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The "V" for Victory: The Ultimate Floating Signifier
Putting woof and warp back into the weft of my existence.
All things have a beginning, and this began while I was musing about D-Day and my father's presence aboard a troop ship that June morning in 1944, when, logically, (for me, logic has always had a quantum aspect to it) my thoughts turned to Winston Churchill and his "V" for Victory symbol which became his imprimatur during World War II. One can hardly think of wartime Winnie without evincing an image of him flashing two fingers, the index and middle fingers. The "V" for victory: N'est-ce pas? By the way, the two in Classical Latin are called the "Digitus Indicus" and the "Digitus Medius," the latter, during the Roman epoch, was often referred to as the "Digitus Infamis" (more about where I am going, here).
Between 1337 and 1453, Britain and France waged three wars known collectively as the "100-years War." It was during this period that the knight in shining armor disappeared off the stage. One could seriously question if these characters ever did shine, but that's ho-hum for another time. Continuing: It was the English bowman, more precisely, the Welsh bowman with his longbow that laid waste to French chivalry. In one battle alone (Poitiers, 1356), 25,000 French knights lost their nobility to the ignoble armor-piercing arrows of the Welsh longbow.
That fact was not lost on the French who, when they next captured a bowman, cut off those offending two fingers, index and middle, which the Welshmen used to pull back the bow string. The next time, however, when the two armies faced each other again, the Welsh (okay English, Edward the I's caprice, notwithstanding), would raise up their collective two fingers to indicate to the French that they still had their devastatingly powerful bow fingers. Do you follow me? They, also, meant to indicate something else. Can you figure out what?
As the centuries rolled by, Welsh and Englishmen, too, I presume, would flash those two fingers to any French person (or anyone else, I would imagine) who managed to transgress in some manner, i.e., on the motorway. Obviously, when they do that, they are not indicating a prowess in archery.
Okay, back to Mr. Churchill. When, Winnie raised his two fingers at the Nazi juggernaut, it was something every Brit could plainly understand. It had appeared as a symbol for victory during the First World War, whether it was Winnie who initiated it back then, too, I can't be sure, but he seems a likely candidate. The "V" for victory illusion could even bring a smile to the lips of the stodgy British monarchy and nobility, who were able to flash a socially leveling symbol that the common Englishman well understood to mean, dare I say it: **** ***!
For Americans, the historic and cultural symbolism was lost. It became simply, "V" for victory until the 1960s. During the Vietnam War, it was used, initially, by peace activists to mean victory in the struggle for peace, only after a few years did the "V" sign, then evolve to mean peace. You could pin the change in meaning, on the media. Who else? Sic transit gloria mundi.
"...Out out brief candle, life's but a walking shadow; a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing," Macbeth Act: V; Scene: V.
Szia From Budapest
Showing posts with label Political history. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Political history. Show all posts
Thursday, December 04, 2008
8. The Fox And The Hedgehog: A Discourse on Liberties and Deaths, versus "Serving "In A Rack." A Musing on Staying Alive.
"The Fox knows many things; the Hedgehog knows one big thing."
Hesiod, according to the 20th Century philosopher, Isaiah Berlin, said that there are two concepts of liberty, one complicated, the other simple. The former, which Berlin termed "Negative," begins with deep roots, emerges into the light with a hardened trunk, branches out in every direction, sends off twigs that eventually sprout countless leaves. The leaves are expendable,: they die, they fall, become compost and are forgotten.
Such a leaf was U.S. Army Pfc. Luis A. Perez.
Perez died in August 2004, in Fallujah, Iraq from injuries sustained when his truck was destroyed by an I.E.D. Perez came from a small upstate New York Hamlet, near Lake Ontario, close to Fort Drum. He was in Iraq as a member of the Army Reserves (223d Transportation Co., Norristown, PA) He was 19-years-old.
Perez left a young wife and a family that loved him. That year, he missed the Labor Day weekend, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, Valentine's Day, Easter, his 20th Birthday, the July Fourth weekend, and, now, the cycle will go on forever.
We were namesakes. We lived close by, but we weren't related, at least I don't think so in any way other than we were brother human beings. So, what's my beef? There have been 4000+ other combat deaths with, perhaps, 100,000 more injured, in Iraq, since, former president, George le Fou, a member in good standing of the Laccopluti, declared War and Victory almost eight years ago. Pfc. Perez is only a 1/4000th part of the catastrophe. Like the others, he was a hero in death, but had he planned on being a hero before he was killed? That's a stretch. When one plans to be a hero, they join the active Army's Infantry, Armor and Artillery corps. They volunteer to go Airborne. Volunteer again to go to Ranger School, and then volunteer once more for the Special Forces, Delta Team...the Daisy Chain and the Grave (The last six words were lifted from Alan Ginsberg's "Howl").
My point? I don't think, at 19, he had any intention of being a dead hero which is not meant to disparage his contribution to the war effort or on a greater level to America. At 19, a young man is thinking about his future, a job, college, girls and more girls and, then, the right girl. One enlists in the reserves to serve the Country, get a little extra pocket cash, respect from the community in which he lives and money for college. I don't think that he expected to die.
We, my family of Pérezes, have been an Army family since the first World War. I've often stated it, but I don't mind repeating it, my father was a real "V" for Valor hero. I was in the Army, too, heh heh. Like I said my Dad was a bona fide hero and while, geneticists will tell you, that kind of stuff skips a generation, cynicism, we all know is an acquired trait.
"I serve the Lord of Battle and the Muses too;
for I recognize the beauty of their gift."(Ibid)
Many a day (and night) I got to hear my father--and others-- relate their war experiences, while I sat on the foot rail under the bars of countless VFW saloons, wiping off the beer from my head that spilled over. So, I can attest to his courage and valor. One footnote: in the town square of Adjuntas, Puerto Rico, there is a statue commemorating one of my granduncles for his service in World War I. Seeing as the U.S. Congress had just passed the "Jones Act" in 1917, making Puerto Ricans U.S. Citizens, therefore eligible to fight in all U.S. Wars, my uncle must have felt strongly about the need of stopping young Kaiser Wilhelm II. It boggles the imagination.
One of my sons served in the Army Reserves, neatly, between Persian Gulf Lunacy I and Persian Gulf Lunacy II.. There was no war going on, so, for the both of us, there was no problem. Had there been a war, however, there would have been a lot of tension. Skipping to Canada would have been out of the question. Neither of us likes the cold. Eh? Most importantly, we believe in the inviolability and sacredness of the "Contract." Further, neither of us could ever reconcile the thought of desertion, maybe a little late for Reveille because of too much Revelry the night before, but never desertion. Fortunately, I never had to come up with an alternative Patriotic Plan.
It's odd how that word "Patriot" comes up a lot these days. Before 9/11 and our not-too-well thought out reaction, Patriots had been those guys that huddled together for warmth from 1776 -to-1783. More recently, and I like the name application a lot better, it's the name of a football team from Foxboro, MA.
Okay, I'll say it once more: Plc. Luis A. Perez died in Fallujah, August 2004, and I don't think he should have. Because of that, I will always feel a little guilty when I eat a piece of apple pie, drink a fine Bordeaux or kiss my kids.
"No one in the city honors the dead or even
mentions them. Alive we prefer to court the living.
Nothing good can be said for being dead." (Ibid)
A Few Thoughts about "SERVING "IN A RACK!"
The second concept of liberty, which Berlin called "Positive" is simple and goes directly to the core of what is historically inevitable, albeit, the truth..
I have been thinking about sedition, recently. Don't get me wrong, I'm not planning to be seditious: I love my country and its people too much for that. It's true that, sometimes, I become very exasperated with my countrymen, especially when they behave like children who, after having been warned not to lean out of an open window for the 50th time, do it again, anyway.
I hate dragging out old horses like the Spanish-American philosopher, George Santayana, who warned all of us that if we do not learn from the mistakes in history, "We are doomed to repeat its failures."
My mind has been wandering toward the Espionage and Sedition Act of 2001. Scratch that. I meant "Patriot" Act of 2001. Old Woody Wilson would have mused that an Espionage and Sedition Act by any other name smells as pungent as cow manure in the July noon-day sun. I searched around: he didn't say it. So, I Wood-y.
Had I been around in 1912, I would have voted for Teddy Roosevelt, hands down. He was a man who understood the nuances of Realpolitik and a staunch conservationist who gave the Nation the National Park System.
The problem with the Espionage and Sedition Acts (1917) for me, however, is that they essentially eviscerated the First Amendment. One could receive 20 years for saying, writing (woops), or printing anything "disloyal, profane, scurrilous or abusive" about the American form of government, the Constitution or the armed forces.
The producer who made the film, "The Spirit of Seventy-six," received a ten-year sentence because his film risked stirring sentiment against the British.
It was against the law to say that war went against the teachings of Christ. (The Administration and the Congress of 2001 missed this one... or, did they?) I may be in trouble there, too. I have to go back and reread the Act.
When September 11th happened, I was in Europe. I learned almost simultaneously with the rest of the country what had just occurred. First, from the internet page of the NYT that seemed like a faux version of itself, then, from the Poughkeepsie Journal which was not subject to the same power and communications outages. It was surreal. I cannot claim to have suffered more of a psychological blow than other New Yorkers (Americans), but from my window on West 12th Street, as I am wont to tell people, I watched, daily, as the towers were being built. My son, Jake, his mother and I would bike down to the building site and check it out up close. When finished, we used to go up to the top, regularly, and scan the horizon. It was all a very personal experience for me as a denizen of Greenwich Village and as a New Yorker. So, I took it very personally, when a bunch of psychopathic zealots took them down.
My reaction was similar to most other Americans: anger and rage, and what followed, a desire for revenge. I wanted those responsible for the misdeeds of September 11th, dead and buried--not just once, but 3,000 times for as many of us who perished that day. That feeling remained until the Twits started coming out of the cellar waving the flag. It was a signal for me that it was a good time to tredwater and think
I am old enough to have remembered when the two American destroyers, the Maddox and the Turner Joy were reported to have been attacked by the North Vietnamese Navy on August 2nd and 4th, 1964. I was enraged by the thought that peaceful American sailors at sea, going about their regular duties, would be attacked by a sneaky foe. It smelled of Pearl Harbor all over again.
By August 7th, however, while the U.S. Senate was falling over itself to rush out the "Gulf of Tonkin" Resolution (98-2), I was already having misgivings. I began asking myself what kind of fanatical superpower, which I knew the government of North Vietnam was not, would attack two American warships with err, gun boats? Something was beginning to smell rotten and, as we learned much later, what was stewing in the noon-day-sun, was not the truth.
That patriotic rush of 7 August 1964, absurd as it now seems, led to over 55,000 American servicemen and women losing their lives and another 250,000 becoming casualties in what became the longest military conflict--until now--in which America had been involved, YET!. There are many "YETS" in our lives as a friend used to tell me. Further, there were twits in the George W. Bush administration who had already called this war on terror wherever it might sprout its ugly head, the "Long War."
I take all the lies that flowed out of the White House from 1964 through 1975, very personally. For me, it was an outright breach of faith.
So, in the Fall of 2001, when our elected leaders became indistinguishable from the ever present and always reactionary, people's militia types, and wrapped themselves in the flag while holding aloft the cross, I reached for my Boswell's, "Life of Samuel Johnson." Now, there was a man who had no problem defining his mother tongue nor expressing himself in it. "Patriotism is that last refuge of a scoundrel,." said Johnson. Boswell goes on to explain that Johnson did not mean, a real and generous love of country, "but that pretended patriotism which so many, in all ages and countries, have made a cloak for self-interest." (April 7, 1775)
As I peruse my notes of September 11th and the weeks and months that followed, I found one letter that I wrote to my former faculty colleagues at an upstate New York college, an institution as liberal as any one might find anywhere in the U.S.
In that letter, I invoked the specter of Vietnam. I suggested that if we went into Afghanistan, we should send in the gun wackos, lunatics, homicidal maniacs and other social miscreants who would never be missed. Failing that, we should hire one of the Mafia's. The Colombian and the Russian Mafia seem to know how to get the job done. Further, I suggested that our heroic President should distinguish himself by leading the "Corps of the Wild."
"At least," I argued, "it would spare the flower of our youth from the vagaries of an adult world caught up in its own self-interest" I said that, "I had come to one unalterable belief: that there is no such thing as a ‘Just’ or ‘Unjust’ war, ... just war.” It follows, then, that trained killers, not politicians should lead, plan and execute wars." It was obvious to me even then, that to follow the Russian failed example and try to bomb the bad guys to Hell wasn't going to work. I likened it to hitting mercury with a hammer.
You cannot imagine the level of vituperation in the responses I received. I was so taken aback that I, probably wrongly, stopped writing to them. I was accused of: being intellectually deficient, mentally looped, a Muslim lover, having sexual disorientation problems, anti-God, anti-Christ, unchristian, unpatriotic, speaking to the voices in the corners of my ceiling (Now, that one was right on the mark. My problem has always been, however, that the voices never seem to want to speak back to me).
I was crushed... for a second or two. But, I have always known not to put too much faith in Liberals, or anyone frozen in that dialectical interesse of the two sides of the coin, because they can never make a decision. In this group, I include pensioners and especially, the Beemer set. Both of these groups are caught in their invested self-interest. But what shook me for a while was that the common folks, those who drive Chevys, Fords and VWs were just as much caught up in the war fever. "My God," I thought to myself, "it's like Vietnam never happened."
Josef Goebbels was a being, who I understand plied his craft in Europe during the 1930's and 40's. It is Goebbels who is quoted as having said, "If you tell the people a lie long enough, they will eventually come to believe it." Enough said.
But, how many times do we have to be told the same lie before we realize it's a lie?
Recently, an article in a local New York daily, reported that over 5,000 American men (presumably women, too) who were over 50-years-old, were serving in the military theaters of Iraq and Afghanistan. Of that number, more than 50 had been killed. Of those, one was, 59, a few years younger than I.
I tried to put myself in his boots.
All I can tell you is that once the temperature climbs higher than 95 degrees, no power on Earth could make me move off my rack by the window, where the only thing approximating a breeze in my billet could be felt. In Iraq, where the temperature hovers around 115 degrees in the summer, war goes on as usual. Men and women in Tee shirts (bras), fatigues and bullet proof vests walk, work--wait to kill or be killed.
Maybe it is my age, or just my natural insubordinate nature, in either case, had I been serving in Iraq and my Commanding officer had told me to get up, I would have said, "Sir, until the temperature cools down, here, and in Washington, I'm staying in my bunk. Remember, Sir, They, too, serve who lay In A Rack and wait.'
"Some Thracian is waving the shield I reluctantly left by a Bush, a flawless piece. So what? I saved myself. Forget the shield. I will get another, no worse." (Ibid)
Szia From Budapest
Hesiod, according to the 20th Century philosopher, Isaiah Berlin, said that there are two concepts of liberty, one complicated, the other simple. The former, which Berlin termed "Negative," begins with deep roots, emerges into the light with a hardened trunk, branches out in every direction, sends off twigs that eventually sprout countless leaves. The leaves are expendable,: they die, they fall, become compost and are forgotten.
Such a leaf was U.S. Army Pfc. Luis A. Perez.
Perez died in August 2004, in Fallujah, Iraq from injuries sustained when his truck was destroyed by an I.E.D. Perez came from a small upstate New York Hamlet, near Lake Ontario, close to Fort Drum. He was in Iraq as a member of the Army Reserves (223d Transportation Co., Norristown, PA) He was 19-years-old.
Perez left a young wife and a family that loved him. That year, he missed the Labor Day weekend, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, Valentine's Day, Easter, his 20th Birthday, the July Fourth weekend, and, now, the cycle will go on forever.
We were namesakes. We lived close by, but we weren't related, at least I don't think so in any way other than we were brother human beings. So, what's my beef? There have been 4000+ other combat deaths with, perhaps, 100,000 more injured, in Iraq, since, former president, George le Fou, a member in good standing of the Laccopluti, declared War and Victory almost eight years ago. Pfc. Perez is only a 1/4000th part of the catastrophe. Like the others, he was a hero in death, but had he planned on being a hero before he was killed? That's a stretch. When one plans to be a hero, they join the active Army's Infantry, Armor and Artillery corps. They volunteer to go Airborne. Volunteer again to go to Ranger School, and then volunteer once more for the Special Forces, Delta Team...the Daisy Chain and the Grave (The last six words were lifted from Alan Ginsberg's "Howl").
My point? I don't think, at 19, he had any intention of being a dead hero which is not meant to disparage his contribution to the war effort or on a greater level to America. At 19, a young man is thinking about his future, a job, college, girls and more girls and, then, the right girl. One enlists in the reserves to serve the Country, get a little extra pocket cash, respect from the community in which he lives and money for college. I don't think that he expected to die.
We, my family of Pérezes, have been an Army family since the first World War. I've often stated it, but I don't mind repeating it, my father was a real "V" for Valor hero. I was in the Army, too, heh heh. Like I said my Dad was a bona fide hero and while, geneticists will tell you, that kind of stuff skips a generation, cynicism, we all know is an acquired trait.
"I serve the Lord of Battle and the Muses too;
for I recognize the beauty of their gift."(Ibid)
Many a day (and night) I got to hear my father--and others-- relate their war experiences, while I sat on the foot rail under the bars of countless VFW saloons, wiping off the beer from my head that spilled over. So, I can attest to his courage and valor. One footnote: in the town square of Adjuntas, Puerto Rico, there is a statue commemorating one of my granduncles for his service in World War I. Seeing as the U.S. Congress had just passed the "Jones Act" in 1917, making Puerto Ricans U.S. Citizens, therefore eligible to fight in all U.S. Wars, my uncle must have felt strongly about the need of stopping young Kaiser Wilhelm II. It boggles the imagination.
One of my sons served in the Army Reserves, neatly, between Persian Gulf Lunacy I and Persian Gulf Lunacy II.. There was no war going on, so, for the both of us, there was no problem. Had there been a war, however, there would have been a lot of tension. Skipping to Canada would have been out of the question. Neither of us likes the cold. Eh? Most importantly, we believe in the inviolability and sacredness of the "Contract." Further, neither of us could ever reconcile the thought of desertion, maybe a little late for Reveille because of too much Revelry the night before, but never desertion. Fortunately, I never had to come up with an alternative Patriotic Plan.
It's odd how that word "Patriot" comes up a lot these days. Before 9/11 and our not-too-well thought out reaction, Patriots had been those guys that huddled together for warmth from 1776 -to-1783. More recently, and I like the name application a lot better, it's the name of a football team from Foxboro, MA.
Okay, I'll say it once more: Plc. Luis A. Perez died in Fallujah, August 2004, and I don't think he should have. Because of that, I will always feel a little guilty when I eat a piece of apple pie, drink a fine Bordeaux or kiss my kids.
"No one in the city honors the dead or even
mentions them. Alive we prefer to court the living.
Nothing good can be said for being dead." (Ibid)
A Few Thoughts about "SERVING "IN A RACK!"
The second concept of liberty, which Berlin called "Positive" is simple and goes directly to the core of what is historically inevitable, albeit, the truth..
I have been thinking about sedition, recently. Don't get me wrong, I'm not planning to be seditious: I love my country and its people too much for that. It's true that, sometimes, I become very exasperated with my countrymen, especially when they behave like children who, after having been warned not to lean out of an open window for the 50th time, do it again, anyway.
I hate dragging out old horses like the Spanish-American philosopher, George Santayana, who warned all of us that if we do not learn from the mistakes in history, "We are doomed to repeat its failures."
My mind has been wandering toward the Espionage and Sedition Act of 2001. Scratch that. I meant "Patriot" Act of 2001. Old Woody Wilson would have mused that an Espionage and Sedition Act by any other name smells as pungent as cow manure in the July noon-day sun. I searched around: he didn't say it. So, I Wood-y.
Had I been around in 1912, I would have voted for Teddy Roosevelt, hands down. He was a man who understood the nuances of Realpolitik and a staunch conservationist who gave the Nation the National Park System.
The problem with the Espionage and Sedition Acts (1917) for me, however, is that they essentially eviscerated the First Amendment. One could receive 20 years for saying, writing (woops), or printing anything "disloyal, profane, scurrilous or abusive" about the American form of government, the Constitution or the armed forces.
The producer who made the film, "The Spirit of Seventy-six," received a ten-year sentence because his film risked stirring sentiment against the British.
It was against the law to say that war went against the teachings of Christ. (The Administration and the Congress of 2001 missed this one... or, did they?) I may be in trouble there, too. I have to go back and reread the Act.
When September 11th happened, I was in Europe. I learned almost simultaneously with the rest of the country what had just occurred. First, from the internet page of the NYT that seemed like a faux version of itself, then, from the Poughkeepsie Journal which was not subject to the same power and communications outages. It was surreal. I cannot claim to have suffered more of a psychological blow than other New Yorkers (Americans), but from my window on West 12th Street, as I am wont to tell people, I watched, daily, as the towers were being built. My son, Jake, his mother and I would bike down to the building site and check it out up close. When finished, we used to go up to the top, regularly, and scan the horizon. It was all a very personal experience for me as a denizen of Greenwich Village and as a New Yorker. So, I took it very personally, when a bunch of psychopathic zealots took them down.
My reaction was similar to most other Americans: anger and rage, and what followed, a desire for revenge. I wanted those responsible for the misdeeds of September 11th, dead and buried--not just once, but 3,000 times for as many of us who perished that day. That feeling remained until the Twits started coming out of the cellar waving the flag. It was a signal for me that it was a good time to tredwater and think
I am old enough to have remembered when the two American destroyers, the Maddox and the Turner Joy were reported to have been attacked by the North Vietnamese Navy on August 2nd and 4th, 1964. I was enraged by the thought that peaceful American sailors at sea, going about their regular duties, would be attacked by a sneaky foe. It smelled of Pearl Harbor all over again.
By August 7th, however, while the U.S. Senate was falling over itself to rush out the "Gulf of Tonkin" Resolution (98-2), I was already having misgivings. I began asking myself what kind of fanatical superpower, which I knew the government of North Vietnam was not, would attack two American warships with err, gun boats? Something was beginning to smell rotten and, as we learned much later, what was stewing in the noon-day-sun, was not the truth.
That patriotic rush of 7 August 1964, absurd as it now seems, led to over 55,000 American servicemen and women losing their lives and another 250,000 becoming casualties in what became the longest military conflict--until now--in which America had been involved, YET!. There are many "YETS" in our lives as a friend used to tell me. Further, there were twits in the George W. Bush administration who had already called this war on terror wherever it might sprout its ugly head, the "Long War."
I take all the lies that flowed out of the White House from 1964 through 1975, very personally. For me, it was an outright breach of faith.
So, in the Fall of 2001, when our elected leaders became indistinguishable from the ever present and always reactionary, people's militia types, and wrapped themselves in the flag while holding aloft the cross, I reached for my Boswell's, "Life of Samuel Johnson." Now, there was a man who had no problem defining his mother tongue nor expressing himself in it. "Patriotism is that last refuge of a scoundrel,." said Johnson. Boswell goes on to explain that Johnson did not mean, a real and generous love of country, "but that pretended patriotism which so many, in all ages and countries, have made a cloak for self-interest." (April 7, 1775)
As I peruse my notes of September 11th and the weeks and months that followed, I found one letter that I wrote to my former faculty colleagues at an upstate New York college, an institution as liberal as any one might find anywhere in the U.S.
In that letter, I invoked the specter of Vietnam. I suggested that if we went into Afghanistan, we should send in the gun wackos, lunatics, homicidal maniacs and other social miscreants who would never be missed. Failing that, we should hire one of the Mafia's. The Colombian and the Russian Mafia seem to know how to get the job done. Further, I suggested that our heroic President should distinguish himself by leading the "Corps of the Wild."
"At least," I argued, "it would spare the flower of our youth from the vagaries of an adult world caught up in its own self-interest" I said that, "I had come to one unalterable belief: that there is no such thing as a ‘Just’ or ‘Unjust’ war, ... just war.” It follows, then, that trained killers, not politicians should lead, plan and execute wars." It was obvious to me even then, that to follow the Russian failed example and try to bomb the bad guys to Hell wasn't going to work. I likened it to hitting mercury with a hammer.
You cannot imagine the level of vituperation in the responses I received. I was so taken aback that I, probably wrongly, stopped writing to them. I was accused of: being intellectually deficient, mentally looped, a Muslim lover, having sexual disorientation problems, anti-God, anti-Christ, unchristian, unpatriotic, speaking to the voices in the corners of my ceiling (Now, that one was right on the mark. My problem has always been, however, that the voices never seem to want to speak back to me).
I was crushed... for a second or two. But, I have always known not to put too much faith in Liberals, or anyone frozen in that dialectical interesse of the two sides of the coin, because they can never make a decision. In this group, I include pensioners and especially, the Beemer set. Both of these groups are caught in their invested self-interest. But what shook me for a while was that the common folks, those who drive Chevys, Fords and VWs were just as much caught up in the war fever. "My God," I thought to myself, "it's like Vietnam never happened."
Josef Goebbels was a being, who I understand plied his craft in Europe during the 1930's and 40's. It is Goebbels who is quoted as having said, "If you tell the people a lie long enough, they will eventually come to believe it." Enough said.
But, how many times do we have to be told the same lie before we realize it's a lie?
Recently, an article in a local New York daily, reported that over 5,000 American men (presumably women, too) who were over 50-years-old, were serving in the military theaters of Iraq and Afghanistan. Of that number, more than 50 had been killed. Of those, one was, 59, a few years younger than I.
I tried to put myself in his boots.
All I can tell you is that once the temperature climbs higher than 95 degrees, no power on Earth could make me move off my rack by the window, where the only thing approximating a breeze in my billet could be felt. In Iraq, where the temperature hovers around 115 degrees in the summer, war goes on as usual. Men and women in Tee shirts (bras), fatigues and bullet proof vests walk, work--wait to kill or be killed.
Maybe it is my age, or just my natural insubordinate nature, in either case, had I been serving in Iraq and my Commanding officer had told me to get up, I would have said, "Sir, until the temperature cools down, here, and in Washington, I'm staying in my bunk. Remember, Sir, They, too, serve who lay In A Rack and wait.'
"Some Thracian is waving the shield I reluctantly left by a Bush, a flawless piece. So what? I saved myself. Forget the shield. I will get another, no worse." (Ibid)
Szia From Budapest
9. Cross v. Crescent
Cross V. Crescent
The name, Roland, popped into my mind a week ago and has not left me for more than a few minutes, since. The trigger was rather benign, it was the name of a waiter in a French restaurant, far from the central heroic character in the Chanson de Geste, "Song of Roland," which we all should have read in our youth about the French hero, Roland.
However, there are a few points that we may have forgotten in the ensuing decades. The epic is credited to the enigmatic figure, Turoldus, similar to Homer, in the sense that no one knows if he wrote, narrated or simply copied out the "Chanson de Roland.”
The underlying theme revolves around treason and revenge, and is as much about Charlemagne as it is about Roland (in the epic, the beloved and trusted nephew of Charlemagne).
Charlemagne, although not the founder of the Carolingian Dynasty (that credit goes to his grandfather, Charles Martel, "Charles the Hammer") - stands out as the most prominent character of medieval French and European history. Charlemagne (c.739-814) was reputed to have been born in Aix-la-Chapelle, modern Aachen, and was, subsequently, buried there. Not until the creation of the European Union, has Europe been as politically united as it was during his reign. He was the conqueror and unifier of most of Europe: crowned the first "Holy Roman Emperor" on Christmas Day, 800. He stood over six feet tall, had five legitimate wives, however, he left only one legitimate son, Louis the Pious. Even today, he seems larger than life. To the French he was Achilles, Odysseus and Agamemnon, wrapped up into one, and the Chanson de Roland, is only one of many Heroic Carolingian Chansons.
About Roland, we know very little. There is a one line reference in the Codex Emiliense of a Roland, Duke of the Marches of Brittany, which attests to a Roland Legend about the time of the writing of the Chanson that bears his name. There is no indication anywhere of a blood connection to Charlemagne. And, that's not the only problem with the Epic: the history is all wrong.
The story, incorrectly, depicts Charlemagne as a Christian hero fighting the Saracen infidel. The historical truth is that Charlemagne was asked to come to Spain by a Muslim king to help him fight off a Muslim contender. The Chanson was written sometime after the First Crusade, c.1095-99, but the historic battle, immortalized in the Chanson, actually took place on August 15, 778. The villains of the Chanson who slaughtered Roland and the rest of Charlemagne's rear guard at the Gate of Spain, "Roncevaux," were in reality Basque brigands who saw their moment of opportunity by snatching the lightly guarded baggage train, and not the Saracens (Muslims). Here, the author took poetic and historical license and skewed the facts to conform with France's contemporary enemy 300 years later. The world was a little different in those days. People couldn't just google their facts.
Still, today, we find people who can access the truth if they wanted, but prefer to forego their intellect for the pleasure (I think that's what it is) of simply hating. It's an oft repeated human interposition: emotion over intellect. When we look around, we find that people haven't changed much over the 5000+ years of recorded history. Okay Perez, what's your point? I was afraid that I would have to come to this. The Chanson de Roland is an epic tale about a private war, set within a national war and the national war, again, within the World War of Cross v. Crescent. That was a thousand years ago. Now, I don't want to push the point of troubled and unresolved history repeating itself, but aren't there some
modern parallels, here? If we take George W.'s statement at the beginning of March 2003, that he held a very private hatred for the, then Iraqi, President, So Damn Insane (I think it had a little to do with So Damn trying to kill Papa George), we have had the private war. The Iraq War is the national war, and, The War on Terrorism: the continuing World War between the Cross and the Crescent.
Am I the only person on the planet that feels that something is very wrong, somewhere? Ever since 1991, when I began to speak out on what I thought was a dangerous trend vis-à-vis our relations with the Muslim world, through three successive, presidential administrations, I have felt like the lone voice in the wilderness or, better stated in the Chanson: "Dieu! Que le son du cor est triste au fond des bois!"
As I see the problem, there are two possible solutions: the first, unreasonable to me, but not to many, is to sterilize the world of the Muslim menace: to annihilate Islam once and for all, never mind that it's unthinkable, it's stupid. Even, to continue affairs, in this way for another thousand years is impractical and unrealistic.
The other possible solution is to introduce the Koran and Islamic culture to students at an early age; thus depriving them of the ignorance that has plagued their progenitors. Not a bad idea, n’est-ce pas? The problem is that too many folks in the West believe that if our children study Islam, they might become infected with it. God forbid, they might even think it superior to our Christian/Judaic culture.
I heard of a case not too far back about some freshman students in either Virginia or North Carolina sued their college because the core curriculum required that they study Islamic Culture and religion and, I think they won their case. Those brilliant lights are destined to be the political leaders of tomorrow…God forbid!
I've tried to look at the basic rules of Islam to see what makes it such an insidious religion and with all respect this is what I have found.
1. To be honest and modest in all dealings and behaviors. (That finishes me at the jump).
2. To be unquestionably loyal to the Islamic community. (Well, I can be loyal, but I always need to ask the questions: Why? And, do I really have to?)
3. To abstain from pork and alcohol at all times. (I see real problems, here. I can stop eating pig, but what about all those poor people who would lose their jobs in the Wine and Spirits industry? Thought that I was going to say something else?)
4. To wash and pray facing Mecca five times a day. (Gee, would I have to really do that? The washing part, I think I can do, however, sometimes I don't even know which way is the Bronx).
5. To contribute to the support of the poor and needy. (Really? All of them? Can't they just all go to work, by Jove?).
6. To fast during daylight hours for one month each year. (Again, I'm finished. Question: can you cheat a little?)
7. To make a pilgrimage to Mecca and visit the Ka'ba at least once in a lifetime. (Okay, that's really it. I'm really out of this deal. I'm a Senior Citizen, and so far I've managed not to visit Disneyland and Disney World, forget the Washington Monument. I'm just not the traveling type.
You've read the Koran, and you have found it littered with anti-Jewish rantings? Listen, I've lived in, or visited 49 States; in those States in every school, college, university, occupation and social gathering, I have heard anti-Semitic rantings and ravings. Recently, it has become more fashionable to disparage the Semitic cousins of the Jews, the Arabs. So, who are the true hypocrites?
I never, except for once, ever heard an anti-Puerto Rican epithet... to my face... while I was still in the room, that is. No one has ever said that we are not all in need of some spiritual healing This applies to Arab as well as non-Arab. The solution, as I see it, begins with the factor of one: ourselves.The most perplexing thing, to me, however, is that I haven't seen one word in the Koran about oil. So, please someone take the time and explain to me: What exactly does Islam have to do with OIL?
Szia, From Budapest
The name, Roland, popped into my mind a week ago and has not left me for more than a few minutes, since. The trigger was rather benign, it was the name of a waiter in a French restaurant, far from the central heroic character in the Chanson de Geste, "Song of Roland," which we all should have read in our youth about the French hero, Roland.
However, there are a few points that we may have forgotten in the ensuing decades. The epic is credited to the enigmatic figure, Turoldus, similar to Homer, in the sense that no one knows if he wrote, narrated or simply copied out the "Chanson de Roland.”
The underlying theme revolves around treason and revenge, and is as much about Charlemagne as it is about Roland (in the epic, the beloved and trusted nephew of Charlemagne).
Charlemagne, although not the founder of the Carolingian Dynasty (that credit goes to his grandfather, Charles Martel, "Charles the Hammer") - stands out as the most prominent character of medieval French and European history. Charlemagne (c.739-814) was reputed to have been born in Aix-la-Chapelle, modern Aachen, and was, subsequently, buried there. Not until the creation of the European Union, has Europe been as politically united as it was during his reign. He was the conqueror and unifier of most of Europe: crowned the first "Holy Roman Emperor" on Christmas Day, 800. He stood over six feet tall, had five legitimate wives, however, he left only one legitimate son, Louis the Pious. Even today, he seems larger than life. To the French he was Achilles, Odysseus and Agamemnon, wrapped up into one, and the Chanson de Roland, is only one of many Heroic Carolingian Chansons.
About Roland, we know very little. There is a one line reference in the Codex Emiliense of a Roland, Duke of the Marches of Brittany, which attests to a Roland Legend about the time of the writing of the Chanson that bears his name. There is no indication anywhere of a blood connection to Charlemagne. And, that's not the only problem with the Epic: the history is all wrong.
The story, incorrectly, depicts Charlemagne as a Christian hero fighting the Saracen infidel. The historical truth is that Charlemagne was asked to come to Spain by a Muslim king to help him fight off a Muslim contender. The Chanson was written sometime after the First Crusade, c.1095-99, but the historic battle, immortalized in the Chanson, actually took place on August 15, 778. The villains of the Chanson who slaughtered Roland and the rest of Charlemagne's rear guard at the Gate of Spain, "Roncevaux," were in reality Basque brigands who saw their moment of opportunity by snatching the lightly guarded baggage train, and not the Saracens (Muslims). Here, the author took poetic and historical license and skewed the facts to conform with France's contemporary enemy 300 years later. The world was a little different in those days. People couldn't just google their facts.
Still, today, we find people who can access the truth if they wanted, but prefer to forego their intellect for the pleasure (I think that's what it is) of simply hating. It's an oft repeated human interposition: emotion over intellect. When we look around, we find that people haven't changed much over the 5000+ years of recorded history. Okay Perez, what's your point? I was afraid that I would have to come to this. The Chanson de Roland is an epic tale about a private war, set within a national war and the national war, again, within the World War of Cross v. Crescent. That was a thousand years ago. Now, I don't want to push the point of troubled and unresolved history repeating itself, but aren't there some
modern parallels, here? If we take George W.'s statement at the beginning of March 2003, that he held a very private hatred for the, then Iraqi, President, So Damn Insane (I think it had a little to do with So Damn trying to kill Papa George), we have had the private war. The Iraq War is the national war, and, The War on Terrorism: the continuing World War between the Cross and the Crescent.
Am I the only person on the planet that feels that something is very wrong, somewhere? Ever since 1991, when I began to speak out on what I thought was a dangerous trend vis-à-vis our relations with the Muslim world, through three successive, presidential administrations, I have felt like the lone voice in the wilderness or, better stated in the Chanson: "Dieu! Que le son du cor est triste au fond des bois!"
As I see the problem, there are two possible solutions: the first, unreasonable to me, but not to many, is to sterilize the world of the Muslim menace: to annihilate Islam once and for all, never mind that it's unthinkable, it's stupid. Even, to continue affairs, in this way for another thousand years is impractical and unrealistic.
The other possible solution is to introduce the Koran and Islamic culture to students at an early age; thus depriving them of the ignorance that has plagued their progenitors. Not a bad idea, n’est-ce pas? The problem is that too many folks in the West believe that if our children study Islam, they might become infected with it. God forbid, they might even think it superior to our Christian/Judaic culture.
I heard of a case not too far back about some freshman students in either Virginia or North Carolina sued their college because the core curriculum required that they study Islamic Culture and religion and, I think they won their case. Those brilliant lights are destined to be the political leaders of tomorrow…God forbid!
I've tried to look at the basic rules of Islam to see what makes it such an insidious religion and with all respect this is what I have found.
1. To be honest and modest in all dealings and behaviors. (That finishes me at the jump).
2. To be unquestionably loyal to the Islamic community. (Well, I can be loyal, but I always need to ask the questions: Why? And, do I really have to?)
3. To abstain from pork and alcohol at all times. (I see real problems, here. I can stop eating pig, but what about all those poor people who would lose their jobs in the Wine and Spirits industry? Thought that I was going to say something else?)
4. To wash and pray facing Mecca five times a day. (Gee, would I have to really do that? The washing part, I think I can do, however, sometimes I don't even know which way is the Bronx).
5. To contribute to the support of the poor and needy. (Really? All of them? Can't they just all go to work, by Jove?).
6. To fast during daylight hours for one month each year. (Again, I'm finished. Question: can you cheat a little?)
7. To make a pilgrimage to Mecca and visit the Ka'ba at least once in a lifetime. (Okay, that's really it. I'm really out of this deal. I'm a Senior Citizen, and so far I've managed not to visit Disneyland and Disney World, forget the Washington Monument. I'm just not the traveling type.
You've read the Koran, and you have found it littered with anti-Jewish rantings? Listen, I've lived in, or visited 49 States; in those States in every school, college, university, occupation and social gathering, I have heard anti-Semitic rantings and ravings. Recently, it has become more fashionable to disparage the Semitic cousins of the Jews, the Arabs. So, who are the true hypocrites?
I never, except for once, ever heard an anti-Puerto Rican epithet... to my face... while I was still in the room, that is. No one has ever said that we are not all in need of some spiritual healing This applies to Arab as well as non-Arab. The solution, as I see it, begins with the factor of one: ourselves.The most perplexing thing, to me, however, is that I haven't seen one word in the Koran about oil. So, please someone take the time and explain to me: What exactly does Islam have to do with OIL?
Szia, From Budapest
Monday, January 09, 2006
11. Screaming From The Pyre: Chapter IX. Black Sites:Thoughts on the American Gulag and what it may mean for Europe
Secret, Top Secret, Very Very Secret..... or no secret at all?
What is the big surprise finding out that there were (are) Black Sites in Romania, Ukraine, Kosovo, Bulgaria, the Bronx? Obviously, what we are being allowed to see is merely the tip of the iceberg. Point of fact, wherever the US has a military base or military arrangement is a potential territory to house a Black..... call them what they really are Holes. Does anyone really doubt that the UK, Spain or, for that matter, Germany, hasn't been used by the US clandestine services as a moveable Black Hole at one time or another. The US treats its bases as sovereign territories
This time the news comes to the European Community by the way of an up-until-now-aloof eye on Europe, the Swiss, and by extension their Secret Service and its press (SonntagsBlick). Surprise coming from anything Bushy isn't really much of a surprise. Washington Lawmakers on both sides of the aisle are trying to come to grips with an administration that has subverted its own laws and Constitution. When George le Fou came to Poland two years ago and proclaimed that there wasn't just one Europe but Two, an Old and a New, he was playing to his clients in Eastern Europe. It has been American policy to use the Eastern Europeans as a disruptive force within Europe with the purpose of splitting the EU. Again, no surprise
The Easterners provided a direct pipeline of information on confidential EU negotiations directly to Washington. (Again, no surprise). The Easterners don't credit their western cousin for their liberation, they credit the United States and share a deep sense of indebtedness to it. Whether it is deserved or not is another story. Further, it has been the policy of the Bushy Administration to split the European Alliance and, by Jove, they seem to have done a very good job at it. Finger pointing, at this point, is counterproductive. If the EU is looking to build a family, then they have to be prepared to forgive a new member of the family and hope that they don't do it again. Anything else simply plays into the hands of George la Bouche. Now that the American Gulag has been exposed, the world's democracies need to ferret out all of the Pest Holes of Washington and by exposing them....end them! The US Congress and its counterbalancing judicial system needs to have as much information as it can get for the upcoming hearings and judicial reviews.
Now, all of you who scoffed at the idea of the Millennium Bug in 2000, now must be ruing your oversight and have come to the realization that there was one all along: It was simply hiding in the Bushes.
The Imperfect Messenger
Budapest
What is the big surprise finding out that there were (are) Black Sites in Romania, Ukraine, Kosovo, Bulgaria, the Bronx? Obviously, what we are being allowed to see is merely the tip of the iceberg. Point of fact, wherever the US has a military base or military arrangement is a potential territory to house a Black..... call them what they really are Holes. Does anyone really doubt that the UK, Spain or, for that matter, Germany, hasn't been used by the US clandestine services as a moveable Black Hole at one time or another. The US treats its bases as sovereign territories
This time the news comes to the European Community by the way of an up-until-now-aloof eye on Europe, the Swiss, and by extension their Secret Service and its press (SonntagsBlick). Surprise coming from anything Bushy isn't really much of a surprise. Washington Lawmakers on both sides of the aisle are trying to come to grips with an administration that has subverted its own laws and Constitution. When George le Fou came to Poland two years ago and proclaimed that there wasn't just one Europe but Two, an Old and a New, he was playing to his clients in Eastern Europe. It has been American policy to use the Eastern Europeans as a disruptive force within Europe with the purpose of splitting the EU. Again, no surprise
The Easterners provided a direct pipeline of information on confidential EU negotiations directly to Washington. (Again, no surprise). The Easterners don't credit their western cousin for their liberation, they credit the United States and share a deep sense of indebtedness to it. Whether it is deserved or not is another story. Further, it has been the policy of the Bushy Administration to split the European Alliance and, by Jove, they seem to have done a very good job at it. Finger pointing, at this point, is counterproductive. If the EU is looking to build a family, then they have to be prepared to forgive a new member of the family and hope that they don't do it again. Anything else simply plays into the hands of George la Bouche. Now that the American Gulag has been exposed, the world's democracies need to ferret out all of the Pest Holes of Washington and by exposing them....end them! The US Congress and its counterbalancing judicial system needs to have as much information as it can get for the upcoming hearings and judicial reviews.
Now, all of you who scoffed at the idea of the Millennium Bug in 2000, now must be ruing your oversight and have come to the realization that there was one all along: It was simply hiding in the Bushes.
The Imperfect Messenger
Budapest
Sunday, September 25, 2005
13. Screaming From The Pyre, ChapterX XI. My Trouble With Che
My Trouble with Che: The mystery surrounding his murder... and it wasn't U.S.
Forty years after his death, Che has come back. His visage peers out of book shops; young people walk around proudly displaying Che Tee shirts, souvenir shops prominently display Che posters and, recently, there have been more Che tattoos in evidence than common sense and good taste would allow one to expect.
I recall back in the 1960s having a Che poster on my wall, too. It was the same photograph seen everywhere, today: Che portrayed with a messianic assonance, a black beret -- with its ubiquitous red star affixed like a floating signifier -- pulled back on a full head of unkempt hair, a scraggly beard and eyes that fixed you-- if I may borrow a few words, "in a formulated phrase." The message, however, was revolution. For today's young people, the message is not revolution, but rebellion.
My generation made an icon of Che, because, like he, we were thinking in terms of a World Revolution without a soupçon of what that meant. Looking back 40 years later, it is apparent that Che didn't have a clue, either. Who knew? Who cared? In those days it was so "Fantastikally" romantic. Those were the days of Fidel and Che, Che and Fidel. They were our Revolutionary heroes, the quintessential guerilla fighters: one with star quality, the other, the eminence grise. They didn't walk through the jungle fighting the soldiers of, then, Cuban dictator, Fulgencio Batista, they swaggered through it. They were the coolest things around. What did we have in their place, Ike and his louche V.P., Nixon? Even the alphabetical combination of, JFK/LBJ, could not hold a candle to the bright lights of the Cuban Revolutionaries.
In those heady days of 1958-59, I would have been happy to join Che, Fidel Cienfuegos and the rest of the crew in the mountains. I wouldn't have had much hair on my face. Moreover, I have never really taken much pleasure in camping out that much and I, certainly, don't like mosquitos, bugs and things that slither on the ground, so, I wouldn't have stayed for more than a few days. However, I know that I would still cherish the photographs, especially of those with me standing next to a sweaty and scantily clad buxom female fellow guerilla fighter. Come to think of it, I would have had that picture blown up and, in all likelihood, it would still be hanging prominently somewhere in my home.
"Nice." as a friend used to say, long before I learned that when he said "nice,' he meant it in its original sense, i.e., "stupid."
After they had come to power, my interest in Fidel began to fade rapidly. I think that it was because he continued to wear military fatigues long after he should have graduated into a business suit. He began to look more and more like a Woody Allen caricature before there was Woody Allen. But, Che, he continued to look cool.
That image was so powerful that by the end of the 60's, wearing a beret with some kind of political pin affixed to it became the fashion rage, a faux Signifiant Flottant for artists, peaceniks and political dilettantes around the world. For more than a generation, the black beret remained the epitome of what was meant by revolutionary chic: now, it's back, although many of us never stopped wearing it. Long ago, the ornaments and pins came off, but it was still worn in the same manner as Che -- pulled back hard from the front. Some continued to wear it as a visible, albeit, false, identification with the working class; others, because it never stopped being Bohemian. In either case, people seemed to have felt empowered by it.
The exception to the "I love Che" rule were those 30-to-40--something graying New Left radicals, both White and Black who, long before the publication of his "Motorcycle Diaries," had begun to sense a macho, anti-Semitic, racist and homophobic side to Che's personality. For Latinos, that was never troublesome. Most Latino men are raised with similar biases. It takes age and a willing intellect to make the necessary alterations in attitude and behavior. Che may not have had enough time. Politically, it seems, he had a lot of growing up to do.
Those professional North American New Left radicals began to disassociate themselves from Che as their understanding of the nuances and realities of global politics grew. Che was beginning to be seen as a political adventurist. That image was great when they were in their 20's but by the time they had turned 30, the picture had begun to change.
Che began to be described as a latter day Leon Trotsky. Both were looking to export their respective revolutions. For Stalin, Trotsky's weltanschauung was too dangerous and had the potential to endanger his own fragile situation in Europe. So, off went Leon to Mexico still bearing his message of a world Marxist revolution. To make a long story short, Stalin got tired of having to constantly reign in his former comrade-in-arms, and sent a fellow with an ice pick and an ax to put an end, once and for all, to Leon's malefactions. The message appears to have worked effectively.
Che, shortly after their successful coup de main in Havana, quickly became Fidel's Trotsky, albeit, after having first served unsuccessfully as president of the National Bank of Cuba and Minister of Industry. His advocacy for a rapid pace of industrialization put him at odds with the more pragmatic, and USSR client, Fidel. No doubt Che had images of the fate of fellow partisan and revolutionary, Cienfuegos, who, from an opposite perspective, felt that the Revolution was moving away from a more moderate democratic model than he initially had in mind. One day, the plane in which he was traveling mysteriously went down: some say it was a result of an onboard bomb, others that it was shot down. In any case, Che most have known the truth. Cuba, while the largest island in the Caribbean is still an island and there is very little wiggle room. So, off he went in 1965 to foment failed revolutions in Africa and, subsequently, South America.
As long as Che was somewhere else, other than Cuba, making trouble for the Yanqui, Fidel could publicly support his activities. However, after Soviet Chairman, Leonid Brezhnev, sent his Premier, Aleksei Kosygin, to Havana in June 1967, with a message to Fidel about Che's undermining the region's traditional communist parties and allies of Moscow, it appears that Che's fate was sealed.
Coincidentally, while all this was going on, the United States had plans of its own to terminating Che's activities in the Villagrande region of Bolivia. Members of the U.S. 8th Special Forces, stationed in Panama had trained a counter insurgency battalion of Bolivian troops with the object of running Che to the ground while the Central Intelligence Agency coordinated the entire operation.
The agency had three Cubans, veterans of the Directorate's anti-Castro efforts from the early 60's, in place in Bolivia with overall tactical control of the anti-Che operation. Chief among them was Felix Ramos, a.k.a., Felix Rodriguez.
Ramos-Rodriguez had signed on to be part of the C.I.A.'s expatriate Cuban force that was supposed to overthrow Fidel Castro beginning with a landing at the "Bay of Pigs." However, a few days before the invasion, Ramos-Rodriguez became too sick to take part in the planned invasion and, therefore, escaped injury, death or capture. It was he, who, according to recently declassified State Department and C.I.A. documents, gave the order on October 9th, 1967, to execute Che, after having been ordered by his superiors on Langley's Seventh floor not to kill him: woops!
On that day, Che lost more than his hands, which were severed off for identification purposes, he lost his Rolex to Ramos.
The problem I have with Che has nothing to do with his politics or guerilla war. If you know anything about Che's final days, you might recall that it was a terrible period for him. He was running around the mountains of Villagrande dodging the U.S. trained Ranger Battalion while at the same time suffering from chronic asthma exacerbated, no doubt, by his chronic cigar smoking. The Rangers dogged him day and night not giving him much time to rest. In fact, when they finally caught up with him, he was lying down recovering from an asthma attack. Yet, Che was a medical doctor; he should have known that smoking was hazardous to one's health. In his case, it proved fatal. That's why, for me, I will always remember Che as being a really nice guy
Szia.
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