The Great Gatsby

Yet another reason I could never be a fucking liberal:

Someone I used to know turned me back on to The Great Gatsby, arguing that it was a perfect summary of wealth and class in America. To a large extent, I agree. There are the old money people, looking down their noses at everyone; there are the nuveau riche, tastelessly flaunting their money; there are the guys that just want to impress the girl; there are the poor guys, getting used and hurt by everyone, including each other; there are the crooks, ruthlessly making money off all of it.

And, there is the morally ambivalent narrator, caught between the worlds of the working class and the wealthy, the tastefully old and the tastelessly fun, the straight laced and the hopelessly bent, and seeing the flaws in everything and everyone.

What makes the heroes and villains, doesn't really turn out to be wealth, although that certainly plays a part in what sort of damage they do. No, what makes the heroes and villains is how they treat other people. At some point, the old money were new money, the new money were poor, and the poor were jerks to one another. Even the narrator enjoys the ride, all the while feeling disgust for the way his compatriots treat one another.

We heard a sermon that touched on money a couple weeks ago. That, in and of itself, isn't bad, although the subject gets tiresome. What left me really non-plussed was the hypocrisy of the preacher, and, frankly, most of the preachers I've been hearing on this subject lately.

This preacher led a double life, first as a successful corporate opperative, then as a minister. While I actually think that part is cool, what bothered me was the way they attacked "the system," and talked about how there would be plenty for everyone, if we stopped hoarding for ourselves to secure our own future. Besides having set themselves up very well in their former life, this person, as a clergy member, is in on one of the best retirement plans there is. As another minister I know recently put it, "Thank God for JP Morgan! He came up with the best retirement plan for clergy. We know we're all set."

Tell me again about dissasembling the economic system...

The morally ambivalent narrator in me wonders, if I stop worrying about my future, if I give away my money instead of saving it for the rainy day I know is coming, will God take care of me, or will He be annoyed that I blew it? Was putting me in a place and time when I can do some things to take care of myself part of His way of taking care of me? "Here kid, I put you in a spot where you can take care of yourself if you want to work hard. Once you get yourself squared away, you better not forget those other folks that didn't get your chance. If your brother blows it, or just falls on hard times, remember the story of the Prodigal Son: 'All that I have is yours.' But that doesn't mean it's just for you."

I'm just not convinced when the rich tell me about the failings of the system that made them rich, and tell me not to participate in it. It's real easy to destroy something once you've gotten what you wanted out of it.

Dumb Americans

David Bowie had it all wrong: All night, they were the dumb Americans.

Too be an equal opportunity asshole, here's a few reasons I could never be a fucking Republican, based on some things in the news the last few days:

Kansas syndrome. The whole damn place. Idiots. Home of the anti-evolution movement. Where else but in the heart of America would people vote to not teach their kids science? As a good friend once said, "My faith is not so weak as to hinge on whether or not the theory of evolution is true." But, if that isn't enough, they are home base of some of the most intolerant of Christian wackos on the anti-gay fringe. A handful of them came to my home town recently so they could parade around with big signs that said things to the affect that God hates gays and sent AIDS to try and wipe gays out. You know, nice Christian sentiments like that. They also, apparently, have a list of "Sodomite Whorehouses Masquerading as Churches." (We were quite bummed not to have made the list.) The Republicans have been playing to these two groups like crazy recently in what can only be a clear attempt to win people over based on stupidity, ignorance and fear. So far, it seems to be working. I feel sorry for the smart people in Kansas... All two of them.

The Tom and Duke show. I don't know what's sadder, that Duke Cunningham, a decorated Vietnam vet and former fighter ace, has plead guilty to a variety of bribery related charges, or that one of the first and loudest voices to defend him was Tom DeLay. At least Cunningham has the decency to cry, apologize, and admit what he's done. DeLay has shamelessly pretended he's a victim as a legal noose tightens around him.

Mrs. Dick Cheney. I caught some of an interview on NPR with her today, and she may be the new standard in Republican harpies. After a great soliloquy on the morals and values of the United States, on our role as world-wide teachers of decency, she was asked why it was that her husband and the president wouldn't agree to John McCain's anti-torture legislation. She said that was a mis-characterization of the issue and extolled her husband's moral virtues. She then, very sweetly, asked, "If the choice was getting information that might save millions by using a little shot of sodium pentathol, wouldn't you take that choice? That doesn't sound so bad to me. A little shot of sodium pentathol." There are warmer things in the reptile house at the zoo. A few minutes later, she said she was insulted that anyone implied that the torture "buck" stopped with her husband or the president.

I feel a level of disgust for my country that I can't even describe, and it's all thanks to the Republican Party. The Liberals I know are often soft-headed and lack backbone, and almost always feel that it's ok to slow the part of the economic gravy train that doesn't affect them, but, being an ineffectual boob isn't all that dangerous most of the time. No, the Republicans and their allies (big business, fundamentalist religious nuts, a handful of Catholic Bishops, foreign policy loonies) are slowly changing what it means to be an American, and their changing it into something a lot of us don't want to be.

Maybe I need to go be a die-hard independent in Canada?

Turning Pages

I hate endings. Endings remind me of all the things I don't like: violence, limits, my own mortality. I'm worried I'm nearing the end of a chapter. It's a chapter I enjoyed and thought would last a lot longer. The problem is, I can't be who I'm not, and I can't be who they want me to be, and I can't even pretend anymore that I'm not pissed off, and really hurt.

This chapter brought me a lot of new friends, and some really tough challenges. It pushed me beyond the levels of endurrance I thought I had, and pushed me to work on some things beyond myself. I have seen some very intense moments of love, cruelty, and a wide range of the human stupidity that makes me laugh, and sometimes cry, while others look at me funny and confused.

I was, believe it or not, going to avoid the nuclear option. I was going to make my little protest in the hope that people would think twice. That my friends, well, at least the ones of them that I thought understood things, would "get it." They'd have that "Holy shit! I can't believe I said that; sorry dude!" moment, at which point I'd accept the apology, back down a little, and we'd move on. End of scene, but not end of chapter, eh?

Or not.

Sunday, I was counting. (Literally, I was counting). It's one of the things I volunteer to do, and one of the few math-related things I am really qualified for. Someone was dropping off a contribution, and felt the need to mention that they were sorry, but that it was well short of a tithe. I wasn't sure if they were trying to apologize, or trying to show how annoyed they were, but it left me incredibly uncomfortable. Not because I care what that person gives, or that I'll even remember it five minutes after tallying it in the accounting system. No, what bothered me was that someone felt like it had to be mentioned.

I was upset, but I did what some folks have told me is the proper thing when one wants to be supportive of a strong woman, and didn't pre-empt LulaBelle by trying to go fight this fight for her. She's upset about the way this was handled at a recent meeting, and, as much as I want to crush anything and everything that even mildly offends her, I kept a tight rein on the savage Assyrian Flint boy and, other than bitching here, kept my mouth shut. I shared my thoughts with her, to be sure, but I also was careful to give her time to respond, or not respond, to her peers. Eventually she did, expressing her concern for the impression that people would get from all this tithing and money talk. I didn't read her message, because she doesn't need me to do that. And I know her. She's a much more gentle person than me. She's slower to anger, faster to forgive, and more generous of spirit. If you manage to make her mad, you've probably really fucked up.

One response she got was fairly kind, expressing concern, but pointing out where the writer disagreed with her. She took that well. Even seemed to appreciate the thoughtfullness of it.

The other response was not helpful, and it came from someone I thought was a friend. This person suggested that if we sold the contents of some boxes they know we have in storage, we'd have more than enough money to tithe and to do various other things. The obvious implication was, "You have all this stuff, maybe if you unloaded it, you'd be able to meet X obligations." In doing so, the person also highlighted the fact that they did us a favor by helping get the boxes stored. It was a big favor, and I appreciate it more than the friend knows, but there's nothing like having someone throw something like that in your face.

What's funny is what's in the boxes.

There are some shirts from my first few rock concerts. There are some toys from when I was a kid. Some are gifts, like the Hot Wheels Ferraris Baboon gets me once in a while when he sees new ones. There are some pants that I saved because they're in great shape, but too small from me gaining a lot of weight one year. I saved them because I keep thinking, Someday I won't be so fat, and I'll be able to wear those and donate my "fat guy" pants to charity! There are a lot of books, collected over the course of my life. Many were gifts, and many others were from student days. I saved them because I hope, someday, to have a small library in my house where I can read and look at them on the shelves because being surrounded by books makes me feel good. Less like a mindless gorilla, more like a real person. There are some car magazines from when I could afford to buy them, and some bike magazines with stories about Lance Armstrong, my biggest hero. There's a box with every card LulaBelle has given me up till the point when I packed the box for storage.

When we were moving the boxes, my friend's child asked, "What's 'personal stuff' mean?" I had to laugh. "It means, things that aren't worth anything to anybody else but me. Stuff you keep because you like to be able to look at it because maybe it reminds you of something or someone, or maybe something you did you were proud of." If I sold everything in all those boxes and crates my friend referred to, I wouldn't have made back the cost of the boxes and crates. It's not worth anything to anyone but me.

I read a comic once, in which the hero sees a character kill one person the hero loves, but then risk their life to save another person the hero loves. Unable to thank them for saving a life, unable to forgive them for destroying one, the hero decides all he can do is go his way and let the perpetrator go theirs. Not enemies, but not friends. It's a sad ending. They might have been a good team.

Too many people have done good things for us for me to stay as angry as I was, or am. Too many people have gone out of their way to do good things for us, especially our friend that suggested we should sell some stuff. I'm also way too mad, and way too hurt, to pretend that I will forgive this anytime soon.

"Every time I go, I'm made to feel like a failure because I'm poor. Not even poor. Just not rich."

I remember saying that too. I said it over and over for years.

"No one who does an honest day's work should feel ashamed for being who they are," I said. "No one should feel like they have to apologize for only being able to give a little. They give what they can, that's enough."

That comic I mentioned... It was a limited series. Only four issues. It ended before I wanted it to, but that couldn't stop me from turning the page.

Just Moosing Around

Check out the latest Michigan Moose update, Just Moosing Around. I don't know if I'll have time to write today, so that might be as good as it gets. (And it was pretty good, really.)

Mr. Roboto

I didn't get much sleep last night. I went for a walk at about 1am with my iPod. For some reason, I found the cold, the wind, the light snow, and the creepy glow of some very fast-moving and low coiulds to be a big comfort. I read a horror story (also oddly comforting) and went to sleep. I woke up early, and still hadn't figured out how I was going to say what I knew I was going to need to say. I got showered, listening to NPR's broadcast of the BBC News Hour. (I really do find some odd things comforting.)

I've been hearing a lot about money lately from an unlikely source, and it's not sitting right. I hadn't been able to figure out what I was going to say.

On the way to work, this was what I heard:

I've got a secret I've been hiding under my skin
My heart is human, my blood is boiling, my brain IBM
So if you see me acting strangely, don't be surprised
I'm just a man who needed someone and somewhere to hide
To keep me alive, just keep me alive

I'm not a robot without emotions, I'm not what you see
I've come to help you with your problems so we can be free
I'm not a hero, I'm not a savior, forget what you know
I'm just a man who's circumstances went beyond his control
Beyond my control, We all need control

I am the modern man (Secret secret, I've got a secret)
Who hides behind a mask (Secret secret, I've got a secret)
So no one else can see (Secret secret, I've got a secret)
My true identity

Domo arigato, Mr, Roboto
Domo, Domo
Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto
(Thank you very much oh Mr. Roboto for doing the jobs that nobody wants to)

Ok, an epiphany inspired by a Styx song is kind of... Actually, it's sort of a ridiculous proposition, but bear with me...

I had never really thought about the level of desperation in those lyrics before. The guy trying to help, with a message no one gets, hidden behind a facade people misinterpret, doing thankless tasks, and fearing for his survival.

I do a nice job of passing for "the well-off young man." People see me as someone that is, to some degree, a known and understood element. A lot of people take it for granted that, whatever angst I have, I will do some fairly predictable things. I'll carry heavy loads (in both senses), and at the end of the day, I'll be glad to "be part of things." I'm removed enough from the factory that made me that I can be relied on to play my part on the assembly line.

As Dennis DeYoung was singing Thank you very much oh Mr. Roboto for doing the jobs that nobody wants to, I was pasing a crew that's building a retaining wall in front of a big, recently expanded house. The guys lifting stone were all fellas with darker skin, of Mexican or another Latin American origen. And thus, the epiphany.

The rich white couple in that house would be welcome at my church. They would be encouraged to join the church vestry and take on positions of leadership. They would be full members of the community. The men moving stone in the morning cold would not. I doubt those men could afford to tithe, especially if they have families. I don't think they could comfortably buy over priced wine, and they probably don't have the chance to read email 6 times a day to keep up with discussions, revisions, and "dialoguing" and "wordsmithing." They work for a living. Their hands are a lot like St. Joseph, human father of our Lord. They're a lot like my grandfathers' hands. A lot like mine used to me.

Those men would be "diversity" for all the fake progressives, but the fact is, they wouldn't count for as much as the folks with big money. They couldn't meet the standards for the Purpose Driven Assholes.

About 28 years ago, a little boy woke up on a cold morning, in the trailer he shared with his parents. He looked out the side window at the little patch of woods and the fields behind the trailer. He watched the first snow flakes of the year fall, and wondered what the day had in store for him. Some of the rich people he would see at the private school he had been admitted to would view him as diversity. Some would simply be open about their contempt. His parents were perfectly good people that just hadn't caught a series of breaks yet; their hard work hadn't made them successful, middle-class people yet. And so, their voice would have to count for a little less. Their son would have to count for a little less.

He couldn't afford Polo jeans to rip holes in, or a Mercedes Benz to crash. He worked as a golf caddy, carrying the toys of the rich so he could have some money for things like gas, pizza, comics. He took two job and student loans, studying history between loads of cafeteria dishes, studying English between selling theater tickets. He missed dinner with his wife more than once so he could set up a computer lab for professors that makes 3 times his salary but couldn't meet the deadline for ordering new software because they were "just too busy." He dedicated himself to things, he won more and more approval. He raced from work to church to serve on a Search Committee, missing meals, not seeing his wife awake many days, not being there to hug her when she was down. He paced the lab floor, doing his job while she was home alone, thinking she might lose her job. He knew he couldn't afford to screw up and lose his.

That little boy, and a lot of people that loved him, made a lot of sacrifices to build me: a guy that makes solid money now, and tries to stretch paychecks to cover a few nice extras for himself and his wife. A guy that has survived way too much to put up with any more bullshit.

I wasn't sure what I was going to tell people when I woke up this morning, but I knew I would have to say something. Then I saw the Mexicans hefting stones in the cold morning air, and heard that stupid song.

I'm going to tell them "Fuck you. If the kid that I was, the parents I had, the person I am, or the guys that still do shit work wouldn't be fully welcome at your church, then I'm not welcome either. I can't meet your goals, and even if I could, I wouldn't. So you will get nothing, and I will tell you exactly why. Maybe I didn't have money then, and maybe I have money now, but if you wouldn't have loved me then, I don't want your love now."

Semicolon

I have apparently found the answer to the question of what group I fit in with; and the answer is, misunderstood and frequently misused punctuation. I am, in fact, a semicolon.

Semicolon You scored 30% Sociability and 82% Sophistication!

Congratulations! You are the semicolon! You are the highest expression of punctuation; no one has more of a right to be proud. In the hands of a master, you will purr, sneering at commas, dismissing periods as beneath your contempt. You separate and connect at the same time, and no one does it better. The novice will find you difficult to come to terms with, but you need no one. You are secure in your elegance, knowing that you, and only you, have the power to mark the skill or incompetence of the craftsman. You have no natural enemies; all fear you. And never, NEVER let anyone tell you that you cannot appear in dialogue!

Link: The Which Punctuation Mark Are You Test written by Gazda on Ok Cupid

Hmm, only 30% sociable, but 82% sophisticate; that sounds right to me. Thanks to frog, who I snagged the punctuation quiz from.

Metrosomethingorother or just Suburbanclueless?

Ok, so someone was having this really odd coversation with me in which they told me I was, or could be, a metrosexual. I protested that I was straight, at which point I got laughed at for being ignorant. This person offered, as evidence, my long hair, sometimes polished toenails, and occassional tendency to worry about how I look.

After some digging online, I figured out that this is some term that a British journalist invented to describe why David Bekham wears his wife's underwear and paints his fingernails pink, putting him at the cutting edge of fashion, as well as football. (While that's all really good, we all know that the Brazillians kicked Bekham's ass at the World Cup, no matter how good he looked in a dress.)

Then I got this message from a web site I read occassionally, asking "Are You a Metrospiritual?" I wasn't quite sure, so I decided I better look into this too, in case I am one and didn't know it. The characteristics were closer: I do shop at Whole Foods, read religious or spiritual books, and prefer things like hiking and mountain biking to snowmobiles and hunting. My wife and I burn lots of candles, and I do feel a connection between spirituality and exercise.

But after some reading, and frankly, some serious giggling, I have decided that, no, I don't really fit either of these convenient categories. I laughed especially hard when I read the definition of "manscaping" that was in the wikipedia definition of metrosexual. Oh man, that is so not me! I can hardly stand to shave my face, let alone my... well, other things. Doesn't all this shaving make one more itchy? And metrospiritual? Tofu icecream, $350 Yoga classes, and expensive little statues of Buddha's and Indian gods? Imagine the water cooler chat:

"What the hell's wrong with Smith today?"

"Oh, he's just a little itchy from manscaping. He'll be back to rights after some meditation and his pedicure."

Can you imagine how pissed the people at the rink would be if we were all doing our hair and manscaping after games? Exfoliating, organic foods and yoga are all well and good, but there is a time and place when one needs something more earthy, like a really cold beer (which makes a great icepack on that new bruise and helps self-anaesthesize after a hard fought game). My sport related spirituality consists mostly of praying that none of us get hurt, and if the water in the showers even resembles warm, I consider myself to be in the lap of luxury.

All of this makes me wonder: what exactly is the point? I could spend hours on my appearance, fung shui my over-packed house, spend a small fortune on organic candles and little statues of Ganesh. I could try to pretend that all this self-pampering hoo-ha made me somehow bigger, better, more in touch with something larger than myself, but who are we kidding? Isn't there a very fine line between being attentive to appearance and open to other cultures, and simple greed and idolotry? Or, in more secular terms, isn't it just delusional to think that we are what we buy?

Perhaps I am a member of the suburbanclueless: people that don't have the time, the money, or the inclination, to emulate the cool hipsters of Holleywood and the sports world. I care enough about my appearance to get dressed, pamper myself enough to take a hot shower, and am spiritual enough to zone out on the weight bench at the gym between sets. Maybe I'm just in touch with the universal truth that slamming into each other on the ice for an hour, then drinking a cold beer, and thanking God for a fun time is really all I need. Too much more ritual than that just seems like it puts the emphasis on the wrong part of life.

Just make the car go fast...

Ok, this annoys the shit out of me.

I'm kind of a car racing nut. I'm the kind of person that goes to hot, dusty tracks in the summer and watches no-name folks race cars at what is pretty much their own expense. I can spend hours listening to some desk-jocky talk about how he pop-rvieted in a new floor after work on weekdays, or some mom talk about having her husband and son wrench so she can race on the weekends. I don't memorize names and stats, or anything like that, but I'm goofy over things going fast, and will pause to watch almost any form of racing I run accross. (I'm watching World Rally as I type.)

I few months ago, someone made a semi-public statement to the affect of, "We all have to watch the Indy 500! We have a woman driver! Yeah!" I heard her continue to rant and rave about this for days, although I have never known this person to have the slightest interest in sports before, whether, male, female, canine, equine... well, you get it, right?

Now, I nearly gagged on this the first time. I am pretty fucking sure the person spouting off knew absolutely dick, probably less than dick, about racing. I also know that Danica Patrick is a lovely piece of eye-candy, and promoted as such, regardless of her driving talent, and that she is NOT the first woman to run Indy, and, if you do a little research, not the most impressive. She is a talented driver that was/is the answer to Indy's prayers. Until she came along, viewership was way down. Guess which demographic rocketed up when she came on the scene? (That's right, men age 15-35. And yes, I'm guilty, I tuned in to rubberneck that accident too.)

I tried to ignore the diatribes of all the people running their mouths about Danica at Indy, and I tried not to hold it against her. She is a serious race car driver, and (one thing I love about racing) numbers don't lie. She is damn fast, as well as being wicked hot. So, when all the "feminists" decided to take a sudden interest in car racing, I bit my tongue, and I agreed, "You're right, it's not about her looks, it's not a marketing ploy, she's there as a serious driver." I even tried to believe it, which is more than I do for most things.

Then, I saw the add tonight for the first time. Danica, in a skimpy black dress, hair blown by some magical breeze, doing her best supermodel thing, hucking... anti-freeze? I think that's what she was dancing with... anti-freeze... or something... plus boobs and her hair... yeah, that was it, boobs, hair, anti-freeze. Really sexy anti-freeze... Excuse me, I need to do car maintenance now...

So I'm going to say what I should have said then... What a load of horse shit!

The next time some fool says something about Danica Patrick forwarding women in the world, I am going to forward them a link to this site on Janet Guthrie. She's not too sexy, but she was the first woman to earn a spot in the Indy 500. Also in the Daytona 500, the same year, where she was rookie of the year. In 1978, she came back to Indy and placed a very respectable 9th, with a team she had formed and managed herself. She raced and placed in Indy and NASCAR's Winston Cup, the two top forms of racing in her era. Oh, and she was also a flight instructor and aerospace engineer, and holds a degree in Physics from my beloved University of Michigan. Hmm, maybe she is kinda sexy after all...?

I have nothing against Danica Patrick. She's a great driver, and a real hottie, and I guess if she wants to hock anti-freeze with her looks to add to her bank, good for her. Hell, no one wants to pay me to do a sexy anti-freeze dance in a black dress, or I would too. I'm all for people pimpin' themselves out if that's their thing.

But if folks want role models, I'd start with Janet Guthrie. Or do what I did when the whole "Danica Patrick thing" started to bug me: stop listening to marketing and google around. There are a ton of women in racing who aren't marketed as the "hot girl driver." Lots aren't even marketed as "girl drivers." I've watched races where all the drivers were called by their last names, and only after they pulled their helmets off did I even know any were women. They didn't do sexy anti-freeze dances, but they still made me nutty, just because they made the cars go fast.

The angry prophetic voice today...

Some is finally expressing the truth of the situation in Sudan.

I have followed this story for years, since at least the early 1990's. For at least a generation now, the Arab/Muslim people of Sudan, many of them people who have moved there from other parts of Africa, have been masacreing the black Africans. These Africans have committed absolutely no crime other than not being Muslims or Arabs.

But here we sit, "protesting" and talking about things like sanctions and UN intervention, as the Muslim world quietly condones the slaughter of black Africans by Arab militias and Sudanese government officials. The Sudanese government blocks aid and UN inspectors from getting to an area, while the Arab militias murder all the African men and young boys, rape and torture the women, and burn the village to the ground. We've seen it, we know what's happening, and we're not doing much to stop it.

"I can't trust your government!" the US envoy shouted at the Sudanese official. I'm glad that someone, anyone, has finally said something approaching the truth. Of course, we will continue to negotiaite, as the blacks in Sudan are murdered. Sooner or later, there won't be anyone left for us to have to worry about protecting. I wonder, if the Muslim and Arab leaders in Sudan were committing genocide against a white, Christian, Jewish or Muslim population, if we'd be sitting on our hands?

Meanwhile, I'm tired of hearing about the "unrest" in France. I generally sympathize with the underdog, the poor, the struggling (to the point that some friends have even accused me of being a socialist). But, to call what these boys in France are doing an "uprising" is ludacris.

Let's review: this wave of crime started when two boys ran from the police who were trying to ask them questions. They ran into a power station to hide, and got themselves electrocuted. Not one aspect of that terrible accident was caused by social injustice. Mindlessly setting fire to things, especially in one's own neighborhood, is equally disconnected from social justice. In fact, both are simply acts of stupidity; terrible, aweful, stupidity.

I had a professor in school that liked to refer to the LA riots as an "uprising." While he was a favorite professor of mine, this was one of those things we had to agree to disagree about. An uprising, I pointed out to him, is when an oppressed people takes up arms against it's oppressors, and a riot is when stupid and criminal people do things like set fires to the businesses in their neighborhoods, loot the homes and stores of people like themselves, in an orgy of greed and idiocy.

Young men have a penchant for destruction that crosses lines of race and culture. There is a sense of tremendous power in destruction, especially when it leads to recognition. It's like vandalizing a teacher's classroom, then getting to sit down with the principal and discuss what that teacher did to hurt and alienated you, when what should happen is that you get suspended. We don't talk about the "uprising" of sports fans when they set fires and over turn cars after a loss. Or a win. For many boys, it doesn't take much excuse, whether you're poor, black and French, or you're rich, white and American.

People need to pull their heads out of their asses. You cannot negotiate your way out of genocide, and you shouldn't. You should stop it with any and all means at your disposal, including force. It's not a political act every time a group of young men decide to set fires, it's usually just criminal mischief. We need to discuss issues like the clash of cultures, or poverty and education, with a clear view that being in the midst of a cultural meeting, being poor, or being uneducated, does not remove a person's ability or obligation to judge right from wrong. There is no circumstance in which the rape and murder of innocents, or the destruction of an innocent person's property is a valid political statement. They are crimes, and the people that commit them are criminals. They should be treated as such.