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The Best View

Is always from far up.  It’s the calmest place to be.  High up there.  Physically, not mentally.  I’m not for that, very much against it.

At the top of the hill it’s surreal.  There’s nothing but the air dancing around you, the sun wielding the sky, and perhaps the earth - the dirt, grass, and plants - sitting contently below your feet.  But the hill is not always real.  Hill, mountain, or tippy top thing whatever it’s called it’s not real. Because the mansion you live in, the lavish things that take you farther and farther away from the true things in life, it’s the figurative hills we look from.

At 40, the view outward at least is always better then it was at 30.  This metaphor will help explain why the Democrats lost it all on this day in history.  Today is the day the country failed, our great song turned into something of a Russian opera, sad and depressing.

It is not our fault, our failure that is…but the fault of motivation instead.  The fault of emotions.  The fault lies in leaders and advisers, not the economy and people.

The view at the top was good, when the Democrats won in November, 2008.  The view was surreal, calm, complacent, and happiness abound like the chocolate rivers of a Wonka factory.  The life lived was the life less cared about.

Through all of this, however, a certain thing died when President Obama was elected and that was the passion of an angered populace.  If anything, volumes will be written on what was lost and what was found. 

When Barack Obama was elected the people saw inspiration, they saw hope and happiness.  But those aren’t factors that move a population, they don’t pound a nations heartbeat into existence.  They calm it.  Without fervor, we are dead.

We hated Bush, more then 60% of us hated our President.  We would of rather seen a chimp finish out the days of the second Bush presidency, then have the man continue.  What developed in us was anger, it was a passion that lit the fire bright and strong.  The nation mobilized to the drumbeat of their own enraged passions.  They knew what they wanted and when they wanted it.  But like a rich bastard, when we got what we wanted, when we realized the dream that seared our minds fresh every night, we stopped.  We stopped caring about the nation and turned our eye toward the lives around us.  In finding Obama, we delivered our souls unto the boat of hope and left the shores of our homeland, loosing our anger and passion.

To Democrats, the victory is lost.  And rightly so you pussy-footed bunch of wretched idiotic tree-hugging morons.  To Republicans, you now have a chance to screw it up again.  You have a chance to show us again just how stupid your policies, your attitudes, and sometimes your very selves are.  Like the unstoppable rats of New York, like a cockroach that’s survived a nuclear blast, or like a bad case of constipation Republicans live on.  Till death do us part, is it?

We may be the greatest nation on Earth, but if this is the kind of politics it takes to stay that way, the kind of politics we’ve seen over the last year ending today… then we are truly doomed.

Posted in Uncategorized.

By PresidenToor
January 20, 2010

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India’s Growing Problem

It is easy to see the problems India will have before they actually occur.  Similar country’s have gone through such things before, and it’s easy to predict how societies will react to certain economic and political changes as they occur.  The question has always been, though, will the Indians ever learn? Or listen?  The last 10 years of expansive growth across India, especially in the agriculturally rich areas of the North, has created a problem seen time and time again:  The exploitation of cheap labor which is necessary for such an explosive growth.  Who else exploits cheap labor? Religious extremists and Communist-like political entities?  Yes and yes.  How do Sikhs deal with extremists? We beat them into a pulp, apparently.  Hindus might shun them, owing to their wonderful caste system.  Muslims might join them, being in the minority themselves.  But this cheap labor alone and by itself knows no religion and no political affiliation. 

These two things must be created for them, and in India they are slowly being created.  Any country that keeps its cheap labor within its borders, will one day have to emancipate them from the dreary realities of their existence.  Such is the tale of history:  The British have their famous labour laws because of their exploitation of children, the Irish, and others, the Americans had a civil war over slavery, the South Africans had apartheid, the French have riots, and thanks to the Bolsheviks - we almost had world-wide nuclear destruction on more then one occasion, etc.  Today though, around the world western and some Spanish-speaking countries have exported a significant portion of their cheapest labor needs to other countries, many of them lie along the Pacific and Indian Oceans.  These countries, like India, then have nowhere to export their own cheap labor, they can only trade it around within their own countries, amongst their own populations.

The city of Ludhiana, Punjab, India, is a case in point.  The province of Punjab is home to a majority of the Sikh population of the world and host to it’s holiest sites.  Ludhiana is a popular, historically farm-based district and separately a city within the province of Punjab.  Two separate incidents occurring closely together recently in this city tell the story.  Migrants were attacked by “others” for organizing and marching, and Sikhs of the general faith were attacked by police for marching against a meeting of a radical sect of Sikhism who themsleves largely count migrants as their followers.  This, as the news media has so graciously delineated for us, has rocked Punjab. 

For hundreds of years there has traditionally been one main Sikh religious authority the Khalsa for lack of a better word which most belonged too, but over the years with the creation of classes via the realities associated with the creation of political economies in India, mainly of the capitalist brand, there has been a splintering of the Sikh authority.  Various religious leaders have created sects of Sikhism that speak to the woes the lowest classes of the Sikh community face, even then to the woes those of the lowest classes of other faiths have, therein swelling these sects’ ranks by conversion as well and not alone by subsuming members of one overall faith.  These sects espouse everything from radicalism to Union-like rights lobbying, most of the time they do both.  In order to counter this lower extereme of the faith, Sikhs create an upper brand of radicalism that seeks to counter the voices of the lower brand of Sikhism.  I use the terms lower and upper because as  a Sikh myself I feel that the lower classes should not split off from the overall Khalsa, nominating their own Gurus, saints, and even religious leaders (a term-of-phrase that knows no meaning in the Sikh faith).  The use of the word upper is not out of commendation, the Sikhs have no moral authority higher then their singular religious text.  Therein the use of the word upper denotes those acting as if they were the moral authority of the Sikh faith, subduing the lower classes and the religious sects they belong to.

Migrants - by themselves cheap labor - make up the ranks of some of the most outcasted portions of the population in Punjab.  Many work across India in various fields from security guards, to factory, construction, and field workers.  As India expands they begin to feel as if they are not expanding with it.  They have and will continue to connect themselves with political leaders and parties, religious leaders and parties, and organizers who speak to their needs.  This will then continue to expand the ranks of those upper radicals seeking to keep the lower classes in their place.  And this dichotomy will create violence, civil disobedience knows no meaning in a 21st century capitalist approach to society, at least not the civil disobedience of King and Gandhi.  Violence in India will inevitably grow, not decrease if nothing is done, and as the Indian authorities have seemingly demonstrated they will not do anything, except use the blunt force of the policeman’s baton to keep the population in place.

I use Sikhs in Punjab as one example, as the most recent example, and as an example that speaks to my heart more so then others.  Our family is from the Ludhiana district, I am Sikh, and a student of Political Science. But these things go on across India all the time, a series of micro-occurrences that when mapped, look as if a mighty earthquake shakes every corner of India.

The question of prediction though, still exists as a matter of issue.  What will happen? I for one will not be surprised when more die due to violence between political and religious parties.  When growing economic disparities builds opulence on the hands of the poorest.  When a foreign nation such as Pakistan will use the discord to their own benefit.  When infrastructure, education, and health care cannot keep up with growth to the point that the growth is detrimental to the country.  When the poorest of Indian society are represented the most in the Indian government.  I will not be surprised.

More will die and India seems willing to let it happen.  Such, perhaps, is the way of life.

Posted in India, Life, News, Philosophy, South Asian Affairs. Tagged with , , , , , , , , , , , , , .

By PresidenToor
December 6, 2009

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On Way Home

Driving South on the 215 highway, California.  Eyeing the oncoming traffic in the opposing lanes, I spot a shiny bright SUV with it’s blinkers on in the far off lane, the slow lane.

There’s more.  More car’s with their emergency blinkers on.  A chill runs up my spine, and goosebumps raise on my arms.  I had never seen this before in real life.

I look in the rear-view mirror.  I spot the hearse, didn’t see it before.  Now it’s far up the freeway, North, as I continue to drive South.  The cars continued passing by, though, with their blinkers going.  They could have all been family, but perhaps they were just ordinary citizens honoring that which had fought and fallen in our name.

The fallen had returned, a day before their day.  To rest forever.

I thought about turning around, but, this would have to suffice.

Posted in Uncategorized.

By PresidenToor
November 10, 2009

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A War Least Forgotten

Few things are more imporant to me.  In fact I have five rules defiining those things that are important to me. Loving family, loving friends, helping others, and always dressing nicely are four of those concepts or ideals I hold dear but Afghanistan fits in with the fifth ideal, that being, “to live everyday in the defense of my country and my people.”  Some do it better then others.  Soldiers hold true to my fifth ideal much better then I myself do. Should a different path have been written for myself I might have joined them.  But to each his own destiny, inscribed before he is born, and remembered after he is dead.

Inevitably when I write posts like this and cross-link it to my Facebook wall, I loose a few ‘friends,’ which I find just plain odd.  I sometimes want to write the most outrageous things just to see what would result.  But this post is far from outrageous.

Currently, tens of thousands of American men, and women, haul 50 to 80 pounds or more across ditches and corn fields, through valleys, across deserts, and up steep mountains three to five thousand feet higher then the hills that roll across southern California.  These Americans criss-cross a nation literally half-way around the world, a place that has been the nexus of the black market since the dawn of trade itself.  From the first hints at civilization, the nation of Afghanistan has provided a constant stream of evil among whatever good the eye could behold.  From invasions to warlords, or invasions that brought with them warlords.  Never once ruled as a western state, nor an Arab state - but always as the sole outlier of nations among nations.  The topology of the place does not lend itself to any sort of connection among it’s people.  The people who live there are themselves a gradient.  Starting in the South and heading North one will experience a sort of evolution from Indian-Persian to Persia-East Asian.

But why are we there? Today, more than eight years after our Forces first stepped foot in the country, why are we still there?  It is often lost on a populace such a thing as the history of war.  Forget the art of war, to be mastered by soldier and general, the simple history should be understood by the citizenry of - at the very least - the supposed greatest nation on Earth, America.  And no where in the history of war is it written that a war must be fought in the shortest possible time frame.  In less then eight years more Americans have died fighting in Iraq then in our whole time being in Afghanistan - surely a measure of time and casualties are not two data points that can be readily related.  Not to shed a dim light on a true Hero’s death, but more have died from AIDs in the last 8 years, in America alone, then in either war combined.  Perhaps if the same amount of resources and money that has gone into America’s Great Early 21st Century Adventure had gone into HIV/AIDs research, we would have one less problem on our hands.  Today, a growing chorus of Americans who don’t wage war on behalf of their country believe our Force presence in Afghanistan should be limited or withdrawn altogether.  A view shared by Vice President Joe Biden.  That eight years is enough and it is time to come home, to solve other problems, to spend money elsewhere.  No matter what I may believe would have been a better use of our dollar and blood, this aforementioned notion Americans are dreaming up, about our future in Afghanistan, is an ill conceived notion at best and dangerous at worst.  To have come so far, and done so little is a testament to the average Americans way of life, but it should not be the sole guiding factor by which we leave Afghanistan.

The people grow tired and ignorant of a war that our fellow American’s are waging across Afghanistan.  But they should not.  While American’s are traditionally known for having shorter than average attention spans, and bigger than average attitudes, they should not forget what the history of war has taught us.  And American’s should not forget the friends we were to the Europeans when we helped them with their problems, twice, or the big hearts our allies still believe us to have.

When we went to wage war in Afghanistan we did not do so in order to defeat a salient enemy.  In fact, it was all well understood that the enemy Americans would face in Afghanistan were nothing more advanced then cave dwellers with guns.  With regard to that however, in reviewing all prior contests with cave dwellers and their guns, one will find that very few exist after the “Middle Ages.”  More importantly wars then were fought in the time-frame of decades.  They picked up even where generations before had left them, only to continue for generations later.  Such long and enduring wars were commonplace, ‘back in the day,’ and should not be counted as any less common today.  Americans should not loose resolve for the war that we wage simply because it’s boring.

To answer the question of why we are there today, one must ask, why is war even important?  People often wonder what the meaning of our current war in Afghanistan is.  I would plainly state that the goal of any war is to stop the enemy from killing you.  If the enemy still decides to shoot you, then you have not won.  It is as simple as that.  There are no metrics, or bar graphs, or funky jargon to go along with it.  We won World War II simply because the Germans decided to collectively stop shooting at us.  It was, after millions had died, as simple as that, a decision, like any other among the hundreds of thousands of decisions we make every day.

After reviewing the facts, the missions, and ideals, as I’ve done above.  What should we do?  It is most certainly not a simple thing to ask my fellow countrymen to continue to fight a war, on our behalf, to save the people of Afghanistan, to destroy an enemy of America, and to establish a new foothold for our great charter that is democracy.  But it is what we must do.  And we must do it intelligently.

There is no greater service to that which one commands, then the truth.  The truth is not something that General McChrystal, no matter how highly regarded he stands in military circles, is entirely committed to.  Neither is General Petraus so much a General, as he is a Professor of War.  I do not believe it the case that either is well equipped to command our Forces in Afghanistan.  The War in Afghanistan requires an individual with ruthless wit who is able to micro-manage on a country-wide scale.  The terrain in Afghanistan creates pockets around the country, each a microcosm - each unique.  Where one thing might work in one area, it will most certainly not work in another.  And a General must understand this and be able to adapt of the gradient that is Afghanistan.  He must also act as philosopher.  To thing logically and rationally about the ethical and moral dilemmas that surround not only how his troops interact with the local populace but also how his troops might fare in a certain location among an angry or tepid populace.  Certainly the recent eight deaths and Nuristan and before, the nine deaths in Wanat Valley, were not due to errors on the ground but simply the result of the greatest of FUBARs from HQ.

How do we win, then?  As I stated before.  The question better asked is, “how do we get them to stop shooting at us?”

Kill them.

Win them over.

Pay them to stop.

Anybody who thinks it’s more complicated then that, needs to take a step back, review the situation then quit.  Because we don’t need you.

Posted in Afghanistan, Barack Obama, Central Asian Affairs, Defense, Middle East Affairs, News, Politicians, South Asian Affairs, U.S. Government. Tagged with , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , .

By PresidenToor
October 5, 2009

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Careful Introspection

Graduating college, going to law school (or not), going to grad school (or not), or getting job (or not) are topics that weigh heavy on the mind in this hour, and every hour hence forth till I am somewhere that is not here.  I have given careful thought to what has been and what may come.  In doing so I’ve realized that my life, unique as it may be, is not mine alone, but in fact part of the greater world.  That each element of my being is not created by me alone, but by other forces, easily seen.  Deep, I know.  It’s been this careful introspection that has led me to this post.  I write, as I always do, for posterity’s sake. I wanted to detail the life I’ve lived.  What’s been most remembered and how?  What’s been most affecting and why?

I was born, at some point. I lived through a childhood marred by what any Indian childhood is often only naturally marred by. I notably dreamed with my eyes open as a child, now when I have a dream it never takes place in realistic settings. When I was a child, still, my father propped me on his shoulders to watch Haley’s comet sit there in the sky above our heads with it’s long misty squiggly tail.  To this day I do not know why he propped me on his shoulders, the comet didn’t look any closer.  The gesture may have been nice, but in retrospect, he had dropped me once before. Later I would watch the news, still a child, to learn a couple hundred people had senselessly killed themselves over the celestial event. All living in the same estate. All in San Diego. All died after killing the person before them. I learned here that God kills those idiotic enough to kill themselves. And so the conundrum began. At some point when all the planets were in the sky at the same time, I could point them all out, and on long walks through the neighborhood with the parents (a nightly tradition I never much enjoyed) I did point them all out.  I got a telescope, for Christmas. Eventually I would be sitting at my Uncle’s home in San Jose playing with my toys and newfangled sister, she was three, only to turn around to watch the nightly news and literally in the blink of an eye Princess Diana had died. The shock on my mothers face, the disbelief on mine. I had grown to love the Princess whom my mom shares a birthday with. Mother Teresa would die a bit later. Here I learned that those with the power to give, live forever in those they’ve given power too. I would go through life, move through two towns and never much enjoyed a time of popularity or excitement. Which would explain why I got excited when an El Nino rolled into town during the 90s. I largely ignored the tech bubble burst and the Bush/Gore election. Clinton had done well in teaching me how to make the Office of President completely useless, and it was at this point that it made no difference who won. I entered high school un-phased, bewildered, and intellectually intelligent. More so when I put on my glasses, or so I was told. It was during this time that I had developed my unique talent of not being able to see clearly past my outstretched arm. I would wake up one morning, come down, and quickly glance over at the TV news. A fire was billowing out of a skyscraper. Looked like New York. “Dad, is that a fire in a skyscraper?” “Dad…?” I would repeat. “I don’t know, I’m watching the news.” Clearly. I would sit down for breakfast across the television. Boom, I’m eating my cereal, my spoon falls. Crash, I’m now sitting in class, no one talks. And the dust didn’t settle. By day 2, 24 hour news channels were banned in classrooms. War was afoot, but wait. What’s this? A clown is standing on one leg, jumping up and down, with a balloon in one hand, outstretched, toward the American people? “It’s OK to shop!” Said the idiot on one leg. He’d stick around. I’d eventually come to realize that nothing is more defensible then one’s nation.  Even if it’s defending it against terrorist or president. It’s people, it’s culture, it’s very being were essential. Without such, for as it once was, humanity may be nothing. Colombia would later rip apart in the clear blue sky. I cried in the bathroom for 25 minutes. Motivated by many things, I would go to college for the wrong reasons. And even later, knowing the right reasons, I would go to a different college. At some point the people I had met, the friends, the acquaintances, and the random glances I achieved walking about would become more then profound.  These were the others.  They, like myself, born of the same matter, yet uniquely different.  From each I learned something.  From each I took, only hoping to give elsewhere.  The Robin Hood of souls. I had been to Canada, Mexico, London, Paris, Hawaii, India, New York and finally Washington D.C.  And what a journey it has been.  Some go nowhere.  Others travel far and wide.  But wherever I went, I learned the thing that some forget or others took for granted: that I am not alone.  That on the other side of the world, at any given time, a janitor was cleaning a school.  A flight attendant was prepping the Cabin.   A soldier was fighting with his gun.  A mother was cooking dinner.  That all across the world, we did these things, in different locations with different beliefs, but we did the same things.  Hundreds of millions of people, going about life, all at once. Striving for the same goal.  I learned this, a powerful notion.

Today I don’t know where life will lead.  There are paths carved in the tree of life for me to wander.  But, I’ve learned, where I go is up to the world I live in.  Destiny, driven by chance, and fed by others, will determine tomorrow.  And for this, I have now come to learn that I am truly grateful.

Posted in Uncategorized.

By admin
September 25, 2009

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Reflections on Washington D.C., Pt. 2

After one week being at home here in Southern California, I have really come to appreciate what it has meant to have gone to D.C. this summer and done the work that I did, saw the places that I saw, and met the people that I met. Before I even got off the plane one week ago I knew that it wasn’t like any disembarkation I’ve gone through before. I prepared myself to take everything in. To really, in those moments, exhibit what it meant to be back home again.

The plane landed in my SoCal hometown of San Diego and the first thing I noticed was the heat. Then came the airport, a familiar site - but the cleanliness is what I noticed foremost which I was comparing to pretty much all of D.C. Then I walked out onto the second story indoor balcony, just before I went to baggage claim below. I immediately noticed the greenest palm trees set upon the bluest sky, all enhanced by the fact that I was standing at eye level with them. I thought to myself, there aren’t any palm trees in D.C.

From there I did the regular thing. My family picked me up and we drove back home. The family was oddly silent, there weren’t any questions as to my stay in D.C. I guess I’ve documented it pretty well here, on my twitter, facebook, and on flickr. One downside of all this social networking is that once you finally see the person you’ve been talking with - all has really been said.

The dryness and the heat encroached. In D.C. it was always humid and hot. I’ve reluctantly settled with the fact that I may never live in a city where I could have a good hair day. The other striking difference between San Diego and D.C. was the fact that I didn’t have to experience the heat here in SD. We went from air conditioned airport, to air conditioned car, to air conditioned house. The only time we were in the heat was in between. It’s not surprising then that in a weeks time I’ve got a slight fever, sore throat, swollen glands, and a mild headache. While I adapt pretty well to changing settings and cultures, “I” does not include my body, it seems to only include my psychie.  The same thing happened when I came back from New York earlier this year.  And no one should have flu-like symptoms twice in one year, at my age.   Hopefully it’s allergies but, I’ve made an appointment for that… on the other hand hopefully it’s not the Swine Flu, *_*

But what has D.C. taught me? Besides being smorgasbord of virulent disease and pestilence (I mean we had a cockroach in our bathroom sink cupboard - that wouldn’t go away - even after we slammed it with a shoe).  D.C. has taught me the value of what it means to be a human being.

I probably could of savoured this bit of guru-like wisdom during my trip to New York, but with only five days there, I had not much time to take in the atmosphere with all the sight-seeing to be done.

In San Diego, you could practically live your whole life without once talking with another San Diegan, without even observing them on their way to work or back from work, in the evening through the town square (we don’t even have one town square in this city), or perhaps at the local coffee shop.  Here in SD you don’t “see” people.  You can’t measure a man, you can’t tell his life story in one glance, you can’t know your neighbors as best friends if only to stare at them across the yard at some odd pinnacle of the day.

The whole atmosphere in this city is one of individualistic loneliness.  People don’t share things in SD, they don’t share the parks - because their backyard is big enough, they don’t share the coffee shop - because they’ve got an expensive coffee machine, they don’t share the nightlife - because they’ve got a cinema center at home; they don’t have a unique identifying culture because no one bothers to rub off their ideas and creativity on another, so as to take the city by storm, for better or for worse.   But maybe that’s how a majority, a vast majority, of San Diegans like it.  Though, is it really thoroughly liking something if one’s never bothered to like another? (I guess that applies to marriage as well.)

I used to say, every time one steps out of a building in D.C. it’s like a new day.  Like a river that flows, you don’t know who or what you’re going to see when you step out.  Most of the time, if you’re lucky, you won’t even know what you’re going to do.  For a human being, to not know the unknown, is to one day find the beauty in understanding.

With that I depart for the night.  Next up I will reflect on working on the hill with the ‘Service.’

Posted in In Regards, Internship, Life, Philosophy. Tagged with , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , .

By PresidenToor
September 7, 2009

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10 Foot Image

10 Foot Image of Dupont Circle, in B&W. Color version available on my flickr.

10 Foot Image of Dupont Circle, in B&W. Color version available on my flickr.

So, I made this 10 foot image of Dupont Circle.  I took it by walking around the central fountain and taking a picture of the fountain and the people sitting around it.

I think the image is quite good, except for the fact that taking a picture around a circle invariably makes things repeat, like the statue in the middle of the circle - in this case the fountain.  But the emotions capture on the people’s faces is priceless.  Click the above image to see the full version. (4MB).

It’s all a bit of an experiment, I didn’t think it would work, but I was able to align the lettering underneath the where everyone is sitting, so I was able to put the image together.  That’s why it looks seemless around that reference.

Posted in Internship, Life.

By PresidenToor
August 30, 2009

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The End, Pt. 1

 Tomorrow is my last day at my internship.  It’s been a great long road to where I’ve come.  I’ve learned a lot, done a lot, and realized, I still have a lot to do.  An internship teaches you think differently, and an internship away from family, friends, and the culture you grew up with, teaches you to seize every day as if it were your last.

There hasn’t been a moment here in D.C. where I haven’t made the most of every hour of every day of the week.  It’s been a blessing to have gone through these months as I have. 

Tomorrow will be the beginning of a different life then the one I’ve led.  I am ready to seize the day.

[For what it's worth, that comes from the heart.  As with all my posts, I just rambled that one onto the keyboard - I do not mean to emulate some sympathetic writer from the Romantic Era, it seems that's just the vein with which the truth is best known.]

Posted in Internship.

By admin
August 27, 2009

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