Democracy in a field of brambles.

I recently returned to the Old Testament and can’t help thinking that there’s a strong anarchist strain to be found there. I never really thought that before, but I just see it everywhere this time around. There are some obvious moments—Pharaoh’s defeat, Samuel’s warnings against the establishment of a kingdom, much of the prophetic tradition—but even those parts most dedicated to military triumph and the Law end in disaster precisely when a transition is attempted from the taking of land to the establishment of state authority. The very founding of the chosen nation constantly undermines itself in subtly—and sometimes not so subtly—ironic ways.

What’s fascinating is not only that this is in the text, but that it goes largely ignored by Christian anarchists, who, as far as I know, focus almost exclusively on the pre-Pauline New Testament.

Now, it could be said that the Old Testament’s critiques are simply anti-monarchical. Indeed, I think it’s a miracle of human ignorance that the Old Testament was ever used to unquestioningly prop up monarchies, but there’s more to it: inherent in its denunciations of monarchy are important warnings about empire which our not-monarchy has yet to heed. Furthermore, to restrict the Old Testament’s message to ancient feudalism is to miss some of the Bible’s most important points about the nature of power—and thus to prove it obsolete in our time (a judgment which, no doubt, some readers of this blog will find unsurprising and correct anyway).

Seriously, America? This is effective propaganda?

These musings, in pretty much this sloppily-conceived form, have been bouncing around in my mind recently and complementing my general discontent with the current state of democracy in the U.S.; with my disgust at how hard most people will actually try to remain as ignorant as possible as to the origins of their condition; and with my bewilderment as to how the hell it is that a voting public can be so easily duped into repeatedly and enthusiastically accepting the sorts of candidates which make up our elections.

Enter the Book of Judges, chapter 9. Gideon's already refused the throne and denied it to his sons on the grounds that no human king should rule over Israel (see what I mean?), but now he's dead and his illegitimate son Abimelech has declared himself king. In so doing, he kills his brothers; but Jotham escapes and yells the parable of the bramble king from a mountaintop.

I think this sums up the current political landscape rather nicely:

7 When it was told to Jotham, he went and stood on the top of Mount Gerizim, and cried aloud and said to them, "Listen to me, you lords of Shechem, so that God may listen to you."

8 The trees once went out to anoint a king over themselves.
So they said to the olive tree, "Reign over us."
9 The olive tree answered them, "Shall I stop producing my rich oil by which gods and mortals are honored, and go to sway over the trees?"
10 Then the trees said to the fig tree, "You come and reign over us."
11 But the fig tree answered them, "Shall I stop producing my sweetness and my delicious fruit, and go to sway over the trees?"
12 Then the trees said to the vine, "You come and reign over us."
13 But the vine said to them, "Shall I stop producing my wine that cheers gods and mortals, and go to sway over the trees?"
14 So all the trees said to the bramble, "You come and reign over us."
15 And the bramble said to the trees, "If in good faith you are anointing me king over you, then come and take refuge in my shade; but if not, let fire come out of the bramble and devour the cedars of Lebanon."

The writing on the wall.

Traveling around Portugal and southern Spain this past summer was at times like wandering around an open-air live-in art gallery. In some areas, entire neighborhoods were covered in elaborate graffiti by world-renowned artists splashing color on Porto's urban decay or providing some sardonic commentary on the state of Sevillan culture.

Some of my favorite pieces, though, weren't really full pieces at all. Small stenciled messages on national monuments in Lisbon caught my eye throughout my time in the city. Some are especially resonant with the current state of events around the world.

“Nem todos que vão à guerra são soldados.”

 “Not all who go to war are soldiers.”

Castelo de São Jorge.

“A fome faz sair o lobo do mato.”

“Hunger brings the wolf out of the forest.”

Parliament building.

"A fome faz sair o lobo do mato."

This wall in Granada--apparently a giant notepad for anarchists--gets honorable mention for its rumination on revolutionary aesthetics.

Midwest, Middle East...Madison, Tripoli...whatever.

Gentle reader, to borrow a line from one Mos Def, we are alive in amazing times. 

By way of context, and for the benefit of our future selves carelessly clicking through blog archives whilst avoiding more productive work, it's important to consider what filled the news cycle during this penultimate week of February 2011.

Qaddafi will likely be deposed.

A few days ago, longtime Libyan dictator Muammar Qaddafi, in a defiant speech extolling his regime and condemning pro-democracy demonstrations in his oil-rich nation, claimed that anti-government protesters were high on hallucinogens. That's why they're protesting, as he continues to claim, and their actions are punishable by death.

To that end, he's imported foreign mercenaries to sniff out and kill anyone seemingly unsympathetic to his regime, while continuing to blame the ensuing chaos and violence on pro-democracy demonstrators. He's ordered airstrikes and heavy artillery turned on his own people, and has openly vowed to kill anyone who questions his rule. To date, some estimates have the death toll topping 1,000 (the lowest estimates exceed 300), homes have been ransacked, and rape and theft are rampant.

* * *

Walker might be impeached.

Stateside, in Wisconsin, Governor Scott Walker has proposed to eliminate collective bargaining rights for union-protected public employees, prompting angry demonstrations even from his former supporters (like the police union) and sending the state into a political tailspin. Unions have gone so far as to agree to all of the governor's proposed fiscal concessions, and yet--under the aegis of balancing the budget--Walker has rejected their proposals and decided to resort to unabashed union-busting.

Some Midwestern authorities have gone so far as to suggest that force--even deadly force--be used to break up peaceful protests in Wisconsin, and Governor Walker himself was caught on tape (thinking he was talking to one of his patrons in the Koch clan) considering employing "troublemakers" to taint the demonstrations, but lamenting that it's just so darned risky. 

* * *

Is it clear yet why these two stories make for useful juxtaposition? Good, because into this shit-storm has now stepped the crown prince of foot-mouth himself, Rick "The Ick" Santorum, likening Wisconsin's union-represented public employees to addicts "acting like their drug is being taken away from them."

Santorum will remain a choad.

See what he did there?

Never mind the idiotic insensitivity of such a statement and the cluelessness it reveals about both the issue at hand and the concerns of working Americans: how the hell does a career politician like this even make such phenomenal blunders? Does he not watch the news, does he not realize what he's aligned himself with rhetorically? Does he not understand the comparisons this invites, especially for someone as detestable as himself?

Maybe he doesn't. After all, the man has shown time and again that reality makes his brain hurt.

What makes my brain hurt is trying to understand how this guy is still considered a contender for the presidency. I mean, really, dear reader, if you're one of the five people I know to be following this blog, you're probably a pinko-commie-Nazi-homo-Muslim just like me, but appeal to your conservative friends and relatives and ask how such a thing is possible.

And if I do have any Republican readers, two things:

First, from me to you, as a person who disagrees with your ideology but respects your intelligence: how do people like Rick Santorum continue to loudly represent your party?

Second, from me to you, as a person largely dissatisfied with the Obama administration but who still considers it the least horrifying of all electable options for 2012: please nominate Rick Santorum for president. Please put all your support behind him, stick all the corporate-pandering and fear-mongering resources you can muster in his coffers, dedicate your party machinery to blasting his barbaric yawp over every roof and into every gutter as loudly as possible, give him Michelle Bachmann as a running mate, support their ticket with Sarah Palin rallies and Newt Gingrich interviews and Glen Beck chalkboard syllogisms...

I'm serious. Let Rick Santorum speak. The nation should hear what this dude has to say.

"Good morning, revolution, or good evening, revolution"

I slept like a log in El Mahalla El Kubra. That's notable because I'm a light sleeper everywhere else and Mahalla's possibly the noisiest place I've ever visited. When we arrived at the apartment that first night it was 3:30 am and one of the neighbors was using a mechanical grinder downstairs. He ground metal until around 4:15 when somebody finally demanded that he stop. It bought the neighborhood a couple of hours of silence before the fajr adhan, when every imam in every mosque in the crowded and densely-mosqued neighborhood of Ghamorheya took up a microphone and sounded his call over the rooftops for early morning prayers.

Ghamorheya, El Mahalla El Kubra, Egypt. August 18, 2010.

But most could sleep through that. The tuk-tuks and their incessant Arabic pop music were another matter entirely, as were the taxis with their customized horns, and by the time the propane salesmen came out banging on tanks with wrenches to compete with the calls of fish and fruit mongers, well, the streets were awake.

But I slept through it all somehow, and did so every day until well into the afternoon despite blistering heat and stifling humidity. Maybe I was just exhausted, or maybe the constant barrage of noise wove itself into the perfect texture so that all was just background and nothing really disruptive could ever break through. Or maybe I was poisoned by the dirty air.

In any case, I slept well in Mahalla. Better than I'd slept on the entire trip. Better than I usually sleep at home.

Still, the night terrors happened. Not that I would have known had nobody witnessed it, but about a week in, as I stuffed some foul and cucumber into a pita bread for lunch, Amo Abdalla cautiously asked, "Brian, what did you dream about that night?"

"What night?"

"The first night you were here. You jumped out of bed screaming."

Real concern, suppressed for a week, peeked through his notorious deadpan. Suddenly it hit me: it had happened that first night.

When we'd arrived Wesam had claimed the couch, insisting that he wouldn't let a guest not take bed, so I had ended up rooming with Amo Abdalla. I fell asleep quickly, but at some point one of my dreams had gripped me. I had probably felt a tickle in my throat from the bubbling of acid reflux due to the fact that I'd recently run out of Omeprazole. That's all it really takes. Most people cough in the night--I wake up thinking I'm choking to death.

Whatever the cause, I jumped out of bed screaming and awoke Amo Abdalla. He asked if I was ok and if I needed anything. I asked for a glass of water, and he obliged. I drank the water in a quick gulp and went right back to sleep as though nothing had happened, and Amo waited a week for the right moment to assuage his concern because he didn't want to embarrass me or make me feel uncomfortable.

I recently talked to someone about these persistent nightmares that have knocked me out of bed since I was a teenager. They're not nearly as persistent as they once were, and I have a handful of theories as to why that might be. I was told that I shouldn't read the news before going to bed because it makes me agitated. That might be so.

Recently the news I've watched and read has nearly all been about the goings-on in Egypt. It was nerve-racking at the end of January, and at points downright horrifying. Then it became hopeful, joyous, and inspiring. I don't think I've been having night terrors, but maybe someone will correct me in a week.

So as a compromise between my penchant for current events and my apparent need for less depressing fare, here's a touching video of Amo Abdalla paying tribute to his people. This keeps me tuned in and makes me smile.

Good night.


To Egypt: Abdalla's Address from Wesam Nassar on Vimeo.

Or good morning.

Shit matters.

"See, I put it this way: for me, philosophy is fundamentally about our finite situation. We can define that in terms of--we're beings toward death. We're featherless, two-legged, linguistically-conscious creatures born between urine and feces whose bodies will one day be the culinary delight of terrestrial worms. That's us. We're beings toward death. At the same time, we have desire, while we are organisms in space and time; and so it's desire in the face of death. And then of course you've got dogmatism, various attempts to hold onto certainty, various forms of idolatry. And you've got dialog in the face of dogmatism, and then of course structurally and institutionally you have domination and you have democracy. You have attempts of people trying to render accountable elites: kings, queens, suzerains, corporate elites, politicians--try to make these elites accountable to everyday people. So philosophy itself becomes a critical disposition of wrestling with desire in the face of death, wrestling with dialog in the face of dogmatism, and wrestling with democracy--trying to keep alive very fragile democratic experiments--in the face of structures of domination."

Cornel West, interviewed in the film Examined Life

My profoundly shallow take on Ukrainian politics.

Say what we might about the nastiness of American politics lately, Congress is relatively civil. Sure, calling opponents baby killers and liars is pretty indecorous, but it doesn't hold a candle to the rowdy shit-talking that constitutes a British Parliamentary proceeding.

 Maybe we were just scared straight by our own deadly potential. After all, Aaron Burr capped Alexander Hamilton over an unflattering newspaper article. I like to imagine the aftermath of that incident being a truce in American politics similar to what took place among rappers following the murders of Tupac and Biggie. One of these days some ambitious grad student will unearth sheet music and lyrics to the 1804 version of "I'll Be Missing You," featuring Thomas Jefferson and John Adams.

Of course, by the Jackson era, youngsters would have come to regard any peace negotiated by their powder-wigged elders as pussified dithering, and after a couple decades of macho posturing something was bound to happen.

Sure enough, in 1856 Charles Sumner went and opened his damn mouth, and for his trouble was nearly caned to death in the Senate chamber by Preston Brooks while Laurence M. Keitt (aka Ice-T of the Confederacy) stood by wielding a pistol to discourage any would-be interventionists.

The point is that clowns like Joe Wilson and Randy Neugebauer might be annoying, but they're no gangsters. Just dumb guys whose brain-mouth filters need to be replaced.

Or maybe that's not actually the point. I was supposed to say something shallow about Ukraine, right?

Oh, yes. Ukrainian politics--these dudes are wild. When was the last time you saw American politicians respond to a vote they disagreed with by hurling eggs, smoke bombs, and fists at the opposition? Never, you say? Well then, feast your eyes on this debacle.
But the best part of this whole thing is the consistency of news coverage anytime the Ukrainian political situation gets hairy. I noticed this a few years back and always look for it when I hear that the Ukrainians are mad about something. What I mean is this: no matter what the issue, no matter what her involvement, it seems that no report on Ukrainian politics is complete without a photo of former prime minister Yulia Tymoshenko doing something. Seriously, anything, as long as she's on camera.

And, well, I appreciate that.

Live, from America's anus.

I complained about this recently and then rejoiced over the governor's rather unsatisfactorily reasoned but still welcome veto. Well, the steaming turds that comprise Oklahoma's legislature have voted to override the veto to pass a law which states that, if a woman wants to undergo a perfectly legal procedure, she must publish private information to a government database, subject herself to medical advice with a clear political agenda, and consent to an invasive, medically unnecessary procedure. The law also protects doctors from malpractice lawsuits that might be brought against them for failing to inform pregnant women of fetal birth defects, with the intent of protecting doctors whose purpose for lying is to lessen the likelihood of choosing abortion.

image: detail from Examination of a Witch by TH Matteson (1853)