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Posts tagged with "America"

Howard W. Campbell, Jr. was right

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The tenor of the recent resistance to public health care in the States (people fiercely arguing against their own welfare) has reminded me of a passage from Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse-Five. It's one of the passages that has most stayed with me. I wondered how accurate it was. Slaughterhouse-Five was published in 1969, forty years ago. If what was written in it of America was true then, my impression on current evidence is that it is still true today. Here's the passage:

While the British colonel set Lazzaro's broken arm and mixed plaster for the cast, the German major translated out loud passages from Howard W. Campbell, Jr.'s monograph. Campbell had been a fairly well-known playwright at one time. His opening line was this one:

America is the wealthiest nation on Earth, but its people are mainly poor, and poor Americans are urged to hate themselves. To quote the American humorist Kin Hubbard, 'It ain't no disgrace to be poor, but might as well be.' It is in fact a crime for an American to be poor, even though America is a nation of poor. Every other nation has folk traditions of men who were poor but extremely wise and virtuous, and therefore more estimable than anyone with power and gold. No such tales are told by the American poor. They mock themselves and glorify their betters. The meanest eating or drinking establishment, owned by a man who is himself poor, is very likely to have a sign on its wall asking this cruel question: 'If you're so smart, why ain't You rich? ' There will also be an American flag no larger than a child's hand-glued to a lollipop stick and, flying from the cash register.

The author of the monograph, a native of Schenectady, New York, was said by some to have had the highest I.Q. of all the war criminals who were made to face a death by hanging. So it goes.

Americans, like human beings everywhere, believe many things that are obviously untrue, the monograph went on. Their most destructive untruth is that it is very easy for any American to make money. They will not acknowledge how in fact hard money is to come by, and, therefore, those who have no money blame and blame and blame themselves. This inward blame has been a treasure for the rich and powerful, who have had to do less for their poor, publicly and privately, than any other ruling class since, say, Napoleonic times.

Many novelties have come from America. The most startling of these, a thing without precedent, is a mass of undignified poor. They do not love one another because they do not love themselves. Once this is understood the disagreeable behavior of American enlisted men in German prisons ceases to be a mystery.


Howard W. Cambell, Jr., now discussed the uniform of the American enlisted in the Second World War:

Every other army in history, prosperous or not, has attempted to clothe even its lowliest soldiers so as to make them impressive to themselves and others as stylish experts in drinking and copulation and looting and sudden death. The American Army, however, sends its enlisted men out to fight and die in a modified business suit quite evidently made for another man, a sterilized but unpressed gift from a nose-holding charity which passes out clothing to drunks in the slums.

When a dashingly-clad officer addresses such a frumpishly dressed bum, he scolds him, as an officer in an army must. But the officer's contempt is not, as in other armies, avuncular theatricality. It is a genuine expression of hatred for the poor, who have no one to blame for their misery but themselves. A prison administrator dealing with captured American enlisted men for the first time should be warned: Expect no brotherly love, even between brothers. There will be no cohesion between the individuals. Each will be a sulky child who often wishes he were dead.




American Stoats, Part Three

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In November, I posted Part Two of my American Stoats. The following is Part Three:

American Stoats, Part Three

10th Sept, 2008

I arrived in Austin on the 8th of September. The squeezy accordion tunnel from the aeroplane to the airport building was bakingly hot, the true heat of Texas sandwiched between two areas of heavy air-conditioning.

When we got back to the house, American football was playing on a huge screen, like a small cinema. E--, L--'s brother, said the lighting on the pitch was horrible. I noticed in the trailers for the NFL - presumably National Football League - that some cover version of Everyday is Like Sunday was being used. I had noticed this in Chicago, too. Only the lyric "Every day is like Sunday" was actually sung. Presumably Sunday has some significance to American football, or the broadcasting of American football. The lyric did not continue to "Every day is silent and grey" and certainly not to "Come, come, nuclear bomb". L-- assured me that Morrissey would have been paid for the use of the song. I imagine he could have got more than a slap-up meal with the money.



M--, having attended one or two baseball matches and a 'soccer' match in Chicago, told me that he was surprised at how civilised it all was. The crowd, he said, lacked the passion of the British football crowd. He speculated that the general absence of fans supporting the away team at the American games might have been a deciding factor here. At British football matches, the presence of away-team fans gives the proceedings the feeling of tribal war. Then again, I wondered - and M-- said there might be something in it in a coffee-table book kind of way - perhaps there is some indication here of a general difference between British and American society. On my previous visit to America, I said, I had found the place very clean and orderly and Protestant. Returning home, to Twickenham, and walking between trees in the park along the banks of the Thames, hearing, from a distance, the roaring drunken chants of rugby fans, or perhaps just gangs of lads on a night out, I had felt Britain to be a very pagan country. Football fans even paint their faces with woad as if for battle.

I remembered We'll Let You Know, from Morrissey's Your Arsenal. Even the title of that album is a football reference, seeming to associate football with war and quite possibly with latent homosexuality. Morrissey has often said that We'll Let You Know is the best song he's done. It's interesting that it's a song that seems to tie British identity so closely to football. M-- expressed it as an Anglo-Saxon thing - the value of loyalty. Even if football is now going down the pan and the fans are being ripped off - I don't know the details myself - you can't not support your team, you can't not go to the match. It's like Beowulf, said M--. You are the ringbearer. Once you're in, you're in for life.

You can hear the swelling roar of the football crowd on We'll Let You Know. Only those who are part of that roar could ever understand: "And the songs we sing/They're not supposed to mean a thing". Football is dying; Britain is dying. But we are part of the crowd. We understand that roar. We will be in until the end. "We may seem cold/Or we may even be/The most depressing people you've ever known/At heart, what's left, we sadly know/That we are the last truly British people you will ever know/The last truly British people you will ever... never... wsnt to know."

American Stoats, Part Two

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In late September, I posted the first of my American Stoats series, here. Now, it appears, I am posting the second. I've also recently uploaded some photographs I took in America during the same trip on which I made these notes. I mean, stoats. I might put more photos in the same album later. And now, here is American Stoats, Part Two. Sorry if it's a bit cringey (for god's sake, you should be used to that by now), but it was written in a diary sort of way, after all:

8th Sept, 2008

Sitting at a table in Midway Airport, Chicago. I've just been looking in the bookshop here. We're used to thinking of Britain as Americanised, but when you come to America you realise what that really means. The '-ised' part indicates that we are not quite America yet. Ann Coulter. Eat This, Not That, Deepak Chopra's Life After Death etc. etc. It's snake oil, all snake oil.



Of course, America is also a country of considerable beauty. At about 6.30AM I was at Roosevelt Station where I was about to change to the Orange Line train. I turned and saw, between skyscrapers, beyond the road on which early cars drove with lights on, an incredible sunrise like a bugle blast.

The train arrived and I took my seat. Through the window opposite was visible something huge and - to me - nameless. A hut of some kind sat in the middle of a great metal bridge suspended between two giant poles. I had no idea what this construction was for, and I was not quick enough to take a photograph, as I had of the sunrise. Strangely impressed, I did not continue reading The Member of the Wedding, but gazed from the window. Perhaps it is inevitable that a visitor to a country, knowing it more through hearsay than experience, will frame even very fresh and bold impressions in terms of cliches. Seeing rail-coaches at the sides of the tracks, I thought of pioneers and the pioneering spirit. Again - this is a recurring impression - everything seems to be about size and expansion. It occured to me that, if one uses the word in a loose sense, America is a very romantic country. Place names in America seem made for songs, as if by someone dreaming of some place further west, or possibly of their old home deep in the South. Even the telegraph poles seemed to catch the rays of the rising sun as if inviting you to dream of the next town and the next town. But what do you do when you actually get to the next town? It's not unusual for human beings around the world, wherever they are, to dream of elsewhere. But when they get to that elsewhere, it is usually only someone else's normality, where other everyday people dream of other elsewheres.



For the English, I think, to dream of England is to dream of the past - And did those feet in ancient time?... - which is, I suppose, one safe way of keeping dreams intact. But what about Americans, who have, presumably, already arrived in America. Is this all just everyday life? Presumably it is, to a great extent. And yet, I have a sense that, where England is no longer a promise to the English, but a memory, for Americans, America is still something promised. Why else do so many company names here needlessly incorporate the word 'America' - 'American Matress' sticks in my mind - if not as some kind of promise? Do Americans need to be reminded they are in America? Is America elsewhere for Americans too?

American Stoats, Part One

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2nd Sep, 2008

Last night an accidental taxi ride into the 'west side' of Chicago, apparently a largely Hispanic area. The driver was Latvian and spoke almost no English. He played Pat Benatar loudly (Meet Me at Midnight) [actually, there was some debate about who it was singing, and the genereal consensus was that it was Pat Benatar, but I am now beginning to doubt this]. Lost, unknowingly on our way to what we had been told was the no-go area of the west side, we passed a great many places to wash clothes. Back home these would be called laundrettes, but here they were on a larger scale. Low buildings sprawled, lit up with the sleepy glamour of yellow light and filled with nothing but row upon row of washing machines. I remember, in particular, one name - Bubble Land. As far as I recall, the sign was a dark blue, and there were cartoonish, overlapping circles on it, multi-coloured, to represent the bubbles. Somehow the colour scheme did not conjure up the primary brightness of Hollywood America. I seem to recall a story by Ligotti in which the narrator wanders an American small town - or mid-sized town - at night. I think it must be 'The Glamour'. He mentions the strange associations and feelings evoked by some of the names in the neon signs or above dark shop windows. "Playing nightly" is, I think, one of the phrases that exerts an eerie enchantment on him. When I first read it, I didn't quite get it, but this view of Chicago from the window of a taxi brought it back to me. Bubble Land. There was a kind of cosmic decrepitude here.

This is the America not portrayed in film. Even Lynch does not capture it. Film does not have the right texture for it, or else American film long ago took a turning away from the ability to create such textures. Ligotti, however, captures it in prose, despite his insistence on wishing to locate his stories in a place that is no place.

Much of America is a projection of Hollywood, or an international corporation, but there is still plenty that remains only internal. Company names like Texaco are now familiar, but there is a strangeness in them that may be rediscovered in the company names of those businesses that are not known internationally. In Britain, originally, all businesses were surely known by family names, or by staid, descriptive names such as 'the East India Trading Company'. Texaco, Toxico and so on are surely American innovations, the same corruption of language into strangeness that brought us the likes of 'Daz'. Some of these names are now associated with success, and primary colours, but some are shibboleths that might open the way to a dream or a nightmare world, to an eerie glamour, to Bubble Land.

Perhaps I should try to make a note of interesting ones.

Who has not died a little in Milton Keynes?

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I've just come across this excellent review of three books all on the subject of cross-Atlantic politics. I'm afraid it's already three years old, but its content is still very relevant. I'm not sure what I'd call my forte, but political analysis is not it, therefore I don't think I can hope to better the analysis on offer in this review, and I would urge people to read it, if they have a moment.

There is much talk, in the review, of Britain's halfway position between Europe and the United States. I must say, I'm not sure that our position is exactly halfway. We seem to be closer to the US than maps generally indicate. I would prefer we were closer to Europe. American hostility to 'welfare' (and yes, I do encounter it) never ceases to amaze me. When I come across it, I know I have stumbled upon something forged in a very different cultural crucible than the one that forged me*.



When I see this kind of thing, however, I tend to find it rather ironic. Well, I know that in the case of Al Murray, the comedy is meant to be ironic, but that's not exactly what I mean. There still is, in Britain, an obsession with America, and it's telling that, as far as such things can be ascertained, it seems that Britain is the most American of all European countries. We insist on our difference to Europe (or the rest of Europe) and we insist on our difference to America, but of what is our difference to Europe comprised if not of that fact that we are more American? Which then begs the question, of what is our alleged difference to America comprised, and why are we so proud as to insist on it? Of course, it's perfectly allowable for Britain to be more or other than the sum of the two theoretical parts Europe + America, but in many ways it appears that we're less, having not the wealth and drive of America and not the social benefits of Europe. If we can't point to what is both good and different about Britain, I would suggest that we are 'protesting too much' when we attack America from a specifically 'British' perspective. We wish to differentiate ourselves because we know how much we have already ignobly lost. Moreover, rather than then try to differentiate ourselves from Europe, it might be more to our advantage to nurture what little we have left in common with Europe.

Of course, if I were to point to the things that I think are good and different about Britain, they would be things that no one gave a toss about anyway - especially not the British - so I won't bother.



*I suppose this indicates some sort of paradox in what I've written, but life's like that.

I have a dream

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Insomnia strikes again. So, in that sense I don't actually have a dream. Or not tonight. Josephine.

However, as Robert Plant once said (almost):

I have a crazy dream, in which turquoise, yellow, black, white, copper and brown are all united, as one, in tearing their leaders limb from limb.



I'm finding David Korten's The Great Turning to be increasingly stimulating reading, and, as the slogan goes, don't just take my word for it. Here's an excerpt:

The public version of the Grand Area strategy, which was intended to rally the support of those who would be the imperial subjects, called for the creation of a free and equal community of nations and gave birth to the United Nations.

The real intention of the United States was articulated in U.S. State Department Policy Planning Study 23, a top-secret document written in 1948 by George Kennan, a leading architect of the post-World War II world:

"We have about 50% of the world's wealth, but only 6.3% of its population... In this situation we cannot fail to be the object of envy and resentment. Our real task in the coming period is to devise a pattern of relationships which will permit us to maintain this position of disparity... To do so, we will have to dispense with all sentimentality and day-dreaming; and our intention will have to be concentrated everywhere on our immediate national objectives... We should cease to talk about vague... unreal objectives such as human rights, the raising of living standards, and democratization. The day is not far off when we are going to have to deal in straight power concepts. The less we are then hampered by idealistic slogans, the better."

This was the real agenda, and the agencies of its implementation would be the Bretton Woods institutions: the World Bank, the International Monetary Fund (IMF), and the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT). In 1995, the World Trade Organization (WTO) replaced the less powerful GATT.



Here's another:

In 1823, even as the westward expansion was still in progress, President James Monroe enunciated the Monroe Doctrine as a cornerstone of U.S. policy. The publicly expressed intent was to protect independent Latin American and Caribbean nations from efforts by European powers to recolonize them; the implicit message was that the United States claimed hegemony over the Western Hemisphere.

Theodore Roosevelt took the Monroe doctrine a step further during his presidency (1901-9), announcing that the United States claimed the right to intervene in the internal affairs of any nation that engaged in "flagrant and chronic wrongdoing." Future U.S. administrations defined this to mean any nation that transgressed against a U.S trade or investment interest. A 1962 U.S. State Department report to the Congress listed 103 U.S. military interventions in the affairs of other countries between 1798 and 1895, including interventions in Argentina, Japan, Uruguay, China, Angola, Hawaii, and Nicaragua. The reasons were often obscure but usually related to the investments of one or more U.S. corporations.





I've written a little about racism in recent months. Perhaps I'm slow on the uptake, but I am coming more and more to see racism as something deliberately engineered by our leaders to divide us. I hope that we, the deceived and exploited, shall soon reverse this situation by dividing them. With machetes.