Ted Rall's Rallblog

Jack Idema is dead.

I met this colorful character in the lobby of the Hotel Tajikistan in Dushanbe in November 2001. I was on my way into northern Afghanistan and the HT was the headquarters for reporters covering the Taliban’s last (ha–we thought) stand in north, around Kunduz.

Like all con men, he was vague about his affiliations. He claimed to be on deep cover, an unacknowledged member of U.S. Special Forces working with the Northern Alliance. It wasn’t implausible; he certainly did maintain contacts with both organizations and seemed to be able to pull a few strings here and there.

His interest in me was to try to get my paper, the Village Voice, to run a story about how the Pentagon was refusing to provide proper medical aid to America’s Afghan allies. Naturally I requested proof: people to interview, documents, whatever could help verify his story. All he did was talk. A lot of bluster, much of it including threats about how his Special Forces buddies would track me down and murder me and my family if I ever crossed him.

Having been bullied and beaten as a kid, I wasn’t impressed. And so, finally, the morning I headed for the border, Jack handed me a floppy disc. “Give this to anyone and you WILL die in pain,” he promised.

I carried it to Afghanistan with me. Kept it dry as I forded rivers. Kept it away from the pernicious Afghan dust. Got it back safe and sound to Tajikistan, then Turkey, then New York. Where I popped it into my Mac. And a friend’s PC.

It was blank.

Today Kickstarter has a question thingie about my use of them to fund my 2010 trip to Afghanistan. Given his preview, I’m surprised that David Carr didn’t mention this approach to funding journalism in his NYT column today.

(psst–it’s fun to be blackballed)

In Venezuela, the government is building housing for displaced flood victims. Imagine that, Katrina survivors! Sounds almost…sane.

Naturally the New York Times, which endorsed the coup attempt against Hugo Chávez, is seriously pissed off.

I’ve been running into Indians a lot lately. Not subcontinent Indians, the American ones. Not actual American Indians, either. Let me explain. A couple of weeks ago, I was going through a roll of nickels, and I found one of the old-timey Indian head variety. The date on that particular coin is completely obliterated, which happened a lot due to the coin design being prone to erosion.

Also recently, due to various TV commercials and promos for programs, I ended up, in a one-week period, explaining to the same person, on three different occasions, about:

1. the significance of the “Keep America Clean” commercials that ended with a silent Indian with a silent tear running down his face as he saw how despoiled the land had become.

2. the smothering scene at the end of the movie based on Ken Kesey’s One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

3. an explanation (and assembly) of the ridiculously juvenile dirty joke that is available to anyone with a box of Land O’ Lakes butter, a pair of scissors, and the mindset of a 12-year-old boy. The, uh, novelty involves the package design of Land O’ Lakes butter: an infinite loop, each iteration at a smaller scale, of an Indian woman holding a box of Land O’ Lakes butter with an image of an Indian woman holding a box of Land O’ Lakes butter with an image of an Indian woman holding a box of Land O’ Lakes butter … .)

These three items were enough Indian-themed material to trigger that little thing in my brain that usually jams a song lyric into my head. I am amazed at the number of Indian-themed items that have been coming to mind for no reason: the Shawmut Bank logo, Go-Go Gophers, the Hekawi from F Troop, Apache Chief from the Superfriends, John Redcorn from King of the Hill, Chakotay from Star Trek: Voyager, the episode of Alice where Larry Hovis (Carter from Hogan’s Heroes) is playing Vera’s boyfriend and mentions that he is part American Indian, the Mazzola Corn Goodness Woman (“My people call it maize.”), all the Indian references in the Nicholson-Duvall version of The Shining, that episode of Star Trek where Kirk loses his memory on the planet populated by various Indian tribes.

Finally, it all came to a head. Last week, AMC wrapped up the current season of Hell on Wheels. The show is one of those great ensemble dramas AMC cranks out with frightening regularity. (A complete aside: Christopher Heyerdahl’s absolutely flawless performance is the finest supporting role this year. You’ll never look at a Norwegian the same way again.) The overarching plot of the series is the arrival of the railroad to the American West right after the Civil War.

Buried in with the various subplots is one about the end of the American Indians as a dominant culture. As a piece of drama, the subplot unfolds with a superbly just-right touch. It’s not too heavy, it’s not too marginal. Not too preachy, not too casual. And for the audience, it’s an odd bit of time travel. We all know what’s coming, and it’s such a sad thing to contemplate. Not so much for the individual Indians in the story because they could (possibly) survive, but their culture is ending. The railroad dragged the Indians to the end of the line, at least as a dominant set of cultures in America.

About 10 minutes from the end of the episode, the penny (the nickel?) finally dropped, and the thing my subconscious was trying to point out clawed its way to center stage: The Middle Class is now in the position the Indians were in 150 years ago. The end is coming for us, just as it came for the Indians. A small number of the Middle Class will survive, but the culture, all the things that made the Middle Class what it was will be swept away.

The question has frequently been raised: What will happen with the OWSers? How will the movement resolve? Will it succeed? You need go no further than how the American Indians were treated by the politicians.

One and a half centuries later isn’t that long. I can picture a 90-year-old Indian, sitting in a rocking chair, with a group of children. The old person was a child of 10 back in 1860 and would have lived through it all, arriving at 1940 at the age of 90. That old man or woman could have had ample time to tell the whole story to those children, some of whom would have been 10 years old themselves. Those theoretical children would now be 82. I wonder what sort of stories they could tell, if they would cast their memories back to their childhoods. It’s going to be the same sort of thing for the Middle Class. In a few decades, those few of us who make it to 90 will gesture the children over to us, and we’ll tell them stories. “When I was your age, I already knew that I would go to college. Back then, many people, not just the rich, went to college. And there were national immunization programs. No one got polio when I was a boy. And we had supermarkets, those are places where people would walk in, and there would be thousands, no, honestly, thousands of kinds of foods. Cookies, and ice cream, and fresh fruits and vegetables. I know, you all think I’ve lost my marbles but most people in the Middle Class could go to the dentist. People kept their teeth a long, long time.”

Wikipedia has a jim-dandy entry (none of which I can vouch for the veracity of, but it’s free, and almost no one got paid for it, so what’s not to like?) that applies:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Occupation_of_Alcatraz

If you still can’t figure out how it’s going to end for the Middle Class if we don’t wake up, that should help you connect the dots. I wonder what the nickels will look like in 150 years. Perhaps Ted can draw us all a picture.

Here’s a photo courtesy of FOR Leo, purchaser of my “South Pork” parody cartoon, showing the work hanging framed in his home.

I’ve been taking a break from the cartoon auctions because after months of energetic auctions the final bids ultimately fell to depression-level levels. But I’ll try them again in the future.

In the meantime, I do sell my originals so feel free to get in touch to inquire if you see anything you like.

Sympathy for Newt and Open Marriage

You know the narrative. Right-wing family-values Republican gets caught doing secular-liberal totally-not-family-values stuff, usually involving sex:

Cruising for manlove in an airport men’s room.

Knocking up the maid.

Sending dirty emails to young male pages.

Hiring male hookers and smoking meth.

Asking wife #2 for an open marriage.

This kind of thing happens all the time. And it’s always red meat for leftie media commentators.

Liberal pundits love to call fallen Republicans hypocrites. They point out that liberal politicians are often more heterosexual and monogamous than many so-called conservatives—and remain married to the same spouse for life.

Now it’s Newt Gingrich’s turn.

In her divorce filing Ms. Gingrich the Second claims that Mr. Gingrich asked her for an open marriage so he could stay with her while carrying on with Callista, who became Ms. Gingrich the Third after Ms. Gingrich the Second refused said request. (You may need to re-read the previous sentence.)

Cue the holier-than-thou liberals.

CNN reporter John King opened a presidential debate with an assault on Newt’s alleged yearning for sexual freedom. A New York Times editorial called this “a perfectly reasonable question.”

Across the vertical seam in the op-ed graveyard Gail Collins could barely contain herself. “Beyond the hypocrisy of this sort of behavior from a guy who wants to protect the sanctity of holy matrimony from gay couples, there also seems to be a streak of almost crazed self-absorption that runs through the Newt saga,” Collins gloated. “Who would ditch a spouse of 18 years in a phone call? Shortly after she was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis? And, of course, he broke up with his first wife while she was battling cancer.”

That Newt Gingrich is pompous, nasty and one of the most hideous members of that physically repugnant tribe known as politicians can be stipulated by all but those blinded by hatred of Mormons and Kenyan-born socialists. Still, I think we on the Left are missing an opportunity for a teachable moment.

Progressives are fighting for human emancipation. The right to engage in sex with any consensual adult in any form is integral to this struggle to liberate ourselves from patriarchy, sexism, racism, homophobia and capitalism. How, then, can we justify mocking anyone—even a hypocritical Christian conservative—for expressing their sexuality?

When Senator Larry Craig was arrested, essentially for the crime of being a closeted gay or bisexual male, in that Minneapolis-St. Paul airport restroom, he needed our support, not our ridicule.

Imagine if supporters of gay rights from across the spectrum had refused to get sucked into stupid D-vs-R theatrics. Remember, the cops weren’t trying to catch a right-wing gay-bashing closeted senator. Craig was ensnared by one of countless sting operations conducted by police departments across the United States designed to harass all gays and lesbians. We should oppose such tactics forcefully and consistently. Defending Craig’s right to hit on other guys would have served the cause better than scoring cheap partisan points.

As for Newt’s alleged—divorce allegations ought to be swallowed with a massive dollop of sodium chloride—request for an open marriage, well, so what if he did?

When 40 to 50 percent of marriages end in divorce it’s clear that state-enforced monogamy for life isn’t working for everyone. Researchers estimate that up to six percent of American couples are in open marriages. And there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s their decision. It’s their choice. Asked privately, most liberals would agree.

Millions of Americans prefer alternative arrangements for their sex lives—open marriages, swinging, etc. Yet they are forced to sneak around. They’re not hiding from their lovers, but from their friends and neighbors and colleagues lest they be shamed and shunned. Unlike conventionally married couples (who cheat on one another in significant numbers), people in open relationships know exactly what their partners are up to.

Moreover, there are a lot of open relationships that no one thinks about. Does anyone doubt, for example, that the Clintons had a “don’t ask don’t tell” policy that essentially amounted to a license to cheat?

You shouldn’t have to hide or lie when you’re doing nothing wrong. Yet so-called “liberals” join their rightist counterparts in snickering about Craig’s “wide stance” and Gingrich’s request for an open marriage. The effect is to denigrate gays, lesbians and other sexually marginalized and oppressed people.

Nona Willis Aronowitz calls Gingrich “the poster child for the messy, miserable life people can have if they’re stuffed into rules they weren’t built to follow. He’s the poster child for how our sexist and repressive culture can hurt relationships. Gingrich was raised in, and now advocates for, a world that sets up incredibly narrow parameters for sex and love, and shames people who don’t adhere to those standards.”

We should tell right-wingers like Newt Gingrich: you’re one of us. You always were. The fact that you can’t live by your own supposed rules proves it.

Quit living a lie, Newt. More importantly, quit asking everyone else to live the stupid lie that defines your stupid out-of-date politics.

Hey Republicans! Are you a maid-knocking-up, men’s-room-trolling, sexting, bondage-loving, gay-bi-trans-whatever?

The Right’s not that into you. Join us.

(Ted Rall is the author of “The Anti-American Manifesto.” His website is tedrall.com.)

COPYRIGHT 2012 TED RALL

Pretty awesome. Reminds me of the cool posters of the 1980s, like that one of Reagan with the “five seconds before bombing” quote.

This is what is has come to: one of the best leftist bloggers in the country has burned through her mother’s inheritance to pay medical bills and is now forced to turn to the public for help.

If you can spare the cash, please donate to Susie Madrak’s medical fundraiser. Today. Before you forget.

I wouldn’t do this for just anyone. In the alternative universe in which Arianna Huffington isn’t living in a mansion at the expense of her unpaid blogger minions who promote her phony watered-down liberalism, I’m totally letting her die. And laughing about it.

We need Susie.