Late on an August day, I fled as a storm was coming, clouds converging on the wind, down a forest road until I came upon a rocky field. The sun, lowering on the bay, was asserted still on stones and trees and grass, and mostly on the flesh of a white stallion; it seemed to source beneath its mud-caked hide. And mirrored on a dusky pool that trembled in the heat of earth-bound breezes, the sun reared, lean and muscular, as a horse.
And all the wind became a whinny-- now two-- and a night-black mare, as though in tune with the atmosphere, and expectant of the stallion's rush, quaked on the heat-parched ground and slapped her hooves against the pebbled sod. As if spurred by Nature-music, the stallion was transformed into a Thrust-- a wedge against the flesh of mare, who had become All-Terror. He peeled her from the landscape, plunged, nipped her neck. She shunned. Provoked by her escape, he regrouped, lunged.
And lastly, when the mare, conspiring, moored her flanks against the stud's descent, Earth and sky were horses coupled; the storm foretold in a nostril snort.
Miles away, a torrent surely blacked the sea, and made a mixture vexing coughing fish and troubling stupid eyeless clams choking on the squall. Here, horse love was all that railed against my skin; horse lust and the quirk of chance that sent me here and let me in.
I left them there to merge with night: a neigh and a suspended glow. I did not want to go, but it was time. And now, it seems you only see the Havoc once or not at all.
The Bernie Sanders campaign is encouraging supporters to hone the telling of how they came to support his candidacy in a project called "My Bernie Story". The suggested format from the campaign for a Bernie story is to personalize a key component of Bernie's agenda by framing an issue around the supporter's own experience. For instance, I could legitimately be encouraged to discuss the anxiety I have about global warming, and my particular concern about the future for my daughter and for my nieces and nephews, let alone for the entire planet, and relate it specifically to Bernie's plan to attack it aggressively and in the process transform our economy through his proposed implementation of the Green New Deal. I could do this and be done with it, but it doesn't tell the whole story.
Periodically the campaign sends surveys asking supporters to pick their top 3 issues from among a huge laundry list: Climate Change, Medicare For All, Cancelling Student Debt and establishing Free Public College Tuition, Worker's Rights, Wealth Inequality, Getting Money out of Politics, Voting Rights, Civil Rights, Prison Reform, Housing Reform, Women's Rights, LGBTQ rights, Immigration Reform, Getting Billionaires and Corporations to pay their fair share of taxes, and so forth. Bernie has policy positions on each of these that align with my own desires and they are positions that he can back up by a lifetime of activism and public service. While I can sometimes see my way clear to prioritizing the list for purposes of completing the survey, I find myself very resistant to the idea of excluding anything. All of them have been neglected, rejected, or actively undermined in every case by our elected representatives who act not at the behest of their electorate but of their donors. After a lifetime of settling for what technocrats and think tanks and "the serious" among our elites have told me are the limits of possibility, only to be woken up by the 2016 and 2020 campaigns of Bernie Sanders to the reality I knew all along-- that the only thing "serious" about the conventional wisdom of what is possible is that it is seriously full of shit-- I want it all. I don't know how this campaign 2020 thing is going to work out but I do know that no matter what the outcome is, something important has happened for those for whom Bernie Sanders' message has resonated. In my case, it's an awakening from a self-induced coma.
I always want to start my Bernie story with my first presidential election, Carter vs. Reagan 1980. In many ways it was a lot like Clinton vs. Trump 2016, but there was no Bernie. Governor Jerry Brown of California who challenged President Carter in the primary was outside the mold, but he didn't even support universal health care. As a pre-voter, I had developed a rabid distrust of Jimmy Carter in his first term, but I vainly cast my first presidential vote for him as a way of avoiding a victory for his far worse challenger, Ronald Reagan.
Reagan, a jolly, wealthy Hollywood has-been, company spokesman and ex-governor was used very successfully as an advertisement promoting wealth, power and capitalism the benefits of which would-- if left unfettered to grow as only a free market would lead them to, the theory went-- "trickle down" to the rest of us. Carter had merely promised more of the same. Reagan promised Morning in America, and to Make America Great Again. His team pioneered the injection of irrelevant, divisive cultural issues into politics to corral the votes of a "moral majority." Tired of recession and stagflation and wage freezes and oil crises and enamored with the sunny airhead they remembered from B Movies and TV re-runs who spoke only in corny sound bites, the people bought in. In return, Reagan's administration architected the regressive, dysfunctional top down order that has dominated our culture ever since, making any hope of social, economic or environmental progress a fading memory while exacerbating the conditions that threaten our common existence and demand progressive responses. They ravaged social programs by reducing taxes--the shared cost to each of us for the shared services we get in return-- particularly at the top, from what had been among the highest rates in the developed world (which had largely fueled the social programs of the 30's through the 60's-- the rates have continued to dip in intervening years from a high of 70% at the start of Reagan's term to what are now effectively less than 30%). Within his first term he had destroyed the air traffic controller's union ringing the death knell for labor across the country, and cut the budgets of Medicaid, food stamps, public education and the EPA all while bloating the budget of the military.
In the presidential primaries of 1984 and 1988, I was thrilled to support the campaigns of Jesse Jackson (an acknowledged inspiration for Bernie Sanders), but I had to vote for Mondale (who got trounced by Reagan for his second term) and Dukakis (who Bush the elder defeated) respectively in the general elections. The first president my vote ever helped to elect was Bill Clinton in 1992, who built a career on the proposition that Democrats, who had lost all but one of the prior 6 presidential elections, could regain their mojo by offering a light version of Reaganism-- not Republican Reaganism or Democratic Socialism but a Third Way. The genius of this approach was that coming from a "liberal", Clinton could do what Reagan had wanted to but never could by putting an end to social programs such as welfare, making the notion of trimming social security palatable to the technocratic elite, and passing the "3 strikes and you're out" crime bill that has devastated poor communities for 30 years. And still get the votes of the Democratic base.
By Clinton's second term, I had renounced my democratic party ties and registered as an Independent, though I continued to vote mostly for Democrats (making an exception for Ralph Nader in 2000) mostly to avoid the always worse alternative. But over time, I stopped paying close attention to politics as a way of improving my own mental health. The entire culture had drunk the Kool Aid. There was no fighting it.
If my stupor was typical no wonder the 1% won. People who had more to begin with and kept getting more got very good at convincing the rest of us who started with less and were getting less and less that it had to be this way. So we let them take away our public institutions, taking their word for it that what was missing was the profit motive. Labor was fractured while management and ownership became consolidated. Instead of establishing careers, we became competitors in a job market. As the owners became more and more corrupt and conspiratorial in their business and professional practices, the employee's role in many companies has become something akin to abetting. Pensions were replaced with 401Ks through which financiers and Wall Street profited regardless of the risk to us. Credit boomed as it became the only way anybody could afford anything. We handed them our airports, our police forces, our schools, our prisons. Whatever they could get their hands on. We've seen the result. After the financial crash of 2008, hope came in the election of Barack Obama, but it was crushed before he even entered the White House by his appointment to his cabinet of representatives of the deregulators and Wall Street executives who created the climate in which the catastrophe occurred, signaling that what mattered was not the people who had felt most of the brunt of the crisis whose hope had elected him but the 1% by whose grace he was permitted to serve, just as if those who had voted him in had never won at all. The success of Trump's right wing populism following Obama's 2 terms was symptomatic of a global dysfunction imposed from the top tiniest percent that tells us that the only choice that remains to us is between fascist capitalism represented by Trump and his kind and Third Way capitalism represented by the Democrats and their neoliberal counterpart around the world.
For 40 years, down has been up, low has been high, wrong has been right.
Republicans, the Alphas of the current order, have been honest about their part in the inversion of what our experience tells us about American reality. At the same time they have been marshaling their vast stores of wealth in strategic purchasing of the chains that bind the rest of us-- state legislatures, judiciaries, the executive branch. Republicans' motives are pure at least, which is how their insane politics win at all. Democrats have been dishonest about their complicity. The Democratic leadership, a decidedly Beta class, have compromised the purported left agenda of their party in an effort to be regarded as "serious" by the moneyed establishment while selling out their traditional base, the poor, the working class, women. The upshot is that the 1% has gotten wealthier and wealthier while real incomes for everyone else have gotten smaller and smaller. And the planet continues to be squeezed to death for profit.
Capitalism is a Pathological Fatal Illness from which we must be cured.
And in 2016, out of the blue, Bernie Sanders came along to remind us that it does not have to be this way. Republicans need workers to win and they appeal to them with cultural issues; Democrats need workers to win and they appeal to them with party loyalty. But the only candidate that workers need to win is Bernie Sanders.
For the past 40 or 50 years the message of the 1% has been: Not you. Us! Who's in charge?, they ask rhetorically. Not you. Us! Who decides where attention is paid? Not you. Us! Who's got this? Not you! Us! And we have taken it. We’ve taken what they’ve given us which is less and less. While life has cheapened and become harder for us, they’ve taken free rein to exploit the world we all live in for profit, without giving back (unless you count the dribs and drabs they bestow as they see fit in large enough amounts to call themselves philanthropists, never mind how meagerly they address the issues facing us).
And this is the message of most of the candidates running with their plans and their platforms and their debate talking points that they leave it to us to opt out of. You don't need to worry about how things will get fixed. Not you. Us.
We've got news for them. We don’t want your stinking plans. Bernie Sanders is the only candidate who says, “Not me. Us!” All. Of. Us. And this is how I came to awaken from my 30 year self-induced coma and support Bernie Sanders and now I urge you, my brothers and sisters, to ask yourself, "Which side am I on?" and do the same. Time is wasting. At least our primary votes don't need to be wasted as well. Please join the revolution.
Every few months or so, I find myself randomly experiencing a revelation about myself. This has been going on for years. I'm tempted to say it's periodic but the periods are irregular. What it seems to be is serial-- one revelation at a time that drifts to my consciousness about myself and that gets tested and proven as I mull it over in my mind and observe myself in light of my new self-knowledge. Each revelation becomes a theme of the season until it gets absorbed into the makeup of my self-regard. In this way, I come to "know myself" more deeply, bit by bit, step by step, insight by insight.
You might think that after years and years of deep insightful illuminations into my psyche I would be a fortress of self-actualized self-knowledge. The funny thing is, more often than not these revelations of mine tend to have a way of knocking me down a peg or two. The revelations can be profound-- The expectations you have been setting for yourself all your life are unrealistic!-- or they can be trivial -- You shave all wrong! But they do all seem to point to failings and shortcomings that even I was unaware of in myself. Some of the revelations barely leave a mark -- You're a space cadet!You have absolutely no athletic talent!-- whereas others sting for weeks -- You're a slob! That last one hurt for a while because I had always assumed I had above average hygiene and taste. I realized in retrospect that the few weeks when I was on the cutting edge of fashion back in the 1980's were the result of my wife's little experiment in jazzing me up. I played along for a while-- wearing the outfits she had carefully selected for me and even letting one of her hairstyling friends experiment on my head with what are in retrospect hilariously fashion-victim results. When I drifted back to my natural slovenly state over time, my wife gave up on me, but my opinion of myself as a man of style and taste did not-- until decades later when I actually stopped and regarded myself in a men's room mirror at work and it hit me that the zhlubby stranger looking back at me was me.
This is all prelude to my purpose in writing today which is to share my latest revelation. You are eager to help yet you are singularly bad at helping! To be honest, in retrospect it's less than startling news. I dread being asked directions because while inside my head I know exactly where I am and how to get wherever I want to go, when I give directions, I never fail -- and I mean never-- to realize as my hapless victims have wandered away and are already well on their way along the path of chaos I have sent them, the essential detail I have gotten entirely backward or failed to impart that will steer them wrong in a way that will be difficult for them to recover from. This is a problem in a town that is a major tourist destination at all times of the year.
The revelation really has as much to do with the corollary to being bad at helping which is being eager to help. It's a reflex in me. I detect distress in someone, say a woman my mother's age looking quizzically at a metro turnstile from the outside, and I leap to their aid, for instance, proffering a tutorial on the mechanics of the contraption before them. Invariably an older person at the metro, particularly a person of apparently modest means has no need of a tutorial on the metro system. In fact, my injecting myself into the situation with "help" has complicated the achievement of the woman's modest goals as she has to pause from whatever momentary setback raised a cloud of confusion on her elderly mien the moment my consciousness chose to settle upon it in a state of alertness that was begging to see calamity where there was only mild consternation, to explain why my help is not needed. Most people being offered help from a kind, generous stranger will take pains to return the unsolicited kindness with politeness and an investment of themselves in their engagement with the helper. The upshot is that help being bestowed where it is not needed is a burden and a hindrance. Directed at an older person, it's the poor cousin of the con man's game: taking advantage of an older person's gentility and trust to completely waste their time. So the over-eagerness to help is itself a problem.
But the problem is compounded and protracted when help is needed and the help being given is not good. I've dropped groceries I was helping a stranger carry from a car to their stoop. I nearly killed a very old man who was wondering if he should risk taking a short-cut off of a high ledge by holding out my hand to help him down (someone else was fortunately there to guide him to safety). I once saw a ragged looking person sitting on the hot summer sidewalk, cup in hand as I was hurrying to get to an appointment. They didn't have to ask even once-- one look at them and my hand went reflexively to my pocket where it gathered my loose change (which I had an abundance of because it was in the days when I was not yet turned onto the notion of using a card for every transaction as a way of avoiding the accumulation of coins in the pocket). I released it all into the cup as I rushed past, too late to see what was already in it, until I heard the plop of solids hitting a liquid surface and felt a splash of ice water on my knuckles. The person was just as stunned as I was, which was too stunned to say anything. We were both shaking our heads as I continued on my way. So if you're that person reading this all these years later, please let me apologize.
These are typical examples of what happens when I am moved to "help" strangers-- not outliers. I don't have this issue with my work and my work product helps people, but it is planned, the plan is vetted, it is well resourced, it is tested, and I am given feedback and every opportunity to improve my work so that those who requested the help achieve maximum satisfaction. I am there to help and my help is actually helpful.
Is the crucial difference that my participation is not voluntary? Because I'd almost rather be doing anything else.
I have to wonder, how can there be a god in a world where a person so singularly terrible at helping is endowed with a zealousness to assist? I can't help but blame it on our current political and economic system. Hear me out: if our system were not designed to keep people poor and alienated from each othert, if jobs at a living wage were guaranteed, if housing were treated as a universal right, there would not be raggedy people sitting on sidewalks in need. If global warming were mitigated, such persons who remained on the street would not need to take time from begging to hydrate themselves. There would be no turnstiles hindering elderly subway riders, because public transportation would be free to all at best and certainly to the elderly at least. Grocery bags would still break at my touch, and I would need to learn to resist trying to help old people off of steep ledges, but perhaps thanks to mental health provisions under Medicare for All I could get the help I needed to make that possible.
Written circa 1630 by Gregorio Allegri during Pope Urban VIII's reign, the Miserere mei, Deus (Have Mercy upon me, God) was based on Psalm 51 (Psalm 50 in the Greek Septuagint/ Latin Vulgate numbering) to be performed as part of the Tenebrae service for Easter Week in the Sistine Chapel, but we at unspeakable (as heck) believe in spreading the Mercy around the calendar.
Miserere mei, Deus: secundum magnam misericordiam tuam.
Et secundum multitudinem miserationum tuarum, dele iniquitatem meam.
Amplius lava me ab iniquitate mea: et a peccato meo munda me.
Quoniam iniquitatem meam ego cognosco: et peccatum meum contra me est semper.
Tibi soli peccavi, et malum coram te feci: ut justificeris in sermonibus tuis, et vincas cum judicaris.
Ecce enim in iniquitatibus conceptus sum: et in peccatis concepit me mater mea.
Ecce enim veritatem dilexisti: incerta et occulta sapientiae tuae manifestasti mihi.
Asperges me hysopo, et mundabor: lavabis me, et super nivem dealbabor.
Auditui meo dabis gaudium et laetitiam: et exsultabunt ossa humiliata.
Averte faciem tuam a peccatis meis: et omnes iniquitates meas dele.
Cor mundum crea in me, Deus: et spiritum rectum innova in visceribus meis.
Ne proiicias me a facie tua: et spiritum sanctum tuum ne auferas a me.
Redde mihi laetitiam salutaris tui: et spiritu principali confirma me.
Docebo iniquos vias tuas: et impii ad te convertentur.
Libera me de sanguinibus, Deus, Deus salutis meae: et exsultabit lingua mea justitiam tuam.
Domine, labia mea aperies: et os meum annuntiabit laudem tuam.
Quoniam si voluisses sacrificium, dedissem utique: holocaustis non delectaberis.
Sacrificium Deo spiritus contribulatus: cor contritum, et humiliatum, Deus, non despicies.
Benigne fac, Domine, in bona voluntate tua Sion: ut aedificentur muri Ierusalem.
Tunc acceptabis sacrificium justitiae, oblationes, et holocausta: tunc imponent super altare tuum vitulos.
Translation from the Book of Common Prayer (1662)
Have mercy upon me, O God, after Thy great goodness
According to the multitude of Thy mercies do away mine offences.
Wash me thoroughly from my wickedness: and cleanse me from my sin.
For I acknowledge my faults: and my sin is ever before me.
Against Thee only have I sinned, and done this evil in thy sight: that Thou mightest be justified in Thy saying, and clear when Thou art judged.
Behold, I was shapen in wickedness: and in sin hath my mother conceived me.
But lo, Thou requirest truth in the inward parts: and shalt make me to understand wisdom secretly.
Thou shalt purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean: Thou shalt wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.
Thou shalt make me hear of joy and gladness: that the bones which Thou hast broken may rejoice.
Turn Thy face from my sins: and put out all my misdeeds.
Make me a clean heart, O God: and renew a right spirit within me.
Cast me not away from Thy presence: and take not Thy Holy Spirit from me.
O give me the comfort of Thy help again: and stablish me with Thy free Spirit.
Then shall I teach Thy ways unto the wicked: and sinners shall be converted unto Thee.
Deliver me from blood-guiltiness, O God, Thou that art the God of my health: and my tongue shall sing of Thy righteousness.
Thou shalt open my lips, O Lord: and my mouth shall shew [show] Thy praise.
For Thou desirest no sacrifice, else would I give it Thee: but Thou delightest not in burnt-offerings.
The sacrifice of God is a troubled spirit: a broken and contrite heart, O God, shalt Thou not despise.
O be favourable and gracious unto Sion: build Thou the walls of Jerusalem.
Then shalt Thou be pleased with the sacrifice of righteousness, with the burnt-offerings and oblations: then shall they offer young bullocks upon Thine altar.
~~~~~~~~~
Bonus Beauty - Northern Lights (2012) by Ola Gjeilo, performed by Sjaella:
I frequently find myself driving through an industrial part of the world on my way to places-- a landscape of bus and truck depots, a self storage facility or two, a vintage bottling plant, a cobbled together complex of ancient service stations, car washes and body shops that are now something like an automotive graveyard, a stockyard for aggregate with a side interest in pallets, a storage dome for road salt nestled alongside a reedy marsh. Truthfully, I place myself in this setting because it's magical, especially when the shortening of days and the lengthening of shadows goes into overdrive and the temperature teeters between almost too hot in the sun and frickin cold in the shadows of highway overpasses-- but the other seasons have their own charming effects on the scene. The natural terrain of the setting, the leafy banks of a tributary that abides in spite of its exploitation for commercial purposes has an insistent beauty that bestows a patina of timeless elegance even on the aging utilitarian structures in its midst.
At one point, the service road I take feeds a State Route which has heavy traffic particularly at the crepuscular parts of the day, and for this reason there are billboards to ignore along the way. My favorite part of the route is a cloverleaf exit ramp from the state highway that leads down to another state route from which I access a byway that skirts the river, but lately this highlight of the route is marred by a billboard sitting across from it that its funders would be delighted to know is hard for me to ignore. It will sound innocuous enough: on a plain white background a gigantic black and white portrait of Abraham Lincoln, his name spelled out for those who somehow don't recognize him-- the most familiar image with an abridged version of some of his most familiar words: "A house divided ... cannot stand". Beneath in a white capital font within a red block is the single word "CIVILITY", the subject of a sentence trailed in lower case in smaller black italic font outside the block by the predicate "is in you". At the base, the impresarios of this wisdom: PassItOn.Com.
Something about this plug for Civility enrages me.
When Abraham Lincoln spoke those biblical words in accepting his nomination for the Illinois Senatorial campaign of 1858 he was attempting to project a hope that the Union would survive the cataclysm it was headed for in order to resolve the question of slavery, regardless of the outcome. As much as the Southern slave owning gentry would have preferred it, he was not advocating that abolitionists take a chill pill for the sake of CIVILITY. How much simpler that would have been for the slave owning minority, if not for their slaves!
I had a suspicion about the origin of this bleaching of history on a billboard and it turned out to be true. As it happens, PassItOn.com is the project of one family, the Anschutz family of Denver Colorado, among the largest landowning families in the country with over 10 million acres in Colorado alone. It's a family whose wealth originated generations ago in banking and oil and whose interests have expanded to rail, agriculture, sports, wholesome entertainment (a.k.a. pablum) and communication. while they continue to pursue the exploitation of the planet for fossil fuel reserves. The current patriarch Philip Anschutz's telecommunications-slash-financial company Qwest ended in 2002 with the exposure of Enron like accounting practices used to inflate its worth with the bursting of the internet bubble at the turn of the millennium. The company failed but Anschutz made off very well, selling his interests while the getting was good and before buyers and shareholders could catch wind of it. Anschutz's business practices earned him the title of America's "greediest executive" from that bastion of politically radical journalism Fortune magazine in 2002. From his Wikipedia entry:
In May 2003, New York Attorney General Eliot Spitzer reached a settlement with Anschutz after filing a civil complaint accusing Anschutz of accepting IPO shares from Salomon Smith Barney in exchange for Qwest's investment banking business. Anschutz denied any wrongdoing but volunteered to donate a total of $4.4 million to settle the case as long as he selected the recipient organizations in advance.
To give an appearance of atonement for their aggressive pursuit of business, The Anschutzes avoid taxes and promote their brand of Christian, conservative, pro-business causes through the well established vehicle of a Family Foundation, which gives (as is their right and privilege thanks to accommodating tax codes and statutes) to organizations and politicians such as James Dobson's Family Research Council, the Heritage Foundation, the Discovery Institute that are anti-LGBTQ, anti-choice, anti-labor, anti-immigrant, anti-public education (the public education siphoning, unaccountable, corporate boondoggle and segregation loophole of charter schools is a pet project of theirs), and as could be predicted based on their fossil fuel connections, engaged in the promotion of climate change denial. When publicity of their support of reactionary causes and legislation threatens their reputation and their profits, they have been known to throw a million now and then at say the Elton John AIDS Foundation.
An article at Inside Philanthropy on their activities gives an indication of the family's approach to social issues:
Anschutz has said that "food banks, charter schools, and homeless shelters are a good way to help people, but in the long run, people grounded in solid values will be better situated to prosper on their own." By "values," Anschutz often means an emphasis on faith and family, and he's a big backer of religious work. But his foundation also promotes such values as empathy and respect for others.
Take it from a born wealthy, tax shirking, planet destroying greediest man: wealth inequality could be eliminated if the less fortunate had empathy and respect for other people. Contrast The Anschutz Foundation's facile morality with this from Bernie Sanders' recent rally with Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez in Queens:
I want you all to take a look around and find someone you don’t know, maybe somebody who doesn’t look kind of like you, who might be of a different religion, maybe who come from a different country… My question now to you, is are you willing to fight for that person who you don’t even know as much as you’re willing to fight for yourself? Are you willing to stand together and fight for those people who are struggling economically in this country? Are you willing to fight for young people drowning in student debt, even if you are not? Are you willing to fight to ensure that every American has health care as a human right, even if you have good health care? Are you willing to fight for frightened immigrant neighbors, even if you are native born? Are you willing to fight for a future for generations of people who have not yet even been born, but are entitled to live on a planet that is healthy and habitable?
This is a challenge to everyone with the responsibility of casting a vote in the upcoming primary season. And it couldn't provide a more stark contrast to the cheap talk of Anschutz's billboards. For his vision of a more just, inclusive America, Sanders gets called a crabby old loudmouth. For his roadside eyesore vapidity, Anschutz gets to shirk paying taxes and call himself a Philanthropist.
Let us be perfectly clear, Phillip Anschutz's agenda is not Civility. Civility is a lecture at you, it's not a social movement meant to inspire and involve you. Anschutz's lecture at you is in front of your face (there are no billboards in his neighborhood); his true agenda-- welfare for the rich, freedom to use his obscenely outsize slice of the pie to rape the earth for profit, control of the global political agenda to suit his narrow and frankly provincial worldview without contributing a dime of his wealth to the sustaining of a public good-- is hidden from view.
If Philip Anschutz wins, the planet loses, women lose, free creative expression loses, we lose. Philip Anschutz wins. If we win, Anschutz will be forced to live in a world where health care is a universal right, where the planet starts to be healed by the end of fossil fuel consumption and the mitigation of carbon emissions and the development of an economy based on renewable energy and resources. Where the failed intrusion of private interests in public education is ended, public schools are funded equitably and no longer based on zip code, and a college education is free for all.
If we win, Philip Anschutz still wins, but LGBTQ people win, women win, immigrants win, education wins, labor wins, the planet doesn't lose, and Philip Anschutz doesn't lose anything but capital that only a greedy greedy man would miss. It's a win-win situation, but unlike the Win-Win wind that capitalists and neoliberals insist that corporate charity is all about, the winning in Bernie Sanders' model of society is actually real for everybody.
Start from a position of assumed advantage. Underestimate your adversary. Don't learn anything. Don't admit you don't know anything. Get pumped up on Aderall and get an underling to jot down your stream of consciousness ravings. Don't say what you mean. Don't mean what you say. Don't say or mean anything. Don't put any thought into how you communicate with people. Assume they can read your mind. Attitude is something else-- give plenty of that. Rest assured your inability to be communicated with and to be bargained with will come across loud and clear. Snort more crushed Aderall. Make credible threats that your unstable personality lend an air of plausibility to. Make sure that you are negotiating over things that deeply matter to people and be sure that you do not budge an inch in giving them what they want. It does not matter what your objective is-- in fact, don't have an objective. Just don't cooperate with anyone anytime. Regardless of the outcome, you will surely win.
According to the legend, sisters Barbara Ann and Rosa Lee Hawkins and their cousin Joan Marie Johnson of New Orleans, had already had a #1 International hit as the Dixie Cups with Chapel of Love in 1964 and were between sessions in a New York recording studio when they began fooling around, tapping a rhythm on ash trays and Coke bottles with drumsticks and singing a song their Grandmother had taught them about a clash between rival Mardi Gras krewes. Their producers Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller were recording the improv and immediately recognized a hit. They added minor instrumentation and released it in the spring of 1965 as Iko Iko. Their intuitions about its potential were right - it charted at #20 on the Billboard list. Knowing only their grandmother's version, the songwriting credit went to the Dixie Cups.
As one theory goes, unknown to the Dixie Cups, Grandma may have been augmenting a memory of this version released (to greater obscurity than the Dixie Cups recording) by James "Sugar Boy" Crawford and his Cane Cutters in 1953:
A lawsuit filed by Crawford against the Dixie Cups' label was settled with Crawford relinquishing any credit for the song in exchange for 25% of future performances. Crawford reportedly had this to say about it: "I don't even know if I really am getting my just dues. I just figure 50 percent of something is better than 100 percent of nothing."
Crawford was first with a recording, but the words suggest a more ancient origin of the song:
My grandma and your grand-ma were sit-tin' by the fire
My grandma told your grand-ma "I'm gon-na set your flag on fire"
Talk-in' 'bout, hey now hey now I-ko, I-ko, un-day
Jock-a-mo fee-no ai na-né, jock-a-mo fee na-né
Look at my king all dressed in red I-ko, I-ko, un-day
I bet-cha five dol-lars he'll kill you dead, jock-a-mo fee na-né
Talk-in' 'bout, hey now hey now I-ko, I-ko, un-day
Jock-a-mo fee-no ai na-né, jock-a-mo fee na-né
My flag boy and your flag boy were sit-tin' by the fire
My flag boy told your flag boy "I'm gon-na set your flag on fire"
Talk-in' 'bout, hey now hey now I-ko, I-ko, un-day
Jock-a-mo fee-no ai na-né, jock-a-mo fee na-né
See that guy all dressed in green I-ko, I-ko, un-day
He's not a man, he's a lov-in' ma-chine jock-a mo fee na-né
Talk-in' 'bout, hey now hey now I-ko, I-ko, un-day
Jock-a-mo fee-no ai na-né, jock-a-mo fee na-né
Talk-in' 'bout, hey now hey now I-ko, I-ko, un-day
Jock-a-mo fee-no ai na-né, jock-a-mo fee na-né
Jock-a-mo fee-no ai na-né, jock-a-mo fee na-né
Theories of the song's provenance were explored by Drew Hinshaw in an article for Offbeat magazine from 2009. According to Hinshaw's account:
I was sitting by the shore in Ghana, watching an extravagant parade, when I heard a chant that rung my eardrums like a bell. “Iko, Iko!” To which the nation’s Ewe speakers would say “aayé!” ... It belongs to no particular language, Iko—and the Ashanti, Fante, Ewe spell it “ayekoo”—but that swallowed ‘I’ and soft, clucking ‘ko’ sound uncannily the same. “It means well done or congratulations,” says Dr. Evershed Amuzu, a social linguistics lecturer at the University of Ghana, who proceeds to pull a phenomenal stunt. Having professed no prior knowledge of the song, he takes hold of the lyrics sheet and sings the chorus—flubbing the rhythm, but more or less nailing the melody. “It’s definitely West African,” he concludes. “I can tell from the sound of each word what tone comes next.”
Hinshaw floats other theories in his piece, including the intriguing possibility that Jock-A-Mo may be a transliteration of the Haitian place name Jacmel, which if true underlines the strong connection between Haiti and New Orleans cultures.
There's no question that the Dixie Cups and Sugar Boy Crawford are singing versions of the same song. But it's at least an interesting alternative possibility that the Dixie Cups independently and legitimately unearthed the song from memories of their New Orleans upbringing along a completely different path from whatever inspired Crawford to record the tune a dozen years earlier.
