Innocent

Are we innocent until proven guilty? Criminal law states that we are. It is a fine feature of our justice system. It accounts for human error, witness confusion, look-alikes and bad alibis. It protects those falsely accused from undeserved punishment.

We’ve all been accused of something at some time in our lives. A suspicious spouse, a biased teacher, an angry friend, convinced we committed an offense, makes an accusation. Does that make us guilty? Not necessarily. Yet, we may suffer days, weeks or months of ill treatment until we can prove our innocence. Sometimes, we can’t prove it at all and the stigma glues itself to our skin until the stench of it stays imbedded in our nose-hairs.

While we are at the mercy of our accusers in our private lives, public law gives us a chance to defend ourselves. That is…unless we are accused of having connections with Al Quaeda. In that case, we might be faced with inhumane treatment and without access to any legal support. Because, in that case, we are presumed guilty until proven innocent.

Take the case of Maher Arar, who is filing a law suit against US officials for his months of detention and torture on Syrian soil, despite lack of evidence of any connection between him and Al Quaeda. Despite inhumane treatment, Mr Arar was eventually pronounced innocent of any terrorist ties, but nothing can reverse the atrocities that were committed against him during his detention.

A new law gives the president of the United States a free hand in selecting the methods used to question persons suspected of Al Quaeda connections. Perhaps you don’t mind knowing that our government uses unconventional methods to deal with terrorists. But what about the innocents? Are we then entitled to commit injustice? Are we free from accountability?

The president decides how to treat suspects, whether or not there is evidence against them and there are few restrictions on his decision. Does that not put all of us in jeopardy? What checks and balances remain in place to prevent those in power from eliminating “uncomfortable” political opponents? Once they are accused of being terrorist-friendly what protects those whose voices represent the dissident masses?

The Republican majority strong-armed the senate into approving the new law. You and I have no say in the matter. But you and I decide who makes up the next senate and house.
November is not far away!

Elephants Can't Jump

They say Elephants are the only animals that can’t jump. That’s remarkable.

They dance a tango, stand on a ball, and rise up on their front feet for us, despite their impressive bulk. None of these tricks come naturally. Elephant trainers work years with the giant pachyderms to impress audiences of all ages. Yet, no matter how much training they get, Elephants never learn how to jump. Their pillar-like legs, massive enough to support up to thirteen tons of body weight, lack the structural design for jumping.

Knowing this makes it all the more disconcerting to watch our political Elephant jump through hoops in an attempt at damage control before the next elections. Thick-skinned as the biological pachyderms, the GOP remains unaffected by public opinion, rising poverty and unhappiness of a war-tired nation. But power and territory are two concepts Elephants – and Republicans – understand very well.

Adult Elephants, in the wild, have no natural enemies. Only humans were able to decimate their numbers over the centuries and hunt them to near extinction. When the herd approaches a watering hole, other animals give way. Such display of power and dominance! Formidable, much like the GOP.

Unlike the GOP, however, real Elephants are matriarchal. Females are in charge of the herds and males only linger around the fringes, asking for sexual favors. If there are issues of child birth, child care, foreign relations, social order, or territory, the females decide them, while the Republican agenda is male dominated and overly concerned with regulating women’s lives and decisions.

Real Elephants are highly social animals and share their resources within the herd and with neighboring clans. When food is scarce, they all starve. When nourishment and water are available, even the smallest calf gets it share. How remarkable, when we compare with our human society, where many more people each day struggle from meal to meal, from rent-day to rent-day, hope drowning in desperation, while others float on bubbles of luxury.

The GOP could learn much from its chosen mascot, could choose to develop a deep social conscience. But then, it would not be the GOP. Elephants can’t jump, but we’ll continue to see the Republican Party jump through hoops of various shapes and sizes to cover and distract from the real issues that plague our society. We can sit in the audience and be entertained if we want. Or we can step out of our comfort zone and find out how a real Elephant lives. Perhaps we won’t be so quick to fall for the glitz and glamour of a few carefully practiced circus tricks.


Elephant data from Wikipedia and The Straight Dope

Spock (for the Trekkies)

Going against logic is not something Spock is comfortable doing. His whole nature is orderly and controlled. Except for the Pon Far, an over-emotional state of mating fever, occurring only every seven years, he is not known to give over to irrationality and few of the Starfleet personnel have ever seen him in Pon Far.

Spock’s world is governed by science, by philosophy, by deep thinking and reasoning. His training is classic, involving literature, mathematics and universal history, as well as the disciplines of self-mastery. For all intents and purposes, Spock is a perfect being.

Except!

Except when logic hits an impasse and he can’t deduct any answers.

I’m somewhat of a stoic…at least I try to be. I’ve always seen Spock as a role model. I admire his ability to reason things true, to withstand rash, emotional reactions. When everyone else in Starfleet shows shock or outrage, he only raises that one significant eyebrow. How cool!

Spock is the most capable member of James Tiberius Kirk’s crew. His curious nature compels him to search for answers and learn continuously, even before any questions are posed. He is also a most reliable friend and Kirk knows that he can count on his absolute and unfailing trustworthiness.

Still, there are times when Spock’s logic fails him. Despite his perfection, even in light of all his incredible wealth of knowledge, Spock is flawed.

As humans, we walk a fine line between head and heart. Our intellect imparts to us the ability to rationalize, while the heart holds our often treacherous emotional baggage. Somewhere in between, there is a balanced place, where truth originates. That place is as old as life on earth. Seated deeply within our bodies, it holds the secret of humanity’s survival. From there, a different kind of knowledge guides us: raw and instinctual. James Tiberius Kirk calls it a hunch.

Kirk is a master of hunches. When all Spock’s reasoning fails to turn up a solution, Kirk always comes through. Mission after mission, he has proven his ability to lead with confidence when the odds are against him. Time after time, his crew have placed their trust in his vision and followed him through to success. For this reason alone, Kirk will always be the better starship captain, despite Spock’s superior intellect.

James Kirk is also a role model. His sometimes fly-in-the-face instinctual solutions are based upon years of careful training, coupled with a deeply felt understanding of the workings of the universe. Much more than simple emotional reactions, they emerge only after thorough consideration of all available facts. Like the conductor of an orchestra, who pulls together the musicians’ technical perfection and imparts his own understanding of the music into the performance.

Even as a stoic, I cannot rely on rational thinking alone. There is more to the human experience and there is more to being a great starship captain. I run a tight ship around here. I try to govern my emotional reactions to life and keep the baggage out of other peoples’ way. But sometimes cognitive reasoning is not enough and – like Kirk – I make decisions based on a hunch.

We Sell Grass...

I wonder what it takes to invoke the sign spirits.

Prayers? Drum circles? Human sacrifice? Or perhaps only a very vivid dream?
Whatever it is, I can imagine someone getting the deed done for my entertainment:

I could tell the sign spirits were busy this morning on my way to school. Down the road a little ways, lovingly hand-crafted by concerned parents, a sign warns us to “Watch Children”. I drove past this sign for years. Though crudely made, it stood up to rain and time and road spatter. I never saw a single child in that whole neighborhood, so I was content to look in the rearview mirror and watch my own son, strapped behind me in his wheelchair.

This morning, as I drove by sleepily, trying to take rescue sips of coffee from my travel mug, I did a double take, as I noticed a second sign, right next to the first one, equally handmade, equally crude, saying “Clock people.” That was my first clue that the sign spirits were on the loose.

OK, the sense of humor was a bit off the mark, but I could see the logic. The English language is so versatile, it might be a challenge for a spirit.

“Church Zone” was my next encounter with the imps. Like me, they must have puzzled over the purpose of the sign, because they carefully enhanced it with “No Cussin’!” I nodded, deeply satisfied. It made much more sense this way.

I should have known it was only the beginning, sort of a preparation for things to come. By the time I had reached the highway, I was awake enough to appreciate their real work.

Halfway between my home and my college, two landscaping companies vie for customers with huge signs on opposite sides of the highway. Their signs always made me chuckle a bit, as I sensed the possibilities. And the sign spirits hadn’t let me down.
“We Sell Grass And Pots” was the easy one. They simply dropped the final “s”. Which explained the long line of cars waiting for the store to open…

The other one had taken a bit more imagination. “We Sell Grass And Stone” became “We Sell Grass And Get Stoned.”

Either way, business would be excellent today, as the onslaught of eager customers promised. Until, of course, they figured out the false advertisement…

It was a good day for me though. I smiled all the way to school. And I offered a silent “thank you” to the sign spirits for their contribution.

Morning Drive

Every morning on my way to school a mother waits for the school bus with her young son. She parks by the stop sign, over to the right, and out of my way. My Mustang hums its guttural bass as I roll to a stop beside her old, rusty Chevrolet pickup. Somehow, I sense that I am disturbing her peace, although she doesn’t show it. I wave, as I prepare to make my left turn, but she never responds. I am just a stranger in a hurry, an unwelcome intrusion into her private mother-and-child time. I speed off into the rising sun, blindly groping for my sun glasses, which are once again hiding under the passenger seat.

Traffic is not bad yet, as long as I stay off the main drag. The back road snakes through the morning mist, giving my shift-arm quite a workout. I love driving a standard, especially a fast one. The Mustang is warmed up and rearing to go. I turn off the stereo and listen to the engine purr. For a while, my worries take a back seat to the ride. This is pure pleasure.

The sun sparkles over the dew-moist grass and on the wings of a lazy crow, stirred up from slumber. On the right, complacent cows dim-wittedly stare at nothing in particular. A dog leaps up and tries to chase me, until he eats smoke, street dust, and defeat. Find some easier prey, buddy. I’m out of your league!

Every morning, a horse waits by the fence, head propped on the corner post, tail waving in the breeze. His face pressed defiantly against the wind, he waits for something only he understands. I blow my horn, but he never responds. I’m just another motorist, with never enough time to stop and pet his whiskered nose. I speed past him, shifting down for the sharp curve, then up again, tires squealing on the moist road.

Both, the horse and the mother wait quietly every morning for life to bring them what they need, while I rush to find my destiny. They rest and enjoy the present moment, while I charge toward an uncertain future. As I steer my car onto the main road, where traffic will soon swallow me and occupy all my thoughts, I wonder if perhaps the wisdom hides in the waiting; if struggling for success might indeed be unwholesome. And I marvel at the prudence of a mother and a lone horse who both ignore me, knowing that I am insignificant in their lives, just another hasty stranger, throwing noisy, dusty whirlwinds into their peaceful path.