Obama Addresses Our National “Racial Stalemate”
(March 18, Philadelphia, PA) If democratic presidential hopeful, Barak Obama’s speech given here earlier today has any longevity beyond the 37 minutes it took to deliver it and the hours since spent analyzing it, is largely irrelevant. Virtually forced to speak about race relations in America after his pastor, Jeremiah Wright’s controversial remarks entered the public domain, the Illinois Senator’s speech was political, personal and extremely important. It was a speech that only he could give.
As the product of a mixed race, broken home, the Harvard educated lawyer is poised to become the first African-American presidential candidate. Currently engaged in a bitter, often hostile, contentious battle with his opponent, New York Senator, Hillary Clinton, their contest is as historic as it has been divisive. Issues long simmering throughout our society, matters anchored to the thick, gnarled roots of history, have emerged in all their ugliness demanding attention.
Obama, as the first viable black presidential candidate obviously injects an overdose of race into the contest while the infusion of gender stares out at us as Mrs. Clinton seeks to be our Commander-in-Chief. Race and gender; two long time, hot-button issues not only in politics but in society as a whole. As each issue is possessed of its own complexity, history and legacy, they are not of equal weight in the collective conscious nor in reality. The differentiation between them is obvious and apparent. To equate the struggle of women to vote and for equal rights in the workplace is to put it on par with one of the most sordid, tragic, cancerous chapters in our nation’s history.
Obama deftly presented his thoughts on the state of race relations today and yesterday emphasizing the “generational” differences in the black populace. Collective memory is as long as is the history that shaped it. Anger bred from centuries of inhumanity once condoned by the US Constitution does not easily diminish. When the ramifications of that history reverberate throughout every aspect of our culture to this day, minds must be opened or, if not opened, at least exposed to some simple yet profound truths.
The primary fight between Clinton and Obama has been hardcore, sometimes counterintuitive but, in many ways, played out predictably. The demographics of the votes cast reflect the inherent divisions within our society despite evidence that significant numbers of voters have not aligned with race or gender. It has all been confusing, to a degree surprising and sadly, virtually preordained to have devolved to the place it has.
Senator Obama, no matter his true motivations, reasons or purposes did, in fact, across the street from where our Constitution was written, stepped into the breach having taken ownership of the podium exposed by this devolution of discourse. Attitudes and opinions were not necessarily Obama’s targets; after all, they are notoriously difficult to change. It appeared that he was after our nuanced neural processes, that mysterious, infinitely complex apparatus from which our attitudes and opinions form and reside. It was if we were all being asked just to “think” about this, just to try to imagine the other side of the coin be it black and white, male or female, us or them. For all our technical sophistication and digitally enhanced awareness, we should be challenged to think.
Maybe time does heal all wounds, a lot of time. Perhaps after the last of the generations that remember America before women could vote, the Civil Rights movement and subsequent legislation, Jim Crow, forced bussing, race riots, water hoses as crowd control, boycotts, marches, the Equal Rights Amendments fight, the 1940’s, ‘50’s, ‘60’s and 70’s have passed on, race and gender will exist less conspicuously in the fabric of that society, those future days and times.
We know that thus far time has not promoted much healing; actually, time has been an enemy in the sense that we have allowed far too much to elapse before being asked to think about the things we need to think about. That time elapsed saw many well intentioned but inherently flawed attempts to reconcile the past with the present. They are far too numerous to mention. Most did more harm than good and what good did manage to see the light of day was usually tainted and blemished from the fires that forged it.
Possibly we are moving to a better place. The issue of “race” as a black and white history, of one intimately and monogamously related to our Civil War is morphing into the multicultural spectrum that defines more and more of us. The evolution of our nation has been in a new phase for many years with the influx of non-eastern Europeans; Hispanics, Asians and mixed race people of every combination are more numerous now than Caucasians. This should not be viewed with fear or associated as a cause for any of our many social problems. It is what it is, we are who we are.
The question of whether or not having a black man as the President of the United States will or will not promote any kind of “healing”, whatever that means, should not be asked at all. It is unanswerable on its face. A more appropriate question and one with far broader ramifications for our future as a united country might be, can this man make us think and are we willing to think about what we need to?
To be continued…sometime later this year.
Copyright © 2008 TBC All Rights Reserved
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Thursday, March 13, 2008
ELLIOT’S MESS
(March 13, 2008, NYC) Another high profile politico falls victim to their own foibles. This is hardly a story. The hypocrisy of a former New York State Attorney General whose career was made by destroying others is mind-numbing and laughable. Ironies hang all over this sordid tale like seaweed on a buoy. Perhaps there is some sort of cosmic justice, some unseen celestial force moving matter and circumstance so that what does go ‘round will indeed come ‘round. This is one way to look at the public disgrace of the recently resigned governor of New York State, Elliot Spitzer.
Certainly there are a variety of perspectives from which to view this particular scandal. The last few days have seen every angle covered and speculated on from the secret needs of powerful men, to their unconscious desire for risk threw the entire gamut of New Age pseudo-science that provides endless theories for every and any physical, mental, emotional, psychological, societal or behavioral malady. Who really cares? Who really wants to know?
Aside from the collective voyeuristic glee of witnessing the fall from power of a
wealthy, privileged man whose entire life was lived well above the hardscrabble realities of most, there is in this case a distinct element of retribution: somehow Spitzer deserves this. He certainly made his share of enemies throughout his career and was never shy in staging their public humiliation.
Every cliché’ related to glass houses and being careful about who you step over on your way up because they will be waiting for you on your way down is appropriately true. Elliot Spitzer was the quintessential scumbag with ‘small man syndrome’. Whatever drove him will most likely never be known to anyone but him. That’s fine. The best thing is that this one little, bitter, angry, egotistical man is removed from the position of power he held and would have continued to misuse and abuse.
Certainly there are a variety of perspectives from which to view this particular scandal. The last few days have seen every angle covered and speculated on from the secret needs of powerful men, to their unconscious desire for risk threw the entire gamut of New Age pseudo-science that provides endless theories for every and any physical, mental, emotional, psychological, societal or behavioral malady. Who really cares? Who really wants to know?
Aside from the collective voyeuristic glee of witnessing the fall from power of a
wealthy, privileged man whose entire life was lived well above the hardscrabble realities of most, there is in this case a distinct element of retribution: somehow Spitzer deserves this. He certainly made his share of enemies throughout his career and was never shy in staging their public humiliation.
Every cliché’ related to glass houses and being careful about who you step over on your way up because they will be waiting for you on your way down is appropriately true. Elliot Spitzer was the quintessential scumbag with ‘small man syndrome’. Whatever drove him will most likely never be known to anyone but him. That’s fine. The best thing is that this one little, bitter, angry, egotistical man is removed from the position of power he held and would have continued to misuse and abuse.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
OUR EXTENDED ABSENCE
FLAGS REMAIN AT HALF STAFF
Official Period of Mourning Ends
(March 12, NY, NY) We have not been here for awhile. Our absence was circumstance driven initially, intentional thereafter. The Brooding Cynyx suffered a great loss last week when one of our own, actually, the original driving force who established are “Mission” passed away on the third of March. He had taken a terrible fall down a flight of stairs on February 16, was admitted to the Critical Care Unit and never left the building alive.
In the wake of his death, the Cynyx, collectively, decided to cease posting for a period of mourning. Out of respect for our newly deceased Cynyc Emeritus, we felt it would be inappropriate to engage in our usual activities, the time and efforts associated with bringing our loyal readers the quality of news, commentary, satire and observations that you have come to expect and most certainly deserve.
Yes, some said that our Emeritus would not have wanted us to cease posting. After all, it was by his mandate we began doing that which we do. However, the profound nature of the loss warranted a powerful gesture here, on this blog, to mark his passing.
His unremarkable death belied his remarkable life. Among many accomplishments of a Marine Corps veteran, a blue collar worker, husband, father and friend were the things he gave to so many. By example he taught; he taught all those things that no school could ever begin to teach. He taught the intangibles and he taught them well.
He taught a full advanced curriculum in character, integrity, honesty and strength. The core courses included powerful lessons about sacrifice, tolerance, patience and humility. By his living example the education he provided was on-going until he expired that one last time and the cardiac monitor went monotone. Pride and dignity were demonstrated daily in his life and most certainly in his death: A Marine to the end. The lessons he learned as a 19 year old on Parris Island added to the inherent traits and strengths his by birth, by time and place.
Possessed of a child like faith of the highest order, parts of his life were more than tests of that faith. If there ever was the proverbial “hard luck guy”, it was him. But, despite circumstances and choices, playing a poorly dealt hand, he was also an original “Stand Up Guy”. He carried his load with a quiet strength and grace that put him in a class of his own. If he had a temper, it was so rarely in evidence that one could be forgiven for seeing him as passive. That would have been an error. He was anything but passive; his “uncommon valor” was his most remarkable virtue.
He and his generation have received their due justice in recent years thanks to popular books and films depicting the major events from the Great depression, World War II through the sixties and seventies. He was part of it all, one among millions yet, recognized for his uniqueness even by his peers.
He passed quietly into what lies beyond. He stepped lightly along that ill defined line until he felt the time was right. Called home, released from his earthly burdens, he will always remain.
Official Period of Mourning Ends
(March 12, NY, NY) We have not been here for awhile. Our absence was circumstance driven initially, intentional thereafter. The Brooding Cynyx suffered a great loss last week when one of our own, actually, the original driving force who established are “Mission” passed away on the third of March. He had taken a terrible fall down a flight of stairs on February 16, was admitted to the Critical Care Unit and never left the building alive.
In the wake of his death, the Cynyx, collectively, decided to cease posting for a period of mourning. Out of respect for our newly deceased Cynyc Emeritus, we felt it would be inappropriate to engage in our usual activities, the time and efforts associated with bringing our loyal readers the quality of news, commentary, satire and observations that you have come to expect and most certainly deserve.
Yes, some said that our Emeritus would not have wanted us to cease posting. After all, it was by his mandate we began doing that which we do. However, the profound nature of the loss warranted a powerful gesture here, on this blog, to mark his passing.
His unremarkable death belied his remarkable life. Among many accomplishments of a Marine Corps veteran, a blue collar worker, husband, father and friend were the things he gave to so many. By example he taught; he taught all those things that no school could ever begin to teach. He taught the intangibles and he taught them well.
He taught a full advanced curriculum in character, integrity, honesty and strength. The core courses included powerful lessons about sacrifice, tolerance, patience and humility. By his living example the education he provided was on-going until he expired that one last time and the cardiac monitor went monotone. Pride and dignity were demonstrated daily in his life and most certainly in his death: A Marine to the end. The lessons he learned as a 19 year old on Parris Island added to the inherent traits and strengths his by birth, by time and place.
Possessed of a child like faith of the highest order, parts of his life were more than tests of that faith. If there ever was the proverbial “hard luck guy”, it was him. But, despite circumstances and choices, playing a poorly dealt hand, he was also an original “Stand Up Guy”. He carried his load with a quiet strength and grace that put him in a class of his own. If he had a temper, it was so rarely in evidence that one could be forgiven for seeing him as passive. That would have been an error. He was anything but passive; his “uncommon valor” was his most remarkable virtue.
He and his generation have received their due justice in recent years thanks to popular books and films depicting the major events from the Great depression, World War II through the sixties and seventies. He was part of it all, one among millions yet, recognized for his uniqueness even by his peers.
He passed quietly into what lies beyond. He stepped lightly along that ill defined line until he felt the time was right. Called home, released from his earthly burdens, he will always remain.
Friday, March 7, 2008
GOD'S SPEED MARINE
We lost one of our own this week. Without going into to much detail, we lost a good man this week. A man with faults just like the rest of us, a man who did what he could to provide for his family. He did not discover any great cure, or a new planet or invent a new machine to make him millions, he was just a man. A man who cared for his son, a man who was a provider for his wife for more than fifty years, he was just a man. A man who raised kids, who put some of those kids through college, who are now, doctors, who might discover the cure, he was just a man. A man who served his country, his community, his family, he was just a man. Tread lightly Marine and thank you for just being a man.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
CYNYX EVERYWHERE REMAIN IN MOURNING
(March 6, NYC) Everyone probably feels the same level of emotion when they think of their Dad. We can all recall images from our past, summon up glimpses of our youth, and recollect the countless gestures of kindness, patience and plain old love. Dad died the other day.
He was sent off yesterday with a Mass in the church were so much of his life, and ours, was the site of milestones. Baptisms, Communions, Confirmations; all the rituals of Roman Catholicism that were ours by birth. The pews in that fine old house of worship had provided refuge and respite for our family, friends and neighbors for almost a century.
It is a bit odd to consider that this proud, quiet man lived his 76 years within a radius of under 10 miles. Aside from his years in the Marine Corps, the streets he played on as a child were the very same as those he walked just weeks before his death.
Death often comes like a thief in the night; it did not for him. His was a death that was a bit protracted, not measured in agonizing months but rather as days that elongated and warped, trudged into weeks that felt like years. It would be easy to read too much into his last weeks; such a hospital scenario lends itself far too readily to hyperbole. There was a dramatic component to it all that went beyond the clinical realities that kept his trapped in a body that was failing. Could he hear? Did he experience pain? Was he aware that we were there?
Each of us began the trip home from a far flung location. We had all scattered when we came of age for reasons and circumstances partially chosen, and somewhat seemingly pre-ordained. Miles and years evolve into distance, distance that is measurable and infinite at the same time. He began his final journey very near where it had all begun. That was not a bad thing. There is something to be said for that kind of consistency, that level of comfortability and acceptance of self and life.
There were times in the past when we thought they should move, Mom and Dad could not still be there? Yet, they remained while that neighborhood rode the varied waves of change, good and bad, up and down. They were witness to generations born, grown and moved; where they, and they alone, had outlived lived all our original neighbors. It was from this place our lives were shaped and we are as much a part of it as was he.
That place remains and will for a longer time than we can imagine now. It will change for good and bad and see the comings and goings of more generations. But, for the first time in nearly 80 years it will forever be altered, not noticeably, not dramatically. His absence will change the place and all those who live there now and those who will come to live there never knowing who he was.
At least we, all of us, knew him and for that, we have been blessed beyond measure.
Be well, Dad.
Walk gently home to see those you have missed for so long. They have been waiting.
He was sent off yesterday with a Mass in the church were so much of his life, and ours, was the site of milestones. Baptisms, Communions, Confirmations; all the rituals of Roman Catholicism that were ours by birth. The pews in that fine old house of worship had provided refuge and respite for our family, friends and neighbors for almost a century.
It is a bit odd to consider that this proud, quiet man lived his 76 years within a radius of under 10 miles. Aside from his years in the Marine Corps, the streets he played on as a child were the very same as those he walked just weeks before his death.
Death often comes like a thief in the night; it did not for him. His was a death that was a bit protracted, not measured in agonizing months but rather as days that elongated and warped, trudged into weeks that felt like years. It would be easy to read too much into his last weeks; such a hospital scenario lends itself far too readily to hyperbole. There was a dramatic component to it all that went beyond the clinical realities that kept his trapped in a body that was failing. Could he hear? Did he experience pain? Was he aware that we were there?
Each of us began the trip home from a far flung location. We had all scattered when we came of age for reasons and circumstances partially chosen, and somewhat seemingly pre-ordained. Miles and years evolve into distance, distance that is measurable and infinite at the same time. He began his final journey very near where it had all begun. That was not a bad thing. There is something to be said for that kind of consistency, that level of comfortability and acceptance of self and life.
There were times in the past when we thought they should move, Mom and Dad could not still be there? Yet, they remained while that neighborhood rode the varied waves of change, good and bad, up and down. They were witness to generations born, grown and moved; where they, and they alone, had outlived lived all our original neighbors. It was from this place our lives were shaped and we are as much a part of it as was he.
That place remains and will for a longer time than we can imagine now. It will change for good and bad and see the comings and goings of more generations. But, for the first time in nearly 80 years it will forever be altered, not noticeably, not dramatically. His absence will change the place and all those who live there now and those who will come to live there never knowing who he was.
At least we, all of us, knew him and for that, we have been blessed beyond measure.
Be well, Dad.
Walk gently home to see those you have missed for so long. They have been waiting.
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