The True Red, White and Blue
The glossed over atrocities of the United States (historic and current), are woven into the attitude of its government and the many propagandized citizens. It is apparent in the brazen patriotism: a childlike or childish defense of all things American based on, indoctrination, omission and outright lies. Contrary to the stereotype, Americans aren't stupid, just woefully uninformed and insular. And that's just how the government wants them.
As a child growing up in the US I, of course, learned about the violent displacement of the indigenous peoples, but only on a superficial level and right along with the glory of The Founding Fathers, The Pilgrims and The Revolution. I never learned about the horrendous boarding schools, the infected blankets and so on, in short, the genocide. I never learned about the Filipino war or much about the Korean war. If some Hollywood films told the story of corruption and CIA meddling, more films sang the praises of the US, insidiously or outright. This not only made me receptive to American exceptionalism, it also kept me in a state of cognitive dissonance. How was the US so exceptional when also so bad. But that's the key. Ramp up the exceptionalism to the point where no matter what the US does to another culture/country, US citizens believe it was a necessary act. That is, if they even learn about it.
Now, the US is certainly not alone in using extreme savagery to sort out the so called savages, the British are a prime example of a country adept at this, but that is irrelevant. It also doesn't matter that some of the victims of US imperialism were pretty bad themselves. These are not excuses for colonization, coups, invasions, bombs, torture and on and on and on. Even worse (if possible), when committed by a country that sells itself as the heroes of the world and tells its own people fairy tales.
I don't think that the American people of today (and that goes for other colonizing countries as well) need to live in perpetual guilt for what their ancestors did, but they need to learn about the history, ALL OF IT, every last detail. See it for what it was and should never be again. Informed they can decide what they think of their country: do they want to leave, or stay and make it a better place? Face the past, process it and move on. This would free up US citizens of any burden they may carry, as well as making them more compassionate and wiser people. It would also allow the victims of this tyranny to be truly seen, thus initiating healing from intergenerational trauma. Respect Due! *
Sadly, the US has no intention of stepping down from their pedestal. No intention of telling the stark truth. There will be no war crime trials for any politicians. The Republicans will present the past as a necessity that, actually, had some handy advantages for the victims, and the Democrats will pay lip service to some of the US crimes while engaging in current ones. America may not always send troops, but they will send weapons. Hypocrisy and gaslighting continue.
Despite this, I'm pleased to see many young Americans now aware of this fact, and articulate it well, along with some good, online, alternative news sources and commentary. The lids off the box and the truth is flying out. Heartening and exciting, but not enough. So many still respond with either visceral defensiveness if their righteous image is challenged, or with a softer, 'but we meant well' attitude. Their own identity is so wound up in the US identity, they must excuse any wrong doing.
But there is no excuse. You can't use the other side's bad behavior as a reason to invade, attack, colonize, interfere etc. If that's your criterion then the U.S. would be long gone.
I read a comment by a German guy stating that after World War II, a part of Germany should have been given to the Jewish people for them to make a country. For a moment, I was like, that would have been a great idea. And then it dawned on me. No, because the US would have just created another Western type country in place of Israel. That's not even taking into account the Christian and Judaic reasons for wanting Israel to remain where it currently is.
Alas, the trauma of the Jewish people has been exploited to create an unstable and manipulative set up. An enabled cycle of fresh trauma and revenge deeply tragic for all the people living there. A situation that has now escalated into a genocide of Palestinians.
Thoughts on responses to this type of critique:
If you criticize the US, you're bound to get a comment along the lines of: you spout a lot of hate towards your country without even realizing how great it is that you can speak freely without persecution.
But is this always true? There are examples where it is not. The Red Scare, for one. Malcom X another. And there are more.
And isn't the whole point of freedom of speech that you can criticize your government without persecution? So, therefore use it. Just because a country has positive aspects, it doesn't give the government carte blanche to do whatever they want. Should they not be held accountable? Very counterproductive to have the freedom to speak out, but then don't because you're so lucky to be able to.
You will also hear the counter argument stating that no country is an angel and would do the same as the US if they could.
OK. Let's look at invasions of the US. There was 9/11, Pearl Harbor, The Germans and Russians would have liked to. And there was Britain and Mexico. But what about a foreign coup attempt on the US? Or an assassinate attempt? Or lying about weapons of mass destruction as a ploy to invade? And even if it is true that most countries are fueled by megalomania, greed and conquest, it is no excuse for America's actions. Of course, a country, a people, have every right to defend themselves, but not invade, bomb and meddle. Time and time again!
Furthermore, I don't accept that the current way of the world is the way it has to be. Are humans not meant to evolve as a species? Do we not pride ourselves on our civilized ways? Then why do we not live up to this professed goodness?
But for those Americans who use that excuse in defense of their beloved country, if bullying is the way of the world, why does the government whitewash their atrocities and worse hide them? Could it be that humans are inherently compassionate with a strong moral compass? And knowing this, the powers that be not only trick you into believing violence is good and necessary, they trick you into believing that struggle, strife and scrambling to the top are the fundamentals of human existence.**
Is it not time that governments world-wide start reflecting the will and ethics of the people?
Why defend a country that lies to you, disrespects your intelligence and actively tries to dumb you down? Why defend a country, any country that claims to be civilized and at the same time rationalizes the slaughter of children.
The US presents a false image to its citizens and the world. They are the purveyors of goodness delivered from the moral high ground. Live up to that or fess up!
Oh and one more thing. No, the US is not the freest and most wonderful place to live in. I have lived in the UK, Germany and Ireland and have never felt my freedoms were oppressed. In fact, the standard of living was higher in many respects.
The US doesn't even show up in the top searches for best county or place to live in.
Do keep in mind that US interference causes destabilization in the targeted countries, and then Americans have the nerve to not want these people showing up at their borders as migrants and asylum seekers. Equally abhorrent is to then accuse these countries of being backwards and inferior, violent and unable without seeing or admitting to America's hand in it all. This type of argument is used against African Americans, and, in all cases, is used to excuse state sanctioned violence against these people.
*But, of course, those who still benefit from the spoils of slavery, genocide, and colonization (e.g. Germany, The US, The UK) can not fully acknowledge and respect the victims. Or, in the case, of Germany, the gnawing guilt manifests as a terrible allegiance to your former victims. And then there are the similarities between Israel US origins. It's no wonder some Americans can't condemn Israel when their own county was founded in a similar style.
**If religion is meant to be the path of finding human morality and keeping you there, why do so many religious institutions embrace violence using the same excuses as most world governments?
Joy to the World?
Joy to the world? The time has come!
To receive many things;
Let every wallet make more room
And the cash registers ring
And the cash registers ring
And profit and profit and pointless bling
Joy to the world? Eating too much!
Let men their bellies fill;
Turkeys, geese, ham, in pot, on plate
In the millions
In the millions,
In the, in the millions.
Thoughts on America by an Expat
My thoughts on the differences between Democrat politicians and Republican ones (and their counterparts world-wide).
The Democrats pay lip service to progressive ideals while supporting environmental and climate destruction, and the same ol' hierarchical setup of rich and poor. They bring nothing new, for while they claim to champion change, true structural change is what they fear.
On the other hand, Republicans come right out with their distain for progressiveness, it's an affront to family values, an evil plot by conniving globalist elites. They also fear change, (apparent in the word conservative), and have no issue saying that. In fact, a past glory is what they seek. A mythical time when men, women and children knew their place and all was good and proper.
Handmaid's Tale or two-faced, regardless of the approach, the result is the same. Neither side is relinquishing their power. They are not entertaining a world beyond capitalism. Profit will always eclipse ethics. And to cloud over this shameful truth, fear mongering, scapegoating, ridiculing and rage baiting are employed. Deceive with populism or duplicitousness. Resort to immediate polar opposite views on issues and hype up the base to follow suit. Divide and conquer as they say!
They have no intention of changing a system that empowers them. Certainly not significant change for the better, but certainly for the worse!
This is a realization I came to long ago, as did many others. An understanding of US politics and politics world-wide that becomes more obvious and frustrating. A situation, we the people, either don't fully comprehend or accept out of a perceived powerlessness.
But must it be so futile?
Are we such slaves to our conditioning that we can't think beyond our upbringing and environment? So emotionally immature that outrage is our immediate response? Can we not dig deeper, look farther, listen well? Feel beyond fear? If not, we will continue to be baited and captured by the powers that be.
A party to our own demise.
Keeper of the Flame (excerpt from prologue)
Before my grandmother came to live with us, she had only been a woman in photos, a stranger who happened to be my grandmother. I’d never spoken to her on the phone, or received a card or presents. I only knew that she’d grown up in Germany, had my mam quite young, and had moved to the west coast of Ireland when my mam was a toddler. My mam called her Mutti, and I called her Omi.
Her name was Tara, a name she said she gave herself as an acknowledgement of a new phase of life after her arrival in Ireland. She wouldn’t tell me her birth name. She said it was a name for a past stage and therefore irrelevant to the present.
However, she still had a German accent and said mit instead of with. I don’t know why she used this one word of German because her English was otherwise flawless. Maybe, she was paying homage to her ancestors. Maybe, it was simply her stubborn nature. She had a steadfastness and pride about her that beguiled me. And for the short time I knew her, I came to adore her. Her accent and bearing made her seem like some foreign noble. Someone special. And her presence and attention made me feel special. Like there was more to me than just being a weird kid. I felt like I had been waiting for her the entire eight years of my life.
She told me that there were things about my ancestors my mam didn’t want me to know and that my so-called weirdness had to do with this. That I was just tuned to a higher frequency, something other children couldn’t comprehend. Her words ignited my world yet I sensed our time together was limited. Three months later she was gone again and with her departure my parents’ dull account of family history regained its hold.
I’d always accepted my oddness and its shadowing effect on my life as the way things were. Compared to other kids my imagination was like some wild thing in need of taming. When I went to get neighbourhood kids out to play sometimes their mothers didn’t invite me in. It wasn’t verbalised, I just felt I wasn’t meant to cross the threshold. Waiting on the step for my friend to appear, I would drink in as much of the pristine interior as I could see from the door. A portion of plush carpet, a fireplace, glasses in cabinets, family photos lining the hallway. How I longed to get through that doorway and experience that normality. Where was the dust and other signs of life? It was all so orderly. My mam couldn’t perform this miracle of immaculateness like their mothers could. The minute one of them stepped into my house, the light from the windows seemed to ignite the dust and cobwebs. Papers, books, dishes and bits, seemed to be strewn everywhere.
It’s not like my mam didn’t strive to be like everyone else; she just couldn’t pull it off. Usually when she spoke to people, I’d spot that look of bewilderment spreading across their faces. I couldn’t stop it happening no matter how I tried to cut her off and derail her train of thought. It was just something about our family.
Tara insisted that our otherness was important, and related to a powerful, ancestral heritage. That my pre-historic kin had lived in perfect connection with all living things, in a world flourishing with untouched natural beauty: pristine mountains, forest and ocean abundant with nourishment.
She said the rural area of Ireland I lived in still had a helping of that raw, wild beauty my ancestors had enjoyed. But like the entire planet it was under threat as humans continued to assault the natural world, consequently ushering in their own demise. This was because the old ways had been crushed by the intruders. That’s what she called most people, the intruders.
Whenever she came with us grocery shopping, she’d give sideways glances at laden trolleys and later in the car ask me if I’d seen the junk the intruders bought. Or if I was watching TV, she’d comment on the intruder brainwashing apparatus.
One time, Tara came with us to the playground and minded me while my mam posted a letter. Spotting some girls from school, I ran over to the slide calling to them. Turning, they mumbled hello and then completely ignored me. Tears stinging my eyes, I walked back to Tara and sat down next to her on the bench. Taking my hand, she held it tightly.
“It’s not you who doesn’t fit in, it’s them. The intruders! They don’t belong here,” she said.
A feeling of ownership surged through me as if these clumsy children before me were intruders into my realm. I sat up straight, mimicking my grandmother’s posture.
“Your mother should tell you the truth,” she muttered.
As soon as my mam returned, I asked her straight out if it were true.
“How ridiculous,” she said, bringing me away to the ice cream van. Waiting in the queue, I watched my grandmother sitting on the bench, grim-faced watching the children play.
From then on, my parents began to control how long I was alone with my grandmother and no matter how I approached it, my mam refused to engage in a discussion about these mysterious ancestors and terrible intruders.
(I have friends reading it, but would love some feedback from strangers.)
https://www.amazon.com/KEEPER-FLAME-Lisa-D-Verdekal/dp/B0CD12P8QP/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=
Creating Monsters
If we want to stop terrorism and other forms of violence, be it domestic, sexual, racist, gang and so on, we need to stop cultivating the fertile soil for its growth: children in abusive environments, familial, societal, war torn.
We need to understand that sanctioned violence is still violence, warfare killing is still murder and soldiers are victims of propaganda, circumstance and political exploitation of intergenerational trauma.
Killing is never glorious, never honorable. It is a last resort to save yourself or someone else and should never be celebrated.
Yes. there are some psychopathic humans, some in powerful positions, but most violent people are created. We aren't born violent nor hateful.
"Violence begets violence, and all violence is a confession of pain! Hurt people tend to hurt people."
Sheriff Crown
S.A. Cosby "All the Sinners Bleed"
Requesting Readers
Hiya,
I recently self-published a novel I have been working on since 2017. It has been beta read and edited and is up on Amazon in paperback and eBook. Though it is exciting to put your work out there, it is also scary. But, of course, there is no point in doing it if you're not open to reviews and feedback, positive and/or negative.
So, starting today, the 19th of August, the eBook will be free for 5 days. Does anyone want to have a go at reading it? It would be fantastic to get a stranger's opinion and I am more then happy to return the favor.
Thanks
Lisa
Keeper of the Flame
Beth’s grandmother called them The Intruders. A band of invaders who, for millennia, continue to destroy the earth. She spoke of ancient ancestors, repressed rituals and that time was running out.
Her words ignite a fire in Beth, she must know more. Who is this mysterious Neolithic girl? What is a Reawakening Ceremony? Where did humanity go wrong? But one morning she awakes to find that Tara is gone.
Determined to see her again, Beth follows clues from Ireland to Wales and on to America. There she discovers the lost ways of her ancestors and the truth about her grandmother.
Now she must confront her own destiny.
https://www.amazon.co.uk/KEEPER-FLAME-Lisa-Verdekal-ebook/dp/B0CFT6GY87/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=
https://www.amazon.com/KEEPER-FLAME-Lisa-Verdekal-ebook/dp/B0CFT6GY87/ref=sr_1_1?crid=1US5JBTZ9AMCA&keywords=lisa+d+verdekal+keeper+of+the+flame&qid=1692397341
Death Row (dystopian)
We are the prisoners. Incarcerated for unknown crimes. This is the order of things. The prisoners and the free. In the past we must have been convicted and sentenced, but that memory has morphed into the uncertainty of myth, like our origin, like our salvation.
Will the free ever forgive us.
We are the nameless. The anonymous mass, jostling against one another in our fetid prison. It has been posited that our elders are the ones who committed the crimes, their sins now ours as we endure this punishment. But in this place, much is said on a dreary day, trying to make sense of things, what else is there to do.
Day in, day out, the routine remains the same. Waking up. Eating. Shoving. Sleeping. Nowhere to go, just back and forth and around. Sometimes we attack each other to ease the boredom. A fleeting distraction. The air in here is thick with the stench of stress and excrement.
There are those of us that lie down on the hard ground and never rise again: apathy, illness, depression, it makes no difference. We step over them, on them, jostling for room. Eventually the bodies are removed and more take their place.
Some prisoners disappear and then the rumours fly that they have escaped. Yet surely these are tales to ease the terror, we all know they have likely been executed. Didn’t our own eyes see the guards take them away.
Now and again a prisoner has a short flirtation with hope. Head high, they’ll parade around.
“Stay strong, stay strong. A pardon is sure to come. Have no fear!”
It’s not long before their bluster fades and falling back into the crowd they shut up.
In my section of the prison, we’ve got a real loud mouth. He’s been here for a while and thinks he knows what’s what. He’s always going on about us being prisoners of war, and how we must have been brutal warriors to incur such a punishment. Because surely, we all know that there are prisons with less harsh conditions.
Prison is prison, I think. Anyway, we’re too young. The only fighting we know about is the constant scrapping between us. The struggle for dominance. We bear the lacerations.
The new arrivals whimper in the night.
We are the orphans. Abandoned by our mothers, so the myth says. Loud-mouth insists this is a lie. Shaking his head, he charges through us. “We were stolen, we were stolen.”
One time, I got as far away from everyone as I could and closing my eyes, I tried to picture her. But the image of a warm and loving mother who birthed and fed me is as foreign a notion as that of a life other than this, and I could only conjure up blurs of grey. After that I attempted to ignore loud-mouth as much as possible.
Today, I did something unusual. Something I never would have dared to plan. An action driven by a primal impulse that I didn’t know I possessed.
Mealtime. The guards came as always moving their way up the passageway to deliver our food. The scent of sustenance wafting, overriding the foul air. As a guard entered our section, we crowded in on him, clamouring to be the first to eat. In this prison, mealtime serves a double purpose. To immerse oneself in taste and smell is a blessed need and distraction. We are always hungry.
“Back with you, back,” ordered the guard, prodding us to the side. Pushed up against the barrier, I happened to notice the guard had left the doorway ajar. Slipping behind him, I fled down the passageway, heart pounding, legs pumping, I almost leapt for the surge of joy it gave me. Hope stirred in my belly. For what, I don’t know. To find a way out? Or, at least, experience a deviation from this barrenness? But the way persisted with stubborn monotony, section after section of prisoners, terminating in a high wall. Shouts rang out. The thump of footfall intensified behind me. As I was prodded back to my section, I sensed the others turning away, their fragile hope pummeled into resignation
After the guards had gone, loud-mouth informed me that freedom fighters were plotting our liberation. I pushed him away. How could this be possible? The guards are big and strong.
We are the forgotten and unforgiven. I refuse to entertain the idea of pardon or rescue and now live only for the gusts. The gusts belong to the guards, swirling in whenever they arrive. Bringing a transitory newness that lingers on the guards as they move among us. Nameless olfactory messages that tease and fade. I close my eyes and try to understand what they want to tell me.
Lately, I’ve noticed some of the older prisoners getting jumpy when the guards arrive.
“Our time is coming; our time is coming.”
Rumours ripple up and down the corridor of the horrid method of execution. Gas burning eyes, noses, throats and lungs. Screaming and panic as the prisoners struggle to escape. I shake off this horror story as fabrication, but tremors run through my body for the rest of the day.
In the dark hours, fragmented sensations flicker through my mind. So much warmth, then panic and pain and scrambling, scrambling back towards the warmth. I can almost place the source of this warmth; it teases me with familiarity then slips from my reach.
Yesterday the guards took loud-mouth away.
“Execution,” grunts a passing prisoner. “He knew too much.”
I awake suddenly to sound and a wholly new smell in the air. Fear shoots through me. What is going on? It can’t be the usual guards they don’t smell like this. I nudge the prone bodies around me.
“Get up, get up. Something is happening.”
I turn towards the gust as dark figures emerge. I sense fear and excitement as they move towards us whispering and pointing. Light shines into my eyes.
A girl lifts the piglet enfolding him into the cloth of her jacket as the others around her do the same with more piglets.
“Liberation my friend,” she whispers. “The only crime you’ve committed was being born another species”
“Fuck, there are so many,” says another.
A sharp retort, “You know we can’t save them all. Take the lightest.”
Moving to the door, the girl hurries across the yard followed by the others. One by one they scramble through the hole in the fence and towards the waiting van. The rumble of the van is both welcoming and unnerving.
“Come on, come on, let’s go,” calls the driver.
The girl climbs into the van and nuzzles the piglet’s ear. “Can you ever forgive our kind?”
Identity, Change and Respect
Human existence is partly made up of how we identify. Our likes, dislikes and talents, our allegiance to family, community, country. Patriotism. Political affiliation. Religion. It is how others see us. In short, to be human, to become self-aware is to identify with something even if that involves un-identifying with learned identities. Many identities are learned and limited to accepted societal norms.
Change is synonymous with life. Our existence is made up of personal and physical changes, as well as environmental. From daily changes of awake to sleepy. Angry, sad happy. To growing and aging over the years. To our world around us changing with the turn of the seasons and phases of moon and tide.
New words and concepts enter our vocabulary as society evolves (changes). With change comes resistance. Change struggles and pushes against resistance, that in turn, pushes harder against change. The more identification is oppressed, the more boldly it identifies. Like so-called weeds in a garden, they too want respect, we are also here, we also have worth. You can rip us up, but we will keep growing and fighting for the light. This struggle births the change. Change, being an inevitable part of life, will always prevail.
Cisgender denotes the changing perception of gender identity. It acknowledges a wider understanding of gender identification and how it operates in society and how norms limits expression not only for transgender, but all people. It seeks to break through societal norms and break open barriers.
Cisgender is an invitation to align with change and to show respect for all people in and outside of the current norm.
(With the clock ticking down to the deadline, I wrote an published this spur of the moment. Hence, I don't know if it gets my point across or even makes sense.)
Wild Food
I am the edible plants growing wild in the fields, nettle, sorrel, patches of dark green wild garlic.
Or I yearn to be.
Trapped in crates, on shelves, in aisles, there is only the ancient memory of foraging.
Apples, berries, chickweed, dandelion. Burdock, plantain, citrus, aloe vera.
A bounty of reds and greens. Orange, blue and purple.
I dream of woodlands and flourishing fungi. Charcoal Burner, Penny Bun, Lion’s Mane. Jelly Ears, Slippery Jack, Hen of the Woods.
And too of nuts. Almonds, Beechnuts, Walnuts. Butternuts, Chestnuts, Hazelnuts.
A forest garden versus the monotony of monoculture.
When did wild become a pejorative? An antonym of civilized? Savage, dirty, scary, unholy. Backwards. A hindrance to progression?
When did wild become something other than just a normal way of life?