Confederacy of None

oh say can you see

a pox upon our land

a Pax Americana

no not never

oh my can you spy

a flag swirling

in the bed of a pickup

a rebeling with a cause

if hatred is so called

fear by any other name

as sordid and as sour

as the banner of the hour

this far north

this far gone

an uncivil war

a confederacy of none

a lunacy of race

and riot and roar

a sound and a fury

of democracy

out the door

I Never

I never thought it'd come to this

Truth as lies

Lies emblazoned

On a confederacy of dunces

I grow old without my trousers rolled

I never imagined so cold

An insurrection's unkenneled rage

The dying embers of another age

January 6 that old time Epiphany

Showing Three Kings and all that

I never saw

My eyes so closed

I never knew my pledge of allegiance

So hollowed out

I grow old, so old

I can't remember that boy

Palm over his heart

Reciting the flag-soaked prayer

In a classroom

Shadowed by Joe McCarthy

I never expected

He'd never die

We never escaped

That America

Did we 

Don't Tread on Me

Don't tread on me me me me me me me.

Imperative sentence: to whom is the imperative addressed? Anyone who opposes me me me me me? Duly appointed or elected leaders? Fellow solipsists? "They they they them them them"?

(N.B.: Gadsden owned slaves.)

"Don't tread on me" means me over us.

Says me over you.

Declares me over we.

Asserts unbridled rage.

Shows dick-swinging anger.

Brandishes stupidity.

Heralds anarchy.

Celebrates hypocrisy.

Rejects discourse.

Rationalizes hate.

Waves intolerance.

Radiates racism.

Betrays patriotism.

Hides cowardice.

Invites insurrection.

Waltzes with strongmen.

Subverts democracy.

Abuses free speech.

Wallows in rancor.

Swims in solipsism.

Treads with jackboots.

Corrupts civility.

Drowns in delirium.

Founders in furor.

Withers in wantonness.

flagellation

Flag Day, 2020. 

Whose flag is it, anyway? It's not yours, despite what you think and do and say. It's not mine either. It's ours. During the Sixties, the right wing appropriated the flag for its own purposes. They felt and acted as if they had the final say on what the flag, and patriotism, and respect for the flag, meant. A flag at an antiwar march? They scorned it, even though that is precisely what soldiers were dying for: the right to protest, even revolt, if you want to go back to 1776 and the Founding Fathers and Mothers. So the flag was "owned" and appropriated. 

To extend the line of thought, a patriot was only somebody who agreed with my moral, or immoral, stance. That's not how the Supreme Court saw it. However heinous and nauseating it may be, even flag burning is protected. We treasure free speech so much under our Constitution we even allow hateful and disgusting expressions of speech. (Most countries are not that free.) The Love It or Leave It crowd said (and says), my ("patriotic") way or the highway. Incidentally, our family car had a bumpersticker that barked that "get out if you don't like it" command. (Translation: this viewpoint and no other. Sounds dictatorial to me.) It's convenient to say I did not argue the point with my father, a WWII veteran, but not arguing the point doesn't sound like me. 

The other day, I saw, and heard, a souped-up pickup with a large American flag, on a pole, in the truck bed, go roaring by. And I mean roaring. An angry metallic throat gargle that yelled, Out of my way! Do I know that person's politics? I do not. I can guess. I'll lay odds.

Nothing much has changed.

In the Sixties, traditionalists thought the wearing of flag bandannas or halter tops by "hippies" (an utterly meaningless word then and now) or bikers was sartorially blasphemous. But it was okay if it was a country club dress or hat or handbag, or someone dolled up in an Uncle Sam suit.

My older brother, whose number in the draft lottery was 314, would say, regarding ubiquitous flaggery, "Gee, I get the point. We're not in Canada. I know where we are."

I can think of two times when we took a breath and rallied around Old Glory as one nation: JFK's assassination on November 22, 1963, and on and after 9/11.

Yes, we did it on other occasions in my lifetime, but not with the same unanimity, power, solemnity, and silence.

Silence.

No civic debate or discourse for the moment.

Silence.

For now.

And looking down the hill and up the hill on my street that September, I saw every house displaying a rippling flag in the crisp morning sun. Even our house, with it's brand-new edition, freshly unfurled.
 

The Embarrassment Manifesto

I am embarrassed. I have become embarrassed. I am embarrassing. Switch pronouns. We are embarrassed. We have become embarrassed. We are embarrassing. We are being embarrassed. We are an embarrassment. "We" here stands for the Disunited States of America. The good ol' DSA. What is it to be embarrassed? Embarrass: "to perplex, throw into doubt." The estimable Online Etymology Dictionary tells us "embarrass" comes to us from the French, meaning "to block," which came to us from the Italian "to bar," which came from Latin. Embarrass came to mean "to hamper, hinder," and then later "make (someone) feel awkward." Other meanings over the centuries have even included "mental state of unease." With this FACTUAL word history in mind, no matter where you perch on today's razored fence of political discourse, you cannot deny the reality of embarrassment. Whether you lament it or celebrate, it is here. The Age of Embarrassment. Whether you are on the barricades or hiding from U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement [Embarrassment] (ICE), welcome to Embarrassmentville. "Welcome" is hereby spelled e-m-b-a-r-r-a-s-s by edict of Embarrassing Executive Order No. 001. So, get used to it, boys and girls -- and anyone in-between or off the charts. Get used to a state of being perplexed, doubtful, blocked, barred, hampered, or hindered. Get used to feeling awkward and ill at ease. Get used to being embarrassed or making others feel embarrassed. Please show your Embarrassment Visa on the way out the door.

 

 

fearful symmetry

I experienced a "fearful symmetry," a phrase from William Blake, upon watching the movie "The Railway Man" a day or so after the Senate released a report five years in the making (which I have not read) on "enhanced interrogation techniques," which is a euphemism for torture.

Yes, war (though the "war on terror" was a misnomer from the start, but that's another topic for another day) involves unspeakable, unbearable, obscene acts of treachery and degradation under the guise of honor, cause, duty, or patriotism. And it also elicits acts of heroism, bravery, selflessness, valor, sacrifice, under the same banners.

But don't people (don't I, don't you) have both a right and an obligation to ask:

What are we? What do we espouse? What do we stand for? What defines us?

I do not pretend these are simple questions evoking simple answers. Nor do I pretend to speak with authority, as I type this in a comfortable chair in a public cafe in a free society. (Allow a digression: are you "free" if you are cajoled, motivated, nudged, coerced every day by forces you do not recognize or acknowledge? I'm not talking conspiracy or paranoiac whisperings. I am referring to the relentless onslaught of consumerist stimulation that tickles our fancies and enslaves our wallets.)

At any rate, I propose the asking (and the potential answering) of these and like-minded difficult but profound questions as part of our civic discourse  -- beyond pieties, cliches, jingoism, chauvinism, and bromides.

As G.K. Chesteron said, " 'My country, right or wrong' is a thing that no patriot would think of saying except in a desperate case. It is like saying, 'My mother, drunk or sober.' "