BEASTING BARACK BEHIND HIS BACK

[This has nothing to do with this post, except that I'm putting it here. Just heard on Jay Leno, but some woman named Chelsea Something, not Clinton, an actor, I think: "I don't understand people who are still undecided about who to vote for. It's like going into Starbucks. Do you want your coffee black or with expired milk."]

(Note: This post is satiric in nature. Please don't turn me into the Neocon Thought Police.)

The Dow Jones Industrial Average today plummeted 777.86 points. BAD. Very bad. But perhaps worse than BAD.

Perhaps downright EVIL. Pronounced EEEEVIIIIILLLLL! Not evul.


This came to me as I was talking to my brother. "What a shame it was 777 instead of 666, the NUMBER OF THE BEAST.

For those of you unfamiliar with Christian theology, The Beast is the Antichrist, sort of the ultimate bad guy. Not quite The Devil, Satan, etc. No, the devil, you must understand is a fallen angel,



not human, while the Antichrist is a veddy, veddy evil human being in league with the devil.




I probably have the theology wrong; I have a way of getting these things mixed up. Anyway, in the Bible, in the book of Revelation, also called the Apocalypse, somewhere in there it says that the NUMBER OF THE BEAST is 666. Making names, etc., into 666 to prove them evil is called 'Beasting." (I learned this from Leo Tolstoy while reading War and Peace.


Yes, dear reader(s), I have read War and Peace, every word of it, well, maybe not every word, but most of them, in translation, though; I don't read Russian.)



I saw that 777.86 and thought, "Too bad it's not 666.86. Pat Robertson could make much of that!"


Mayana, however has a streak of cleverness in her worthy of a Fundamentalist Christian Evangelist out to 'prove a point.' So consider this - please read slowly and carefully; it's just a little convoluted.


The number three represents Earth.



The number four represents Heaven.




Together the represent perfection. That is the number seven. The number three also represents the Trinity, the three Gods of Fundamentalist Christianity (who are really One, but, see, we humans aren't supposed to be able to comprehend that. It's a mystery. We're just supposed to believe it. On blind faith.) So, here we have three sevens. Let us proceed to 86. Eighty-six is a phrase meaning to throw out, as to 86 the unruly drunk from the club.



So if we 86 the Father from the first seven, the Son from the second seven and the Holy Ghost from the third seven, we are left with 666.






Voila!!

Which proves that Barack Obama








is the Antichrist.

[

[OK, OK. It was actually 68, not 86. But it's making the point that is important, not getting the facts correct.]

OXFORD TOWN

Something astonishing is happening right now, Sen. John McSame and Sen. Barack Obama, the two major candidate for President of the United States (POTUS), are engaged in a debate. That's normal before an election; in fact, it has become a tradition. What is astounding, at least to me, is the location.

University of Mississippi, Oxford, Mississippi. Hardly anyone seems to remember what happened there in 1962, 46 years ago. Along time? I suppose that depends on your perspective. I was ten years old at the time, just at the dawn of my political awareness.

Does anyone remember James Meredith?


He was the first Negro/Coloured/Black/African American to try to become a student at Ole Miss, as the University was - and still is - known. Bob Dylan wrote a song about this, Oxford Town. The paragraph under the song is from a website about the integration of Ol' Miss. It's worth looking at.

Oxford Town

Oxford Town, Oxford Town
Ev'rybody's got their heads bowed down
The sun don't shine above the ground
Ain't a-goin' down to Oxford Town

He went down to Oxford Town
Guns and clubs followed him down
All because his face was brown
Better get away from Oxford Town

Oxford Town around the bend
He come in to the door, he couldn't get in
All because of the color of his skin
What do you think about that, my frien'?

Me and my gal, my gal's son
We got met with a tear gas bomb
I don't even know why we come
Goin' back where we come from

Oxford Town in the afternoon
Ev'rybody singin' a sorrowful tune
Two men died 'neath the Mississippi moon
Somebody better investigate soon

Oxford Town, Oxford Town
Ev'rybody's got their heads bowed down
The sun don't shine above the ground
Ain't a-goin' down to Oxford Town

Copyright ©1963; renewed 1991 Special Rider Music

In the fall of 1962 the college town of Oxford, Mississippi, erupted in violence. At the center of the controversy stood James Meredith, an African American who was attempting to register at the all-white University of Mississippi, known as "Ole Miss." Meredith had the support of the federal government, which insisted that Mississippi honor the rights of all its citizens, regardless of race. Mississippi's refusal led to a showdown between state and federal authorities and the storming of the campus by a segregationist mob. Two people died and dozens were injured. In the end, Ole Miss, the state of Mississippi, and the nation were forever changed.

Indeed, 'the nation was changed forever.' Tonight, at this same Ol' Miss, two men, two Senators vying for the highest elected office in the land are debating and one of them is an African American. Who wudda thought?

I am not overlooking the problems still existing with regards to race in this country. They are here and they are big. As I am married to an African American, I know they exist and are real. However, this is indicative of some real improvement, some real progress. I never hesitate to point out what's wrong in this country. I just feel like pointing out this one instance of some progress.

How much has Mississppi actually changed? I remember another song from this era, one that is very instructive. (If you're tired of my old songs, you have my permission to skip this one, but it really is a good song.) Here's To The State Of Mississippi by the great Phil Ochs.

Here's to the state of Mississippi,
For Underheath her borders, the devil draws no lines,
If you drag her muddy river, nameless bodies you will find.
Whoa the fat trees of the forest have hid a thousand crimes,
The calender is lyin' when it reads the present time.
Whoa here's to the land you've torn out the heart of,
Mississippi find yourself another country to be part of!

Here's to the people of Mississippi
Who say the folks up north, they just don't understand
And they tremble in their shadows at the thunder of the Klan
The sweating of their souls can't wash the blood from off their hands
They smile and shrug their shoulders at the murder of a man
Oh, here's to the land you've torn out the heart of
Mississippi find yourself another country to be part of

Here's to the schools of Mississippi
Where they're teaching all the children that they don't have to care
All of rudiments of hatred are present everywhere
And every single classroom is a factory of despair
There's nobody learning such a foreign word as fair
Oh, here's to the land you've torn out the heart of
Mississippi find yourself another country to be part of

Here's to the cops of Mississippi
They're chewing their tobacco as they lock the prison door
Their bellies bounce inside them as they knock you to the floor
No they don't like taking prisoners in their private little war
Behind their broken badges there are murderers and more
Oh, here's to the land you've torn out the heart of
Mississippi find yourself another country to be part of

And, here's to the judges of Mississippi
Who wear the robe of honor as they crawl into the court
They're guarding all the bastions with their phony legal fort
Oh, justice is a stranger when the prisoners report
When the black man stands accused the trial is always short
Oh, here's to the land you've torn out the heart of
Mississippi find yourself another country to be part of

And here's to the government of Mississippi
In the swamp of their bureaucracy they're always bogging down
And criminals are posing as the mayors of the towns
They're hoping that no one sees the sights and hears the sounds
And the speeches of the governor are the ravings of a clown
Oh, here's to the land you've torn out the heart of
Mississippi find yourself another country to be part of

And here's to the laws of Mississippi
Congressmen will gather in a circus of delay
While the Constitution is drowning in an ocean of decay
Unwed mothers should be sterilized, I've even heard them say
Yes, corruption can be classic in the Mississippi way
Oh, here's to the land you've torn out the heart of
Mississippi find yourself another country to be part of

And here's to the churches of Mississippi
Where the cross, once made of silver, now is caked with rust
And the Sunday morning sermons pander to their lust
The fallen face of Jesus is choking in the dust
Heaven only knows in which God they can trust
Oh, here's to the land you've torn out the heart of
Mississippi find yourself another country to be part of

God knows we still have a long way to go, but at least a step or two has been taken. "We ain't what we could be; we ain't what we should be; we ain't what we would be; but, Praise God! We ain't what we were!"

--
WHY TRY TO FIT IN? YOU WERE BORN TO STAND OUT!

Fun With Politics - Rally Against Sarah Palin

Speaking of Alaska...

I spent some of the most difficult years of my life in Alaska, from 1993-1997. I was in very bad shape. In fact I was certifiably insane for much of that time. Hardly a high point of my life. Most of my memories of Alaska are not happy. One good thing, though, I did reunite with my brother after many years of separation.

We lived in Anchorage, a strange city, full of strange people. I fit right in. I was freaked out by the barely visible sun in winter and loved the nearly endless summer days, although I missed seeing the stars.

Alaska is incredibly beautiful and needs to be preserved.

Alaska deserves much better than Sarah Palin.

A friend sent me this article, along with the pictures.

Psssst...pass it on!

[The] Alaska Women Reject Palin rally was to be held outside on the lawn in front of the Loussac Library in midtown Anchorage . Home made signs were encouraged, and the idea was to make a statement that Sarah Palin does not speak for all Alaska women, or men. I had no idea what to expect.

The rally was organized by a small group of women, talking over coffee. It made me wonder what other things have started with small groups of women talking over coffee. It's probably an impressive list. These women hatched the plan, printed up flyers, posted them around town, and sent notices to local media outlets. One of those media outlets was KBYR radio, home of Eddie Burke, a long-time uber-conservative Anchorage talk show host. Turns out that Eddie Burke not only announced the rally, but called the people who planned to attend the rally "a bunch of socialist baby-killing maggots," and read the home phone numbers of the organizers aloud over the air, urging listeners to call and tell them what they thought. The women, of course, received some nasty, harassing and threatening messages.

I felt a bit apprehensive. I'd been disappointed before by the turnout at other rallies. Basically, in Anchorage , if you can get 25 people to show up at an event, it's a success. So, I thought to myself, if we can actually get 100 people there that aren't sent by Eddie Burke, we'll be doing good. A real statement will have been made. I confess, I still had a mental image of 15 demonstrators surrounded by hundreds of menacing "socialist baby-killing maggot" haters.

It's a good thing I wasn't tailgating when I saw the crowd in front of the library or I would have ended up in somebody's trunk. When I got there, about 20 minutes early, the line of sign wavers stretched the full length of the library grounds, along the edge of the road, 6 or 7 people deep! I could hardly find a place to park. I nabbed one of the last spots in the library lot, and as I got out of the car and started walking, people seemed to join in from every direction, carrying signs.

Never, have I seen anything like it in my 17 and a half years living in Anchorage. The organizers had someone walk the rally with a counter, and they clicked off well over 1400 people (not including the 90 counter-demonstrators). This was the biggest political rally ever, in the history of the state. I was absolutely stunned. The second most amazing thing is how many people honked and gave the thumbs up as they drove by. And even those that didn't honk looked wide-eyed and awe-struck at the huge crowd that was growing by the minute. This just doesn't happen here.

Then, the infamous Eddie Burke showed up. He tried to talk to the media, and was instantly surrounded by a group of 20 people who started shouting O-BA-MA so loud he couldn't be heard. Then passing cars started honking in a rhythmic pattern of 3, like the Obama chant, while the crowd cheered, hooted and waved their signs high.

So, if you've been doing the math… Yes. The Alaska Women Reject Palin rally was significantly bigger than Palin's rally that got all the national media coverage! So take heart, sit back, and enjoy the photo gallery. Feel free to spread the pictures around to anyone who needs to know that Sarah Palin most definitely does not speak for all Alaskans. The citizens of Alaska , who know her best, have things to say.

A bunch of pictures of that rally:

COURAGE, HOPE - AND A SORT OF FREEDOM - IN YEMEN

What to say about this? One very strong, brave little girl who - with the help of an aunty - stood up and said, "ENOUGH!"

I am sort of lobbying for the rights of very young girls. I am outraged by the systematic murder of preborn girls among Asian Indian communities. This has been going on long enough that there now exists a gender imbalance resulting in a shortage of marriageable women in some communities. That is a subject for another post, however.

This story has a much happier ending than a dead child.

I read this today in the Los Angeles Times. A bride who is very young woman, has already been married - and, thankfully, divorced - at age 10. I am struck that her father seems to have been trying to protect her by giving her to a brutal pedophile. Is he really that stupid, naive, uncultured? Who knows. As for the this young lady, surely she can serve as an inspiration to all of us who sometimes feel that we have too much to overcome in life! Maybe even make our complaints and lack of action seem a little bit silly.

from The Los Angeles Times:

Yemeni 10-year-old divorcee Nujood Ali goes back to school

SANA, YEMEN -- Still groggy, the schoolgirl brushed her hair, struggled to pull on her socks and snuggled into her school uniform: a green gown and a white head scarf.

By the time she gathered up her books and strapped on her backpack she was smiling and enthusiastic, her nervousness eclipsed by anticipation of the first day of class.




Like children across the world, 10-year-old Nujood Ali went back to school this month after a lengthy break. But Nujood hadn't been lazing about or playing hide-and-seek with her friends during the summer.

Instead, after she was pulled out of the second grade by her father earlier this year, she was married off to a man three times her age, who beat her and sexually abused her.

For many girls in this traditional society, where tribal custom and conservative interpretations of Islam dominate, that would have been the end of the story. But Nujood was outraged. She gathered up her courage and on the advice of an aunt went to court in April. She got the help of a lawyer and filed for divorce.

A judge quickly granted it.

And on Tuesday morning, the divorcee, possibly the world's youngest, once again became a schoolgirl.

"I'm very happy to be going back to school," she said, waiting in her ramshackle home for her younger sister Haifa to get ready. "I'm going to study Arabic, the Koran, mathematics and drawing. I will do that with my classmates and I will definitely make friends there."

Nujood's unusual story of rebellion made her an international celebrity. Since The Times wrote of her in June, CNN, Elle magazine and other international media have come to this mountaintop capital to chronicle her tale.

Hordes of nonprofit organizations offered to help her get back to school, some even willing to foot the bill to send her abroad or to a fancy private academy, though they ignored Haifa, Nujood's little sister and best friend.

In the end, Nujood opted for a small, government-run public school relatively close to her home. She would begin where she left off, starting the second grade again.

Even then, it wasn't easy. One teacher said she worried that Nujood might disturb other students by talking about her sexual experiences.

The night before she went to school, Nujood said she dreamed of notebooks, drawings and new friends.

"When I left school, I learned how to count from one to 100," she said. "Now, I am going to learn how to count until a million."

Nujood said she wanted to study hard, to be able to attend university and become a lawyer like Shada Nasser, the well-known Yemeni human rights advocate who helped her get her divorce.

The girl's experience, and her ambition, have even served as an inspiration to her parents, uneducated rural people who moved to the capital's outskirts a few years ago and say they married her off to protect her from the dangers of the city.

"We were never asked if we wanted to go to school when we were children," said her father, Ali Mohammed Ahdal, who has two wives and 16 children.

"If we had a choice, we would have loved to study like Nujood."

On Tuesday morning, Nujood and Haifa climbed into a yellow taxi paid for by an Italian aid group and drove through the capital's smog-choked streets, passing vendors of the mildly narcotic khat leaves and the occasional shepherd.

Outside the schoolhouse, Nasser stood waiting, eager to share a day she had anticipated. "I can't believe we finally made it," said the attorney, who agreed to drop the rest of her caseload to take up Nujood's cause after the girl showed up alone in a Sana courthouse in April.

Nujood and Nasser were welcomed by Njala Matri, the principal of the school in Rawdha, a lower-middle-class neighborhood along the road to the city's international airport.

"You are welcome here. You can feel at home," she said, smiling at Nujood.

Only about half of Yemeni girls attend primary school. Last year, one of the school's 1,200 girls, a 13-year-old, dropped out to marry, though the legal age of consent is 15. "Now, she's a mother," Matri said in dismay.

Women's rights activists say child marriage is part of a vicious circle. Girls drop out of school and bear too many children, contributing to Yemen's high female illiteracy and exploding birth rate.

But on Tuesday, Nujood stepped through the school's gates into a vast courtyard, disappearing into a swarm of noisy classmates. Some paid her no mind, while others approached the girl who had become a local and international media star.

"I am so excited," she said, playing nervously with her hands.

A bell sounded and the students quieted down, forming lines for roll call before shuffling into classrooms of about 50 students each.

Nujood took a seat in the third row, neither at the front nor the back of the classroom.

The teacher, dressed in an all-covering black abaya, hushed the students and began the day's lesson by asking them to recite the national anthem as well as passages from the Koran.

Small hands shot into the air.

"Who can recite the Surat al-Hamd?" the teacher asked, referring to the first chapter of the Koran.

She saw Nujood's hand, and called her name.

"Nujood?" she said.

Nujood stood up and began, ending with: "Show us the straight path. The path of those whom You have favored. Not the path of those who earn Your anger nor of those who go astray."

"May God bless you," said the teacher.

"Let's give her a round of applause."

The others clapped as Nujood sat down, a little girl once again.

daragahi@latimes.com

Special correspondent Minoui reported from Sana and staff writer Daragahi from Beirut

*******************************************

Pictures by Delphine Munoui:

Nujood Ali, 10, stands near her home on the outskirts of Sana, Yemen. Her father gave Nujood's hand in marriage to a man three times her age.




Nujood Ali sits with her father, Ali Mohammed Ahdal, who is unemployed and has two wives and 16 children. Yemeni law sets the age of consent at 15. But tribal customs and interpretations of Islam often trump the law in this country of 23 million.




ONE THOUSAND CHEERS FOR THIS LADY!!Human rights lawyer Shada Nasser is representing Nujood Ali. Publicity surrounding the case prompted calls for tightened legislation, which conservative Yemeni lawmakers refused to take up.




Nujood Ali, left, sits in the living room of her modest home with her mother, Shuaieh. “All I want now is to finish my education,” Nujood said. “I want to be a lawyer.”






Ten-year-old Nujood Ali, left, waits for her sister to get ready for their first day of school. She was pulled out of classes earlier this year by her parents who married her off to a man three times her age.

Nujood, left, enjoys a day at an amusement park with her younger sister Haifa. After being married to a man aged 30 and suffering physical and sexual abuse, Nujood went to court to get a divorce, becoming a sensation in Yemen and abroad.

Nujood Ali, left, enjoys a break at a playground with her older sister Mona as she got ready to go back to school this week. Child marriage is common in Yemen, which suffers a vicious cycle of poverty, high female illiteracy, early marriage and booming population.

Nujood Ali, second row, right , sits with classmates during her first day back to school Tuesday. Many schools had refused her admission, fearing that she might share her experience of sexual abuse with fellow students. But the principal of a small government-run school in Sana welcomed her.

Developing My Social Consciousness

One of my seventh grade teachers turned out to be one of the most influential people in my life. His name was Mr. Bodecker. If I ever knew his given name, it is now long forgotten. He was incredibly intelligent and held some very unpopular political opinions. I had a great deal of respect for him.


One day he took me aside. ' I need to talk to you.


'You and I are what are called intellectuals. We live by our brain power. And we tend to get above ourselves. I don't want you to make that mistake. I cannot stand the thought of you becoming a snob.'


He was talking very seriously; clearly this was something important to him. 'We like to think that we are the most important people in society, but we aren't. Not at all. Society could get along without us perfectly well. It wouldn't be as easy or as much fun, but it would be possible. We are not the meat and potatoes of society. Not even the vegetables.'

'We are just the dessert.'

We are not just the dessert, we aren't the cake, we aren't even the frosting. I think we're those little sugar sprinkles that decorate the top of the cake.






Maybe we add a little beauty, a little sweetness, but people ought to wash out there mouths after eating those, they form cavities and eating too much makes them fat. My dear young lady, we have to be careful not to become just a top-heavy burden.'

'There are, however, people who really are necessary. Mostly they all into roughly three categories.'

'First are the producers, most importantly those who provide us with food. Farmers. And farm workers of all sorts. Nobody could live without the food they provide, the nourishment necessary to sustain life.'



'But that food wouldn't do us any good if it rotted on the farm, so we also need people to get it to us. Truck drivers, loaders, packers, grocers, all the people that get that food to us/


'And then there are those who clean up the mess. These are the least respected, but vitally important. Have you ever thought what it would be like if the garbage collectors refused to pick up your trash?




--An aside. In fact, I lived in Las Vegas for a time. Summers there in the desert are very, very hot, temperatures often hovering around 45C (115F) in the summer. I will never forget the summer the garbage collectors went on strike. My garbage was taken care of, though, thanks to Bodecker's teaching.)

'And the sewer workers and the grave and most women.'

That took me up. 'Huh?!'


'Most women spend most of their lives cleaning up after others, keeping homes livable. Think about your own home.' What could I say? My mother was more interested in drinking coffee and smoking ciagarettes with our neighbor than cleaning the house.


I heard him loud and clear, though. I vowed then and there never to be the perfect housekeeper.

'These are people society cannot get along without. Those who produce. Those who distribute. Those who clean up. These are the most important people, the ones most deserving of our respect. The ones who rarely get it.'


'Most of these people are workers, working class people, not the intellectuals.

'Remember, we make life enjoyable; they make life possible. I suggest you learn to appreciate the workers and always treat them with the highest respect. If you ever start to consider yourself above these people, I promise you, I'll hunt you down and pull you down a few notches.'

To this day, his words are almost a mantra to me, a sort of poem.


Those who produce,
Those who distribute,
Those who clean up the mess.


These ideas weren't really new to me, however, although this expression of them was. I didn't exactly start singing L'Internationale. Although I was never actually a Communist, I have always been quite a bit left of centre. I was told I'd outgrow this perversion, but I never have.



This philosophy of respecting workers has served me well in practical ways.


When I was, for a short time, playing the role of 'professor,' my colleagues couldn't figure out why, when some work needed done in my office, such as a light changed, it was done at once, while it took days or even weeks for the same service to be given them, or why I couldn't walk across campus without a groundskeeper handing me a flower or two.


As I mentioned above, my garbage collectors came and took mine during the strike, a way of saying thanks for the cold lemonade in the summer and hot coffee in the winter. ( I still provide those to our garbage collectors, by the way. Just a small way of saying thanks.) My 'colleagues' and my neighbours, of course, resented me, but they had never had a Bodecker, I guess, the set them down the correct path.


Note: The picture of the Sikh farm workers is from the Sacramento Valley in 1912, from a website called, Sikhs: The Most Visible Yet Most Misunderstood Minority. You might like to check it out.