within their moral code decently.

I suppose one could posit that this is relative morality, but the person maintains still that he/she is a believer and practitioner of a "no caffeine" diet, and the exception of products with trace amounts that he/she ingests like chocolate does not count for them as a definition of real consumption, nor does the occasional can of caffeinated soda. Maybe this person is actually living their moral code at an 85 percent rate, not really a 100 percent follower, but that rating is high enough for that person to feel that he/she is in compliance with the no caffeine rule.

Full disclosure, that example may describe me. So be it. 85 percent compliance of a marginally harmful drug is not too bad, right? Who knows. I don't drink the ones prohibited by my faith, which are coffee and tea. That's pretty go.

Add to the individual (you, me, each person, etcetera) all the human and non-human relationships that we are a part of, and thus we grow our communities, or socialities, aka societies, of our respective moral codes and standards. Religious or not, every human being is their own moral seeker and belongs to one or more community of morality.

A declared anarchist who believes that no one should rule and there are no moral absolutes, that there should be no rights and wrongs and all such moral determinations are arbitrary, much less organizations or communities that should enforce them, still has their own moral imperatives and strictures. The anarchist is an extreme believer in freedom, yes?

So we build out from there; obviously a huge part of the enforced moral codes of humanity is the nation of which we were born and consequently belong to. The rule of law of each country and its constituents greatly affect and how the person may view morality. Murder, stealing, sexual crimes, and all sorts of nuanced behaviors are judged by the public at large, police, the lawyers and other public servants, the judges and prisons.

Thus religions and their followers, and political beliefs and those that adhere to them or impose them, civil rights advocates and environmental cause participants all have their various moral causes and the reasons behind them.

And inevitably there is competition between the causes. The causes of morality.

I thought I would write more about how these causes and moralities become conflated and co-opted, how disagreements and human frailties and worse, like greed and hatred, turn beliefs and their attending morals into dangerous areas of strife and suffering.

We all want to live morally, at least most of us. But we know that it is very impossible to accomplish at 100 percent, or whatever way we can measure such things.

Can we be morally compliant at 85 percent?

New York Steak House

New York Steak House

Starting in the fall of 2009 I would drive by a restaurant not far from the Bowling Green national guard armory, which was proclaimed as a "New York" steak house. There was a sign that read that this eatery, close to the middle of no where, I guess in Caroline County, Virginia, had this juicy entrée to offer. Or at least that was their go-to specialty advertised from off the road. Central rural Virginia had a touch of the good life from the urbane capital of the world. Could it be true?

Maybe I did not think much about it for months and then years, sometimes passing in later months through all times of the year, without thinking much about it, as I was en route to my professional obligations. I left the country for a while in 2012; then I was back seeing it in 2013. Maybe things in America struck me differently after being overseas a while. I returned to the same old roads and byways as the years before.

Very rural Virginia again: "New York Steak House", the sign still proclaims, only now more beckoningly. Was it there? What was there?

I had no chances to go see, because I was working, always hurrying past. Month after month, year after year. It started to grow on me. Would I come down here on my own time, and possibly with my family, to partake of this New York sirloin or whatever they featured?

But once, after many more years, (maybe 4 or 5) I was ordered to go down that distant road in my own vehicle; that provided me a little more time and freedom to make a side stop on the way back home. I had a side passenger with me, and I asked him if (or informed him, rather) we were stopping at this built-up-in-my-mind sweet eatery of bovine delights.

 

I pulled over in front of the restaurant, a place that may or may not of had lights on for the years that I observed it. In daylight hours this feature would have been less noticeable, most of the times in the distinct climate seasons when we passed it, while the few times driving by in the evenings I could not recall if I ever saw lights.

I parked my car in front of this rural restaurant, the ones that I somewhat fantasized about, and noticed a few tell tale signs of disrepair. A "closed" sign posted on the door. I peered in. Empty floors and gutted walls, lack of any decor. This place was done. Was it ever alive?

Had it sat dormant for all those years? Maybe 9-10  years, month after month that I had seen it and wondered how a steak would taste there, if were worth the time and payment spent there?

What happened to this day dream and longing for a place never found?

It had pushed its place and hope into me, and I think the warming notion of it left in me a nostalgia greater than the actual taste.

I did not truly taste it, or "love" it directly, but it had caused me an amount of joy and pleasure in the mere wonder and bemusement, the mere thought of a New York steak .

 

And, as we say, truly it is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.

 

I did love that New York Stake house in the middle of nowhere, rural Virginia!

 

I am glad that it was there; I am also glad it was not. You were not there, but I am with you there now, as you read this and think about all those passes. You have shared some of those lonely, now less lonely, times there with me.

Thank you!

Another part of my life recorded, and perhaps not sated, but fully realized.

Thanks for sharing those times and seasons with me, through the heat and cold, the wet and dry, the dead blowing leaves and the flower filled-springs of Caroline county.

 

 

 

Facial Hair: Blessings and Curses

Most of us men deal with hair follicles of the facial region every day. It's a choice to shave or not, how to shave it, where and when to do it. Or not. Some people around us, both those who see us and those that we have close contact with, deal with the facial hair, too.

I started shaving a little bit in high school, but not a lot. I wanted to shave off some peach fuzz off my lip the night before an eighth grade dance near the end of the year when I was 14, but my dad flatly refused. I went a while longer with the fuzzy upper lip.

I was shaving in earnest by the time I was 19, on my full time mission starting in Provo, Utah, and then on to Chile, South America. I honestly cannot recall how much shaving I did from ages 15-18, but I think that I could borrow my dad's electric razor and avoid the straight edged blades most of the time.

I used the razor blades for two months in Utah, most days as the mission requires, like Bic or Gillettes (as Chileans refer to them), but then in the city of Los Angeles of Chile (the zone headquarters of my first area) I purchased a nice, expensive, life time guaranteed electric shaver. It was... a General Electric one, I think? I lost it in 1999, in Cleveland, Ohio, to my chagrin. I meant to try out the life time guarantee with it, but a guy who I tried to pay to return it, sending it by mail across the country, prevented me from finding out. Oh well.

By the time I was living in California in 1999 I guess I had a new electric razor, but I also used the edged blades. Some times I would grow out my facial hair in the 1990s, as a full fledged adult I had various reasons to shave the hairs of my mustache or chin or cheeks. I experimented with all types of facial hair, including my longest beard time in Provo in 1996. I sometimes had a goatee, sometimes I went with longer "pork chops", or side burns. I experimented with my facial hair enough in 1997 that my boss in Sandy, Utah, would call me "the man of a thousand faces", or something like that. Bob Caldwell was around 30 years old and almost always clean shaven; I was 26 and couldn't get it all together. I was in a play previous to that where the director (female) had me keep a thin Clark Gable mustache for the part. We did 19 shows over two months or so.

Over the years and all this time, I have found there are five times to be clean shaven. Maybe seven.

1. Serving as a full time missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

2. Attending Brigham Young University as a student. ( I also worked nights for half a year at the above-mentioned Missionary Training Center, where it was paramount to be clean shaven.)

3. Having a priesthood office within the Church, like in my case Branch President, or perhaps a temple worker, which I have not done but has become a requirement.

4. Showing up as an extra for a television show or movie.

5. Serving in the U.S. military.

6. Trying to impress others of all sexes, to appear more clean cut and professional.

7. Trying to be smooth and attractive for that special someone of the opposite sex.

Then, the combinations of facial hairs and styles may add or subtract from the above clean shave look, including for professional reasons to include television and film, and even military and professional reasons.

I was going to write a bit more about the whole subject, of this way, and this style, and this blade and even plucking, but this suffices for now.

I don't wish to bore you that much.

It's All Economics

That is what everything is all about.

Money, power, freedom. opportunity.

Individual, family, community, region, nations, people.

Spirituality, physicality, mentality, cultural mores: it's all economic sovereignty.

Patrick Tillman Remembered, Going on 17 years...

Patrick Tillman Remembered, Going on 17 years...

Celebrity means something when you give everything. He did.

Tillman represents my generation, represents my country, and represents my humanity for many reasons. Allow me to explain, because I am deeper than the average person, in my opinion, and I believe posthumous Corporal Tillman was deeper than average, too. Hence, some 'splainin' to do.

 

[This section added 1 September 2020: I have thought over these comments of "deep" or "deeper" for a few weeks, and I wanted to to qualify my language better than that. A lot of people are deep and have profound sentiments and feelings, but what maybe I wanted to say about Tillman and me, if I may, is that we might be considered complex, or conflicted. There are parts of us that push us in different ways, and I think that does a better job than saying that we are "deep" or "deeper" or anything else more or less than any other person. Each person has his or her conflicts, and in the end I believe that I identify with a few of those pushes and pulls.

 

I think that is a good caveat. I hope that makes sense.] 

The attacks of September 11, 2001, rocked our worlds in the United States for a few reasons. Guys like Pat (I met one former Ranger in 2012 who knew him, and that guy opined to me personally that Tillman was a jerk and too cocky and arrogant) and I were shaken and awoken by the acts and consequences. Pat was about 25 back then, I was 30; the Towers fell and the Pentagon burned and the heroes of Shanksville, Pennsylvania crashed to their brave deaths.  It got us all thinking in new and grim, but perhaps stoic and realistic ways. Who did this? Why? What should I do?

He was newly married that warm September, I was too. I had a new born, I was just starting graduate school at a prestigious university; Tillman was making really good money and making a bigger name for himself in the NFL. He lived in Arizona and I in California.

He was a celebrity because he was celebrated by millions. Thus his words, and then deeds, had a larger than life impact on me and a few million others. Some of us probably took it to heart more than others; I believe I did. He finished up his "modest" season contract in early 2002 (he had a counter offer for many more millions the previous summer but chose to stay in Phoenix with the Cardinals), and joined the U.S. Army with his brother, another professional athlete, to be a Ranger, the elite of American Special Forces. You can research his words. The following are mine.

My parents and grandparents and on back did not serve directly in combat like Tillman's apparently did. My dad and step-father were in the military, but did not engage in combat. I guess Tillman's had fought and seen danger. Either way, we both felt like we owed our nation, and we were both grateful to our literal forefathers and heritages with what we had. He acted right away, it tool a little longer for me to come into the Army.

In 2001-2 I thought that I would serve my country back then by getting smarter, more educated, more titled (graduate degree in Latin American Studies), and become a diplomat in the United States Department of State, assisting in bringing nations and enemies to peace in a role as an official power broker, speaking languages like Spanish and Arabic, and even Portuguese. I tried to take the U.S. State Department's (foreign service) entrance exam five years in a row; I never made it past the second round of interviews. I went on to flounder with my Master's as far as those international designs, then I joined the military two and half years after Pat's death.

His passing made an impact on me at the time,  I would argue later and even now, 16 plus years later; it does not matter to me whether his death was friendly fire or hostile. It also does not matter to me if he had a huge attitude about himself, or if some mistakenly think of him as bloodthirsty. He was not, by the way. He was kind to those who were around him, from all reports. He was not bent on killing. Regardless, the moment that I found out that he had died in April of 2004 in some far flung province of Afghanistan, I was changed.

My wife was very pregnant in April 2004; like our first baby who was a daughter, we waited till the actual birth to know what gender our child was. With less than two months before her eventual birth, I decided pretty resolutely that if the baby were a boy he would have the middle name Tillman. It made sense to me, it was decent and more importantly an honorable name. Nothing against girls and their names, but I wanted this person's name to be remembered down the road. Is he worth remembering? Well, for starters, almost all the soldiers and marines are worth remembering.

What about this guy?

Why was he a hero and why was he celebrated? Because he was a millionaire athlete; but, unlike so many others, he was a raw patriot and man of action. He was transparent and real. He was humble despite his superiority. He was who millions of the rest of us rooted for and celebrated. He was all about doing, where many or most of us cannot, or did not. He submitted to the nation's military system because he felt he was paying back those that he owed. He believed that he could help the United States bring people to justice and make a difference.

It required a tremendous act of courage and heroism, no question. His wife and family also gave for it. Foolish? Some might think so or say so. So was Abraham Lincoln, and Martin Luther King, and Florence Nightingale and Harriet Tubman. Foolish heroes, all of them. So, too, were the three young men lynched in the deep South trying to bring justice to Emmitt Till. So was John Lewis for getting beaten on the Edmund Pettus Bridge.

Foolish men and women. Putting themselves in harm's way. Some of them were knocked down by bullets and never got up. Crispus Attacks in a snow ball fight in Boston, well back in 1775 or so.

Foolish American iconic heroes.

Pat Tillman, we named our first born son in 2006 after you. And, I swore in with the Army 6 months later. There is a back story to that, which has to do with me and the wars, and my faith and things... I am still signed up, a decade and a half later. I went to Afghanistan 5 years after I swore allegiance in 2007. Returned safely a year after that.

And the rest, all these years later, I read your book about you, Mr. Tillman, and the conditions of your demise, plus the surroundings of the greater world, according to John Krakauer; not just the selected chapters that I did in the local Target merchandise store back in 2010 or so, but the whole enchilada. I very much enjoyed it, coupled with simultaneous readings of Lawrence Wright (ISIS) and Hopkins and Sugerman (Jim Morrison and the Doors), and many other articles and reports of 2020....

Tillman, I have been to your USO House in Bagram, a place for rest and relaxation, right by the air field in Panjshir Province; I have spent my hours and days there. I have been to some Afghan provinces, not the one you went to and died, after spreading your influence with fellow soldiers and local children and villagers. You shared money and radios, you did more peacekeeping than shooting.

It has been narrowed down to three soldiers that believe that they might have shot you. Krakauer in his 2009 book thinks it was Adler with the .249 SAW; Elliot in 2014 admitted that it was likely him with the larger caliber .240.  We may never know and ultimately it does not matter, because three guys in the same HUMVEE aimed at him, meaning to hit him. One of them did, after shooting and killing the Afghan ally.

It's all water under the bridge, as they say. Closure for the loved ones is harder to come by, I get it.

Closure for those who lost rank or status is also heavy. The mission was botched by officers up top, that is more than certain. The Army mechanic misdiagnosed a broken solenoid in the dead HHMMWW, not a faulty fuel pump as he tried to fix for most of the day.

Two serials were separated, only one with a .50 cal ensconced in the turret. A local Afghan "jinga" truck was used to tow the disabled HUMMER in the truck that was supposed to go to the paved Ring Road, MSR whatever to recover that piece of equipment.

Two missions were stupidly conflated to get done at the wrong time, (daytime), and then despite the complaints of better minded leaders on the ground and at Camp Salerno Base, the mission moved on.

Pat died. Stupid circumstances, the soldiers who shot and shot at him were scared, were in the wrong... But ultimately were trying to do the right thing. Save themselves, save their buddies, neutralize the enemy, serve their country, move onward and upward.

Like Pat Tillman.

God rest your soul, Patrick, even though I never met you and you do not, nor did you not in life believe in the God that I believe will restore all as it should be and bring you back to your loved ones.

I celebrate you, we celebrate you, you are an eternal celebrity and a hero.

You lived and died trying to do the right thing; you left a lot of energy, integrity, bravery, and virtue in your wake.

Thanks John Krakauer and all others who have done their research to bring your stories and inspirations to life.

Tillman symbolized a lot; I have really only touched on a few things as to why that matters.

I hope that we all understand them a bit more now. America? Bastion of freedom or oppressor?

We must all be the judge of those things, and make choices everyday to go forward or retreat.

Some of us will never give up, and some of us will die trying.

(Originally published Tuesday Aug. 4, 2020)