AN ELEGY FOR CHARLIE HEBDO

Charlie Hebdo on Paris Match

(This was written just after the killings at Charlie Hebdo January 7, 2015 )

The fractured and widely dispersed movers and shakers of the Jihad ( جهاد‎ ǧihād [dʒiˈhæːd]) must be feeling pleased with themselves. Across the Muslim world, the Western inspired revolts have all but been put down and all but Tunisia are back to business as usual. The latest news on that front is that Libya’s politicos have rolled back the ban on their colleagues who worked for Gadhafi. Two Islamic nascent states are forming, one in northern Iraq/eastern Syria, ISIS land, and the other in north Nigeria, Boko Haram land. The Jihad Illuminati have kept up a media blitz on the infidels starting in December in Sydney, then the beheading of journalists foolish enough to put themselves into the grasp of ISIS, and most recently the execution of the pudgy Cabu and his fellow blasphemers at the offices of Charlie Hebdo. This last attack was to them a triumph; those cartoons of the Prophet needled even the most progressive Westernized Muslims who understood, if not agreed with, the justification of the killers. Muslim condemnations distinguish between the act and the provocation, something lost on the rioters in Pakistan and Nigeria, and the newly minted Jihad Joes and Jihad Jills now on their way to Northern Iraq to fight for Islam. Undoubtedly there are more martyrdoms in the pipeline. They are wildly cost effective: for the price of a decent party to Atlanta you can get front page billing for days on end.

And such parties do happen. I was told of such a flight from Jeddah, Saudi Arabia which carried a party of young Saudi men to Atlanta for R&R. Once the airplane was airborne and the beers had been opened, my friend and the party organizer was shocked by the demands from the party goers for prostitutes and cocaine when they arrived in the USA. The behavior of these young Saudis was an interesting comment on the prevailing values in their country which according to its rulers is run under Sharia law. Indeed, there are several countries which are under Sharia law, such as Iran and the Gulf states, yet neither of the brothers Kouachi were killing for Saudi Arabia or any other Islamic state. They were killing for the once and future caliphate.

The Golden Age

By José Luis Filpo Cabana (Own work) [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html) or CC BY 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

By José Luis Filpo Cabana

Islam as a religion and as a political organization exploded out of Arabia during the Rashidun Caliphate (Arabic: الخلافة الراشدة‎ al-Khilāfati r-Rāshidah) which lasted the thirty years foretold by the Prophet from 632 – 661 CE. The Jihad swept through Egypt, defeating the Byzantine emperor, and Iran, deposing Sassanid rule. The last three caliphs – Umar, Uthman and Ali – were all murdered, which closed that succession and led to the split between Sunni Moslems and Shi’a Moslems. For over a thousand years, Islam dominated the Middle East. There were a few upsets. The Franks established a brief (88 years) Kingdom of Jerusalem (which is wonderfully depicted in Kingdom of Heaven) followed by a toe hold at the port of Acre which lasted another 99 years. Far more serious were the Mongols who married ruthless military efficiency with a contempt for settled ways of life. The destruction they caused has only been exceeded by World War II and the 96-year long war of the Three Kingdoms in China. Inevitably, the vast Mongol empire succumbed to dynastic squabbles, and the western branches of Genghis Khan’s dynasty converted to Islam. A cadet of one of these branches, Babur, after many attempts, conquered northern India, establishing the Mughal Empire.

The Mughals were deposed by people from a smallish island on the other side of Europe: the British. The 19th and early 20th century were the glory days of European imperialism. European nations carved up the world into colonies and protectorates which included, after World War I, the Middle East. World War II closed that era and the former colonies in the Middle East became dictatorships or kingdoms with one exception. The survivors of the Holocaust migrated to reclaim their homeland in the newly formed Israel.

Palestine

Dome of the rock by By Rastaman3000

Dome of the rock, Jerusalem, by By Rastaman3000

There was an Arab population living in the then Palestine. Many Palestinians were evicted to make way for the refugees from Europe, who were followed by more from the Soviet Union. Twice, the neighboring Arab states attacked Israel, and twice they were roundly defeated. The simmering discontent of Palestinians and the impotence of the Arab ruling class morphed into the PLO as a terrorist organization led by Yasser Arafat. They targeted passenger jets, in particular the Israeli airline El Al. Of course, when in due time the PLO came to power, they proved themselves corrupt and incompetent, and where replaced by the more austere Hamas.

World War II left Europe greatly impoverished with large swathes of wasteland. The British simply resigned to their fate as America’s poodle and quickly let go its colonies. Indian Independence partitioned the subcontinent into Pakistan and India, and was greeted with an orgy of violence, ‘the first to display elements of “ethnic cleansing,” in modern parlance.’ France attempted to retain some of its colonies but was quickly kicked out by their independence movements.

The corner shop

Yasser Arafat, leader of the PLO

Yasser Arafat, leader of the PLO

The lackluster economic performance of the former colonies meant that many of their citizens looked for homes and work in their former European masters. Those from the Indian subcontinent chose Britain. I recall watching a passenger dressed in a sari and newly embarked from an Air India 747, looking out through an entrance door way to Birmingham airport at the rain and a chilly English November evening.  Those from the southern coast of the Mediterranean or Maghreb choose France. The family of my elegant French teacher in Oxford was originally from Morocco.  This, on the whole, was a good thing. Nowadays, British high streets always have an Indian restaurant. The late-night corner shops in Britain are run by Indian families and in France such shops are called an Arab as their owners are mainly from the Maghreb. Multicultural Europe is a more interesting place. The east end of London, the traditional part of London for immigrants to settle, now has a Little India, a road lined with Indian restaurants just like China Town. I recall standing on Shadwell Station, on the Docklands Light Railway and close by, smelling all the curries being cooked in the tenements below. Once upon a time that smell would have been boiled cabbage. A very good friend hails from the area and is now a very successful computer consultant with a lovely family, and now lives in Holland.

Prophets and profits

Yet would these events by themselves have led to the massacre in Reims? We need to look to the more austere brothers of those party goers to Atlanta. At the end of WWII, the world was being divided into American and Soviet spheres of influence. FDR and Harry Truman co-opted Saudi Arabia into the American one, with a mutual defense agreement which included a permanent U.S. Military Training Mission in the Saudi kingdom. This agreement was cemented with oil, extracted by ARAMCO (formerly the Arabian-American Oil Company) which is based in Dhahran. The Suez crisis in 1956 demonstrated the US hegemony to the other Gulf States. The Saudi Arabian US oil connection explains the bizarre fact that George H. W. Bush, former US President and father of the then incumbent, and Shafiq bin-Laden, the brother of Osama bin-Laden, were  the honored guests at a Carlyle Group meeting on September 10, 2001, in New York, New York. The Bushes had bin-Laden priority shipped out of New York to avoid any unpleasantness.

To Moslems, Saudi Arabia is sacred. The Prophet had his visions near Mecca. The holiest book, the Quran was first written down in Mecca. Moslems pray towards Mecca, and are enjoined to travel once in their life there and process around the Ka’aba (Arabic: الكعبة‎‎ al-Kaʿbah IPA: [ælˈkæʕbɐ], “The Cube”), a journey known as the Hajj. To some Saudi baby boomers, their country’s role as custodian of the sacred sites and its spiritual preeminence didn’t square well with the conspicuous corrupting opulence available to some and the integral presence of Americans who also supported the archenemy Israel. Luckily for King Faisal, then the Saudi law giver, there was a simple solution: encourage them to leave and make trouble for someone else. Many young Saudi men left to join the Mujahedeen fighting the godless communists in Afghanistan. They kept their trust funds and got presents, like Stinger surface-to-air missiles which were good at bringing down Soviet helicopters.

War in the Gulf, part 1

Tout est Pardonne

Tout est Pardonne

So, when in 1990 Saddam Hussein’s army marched into Kuwait and threatened to continue on down to Dhahran and then other Gulf States, King Fahad, who had succeeded Faisal, called on the US to honor their agreement to protect his kingdom and their joint assets, much to the disgust of the Saudi Mujahedeen. The Americans, with a sizeable following of other states and a new generation of weapons much more suited to the open desert than the Vietnamese jungle, quickly defeated the Iraqi army. It did not finish the job because the Iraqi regime were clients of the Soviets who black-balled that encroachment into their sphere of influence.

The 1990s were a golden age for America. The Soviets retreated from Afghanistan. The Iron Curtain cracked and then collapsed, followed in short order by the collapse of Communism in the Soviet Union. The other great Communist power, China, spooked by how quickly and easily the Soviets lost power, reformed just enough to encourage much of world manufacturing to relocate to its shores. Apartheid ended in South Africa and the promised blood bath was avoided by the genial leadership of Nelson Mandela. Academics wrote of the “End of History”.

Fujiyama’s end of history was an anathema to the Saudi Mujahedeen, now living in Afghanistan and another failed state, Sudan. The Prophet had prophesized that ‘towards the end times, the Rightly Guided Caliphate will be restored once again.’ Muslims would win. To defeat the Soviets the Saudis had teamed up with a group called the Taliban, a creature of the Pakistani Secret Service. These victors concluded that it was they who had defeated the Soviets and they could do the same to the Infidel Americans. They called themselves Al-Qaeda.

Al-Qaeda

After one failed attempt to destroy the Twin Towers, the result was 9/11. Although this pleased the Palestinians, it did not result in the Jihad that Osama bin-Laden and his cronies wanted. The Saudis were evicted from Afghanistan, to the pleasure of the locals. The US President took the opportunity to settle the Iraq issue: to evict the troublesome Saddam and install an Iraqi version of ARAMCO.

Both US military expeditions ran into problems. The brief stabilization of Iraq due to the Surge of US troops and the fostering of the Awakening of Iraq allowed just enough time for the US military to officially withdrawal leaving Nouri al-Maliki as Prime Minister. Al-Maliki is a Shi’a and beholden to the Shi’a community which dominates Southern Iraq. It didn’t take long for him to alienate the Sunnis in North Iraq which elements of al-Qaeda exploited to create ISIS. The mountainous terrain of Afghanistan gave US forces the same grief as it did to the Soviets. So too did Afghani politics. The US Military has grown quiet on their operation as the Taliban wait and rest up in the safety provided by the Pakistani Secret Service.  After all, Bin-Laden was caught and killed in Abbottabad, Pakistan’s Sandhurst or West Point, and, apparently, no one in Pakistan knew he was there? For more about Pakistan’s Secret Service read ‘Ghost Wars’ by Stephen Coll and ‘The Wrong Enemy’ by Carlotta Gall.

The current actions of the Jihadists, of which al-Qaeda is but part, should be considered considering the very limited response to 9/11 by main stream Moslems. The Jihadist leadership concluded that the reason that there was no Jihad in 2001 was because they did not have a territorial platform. This they have now acquired. The ISIS leader Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi has declared his country a Caliphate and himself Caliph. He is currently picking a fight with Jordan, the weakest of their neighbors. If ISIS can draw that kingdom into a civil war, it would give them access to an Israel border, and an opportunity to take the Jihad to a new level with an attack on Israel to reclaim Jerusalem and evict the Jews. The ultimate prize is to depose their fathers and grandfathers and to establish their version of Sharia law in Saudi Arabia and reclaim the holy sites of Mecca and Medina from those apostates who sold their birthright to infidels and who deserve a fiery death.

Back in the USA

President Bush gave a Texan response to the events of 9/11: “We will find those who did this, we will smoke them out of their holes, we will get them running, and we will bring them to justice.” The US military quickly defeated their enemies in open battle and offered a vision of a prosperous, peaceful, progressive country. Instead the newly liberated peoples of Iraq and Afghanistan refused to step up to the plate, knuckle down, and do the right thing. Many Americans think those military interventions were well meant but they were a waste of time and cost too much in American blood and in American cash. Their high purpose announced at the UN is dead.

“For too long, many nations, including my own, tolerated, even excused, oppression in the Middle East in the name of stability. Oppression became common, but stability never arrived. We must take a different approach. We must help the reformers of the Middle East as they work for freedom, and strive to build a community of peaceful, democratic nations.”

President G. W. Bush

The fearless American Press

Steve Emerson - Terrorism Expert for Fox

Steve Emerson – Terrorism Expert for Fox

I’ve spoken with American coworkers and fellow dog walkers about the Charlie Hebdo killings and was stunned to find that at least half of them had not heard of it. That’s not surprising. ABC’s World News program regularly has no stories from outside of the continental USA. Fox News’s expert on Islam is – incredibly – the patriarch of the Duck Dynasty, Phil Roberson.

Another Fox pundit, Steven Emerson, said that Birmingham, UK, is an autonomous Moslem enclave closed to infidels and Moslem religious police are active in London.  He was corrected by the British Prime Minster and made time to apologize for being totally and stupidly wrong. Emerson is still on Fox.

Obama administration joined European leaders marching in support of “Je Suis Charlie”. Luckily, late night talk shows have a better handle on events.

The Super Bowl

Jeep Ad at the Super Bowl 2015

Jeep Ad at the Super Bowl 2015

This Arab thing event impacted important things like the Super Bowl 2015, when Jeep had the bad taste to include a cute girl wearing a traditional headscarf. Folks put them right.

Response to the Jeep Ad

Response to the Jeep Ad

Multicultural Europe

Multicultural Europe and an enlarged EU are considered a triumph by the bureaucrats who run the EU and the governments which drive it. The native and immigrant populations are not so sure. The bureaucrats naturally prefer a command economy and continue making the same mistakes as the Soviets. High taxation – income tax alone is 50% in France – and a plethora of regulation snuffs out innovation in all but the biggest enterprises so the wealth of Europe is gradually draining away to the USA and China. When I was in France last year I struck up a conversation with a lovely young woman in the Metro so I could practice speaking French. She told me that she wishes to move to the USA to enjoy a better life. Her friends do too. The economy of continental Europe is stagnant and unemployment endemically high. It is no wonder that the current French President François Hollande is the most unpopular president ever.

Economic strife polarizes societies. In France immigrant communities dominate the banlieue, the suburbs of Paris and other cities. Unemployment runs to 40%, drug trafficking is popular, and it is a happy hunting ground for the radicalizing imams sent to harvest Jihad Joes and Jihad Jills.

Eighty virgins?

Nasr al-Ansi

Nasr al-Ansi

So how does the Jihad recruit? According to the neighbor of Said Ibrahim, one of the 21 July 2005 London bombers, Ibrahim was expecting his 80 virgins when he went to paradise. Quite how the recruiting sergeants keep a straight face when proselytizing with such transparently adolescent fantasies is quite beyond me. It is medieval just like the chant of those early Europeans on the 1st Crusade: “Dieu le veult” (God wills it), which is something no European has said recently. How did the poor boy get such spammy notions? And where?

ISIS recruiters seem to be numerous and relentless users of social media, although if Scotland Yard’s report of the three girls who chose to travel to Turkey and perhaps join ISIS is mostly correct then the recruiting sergeants seem to have the run of mosques and safe houses across Europe.

Where do the recruiters get the money? On the whole recruiting in Europe and the US is a sideshow, organized it seems from Yemen, an old stamping ground of Al Qaeda. The Charlie Hebdo attacks were claimed by Nasr al-Ansi, described as ‘a top commander of al-Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula’ but in reality, is a sheepish, paunchy bureaucrat. He is Yemeni but his patch includes Saudi Arabia.

Native European communities naturally feel threatened. The Pegida movement in Leipzig in former East Germany complains about the effects of immigration. A mother at one of their rallies did not want her blond daughter to feel an alien in her home town. The English Defence League has produced a film which includes a young English white woman talking with a bukkah clad protestor; the protestor accused the English woman of being dressed like a tart. Such misgivings are dismissed by media and government alike as racist, uneducated and dumb.

Cultural Differences

In 2010, Zafran Ramzan, Razwan Razaq, and three others were found guilty of having sex with minors, and where put on the sex offenders register. The judge had no doubts as to what kind of men they were:  “the message must go out loud and clear that our society will not tolerate sexual predators preying on children.”

In September 2012, articles in The Times, a prestigious London newspaper, reported on “a problem with networks of Asian offenders both locally and nationally” which was “particularly stressed in Sheffield and even more so in Rotherham, where there appears to be a significant problem with networks of Asian males exploiting young white females.” This quote was taken from a 2010 report by the police intelligence bureau.

The official reaction to The Times’ articles from the South Yorkshire Police was: “The Times was wrong and that to suggest the police was deliberately withholding information was “a gross distortion and unfair on the teams of dedicated specialists working to tackle the problem.”

“In October 2012, the Home Affairs Select Committee [a key component of governmental oversight] criticised South Yorkshire’s chief constable, David Crompton, and one of its senior officers, Philip Etheridge, for their handling of child sex abuse. The committee heard evidence that three members of a family connected with the abuse of 61 girls were not convicted, and an unconvicted 22-year-old man was found in a car with a 12-year-old girl with indecent images of her on his phone. David Crompton said that “ethnic origin” was not a factor in deciding whether to charge suspects. The committee said that they were very concerned, as was the public

In January 2013, the head of Rotherham Council, Martin Kimber, was summoned to the select committee to explain the lack of arrests for sexual abuse, despite South Yorkshire Police saying it was conducting several investigations and the council having identified 58 young girls at risk. MP Keith Vaz questioned why, after five Asian men were jailed in 2010, more was not being done: “In Lancashire there were 100 prosecutions the year before last, in South Yorkshire there were no prosecutions”. The council apologised for the “systemic failure” that had “let down” the victims of child sexual abuse.

Although there had been three previous inquiries – in 2002, 2003 and 2006 , the one commissioned by Rotherham Council in November 2013 and headed by Professor Alexis Jay was comprehensive and damning.

It found that girls “were raped by multiple perpetrators, trafficked to other towns and cities in the north of England, abducted, beaten and intimidated.”

Some “children who had been doused in petrol and threatened with being set alight, threatened with guns, made to witness violent rapes and threatened they would be next if they told anyone.”

The report concludes: “No one knows the true scale of the child sexual exploitation (CSE) in Rotherham over the years. Our conservative estimate is that approximately 1,400 children were sexually exploited over the full inquiry period, from 1997 to 2013.”

During the period of the cover up the official attitude might be summarized by the experience of one whistle blower: … she had been accused of being insensitive when she told one official that most of the perpetrators were from Rotherham’s Pakistani community. A female colleague talked to her about the incident. “She said you must never refer to that again – you must never refer to Asian men.” “And her other response was to book me on a two-day ethnicity and diversity course to raise my awareness of ethnic issues.”

Oh, the irony

Charlie and Houellebecq

Charlie and Houellebecq

When the gun men burst into the offices of Charlie Hebdo, that week’s cover of Charlie was of a French author, Michael Houellebecq. The cartoon mocked Houellebecq for being old and poked fun at his book published that very day called Soumission. This book thanks in part to Al Qaeda is now a best seller.

‘Narrated by a middle-aged academic, Soumission sees Houellebecq imagine France in 2022, where Front National Leader Marine Le Pen is beaten by the leader of France’s new Islamic party, Mohammed Ben Abbes. Once Abbes is president, women go veiled in the street, and schools adopt an Islamic curriculum.

The work’s themes have been described as controversial – “France is not Houellebecq. It’s not intolerance, hatred and fear,” French prime minister Manuel Valls, told reporters – and Houellebecq’s publisher in France was placed under police protection in the wake of the attacks on Charlie Hebdo, with the novelist stopping promotion of the new book.

A caricature of Houellebecq featured on the cover of last week’s issue of Charlie Hebdo, published before Wednesday’s attack; it’s “not bad”, the novelist told an interviewer on Le Grand Journal that week, adding “Cabu [the late cartoonist] often did me – he was often funny”.’ Reaction in France to the Charlie Hebdo killings neatly divided native and immigrant communities. A million Parisians marched and waved pencils. Jean-Marie Rouart of L’Acedemie Française thundered in Paris Match, “C’est Voltaire qu’on assasine”. The reaction in the banlieue was mute.

French newspapers reported that some students in these neighborhoods—as well as other heavily Muslim areas near cities like Lille—refused to participate in Thursday’s national moment of silence for the victims of the terror attacks. One teacher said up to 80 percent of his students didn’t want to observe the silence, and some said they supported the attackers. “You reap what you sow,” a student who refused the moment of silence told his teacher about the terrorists’ victims, according to Le Figaro.

Ominously, there is talk of another Jewish conspiracy.

Mehdi Boular, 24, who said he was married with two children, and two of his friends, did not attend Sunday’s rally.

“We’re Muslims,” Boular said. “They might have killed us if we’d gone.”

But even though the flags of Algeria, Morocco, and Tunisia were flying at the rally in Place de la République and Muslims were well represented among the marchers Sunday, Boular said the attacks in Paris were part of a plot masterminded by Jewish conspirators.

“The Kalashnikovs, the identity cards the [killers] supposedly left behind, it was all staged,” said Boular, as his friends nodded in agreement. “It was a conspiracy designed by the Jews to make Muslims look bad. We’d rather just stay where we are.”

The reaction of Hollande and his fellow bureaucrats, is predictably unimaginative: they issued a strongly worded statement – this time in the form of an infographic, and hoped that it will all go away. Good luck with that.

Omnivore’s Dilemma: Polyface Paradise

Joel_Salatin_and_hen by By nick v from washington dc (Joel Salatin) [CC BY-SA 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

The second part of Michael Pollan’s book Omnivore’s Dilemma, which is about Big Organic, starts with Pollan in a field looking at grass. After this quick intro, we are quickly whisked away to Organic Land, where liveth Whole Foods, Cascadian Farm and Petaluma Poultry. The term “organic” according to the US Department of Agriculture is “a marketing tool. It is not a statement about food safety. Nor is ‘organic’ a value judgment about nutrition or quality.” To this anodyne bureaucratese, I’m sure Pollan and Joel Saladin would agree. Joel Saladin, a self-described “Christian-conservative-libertarian-environmentalist-lunatic farmer”, is owner of Polyface Farm and Pollan’s Virgil in the Land of the Locotarians. After the Supermarket Pastoral tour, we’re back in a Polyface field in a chapter entitled Grass: Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Pasture.

Monday

As the son of “one of the great indoorsmen”, Pollan has to wonder “how much do you really see when you look at a patch of grass?” Green? monotonous? Something which reminds “us of our existential puniness”? Lying prone, the good Professor is given the introductory lecture in Grass Farmer: 101. First point. Underline. You may not know anything about grass, but a cow does. It’s dinner, and breakfast – the day job.

“She sees, out of the corner of her eye, this nice tuft of white clover, the emerald-green one over there with the heart-shaped leaves, or, up ahead, that grassy spray of bluish fescue tightly cinched at ground level. These two entities are as different in her mind as vanilla ice cream is from cauliflower. two dishes you would never conflate just because they both happen to be white. The cow opens her meaty wet lips, curls her tongue …”

salad-bar-beef

salad-bar-beef

“Joel calls his pastures the salad bar …”, and now the Second Point. Underline. The Law Of The Second Bite”. Plants do energy economics. After a herbivore’s munch, the cropped grass plants will sulk for a couple of days, and then stage a comeback in a “blaze of growth”. Note all the anthropomorphizing comes from your author, not Pollan, not Salatin. Joel showed Pollan this blaze when he “ pulled a single blade of orchard grass, showing me exactly where· a cow had sheared it the week before, …”, which had “a kind of timeline, sharply demarcated between the dark growth, predating the bite, and the bright green blade coming after it.” Joel can even do a graph for you: “The important thing to know about any grass is that its growth follows a sigmoid, or S, curve …”.

To be a good grass farmer is to exploit this grassy behavior. and being an Old Testament kind of guy, Joel has a law to clarify things: The Law Of The Second Bite, “never, ever ‘… violate the law of the second bite’”. To do so damages the grass plants and consequently its team of fungi, bacteria, bugs and assorted vertebrates. Cows naturally know this: it’s their wild behavior. Humans unfortunately are prone to taking shortcuts: “If the law of the second bite were actually on the books, most of the world’s ranchers and dairy farmers would be outlaws …”. The downside of being a good grass farmer is it takes work; of the brawny kind and of the brainy kind. “As Florida rancher Bud Adams once told [Pollan], ‘Ranching is a very simple business. The really hard part is keeping it simple.’”

Prof. Pollan then spent an invigorating afternoon tossing hay bales in the barn with Joel’s two twenty-something apprentices. He admits that the “… afternoon had left me bone tired, sore, and itchy all over from pricks of the chaff, so I was mightily relieved when Joel proposed we ride the four-wheeler to the upper pasture where the cows had spent their day”, to see Joel’s “postindustrial enterprise” in action.

Joel carefully monitors and records “the grasses in several dozen paddocks, which range in size from one to five acres, depending on the season and the weather”, which he uses to calculate cow days. A “cow day … is simply the average amount of forage a cow will eat in one day.” It’s not an exact science, “a cow day is a good deal more rubbery than, say the speed of light …” because it has to factor in season and weather for the grass, and the cow’s “size, age, and stage of life: A lactating cow, for example, eats twice as much grass as a dry one.” Joel calls it “management intensive”.

In the upper pasture, eighty or so of Joel’s girls were waiting corralled by portable electric fences. “The fence plays the role of predator in our system, “Joel explained, “keeping the animals mobbed up and making it possible for us to move them every day.” It took the men “no more than fifteen minutes to fence a new paddock next to the old one, drag the watering tub into it, and set up the water line.”

Meanwhile, the “cows that had been lying around roused themselves, and the bolder ones slowly lumbered over in our direction, one of them – “That’s Budger” – stepped right up to nuzzle us like a big cat. Joel’s herd is [a] … somewhat motley crew …” Unsurprisingly, Joel “doesn’t believe in artificial insemination or put much stock in fancy genetics. Instead he picks a new bull from his crop of calves every couple of years, naming him for a celebrated Lothario: Slick Willie had the job for much of the Clinton administration.”

Then, “The moment had arrived. Looking more like a maître d’ than a rancher, Joel opened the gate between the two paddocks, removed his straw hat and swept it grandly in the direction of the fresh salad bar … . After a moment of bovine hesitation, the cows began to move …” “The animals fanned out in the new paddock and lowered their great heads, and the evening air filled with the muffled sounds of smacking lips, tearing grass, and the low snuffling of contented cows.”

Pollan recalled his meeting with his steer, 534, in the C.A.F.O. feedlot: “The difference between the two bovine dining scenes could not have been starker.” Polyface Farm is not just cute, it’s way more efficient by “… as much as four hundred [cow days] per acre; the county average is seventy.” Salatin notes, “In effect we’ve bought a whole new farm for the price of some portable fencing and a lot of management.” It’s ecofriendly as “pastures will, like his woodlots, remove thousands of· pounds of carbon from the atmosphere each year”. When Salatin bought Polyface Farm, it was a “gullied wreck”. Pollan’s chorus voice wonders, “how could it come to pass that a fast-food burger produced from corn and fossil fuel actually costs less than a burger produced from grass and sunlight?” Simply put, by trashing consumers, tax payers, domestic animals, and the planet. Pollan notes: “As I neared the blessed, longed-for end of my first day as a Polyface farmhand I must say I didn’t feel at all the way I normally do after a day spent laboring in the information economy.”

Tuesday

Pollan might be, in his Berkley professor avatar, a runner; anyway he keeps himself fit, which I suspect wasn’t a lot of help keeping up with one tough hombre and his lads who are as fit as Olympians. It must have taken a good deal of resilience to prize himself out of bed, that morning; his reward was another day in paradise.

“As I stumbled up the hill, I was struck by how very beautiful the farm looked in the hazy early light. The thick June grass was silvered with dew, the sequence of bright pastures stepping up the hillside dramatically set off by broad expanses of blackish woods. Birdsong stitched the thick blanket of summer air, pierced now and again by the wood clap of chicken pen doors slamming shut.” Today, Pollan will meet and get to understand, the second shift of the Polyface crew: the chickens.

Chicken Pollock

Chicken Pollock

He made his way up to “two figures – the interns, probably – moving around up on the broad shoulder of the hill to the east, where a phalanx of portable chicken pens formed a checkerboard pattern on the grass. … Directly behind each pen was a perfectly square patch of closely cropped grass resembling a really awful Jackson Pollock painting, thickly spattered with chicken crap in pigments of white, brown, and green.”

The chicken yards move every day, just like the cow pastures. Grass can cope for a day with chicken pecking and “hot” (nitrogenous) chicken poo. The chickens get “fresh grass, along with the worms, grasshoppers, and crickets they peck out of the grass, [which] provides as much as 20 percent of their diet”. The grass and Joel get their fertilizer. How nice you might think, but the chicken poo has another trick up its sleeve.

In the next pasture, was  a Joel invention which Pollan was “eager to watch”: “The Eggmobile”. “It’s, one of Joel s proudest innovations; … a ram-shackle cross between a henhouse and a prairie schooner”, the home of the laying hens. “‘In nature you ll always find birds following herbivores’, Joel explained, when I asked him for the theory behind the Eggmobile. ‘The egret perched on the rhinos nose, the pheasants and turkeys trailing after the bison-that’s a symbiotic relationship we’re trying to imitate.’” He has no need for pesticide; he leaves it up to his “sanitation crew”.

Four days ago, the chicken yard had been cow pasture. It is covered with cow pats, the stuff you can find in the cesspools of a CAFO. One is a toxic waste and the other a valuable resource: difference is that this cow product has been visited by one of the smallest on the Polyface team.

When Ogden Nash dashed out his couplet:

“God in his wisdom made the fly
And then forgot to tell us why.”,

he was speaking as a townie.

It’s all in the timing: “’Three days is ideal. That gives the grubs a chance to fatten up nicely, the way the hens like them, but not quite long enough to hatch into flies.’ The result is prodigious amounts of protein for the hens, the insects supplying as much as a third of their total diet-and making their eggs unusually rich and tasty.”

Opo_Terser_-_Female_Tabanus_Horse_Fly_(by)_By Thomas Shahan [CC BY 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

Female Tabanus Horse Fly By Thomas Shahan

Joel releases “An eager, gossipy procession of Barred Rocks, Rhode Island Reds, and New Hampshire Whites” who attack the cow pats by “doing this frantic backward-stepping break-dance with their claws to scratch apart the caked manure and expos[ing] the meaty morsels within.

“Unfolding before us, I realized, was a most impressive form of alchemy: cowpatties in the process of being transformed into exceptionally tasty eggs.” Joel is characteristically humble with this, one of his quotidian miracles: “I’m just the orchestra conductor, making sure everybody’s in the right place at the right time.” Pollan – and we should be – blown away by it. “Here we come to one of Nature’s wonders and maybe Farmer Salatin’s most productive workers: the blow fly. They do on Earth what Trip Tucker’s recyclers do on The Enterprise. They literally turn shit into chicken.” Had Nash visited his countryside, God would have told him the why of the fly.

After a visit to another “shademobile, called the Gobbledy-Go”, and other bunch of avian pesticides – the turkeys – it’s thankfully lunchtime.

To illustrate another example of the usefulness of cow poo, Pollan recalls for us his first visit to Polyface and the cattle barn. “The barn is an unfancy open-sided structure where the cattle spend three months during the winter …” Joel leaves the cows’ output in situ and scatters straw and wood chipping to soak up the liquid and make a steady floor. “As this layer cake of manure, woodchips, and straw gradually rises beneath the cattle, Joel simply raises the adjustable feed gate from which they get their ration of hay; by winter’s end the bedding, and the cattle can be as much as three feet off the ground. … There’s a secret ingredient, Joel adds to each layer of this cake: a few bucketfuls of corn.

Over the winter, bacteria and fungi go to town on this goo, turning it into prime manure, and fermented corn kernels. The only problem is how to dig it out? Solution: “’… There’s nothing a pig enjoys more than forty proof corn and there’s nothing he’s better equipped to do than root it out with his powerful snout and exquisite sense of smell. I call them my pigaerators,’” Salatin said proudly.”

Pigs in Shit

Pigs in Shit

Salatin let the pigs have at it, and the two sat “on the rail of the wooden paddock, watching the pigs do their thing …” They were “buried clear to their butts in composting manure, a bobbing sea of wriggling hams and corkscrew tails …”. Pollan’s writer’s side is never completely quiet but on this occasion his word smithy got jammed and could only come up with “happy as a pig in shit.”

A factor in the failure of the smooth operation of Pollan’s copy machine, recall he teaches journalism, had something to do with what happens to those “corkscrew tails” in the big wide world of a pig CAFO. Pigs are smarter than many dogs and they comprehend the vile conditions they live in. Piglets get just ten days mother time “(compared with thirteen weeks in the wild)” and then are put on “drug-fortified feed” “because they gain weight faster”. This leads to the “porcine ‘vice’ of tail chew”. The piglets like to chew the tails of other piglets. The other piglets will let them, because they are as unhappy as a pig can get. The gnawed tail frequently becomes infected, and these infections may lead to septicemia and death of the pig. So far, so horrible. Pollan has so far been keeping to the don’t ask, don’t tell understanding a writer has with the great general public on matters concerning growing and raising food.

In the first “Lord Of The Rings” movie, “The Fellowship of the Ring”, Frodo finally makes it to the Last Homely House at Rivendell. Once he has recovered from the fight at Weathertop and a Morgul-blade cut, he spends some quality time with his uncle Frodo , the Hobbit who found The Ring in The Hobbit. Bilbo gives Frodo an Elvish mail shirt made of Elf silver and his Elfish sword, Sting. While Frodo is trying on his new kit, Bilbo wonders whether he might see The Ring just one more time. When he does, for a moment his face switches into a ravening bug-eyed monster. This is Pollan’s bug eye moment.

The way to cure – what a euphemism that is – “the porcine ‘vice’ of tail chewing” is to rip it off, mostly,. “using a pair of pliers and no anesthetic”. The point of the exercise is to make the stub of the remaining tail so sensitive that the piglet has to defend it. It’s all USDA recommended yet “a hog hell … smoothly paved with the logic of industrial efficiency”, for “’a protein machine with flaws’”. It’s enough to make you swear off pork, (which it has).

Wednesday

When you fondle that slab of frozen white meat in a supermarket, stamped chicken, what springs to mind?

I’ll give you a second.

Chickens may not pay taxes directly, but recently someone killed the animal whose remains you are clutching. Pollan has the same problem.

“Today promised not to be about the ecstasy of life on a farm. Today was the day we were ‘processing’ broilers or, to abandon euphemism, killing chickens.” Pollan “managed to get up right on time-5:30 A.M., to be exact and to make my way to the broilers pasture ”where he would assist the interns in “catching and crating the three hundred we planned to process immediately after breakfast.”

Chicken Wrangling for Professors

Using a big plywood paddle, apprentice Daniel secured a bird, and grabs “a flapping bird by one leg and flipped it upside down, which seemed to settle it. Then, in a deft, and practiced move, he switches the dangling bird from his right hand to his left”. Once he has five in his left hand they are stuffed into a crate, apparently no worse for the experience.

“’Your turn’, Daniel said, nodding toward the cornered mass of feathers remaining in the pen. To me, the way he‘d grabbed and flipped the chickens seemed unduly rough, their pencil legs so fragile-looking, Yet when I tried to coddle the birds as I grabbed them, they flapped around even more violently, until I was forced to let go. This wasn’t going to work.” He ended up copying Daniel, gathering the birds into “a giant, white pom-pom” and stuffing them  into carry crates. His judgement on this initial part of the experience is “I could see why doing it as fast and as surely as possible was best for all concerned.”

Joel slaughters the birds on the farm “and would slaughter his beeves and hogs here too if only the government would let him.” His dictum on the subject: “’The way I produce a chicken is an extension of my worldview.’” The birds are killed in “a sort of outdoor kitchen on a concrete slab, protected from (some of) the elements by a sheet-metal roof perched on locust posts. Arranged in an orderly horseshoe along the edge are stainless steel sinks and counters, a scalding tank, a feather-plucking machine, and a brace of metal cones to hold the birds upside down while they re being killed and bled out.”

The arrangement affords Joel a deal of satisfaction. “’When the USDA sees what we’re doing here they get weak in the knees,’ Joel said with a chuckle.” The USDA slaughter house manual assumes walls, the one on Polyface Farm doesn’t have any. Joel’s rejoinder to any “USDA inspector conniptions” about this “plein-air abattoir” is “the best disinfectant in the world is fresh air and sunshine. Well, that really gets them scratching their heads!”

The true irony here is although “Polyface can prove its chickens have much lower bacteria counts than supermarket chickens (Salatin’s had them both tested by an independent lab)”, and those lower counts presumably translate into lower human exposure to the bad ones, the USDA regs. don’t care. This is possibly because: “That would require the USDA to recall meat from packers who failed to meet the standards, something the USDA, incredibly, lacks the authority to do”. If you think that’s a tad wrong, Pollan relates a full blown Saladin exposition on the subject. “It was a little early in the day for a full-blown prairie populist stem-winder, but clearly I was going to get one anyway.” Perhaps that was Joel’s way of encouraging Pollan on the next part of his adventure.

He joined the killing crew dispatching the birds, carefully and efficiently. He wondered “Could they smell the blood on Daniel’s hands? Recognize the knife? I have no idea. but the waiting birds did not seem panicked, and I took solace in their seeming obliviousness.” He dispatched birds himself, and saw once the birds “came out of the scalder [they looked] very dead and soaked – floppy wet rags with beaks and feet.” Yet there was still majesty in death: “The viscera were unexpectedly beautiful, glistening in a whole palette of slightly electric colors, from the steely blue striations of the heart muscle to the sleek milk chocolate liver to the dull mustard of the gallbladder”. The experience clearly moved Pollan who concluded; “In a way, the most morally troubling thing about killing chickens is that after a while it is no longer morally troubling.”

Saladin, and maybe Pollan, clearly think that the Polyface way is better than either Agrobusiness or Big Organic. They are many who agree with Saladin in principle: José Bové, Roquefort farmer, M.E.P. and McDonalds demolisher, or Carlo Petrini, founder of Slow Food, or “Sally Fallon, the “nutrition expert and cookbook author” of the Weston Price Foundation or the folks at Eatwild.com, or Joel’s numerous fans among the chefs of Charlottesville, or the discriminating citizens who pay “a premium over supermarket prices for Polyface food, and in many cases driving more than an hour over a daunting (though gorgeous) tangle of county roads to get to it.” The direct Polyface customers are: ”a remarkably diverse group of people: a schoolteacher. several retirees. a young mom with her tow-headed twins, a mechanic, an opera singer, a furniture maker, a woman who worked in a metal fabrication plant in Staunton. … no one would ever mistake these people for the well-heeled urban foodies generally thought to be the market for organic or artisanal food. There was plenty of polyester in this crowd and a lot more Chevrolets than Volvos in the parking lot.“

When I first read Omnivore’s Dilemma, wifey and I were exploring the little towns around Austin. When we discovered Round Rock and ROUND ROCK DONUTS, that was a good day. Many of those little towns were charming but neglected; the town squares lined with deep, cool emporia. I could see, come the apocalypse, a group of Saladin acolytes buying the broken land around one such, and establishing a Free State of Joel.

The historic jail at Gonzalez comes with a gallows for dispatching ne’er-do-wells, with the side benefit of educating the drunk tank or parties of misdemeanoring teenagers. 3D print shops could make any piece of modernity you could wish for, including droids, drones and Ironman suits for kitting out a militia. Power would come from the sun. Everything would be locally grown or locally made. Perhaps half of the land might be rewilded, becoming home to traditional Native American ways of life.

That Agrobusiness will end is in no doubt, although it would be nice if it were done with care and compassion, which is unlikely with the myopic Mammon worshippers currently in charge.

A patchwork quilt of Free States of Joel would be as troubled as current times. America has a tradition of marriages between religion and greed, which dates back to the Salem witch trials. On the small screen it is exemplified by Jimmy Baker, who is still, amazingly, in business. In addition, this vast country hides a host of fundementalist backwaters, a few of which are ruled by perverts like Warren Jeffs.

The main problem with a Polyface solution to human nutrition is: What to do with cities? Joel is not interested. Cities are essential to any growing culture. They provide relative safety for the outliers of human diversity. The concentration of humanity promotes complexity, exploration of cultural traditions, and a welcome to new ideas.

The current situation is clearly nuts. Let’s get to work and fix it.

 

Simply Wicked: The story of the Protocols of the Elders of Zion

The Jewish Cemetery, Prague

Last week I came across a remarkable book called The Plot: The Secret story of The Protocols of the Elders of Zion written by Will Eisner. Will was a great cartoonist, so this book is a cartoon, but with a deadly purpose: the history of a little number about ‘The Jews’.

Napoleon_III (Wikimedia Commons)

Napoleon_III (Wikimedia Commons)

To begin with, we are introduced to Napoleon the Third, grandson of Bonaparte and incompetent tyrant. His misrule inspired a satire, “The Dialogue between Machiavelli and Montesquieu”, by Maurice Joly. Machiavelli, byword for self-interested government, wrote “The Prince”, a book in which he asks the question, “Is it better for a prince to be loved or feared?” Machiavelli’s answer is feared, something that Napoleon III, along with lots of others, took note of.

The story shifts to pre-World-War-I Russia and the twit of a tsar, Nicholas II. For a time his most trusted adviser was Sergei Yulievich Witte. Witte had dangerously modern views, even entertaining the notion that the blood sport of pogroms might be a bad thing. A couple of characters from the old guard, by the name of Gormykin and Rachkovsky, were scandalized by the man and his corrupting ideas.

Goremykin and Gerard by Repin

Goremykin and Gerard by Repin

To deal with the Witte problem, Rachkovsky came up with the idea of a smoking gun with which he could use to malign The Jews and taint Witte, so alienating him from the Tsar. He also knew someone up to the job, a talented propagandist called Mathieu Golovinski. Golovinski had honed his talents faking evidence for Tsar Nicolas’s secret policemen, the Okhrana. Unfortunately for Golovinski, a wave of liberality saw him fired and exiled to Paris.

In Paris, Rachkovsky found him. What Rachkovsky wanted was much bigger than Golovinski’s usual product, but luckily he had read Joly’s book about Napoleon the Third, which he freely plagiarized, creating his mischief-piece: The Protocols.

Apparently, in the Old Jewish Quarter of Prague near the synagogue and its cemetery, the Hidden Hand, the committee of the Elders of Zion, “Three hundred men, each of whom knows all the others”, met to discuss The Great Jewish Master Plan. Although the Hidden Hand had been around in 929BC, they hadn’t had the foresight to try to take over the world yet, and had waited two thousand years of eviction, exile, poverty, massacres, bigotry, and general persecution before getting around to making The Great Jewish Master Plan. Then they had it all written down, printed, and nicely bound.

But “Providence … brought to the light of day these secret Protocols [so] all men may clearly see the hidden personages … at work ‘behind the scenes’ of all the Governments. This revelation entails on all peoples the grave responsibility of examining and revising AU FOND their attitude towards the Race and Nation which boasts of its survival over all Empires.”

(If you think this passage is a tad purple … It is a quote from  https://www.biblebelievers.org/. Really.)

Doctor Sergius Nilus

Doctor Sergius Nilus

Somehow the inattentive Elders had mislaid a copy which was found by a Doctor Sergius Nilus, writer and self-proclaimed mystic. He included it in his apocalyptic book which has the catchy title of The Great within the Small and Antichrist, an Imminent Political Possibility. Notes of an Orthodox Believer. Rachkovsky’s smoking gun was a runaway success: Witte was fired and GormyiKine got his job. The Protocols, this ghoul book has gone on to haunt the nightmares of Europe and then the rest of the world, inspiring the wickedest thoughts and causing the most heartbreaking tragedies, and no matter how many times it has been shown to be a malicious hoax, somehow like Freddy Krueger, Michael Myers, Leatherface and the rest of the slasher movie villains, it has been able to resurrect itself time and time again.

On Wednesday, August 17th, 1921 the prestigious Times of London published “Jewish Peril” Exposed: Historic “Fake” which detailed the Protocols’s provenance and parallels between the Protocols and Joly’s The Dialogue.

In 1920, Henry Ford, the Steve Jobs of his day, bought a small Michigan paper called The Dearborn Independent. From 1920 to 1922, it published a series of articles entitled The International Jew: The World’s Foremost Problem based on the Protocols. In April 1924, Aaron Sapiro, a major figure in the American farmers’ cooperative movement and lawyer, read the thinly veiled attack in Ford’s book. The International Jew accusing him and other prominent Jews of acting as agents in The Great Jewish Conspiracy. Shapiro sued Ford who chose business over principle and had the Jewish activist Louis Marshall, write an apology. Ford closed the Independent in 1927.

Freddy Krueger e Hellraiser by Anigate Cosplay

Freddy Krueger e Hellraiser by Anigate Cosplay

In 1934 the United Jewish Communities sued the Nazi United Front to make the Nazi prove their claim that the protocols were genuine.

“The judge asked both parties to produce an expert on the contents of the Protocols.

The Jewish committee produced a dozen!

The Nazis could not produce any …
So . . . the Nazis simply submitted the name of a clergyman nobody could find.”

In 1964, a subcommittee of the United States Senate published a report on the Protocols describing it as “one of a number of fraudulent documents that peddle the myth of an “International Jewish conspiracy.” The report goes on to back up this damning indictment.

On November 24, 1999, L’Express, a French newspaper reported, that the respected Russian historian Milhail Lepekhine had read the files of the defunct Soviet KGB and proved that the Protocols were written by Golovinski.

So imagine my surprise and dismay when in 2012 a bright charming man from Egypt started rattling on about the Protocols. I pointed out that they are and always were a forgery, but mere facts did not sway him. Even if it was a forgery, like so many before him, he thought that it is the kind of thing that Jews do. You can see where Kafka, who lived in Prague, got his ideas. The Egyptian probably got the idea from a TV serial called “Knight without a Horse” broadcast in Egypt and other Middle Eastern countries which is based on that proverbial bad penny, the Protocols. If you wish to find out more about the real story I recommend Simon Schama’s superb BBC series The Story of the Jews.

You would think that folks who peddle The Protocols would know more about real history and take note that the Protocols carry a curse for those who believe in them.

Nikolaus II (Wikimedia Commons)

Nikolaus II (Wikimedia Commons)

Napoleon the Third, the subject of Joly’s The Dialogue, lost the Franco-Prussian War of 1870 and surrendered. Parisians were much tougher, erecting barricades and defending the city for two months, an event known as the Paris Commune. Napoleon was first captured by the Germans and, as the French did not want him back, went into exile where he died in 1873.

Nicholas II, the target of Rachkovsky’s smoking gun, personally lost World War I for Russia and killed 1.7 million Russians in the process. He was forced to abdicate during the February Revolution in 1917 and was put under house arrest. The October Revolution brought Lenin and the Bolsheviks to power. In the following year, on March 1, 1918, he and his entire family was executed by bullets and rifle butts.

Adolf Hitler, Fuhrer of the Third Reich, dragged Europe into a Second World War, the world’s most deadly war to date, killing an estimated 60 million people. As the transcript of the Wannsee Conference shows he personally instructed Himmler’s goon Reinhard Heydrich to arrange the Final Solution. This has become known as the Holocaust from the Greek ὁλόκαυστος holókaustoshólos, “whole” and kaustós, “burnt”), or the  Shoah  (Hebrew:  השואה,  HaShoah,  “the catastrophe”) which took the lives of 5.93 million Jewish people. Hitler died by drinking a vial of potassium cyanide solution and shooting himself. He was so frightened of the Soviet troops who were about to capture him that he had his remains and that of his wife, Eva Braun, burnt. He is widely considered the most evil human being who ever lived.

Joseph Goebbels, Hitler’s poison dwarf, who used the Protocols as part of the Nazis’s propaganda shot himself and his wife Magda, after she had killed their five children.

Joseph Goebbels bei Empfang

The state of Israel has taken on all its Arab neighbors – twice – and soundly defeated them. At present, in 2015, all Arab countries are either under a ferocious dictatorship or sliding towards becoming failed states ripped apart by civil war and atrocities. Now millions have lost their homes and hundreds are drowning trying to escape across the Mediterranean Sea. The human cost is heartbreaking.

The Synagogue in the Old Jewish Quarter in Prague no longer is home to Jewish prayers on the Sabbath. The graves lie higgledy-piggledy, the stones covered in moss, the ground rucked up like a rumpled satin bedspread. Men have to wear a yarmulke when they go in. Instead of songs and prayers from the Bible there are names written on the walls, when they were born, when they died, hundreds of thousands of them.

 

'Why single out only Muslim women Women covering all around the globe ,in different religions , (& it doesn't mean they are all oppressed , they are happy

‘Why single out only Muslim women Women covering all around the globe ,in different religions , (& it doesn’t mean they are all oppressed , they are happy

 

Cohen Bros. Moments: How Japan met America at the end of the Pacific War

Geisha Makeover at the Katsura Studio,Tokyo by lu_lu

First scene: the Imperial Palace, Tokyo, Japan

In the end it was the Tenno, 天皇 (てんおう), the Son of Heaven, the divinely appointed ruler of Japan, who made the decision. The credo of Budō, the Japanese Way of the Warrior, demanded that a warrior surrender his life whenever his lord needed it. That had been the cornerstone of the Empire’s zeitung, its imperishable spirit of conquest. The Empire’s armies had beaten the British and the French, and ground down the Chinese. Those British had treated the emperor with contempt. That ex-King had mocked him and his impeccable Western clothes, as a “prize monkey”. The news that a British battleship Prince of Wales had been sent to the bottom by Japanese torpedoes, had given the emperor grim satisfaction. That ex-King had been Prince of Wales when he gave such insult. During the siege of Singapore, the British soldiers thought that the Japanese bicycles running on stripped steel rims were tanks, and the civil servant in charge had meekly surrendered what Churchill thought an unsinkable battleship. Unfortunately, all its guns pointed out to sea.

"Budō" shuji, brushed by Kondo Katsuyuki, Menkyo Kaiden, Daito ryu

“Budō” shuji, brushed by Kondo Katsuyuki, Menkyo Kaiden, Daito ryu

Then the Empire had taken on a greater foe. That foe should have fallen apart at that first crushing victory. Its leaders had let the country rot for over ten years, leaving it to gangsters and film starlets to run things. They were a mongrel horde without discipline. But it hadn’t worked out like that. What should have been an easy next battle turned out to be a disaster. Somehow the mongrels knew and were ready. They had conjured aircraft carrier after aircraft carrier from who knows where. Their airmen were ferocious. At least as committed as our warriors who had been given Bushido souls with their mother’s milk. The mongrels never ever gave up, and kept coming on, hit after hit, until we started to lose aircraft carriers, the proud victors of the Battle of Pearl Harbor; first Soryu and then Kaga. We lost four irreplaceable ships and so many men. In the end Admiral Nagumo had to give up. The rout was hidden for a while. The eyewitnesses who might have spread discord, those soldiers and the airmen who had survived were interred. Our propagandists announced a great victory. But that was a lie.

Now the Tenno and his generals were down to just two options. Super weapons had vaporized the downtowns of two medium sized cities, apparently left intact by the Super Fortresses just to see what these weapons could do. And who knew how many more super bombs the enemy had and where they would be used? One thing was for sure, there was nothing that the army, navy or airforce could do to stop them. The slimmest, deluded hope was an agreement signed back in the glory days. The fact that it had been a cynical matter of convenience, at least by the ally who sponsored it, didn’t seem to matter much. He had gone to break the farcically named “non-aggression” treaty with a spectacular invasion, which he had called Barbarossa. The snows of the Steppes and the bloody minded persistence of the Untermensch, had turned it into a hellish rout which had rolled all the way back to his Fuhrerbunker under his chancellery in Berlin. Now he was dead, suiciding not by honorable Seppuku but a quick bullet and glass vial of prussic acid, while around him raged Gotterdammerung , a monstrous parody of Wagner’s tale of the Nordic gods. Hitler’s war had shattered European imperial power forever, at an incalculable cost in resources and some fifty million lives. (There is an excellent film on those last days called “Downfall”. The drawback is that it’s in Deutsche but is nonetheless an absolutely compelling tale.)

Empress Sadako with Prince of Wales in 1922

Empress Sadako with Prince of Wales in 1922

That other Axis ally had always been a flake and was dead too, shot by peasants and his corpse urinated on by their women. Now Uncle Joe, the Tsar in all but name of the Soviet Union, had unequivocally torn up that ‘non-aggression’ agreement by formally declaring war. The Russian army had already beaten the Imperial Army once before, and was now on its way down the Trans-Siberian railway. The great Soviet General Zhukov, who had seen off the Wehrmacht and had commanded that first defeat of Japanese forces in Manchuria, would steamroller the last vestiges of Japanese Imperial might and, if the Soviet Army behaved as it had done in Germany, would fulfill every horror story concocted by our propagandists. The Imperial Army had a lot of hidden skeletons like those tales back in Korea and China.

The options were simple: trust General Anami’s Ketsugō plan, which included arming children with sharpened bamboo sticks, or surrender to the Americans. Hirohito, Divine Son of Heaven, Tenno, chose door number two. The Tenno, divinely appointed ruler of Japan, the pinnacle of Bushido, had decided that he preferred to live and take his chances.

:Namban Attributed to Kano Naizen

:Namban Attributed to Kano Naizen

The Atomic Bombs had been dropped on Hiroshima on August 6th 1945 and Nagasaki on August 9th which was the same day that the Soviet Union declared war on Japan. After trying to get a concession or two the Empire of Japan signaled that it accepted the Potsdam declaration, which demanded total and unconditional surrender. On August 15 the Japanese people heard the Emperor Hirohito’s radio broadcast telling them that they would have “to pave the way for a grand peace for all the generations to come by enduring the unendurable and suffering what is unsufferable”. Few of them understood what was about to happen due mainly to the archaic form of Japanese he used, which was something like FDR or Churchill using Chaucerian English, and in part to the scratchy recording made by NKK and the Emperor’s thin reedy voice. Japan waited for the victors.

Second scene: Flashback

tengu statue by the station by erysimum9

tengu statue by the station by erysimum9

The Japanese do not call themselves Japanese. Their name for themselves is Nihonjin and the name of their country is Nihon (日本), the sun’s origin. Europeans first learned of this country from Marco Polo’s book where he described an island known to the Chinese as Zipangu. Our name Japan was garbled from the original by filtering it through Mandarin and Italian or maybe Cantonese and Dutch. Any which way, one would be hard put to find more dissimilar languages.

Until 1945, Japan had never been successfully invaded, although Genghis Khan had a couple of goes back in 1274 and 1281. They are a homogeneous insular people, courteous and intelligent, and minimalist by necessity and by taste. They also think very highly of themselves.

When in the 16th Century Europeans arrived, the few Japanese who met one were not impressed. Yes, the Europeans brought interesting ideas like muskets which the Japanese readily copied but the men themselves were appalling. They were ketto yabanjin(けっと 野蛮人), dirty hairy beasts just like the goblin tengu 天狗 with huge long noses, enormous penises and venal tastes. During the war, the Imperial propagandists had capitalized on these prejudices. And now these barbarians would have the run of the place.

Third scene: Atsugi Air Base, Japan

Ase o fuku onna by Utamaro

Ase o fuku onna by Utamaro

It wasn’t long before those dreaded Americans arrived. On August 28, 1945, only 13 days after Hirohito’s broadcast American troops arrived at Atsugi Air base, just south of Tokyo, with orders to secure Yokohama for General MacArthur and his staff. The troops formed a convoy of trucks and ventured into enemy territory. They were soon met by a Japanese convoy sent by a new organization set up by the helpful Japanese government called the Recreation and Amusement Association (RAA), and these trucks were carrying Japanese women in elegant kimono, who had “volunteered” to service the horny Yanks. Well, for many of the women sex was their day job anyway. The American officers were shocked and offended, and said so but, no doubt, some of the GIs would have been game. And so began a fascinating bit of human history, replete with every human vice but also much sweetness.

Atsuji wasn’t the only airfield which had to be commandeered. In early September, fifty Marines were sent to secure the air base at Omura near Nagasaki in Northern Kyushu. They too were welcomed by a party of geisha, and finding the base adequately secured, the men, lead by their fearless first sergeant, moved on to commandeer a nearby geisha house which they chose as their billet — while they waited for reinforcements — as it was well supplied with beer, ‘hibachi-grilled fish’ and girls. The doughty first sergeant of MAG-44 commandeering party was 22-year-old Nick Zappetti who already had a colorful history. He had grown up in the Italian enclave of East Harlem on Manhattan, New York. His cousin was Gaetano Luchese aka “Three Finger Brown” and Zappetti knew lots of other guys with nicknames, “Boss of Booze” Joe Rao, “Trigger” Mike Coppola and Joe Stretch whose real name was quite melodramatic enough.

Fourth scene: Hikari wa Shinjuku Yori, Japan

Bob Johnson of Reading, Mass. cordially greets Tamiko San by Okinawa Soba (Rob)

Bob Johnson of Reading, Mass. cordially greets Tamiko San, by Okinawa Soba (Rob)

Japan, of course, had its own wise guys. They called themselves ya-ku-za, the numbers 8-9-3, a term for a losing hand in cards. In other war torn countries black markets had flourished and Japan was no exception. While the Emperor and his cronies mourned, and the people feared the impending hordes of yabanjin, the yakuza reaction to the cessation of hostilities was let the good times roll. Only three days after the Emperor’s speech, they placed an advertisement for a black-market market called charmingly Hikari wa Shinjuku Yori (Shinjuku has more Light) and a couple of days after that the market in Shinjuku opened with supplies which had been destined to support General Anami’s Ketsugō army and then liberated and repurposed by the Yakuza. It was not long before the victors and vanquished were able to make working arrangements about the economic facts of life.

Tokyo was a shanty town of lean-to huts; some folk were even living in bomb craters, and nobody had enough to eat. The point that the government ration was totally inadequate was neatly, if inadvertently, made when a Tokyo District Court Judge who had refused to eat anything bought illegally died of malnutrition. So, despite “not overly successful” attempts to rout out American involvement, the light of Shinjuku AKA the black market boomed. Some eight million dollars worth of remittances were sent back to America, more than “the entire military payroll”. Naturally, the Yakuza claim that they saved the people at the beginning of the post war period.

Fifth scene: Rikidozan in the Ring

Fascinating although this is, it isn’t really Cohen Bros. material. For that we have pro-wrestling. After years of being told how tough the Japanese fighting man was (true) and how victory was inevitable (not so true) the post war Japanese male felt something of a letdown. The depth of such feelings were discovered on the night of February 19, 1954 in a puro-resu bumu held on Tokyo.

In the blue corner representing America were the Sharpe Brothers, Ben (6’ 6”, 240 pounds) and Mike (6’ 6”, 250 pounds). In the red corner representing the Land of the Rising Sun, Home of Sumo were Rikidozan (6’ 2”, 220 pounds) and Kimura (5’ 8”, 170 pounds). A Japanese journalist wrote, “The difference in physical size, especially in Kimura’s case, triggered painful memories among the spectators of Japan’s devastating loss in the Pacific War.” The ring announcer agreed, “Those Americans are huge. How can they possibly lose?”

The American Goliath, Mike Sharpe, climbed into the ring to confront tiny Rikidozan. Then Riki, as he became known, ‘flew into the ring and began pummeling Mike Sharpe with powerful karate blows.’ Mike backed down towards his corner and was quickly worn down by the furious Jap. To escape he tagged his brother. Ben received the same warm welcome. The blitzing attacks of the feisty Riki dazed him; he collapsed and Riki held him down for the count.

Rikidozan in action

Rikidozan in action

The audience went wild, jumping to their feet and throwing cushions, hats and anything else into the air. The crowd of some 20,000 gathered at Shimbashi Metro Station to watch the match on a 27 inch “General” went bananas, stopping traffic outside. Folks who had climbed trees to get better view of another jumbo TV in Ueno Park were so jubilant that they fell from their perches, “incurring serious injury and … ambulances shuttle[d] back and forth …. to the nearest hospital for much of the evening.”

It was estimated that between 10 and 14 million Japanese had watched the show live, and when it was broadcast 24 million, around a third of the population, watched. Riki was now a celebrity adored by millions including the media mogul and owner of NTV Matsutaro Shoriki who said,”Rikidozan, by his pro wrestling in which he sent the big white men flying, has restored pride to the Japanese and given them new courage.”

Alas, it was pro-wrestling and pro-wrestling is not known to be much of an actual contest, and this wasn’t at all. The match had been “scripted, rehearsed, and staged with the full cooperation of the Americans, who had been extremely well compensated for their trouble.” Nick Zappetti realized that was money to be made and was recruited to be a fall guy along with fellow American, one John MacFarland the Third.

Sixth scene: The Imperial Hotel Diamond Incident

MacFarland was not exactly inconspicuous in a nation of shortish, black haired people. He was 6’ 4”, 250 pounds, his red hair was cut into a duckbill, and he went by his wrestling name of “Gorgeous Mac”. As well as being a prize on the pro wrestling league, he had issues. He had been hospitalized for manic depression and treated with insulin shock therapy for his shocking temper. Gorgeous Mac was also in debt and an illegal, as his tourist visa and his passport had expired, so he need a lot of money fast, so he talked with Nick, with his connections and all, how this could be achieved.

Geisha Makeover, by lu_lu, at Katsura Studio in Tokyo.

Geisha Makeover, by lu_lu, at Katsura Studio in Tokyo.

The plan MacFarland came up was a doozy. He wanted to rob the Diamond Shop in the arcade of his swanky hotel. First off, this was some hotel. It was called the Imperial and had been designed by Frank Lloyd Wright, and had survived the great Kanto earthquake in 1927. It was a home-from-home to high-ranking officers from GHQ, senators and Hollywood stars and was ‘generally acknowledged as the Greatest Hotel in Asia.” The plan sounded simple enough. The Diamond Shop offered ‘private showings’ of its merchandise to certain qualified guests. Gorgeous Mac would establish his credentials with a suitcase of cash, which in reality was newspaper with a thin overlay of bills. He would get chummy with the salesman and offer him a drink. The drink would contain ‘knockout drops’, rending MacFarland and the salesman unconscious, Zapetti would emerge from another room and swipe the diamonds. It seemed plausible until Gorgeous Mac said, “I gotta have a gun”.

Zapetti tried to argue him out of his questionable request by pointing out that he was an enormous pro-wrestler and could easily handle any salesman. All Gorgeous Mac would say is “I gotta have a gun”. Zapetti had seen MacFarland totally lose it before, so declined to be part of the venture. He did however provide a .38 revolver which he gave, sans bullets, to one of   Gorgeous Mac groupies. This teenage boy was nicknamed the “Mambo Kid”, “M” for short, on account of  his taste in clothes: ‘black rhinestone-studded Latin clothes and big pompadours’. Should you doubt that Japanese folk love Latin dance you should go to the Asakusa Samba Festival.

So, on “January 15, 1956, at 10:20 AM, Imperial Hotel arcade jeweler Shichiro Masubuchi carried a briefcase filled with . . . diamonds, emeralds, sapphires and rubies to MacFarland’s room.” He was relieved of the case by MacFarland and M who then chose to take the elevator to the main lobby, “where MacFarland agreeably stopped to sign autographs. Then he stood in line for a taxi in front of the hotel …” That evening MacFarland made front page news and had a team of seven detectives “- one for each leg, one for each arm, one man to grab his torso, another for the neck and a detective to snap on the handcuffs on” – on his trail. It didn’t take long to find, and when they caught him he came along quietly. MacFarland got eight months in a Japanese jail for his trouble.

So there you are.

This is but a taste of the wonderful Tokyo Underworld: The Fast Times and Hard Life of an American Gangster. As the wise man said no one could make this stuff up. and Cohen Brothers would have a field day making it into a film.

Featured Image: Geisha Makeover, by lu_lu, at Katsura Studio in Tokyo.

 

 

 

 

Five Stars And Four More Plus Copious Supplies Of Oxford Blue

Stone bull's head rhyton used for libations, from the Little Palace of Knossos (1600-1450 BC), Heraklion Archaeological Museum by Carole Raddato

Almost ten years have passed since that evening; an evening which did not have a good beginning. At the time, I was working at the worst job I’d ever, ever had. It was in a town which I can only describe as a boil on the bum, angry, taut and tender. The job itself was maniacal, a St. Vitus dance on broken glass. The commute was a leprously icky dirge. I arrived home in the city of dreaming spires, feeling gritty dirty and worn, soul torn and rueful. I needed to have some fun.

I had been told that up on Boar’s Hill there was a folly called Jarn’s Mound and I thought, why not go and find it. The mound, the lily covered lake and wild garden are all that remain of Youlbury, the home of Sir Arthur Evans. In the 1920s, he followed the scratches on trifles found in junk trays of the antiquitieres in the Plaka in Athens to a field in Crete and his epoch-making discovery of Minoan palace at Knossos. The Iliad recalls, that from this palace, the heart of the labyrinth, the Bull Masked King Idomeneus lead his eighty black ships to keep fealty with Agamemnon, High King of Mycenae, rich in gold, and made war on Priam and his sons and his city of Troy.

Oxford Christ Church Meadow by Tejvan Pettinger

Oxford Christ Church Meadow by Tejvan Pettinger

After a wonderful shower – I do like Adidas shower stuff – and so, zesty fresh, wearing clean clothes, I unlocked my mountain bike and set offinto the twilight. First across the little wooden bridge into Hinksey Park where, during early autumn, the lido pool exhales grey ghosts. Then on to the pedestrian bridge over the swan pool. On the water, several dozen of the white birds rested in the dusk, like white magnolia blossoms strewn on oil.

As I carried the bicycle up the first flight of steps, descending down towards me was a family on a quest with a question. Had I seen it yet? What was I supposed to have seen? Oh, the great alignment. I vaguely recalled that all five of the planets known to Ptolemy, might be seen that night strung along the ecliptic, and no I hadn’t. Just at that moment, we were engulfed in a flurry of miniscule, cheeping Pipistrelle bats. After pointing out the bats as some kind of consolation, I continued across the bridge, up the second flight across the rust colored railway lines and down into a meadow.

The meager little path on the other side, overgrown but still passable let into a farm lane, where I mounted the trusty bicycle, The lane lend into a small village of South Hinksey which is just a row of flaxen thatched cottages molded out of the honey sandstone of hereabouts and – an Oxford staple here – the lighted windows showing rooms full of graceful living and books. Further on I passed the rather sparse General Grant (I made a mental note to pop in one day) which was followed by a farm yard with the pungent tang of cows’ muck. Then up a wicked little slope onto the A34/Oxford Bypass, round the roundabout and up the hill.

The road up Boar’s Hill has been worn by nature and thousands of years of farming into a kind of  reverse ziggurat; several duple bands scored into the hill side, each band temptingly shallow to begin with followed by a gear stripping, wobbly scramble. I will admit that come the steep bit number three my heart was knocking on 150 bpm so I dismounted to catch my breath. By the time I reached the top, night had finished falling and I was faced with a Y junction: the hill road continuing along an unnamed road stretching to the gloom and another diving off down into the Vale of the White Horse, which by the way does have a white horse, an Iron Age minimalist sketch scored through the turf to the creamy chalk just below.

Northern lights in Iceland seen from f-road 326 during my travel, close to Hekla volcano and Steinsholt guesthouse farm by Moyan Brenn

Northern lights in Iceland seen from f-road 326 during my travel, close to Hekla volcano and Steinsholt guesthouse farm by Moyan Brenn

Without light or a map this was a puzzlement which was quickly fixed by the welcoming lights of the Westwood Country Hotel, a little way down the Abingdon Road. This evening had yet to contain any alcohol which settled it. I padlocked the bike to a trellis and went in. The only beer they had was a lager so I made do with that. The only other residence were a rowdy Russian family. I settled down to read my book: Northern Lights.

This is the first book in the Dark Materials trilogy by Philip Pullman. If you haven’t read it you should. It is the most marvelous tale which starts in Oxford, not this Oxford, but one in another universe. The hero is Lyra, dubbed “Lyra Silver Tongue” by Iorek Byrnison, the rightful king of the snow bears. So I lounged and supped and read those last few pages. I was taken to the snows of Svalbard to join Lyra in the destruction of Bolvangar and stepped with her and Pan through the Northern Lights into our universe. I closed the book with a sigh knowing that I had already bought part 2, The Subtle Knife and could begin again tomorrow. The drink was drained, the bike released and I set off down the hill.

Once over the brow of the hill it dawned on me how dangerous the road down might be. It had no street or house lights and as it was enclosed by a tree canopy it was as dark as dark could be. I did have my itty bitty cycle lights but didn’t imagine that would make a difference to some Beemer late for a date. So I whistled down the hill – no brakes – enjoying the danger and speed,

and I’m please to say no stone turned my wheel and sent me off karooming into a bush. The real danger lay at the bottom at the roundabout: people. Although I was pedaling furiously some plonker chose to tailgate me.

Mad lHatter By Tenniel

Mad lHatter By Tenniel

I narrowly escaped on to the ring road cycle path which was protected by a raised curb. As I cycled along it occurred to be that there was in these parts a remote establishment called The Isis Tavern, and voted unanimously that that to be the next stop. A little further on, the ring road ran over the Thames, known in these parts as the Isis, an odd name which has more to do with the scholars who rendered the Saxon place name Tamese into Tamisis or Tamesis rather than, as I thought for a long time, the queen of the Egyptian gods. As I came up to the bridge I noticed a path down to the bank. This path was a deeply incised cleft into the slippery clay of the embankment and proved a little tricky to negotiate what with a book bag and bicycle but barring a few slips I did it.

I mounted the bike and pedaled away but found the towpath full of mud and pots and holes. It was gloomy yet the moon cast enough light to turn the path into a metal leopard pelt, pockmarked with silver mirrors. I was concentrating on trying to avoid the puddles and a muddy tumble when out of the corner of my eye I saw it. There. there lined up across the sky were all five wandering stars, just as predicted. The ecliptic, the line across the heavens which all the planets follow (except the dwarf planet Pluto), appeared to me to be about 70 degrees to the horizontal, so my five where at a steeper angle than Russell’s amazing photo. So there they were, lined up, ascending at a jaunty angle. a truly amazing sight. Thing is though once you’ve seen them, said to yourself Good gracious, isn’t that remarkable, etcetera, they quickly become uninteresting.

So I remounted and rode into the gloom cast by some tall poplar trees and almost immediately almost ran over some fellow. Now, this being Oxford, what you think were the first words out of his mouth? They were not too surprising: it was the question of the family a couple of hours ago, had I seen it? Yes I had, just follow me. We retraced my steps and I gestured, there they are. Enjoy!

One of my oldest memories, I could only have been four or five, is the smell of a pub: a sweet smell of beer, the warm hearth and conviviality. The Isis Tavern is a Victorian farm house close to the Isis Lock and the (Oxford) Mathematical Bridge. That evening was busy but not crowded. I walked to the bar, ordered a pint of Oxford Blue and asked the assembled drinkers whether anyone had seen the Northern Lights. I got two replies – from the bar folk; the blond Canadian girl had seen them from the northern part of her country and the blond Swedish boy from the northern part of his, both places deep into the Arctic Circle. The liberating effects of the flowery deliciousness of Morrell’s brew, allowed me to strike up a conversation with a fellow patron whose history included being a Buddhist nun.  She was our Alice and I the Mad Hatter, we were joined by a highly inebriated fellow, a builder’s merchant’s clerk, who played Dormouse. He dozed on his barstool but managed to awake whenever the was a drink in the offering.

We drunk till closing time. Then I unpadlocked the bicycle and wheeled it – I was far too gone to attempt to mount the beast – along the muddy towpath to Folly Bridge and home.

Micky in Fantasia from primogif

Micky in Fantasia from primogif

 

The Occult Knowledge Of Ancient Alien Theorists

Around to the Queen Nefertiti by Egisto Sani

Akhenaton was a most unusual looking dude. His statue in the Cairo museum of Antiquities shows a long, equine profile; a pair of flaring nostrils; hooded, mesmeric eyes; a mobile, sensuous mouth and, above all, the high dome of a vast cranium sloping back deep into the Pharaonic crown. The sculpture gives a profound impression of immense power and a clear, deep intelligence for which we have only one word: genius.

Statue of Akhenaten by Les Williams

Statue of Akhenaten by Les Williams

Akhenaton was a revolutionary before his time. He allowed his likeness to be realistic, breaking away from the stylized bombast of Ramses the Great, and leading to a flowering of creativity never before seen. The Mona Lisa of this brief twinkling in human history is the bust of his queen, the timeless, iconic Nefertiti, possibly the most beautiful woman of all time. To the ancients, women were chattels, servants, breeding stock. Most ancient potentates kept many wives and a host of concubines, but Akhenaton had just one, his childhood sweetheart whom he trusted in everything, promoting her his co-ruler.

Together they turned their backs on the dark, incestuous gods of Thebes and Tanis with their sinister magicians and their corrupt, power-hungry priesthood. The Pharaoh and his Consort sort only the light they called the Aten, and whose symbol the Solar Disk lights our world, bringing it warmth and life.

To tear their people away from the old hideous cults and the rank superstition on which those abominations thrived they set out north into the desert and were shown the place by the setting sun. There at Amarna they commanded a city to be built and, miraculously, the vast city of Akhetaten sprung into existence. Scientists still do not know how such an immense project with its innumerable temples, palaces and causeways was achieved in such a short time.

Nefertiti Bust by Philip Pikart

Nefertiti Bust by Philip Pikart

Yet the old priests plotted and planned. Robbed of power, they caused chaos in the kingdom, accusing the Pharaoh of abandoning his people. They may well have had him assassinated using a poisoned fig. Their menacing threats forced Nefertiti, now in fear for her life and the lives of her children, to write to Egypt’s mortal enemy, the Hittites, for help, for a husband. This last desperate attempt foundered when the Hittite prince was murdered in the sands of the Sinai, and Nefertiti disappears from history.

There remains on a temple wall, the Hymn to the Aten, composed by Akhenaton, which some five hundred years before the time of Moses and more than a thousand before the first words of the Pentateuch were committed to writing, is the first monotheistic prayer on earth.

 

“Thou gloriously set thyself up on the borders of the sky
Thou from whom every life was born
When Thou shone from the horizon at the east
Thou filled the land with thy beauty
Thou art beautiful, great, sparkling,
Thou travel above the land Thou hast created
Embracing it with thy rays,
Keeping them tightly for your loving son (Akhenaton).
Although Thou are far away, thy rays are on Earth;
Although Thou hast fill men’s eyes, thy prints are not seen.”

 

K'inich Janaab' Pakal

K’inich Janaab’ Pakal

On the other side of the great Atlantic ocean, remote and unknown in Europe for another three thousand years, were great civilizations which also built pyramids and which also worshipped the Sun God. In the Mayan city of Palenque, within the Temple of Inscriptions is the tomb of the god king, K’inich Janaab’ Pakal. He looks uncannily like Akhenaton. Pakal too had those luminous, mesmeric eyes, a puckered sensuous mouth, and a deep domed head. He too ruled in a time of prosperity and artistic accomplishment. His capital of Palenque also simply appeared, this time in the dense tropical Mesoamerican jungle. Most intriguing of all is the heavy lid of his solid sarcophagus which seems to show him at the controls of a spaceship.

Crystal Skull, British Museum

Crystal Skull, British Museum

Further coincidences abound. The crystal ‘Skull of Doom’, found by Anna Mitchell–Hedges in Lubaantun, Belize, in 1923, has the same elongated cranium, and remarkably the mysterious skull is made of rock crystal, and could not have been carved using any known technology. Ancient Alien Theorists believe that there are other more remarkable artifacts waiting to be discovered in the lush vegetation of Meso or South America. We now know that there was a vast civilization centered on the Amazon apparently spanning the entire continent, which is shown by the geographical location and the sidereal alignments of the figures drawn in the high plains of the Nazca desert. Isn’t it strange that when the decorated explorer Colonel Percival Fawcett was closing in on the mysterious city of “Z”, he just disappeared?

Isn’t it odd that many of modern fiction’s extraterrestrials also have high domed cranium and are frequently without hair? The central character in the epic ‘Star Trek: The Motion Picture’ is the austere Deltan Ilia whose empathic nature and enticing pheromones allow man to make a connection with his most powerful creation. Might this not be some kind of buried unconscious root memory of beings from beyond the stars. Many Ancient Alien Theorists think so. Might not Akhenaten and Pakal be visitors from another world? Or perhaps Star Children, the progeny of gods and men?

No. The mummies of Akhenaton (AKA KV55), his father Amenhotep III, his grandfather Thutmose IV  all reside at the Cairo Museum of Antiquities, and the remains of his son Tutankhamen rests in his tomb in the Valley of the Kings. Thanks to the pioneering work of  Svante Pääbo, who went on to make discoveries concerning Neanderthals and uncovering a hitherto unknown human species, we know they are all have the same human DNA as you or me or Barney McGee.

I could unpick all the false leads, misrepresentation, the number of times I’ve added two plus two to come up with nine but, in our quest to understand the Ancient Alien phenomena, I propose a shortcut. If we have been visited by extraterrestrials they must have come a long way. How long might that be?

So, in human terms what is a long way? From the 18th Century, humans have been traveling faster and farther. There was a time, September 15 1830 actually, when humans, riding behind Stevenson’s Rocket, went from travelling as fast as a galloping horse, to a dizzying 28 mph (45 km/h). Women passengers were warned by eminent medical men that traveling at such speed would do them irreparable harm. All that happened to the ladies, reported the actress Fanny Kemble, was that they enjoyed an exhilarating day, although William Huskisson, the Member of Parliament for Liverpool, managed to fall in front of the steam engine which obligingly made him the first railway fatality. Within twenty years, steam trains where traveling at an astonishing 78 mph (125.6 km/h).

First flight of the Wright Flyer I, December 17, 1903, Orville piloting, Wilbur running at wingtip.

First flight of the Wright Flyer I, December 17, 1903, Orville piloting, Wilbur running at wingtip.

The early 20th century saw another revolution in travel when, on December 17, 1903, Orville Wright briefly was airborne, traveling at a sedate 10.9 km/h (6.8 mph). Within 2 years, a Wright Brothers’ airplane was travelling at 60.2 km/h (37.8 mph). Aircraft have continually become faster and flown higher, the record of 3,529.6 km/h (2,193.2 mph, Mach 2.883) being set by Capt. Eldon W. Joersz and Maj. George T. Morgan on 28 July 1976 in a Lockheed SR-71 Blackbird.

Travelling by aircraft has become commonplace and for a time there were actually commercial supersonic flights. I reckon that the people who travel the furthest are the crews of commercial airlines. A modern jet aircraft travels at around 500 mph. Air crew can only travel 1000 hours per year by international law. So, say a crew member flies for 30 years, they may do around 15 million miles in a lifetime, a distance which is merely interplanetary.

The furthest object made by humans is Voyager 1 launched way back in 1977. After the spacecraft had taken a true voyage of discovery and many wonderful photos, Carl Sagan prevailed on NASA to turn it around and take a picture of us on our planet: our ‘blue dot”. Voyager 1 is now (Christmas 2014) 19,558,664,450 Km (12,153,190,604 miles) from Earth and has traveled at 62,136 km/h (38,610 mph). Is that anything like a long way? For us: yes, for space: not even worth talking about.

So how about the total distance traveled by Americans, all of them, per year? In 2000 there were 190,650,023 Americans with driving licenses. The average distance one drives is 13,476 miles in a year, which means that America as a whole drives 2.5 trillion miles annually. This is more like it. The unit that astronomers use to measure the distance between stars is the light year, which is just under 10 trillion kilometres (or about 6 trillion miles). Our nearest star is the binary star Alpha Centauri which is 4.37 light years from the Sun, or 25 trillion miles. It would take Voyager 1 75,000 years to get there.

Ilia, from Star Trek: The Movie

Ilia, from Star Trek: The Movie

So how can we explain the destabilizing event at the beginning of the film which introduced the world to Ilia, Star Trek: The Motion Picture. The rather ponderous plot opens with a vast, unknown entity which we later are informed is called V’ger, zapping a couple of Klingon K’t’inga-class battle cruisers. Later Ilia is zapped and reconstituted into V’ger’s spokesperson to be eventually sublimated with Decker, a Star Fleet officer who fancies her something rotten. Alas the lovely, talented Persis Khambatta, who played Ilia, died in 1998, just 49 years old.

We eventually learn that at the heart of V’ger is a space probe from the 20th Century called Voyager 6. There was no Voyager 6. Star Trek: The Motion Picture is set in the earth year 2273 when Voyager 1 will have traveled another 360 billion km making it all of 6% of a light year from Earth; not even out of the back door.

The Star Trek Communicator.

The Star Trek Communicator.

That’s the trouble with Science Fiction: the Science part has made Captain Kirk’s Communicator a reality – you can buy a cell phone which looks just like it – but the Fiction bit may not produce any more wondrous communication sets, may be just dodgy plywood ones. Space Fiction gets around the problem of crossing the interstellar space by inventing snappily named ruses to essentially bypass the issue: Star Trek had Warp Drive, Stargate used some kind of worm hole, Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy used an Infinite Improbability Drive. It would be possible to explain to Isaac Newton how his principles would allow men to journey to the Moon, based on elements of technology of his time. Current scientific notions of interstellar travel require stuff like negative energy or negative mass, none of which exists now nor do we have a clue how to make any of it. So it is very likely that there is no interstellar drive for us to invent and we will remain on Earth or its environs for the whole of our existence.

So why did a SOASTA survey report that a sizeable proportion of Americans believe that the future will be just like Star Trek? First of all, no one notices negatives. During the first half of the 20th Century, we increased our top speed by a factor of 20 times, but since then not by much more. Secondly we are entranced by Moore’s Law, which promises twice as much for half the price every 18 months. It is, of course, only about the transistor equivalents on a silicon chip. This phenomenal growth has propelled computing into every nook and cranny of human life; but the “law” itself is just about the chip, and not about interstellar travel nor the possibility that it has already been used by extraterrestrials to visit us.

Luckily for the purveyors of UFO mythology, there are more important considerations than mere truth: gullibility and greed. The abundance of TV and now Internet channels means that there is always a shortage of cheap material to fill the schedule. TV channels like Discovery Channel or the History Channel do not exist primarily to inform, they exist to make money, so their executives will accept any subject within a broad remit so long as it is likely to attract sufficient advertising revenue.

Tezcatlipoca, “Smoking Mirror”

Tezcatlipoca, “Smoking Mirror”

Humans are attuned to little globs of information. We have, since the beginning, known that any tiny clue might mean the difference between dinner and being dined on. Such clues are self evident; a certain kind of rustle, a particular shape and color. They are the grist of traditional learning, and grow into ritual, superstition and a fascination with esoteric lore. When he read that “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” in John 1:1, it seemed reasonable to John Dee, the Royal Astrologer to Queen Elizabeth I, that “the Word” belonged to the language of God and his angels. So Dr Dee, founder of the Rosicrucian Society, devoted a lifetime to learning this language of angels, or maybe the words of the fallen kind, the language of witches. We do not know how Dr. Dee obtained his obsidian mirror, a thin polished disk of a black glass made in a volcano, but it is almost certain that it was taken by Cortez from the great pyramid at the heart of the Aztec capital Tenochtitlan, temple of blood and still beating human hearts. The Aztec sorcerers called Dr Dee’s scurrying glass Tezcatlipoca, “Smoking Mirror”. When conjoined with the Enochian alphabet Dee the Magus was able to converse with the spirit Madimi” and together they cast a hex on the Spanish Invasion fleet and scattered it to the four winds. Sorry about that, I got a bit carried away.

Likewise, a UFO fabulator starts from the point of Extraterrestrial contact and works backwards. The word “work” here requires a little clarification and connotes finding objects, stories or witnesses, sewing them into simplistic narratives which borrow from current technology and science fiction, and projecting onto ‘the facts’  their unworldly rational. It will undoubtedly help to have sinister government types lurking around, to provide the undoubted reasons for your valuable program content being occult. A good conspiracy theory is a get-of-out-jail-free card for any awkwardness that may crop up.

Erich Anton Paul von Däniken

Erich Anton Paul von Däniken

The hard part will be the pitch, i.e. getting the money, but the key here is persistence; the channel execs need to fill air time and get their bonuses. Once you have the production money you’ll need to keep expenses down so fill the run time with general footage which can be purchased off the shelf and a very few graphics with no more than seven words a piece – remember most of your audience does not read books of any kind and are somewhat out of practice reading-wise – then cobbled the whole lot together with the “talking heads” of your UFO researchers. You don’t need to pay the “experts” much as they will appear to promote their own product. Take the money, allow the tax man to pay off your considerable expense accounts and stow the rest in the Bank of Cyprus. Life is good.

Giorgio Tsoukalos

Giorgio Tsoukalos

Ancient Alien theorists own a debt of gratitude to the founder of their discipline, Eric von Däniken. Dr von Däniken made his discoveries while working as a hotel manager in Davos, Switzerland. Is it a coincidence that every year, the rich and powerful attend a ‘conference’ there in Davos?  Just after he published his ground breaking  Chariots of the Gods?, the Swiss authorities convicted him of fraud and sent him to prison. Despite this set back, Dr von Däniken continued to develop his ideas and wrote a second seminal work, Gods from Outer Space, while in prison and finally cleared his name. He went on to found AASRA ( the Archaeology, Astronautics and SETI Research Association) and also designed and built Mystery Land at InterlakenSwitzerland. Typically, the scientific establishment has lambasted his work describing it as a “cultural Chernobyl“.  At this public education institution visitors can study aspects of the Ancient Alien controversy in a complex of exhibits including the outstanding Nazca pavilion.

Erich von Daniken and Giorgio A. Tsoukalos

Erich von Daniken and Giorgio A. Tsoukalos

Ancient Alien theorists also are indebted to Carlo Rambaldi for his vivid portrayal of alien life in such ground breaking films as Close Encounters of the Third Kind, E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial, Alien, and Frankenstein ’80. It is interesting to note that Rambaldi lived for many years close to Dr. von Däniken in Italy, and that the craniums of Rambaldi’s creations are perfectly smooth.

The Ancient Alien Theorist torch has now been taken up by fellow European Giorgio Tsoukalos who created the award winning Ancient Aliens. Tsoukalos is “the leading Ancient Astronaut expert” and Director and cofounder of von Däniken’s official international research organization, Center for Ancient Astronaut Research (A.A.S.R.A). The far flung travels of this “real-life Indiana  Jones” may explain why Giorgio adopted his highly original hair grooming. It appears to be derived from the styling of the Centaurian Ambassador, Londo Mollari.

Londo Mollari, Centaurian Ambassador

Londo Mollari, Centaurian Ambassador

 

Omnivore’s Dilemma, Part 2: The Idyll of Organic

Idyllic Organic Food

After prizing open the lid of Industrial Agriculture, Pollan will now checks out Big Organic, but before he does, he previews part 3 of his book.

Down on Polyface Farm

We find him taking “the ant’s eye view”, prone in a field in Shenandoah Valley, just an hour’s drive from Jefferson’s Palladian house at Monticello. If Tyson World employs methods like CAFOs and gleaming Rube Goldberg industrial plant, then Polyface’s factories live here, in the dirt. There are the grasses: orchard grass, foxtail, timothy and several others. There are the legumes: red and white clover, dandelion, Queen Anne’s lace and more. Then there are the cast of invertebrates: “eelish nematodes”, “shrimpy rotifers” and Charles Darwin’s favorite – the earthworm. To represent the mammals are moles and woodchucks. The whole lot supported by the biochemical wizardry of hosts of bacteria species and Andy-Warhol-hair-like mycelium masses of fungi. A “healthy soil digests the dead to nourish the living [which is why] Salatin calls it the earth’s stomach.”

Joel Salatin is a “Christian-conservative-libertarian-environmentalist-lunatic farmer” and Pollan’s Virgil. Like Dante, Pollan visits the darkling negative of this organic world-view; not one of weeping trees and simonous popes, but one which has been rested from farm stalls and market garden plots to become Big Organic.

Supermarket Pastoral

Pollan likes “shopping at Whole Foods nearly as much as [he enjoys] browsing in a good bookstore” which “is no accident: Shopping at Whole Foods is a literary experience, too.” Steaks in Walmart may be described as USDA certified; in Big Organic World the “range feed” sirloin steak” was part of a steer who “spent its days “living in beautiful places” ranging from “plant-diverse, high-mountain meadows to thick aspen groves and miles of sagebrush-filled flats.”: a short life but a happy one. There is a lot more where that came from:

  • “wild salmon caught by Native Americans in Yakutat (population 833)”,
  • “heirloom tomatoes from Capay Farm ($4.99 a pound), “one of the early pioneers of the organic movement” and
  • “Rosie” the chicken from Petaluma Poultry “a company whose “farming methods strive to create harmonious relationships in nature, sustaining the health of all creatures and the natural world.”

It seems as wholesome as The Sound of Music.

Tyson World marketing, the kind pumped out by Industrial Agribusiness and can be found in a newspaper or on show at Walmart does not include much about where and how the food on offer was produced. A picture of 534 (Steer Number 534 was bought by Pollan in order to follow his journey from birthing shed to abattoir) standing hock deep in cow slurry does not seamlessly transfigure into steaks sizzling on the barbie. Neither do the details about the chemical plant which made your soda have much yum appeal. Tyson World marketing is about price and a little bit about how your friends and neighbors will think that your food is great.

Vegetables in Whole Foods Market by Masahiro Ihara

Vegetables in Whole Foods Market by Masahiro Ihara

Shopping at Whole Foods or World Market is a whole lot more classy, literate and concerned, which is why the “wordy labels, point-of-purchase brochures, and certification schemes” are there. Indeed, “the word ‘organic’ has proved to be one of the most powerful words in the supermarket”, a Pied Piper which has grown into “an $11 billion industry and is now the fastest growing sector of the food economy. Pollan’s day job is as professor of journalism at the UC Berkeley Graduate School of Journalism, so words, and wordsmiths grinding out copy purposed to persuade, is very much his brief. And his professional professorial opinion is complimentary, describing “Supermarket Pastoral” as “a most seductive form”. Supermarket Pastoral is Pollan’s term for the artwork of “the grocery store poets”. Their work offers “a landscape of reconciliation” harking back to an Arcady enjoyed by Virgil’s shepherd Tityrus” which Pollan finds “beguiling enough to survive in the face of a great many discomforting facts.”

These facts begin their discomforting with the “full-color photographs of local organic farmers” and “their farming philosophies” decorating the “sumptuously stocked produce department”. All but “a handful” of these spokespersons belong in a long gone past where “they do things differently ”. “That’s because Whole Foods in recent years has adopted the grocery industry’s standard regional distribution system, which makes supporting small farms impractical.” This industry standard means “tremendous warehouses” which are principally supplied by the “tremendous farms” operated by the likes of Earthbound Farms and Grimmway Farms which owns the Cal-Organic brand.

These are big corporations. For example, Earthbound Farms “grows 80 percent of the organic lettuce sold in America.” and they have strayed somewhat from the bucolic idyll that Whole Foods uses for decoration. Pollan “learned, for example that some (certainly not all) organic milk comes from factory farms” albeit where the cows eat “(certified organic) grain”. Organic beef have their own version of CAFOs, “organic feedlots”, where the animals diet includes the oxymoronic “organic high-fructose corn syrup”.

From People’s Park to Petaluma Poultry

On Dwight Way in Berkeley, home to the University of California, is the People’s Park. It’s seen better days. It has become a “tattered camp of a few dozen homeless people”. A few “still [effect] hippie styles of hair and dress” and occasionally “spend time tending scruffy little patches of flowers and vegetables – a few stalks of corn, some broccoli plants”. Yet it was here on April 20, 1969 that the organic movement sprung to life, when the self-proclaimed Robin Hood Commission seized the vacant lot, and went on to plant trees and grass, “and perhaps most auspiciously, putting in a vegetable garden.”

Yup, organic is an LA sixties thing along with environmentalism, feminism, and personal computing. Although we might have a more cynical, jaundiced view of those times and those movements, there was also a lot of genuine passion for good. “In People’s Park … food would be organic, a word that, at the time, brimmed with meanings that went far beyond any particular agricultural method.” As a pop song of that year (July 1969) went “Something was in the air.”

The year before, on December 24, 1968 to be precise, William Anders on Apollo 8 took an unscheduled color photograph which has become known as “Earth Rise”. Rachel Carson’s dire warnings in Silent Spring, published in 1962, had not gone away. It was well known that American forces were using Agent Orange and Agent Blue in Vietnam. The sea off Santa Barbara was black from an oil spill and “Cleveland’s Cuyahoga River had caught fire.”

Earthrise by By NASA / Bill Anders

Earthrise by By NASA / Bill Anders

During 1969, an obscure magazine called Organic Gardening and Farming was catapulted into public awareness by “an ecstatic review in the Whole Earth Catalog”. From now on the sixties zeitgeist would also seek “an alternative mode of production (the chemical-free farms), … an alternative system of distribution (the anticapitalist food co-ops), and even an alternative mode of consumption (“the “countercuisine”).” Taking “you can never do only one thing” as its mantra and the instructions from J. I. Rodale the founder of Organic Gardening and Farming, the movement wished to build “a pastoral utopia in miniature, such a garden embraced not only the humans which tended and ate from it but “as many life kingdoms as possible”. So “organic” meant all this, and was regularly contrasted with regular “plastic food” which was made by the likes of Monsanto and served up by your parents.

So, lots of people, “with a head full of pastoral ideals and precisely no horticultural experience”, attempted to set up organic farms, only to find it difficult and hard work, which explains the “sorry-looking organic produce” “on display in the food co-ops” “for many years. “But [a few] freak farmers stuck with it, following Rodale’s set-by-step advice, and some of them went on to be excellent farmers.”

Cascadian Farm and Gene Kahn

Cascadian Farm Multicolored Carrots by GeneralMills

Cascadian Farm Multicolored Carrots by GeneralMills

“One such notable success was Gene Kahn, the founder of Cascadian Farm,” In 1971, “Kahn was a twenty-four-year-old grad school dropout” from Chicago’s South Side who began “a quasi-communal hippie farm, located on a narrow, gorgeous shelf of land between the Shagit River and the Northern Cascades about seventy-five miles northeast of Seattle.” “Like most of the early organic farmers, Kahn had no idea what he was doing at first, and he suffered his share of crop failures.” His efforts as part of an “ad hoc grassroots R&D effort” got “no institutional support”. Rather “the USDA was actively hostile” “viewing [organic farming] – quite rightly – as a critique of the industrialized agriculture [that it] was promoting.” Recall about this time Nixon’s Secretary of Agriculture Earl Butz was setting out to make corn king.

Still the hippies could read and at the top of their reading list was “The Soil and Health” and “An Agricultural Testament“ by the British agronomist Sir Albert Howard, who had spent his life working in India. “This last book may fairly be called the [organic] movement’s bible.” It was written in 1940 and is well ahead of its time. It is technical, devoting “many of its pages to the proper making of compost”, but it is also a philosophical work drawing a web of connection “from soil fertility to “the national health” into a “genuinely holistic concept”.

The concept promoted by Earl Butz et al was originally invented the century before by Baron Justus von Liebig in his Chemistry in Its Application to Agriculture. The good baron had found that fertilizing with just three chemical elements could radically increase crop yield. Those elements are Nitrogen (chemical symbol = N), Phosphorus (P) and Potassium (K). Hence the NPK “designation printed on every bag of fertilizer”. To reduce the complexity of soil and its myriad of organisms to three elements is to stretch the term simplistic beyond any possible breaking point, and Howard would have none of it. “Artificial manures lead inevitably to artificial nutrition, artificial animals and finally to artificial men and women.”

Justus von Liebig

Justus von Liebig

“An Agricultural Testament” was in part written as a critique of the efforts of “England’s agricultural ministry” to introduce NKP into that “green and pleasant land” and many “farmers [had] complained [that] their pastures and animals had become less robust as a result.” “The great humus controversy”, as it was called, actually reached the floor of the House of Lords in 1943, a year when one might have thought there were more pressing matters on the agenda.” “Needless to say, the great humus controversy… . was settled in favor of the NPK mentality” but not before Howard had fired the charge that “history will condemn [chemical fertilizer] as one of the greatest misfortunes to have befallen agriculture and mankind.”

“By the late seventies, Kahn had become a pretty good organic farmer and an even better businessman.” He reinvented the conventional agribusiness wheel. He found that there was more money in processed food than the raw stuff, and then, that it was cheaper to buy the raw stuff from others less evolved. As Kahn said to Pollan: “The whole notion of a “cooperative community” we started with gradually began to mimic the system… . I was bit by bit becoming more of this world, and there was a lot of pressure on the business to become more privatized.” And “that pressure became irresistible in 1990” following the Alar scare.

Alar is a growth-regulating chemical which “the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) had declared a carcinogen”. It was the subject of “a somewhat overheated 60 minutes exposé on [the] apple growers” using it and as a result “Middle America suddenly discovered organic. Demand for organic food boomed.” Kahn duly “borrowed heavily to finance an ambitious expansion” only to “watch in horror as the bubble of demand subsided along with the headlines about Alar.”  Kahn had a simple stark choice of bankruptcy or selling “a majority stake in his company – to Welch’s – and the onetime hippie farmer set out on what he calls his “corporate adventure.”

Organic was shorn of the notions of distribution – via co-ops – and consumption – the counter cuisine – to become a niche product “which could be marketed through the existing channels.” So after a gritty slogging match, the USDA came out with its National Organic Standards, and despite people like Joan Dye Gussow wondering out loud “Can an Organic Twinkie Be Certified?”, “Big Organic won”. Cascadian Farm has become a General Mills brand selling “organic TV meals”. The packaging of organic milk “with its happy cows and verdant pastures” shows “a venerable ideal [has been] hollowed out, reduced to a sentimental conceit printed on the side of a milk carton: Supermarket Pastoral.”

EarthBound with Myra Goodman

Earthbound Farm Kale Italia by theimpulsivebuy

Earthbound Farm Kale Italia by theimpulsivebuy

“’Get over it,’ Gene Kahn would say” but Pollan preferred to go get a second opinion. He went to Myra Goodman, a cofounder of Earthbound Farms, “a company that arguably represents industrial organic farming at its best”, and met the “tanned, leggy, and loquacious forty-two-year-old, over lunch at the company’s roadside stand in the Carmel Valley.” Earthbound, “unlike Cascadian Farm, “is still very much in the farming business”. Myra and husband Drew started “a roadside organic farm” while “living near Carmel, killing time before heading to graduate school”. One day in 1986, they were told that their main customer for baby lettuce was letting them go, and they had a shot at selling their lettuce crop as bagged “prewashed salad mix”. “Produce managers greeted the novel product with skepticism” but agreed to their sale-or-return offer. When none of the product was returned, “the “spring mix” business” was born. The spring mix notion went on to dethrone iceberg lettuce “by introducing dozens of different salad mixes and innovating the way lettuces were grown, harvested, cleaned and packed.” Myra’s father, “an engineer and inveterate tinkerer” pitched in with the design for “gentle-cycle washing machines for lettuce.” Earthbound also “helped pioneer the packing of greens in specially formulated plastic bags pumped with inert gases to extend shelf life.”

Then in 1993, “Earthbound Farm’s growth exploded after Costco placed an order”. They needed help in learning how to run a business at this scale, so they partnered with two established conventional growers, “Mission Ranches in 1995 and then Tanimura & Antle in 1999.” Myra explained, “Costco wanted our prewashed spring mix, but [post the Alar episode] they didn’t want organic”, “but the Goodmans were committed to organic farming practices, so they decided to sell Costco their organically grown lettuce without calling it that.” Orders from “Wal-Mart, Lucy’s and Albertson’s soon followed.” They now have 25,000 organic acres” which they estimate has “eliminated some 270,000 pounds of pesticide and 8 million pounds of petrochemical fertilizer”. which is “a boon to both the environment and the people who work in those fields.”

Naturally, Pollan wanted to see the farm at work. He finds the fields are “a giant mosaic of giant color blocks: dark green, burgundy, pale green, blue green” which are divided into “a series of eighty-inch-wide raised beds”, “smooth and as flat as a table top”. “To control pests, every six or seven strips of lettuce [are] punctuated with a strip of flowers: sweet alyssum, which attracts the lacewings and syrphid flies that eat the aphids that can molest lettuces.” It is an industrial operation albeit with a “much higher level of precision – time as well as space are scrupulously managed on this farm”. The machines are supplemented with “crews of migrant workers, their heads wrapped in brightly colored clothes against the hot sun, [who] do a last pass through each block before the harvest, pulling weeds by hand.”

Pollan admits he “had never before spent quite so much time looking at and thinking about lettuce” and has to wonder whether a plastic carton of Earthbound spring mix in a Manhattan Whole Foods would accurately describe what “the first users of “organic” had in mind?”

Rosie’s home

Anchorage chickens by mazaletel

Anchorage chickens by mazaletel

His last port of call was Petaluma Poultry to “meet Rosie, the organic free-range chicken. “There’s little farmland left in Petaluma, which is now a prosperous San Francisco bedroom community”, just the Petaluma HQ “in an industrial park just off Route 101”. But he is taken to see Rosie.

He/she is a Cornish Cross which is “the most efficient converter of corn into breast meat ever designed”. This means the bird grows to “oven-roaster proportions in seven weeks” with the unfortunate side effect (for the birds) “that their poor legs cannot keep pace, and frequently fail.” Rosie lives in something like “a military barracks: a dozen long low-slung sheds with giant fans at either end.” Pollan has to don “a hooded white hazmat suit” to protect the antibiotic-free birds from Pollan’s bugs, and goes in to meet “twenty thousand birds [who move] away from [him] as one, like a ground-hugging white cloud, clucking softly. The air is warm and humid and smelled powerfully of ammonia”. After the birds had gotten used to the humans they went back to chickeny things, “sipping from waterers suspended from the ceiling, “nibbling organic food”, “everything much chickens do except step outside the little doors located at either end of the shed.” Those doors lead to “a grass yard, maybe fifteen yards wide,”  “running the entire length of each shed” which is “seldom … stepped upon” yet is scrupulously maintained” “to honor an ideal nobody wants to admit has by now become something of a joke, an empty pastoral conceit.”

Industrial Organic: the TV dinner and Rosie

 I don’t think that Pollan was anymore taken with Industrial Organic than simple Industrial, which means that the prospect of him enjoying its fare is rather poor.

First off, he tried a Cascadian Farm organic TV dinner. As he “peeled back the polyethylene film covering the dish, [he] felt a little like a flight attendant serving meals”; in some former life, perhaps. “The chunks of white meat had been striped nicely with grill marks” and the “natural chicken flavor” gave the meat “that slightly abstract chicken taste processed meat often has”. Pollan speculated that the creaminess of “creamy rosemary dill sauce” had more to do with “xanthan gum (or maybe the carrageenan?)”  “since no dairy products appeared among the ingredients.” Overall, “the entrée looked and tasted very much like airline food” and “to be fair, one shouldn’t compare an organic TV dinner to real food but to a conventional TV dinner, and by that standard (or at least [his] recollection of it) Cascadian Farm has nothing to be ashamed of, especially considering that an organic food scientist must work with only a tiny fraction of the synthetic preservatives, emulsifiers, and flavor agents available to his colleagues at Swanson or Kraft.”

However, “Rosie and her consort of fresh vegetables fared much better at dinner, if [he didn’t mind saying so [himself].” He did not like the asparagus grown in Argentina. His “jet-setting Argentine asparagus tasted like damp cardboard. After the first spear or two no one touched it”, perhaps because it was “out of place in a winter supper”. “The other vegetables and greens were much tastier – really good, in fact.” Pollan reckons “meat is a harder call. Rosie was a tasty bird, yet truth be told, not quite as tasty as Rocky, her bigger nonorganic brother. That’s because Rocky is an older chicken, and older chickens have more flavor”; so, a cautious one-thumbs-up for the Rosie dinner.

“Rocky and Rosie both tasted more like chicken than mass-market birds fed on a diet of antibiotics and animal by-products, which makes for mushier and blander meat. What’s in an animal’s feed naturally affects how it will taste, though whether that feed is organic or not probably makes no difference.”

“Better for What?”

So, Industrial Organic is better than plain Industrial, but “Better for What?” His “Whole Foods dinner certainly wasn’t cheap”. It cost $34 “to feed a family of three at home. Though [it] did make a second meal from the leftovers.” Is Industrial Organic healthier? According to the US government, no. In 2000, while “inaugurating the federal organic program, the secretary of agriculture, Glickman, said, “The organic label is a marketing tool. It is not a statement about food safety. Nor is “organic” a value judgment about nutrition or quality.” Pollan continues, “Some intriguing recent research suggests otherwise.” Research published in the Journal Agriculture and Food Chemistry in 2003 “found that organic and otherwise sustainable grown fruit and vegetables [contain] significantly higher levels of both vitamin C and a wide range of polyphenols.” Polyphenols “play an important role in human health and nutrition. Many are potent antioxidants; some play a role in preventing or fighting cancer; others exhibit antimicrobial properties.” Pollan does realize that science is a human enterprise and as prone to error as any other: “Obviously, there is much more to be learned about the relationship of soil to plants, animals, a health, and it would be a mistake to lean too heavily on any one study.”

Living creatures are the most complex entities we know of, so anyone “would be hard-pressed to prove [Industrial Organic food is healthier than regular Industrial] scientifically.”  Pollan’s bête noir, Justus von Liebig, he of “the spectacularly ironic surname” wrote that book way back in 1840, when most people still believe living things ran on vital fluid. The term biochemistry was not coined for another 60 years and figuring out the structure of macromolecules, such as hemoglobin or DNA only began in earnest after World War II. That we can understand what a polyphenol is due to the work of people like Liebig, let alone understanding any role that class of chemicals has in living things. The simplicity is all ours.

As Pollan illustrates information from government funded organizations is not necessarily reliable. “Back in the fifties, when the USDA routinely compared the nutritional qualities of produce from region to region, it found striking differences: carrots grown in the deep soils of Michigan, for example, commonly had more vitamins than carrots frown in the thin, sandy soils of Florida. Naturally this information discomfited the carrot growers of Florida, which probably explains why the USDA no longer conducts this sort of research.” It is deeply ironic (and another American Paradox) that it was not left to The Market to sort out issues such as where is the best place to grow carrots. Many things can grow in Florida which are much more difficult to grow in Michigan.

Pollan’s conclusion is that we should “develop a deeper respect for the complexity of food and soil, and perhaps, the links between the two” to get a clear understanding of health issues. I think Pollan would agree that it seems fairly self-evident more careful farming methods with fewer non-biological shortcuts should make for healthier food.

The better for what?

The better for what? question about my organic meal can answered in a much less selfish way: Is it better for the environment? Better for the farmer who grew it? Better for public health? For the taxpayer?” Pollan reckons that “the answer to all three questions is an (almost) unqualified yes. To grow the plants and animals that made up my meal, no pesticides found their way into any farmer’s bloodstream, no nitrogen runoff or growth hormones seeping into the watershed, no soils poisoned, no antibiotics were squandered, no subsidy checks were written.”

The trouble is that most people and therefore most consumers live in cities, “so only a fifth of the total energy used to feed us [organically] is consumed on the farm; the rest is spent processing the food and moving it around. In that respect organic food contributes to our currently unsustainable world. There will come a time to pay the piper.

Omnivore’s Dilemma, Part 1: Children Of the Corn

Cow
Michael Pollan

Michael Pollan

Michael Pollan is the Philosopher of Foodies. He starts his book, “Omnivore’s Dilemma”, with a simple question “What should we have for dinner?”, and comes up with interesting food for thought. He has the temerity to do something that most people do their best to ignore, and something that the food industry, which he charts, dissects and skewers, does its best to encourage. He writes, “Much of our food system depends on our not knowing much about it, beyond the price disclosed by the checkout scanner”. Ignorance is bliss, you might say.

I think it would be fair to say Pollan’s point of view could be summarized by a quote from the hero of part two and three of the book, Joel Salatin: “Don’t you find it odd that people will put more work into choosing their mechanic or house contractor than they will into choosing the person who grows their food?” (page: 240)

The plot of the Omnivore’s Dilemma (not a catchy title in my opinion) revolves around preparing four meals.

  • A McMeal which was gobbled up in a moving car. It was adequate. Pollan had his guilty Big Mac and fries. He could persuade his wife to take a salad, and his 11-year-old son had the McNuggets which “taste like what they are, which is nuggets, du-h”. We get introduced to George Naylor, Pioneer Hi-Breed’s 34H31, Earl “Rusty” Butz, and a brockle-face calf called Steer Number 534.
  • A Big Organic meal came care of Whole Foods, and consisted of roast “Rosie” chicken, roast veggies – “yellow potatoes, purple kale, and red winter squash, steamed asparagus, and a spring mix salad”; followed by organic ice cream and organic blackberries.
  • This is contrasted to the locatarian fare which was mainly from Polyface Farm located in rural Swoope, Virginia. The food was roasted corn, roast chicken again, and lemony rocket salad washed down with a peachy Viognier out of VA. The wine was an “unexpectedly fine wine”. Dessert was chocolate soufflé.
  • The stupendous final meal, its ingredients all handmade or plucked and killed by Prof. Pollan justifiably proud of his achievement wrote the dinner up in a Berkeley-style menu.
Pollan's Menu

Pollan’s Menu

Our omnivorous dilemma

Our omnivorous dilemma is AKA “What should we have for dinner?” We humans are omnivores capable of eating a surprisingly wide variety of food. This includes comestibles that some folk swear are delicious, healthy and nutritious, such as Japanese Natto, or Cantonese chicken feet or tripe from Morpeth, but to me are as appetizing as cold sick.

Koala Bear

Koala Bear

What to eat does not trouble animals with a more restricted diet, say a Koala Bear. “The koala doesn’t worry about what to eat: If it looks and smells and tastes like a eucalyptus leaf, it must be dinner.” For most people for most of history the choice of what to eat was limited to what there was, and during famines, what might keep body and soul together for another day. Even in the good times and the good places consumption was guided by custom and etiquette. It is not surprising that the cuisine of the great courtly cultures of the world – China, India, France, Turkey/Greece – features lots of little dishes drawing inspiration from the good wife cooking for her peasant family. For example Crêpe Suzette was invented by Henri Charpentier, He learned its crêpe and fruit elements from his foster mum. The alcohol was added by the Parisian restaurants of the Fin de siècle, the flame by chance, and the appreciation by the then Prince of Wales, the future King Edward VII (1841-1910) of England, and guests. Or that was Henri’s story.

By stu_spivack (Preparing the crepes auf flickr) [CC BY-SA 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

Crêpe Suzette by stu_spivack

Those times are still the daily reality of most people today, but large and growing proportion of us have moved on to modern life and modern eating. Instead of selecting available foods from a market and cooking them according to family recipes, we have advanced to the food aisles of the supermarket. And they are extraordinary. I wonder what a gifted Renaissance man like Erasmus would have made of the cornucopias we visit every week or so. There are “canyons of breakfast cereals and condiments”, “freezer cases with “home meal replacements” “, “broad expanses of soft drinks and towering cliffs of snacks”. I recall wandering around a Target in Denver being quite overwhelmed by the size of its food section and especially by the size of some of the packages. As most of the packages and brands were new to me, I had a problem deciding what to buy for my meal for one. I’m not alone in this. “Our bewilderment in the supermarket is no accident; the return of the omnivore’s dilemma has deep roots in the modern food industry …”

Supermarket

Supermarket

Pollan maintains that as we modernized we have been cut off from traditions which have been systematically tested over hundreds of years. Now we have a food industry instead. It may be shocking but the executives at Tyson, Walmart, and Whole Foods are mainly interested in running profitable businesses, and their next bonus; they are not necessarily the best folk to ensure our welfare. In theory that welfare is provided by a plethora of laws and agencies. Unfortunately, the science that underpins these laws and guidelines has only had a couple of hundred years to figure how to grow and maintain a human, compared to the thousands afforded to cultures. The Illiad tells us that the young blades at Nestor’s court at Pylos cooked kebabs in the hearth of the king’s throne room Moreover, as Big Tobacco showed us, science can be brought for a price.

Adrift from a distinct food culture, and our concerns multiplied by Madison Avenue and the latest research, we are prey to fads. So a book like the Atkins diet can radically alter eating habits by demonizing pasta and bread and replacing the food pyramid as people’s go-to reference, for a while. Meanwhile we are all getting fatter and dying unnecessarily from so-called diseases of affluence, while we read the labels and wonder “What is “natural grill flavor” or TBHQ or xanthan gum?”

Pollan recognizes this as a cultural problem, and writes: “We show our surprise at this by speaking of something called the “French paradox,” for how could a people who eat such demonstrably toxic substances as foie gras and triple crème cheese actually be slimmer and healthier than we are? Yet I wonder if it doesn’t make more sense to speak in terms of an American paradox—that is, a notably unhealthy people obsessed by the idea of being healthy.”

By U.S. Navy photo by Chief Mass Communications Specialist Robert J. Fluegel [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

By U.S. Navy photo by Chief Mass Communications Specialist Robert J. Fluegel

[It’s interesting that a worldly wise, well read, West Coast professor like Pollan should find the notion of an American Paradox odd. Does he think that paradoxical behavior is something that only other nations do? In America, I see paradox everywhere. It’s the only Western country where any old lunatic may arm himself – they are nearly always men – in order to shoot up a school, movie theatre, whatever. And there’s never a stout NRA member to return fire.]

Pollan’s answers his question by following the clues “that, I found, reach all the way back to fields of corn growing in places like Iowa.”

Why Corn (Maize)?

Pollan writes, “I invariably found myself in the same place: a farm field in the American Corn Belt.”, because “There are some forty-five thousand items in the average American supermarket and more than a quarter of them now contain corn.” including “things like Gatorade and Ring Dings and hamburgers …” and there is a good reason for this. Corn, after its seeds have been lovingly synthesized and protected from all manner of ills, produces more calories per square foot than pretty much any other food crop. This is due to its unique biochemistry, its “C-4 trick” as Pollan calls it.

There is no such plant as “natural” corn. Like nearly all our foods, humans have developed it from an unprepossessing original, in corn’s case a plant called Toesinte. Native Americans capitalized on variant plants in which a genetic mutation had wrapped the seeds in a tough husk. The tough husk prevents the corn from propagating naturally, but what would be a death sentence to a wild plant was a bonanza for humans. From then on, we unnaturally selected those characteristics which pleased us, up to and including “the biological equivalent of a patent”. It so happened that frequently the offspring of two varieties of a plant is bigger and better than either of its parents. In Genetics-speak, that cross strain or hybrid is called the F1. The children of the F1 hybrids, the F2 hybrids, are usually shadows of their parents so the farmer must buy his F1 seed from Monsanto or such. George Naylor, Pollan’s corn farmer, buys his, a brand called Pioneer Hi-Bred’s 34H31.

From somewhere in Idaho

Pollan met George Naylor in the middle of his corn field on a “slate-grey” day. Naylor “is a big man with a moon face and a scraggly grey beard” and was wearing “the farmer’s standard-issue baseball cap, a yellow chamois shirt and overalls – the stripy kind favored by railroad workers”. His Iowan field “has some of the richest soil in the world, a cake of alluvial loam nearly two feet thick” made by the “retreat of the Wisconsin glacier ten thousand years ago”, and is home to tall “prairie grasses – big bluestem, foxtail, needlegrass, and switchgrass”.

Corn Field

Corn Field

It is remarkably productive: an acre of the Naylor farm yields “more than ten thousand pounds of food”. The farm is part of a vast mono-culture of identical plants which runs skyline to skyline, a Manhattan of corn, devoid of people. The population of Green County, where the Naylor farm is, in its heyday was 16,467, now it’s a bit over ten thousand. The local town, Churdan, is a shuttered ghost town, just a café and minimart left, with the “windowless concrete skyscraper” of the grain elevator standing vigil at the far end.

The growth from the modest twenty bushels per acre eked out by the Native Americans and the pioneer farmers, got underway in 1947 when the munitions plant at Muscle Shoals, Alabama started to turn its surplus of ammonium nitrate into fertilizers instead of explosive. Hybrid corn just loves lots of nitrate fertilizer. The combination spawned corn farms running on oil. Pollan writes “every bushel of industrial requires the equivalent of … fifty gallons of oil per acre of corn”. “Ecologically this is a fabulously expensive way to produce food …”. The industrialized farm-factory has a side effect: nitrate fertilizer is washed from the fields down into the Raccoon River, which runs through Des Moines. River chemistry converts nitrate into toxic nitrite, which can find its way into tap water for humans. So, in Des Moines, the city has to issue “blue baby alerts”.

Yet despite all this technology and hard work, George Naylor “is all but going broke”. Why this should be “is complicated” and “has something to do with the perverse economics of agriculture …; a little to do with the psychology of farmers; and everything to do with farm policies …”, the last being the life’s work of Earl “Rusty” Butz, AKA “The Sage of Perdue”, Richard Nixon’s second secretary of agriculture. See the picture of Butz with Trickie Dickie, and a young Dick Chaney.

A sale of 30 million tons of grain to the Soviet Union “in the fall of 1972” compounded with “a spell of bad weather in the Farm Belt” forced grocery prices to a record high and an apparent food scarcity. Hunger It is never lost on politicos that the immediate cause of the French Revolution was hunger due to bad harvests, so when in 1973 ominous grumblings  started; “housewives were organizing protests at supermarkets” and newspapers asked “Why a Food Scare in a Land of Plenty?”, there was action.

Richard Nixon, Earl "Rusty" Butz, and Donald Rumsfeld

Richard Nixon, Earl “Rusty” Butz, and Donald Rumsfeld

So, the “Sage of Perdue set to work re-engineering the American food system, driving down prices and vastly increasing the output of American farmers.” “He exhorted farmers to plant their fields ‘fencerow to fencerow’ and advised them to ‘get big or get out’.” With the 1973 farm bill, he rejinked government subsidies from loans designed to keep farmers’ solvent into direct payments intended to increase production. And that farmers did, all too well. Over the years, government has found other things to spend money on, consequently “just about every farm bill since has lowered the target price in order [apparently] to make American grain more competitive on world markets.”  The result is that as of October 2005, corn was bought for $1.45 a bushel and the agriculturists at the University of Idaho reckon that that bushel costs $2.50 to produce, trapping the farmer into attempting to grow still more, ad infinitum.

A monument to this abundance, or a “plague of cheap corn” as George Naylor put it, was the “bright yellow pyramid the size of a circus tent” Pollan saw at the foot of the grain elevator in Farnhamville, Iowa, part of a “bumper crop” “represent[ing] what was left of the millions of bushels of corn that had overflowed the elevators [the previous] … October.” Pollan felt that “something [was] deeply amiss in the sight of so much food lying around on wet ground.”  Ricardo Salvador, a Latino agronomist and Prof. at Iowa State, took a similar line: “To be honest I felt revulsion. In Mexico, even today, you do not let corn lay on the ground; it is considered almost sacrilegious.”

But from the perspective of hardnosed commodity brokers, this hill is only so much “number 2 field corn”. This term was coined by the Chicago Board of Trade as part of a grading system introduced in 1856 to simplify commodity trading. It is almost inedible: you’ll have to soak the corn kernels in water for several hours to get something tasting like “lightly corn-flavored starch.”  But, then again, you’re not supposed to eat it; it flows into factories which turn it into ethanol, high-fructose corn syrup, umpteen other things and meat. Pollan intended to follow this yellow river on its journey to the consumer so he contacted the chief processors of corn, Cargill and ADM, but they declined Pollan on “food security” grounds.

Mommy, what does C.A.F.O. mean?

Pollan left the Manhattan of corn and towering corn elevators which stand like a lone moorland menhirs to visit a cattle metropolis called Poky Feeders. The high plains of western Kansas are crisscrossed by “ramrod roads”, Kansas lay lines to the standing stones of Idaho. He speeds down one until “the empty dun-colored January prairie suddenly turns black and geometric, an urban grid of steel-fenced rectangles as far as the eye can see” which is coupled “an aroma more bus station men’s room than cows in the country”. Welcome to Poky Feeders. He had come to visit his steer, number 534.

By Derekbalsley (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0) or GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html)], via Wikimedia Commons

Cattle Lot By Derekbalsle

534 had started his life in a birthing shed on the Blaire Ranch “a few miles outside Sturgis, South Dakota”. His mother was 9534, that would be the 34th cow born in 1995, and his father via “a fifteen-dollar mail order straw” was “Gar Precision 1680, a bull distinguished by the size and marbling of his offspring’s rib-eye steaks. If this strikes you as rather Brave New Worldish, you’re not alone; only we’ve not yet applied industrialization to human reproduction. His first six months were spent with his mother, on Blair Ranch’s “rolling short-grass prairie” with the option of “nibbling on a salad bar of mostly native grasses: western wheatgrass, little bluestem, buffalo grass, green needlegrass.”

“In October, two weeks before [Pollan] made his acquaintance, steer number 534 was weaned from his mother.” Then “he was rounded up and herded into a “backgrounding” pen with others of his cohort, to spend a couple of months learning to eat corn from a trough. It was in this pen that Pollan chose 534 because he “had a wide stout frame and was brockle-faced- he has three easy-to-spot white blazes.” “Ed Blair, the older of the two brothers, suggested only half in jest that [Pollan] go the whole hog and buy the animal” which “immediately struck [Pollan] as a promising idea.” Shortly after 534 was off to Poky Feeders.

The heart of Poky Feeders is the mill. It processes a million pounds of feed a day, which is corn rolled into flakes which weren’t “half bad; not as crisp as a Kellogg’s flake, but with a cornier flavor”, liquefied fat i.e. beef tallow, and “a sticky brown goop of molasses and urea, plus vitamins and a couple of antibiotics “- Rumensin and Tylosin.”

It all makes inexorable economic sense, even the cannibalism.“ “Fat is fat,” the feedlot manager shrugged when [Pollan] raised an eyebrow.”  Trouble is, apart from the yuck factor, the system is new in evolutionary terms which means things go wrong. The classic example is “Bovine Spongiform Encephalopathy (BSE), commonly known as mad cow disease, first brought to light in merry England where, once upon a time, bits of sheep were fed to cattle. A disease of sheep known as scrapie was passed to the cattle and then to humans. For a while British beef was banned in Europe and , there were fears that it could turn into an epidemic as the human version Creutzfeldt–Jakob disease was essentially untreatable. In a damage control exercise, the British public were treated to the spectacle of the nerdy Minister of Agriculture, John Gummer, feeding his four year old daughter with hamburgers at a Norfolk country fete. The furor has died down, for now, and is not a known problem at Poky Feeders.

The main problem that Poky’s three “hospitals” cope with is Bloat. A diet loaded with starch stalls the fermentation in the animal’s rumen which “inflates like a balloon” and may occlude his esophagus and suffocate him. The cattle can also get “a kind of bovine heartburn” which too can be lethal. This is why the animals are fed antibiotics. “Most of the antibiotics sold in America today end up in animal feed”. As the current stocks of antibiotics are variations of a handful of compounds, it is only a matter of time before they are compromised by antibiotic resistant superbugs. According the staff veterinarian, Dr. Mel Metzin, all this is due to the simple fact that “they’re made to eat forage and we make them eat grain.” so the “cattle rarely live on feedlot diets for more than 150 days”, perhaps “as much as [the animals”] systems can tolerate.” Still Dr. Mel is upbeat: “Hell, if you gave them lots of grass and space, I wouldn’t have a job.”

Pollan found 534 in pen 63 which on first impression was “not a bad piece of real estate, all considered.” Then he figured out the pond which pen 63 overlooked was no pond at all but in CAFO speak “a manure lagoon”. (CAFO is the acronym for Concentrated Animal Feeding Operation.) Pollan had on “the same carrot-colored sweater” he had worn when they had first met in South Dakota and wondered if 534 would show a “glint of recognition?” Nope, “none whatsoever.” He looked well although his eyes were a little bloodshot, “irritated by feedlot dust” according to Dr. Mel. Indeed, Dr. Mel was impressed: ““That’s a handsome-looking beef you got there.” “[Pollan’s unspoken reply:] Shucks”

Rube Goldberg and Number 2 corn

Around 60% of “the 10 billion bushels of corn harvested each year” is used in CAFOs and the like. The rest – remember humans don’t eat kernels of number 2 field corn – is deconstructed in a wet mill. As ADM and Cargill, who do most of America’s wet milling, had declined to show him their plants in Decatur, Illinois and Iowa City respectively, he made do with a model mill at the Center for Crops Utilization Research at Iowa State University. It is “a Rube Goldberg [Heath Robinson (GB Eng.)] contraption of stainless steel tubes, pipes, valves, vents, drying tables, centrifuges, filters and tanks” which as Larry Johnson, the Center’s director, describes it “is essentially an industrial version of digestion”. Pollan goes into some detail on how the processes work, but suffice to say it is ingenious, cost effective and mainly made from metal. The end product are things like High Fructose Corn Syrup (HFCS) which is “the most valuable product refined from corn”. Then these products are reassembled into food items like Cocoa Pebbles breakfast cereal or Coca Cola, and a surprising range of other products, e.g. Windex, diapers, gypsum drywall, wax paper and fresh vegetables!

First Booze Then Fries

Unsurprisingly, the result of ingenuity and a prodigious amount of cash is what Pollan calls “A Republic of Fat”. The UN reckons that there are now a billion or so people with overnutrition – an interesting euphemism – which is more than the unfortunates with malnutrition, at around 800 million. So, there is more than enough food in the world to feed everyone and it is probably technically possible to do it. Quite when we’ll get around to it is another matter.

The US takes the lead in the obese league with 60% of Americans who are overweight and 20% who are obese. It has not always been so. “Most researchers trace America’s rising rates of obesity to the 1970s.” which is coincidentally the era of Earl Butz. Maybe that’s no coincidence at all.

Pollan gets his label Republic of Fat from a book about America and alcohol entitled The Alcoholic Republic. Apparently, from the time of the Founding Fathers onwards, America was on a “collective bender” to the astonishment of European visitors. One wrote home, “Come on then, if you love toping. For here you may drink yourself blind at the price of sixpence.” Pollan reckons that the driving forces for both republics are the same things: too much corn and ingenious marketing.

At the top of the roll of honor for those marketers is David Wallerstein, who invented for McDonalds the “equivalent of a papal dispensation”: Supersize. McDonald’s empire has in recent times been losing market share which wasn’t helped by the film Super Size Me. This goes some way to showing that the Republic of Fat will not need a period like Prohibition to reform a clearly daft state of affairs.

A recent Freakonomics Radio podcast “You eat what you are”, which includes Pollan, suggests that reform is happening in the US, so soon back to slimmer Americans, with the rest of the world in tow with the end of world hunger thrown in. That would be nice. In the meanwhile, Pollan has updated the ancient Mayan self-description “the corn people” or corning walking”, “So that’s us: processed corn, walking”.

Texan Rodeo

A cowboy on a bucking horse

By Jiminie, I like, nay, love “Ro-de-o.” Perhaps an earlier pre-rodeo me might say, “Now I’m a confirmed fan of Rodeo”, but we’re in Texas at the Ro-de-o. Yeee Harr!

The arena is huge, at least the size of a football field, enclosed and dark. Nested in four beams of white light, a lone horseman on chestnut mount holds a great Stars and Stripes. The flag is taller than the man mounted on his horse. The Star Spangled Banner is playing and most of the audience is singing along, many with their right hand across their heart. This is followed by an impromptu yet personal prayer thanking the Lord for being American and most of all a Texan. This leaves you in no doubt that you are in the land of patriots and believers.

The Star Spangled Banner in the Rodeo Area

The Star Spangled Banner in the Rodeo Area

Now, down to business. There are gates at either end of the arena. The wild riders are carefully seated on their horses or bulls, locking hold of the harness with stout rope and rough leather gloves. The gate is flung open and the horse and rider launch into the void. The mustang jumps, arches and rolls; the rider balances like a tightrope walker with only his grip holding him to the horse. After ten seconds or so, which must be a deal longer for him, two compadres sidle up either side of the beast, one going for the mustang’s harness and the other offering a welcome shoulder and the rider swings on behind him. Their horses are magnificent; their professionalism and timing superb.

The acceleration, the exhilaration

The acceleration, the exhilaration

After a few horses, comes the next event: calf wrangling. These are not petite little pets. They are waist high on a man, and very much have a mind of their own. So as soon as they are released into the arena, they run hell for leather. The cowboy only has a moment to jump and catch him. They wrestle awhile until the weight of the man will turn the calf’s head and the animal tumbles over. One time, the animal was on his way down when he jinked and twisted out the wrangler’s grip and plumb got away.

Sheep Wranglers

Sheep Wranglers

Then it’s the turn of the little fellas. They are kitted out for contact sports and seem kind of small in this vast space with these big men, but they will be treated respectfully and kindly. The comperes wrangles the row of 4th and 5th graders into some kind of order. They are interviewed, “Say, what’s your name fella?” and shown their mount. Not for them a steer; one fall, one blow on the head and that would be goodnight little tyke. That eventuality would be followed by a sure and swift vengeance from the most formidable creature hereabouts – a Texan Mom.

They get up close and personal with an ornery sheep. The child is carefully mounted onto the animal gripping the fleece with all their eight year old might, the handlers retire and they’re off. As the sheep does do much in the bucking and kicking line, just runs, the might just has to hang on for dear life for five seconds or so, sometimes slipping over the animals head and frequent rolling down under the beast, belly side. Then comes the prize giving. The little man who got kicked in the head got a special big trophy. They might want him to come again.

The original Daisy Dukes

The original Daisy Dukes

Refreshments can be had from the hawkers who patrol the bleachers and then there is the industrial sized bar. There, there are the young Texans females. These bodacious teens wear Daisy Dukes and well tended boots, check shirts and pushup bras for showing off the begins of the best present their mother will ever give them. They are as prime an animal as any you will see in the arena below: Svelte and willowy with cumuli of sleek, glossy, lustrous hair; flawless skin the color of wheat toast and  generous, scintillating smiles.

The odd thing here is that there seem to be parallels to another sporting contest held on the other side of the Pacific; that would be Sumo. The rodeo arena and the sumo dohyō are both holy places made of earth, both have elaborate customs and ceremonies, and both are out and out contact sports for big men. As I’ve written before, I do not think killing animals just for sport is justifiable.

Sumo arena

Sumo arena

A day out the Ro-de-o just goes to show you don’t have to slaughter an animal just to have a good time.

Eddukashun: Wot problem?

Boy Square Root

[Note: This was written way back in 2014, when the idea of a President Trump was unheard of.]

Getting the goods is hard. We live in an age of a superabundance of data but almost no information. Most folk around the world think that the Russian involvement in the independence of the Crimea was – at the least – unsporting; not so according to Russia’s media, which means most Russians are content with the story that Russia has recently fought and won World War Three, liberating the oppressed peoples of the Crimea from the brutal oppression of the Ukrainian fascist stooges and their criminal bosses in Europe and the US. Meanwhile in the land of the free, an average evening program of world news might contain up to three items on events outside the USA, sometimes none.

Getting the goods is hard, so I like to cast my net broad, across different media, different countries, and different ages. One day, while working at Walmart, three of my sources came up with three stories relating to education.

Wired

Sergio Juárez Correa & Paloma Noyola Bueno [Wired]

Sergio Juárez Correa & Paloma Noyola Bueno [Wired]

The first source is the magazine Wired. Wired has had some the best journalism of the last 10 years, although it scaled down its efforts since the heady days of the Wired style manual. The piece is entitled “How a Radical New Teaching Method Could Unleash a Generation of Geniuses”. The epicenter of the story is Matamoros, which is on the wrong side of the US-Mexican border. Life there is grim – you can imagine – but there are kids there and some go to José Urbina López Primary School, AKA un lugar de castigo (“a place of punishment”). If you think that would be a stupid place to start looking for a revolution in math education, then you would be dead wrong.

The dismal prospects for the inmates of the lugar de castigo were the starting point for Sergio Juárez Correa, a teacher at José Urbina López. He started to look for something more effective than the government’s curriculum, and in his searches, he discovered the work of Sugata Mitra, a pioneering educationalist, who had the daft idea that kids want to learn, and could teach themselves.

One day Juárez Correa went to his whiteboard and wrote “1 = 1.00.” Normally, at this point, he would start explaining the concept of fractions and decimals. Instead he just wrote “½ = ?” and “¼ = ?” “Think about that for a second,” he said, and walked out of the room.” He came back with 10 pesos (75 cents) and watched as one of the kids, Alma Delia Juárez Flores, explained to her class mates the concept of decimal fractions.

That was interesting. So, he persisted in his ridiculous pedagogy and tried an old teacher’s trick: he told the kids to add up the numbers from 1 to 100. Normal people will start to add 1 to 2 to 3 . . . but there is a short cut, if you can stand back and see the wood for the trees. 0 + 100 is 100, and so is 1 + 99, and so is 2 + 98, so the answer is 50 x 100 plus the 50 in the middle making a total of 5050. The kids were quiet for a moment until Paloma Noyola Bueno raised her hand and said, “The answer is 5,050. There are 50 pairs of 101.” Juárez had his aha moment.

History of math is not something that folks are big on, so may I explain why Juárez was so moved. This sum was set for another child in another country, over two hundred years ago; the child was Carl Friedrich Gauss. When he told the schoolmaster the answer, just like Paloma, Gauss’s teacher, rather than beat him for being a smart alec, told the Duke of Brunswick. The Duke duly sent Gauss to the best school around called Collegium Carolinum (now Braunschweig University of Technology) which was very smart of him. Gauss went to become Princeps mathematicorum (“the Prince of Mathematicians”). In baseball terms Gauss was Babe Ruth, and, like the Babe, he was a game changer. The next generation of mathematicians went on to explore radical new ideas about math. It is this math which underpins the physics and hence the technology of the twentieth century. It is no accident that one of the two of the schools of thought about Quantum Mechanics is the Göttingen school, named after Gauss’s home town. So, if it is possible to build a Warp Drive, it will be someone like Paloma who will be its creator.

Gauss on the 10 Mark Bank

Gauss on the 10 Mark Bank

Back in Matamoros in June 2012 a coordinator from the Ministry of Education arrived to give the kids one of those standardized tests so beloved by such people. It came and it went, except that this time Juárez Correa noticed the kids were distinctly unfazed, taking the test in their stride as just another trivial chore.

The real news had to wait until Sept 2012 when Ricardo Zavala Hernandez, assistant principal at José Urbina López, logged on the ENLACE, Mexico’s national achievement exam web site, to check the results of the June 2012 tests. On the whole things were predictably a little bit better than last year, except for Juárez Correa’s class. In the Spanish tests, all the students were well above average and Zavala Hernandez had the top mark in the state AND the country. Palomar came TOP in math in the country with ten of her class mates above the 99.99th percentile.

Juárez Correa obviously had something but nothing that Francisco Sánchez Salazar, the chief of the Regional Center of Educational Development in Matamoros, was interested in. He said, “The teaching method makes little difference,” . . . “Intelligence comes from necessity,” he says. “They succeed without having resources.” Nice job.

The US clones of Jefe Salazar at present are pushing something called Common Core. This Youtube video shows one student’s withering option of it.

From Our Own Correspondent

From Our Own Correspondent

The next source is I had “From Our Own Correspondent” a broadcast and podcast from the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC). The BBC, or Auntie has she is affectionately known as, was created in a time of Empire, and still tries to apply British notions of truthfulness and fairness to its news reporting. Many people including the Dali Lama think it an excellent source of impartial, well presented information. The “From Our Own Correspondent” reports are topical, well sourced and have humanity. This story is from Sarah Toms in Singapore entitled “Mrs Wong and Mrs Lim Go Shopping”. Sarah’s daughter is at school there and is deluged with homework. She has been doing algebra since age eight. Not only does this challenge the kids, it challenges their parents. So much so that in Singapore there are Saturday morning classes for parents, to teach them the material in their children’s homework. Sarah went to one of these classes along with sixty or so concerned parents to do math, along the lines of “Mrs Lin bought twelve pears and ten apples . . . “

What are the chances, do you think, of seeing a class for parents in math in the UK or USA any time soon?

New York, New York

The last story that day was about the latest results from New York, New York. I can’t find the exact story but it was along the lines that only a fraction of high school students could get into community college. It doesn’t matter. There is no lack of dismal statistics about New York schools and American public schools in general. There is the dutiful wringing of hands and promises of a better tomorrow, again.

Walmart

To the mix, I should add that a friend who had become a Supervisor (Acting) at the store had been asked by another supervisor, one of the trusties, how do you spell “medicine”?

What does all this mean, if anything?

I am not sure which I reckon is a good start. Part of the problem is that there are too many people with simplistic solutions or poorly thought through opinions, e.g. I know I went to school you know. I think that what is missing are good questions and honesty.

Some questions we can ask and answer quite easily, e.g.

Boy Square Root

“Boy Square Root”

Q) Are there many people like Paloma in the world today?

A) A lot. Chelsea Mae made a video about a urchin call Gerald AKA “Boy Square Root” which was published by the Huffington Post.

It would be nice if these kids had their Duke of Brunswick to scoop them up and send them on to college and a glittering future.

Q) A more difficult question is why bother?

A) Governments and educationists, those in the education reform industry, would claim that the answer is obvious, and start droning on about technology. I think that at the least they are being disingenuous, in the wonderful phrase of a British Civil Servant, “economical with the truth”.

My second piece of evidence for such a point of view also comes from another Wired article, this one entitled ‘If Politicians Had to Debug Laws Like Software, They’d Fix the Bugs’ which begins:

In the spring, members of Congress set off to fly home for a holiday—and ran into mammoth lines at the airports. Why were things so bad? Because of airport furloughs caused by the “sequester.” The sequester, you may recall, is the ridiculous measure Congress passed when members couldn’t agree on a budget, and it mandates across-the-board cuts.

Critics warned that the sequester would cause hardship throughout the country, but congress-folk didn’t care — until they had to share in the pain.When they discovered that the sequester was eating into their vacation time, they rushed back to the Capitol and passed a law restoring funding to airports, working so fast that part of the bill was handwritten.

Congress, it turns out, isn’t paralyzed. It’s just not motivated correctly. In this spirit, there’s one simple way to get our do-nothing legislators off the dime: Have them eat their own dog food. Then maybe one day Captain Kirk will command his USS Enterprise “to boldly go where no one has been before”.

Seez You by Nate Beeler

Seez You by Nate Beeler @ http://www.cagle.com/author/nate-beeler/