The Power of Fear

I think it would be safe to make the generalization that within the vast majority of sovereign nations in the world, it is the powerful that rule. This holds true regardless of the political philosophy that is espoused and practiced i.e. whether it be democratic, socialist, communist etc. The source of this power is essentially economic in nature. Furthermore, the ruling class is represented by a small minority of any given population by virtue of the wealth that it holds and maintains.

In order for the powerful minority, usually operating within and through government, to exert control of the lives of everyone else, it has a number of tools at its disposal. The most obvious of these is provided by access to sheer and brutish military might and the security bureaucracy and apparatus through which sophisticated methods can be deployed. Another means is through the so-called rule of law, where the laws are often crafted by those most likely to gain by their enforcement. During times of social harmony, the population at large may not be aware of this kind of power. Whenever social stability is at risk from within the State, however, the full force of coercive power is usually put into play, usually in the name of law and order and preserving the peace. There are numerous examples of this reality from around the world.

Within the United States, an excellent representation of this is the state of martial law, deployment of the National Guard and citizen curfews imposed during the massive rioting and looting that occurred following the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. in 1968. That rioting represented the frustration and despair felt by the essentially powerless black minority in the United States. The chaos it engendered was seen as a substantial threat to the established order and, therefore, could not be tolerated. At such times the real nature of power becomes evident. The crass use of power in this way may be effective in the short term but can have long term consequences.

A far more desirable method for the control of the general population is through the use of fear. This fear can take many forms and have many guises. The most widely used method is to play upon the fear of being physically threatened from forces within or external to a society. Another is to exploit the fear of losing one’s livelihood or social standing, of becoming homeless or destitute. In order for the ruling class to continue to impose its will, it must create the impression that it always acts with the public interest as its primary motivation and that any concerns the people may have do not come as a direct result of its own policies.

Within an atmosphere of fear, the cohesion within the society breaks down and individuals are distracted from recognizing the real nature of their problems and the solutions available to them. The distrust that is the inevitable by-product of fear is an impediment to the social harmony that is a prerequisite to effective community action. Fear essentially undermines rational thought and, as a result, thwarts real human progress.

One Dead Singh

The Star Trek World had its Hitler and its Caesar. Twenty-five years ago, almost to the day, my husband, my 13 year old son, two of my seven brothers and two cousins, as well as my preborn twin girls, were murdered in the anti-Sikh Delhi Pogrom of 1984. This post is about another man from another family.

On 31 October 1984, Indira Gandhi, Prime Minister of India, was shot and killed by her Sikh bodyguards reacting to her ordering the Army to storm the Golden Temple (Harmandir Sahib) in Amritsar, killing an unknown number of pilgrims gathered there in honour of the martyrdom day of Guru Arjan Dev Ji.

There followed several days of mayhem directed against the Sikhs of India, especially in the city of Delhi. Many Sikhs were doused with fire and burned alive. these are my thoughts on one of the dead. (What follows is reprinted from The Road To Khalistan.)





Who is he? Who is this Singh? I have spend countless hours staring at this photograph asking myself questions. Whose son is he? Whose husband, whose dad, whose brother, whose uncle, cousin, friend? Is someone waiting anxiously at home for him, waiting for a footfall that will never come?

Where is he from? Does he live in Delhi or is he just visiting? Where was he born? What is his pind? When was he born? How old is he?

What is his occupation? Is he an engineer, a doctor, a professor? Or is he a taxi driver or a trucker?

What are his politics? Is he an Akali or a member of Congress? Is he a Khalistani or a Bharata Mata lover? Or is he political at all? Is he just trying to live his life and not really concerned about the niceties of the larger world.

Why is he keshdhari? Is it just habit, following family custom? Or is it deeply meaningful to him? Does he pray each day, do naam jap, love Vaheguru? Or are those just incidentals that have fallen by the wayside of his life? Where is his turban? How does he feel as it is ripped from his head and his kesh is exposed?

How does he feel as he realises the mob is coming for him, chasing him down the street or dragging him from his home or his car or from the bus? What goes on in his brain as the petrol is poured on him and set alight? What is he thinking as his body burns? Or is he beyond thought? Is he aware of the laughing jeering mob around him, enjoying watching his final agonising moments of life on this earth?

What is his last awareness as he dies alone, surrounded by merciless thugs?

Questions without answers. Whoever he is, he deserves to be remembered. I doubt he had even a death certificate, so I have made him one.

(Click to enlarge)

There is something so very final about the certificate. And, of course, I realise that all I have written is wrong and must be rewritten to reflect the truth of 25 years later...

Who was he? Who was this Singh? I have spent countless hours staring at this photograph asking myself questions. Whose son was he? Whose husband, whose dad, whose brother, whose uncle, cousin, friend? Was someone waiting anxiously at home for him, waiting for a footfall that never came?

Where was he from? Did he live in Delhi or was he just visiting? Where was he born? What was his pind? When was he born? How old was he?

What was his occupation? Was he an engineer, a doctor, a professor? Or was he a taxi driver or a trucker?

What were his politics? Was he an Akali or a member of Congress? Was he a Khalistani or a Bharata Mata lover? Or was he political at all? Was he just trying to live his life and not really concerned about the niceties of the larger world.

Why was he keshdhari? Was it just habit, following family custom? Or was it deeply meaningful to him? Did he pray each day, do naam jap, love Vaheguru? Or were those just incidentals that had fallen by the wayside of his life? Where was his turban? How did he feel as it was ripped from his head and his kesh was exposed?

How did he feel as he realised the mob was coming for him, chasing him down the street or dragging him from his home or his car or from the bus? What went on in his brain as the petrol was poured on him and set alight? What was he thinking as his body burned? Or was he beyond thought? Was he aware of the laughing jeering mob around him, enjoying watching his final agonising moments of life on this earth?

What was his last awareness as he died alone, surrounded by merciless thugs?

He was our brother and he was one single human being, one Sikh among the thousands murdered during the madness of those days in 1984.

He is our brother and he deserves justice.

One final, unanswered question: When?

The Science of Waiting

Within the long
meandering queue for services
provided by the state, reluctantly
we wait.

Life put aside
like an old dilapidated
pair of shoes,
ennui elevated to a high art,
silence secured within the
din of worried and desperate thoughts.

There is a science to waiting
that has eluded me for these many years.

The Fifth Element

Lifeboat

This is a photograph

taken by Apollo 8 at the moon

Enlarge the image

and experience that feeling

when they saw their precious

lifeboat

We are destroying the Earth

We are poisoning

our planet and ourselves!

The-15-most-toxic-places-to-live

The Pledge of Allegiance

The Pledge of Allegiance was written in August 1892 by the socialist minister Francis Bellamy (1855-1931). It was originally published in The Youth's Companion on September 8, 1892. Bellamy had hoped that the pledge would be used by citizens in any country.

In its original form it read:

"I pledge allegiance to my Flag and the Republic for which it stands, one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all."

Here's my version from a post I did a year ago:

"I pledge allegiance, to the Family of Man and to the Freedoms for which it stands, One World, indivisible, with Liberty and Justice for all."

Peace is a Word

Peace is a word
Of the sea and the wind.
Peace is a bird who sings
As you smile.
Peace is the love
Of a foe as a friend;
Peace is the love you bring
To a child

Searching for me
You look everywhere,
Except beside you.
Searching for you
You look everywhere,
But not inside you.

Peace is a stream
From the heart of a man;
Peace is a man,
whose breadth
Is the dawn.
Peace is a dawn
On a day without end;
Peace is the end, like death
Of the war.

Words by Peter Sinfield from a song by King Crimson

Missing Link

Flamboyant bouquet thrills

In color bursts and sunshine

Leaning into the sky

Dancing in tune with the breeze

Petal shedding with cool moon change

In unison, bouquet sighs

Rain splish-splash drip-drops

Swirls, twirls, and slides down from the sky

Pools in puddles and slimes into mud

Rivets of rivers run down the hillside

A mountain of droplets unleashed all at once

Together they depart; together they shone

A flock of birds flies in overhead

Bunches of ants all scrounging for food

Lions, gazelles, and antelope herd

And sparrows each year convene all at once

Learning and hunting, storytelling for all

Community structured love orientation

Human boy sits alone in his yard

Plucks grass blades in batches of fives

Interprets clouds as they each pass him by

Sighs ever so sadly, and all to himself

Pours concrete resolve into heartfelt foundation

Depending on no one for fun’s exaltation

He grew older while he stood there all alone

Surrounded by ones all arranged into twos

Boy built a big house on foundation he started

Filled it with things and then called it a home

Interprets himself in shiny glass mirror

Feels saddened, alone, and afraid of the dark

At some point, we lost it:

This lesson of life - the reason for life

Broken hearted and blinded and dying from pain

Outreaching is hollow, a hug is the same

Unlike all the flowers and creatures and stars

We’ve forgotten how to let “ours” simply be ours.

My Fish Book

A long time ago, someone remarked to me that

"A seeker who has not yet found
What she is looking for
Is like
A fish gasping for water in the air."

I have always felt that there is a story there, although I wasn't sure what it might be. Finally, I know. I have long wanted to write something to make sense of the events of June and October/November 1984 to us Sikhs, most especially to children.

(For those who do not know, the Army of India attacked our holiest shrine Harimandir Sahib (Golden Temple) in June, killing a disputed number of pilgrims and several thousands of us were murdered in Delhi following the death of Indira Gandhi in October. For my personal story, you may go to Our Stories From 1984 ).



After many years, I finally feel that I have the experience and - I hope - skill to write this story. My book is not dark and gloomy. It is a short novel, a fantasy for children, very loosely based on events in my own life above a very strange little goldfish who is given the name Brave. OK, there are some dark parts to it; what is a good story without some dark spots? It is currently on line.





Perhaps you will take a read and let me know what you think. I hope it is as much fun to read as it was to write. On second thought, if you are one of those adults busy with important matters and if talking fish annoy you, perhaps you had better skip this one. Brave and her adventures can currently be found a t The Brave Little Fish.

The Fourth Kind

The Wizard Of Oz

Who is that man

behind the curtain?

Kill Myself

I'm getting bored
Being part of mankind
There's not a lot to do no more
This race is a waste of time

People rushing everywhere
Swarming around like flies
Think I'll buy a forty four
Give them all a surprise

chorus

Think I'm gonna kill myself
Cause a little suicide
Stick around for a couple of days
What a scandal if I died

Yeah I'm gonna kill myself
Get a little headline news
I'd like to see what the papers say
On the state of teenage blues

A rift in my family
I can't use the car
I gotta be in by ten o'clock
Who do they think they are

I'd make an exception
If you want to save my life
Brigitte Bardot gotta come
And see me every night

[repeat chorus]

Sssssh

Careful what you say...

Big Brother is watching you...

Look At Your-Self

Be the change

you want to see in the world

...Mahatma Gandhi...


(video clip)

The Chemical Edge

This little piggy went to market,

This little piggy stayed at home,

This little piggy had roast beef,

This little piggy had none...

And this little piggy is an example

of what chemical and toxic pollution

is doing to biological life forms,

meaning us, the cause of it all,

we are the little guinea piggies,

and we will be the ones that go...

"Wee wee wee" all the way home.


(read more)

Prison Planet

The United States has 4.6% of the worlds population and nearly 25% of the worlds prisoners......what's wrong with this picture?

In 1983 Corrections Corporation of America founded the private corrections industry. Despite having been outlawed nationally for over a century, private prisons have been turned into a money making proposition. Traded daily on the stock exchange, the profit for prisoners business is growing by leaps and bounds, incarceration rates have soared. Should this be a for-profit business?


The continued prohibition of legalized marijuana provides a convenient source of fodder for the prison-industrial complex. An American is arrested for pot every 38 seconds. Since 1965, more than 20 million Americans have been arrested for marijuana offenses, 90 percent of them for simple possession.

Keith Stroup, Executive Director of NORML said "In fact, the war on drugs is largely a war on pot smokers. This effort is a tremendous waste of criminal justice resources that should be dedicated toward combating serious and violent crime, including the war on terrorism."


And despite baby boomers being in charge in recent years, annual pot busts have tripled since the non-inhaling Bill Clinton took office. The total number of marijuana arrests far exceeds the total number of arrests for all violent crimes combined, including murder, manslaughter, forcible rape, robbery and aggravated assault.

It isn’t only marijuana consumers who want to see weed legalized. (None other than William F. Buckley was for it.) Ending prohibition is also a popular cause for at least 10,000 cops, narcs, judges, and others who make up the membership of Law Enforcement Against Prohibition.


From LEAP’s down-and-dirty perspective, prohibition exacerbates rather than ameliorates America’s drug problem. Prohibition not only diverts resources from the pursuit of more-serious crimes, it empowers criminals and enhances black-market incentives. Money spent fighting what adults seem to want could be better allocated toward education and rehab.

It is well known that alcohol and tobacco related health effects and deaths by far eclipse any detrimental effects of occasional recreational marijuana use by adults. Common sense would tell you that, if anything, alcohol and tobacco should be prohibited and marijuana should be legalized.


The benifits of legalizing pot would be a double-triple-whammy in that it could create a substantial amount of wealth for farmers and industry, increase revenue through the regulation and taxation of hemp and marijuana sales, it would free up much needed police and judicial resources, put a significant dent in the income of criminal black-market forces, it would keep non-violent consumers out of jail, and create a sustainable resource that could replace many of the items now made of plastic.

The Marijuana Policy Project advocates taxing and regulating the possession and sale of cannabis, arguing that a regulated industry would separate purchasers from the street market for cocaine, heroin, and other hard drugs. You can't legislate morality, adults should be allowed the freedom to pursue their ideal of happiness as long as it doesn't hurt anyone else. Legalizing marijuana would be a fabulous way to "Go Green!" There's no reason we shouldn't legalize pot, it's just a plant.

(excerpts from Kathleen Parker and skeptically.org)

Abandon All Hope

There is a supermassive black hole

at the center of nearly every galaxy...

...you haven't got a chance

Whale story

Notes from Big Sur,

October 14, 2007

I’m sitting in the hot springs, having another late night discussion with Gregg, a psychiatrist from Ann Arbor (U of M). He’s doing research for a book he’s writing that claims that we humans are not the most intelligent species on earth. At best, we come in a distant third .. whales and dolphins are much smarter. In fact, he says jokingly, whales evolved wireless Internet millions of years before Al Gore .. they communicate with each other by sending ‘sonar messages’ that can be heard by other whales in any ocean on the planet. Back at the cabin, he shows me 8 by 10 glossy photos of a whale’s brain. Pretty impressive I say (once he explains what I’m looking at). They have a much larger, and more convoluted, cerebral cortex than we do. I ask him if that’s because they have much more body area to control. He says no, very little of it is ‘motor cortex’ .. those functions were distributed to areas outside the whale’s brain a long long time ago. Now humans, he believes, operate from a much lower part of the brain .. what’s known as the ‘reptilian brain’ .. and that’s what drives our’ rational brain’ .. not the other way around .. as we would like to think. He goes on to tell me that these lower brain areas assign ‘addresses’ that link ‘powerful emotions’ to information entering memory. That’s why we remember what other people tell us much better than what we read in books. I sit fascinated by all of this. Afterwards, he gives me a book called ‘Up from Dragons’ by Dorion Sagan, the son of the late Carl Sagan. I remember reading ‘Dragons of Eden’ in college and was fascinated then too. Gregg has been one of the most interesting parts of this trip. I tell him so the next morning, and we hug before he disappears down highway one. I must remember to send him a copy of “Defending the Cavewoman” when I get home.

Seasonal Vertigo

Hemispheric change would be gentle
An opposition of what used to be
Winter is summer and fall is spring
Sounds perfectly logical to me!

Nightmare Before Christmas style
Mixed up jumble of holiday cheer
Halloween is Easter, Christmas for St. Pat’s
Still keeping the imagery clear!

Much harder to process, in my mind
The seasonal vertigo of paradise
Rainforest greenery and sunshiney days
No turning leaves, nor snow, nor one shred of ice!

We live in Never Never Land
What day is this? What time of year?
How old am I? Has time gone by?
Total eradication of doomsday fear.

Earth Creatures

We were here

before you were

To the moon

Overhead, crows are shouting ..and drowning out the music on my deck. I look up and see them clustered in the trees and scenes from the Hitchcock movie ‘The Birds’ flash by and I feel a twinge of ‘can that happen here’. Something tells me no so I howl back at them. There’s a momentary pause as they lift off .. cluster in another group of trees ..and crank up the volume. Crows are not my bird of choice to take with me if I ever had to live on a deserted island. I start reading an article in the news about future space colonies on the moon ..and mistake the term ‘reconnaissance orbiter’ for ‘renaissance orbiter’. For some reason, I think the word renaissance is more fitting. Then a movie scene from early-childhood comes to mind (from before we walked on the moon) .. where one of the astronauts goes crazy ..breaks away from the pack ..crosses over to the ‘sunny side’ and immediately disintegrates and turns into a skeleton. I cringe when I think about packing the kids and the dog and moving there. Now I'm worried that everything I know comes from either the movies or television shows.

V for Vendetta

Vi Veri Veniversum Vivus Vici

By the power of truth I

while living

have conquered the universe

God Is In The Rain

Stellar dialogue

Have you seen the stars tonight ..they remind me that we live on a lunar colony ..and not the oppressed state of some god forsaken planet. The colonies are not safe from tyranny either, I remind her .. the ones on Saturn were once free-states. I know, she says ..that’s why I like it here ..hydroponic gardens and you can practice revelry without persecution ..you know, I don’t even miss home that much. Where’s home ? In the Euripides. Oh yeah, I see what you mean ..I remember the witch hunts of November, 2023 .. are you ever afraid of something like that happening here ? All the time, she says. If it does ..I think I’ll stowaway on a starship to Europa ..I hear they’re much more civilized there ..it’s an incubator of free ideas ..and the mother of all creatures ..they live in the lapis lazuli realm, you know ..not just the temporary worlds of hungry ghosts and empire builders ..the waters of life have been flowing freely on Europa ..since the beginning ..and I think they will keep on flowing free thru eternity.

Boys Town

Lest we forget the pedophiles

that inhabit Washington D.C.

Attempting to give a damn

A Love Story

Watch this movie

Join The Crowd

Your world is confusing

and imploding around you

you want to do something

but you don't know what

I know you feel lost

join the crowd

Wall Street Mafia

(excerpt from The New York Times)

By JULIE CRESWELL
Published: October 4, 2009

"For most of the 133 years since its founding in a small city in Wisconsin, the Simmons Bedding Company enjoyed an illustrious history.

Its recent history has been notable, too, but for a different reason.

Simmons says it will soon file for bankruptcy protection, as part of an agreement by its current owners to sell the company — the seventh time it has been sold in a little more than two decades — all after being owned for short periods by a parade of different investment groups, known as private equity firms, which try to buy undervalued companies, mostly with borrowed money.

For many of the company’s investors, the sale will be a disaster. Its bondholders alone stand to lose more than $575 million. The company’s downfall has also devastated employees like Noble Rogers, who worked for 22 years at Simmons, most of that time at a factory outside Atlanta. He is one of 1,000 employees — more than one-quarter of the work force — laid off last year.

But Thomas H. Lee Partners of Boston has not only escaped unscathed, it has made a profit. The investment firm, which bought Simmons in 2003, has pocketed around $77 million in profit, even as the company’s fortunes have declined. THL collected hundreds of millions of dollars from the company in the form of special dividends. It also paid itself millions more in fees, first for buying the company, then for helping run it. Last year, the firm even gave itself a small raise.

Wall Street investment banks also cashed in. They collected millions for helping to arrange the takeovers and for selling the bonds that made those deals possible. All told, the various private equity owners have made around $750 million in profits from Simmons over the years.

How so many people could make so much money on a company that has been driven into bankruptcy is a tale of these financial times and an example of a growing phenomenon in corporate America.

Every step along the way, the buyers put Simmons deeper into debt. The financiers borrowed more and more money to pay ever higher prices for the company, enabling each previous owner to cash out profitably.

But the load weighed down an otherwise healthy company. Today, Simmons owes $1.3 billion, compared with just $164 million in 1991, when it began to become a Wall Street version of “Flip This House.”

In many ways, what private equity firms did at Simmons, and scores of other companies like it, mimicked the subprime mortgage boom. Fueled by easy money, not only from banks but also endowments and pension funds, buyout kings like THL upended the old order on Wall Street. It was, they said, the Golden Age of private equity — nothing less than a new era of capitalism." (read more The New York Times)
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Now you see? The Mafia didn't go extinct, they just went "legit" and moved to Wall Street where robbery and greed have been made legal.