Saturday, December 23, 2006




Thursday, December 07, 2006

Lot's Tribe

I was taking a lunch break on September 11, 2006, and decided to take a bench in Seattle’s Occidental Park to enjoy the late summer weather.

There were three pieces of sculpture, with no explanation, that hadn’t been there the previous day.

No one I spoke to knew anything about them, but it was painfully obvious they had something to do with the war in Iraq, and the Abu Ghraib prison debacle.

I finally found some info on-line.

The three pieces were made of salt, and collectively titled “Lot's Tribe.” They were created by sculptor, Michael Magrath.

This from his press release:

Lot's Tribe is conceived as a temporary memorial to the other victims of 9 /11: Three life-sized statues of Iraqi civilian men and boys, each cast in salt, were placed in Occidental Park, in Pioneer Square, Downtown Seattle for the morning of September 11, 2006. There the white, crystalline figures will stand, sudden incursions of unwelcome reality into our daily lives, until the rains come and they dissolve.

"These figures were culled from news images coming out of the Middle East over the past few years," says Magrath. "The scenes were shocking, and I wondered why they were not more widely seen. They made me think about what it feels like to witness something so unexpected and vast; like an explosion that will permanently alter your life, and how that sort of traumatic event evolves over time. My intent was to render some sense of these scenes in as real and arresting manner as possible, a kind of 3D photojournalism -- silent monuments to seemingly distant events with which we, whether we recognize it or not, are intimately connected."

I thought it was a brilliant piece of public art, and figured the city would have it removed in no time, but, and will wonders never cease, the city had actually given permission for the installation.

The fall and early winter weather collaborated:

The salt began to melt away, and the pieces became even more heart-breaking:

And then, an unknown someone, but not the artist, decided to express him/herself by adding paint...

The artist may remove the installation.

But, it has reached generations...

More info can be found at: Lot's Tribe

Friday, December 01, 2006

An Essay on Our President by E.L. Doctrow

It's extremely rare for a topical piece to cut to the quick, but with frightening clarity E. L . Doctrow gets below the surface of our current Commander-in-Chief to reveal the man.

Thanks to Cousin Mitchell for forwarding this on:

An Essay On Our President
by E.L. Doctorow

I fault this president (George W. Bush) for not knowing what death is. He does not suffer the death of our twenty-one year olds who wanted to be what they could be.

On the eve of D-day in 1944 General Eisenhower prayed to God for the lives of the young soldiers he knew were going to die. He knew what death was. Even in a justifiable war, a war not of choice but of necessity, a war of survival, the cost was almost more than Eisenhower could bear.

But this president does not know what death is. He hasn't the mind for it. You see him joking with the press, peering under the table for the WMDs he can't seem to find, you see him at rallies strutting up to the stage in shirt sleeves to the roar of the carefully screened crowd, smiling and waving, triumphal, a he-man. He does not mourn. He doesn't understand why he should mourn. He is satisfied during the course of a speech written for him to look solemn for a moment and speak of the brave young Americans who made the ultimate sacrifice for their country.

But you study him; you look into his eyes and know he dissembles an emotion, which he does not feel in the depths of his being because he has no capacity for it. He does not feel a personal responsibility for the thousand dead young men and women who wanted be what they could be.

They come to his desk not as youngsters with mothers and fathers or wives and children who will suffer to the end of their days a terribly torn fabric of familial relationships and the inconsolable remembrance of aborted life.... They come to his desk as a political liability which is why the press is not permitted to photograph the arrival of their coffins from Iraq.

How then can he mourn? To mourn is to express regret and he regrets nothing. He does not regret that his reason for going to war was, as he knew, unsubstantiated by the facts. He does not regret that his bungled plan for the war's aftermath has made of his mission-accomplished a disaster. He does not regret that rather than controlling terrorism his war in Iraq has licensed it.

So he never mourns for the dead and crippled youngsters who have fought this war of his choice. He wanted to go to war and he did. He had not the mind to perceive the costs of war, or to listen to those who knew those costs. He did not understand that you do not go to war when it is one of the options, but when it is the only option; you go not because you want to but because you have to.

This president knew it would be difficult for Americans not to cheer the overthrow of a foreign dictator. He knew that much. This president and his supporters would seem to have a mind for only one thing --- to take power, to remain in power, and to use that power for the sake of themselves and their friends. A war will do that as well as anything. You become a wartime leader. The country gets behind you. Dissent becomes inappropriate. And so he does not drop to his knees, he is not contrite, he does not sit in the church with the grieving parents and wives and children....

He is the President who does not feel. He does not feel for the families of the dead; he does not feel for the thirty five million of us who live in poverty; he does not feel for the forty percent who cannot afford health insurance; he does not feel for the miners whose lungs are turning black or for the working people he has deprived of the chance to work overtime at time-and-a-half to pay their bills ---it is amazing for how many people in this country this President does not feel.

But he will dissemble feeling. He will say in all sincerity he is relieving the wealthiest one percent of the population of their tax burden for the sake of the rest of us, and that he is polluting the air we breathe for the sake of our economy, and that he is decreasing the safety regulations for coal mines to save the coal miners' jobs, and that he is depriving workers of their time-and-a- half benefits for overtime because this is actually a way to honor them by raising them into the professional class.

And this litany of lies he will versify with reverences for God and the flag and democracy, when just what he and his party are doing to our democracy is choking the life out of it.

But there is one more terribly sad thing about all of this. I remember the millions of people here and around the world who marched against the war. It was extraordinary, that spontaneously aroused oversoul of alarm and protest that transcended national borders. Why did it happen? After all, this was not the only war anyone had ever seen coming. There are little wars all over the world most of the time.

But the cry of protest was the appalled understanding of millions of people that America was ceding its role as the last best hope of mankind. It was their perception that the classic archetype democracy was morphing into a rogue nation. The greatest democratic republic in history was turning its back on the future, using its extraordinary power and standing not to advance the ideal of a concordance of civilizations but to endorse the kind of tribal combat that originated with the Neanderthals, a people, now extinct, who could imagine ensuring their survival by no other means than pre-emptive war.

The president we get is the country we get. With each president the nation is conformed spiritually. He is the artificer of our malleable national soul. He proposes not only the laws but the kinds of lawlessness that govern our lives and invoke our responses. The people he appoints are cast in his image. The trouble they get into and get us into is his characteristic trouble.

Finally the media amplify his character into our moral weather report. He becomes the face of our sky, the conditions that prevail: How can we sustain ourselves as the United States of America given the stupid and ineffective war making, the constitutionally insensitive lawgiving, and the monarchal economics of this president? He cannot mourn but is a figure of such moral vacancy as to make us mourn for ourselves.