riotthill

Last week, Glenn Beck, who hosts both radio (The Glenn Beck Program, broadcast on over 400 stations) and television (Fox News Channel) programs got himself into trouble by mocking the US president’s daughter, Malia. She is 11 years old. It was pretty offensive, suggesting stupidity, poor education, etc., implying all the old stereotypes.

Aside from being immature, hysterical and loony-tunes, Beck is a racist, and misogynist from the far right religious extremists who would do anything, it seems to get rid of President Obama. Apparently the extremists (part of the Republican party, having pushed the centrists off the stage) are grooming him as their next spokesman, taking over from Rush Limbaugh.

Confusing, though… I thought Fox TV, Republicans and religious right extremists were all about family and children. Apparently not. They seem to endorse an adult male abusively bullying in public, an 11 year old child, in an effort to discredit her father.

Oh, there was a public apology from Beck. Too late—the harm has been done. Not convincing either.

Funny thing about the wording, ‘I apologize‘, that Beck used. It’s an arm’s- length sort of ‘get me off the hook‘ statement which is in reality, meaningless, although it meets all the technical criteria.

And that goes back to freedom of the media, free speech, etc., etc. If one insists on free speech, there is a hefty price tag to employ it, paid for with responsibility and ownership of one’s actions, and a willingness to accept consequence.

‘I apologize’ says, technically and/or legally, ‘I’m covering myself; my lawyers, my radio or TV producers will be happy.’

If one says ‘I am sorry’, one is telling the recipient that you regret your behaviour, you own it, you accept full responsibility and thus consequence for your action. Beck’s follow-up apology was none of those things.

One says, ‘oops, gotta cover myself’; the other expresses true remorse.

One offers no conviction that the behaviour or incident won’t happen again tomorrow; the other suggests ‘hey, I made a mistake, I’m trying to change my ways and it won’t occur again.’ You’re left with a feeling that things are changing for the better. Beck certainly didn’t offer that with his wimpy ‘I apologize’.

And how about being too late? Hopefully, young Malia did not hear the nasty portrayal of herself on Beck’s show, at least not directly.

But what about all the other kids that did hear it, or hear their parents’ approval? Glenn Beck’s bullish behaviour tells children by example, two things:

1. Since the incident played out on public airwaves that heavily endorse a political and religious stance, among other things, I guess it’s okay to abuse children, or be a racist, or disrespect girls—all those laws are meaningless; and,
2. I see an adult role model  publicly behaving this way… since I learn best from example, I’m going to bully kids at school, or on the internet, or at church in the back pews….when I grow up, I’ll be a racist, an abuser, a child-hater, a misogynist.

Shame on you Glenn Beck, shame on Fox TV for employing,  and especially the radio affiliates who broadcast, such an abusive bully of a man, shame on the republican extremists for outright hypocrisy. And shame on anyone who continues to follow Glenn Beck, whether it be television or radio, or public appearances. Is this how you want your nation’s future shaped?

Glenn Beck Firestorm 

Cross posted at Red Room

What do calendars mean, anyway? I’ve read that they probably first arose as simple ways to keep track of seasons, as a guide to gathering, early farming and probably some hunting, you know, following the herds, fish runs or nesting birds. I imagine in the earliest clans, it was one of the more important jobs and perhaps had a long training period to learn to ‘read‘ the moon’s cycles, the stars, weather and environment.

Sophisticated sciences today, but for our earliest forbears, not just sophistication was needed to learn, but responsibility as well, as making the right ‘readings‘ would have been a much more literal choice of life and death — of survival itself.

Catastrophe if you arrived, and the nuts, grains or fruits were already dropped, the eggs hatched, the herd moved on, the fish spawned and died.

Nowadays, if the grocery store is closed, it’s a matter of waiting until tomorrow morning. You may be disappointed you couldn’t have that ice cream you hankered for, but you will never be faced with a long slow starvation, not just for yourself, but your family as well.

With all our sophistication, technology, global village market, why do people in some parts of the world still face the same horrifying conditions our ancients did? I do not understand our greed that we should be so indifferent to the suffering of others.

If an ancient clan encountered another that was starving, would they have shared their food stores? Impossible to know, but my inclination is to guess ‘yes, and no‘, or rather, ‘it depends‘.

If it would put your clan at risk of the same fate, however painful, likely you would leave them to starve.

If it involved discomfort, but not the threat of death to your people, you might consider sharing, perhaps after some sort of consensus is reached.

If you had food to spare, my guess is if you were an ancient, where food meant life or death, but not the size of your status in your society, you opened your storage sacks and pits to your neighbours.

In today’s world of greed, the food we produce has to be paid for with coinage, first and foremost to the shareholders. Slow and painful death by starvation doesn’t factor into the equation. Nor does a simple calendar of lunar movements, stars and seasons, unless, of course, you are marking a special event with a grand feast, a birthday, an anniversary, a holiday.

How is it we have come to this, where the same cruel logic applies to health and disease, to housing and shelter, education, technology… Ancient life was harsh and chancy, but ours seems to be a trade off between plenty or compassion, a progression of calendars that mark special events to ‘stuff ourselves silly‘ while others go hungry.

You’ve asked me many times if the wolves are singing. Tonight yes, they sing loudly; clearly, distinctly their voices carry above the frog racket from the marsh across the road. They celebrate life, announce it to each other, share it with all who will listen. Their voices make me happy because I love their presence, and because they make me think of you.

But I don’t dream of them. Nor do I dream of you. Instead I dream of red rooms, in particular, a giant room large enough, tall enough to hold my house. It’s crowded, but I don’t hear its heat or taste its sweat. I see only across the tops of people’s heads to a wall and ceiling far away, trying to calculate its dimensions.

You see, this room is a deep rich red, even within its shadows. It insists. It tells me it is part of my grandfather’s cottage, a fact impossible to question within a dream.

In a real world it would make no sense. Just as in a real world, the wolves howl, but the stories they tell are impossible to follow — they are secret wolf tales, you see.

Do wolves dream of red rooms? Not likely, for they would have to cross a divide of species, of worlds, of knowing to enter the red room of my dreams.

Oh, but if they did, you and I would know the secrets of their stories, their legends and myths. We could whisper them to each other, send our conversations out above the crowd of heads to echo amongst the walls of our red room.

Cross posted at Red Room