A Century since the Conflagration

One hundred years ago, it began. And in a lot of ways, it hasn’t ended…but then, can we even say that “it” really started one hundred years ago, as opposed to just one particular long and sickening phase of “it”?

How the assassination of one particular member of just one of Europe’s many royal families ended up causing that entire continent to dissolve into a four-year war that killed millions and did nothing more than set the stage for the even worse war to come less than thirty years later is one of the scariest of all historical tales, in my opinion. Reading about the assassination itself, the sequence of events that morning, is maddening, especially when you learn that the only reason Gavrilo Princip found himself standing close enough to Franz Ferdinand to shoot him at point-blank range was that the Archduke’s driver hadn’t got the message to drive the alternate route that morning. Almost as maddening is the way the rest of the royalty turned the Archduke’s and his wife’s funerals into an occasion for massaging old angers and familial dislikes…but when you’re dealing with royalty, familial angers and old grudges get magnified to national scales, which is how wars start. There’s just something so creepily medieval about the way World War I started.

From Barbara Tuchman’s book The Guns of August:

“Some damned foolish thing in the Balkans,” Bismarck had predicted, would ignite the next war. The assassination of the Austrian heir apparent, Archduke Franz Ferdinand, by Serbian nationalists on June 28, 1914, satisfied his condition. Austria-Hungary, with the bellicose frivolity of senile empires, determined to use the occasion to absorb Serbia as she had absorbed Bosnia and Herzegovina in 1909. Russia on that occasion, weakened by the war with Japan, had been forced to acquiesce by a German ultimatum followed by the Kaiser’s appearance in “shining armor”, as he put it, at the side of his ally, Austria. To avenge that humiliation and for the sake of her prestige as the major Slav power, Russia was now prepared to put on the shining armor herself. On July 5 Germany assured Austria that she could count on Germany’s “faithful support” if whatever punitive action she took against Serbia brought her into conflict with Russia. This was the signal that let loose the irresistible onrush of events. On July 23 Austria delivered an ultimatum to Serbia, on July 26 rejected the Serbian reply (although the Kaiser, now nervous, admitted that it “dissipates every reason for war”), on July 28 declared war on Serbia, on July 29 bombarded Belgrade. On that day Russia mobilized along her Austrian frontier and on July 30 both Austria and Russia ordered general mobilization. On July 31 Germany issued an ultimatum to Russia to demobilize within twelve hours and “make us a distinct declaration to that effect.”

War pressed against every frontier. Suddenly dismayed, governments struggled and twisted to fend it off. It was no use. Agents at frontiers were reporting every cavalry patrol as a deployment to beat the mobilization gun. General staffs, goaded by their relentless timetables, were pounding the table for the signal to move lest their opponents gain an hour’s head start. Appalled upon the brink, the chiefs of state who would be ultimately responsible for their country’s fate attempted to back away but the pull of military schedules dragged them forward.

One of the scariest aspects of war, to me, is how it so often just seems to happen. War is this emergent thing, egged on by people in power who seem to genuinely enjoy a state of war. War is certainly compelling, and tempting for people like me who like to craft epic fiction; you don’t get more epic than war. But it’s still horrific to read accounts of how World War I started and see the degree to which people seemed to suddenly realize, “Oh my God, we’re actually gonna do this! Abort! Abort!” only to be dragged, inexorably, into the meat grinder because other parts of the human psyche took over: the ones that hold grudges, the ones that massage anger and care for it and let it grow like some awful, malignant flower.

World War I didn’t have to happen, and yet, it did, because…it just had to. Why? I return, again and again, to a line of dialogue in a play I saw in college, called A Walk in the Woods. The play, by Lee Blessing, shows to arms negotiators, one Russian and one American, taking a break during the unending arms talks during the Cold War to go for walks together, during which they discuss the nature of the Sisyphean task they have been assigned. The Russian keeps returning to his view, over and over, that their job is doomed to failure because humans just plain like war. This is brought home in a line that’s stuck with me ever since I saw the play: “If mankind truly hated war, there would be millions of US, and only two soldiers.

Wars happen because people want them to. That we seem to want it as frequently as we do is one of the worst things about our species.

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There shouldn’t be this much Nazi-related funny stuff in one day….

A church wanted to put an inspiring quote on its billboard. They found one. Problem was, it was a quote by Adolf Hitler. So they went back to the inspirational quote book used it anyway!

And they attributed it, right on the billboard! They didn’t even leave themselves the possibility of saying, “Wait, we quoted who now?!”

Oy.

Maybe I should go offline before I learn that Heinrich Himmler liked pie fights….

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Those who went, but did not return

Tomb of Unknown Soldier


Know, all who see these lines,
That this man, by his appetite for honor,
By his steadfastness,
By his love for his country,
By his courage,
Was one of the miracles of the God.

— Guy Gavriel Kay

“The Green Field of France”, by Eric Bogle

Well, how do you do, young Willie McBride,
Do you mind if I sit down here by your graveside?
And rest for awhile ‘neath the warm summer sun,
I’ve been walking all day, and I’m nearly done.
I see by your gravestone you were only 19
When you joined the great fallen in 1916,
I hope you died quick and I hope you died clean
Or, Willie McBride, was it slow and obscene?

Did they Beat the drum slowly, did they play the fife lowly?
Did they sound the death-march as they lowered you down?
Did the band play The Last Post in chorus?
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?

Did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind
In some faithful heart is your memory enshrined?
And, though you died back in 1916,
To that faithful heart are you forever 19?
Or are you a stranger without even a name,
Enshrined then, forever, behind a glass pane,
In an old photograph, torn and tattered and stained,
And faded to yellow in a brown leather frame?

Did they Beat the drum slowly, did they play the fife lowly?
Did they sound the death-march as they lowered you down?
Did the band play The Last Post in chorus?
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?

The sun’s shining down on these green fields of France;
The warm wind blows gently, and the red poppies dance.
The trenches have vanished long under the plow;
No gas and no barbed wire, no guns firing now.
But here in this graveyard that’s still No Man’s Land
The countless white crosses in stand mute in the sand
To man’s blind indifference to his fellow man,
And a whole generation who were butchered and damned.

Did they Beat the drum slowly, did they play the fife lowly?
Did they sound the death-march as they lowered you down?
Did the band play The Last Post in chorus?
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?

And I can’t help but wonder, no Willie McBride,
Do all those who lie here know why they died?
Did they really believe when they answered the call,
Did they really believe that this war would end wars?
Well the sorrow, the suffering, the glory, the pain
The killing and dying, was all done in vain,
For young Willie McBride, it all happened again,
And again, and again, and again, and again.

Did they Beat the drum slowly, did they play the fife lowly?
Did they sound the death-march as they lowered you down?
Did the band play The Last Post in chorus?
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?

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National Pie Day!

Today is National Pie Day, huzzah!


Sadly, this is also the day that the Captain and Tennille announced that they are divorcing, which I find quite a bummer. But I can tie that into National Pie Day, too:


Happy National Pie Day, folks!

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Pursuing Capital

A bit of politics here, after the break. Keep scrolling if you don’t want one of my rare bursts of liberalism in this space!

On we go….

I’ve seen three articles online in the last week that have really expressed well my increasing trouble with the idea that we need to rely on free-market capitalism, and only free-market capitalism, to solve all of our various problems.

First, this by Henry Blodgett, speaking against the notion of rich people as “job creators”:

As America struggles with high unemployment and record inequality, everyone is offering competing solutions to the problem.

In this war of words (and classes), one thing has been repeated so often that many people now regard it as fact.

“Rich people create the jobs.”

Specifically, by starting and directing America’s companies, entrepreneurs and rich investors create the jobs that sustain everyone else.

This statement is usually invoked to justify cutting taxes on entrepreneurs and investors. If only we reduce those taxes and regulations, the story goes, entrepreneurs and investors can be incented to build more companies and create more jobs.

This argument ignores the fact that taxes on entrepreneurs and investors are already historically low, even after this year’s modest increases. And it ignores the assertions of many investors and entrepreneurs (like me) that they would work just as hard to build companies even if taxes were higher.

But, more importantly, this argument perpetuates a myth that some well-off Americans use to justify today’s record inequality — the idea that rich people create the jobs.

[snip]

The prevailing story that justifies tax cuts for America’s entrepreneurs and investors is that the huge pots of gold they take home are supposed to “trickle down” to the middle class and thus benefit everyone.

Unfortunately, that’s not the way it actually works.

First, America’s companies are currently being managed to share the least possible amount of their income with the employees who help create it. Corporate profit margins are at all-time highs, while wages are at an all-time low.

Second, as Hanauer observes, America’s richest entrepreneurs, investors, and companies now have so much money that they can’t possibly spend it all. So instead of getting pumped back into the economy, thus creating revenue and wages, this cash just remains in investment accounts.

Read the whole thing.

Second, this by David Simon, creator of the highly-regarded teevee series The Wire (which I have not seen). This article is a nearly pitch-perfect summation of what I believe.

Labour doesn’t get to win all its arguments, capital doesn’t get to. But it’s in the tension, it’s in the actual fight between the two, that capitalism actually becomes functional, that it becomes something that every stratum in society has a stake in, that they all share.

The unions actually mattered. The unions were part of the equation. It didn’t matter that they won all the time, it didn’t matter that they lost all the time, it just mattered that they had to win some of the time and they had to put up a fight and they had to argue for the demand and the equation and for the idea that workers were not worth less, they were worth more.

Ultimately we abandoned that and believed in the idea of trickle-down and the idea of the market economy and the market knows best, to the point where now libertarianism in my country is actually being taken seriously as an intelligent mode of political thought. It’s astonishing to me. But it is. People are saying I don’t need anything but my own ability to earn a profit. I’m not connected to society. I don’t care how the road got built, I don’t care where the firefighter comes from, I don’t care who educates the kids other than my kids. I am me. It’s the triumph of the self. I am me, hear me roar.

That we’ve gotten to this point is astonishing to me because basically in winning its victory, in seeing that Wall come down and seeing the former Stalinist state’s journey towards our way of thinking in terms of markets or being vulnerable, you would have thought that we would have learned what works. Instead we’ve descended into what can only be described as greed. This is just greed. This is an inability to see that we’re all connected, that the idea of two Americas is implausible, or two Australias, or two Spains or two Frances.

[snip]

We have become something other than what we claim for the American dream and all because of our inability to basically share, to even contemplate a socialist impulse.

Socialism is a dirty word in my country. I have to give that disclaimer at the beginning of every speech, “Oh by the way I’m not a Marxist you know”. I lived through the 20th century. I don’t believe that a state-run economy can be as viable as market capitalism in producing mass wealth. I don’t.

I’m utterly committed to the idea that capitalism has to be the way we generate mass wealth in the coming century. That argument’s over. But the idea that it’s not going to be married to a social compact, that how you distribute the benefits of capitalism isn’t going to include everyone in the society to a reasonable extent, that’s astonishing to me.

And so capitalism is about to seize defeat from the jaws of victory all by its own hand. That’s the astonishing end of this story, unless we reverse course. Unless we take into consideration, if not the remedies of Marx then the diagnosis, because he saw what would happen if capital triumphed unequivocally, if it got everything it wanted.

And one of the things that capital would want unequivocally and for certain is the diminishment of labour. They would want labour to be diminished because labour’s a cost. And if labour is diminished, let’s translate that: in human terms, it means human beings are worth less.

[snip]

Mistaking capitalism for a blueprint as to how to build a society strikes me as a really dangerous idea in a bad way. Capitalism is a remarkable engine again for producing wealth. It’s a great tool to have in your toolbox if you’re trying to build a society and have that society advance. You wouldn’t want to go forward at this point without it. But it’s not a blueprint for how to build the just society. There are other metrics besides that quarterly profit report.

The idea that the market will solve such things as environmental concerns, as our racial divides, as our class distinctions, our problems with educating and incorporating one generation of workers into the economy after the other when that economy is changing; the idea that the market is going to heed all of the human concerns and still maximise profit is juvenile. It’s a juvenile notion and it’s still being argued in my country passionately and we’re going down the tubes. And it terrifies me because I’m astonished at how comfortable we are in absolving ourselves of what is basically a moral choice. Are we all in this together or are we all not?

Read that whole thing, too.

Finally, local blogger and friend Alan Bedenko provided a bit of graphical information yesterday demonstrating pretty conclusively that America’s thirty-plus year experiment with supply-side economics has simply not produced the kind of overall economic prosperity that’s been promised. What has happened instead is a relentless upflow of money that is causing less social mobility than ever before.

The libertarian response would be one of two answers: first, we just haven’t made the markets free enough yet and only by remaining the final shackles will we create a tide that really lifts all boats, or second, the freedom of the markets is so inherently good and important that they actually supersede the real economic problems they create. Quite the bit of doublethink there: “Our prescription will solve a problem that in our hearts we don’t really believe is a problem at all.”

The worst thing is that there is now an entire generation of Americans who have grown up and internalized this bullshit and who think that this is the natural order of things, the way it’s supposed to run. Huge amounts of economic inequality and instability? Features, not bugs.

Will it ever change? Of course it will. The pendulum always swings. I just hope I get to see it start to swing back in my lifetime.

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Thankfulness: I has it!

Mosaic of Thanks

Here, with my usual additions sprinkled throughout, is my updated list of things for which I am thankful. It is not exhaustive!

Cape May, Lucky Bones (restaurant in Cape May), Cheddar cheese so sharp it makes you pucker, Sesame crackers, Our azalea plant, Our ivy plant, Cats, Get Fuzzy, blogs, George Lucas, Star Wars, our dining room table, Klein screwdrivers, flashlights, William Shatner, Sela Ward, Mary Stewart’s Arthurian trilogy, Miles Vorkosigan by Lois McMater Bujold, Stephen King, the Kushiel series by Jacqueline Carey, the hardware store in my old hometown, angle grinders, Dremel rotary tool, Star Trek, Sergei Rachmaninov, The Beatles, Van Halen, glass growler bottles for beer, baked pasta dishes, pizza (thin, Buffalo-thick or deep dish, it’s all great!), cookies, Harry Potter, Guy Gavriel Kay, Space opera, Planetary Romance, Chestnut Ridge Park, big thick poetry collections, Jerry Sullivan (Buffalo News sports columnist), Instagram, my drill, Schopp and the Bulldog (Buffalo sports talk radio guys), Fried chicken, Italian sausage, that I have finally seen Les Miserables on stage and screen, that Star Wars is coming back, Harrison Ford, Canada and Canadians, the poetry of Tennyson, the Buffalo Philharmonic Orchestra, Brian and Stewie on The Family Guy, Everyone who ever acted in a Harry Potter movie at all ever, Joss Whedon, steak, chess, comics, big breakfasts that leave me full until mid-afternoon, light breakfasts that take the edge off until a nice lunch, Firefly, Battlestar Galactica, The Mentalist, Tasting something good at a restaurant and figuring out how to make it at home, Ice cream at the roadside place down the road, The County Fair, the farm exchange thing we joined this year, Libraries, JRR Tolkien, Route 20-A in the fall, Sandals, the scissor jack at work, Locke Lamora and Jean Tannen, Once Upon a Time, Lana Parilla, Monty Python, aquariums, science museums, The Origin of Species, Cosmos, Carl Sagan, complete collections of Shakespeare (I own six, plus the one on my tablet!), thick fuzzy socks in winter, eggs, watching the Super Bowl, watching figure skating, the Olympic games, Person of Interest, Autumn Leaves Used Books in Ithaca, the Ithaca Apple Harvest Festival, white peaches, getaways with The Wife, holding The Wife’s hand, the second chapter of Luke, Asian Star restaurant in West Seneca (they do gluten-free really well), Chipotle Mexican Grill, Arriba Tortilla in East Aurora, Edgar Allan Poe, Firefly Cupcakes in East Aurora, discovering new authors, Liking books on the re-read that I didn’t like the first time, Sherlock, Benedict Cumberbatch, Martin Freeman, Daniel Craig as James Bond, George Lazenby as James Bond, Sean Connery as James Bond, Roger Moore as James Bond, Timothy Dalton as James Bond, Pierce Brosnan as James Bond, my cell phone, my new tablet, embracing brighter colors in my wardrobe, the Burchfield Nature and Art Center, The Daughter getting better each year on her string bass, John Williams, Hector Berlioz, Toronto, Pittsburgh, Having no idea what to get The Wife for Christmas, Castle and Beckett, Nathan Fillion, Stana Katic, Kat Dennings, Melissa Rauch, The Big Bang Theory, Dr. Sheldon Cooper, “[knock knock knock] Penny? [knock knock knock] Penny? [knock knock knock] Penny?”, A Tale of Two Cities, Thin-mint Girl Scout Cookies, Roast turkey, Chicken wings, Rum (particularly spiced), Coke, Anthony Bourdain, Rachel Maddow, Cake Boss, Nate Silver, George Carlin, Hayao Miyazaki, President Obama (on balance), Zooey Deschanel, my wok, pies in the face, pies in my face, bib overalls, Carhartt overalls, dollops of whipped cream on my overalls after getting hit in the face with a pie, cooking, Lester, Julio, Comet, writing, Princesses In SPACE!!! (not the actual title), Princesses II: Princesses Boogaloo (not the actual title), GhostCop (not the actual title), Lighthouse Boy (not the actual title), NaNoWriMo, connecting with other writers via social networks, friends willing to read my writing, people who don’t mind associating with me even with all the weirdness I bring to the table, All who read this blog, a future that feels bright, Baby Fiona, Little Quinn, The Daughter, The Wife, and this whole wild and wacky Cosmos from which we spring.

May you all, each and every single one of you, enjoy a happy Thanksgiving and may the coming year bring more things of Thankfulness than the last!

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“Don’t forget your dying King.”

I was born a little less than eight years after President Kennedy’s assassination, so I don’t have any direct memories of that event. But the shockwaves that event has sent through time are truly amazing to behold, even to this day. I don’t know where those shockwaves lead, but it occurs to me that our country is now run by people who grew up with the knowledge that a President could be violently removed from office. That’s the kind of thing that colors the world in a way that we don’t often realize.

Who do I think killed President Kennedy? Does it really matter?

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All good things must end…even local breakfast joints

Terrific article about the closing of a beloved local restaurant in Indiana:

On the last morning, before the waffle irons went cold and the pictures came down, before the lock refused to lock, before the claw crashed through the roof, the old man paced.

Tap, tap, tap. Bud Powell’s aluminum cane led the way as he circled the floor of Bloomington’s Waffle House. His Waffle House.

That Wednesday in September, the owner didn’t know what to do with himself. The smell of frying oil, the same greasy perfume that had greeted customers for 46 years, wafted into his nose as he wandered past the vinyl booths. He sat down, then stood
up again.

Bud — everyone called him Bud — checked on the dwindling supply of breakfast sausage, peered into the nearly empty freezers, tried to explain to his regulars why it had to be this way.

“It’s time,” he said over and over.

Do read the whole thing. It’s a very good piece of writing. It seems to me that there needs to be a name for this mini-genre of writing, in which writers make you miss places you’ve never been.

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