Trump, the Manchurian President: Culture Jam from Far Away

Remember the 1962 movie, The Manchurian Candidate based on Richard Condon’s 1959 novel? There was a remake in 2004, with Denzel Washington playing the man who knows something is wrong about the presidency. A slick candidate for the U.S. presidency has been “brainwashed” to do the bidding of a foreign power. The inevitable struggle between good and evil ensues and the crisis approaches apocalypse.

Atomic TrumpI think we have an apt metaphor here for the Trumpery we all now experience. After all, his election rested on more than one form of electoral fraud, from Russian trolls and bots to widespread Republican voter suppression by tampering with voter rolls and extreme gerrymandering.

These days the US president appears to be helping the Russians in several ways. One has to wonder what Putin and his henchmen have on the Empty Clown Suit pretending to be president. Could it be the laundering of oligarch money or the Deutsche Bank loans of suspicious origin when no other bank in the world would loan him a nickel? He is also jamming core American values and interests in national security in service to the Billionaire Class and especially his own (largely secret) financial interests. I am not the first to suggest the Manchurian Candidate as an appropriate metaphor for this situation.

The whole thing, morally as well as socially and economically, is far, far away from the everyday lives of ordinary Americans. It is, in a word, foreign, although many Americans have been infected by the “new normal” of demagoguery covering political corruption and possibly treason. The financial and corporate elites control the Senate. They support the endless executive orders and appointments undercutting the public interest in established law and administrative regulations by the Manchurian President.

The reality TV show that now guides the nation brands the President as the only real winner among the rest of us “losers.” Every vulnerable ethnic group is cast as some form of evil. The amoral Trump brand touts greed, meanness, and blatant racism as its central principles of governance. Yet, the man himself has no idea how to govern a nation. He has gained the power that allows him to take what he wants, whenever he wants, from whomever he wants by ignoring the law and democratic principles. He exposes thereby the fragile nature of democracy when so many of its citizens remain uninformed by their lack of critical thinking.

I still cannot get over how easily he dupes so many Americans. I was in Rio Rancho, New Mexico, the day before his arrival for one of his rallies. Along some major streets, I saw hawkers selling MAGA tee-shirts, hats, and other paraphernalia of the New American Fascism (Shall we call it NAF? No, let’s not. That would just reify the insanity.)

When will we realize the destructiveness of this evil vindictive brand of irrational self-dealing hate and gross political corruption, masked as patriotism, which projects itself across the world in our name? Our nation’s security suffers severely for it. When American power is projected around the world based on the whims of narcissistic sociopathy, it only instills confusion and mistrust among our allies, as well as everyone else.

To Live and Die in the Anthropocene

The debate over whether or not it is too late to “save the planet” from the human industrial-consumer juggernaut misunderstands the issue of the role of humanity and our future into the Anthropocene. An important flaw in the thinking of traditional “environmentalists” is that they partake in the errors of the culture they seek to reform.

Many would apply technological fixes like “geoengineering” to the symptoms of the system they cannot give up. They hold to the mostly unconscious image of humans separate from a thing called “our environment.” They fail to think in terms of the actual complex adaptive systems that comprise the entire Earth System, of which we are all a part. We are not “in” the environment; we are active agents within the Earth System.

Death is more Certain than Taxes

Regardless of the odds of human species survival in an increasingly unstable and dangerous world, the human predicament remains the same. Will we live and die with some semblance of dignity as one of the many species engaged in the dance of life? Or will we go down in a spiral of denial and resistance to the very forces that give us life, insisting on human, even American, “exceptionalism” to the end?

To avoid the latter path of self and system destruction, a major transformation in consciousness and practice must sweep across humanity and lead us toward ecological harmony. Yes, that does seem unlikely, especially in the short time we have to stave off at least some of the worst consequences of our former and current destructive practices.

Can we live and die well, as individuals, communities, and societies? Can we find ways to live well in the context of approaching societal collapse? Can we live well in the face of extinction? Only with courage and realism can we shape our lives well in the face of death.

Living Well instead of Denying Death

What, after all, constitutes living well in a deadly post-affluenza world? Moderns define living well by their consumption and by the accumulation of wealth, as a means of denying death. The post-modern predicament of impending collective death reminds me of the prophetic words of the old Plains Indian chief, Old Lodge Skins (played by Chief Dan George) to Dustin Hoffman’s character in the movie, “Little Big Man,” just before a big battle,

“Today is a good day to die!”

It is not that one intends to die now. Some say we begin to die right after birth. Yet, the inevitable outcome is always a matter of timing. The advocates of “deep adaptation” recognize the grave prospects for human survival into the Anthropocene. They would have us accept our species extinction now in order to mourn properly our collective passing as new swings of Earth System instability make life increasingly intolerable. However, even the strong possibility is not a certainty. We must live until we die.

I am also reminded of Chris Hedges statement, “I do not fight fascists because I will win; I fight fascists because they are fascists!” The will to go on in the face of likely defeat or death has formed an important human value for centuries. Samurai warriors took it to the extreme, glorifying self-inflicted death itself as a respectable way to protect their honor.

Roy Scranton draws on his experience facing death on a daily basis deployed in Iraq and finds hope in living as if already dead, expressed in his book, Learning to Die in the Anthropocene. Scranton reflects on how we might live best in facing the grim realities of impending societal collapse as climate chaos increases the likelihood of human extinction.

I fight for the survival of human and other species not because I will succeed; I fight because I am still alive.

Joy of Dog III

At first, twice a day at the dog park was barely enough to burn off a good portion of Copper’s seemingly boundless puppy-energy. For a while, it was a bit of a chore, but fun to watch her run and play with the other dogs. We discovered a whole culture of human social organization at the dog park too, but that is another story, a reflection of other larger scale social relations and problems of the nation and the planet.

The social life of dogs is much more complex than one might imagine without experiencing their interaction at the dog park. It was especially good to find other puppies at the dog park who could match Copper’s energy. She learned the ropes and soon became quite popular among the other dogs at the park, mostly because of her enthusiasm and friendliness.

Dog Society

Copper could match any other dog’s energy and playfulness, and her disposition is so sweet that all the other dogs like her – except those two aggressive poodles, whose owner exhibited a total lack of responsibility for her dogs and simply refused to control them. That is also another story in itself. But Copper tolerated even a level of aggressiveness that would offend and repel most other dogs. It just occurred to me, those poodles remind me of Trump.

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Copper playing with Django

Generally, dogs socialize newcomers in the etiquette of play, which in some ways mimics the behavior patterns of the hunt. In their wrestling, they often pin one another down, engaging in mock battle, appearing to bite one another’s throat as if to kill. In that behavior, they acknowledge the mutual trust that is inherent in allowing another dog to wrap her/his big jaws around one’s throat. However, it is “mouthing,” not actual biting with what could be a lethal instrument. Mouthing is also a sign of affection expressed toward their human “masters.” For dogs, the primary instrument for engaging with the world is their mouth – their closest analog to our opposable thumb.

Socializing and Play

On a good day, up to twenty dogs of all varieties and sizes may appear at the 1-acre fenced area, covered with a blanket of wood chips. The etiquette (and lack thereof on the part of a few) regarding human responsibility for dogs and their waste, mirrors the culture of civility versus the culture of waste and indifference in the larger society.

I had owned several dogs over the years, but when I was a kid, nobody I knew had ever heard of such a thing as a dog park. I ran, walked, and played with my dogs in the yard, the neighborhood, and sometimes at the beach or a neighborhood park. The dog park is another world entirely. Copper took to it as she had taken to the water on the coast near Baja California del Sur when she was a small pup.

Personality

Now, Copper enthusiastically swims out to me through the surf at a deserted beach on the west coast of mainland Mexico; I swear she likes body surfing, just as I did as a kid in Southern California. In the calm waters at the beach at Rincon de Guayabitos, she loves to swim out among the moored boats, chasing after gulls and pelicans as far out as fifty yards before I call her back.

Copper’s favorite playmates tend to be the young dogs of her approximate age and energy, although her energy level surpasses that of almost every dog she encounters. When her playmate might tire and withdraw from the high-energy wrestling and running, Copper sometimes starts barking impatiently, demanding more play. As it turns out, Vizslas mature slowly and continue to exhibit puppy characteristic until four or even five years. She is four and a half now, and clearly retains some of that ‘puppiness.’ However, she will always be a “fun dog.”

Joy of Dog II

Copper has an on-off switch. Two positions: full speed ahead and sleep soundly.

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Copper luxuriating in our Durango Hotel room, Winter 2016.

 

Even when she’s being “bad,” stealing sox or slippers and playing keep away with anything she knows I want back, it’s all about having fun. Humans should be so free. Vizslas don’t fully mature until four or five. At four, she still has some of her puppy perspective. She is smart, strong-willed, and just charming enough to get her way…too often. Playful would be a monumental understatement.

Copper was only a few months old when we took her with us to visit friends staying near La Paz, Baja Del Sur, Mexico, four years ago. There, we drove to a deserted beach, planning to introduce her to water. La Paz faces east on the Sea of Cortez. The surf is very small. I waded out to coax Copper in hopes she would learn to swim. Immediately she swam right out to me, circled, and then swam back to shore, looking bewildered, yet excited. All I had to do was call her and she repeated the feat, over and over again. At 6 months, she had more to learn about swimming, but her unbounded energy and enthusiasm guaranteed success. Today, she is an accomplished surf-dog who loves playing in the surf as I did as a kid on the California coast so many decades before. (More on that in a later post.)

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Surf Dog

We were stunned to realize how much Copper loves to run. Each day while in La Paz, we took Copper to a deserted beach. Cynde and I would separate by about 50 or 75 yards along the shore and called her back and forth. We thought she would never tire. Finally, she sat down and looked in both directions as if to say, “Okay, guys, that’s it for me.”

In a couple of minutes, she was back at it. Right then we decided that taking her on walks around the neighborhood as we had done before the trip, was clearly not adequate to her running needs. She is, after all, a Vizsla, a field dog with remarkable energy and endurance.

The Fog of Play

Fog of Play

We take Copper to the dog park daily, even twice a day for the first few months, just to help burn off all that energy having fun. Copper easily learned to socialize with the other dogs and relished the appearance of other puppies with whom she could wrestle and chase. At the dog park, we would learn much more about dog social life and the humans who “own” them than we ever could have imagined.

The dog park has a way of bringing out the best and worst in people (mostly the best), highlighting the human dilemmas that make it so difficult to face both interpersonal and global crises. New revelations about the joy of dog awaited her two-footed companions at the dog park.

Decision to Land

In aviation, it is all about making the right decisions and executing them with precision and exact timing. From what I have learned about the incident when Captain Sullenberger landed US Airways Flight 1549 in the Hudson River after a flock of geese took out his engines, the man is a consummate aviator. He rapidly assessed his dire situation and made the best possible choice, which was outside the normal procedure.

Facing Reality

One of the big human tendencies in aviation that gets people killed we call, “get-there-itis.” All sorts of pressures, mostly social, keep some pilots on a course that circumstances demand they abandon. A former FAA weather briefer reported in a webinar having briefed a pilot determined to get to Reno for a Thanksgiving dinner. He was just not listening to her warnings of severe turbulence and thunderstorms along his flight path. The briefer heard his children in the background boarding his airplane. In desperation, she said, “Sir, do you want your children to live?” “What?” She finally had his attention. “Well, if you proceed, they very well may not!” The father’s pilot-ego stood down.

I cannot help but consider the “get-there-itis” syndrome as an ironic metaphor for the present course of humanity toward climate catastrophe and societal collapse. Power elites, in their deep cultural denial, keep insisting we find (wildly inadequate) business-as-usual “solutions” to global warming, which will keep us on that terminal path.

Abort!

On our way to the Negrito airstrip in the Gila National Forest a couple of years ago, the fuel pressure indication began acting up again. I felt that the likely cause was in the fuel pressure sensor. I could not imagine how the fuel pump could cause such high pressure. By the time we were within 20 minutes to our destination, the fuel pressure indication had gone up and back down to normal several times. It was getting disconcerting.

Now, over the remote Gila National Forest, with fewer and fewer roads and meadows appeared below us. I remembered reading of a pilot who had ‘crash landed’ his Glasair Sportsman in the trees and walked away. The Sportsman has a tubular steel cage as its superstructure, similar to that of an Indi racecar, making it relatively “crash-proof” compared to an easily crushable aluminum airframe. That’s nice, but who wants to crash? I had no interest in pushing the boundaries.

IMG_1560 (1)When the fuel-pressure indicated over 100 psi, I made my decision. I pressed the ‘Nrst’ button on my GPS, already aware that the nearest airport (TCS) was at Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. I turned to follow the magenta line on my primary flight display, the shortest path to the airport.

Safe Landing

I contemplated for a second the broader irony of the name of my new destination. We landed without incident, beginning a new phase of our “inadvertent adventure.” Rather than risk an engine fire and a 100 octane flaming crash in the forest, we would miss the camp-out. We spent the next few days finding a mechanic, diagnosing the problem, waiting for a $40- sensor, and installing it in about 10 minutes. We took off at dawn the next morning and enjoyed an uneventful flight home, before dangerous thunderstorms built up as forecasted for the afternoon.

Humanity is at a turning point. We must make a major course-change in our unrelenting adventure and achieve a balance with nature. Can we land in a livable climate by drastically changing direction? We have no time left to contemplate that decision since we must act now to abort our flight of fantasy. It may be hard to turn away from the imaginary destiny of our utopian dreams, but we must. The risk has become extreme.

Up in the Air Again, and Down

Another entry in the Mad Jubilado series.

I had not flown in almost four years. I recalled retired folks telling me that when I retire I would find myself with too much to do. I didn’t pay much attention. Not having to work sounded like not having much to do at all. Well, they were right. It’s hard to find time to do everything you want to do if you are interested in everything and have the time to choose more than time allows.

You Can’t Do Everything, but You can Try

I’ have nearly completed final revisions for my book, “At the Edge of Illusion.” Writing does take a lot of time. I had enjoyed the time I spent writing a blog, Diary of a Mad Jubilado, on aparallelworld.org, a site designed by Alan Hoffman to bring together environmentally conscientious consumers with vendors of products with small carbon footprints. The site went down after bots and trolls destroyed its fundraising efforts. The techs thought the bots and trolls were Russian. Who knows?

Solar.Wind_ShutterstockWorking with GotSol to bring greater awareness and adoption of renewable energy in New Mexico took a lot of time too; it was personally satisfying work. We established the annual “Renewable Energy Day” at the state capitol. Woodworking takes as much time as you put into it. So does flying. After a couple of cataract surgeries, travel to Scotland, Alaska, and Mexico, and the financial drain they caused, I found I was not flying much. Oh, I’d stopped altogether!

Up in the Air Again

After my flying hiatus,  I completed the annual inspection required by the FAA for all non-commercial aircraft (commercial aircraft must be inspected every 100 hours of flight). I was shocked to realize that it had been four years since I had flown. Flying had been a passion of mine my whole life; how could I have let so much time pass without it? Mad Jubilados can get very busy…and broke, very easily. Flying ain’t cheap.

All pilots must complete a Biennial Flight Review every two years with an FAA authorized examiner. who enters an endorsement in the pilot’s logbook if demonstrated skills in the air are satisfactory. In an hour and a half or so, he signed me off, authorizing me to fly. I did so for several days straight, practicing “slow flight” (the configuration used in approaches to landing), power-on and power-off stalls, and of course, takeoffs and landings. As they say, “Every landing you walk away from is a good one.” My standards are higher than that. With consistent practice, my skills improved rapidly. I felt good.

Down Again, by Diversion

However, I was getting intermittent erratic readings on the fuel pressure indicator. Sometimes, on starting the engine, it would surge into the ‘red,’ as high as 50 psi (normal is 25 or 26), but it usually returned to the normal range. Sometimes it would surge during normal flight. I checked with my mechanic, who had no answer.

Two more flights and the ‘anomaly’ did not reappear. The next day, we packed up and began our flight to a small airstrip in the Gila National Forest for a weekend of “airplane camping” in the beautiful mountain wilderness of southern New Mexico with a dozen or so members of the New Mexico Pilots Association, their families and friends.

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TCS from the air

Within a few miles of our remote destination, I made an abrupt left turn, direct to Truth or Consequences, NM, Municipal Airport, TCS, where I made the emergency landing. The indicated fuel pressure had risen to over 100 psi. I believed that the reading was due to a defective sensor, but in mission-critical situations certainty is a necessity. Maybe the fuel pump was over-pressuring the lines. A blown fuel line in the engine compartment would have produced a fiery end to more than one flight. That was certain.

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The Answer was mounted on the Firewall.

The ‘inadvertent adventure’ continued after a safe landing at TCS, the nearest airport when I determined that an immediate landing was necessary. Finding a mechanic at this small-town airport was not easy, and was followed by several days of technical and organizational struggles, punctuated by a little recreation.

The complexity of resolving logistical problems of parts acquisition in a remote location became very apparent and required a lot of waiting time. I began to think of the relationship of “get-there-itis” to not only aviation safety but to the headlong rush of industrial society to the modernist dream of a utopian destiny fueled by impossibly endless economic growth, a future that will surely disappear in flames before we ever get there.

On the Road Again: Snow Birds and Crocodiles

I was talking with someone the other day about my trip to the West Coast of Mexico, just to the east of the tip of the Baja peninsula. I praised the wonders of consistent sunny 80 degree beach weather in January and February. And swimming with my dog most afternoons in the little pool at the house we rented was great fun.

Commenting on my happy discourse he referred to me as a “snowbird.” I was taken aback. I had never thought of my little adventure as the mere seasonal migration of a snowbird. I had always thought of snowbirds as those people who live in “recreational vehicles” (RVs) and stay in various RV parks around the country, moving south in the winter, north in the summer. But it got me thinking.

While researching central Mexico for our first road trip “south of the border,” I had perused a Web site called “On the Road in Mexico.” We were having a hard time finding

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On the Road to Chihuahua

hotels in Chihuahua, Torreon, and Durango that would accept pets. When we had driven down the Baja peninsula a previous winter, we had easily found “pet friendly” motels along the highway to La Paz. Of course, Baja is heavily traveled by tourists from the western states of the U.S. Many travel in RVs with their dogs, some even with cats. As it turns out, pet friendly hotels are much more common in the western United States than in the eastern states. I don’t know why.

The “On the road in Mexico” Face Book page is a site where people exchange information and advice on traveling in Mexico. Much of the talk is about Baja, since probably the majority of road trips by U.S. nationals is to the various tourist destinations in Baja. Little is said about central Mexico. Very few “snowbirds” travel down the well maintained toll roads between Juarez and Durango or beyond. Chihuahua, Torreon, and Durango are all major Mexican industrial/commercial cities, not “tourist destinations.” It is striking to see, on driving through these cities, how they seem so similar in texture and tone to mid-size and large U.S. cities.

San Blas is a coastal city by a river about 3 hours’ drive north of Puerto Vallarta. The large estuary at the mouth of the river just south of town is teeming with all manner of wildlife. It is said that this area of the Mexican coast has more bird species than all the rest of the North American continent combined. We drove to San Blas one day and hired

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Smiling Croc. ~ San Blas, Mx.

a guide and his “panga,” a large outboard-motor boat that can seat up to 8 or ten people. Slowly cruising along the narrow waterways, we found more birds than we could capture on camera. Crocodiles also laze long the shore. We even saw a baby crocodile sunning on a tree branch just above the water. Had we gone out in the early morning, we would have seen much more.

San Blas was a major outpost of the Spanish empire on the west coast of what is now Mexico; today it remains a major fishing town. Its beautiful estuary seems so remote from the life of the industrial economies of the U.S., central Mexico, and the rest that threaten most species of the world in the Sixth Great Mass Extinction now underway. It is hard to imagine these crocodiles and birds being in danger. But they are. Those of us who are so lucky can go about our middle-class consumer lives for a little longer, but big changes are on the horizon… Snowbirds are, after all, totally dependent on fossil fuel, unlike the wily crocodile