December 27, 2015

What books will they write?

Posted in Uncategorized tagged , , at 8:04 pm by chuckredman

I do not want a future generation of world scholars to have to write books with titles like “The Rise of Fascism in America”. But the subject matter for such books is happening before our eyes, and such history cannot be unwritten.

If a major political party cannot manage its own organization, how can it expect to manage the country? If that party allows a dangerous fascist (dangerous because of his money and his cult following) to run for office under its banner, then that party may someday become a party of armbands.

The Republican Party needs to oust Mr. Trump from its membership list, and bar him from its primaries. I don’t believe there is any legal reason why it cannot do exactly that. He can run independently, if he wishes. This is America.

If the Republican Party does not expel Mr. Trump, I don’t see how it can be respected or taken seriously, let alone continue as a part of our central government.

Perhaps this is a good time to think about whether we want to begin moving away from partisan politics altogether. Maybe our system of government would function better if there were no parties or labels, only ideas and individuals. Could such a change be the silver lining of this whole scary episode? Could such a lovely reform be the final, happier chapter of those books that a future generation of scholars will be writing?

December 25, 2015

In Dublin’s Fair City

Posted in Uncategorized tagged , , , , , , at 9:31 pm by chuckredman

“Mollycewels an’ atoms! D’ye think I’m goin’ to listen to you thryin’ to juggle Fluther’s mind with complicated cunundhrums of mollycewels an’ atoms?”

Is there just something naturally poetic about the speech, and the lives, of the people of Dublin? To my untrained American ears, it seems that there is indeed. I know I’m not the first to ponder the inordinate number of amazing writers who passed through Dublin’s “streets broad and narrow”: Jonathan Swift, Oliver Goldsmith, Charles Lever, Oscar Wilde, George Bernard Shaw, Samuel Beckett, Christy Brown, Maeve Binchy. Oh, and a clever lad named James Joyce. They were born with extraordinary talent, no question, but the alleys and shops of their youth may have added that extra flavor and color to their work.

One of the great poets of Dublin was playwright Sean O’Casey. I chose to read a three-play collection, comprised of Shadow of a Gunman, Juno and the Paycock, and The Plough and the Stars. In this trio of powerful plays, O’Casey managed to create characters who waxed poetic in both mundane and life-changing situations and yet retained their earthiness and authenticity. A well-honed gift of gab is almost universal among his casts of characters, but seems entirely appropriate and natural in them.

There are certain allusions and issues in O’Casey’s plays that I might have better understood if I knew more about the politics of Ireland in the 1920’s, the turbulent era depicted. But the power and poetic sensibility of his characters as they face violence, deprivation and loss are absolutely clear and universal. O’Casey told stories that needed to be told during those tragic years, and the spirit of Dublin that flowed through his veins enriched the pages of his plays for the generations of drama-lovers that came after.

But—who is Charles Lever, you ask? I’ll have more to say about that prolific Dubliner in an upcoming blog.

 

December 13, 2015

Mr. Trump Latches the Gate

Posted in Uncategorized tagged , , at 11:23 am by chuckredman

“What’s your name?”

“Ouseph Al-Sabbagh.”

“I’m Donald Trump.”

“Yes, I—”

“Is it the hair?”

“It looks more natural on television.”

“Where are you from?”

“Syria.”

“So you’re a Muslim.”

“No, I’m Christian.”

“How do I know that?”

“Half my village was murdered by ISIS.”

“You might be a terrorist pretending to be a refugee. There’s something about your eyes that I don’t like.”

“I haven’t eaten or slept in days.”

“I’m sorry, you’ll have to try some other country. Maybe Texas.”

“I think Syria might be safer.”

“Boy you get all kinds. What’s your name?”

“Ismail Habib.”

“From?”

“Israel.”

“You gotta be Muslim with a name like that.”

“I’m Jewish.”

“You look more Middle Eastern than the last guy.”

“I am Middle Eastern. So what?”

“So you’re not coming in.”

“Mr. Trump, are you familiar with Crimes Against Humanity?”

“Is that that new reality show?”

“No it’s—oh nevermind. Jerusalem suddenly sounds very peaceful to me.”

“Next? Stand up please. Oh, you are standing up. How old are you?”

“Nine.”

“Do you have a name?”

“Mina.”

“And you’re from Iraq?”

“I think so.”

“And you’re a Muslim little girl, aren’t you? Don’t just shake your head, sweetie, I need an answer.”

“I’m Yazidi.”

“That some kind of Islam thing, right? Well, you can’t come here, sweetie. You might grow up to be a terrorist. You don’t know what that is? Guns. Killing. Bang, bang.”

“I’m afraid of guns.”

“I’m not. You should see my collection.”

“Please don’t send me back, mister. Those bad men took me and, and—. Please don’t make me go back there.”

“Now, now. This is a very expensive suit, sweetie, I can’t have it water-spotted. Somebody take this little girl to the return line. Name, sir?”

“Mohammad Mohammad.”

“From?”

“Cleveland.”

“So why are you coming from Istanbul?”

“International human rights conference. I’m a U.S. District Court Judge.”

“You’re Muslim, and this time I’m not listening to any alibis.”

“I am Muslim. Non-practicing. But I’ve been thinking about becoming more observant.”

“Yeah, yeah. Tell it to the bleeding hearts back in Istanbul.”

“Hey, you can’t—I have a full docket tomorrow, I have to pick my robe up at the cleaners!”

“Get him outa here, boys. One less troublemaker. OK. Let’s have the name.”

“Johnny Jones.”

“British passport, Mr. Jones?”

“Righto.”

“Let’s see. You’ve just come from Pakistan.”

“Indeed.”

“With a stopover in Libya.”

“Quite.”

“I trust you had a pleasant holiday.”

“Splendid, actually. Business and pleasure, you know.”

“Wonderful. What business, may I ask?”

“Oh, I’m a group organizer, also an internet strategist. And I do a little munitions acquisition as well.”

“Ah, a man after my own heart. Now, please forgive me, Mr. Jones, but I have to ask this question, purely routine: are you now or have you ever been a person of the Muslim persuasion?”

“Mr. Trump. Do I look like a Muslim?”

“That’s the answer I was looking for! Welcome to the U.S., Mr. Jones.”

“Thank you awfully. Say, I wonder if you might help me. I would love to find the nearest wholesale/retail weapons emporium. Would you by any chance—”

“Mr. Jones, there’s a wonderful outlet not three blocks from my penthouse. Here, take one of my cards. You tell em Donald sent you. They’ll give you 15% off. Plus free delivery within a ten mile radius.”

 Chuck Redman

 

December 6, 2015

More from Tom Robbins . . .

Posted in Uncategorized at 9:10 pm by chuckredman

     In truth, the entire winter passed as peacefully and leisurely as a python digesting a Valium addict. — Tom Robbins, Skinny Legs and All