Sixty-Eight Years After D-Day

Yesterday was the 68th anniversary of D-Day. I wonder how many men who survived those beaches on that day remain alive. A 20-year-old soldier would now be 88. Must be some left.

My father often described waking at dawn on D-Day to see the sky black with airplanes from horizon to horizon. All were flying south towards the English Channel and France. Dad was stationed at a small airfield in Kingston Bagpuize in England near Abingdon and Oxford. Everyone – soldiers and civilians – knew the invasion was imminent, but few knew the timetable or the weather-related delays. Information was particularly scarce at Kingston Bagpuize; the airmen and planes were not part of the early morning action. Instead, they waited for news and sat with mixed feelings created by their safety in the docile English countryside 150 miles from the war's great battle.

I grew up knowing the end of the story. The United States prevailed against Germany in World War II just as we had beaten them before. I never imagined that people of my parents' generation had contemplated defeat or that the invasion might have been a history-making disaster. My father and I saw “The Longest Day” soon after it came out. I was eight. The movie fit a child's automatic patriotism; good guys prevail over bad guys.

As an adult, learning to cope with big uncertainties, I finally understood at least part of my father's fears on that day. Just before noon a pilot friend of his pointed to a small plane parked near the main runway, “I'm authorized to fly it. Why don't we head over the channel and see what's happening?”  Information. Are we winning or losing? What's really happening? Dad, though, had great instincts for understanding fear and confusion. Neither he nor his friend knew the passwords and codes required to enter the airspace. Soldiers in battle would shoot at anything. The small plane would likely be brought down by friendly fire. They just had to wait.

It was early evening when my father realized that all was well. The airmen at Kingston Bagpuize finally got their D-Day orders. Marc watched enlisted men loading crates of Coca-Cola into the big planes that took off and flew south. Not ammunition or medical supplies or soldiers suited up for battle. Coca-Cola. The Army could give priority to air lifting a small luxury to the battle area. Only one explanation fit. 

Game Over for the Climate

Read James Hansen's op-ed piece in yesterday's NY Times.  If you are a parent or a grandparent, an aunt or an uncle, you have a duty to act.  Passivity is not an option.  E-mail your Senators and member of Congress.  It doesn't take much effort.  Contact information for your Senators is available here.  You can find your Congressman or Congresswoman here.  Just tell them to read Hansen's article and to act.  Now.  

Let's take the crackpot Republican support for the Keystone XL pipeline, and turn it into a devastating election-year opportunity.  The message writes itself:  supporting the pipeline is an attack on our children and grandchildren.  Nothing is more cruel or more shameful.  

If you need extra ammunition, read Charles Pierce's "Accidental Activist" piece.  Here's my favorite part:

[Randy Thompson]'s laughed at the preposterous promises of an economic boom; at one point, TransCanada promised that the pipeline would provide 100,000 new jobs. It later was revealed that these jobs included employment in the "entertainment" industry that would spring up along the pipeline's route. "Strippers," Randy says. "They're talking about strippers. And temporary strippers at that."

Good News Squared

Good news is so scarce these days that I can't get over having two cheering items on two successive days.  First,the Brits came right out and reported:

We conclude, therefore, that Rupert Murdoch is not a fit person to exercise the stewardship of a major international company. 

OK, so it is a dog-bites-man story, but welcome and a long time coming nevertheless.

The second item requires a back story.  On April 11th, a barefoot, nightshirt-clad man shot at close range an unoccupied, specially-equipped SUV that the Santa Fe police department uses to catch speeders.  The vehicle was parked unoccupied at the roadside.  On-board radar triggers cameras that photograph the license plates of passing speeding cars.  Citations are issued electronically.  Here's the video from the SUV camera:


Two weeks later, responding to an anonymous tip, the police interviewed Scott Powell who lives close to the site of the shooting.  Powell owned a grey 2011 Audi that looks like the shooter's car.  The next day, Powell traded in that car for a new, blue Audi.  When the police returned to Powell's house to arrest him, Powell led the cops on a car chase through Santa Fe before being apprehended near a doctor's office.

Powell is 63.  He has no previous problems with the law.  He is well educated, lives in an affluent part of the city, and is a book dealer specializing in first editions and Irish literature.  He also has a permit to carry concealed weapons.  Yes, New Mexico is one of those states.  Gun nuts say we are all safer because good gentlemen like Scott Powell can walk our streets and drive our roads carrying hidden weaponry.  Until last week, the gunnies must have loved him.  What a poster boy!  No priors.  Financially stable.  He sells rare books; you can't find a better way to imply calm, gentle, and trustworthy.  Scott Powell is no George Zimmerman.

Scott Powell also seems to have gone bonkers.  No one wants him on their team anymore.  Police searched his house after the arrest and seized a .45 caliber automatic pistol. a .357 revolver, a Beretta handgun, a Sig Sauer handgun, an unidentified handgun wrapped in plastic, three Beretta shotguns, and a bag of "miscellaneous ammunition."  Powell's lawyer explained to the press that Powell has serious health problems including cancer, depression and attention deficit disorder.  The state of New Mexico found him fit to carry concealed handguns.  A crazy, depressed man with ADD and whole bunch of weapons.

Oh, yeah.  Stalwart, gun-totin', citizen Powell fired five shots at a parked car from 10 feet.  Two of those bullets missed completely.  From three paces away.

Feeling safe yet?

Double-plus Ungood

I'm numb.  I watched part of Leslie Stahl's interview with the CIA's former torturer-in-chief, Jose Rodriguez.  I had to turn it off after 5 minutes.  It's like hitting your thumb with a hammer.  There's a moment when you know it's going to hurt like hell, but the pain has not yet started, and you wait in trepidation.  In my case, over 12 hours have passed and I am still waiting for the outrage to overwhelm my consciousness.  Instead, I am in shock.  My eyes won't focus.  My ears buzz.  The man who led America's team of torture and cruelty is fucking loony.  Is everyone in Langley this absurd, or was the GWOT a special modern cadre of "the best and the brightest?"


I couldn't count the real news stories that spewed from Rodriguez's mouth like shit from a goose.  Leslie Stahl let them lie to rot on the studio floor.  Ten years after 9/11, the CIA and FBI continue to fight each other.  What?  Hold on.  Really?  Isn't that important?  The segment continued without pause.  During the brief part of the interview that I watched, Mr. CIA talked about interrogating Abu Zubaydah who was badly wounded when captured in Pakistan.  Zubaydah was cooperative while recuperating from his injuries.  Then, he went quiet, and the CIA turned to torture.  Except, maybe he didn't go quiet.  The FBI says otherwise.  Huh?  Wait a minute?  But, Lesley Stahl allowed her self-serving guest to move on and explain that Zubayah became a tough character who had to be broken by waterboarding.  Except, Rodriguez added astonishing contradiction; Zubayah best responded to "insult slaps."  WTF?  The prisoner is indifferent to simulated drowning, but sings like a canary after a slap across the face?  No.  That's completely crazy.  


Rodriguez responded to Stahl's question about stress positions by showing that prisoners were forced to hold their arms straight up overhead.  Not such a big deal, he explained.  Just like exercising at the gym.  Only different.  


I turned off the television.  

The Best and The Worst

Early in my first year of college, the chemistry faculty described their research in a series of short talks to the potential chem majors. I best remember Prof. JS. He fit the stereotype: dumpy, balding, thick glasses, and a short sleeve white polyester shirt half in and half out of his trousers. JS talked about his work on alveolar surfactants; the proteins that coat the tiny air sacs in our lungs and reduce the effort required to draw each breath. All of us, in 1971, remembered well Patrick Bouvier Kennedy's short life. He was born premature in the summer of 1963 to First Lady Jacqueline Kennedy. The baby lived only three days. Preemies are born before those air sac proteins develop. The babies struggle for each breath. In 1963, many, including Patrick Kennedy, died. And, there was JS, rumpled and completely uncool, telling us about his work to save those babies. The professor was a hero. Of all the descriptors, it was the most appropriate adjective. The one to endure.

I thought again of that day in 1971 when reading the latest New Yorker. An article by Jerome Groopman  covers oncology researchers who are trying with some success to drive cancer into remission by activating our human immune systems. A few pages further back Jill Lepore reports on America's gun fetishism. The two articles contrast the best and worst of humanity.

The cancer researchers are now making progress with methods once abandoned as ineffective. Cancer grows and spreads because mutant cells are too much like their healthy progenitors to trigger immune response. The new therapies super-charge patients' T-cells to induce that extra bit of activity that allows the T-cells to target cancer cells. The approach is not perfect. Supercharged T-cells, like more conventional chemotherapy, may also destroy healthy tissue. But, the research as explained seems like true progress. And the researchers? We don't get much insight about their psyches other than overriding perseverance. These men and women work hard. Are they motivated by ego? Probably. Do they view their research as a competition with other scientists? Certainly. Does it matter? No. Successful research will save many lives. It is hard, slow, grinding, frustrating work toward a heroic cause. The best side of humanity

Jill Lepore's gunnies, in constrast, are immature, diminished people. Their stories are all about emotional (and intellectual) defects without redemption. Gun fetishists use the 2^nd amendment as post-hoc justification for preset conclusion. The Bill of Rights is a cloth remnant. One-half of one tenth was carefully cut out and sewn by the NRA into a drum major's tunic. The rest was tossed on the ground; ignored, forgotten, unseen. Think of mafiosi pleading the 5^th, then cheering themselves as constitutional stalwarts and noble souls motivated exclusively by their love of the Bill of Rights and the Nation.  

Lepore interviews David Keene, the NRA's new president, whose son is doing time for shooting at a driver during a road rage incident. 

He was sentenced to ten years in prison for “using, brandishing, and discharging a firearm in a crime of violence.” I asked Keene if this private tragedy had left him uncertain about what the N.R.A. had wrought. He said no: “You break the law, you pay the price.” 

I asked Keene if any public atrocity had given him pause. He explained that it is the N.R.A.’s policy never to comment on a shooting. 

I asked him how he would answer critics who charge that no single organization has done more to weaken Americans’ faith in government, or in one another, than the N.R.A. 

“We live in a society now that’s Balkanized,” Keene said. “But that has nothing to do with guns.”

Gunnies exist in tiny rooms without mirrors or doors.  No chance for self-reflection or path forward.  They are the unwanted opposites of Groopman's scientists.

Blowback

Mitt Romney will likely be the Republican party's 2012 presidential nominee.  He is wealthy, dull, hypocritical, inconsistent, pandering, and mendacious.  Guess which adjective matters most.  Yeah.  It's the money.  And, now it's time to welcome the far right to the Citizens United blowback.  I hope they're happy.

Despite all talk about the GOP being dominated by ultra-conservative crazies, the Republicans have ended up with the guy without true right wing bona fides.  Romney's record in Massachusetts, his religion, his flip-flopping, and his demeanor all alienate the base.  How did that happen?  Guess what?  It was easy.  One not-Romney after another came charging out of the trenches, sprinted across no-man's land, and got blasted by a Gatling gun spew of money, and more money, and endless money.  The ammunition belts were fed some by Romney himself, but most were handled by masked men under super-PAC banners.  Once again, the biggest losers are all the dim rubes and nuts for Jesus whose votes gave America the five-ninths of a Supreme Court that tips the scales of justice using piles of cash.  The same tapioca brains cheering Citizens United because all they could feel was the tingle-up-the-spine joy from the SCOTUS-endorsed attack on Hillary Clinton, now are the victims.  Their hopes, their voices have been buried by millions and millions and millions of dollars.

Historians will not argue this point.  Instead, it will be the English majors writing their senior-year projects who will debate Tragedy or Comedy?

A Message to Job Creators

Hey, All You Job Creators,

If you were really doing your job which is to create jobs for the rest of the country, our unemployment rate would be a lot lower.  So, here is my modest proposal.  The nation will give you people three months to bring the unemployment rate down to 5%.  You do it by creating lots of jobs.  Lots of jobs.  After all, that's what you say you do.  That's what justifies your low tax rates.  If you pull that off, Congress and the President make the Bush tax cuts permanent.  If not, it's Eisenhower time, with a 70% top rate for all types of income.

Seems reasonable to me.  A carrot and a stick, and a great opportunity for the wealthy to truly put their money where their mouths are.