We few, we unhappy few, we band of loose associates

I am growing exhausted and weary of the creeping defeatism and outright cowardice of the American people. According to Shakespeare: "Gentlemen in England now a-bed, shall think themselves accurs'd they were not; And hold their manhoods cheap while any speaks, that fought with us upon St. Crispin's day."

Can we imagine Americans who are daily "a-bed" regretting that they were not among the few and proud who fought to establish an outpost of liberty on the far side of the world? Nay! Most seem content to worry about declining home prices, all the while demanding that the festering inconvenience of Iraq be brought to end. Do they not see that this is EXACTLY what al-qaida has predicted?! Do they not get that our enemy's time frame is literally hundreds of years long?! Where is the fire in the belly? Where is our Churchillian conviction that we "will NEVER surrender!"? Can we have fallen so low? Is our society truly so base that no cause is worth sacrifice, no mission worth striving against the odds, no hope bright enough to fuel the engine of conviction? Why are we not relentless? Perhaps this truly is Rome before the fall.

Today brings two noteworthy pieces of news. First, American forces have finally reached their escalated levels. Just now they are at full force and ready to engage the enemy. Second, Sunni arab residents of a neighborhood in Baghdad rose up against the armed terrorists of al-qaida who were holding them hostage. These hate-filled fascists sought to soak the neighborhood in blood, shooting randomly and preventing the attendance of school. The locals called upon American forces for help, and a fierce battle raged.

We are engaged in the struggle of our time. We are met in battle with a force that seeks our elimination. Because we don't think in these terms, because we have been acultured to "acceptance" and "diversity" and "harmony" we no longer even understand an enemy that is focused on absolutes, who's frame of reference is thousands of years long, who is willing to commit suicide for a moments glory.

If our country does not begin to grasp what we are up against and truly engage, I fear that my generation my be left to mop up the pieces of a civilization in ruin. On second thought, we might be too old by then, but we will witness it, and we will weep in disbelief. Remember that Rome was succeeded by 1,000 years of darkness before civilization climbed out of the abyss and returned to its previous heights. It has happened before. It is supremely naive to think it can't happen again.

The Iraqi people are our brothers. We may stand alone in defense of freedom, as Churchill's Britain did in an earlier era, but we should proudly proclaim that "we few, we happy few, we band of brothers" will strive evermore to right the world and expand freedom. With increasing desperation I hope we can all get a clue. Our future depends on it.

Bienvenido

In 1994 I was a freshman in high screwal. I was also a virgin member of the debate team with a particularly weighty topic to digest: immigration. The country was being besieged by illegal immigrants and it was in the hands of we brave high school debaters to determine the proper method of addressing the egregious problem. I took the task seriously.

Though it was controversial, I soon settled on a course of action that I was resolute on-- if not entirely willing to advocate. The only way forward, I was sure, was to issue black-and-white orders to the border patrol: shoot on sight! Any miscreant, money grubbing, welfare sucking, law-breaking, Mexican scum who thought he could slither into the U.S. of A. had better take notice: there is a new sheriff in town, and he isn't taking any prisoners!

That was, it seems, a lifetime ago, and indeed, my opinion of today bears little resemblance to my opinion of then. I have written a nice polemic statement on immigration on my website, but I felt compelled to comment here, given the timely nature of the debate in Congress. I can't think of something less American than resisting immigration. No one can intelligently maintain that immigration has been bad for America. I can't imagine anything less capitalist than restricting the free exchange of labor. I can't imagine anything less compassionate than turning back desperate father's trying to feed their children. In short, I think it is appalling to take the callous position of so many in the anti-immigrant community.

Anyone who risks his or her life to come here and work for menial wages is welcome in my book. If our law doesn't reflect that, it is OUR failing, not theirs. I don't pretend to have read the current legislation being considered. I almost certain my view would be more lenient than the compromise legislation.

What I must plead is for thinking, well-meaning people to consider that this country has enemies and that this country has dead-weight and that this country has social problems, but that none of these are due to immigration--illegal or otherwise. Our strength depends on the renewal of those who seek a better life. Our future will be built on their dreams. Let's all take a deep breath and think where our energy should be devoted. I say bienvenido.

Follow the yellow brick road

I've been thinking a lot lately on the question of Home. Where is Home? What makes Home home? What impact does where we live have on who we are, and what we are able to become? Can you have more than one Home? Is Home where you are from or where you live?

There are several reasons why my attention has focused on this matter at this time. I have two friends who live--or rather lived-- where I live, that have recently chosen to live somewhere else. I have one friend who wants to move back to where she is from, but must suffer the injustice of abandoning her current address for the county jail before she can move. I myself feel very restless, and am not entirely sure that where I live is where I should live. I have a house that I've been shaping into my own creation, and to which, I am therefore quite attached. I have aspirations beyond what my house can ever provide. I have friends that live very far away. I have family that is very close--and who cherish my proximity. I have dreams and desires which seem too big for where I am. I don't ever want to be too big for from where I come. I am torn.

I have travelled around the world. I have slept on a bunk bed on a mountain top in Peru. I have slept in luxurious hotels in Colorado Springs and London and Santiago. I have stayed in seedy inns from Baker, Montana to Rome. I have returned to my house and my bed, only to wish I was back at the hotel, where the bed was plush and the towels fresh and the shower sparkling. I have felt guilty for wishing I was there.

I love London and New York and San Francisco and Berlin and San Antonio and Boston and Prague and Chicago and Santiago and Denver and Madrid and Seattle and Stockholm. I do not care for Houston or Rome or Lima or Los Angeles.

Yet I am Glendive. No matter how much time passes or how many miles I log or how many distant lands I visit, in Glendive vest the unique and timeless qualities that seem to embody Home. I am a product of its peculiarities that may not be peculiar at all. Perhaps they are the parochialisms of every small town from Vermont to Ventura. But whatever they are, they are inextricably me. Whether a swiss brat at the Beer Jug or cruising down main laying on the top of my car, clinging to the luggage rack for security, and belting out the songs on the radio; whether selling carpet and paint and producing pictures worthy of walls or hiking past cacti in Makoshika, Glendive has infused me with itself.

But I am more. Could I live there? Today? Tomorrow? Someday? So many of those I love are there, and yet, I am more. I am Valpo and Chicago and Europe. I am theater and espresso and music and art. Met in me are city and town, culture and country, Mozart and Montana, Baroque and Badlands, plaid and searsucher.

Which leads me to believe that where we are is not so important as where we go and who we are. I could live--and indeed may seek to live-- in places near and far and big and small. What is more important is the places I am committed to returning. Those places which time and space and circumstance cannot disconnect us from. Those places that contribute to the fabric of our beings and which contain what and who we love.

Perhaps it is uniquely American to have the luxurious freedom to move easily from a dizzying array of places and climes. Perhaps it is only given to we priveleged to experience everything we wish to and then go home. All I know is that wherever I venture and where ever I hang my hat, what is truly important is those places that have made me who I am and those places that I choose to return to time and time again. More important yet, are the people I love and the knowledge that no matter how far away I may reside, they are are the closest in my heart.

Oh...*gag* Canada...

I just returned from a 3 day trip to Canada. Traversing the prairie for some 5 hours is bad enough without having to face a ridiculously absurd border enforcement on the part of Canadian Immigration. Picture a tiny border town in the middle of the wind-swept prairie. Here is a duty free shop looking tacky and out of place. Here is a farm house on the American side displaying a large American flag, maybe overdone. Here is a few hundred miles of unpatroled no-man's-land that is the 49th parallel. But fear not! If you happen to decide that this particular outpost of hinterland is where you shall perpetuate untold crimes against the proud people of Canada, you will be thwarted!

For about an hour my colleagues and I were detained by soft-spoken, yet freakishly manly Canadian women who were out to vet our credentials and stop evil-doers of any stripe. Our passports were ceased and scrutinized for about 30 minutes. Then we each had a private interregation that would have gotten the Pope to confess to sins that would make a sailor blush with shame. Had I ever hired an attorney? No. Really? Yes. I mean no. Sorry, what was the question? Had I ever sought legal counsel. No. Really? No. Yes. Really. What? Have you ever appeared in court. No. Never. No. You're sure. No. I mean Yes. Sure. No. No court. No lawyers. No charges? No. Never? No. You're sure? Yes. I mean, I don't think so. Ahhhhhhh!

Eventually we were freed to enter the great land that is Canada, but not before I tearfully recalled a moving violation involving a Ford Probe in 1996.

I see very little redeeming value to being Canadian. As far as I can tell being Canadian involves wishing desperately to be American while simultaneously resisting any hint of pro-Americanism. It means waiting around until 1965 to finally decide to be a real country, and then fighting with the French speaking citizens about whether they really ought to have a single country. Canadia is full of natural resources and devoid of any character. It lives in the shadow of America, is completely subject to our whim and woe, and may cease to exist once the tax rate finally reaches 120%.

I was profoundly glad to return home. I don't care if Roots does make some snazzy ski gear. I thank God NOT to have been born Canadian. If I go OAT and ABOAT to engage in some PRO-cess, I will do so with God Bless America blaring in the background of my mind.