El Gringoqueño

Flashback to 1994

The phone was ringing on a Saturday morning as we were having breakfast. I picked it up. “Hello?”

“Lt. O’Malley, this is LTC Jones, we need to talk. How soon can you get down to the unit?”

“I, uh, I’ll be right there. Can you tell me what this is about?”

“No I can’t.”

“Okay, I’ll be right there.” This couldn’t be good. No way could this be good. What did I do? What is the problem? I had no idea, and the terse tone filled me with dread.

“Hon, I have to go to the unit.”

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“Most definitely, yes, there is something wrong, but I don’t know what. I can’t talk about it… I… “ I fumbled around for keys, shoes, trying to remember where I was.

On the short drive to the port district in Oakland, I searched my memories trying to figure out what this could be about, trying to think if I did or said anything… anything. I had no idea, and that was more disconcerting than anything.

“Lt O’Malley, close the door and have a seat.”

I sat there in stunned silence, waiting for the bell to toll.

“I have received a disturbing report of your behavior, LT.”

…and? I thought.

“Two SGT’s have come forward with racial discrimination complaint against you. I consider these charges grave.”

I felt shocked and relieved at the same time. Shocked that someone could have accused me of such a thing, relieved that I knew it to be untrue.

“I – uh, never. Sir, I have never done such a thing. Who was it?” I was a little rattled, searching for the purpose, the plan, the method, why am I here, I asked myself?

“I can’t tell you, LT, but I consider the charges serious.”

“I am not a racist. What do they say I did? What could I have done? I’m married to a Puerto Rican, I live in Oakland for God’s sake. I love diversity. There’s no way I’m a racist.”

“That may be, LT, but I tell you, you have a problem.”

I stammered, repeated myself, got defensive. “Sir, it’s not true. It’s not true. I didn’t do it.”

LTC Jones, changed his tone a bit. I noticed a slightly fatherly demeanor for this young Lieutenant. “LT, you have a problem. How are you going to solve it?”

“A problem?! I never.. I didn’t. I can’t…”

He cut me off firmly. “LT, YOU have a problem. What are you going to do about it?”

Something clicked at that moment. I have a problem. Yes, I do, don’t I? I have been lost in my own bruised ego. I had tried to shirk the responsibility for this problem that had been thrust upon me. It was mine. All my own. It was not of my own making, but it had been delivered to me. I was now the proud owner of a problem not of my own making. Now novel, eh? – as if no one in humanity’s history had ever had to deal with a problem not of their own making, or consequence, or foundations contrary their own values.

How novel, how rich, how unusual, I reflected sarcastically. This is something that happens everyday. Problems arrive at the doorsteps of unsuspecting fools, delivered by incompetent, malicious, ill-intentioned, or ignorant people. Sometimes problems arrive from the Atlantic kicking up wind gusts of 150 mph. Accidents happen, sometimes through the carelessness of action, thoughtlessness, or just plain dumb luck.

“What can I do?” I asked LTC Jones. But before he could answer, I blurted out, “I want to address the company. Let me address the company, that way the individuals can hear me and I don’t have to single them out. Let me address the company and just nip this in the bud, with an apology.”

LTC Jones hid a smile. “That’s a great idea, LT. We can do it in the morning formation. That way it can be cleared up, and we can get on with the rest of the weekend. I’m glad we had this talk. Now get out of here.”

He was pleased, I could tell. He didn’t want to be too jubilant. It’s not dignified. But reflecting on this many years latter, I understand the difficulties of command. He had a Lieutenant and two Sergeants that were at odds. In order for his unit to function there must be accord. The unit must run without disruption, petty politics, individual negativity, bickering. The unit must have unity, a sense of esprit de corps. He doesn’t know who to trust, and probably doesn’t really care. If the charges go forward, a complaint would be filed, possibly investigated and filed away. As a commander, I can tell you that that is not a solution. It solves nothing, does nothing but document and bury the incident. Meanwhile, relationships suffer, factions form from those that support one side or the other, and the unit becomes less effective.

My direction was clear in that moment of clarity, a momentary bolt of wisdom had shot through that young heart of mine, and allowed me to divorce myself from my ego, my concern for myself, my career, my well-being, and allowed me to see my damaged unit, and know there was something I could do about it.

What LTC Jones really wanted was someone who could solve his problem, and I was the only one capable. To have been able to count on me for that task was probably something for which he was very grateful.

I am reminded of this by current events, new deployments of soldiers to Iraq, young men and women of great dedication and honor, being sent to solve a problem. Was the problem of their creation? Did they put Sadaam in power? Did they ask for Sadaam to attack Kuwait. Did they ask for Rumsfeld? Did they ask President Bush to preemptively strike? Did they ask for the impatience, the bad intelligence, the nebulous motives? Are they pawns in an unjust game of international politics?

Maybe, but they are the only ones who can solve the problem. Do firefighters stand around and argue and hand-wring while the house is burning. “Idiots had substandard wiring. Idiots had an old space heater. Idiots tried to do their own wiring, were smoking in bed, doing crack, playing with matches.” Do firefighters do this? They solve the problem by putting the fire out. There is nothing else they may do.

Bush is irrelevant. Kerry is irrelevant. Michael Moore is irrelevant. History will judge Bush, but our men and women in uniform can solve a problem right now. Or not. Complain and let it burn, or put it out?

Choose wisely.

I am sickened by the current debate over "a woman’s right to choose." Are you fighting for death because life is not worth living? I understand the draw of the whole "ending suffering thing." Who wants to suffer. Who wants to have pain. We children grow up poor, uneducated, perhaps suffer some form of mental illness, have parents who beat us, abuse us mentally or physically. There are those that look at that and say, shaking their heads, "Poor thing, it would have been better had they never been born." A child not wanted is not worth having. A child not brought into this world in love is not worth the baby food to feed it, the federal program to restrain it. The fetal tissue that interferes with our lifestyle does not deserve to breath free, achieve its potential.

Some see the suffering of this life, and seeing no point to it all, believe it better to not exist.

Some see the suffering of this life, and seeing no point to it all, try to make it better, for heaven and hell are one, but in hell we cry out alone, the world lost to us by the veil of our own pain.

Contrary to what you’ve heard, there is no point to suffering, but where some see the solution as oblivion when confronted with the wounds of the sick, the desperation of the poor, and the cries for justice from the oppressed, there are others that find ways to make life better, ease the pain, and care for their fellow humans.

And what is simply off the table? We are not choices. We are life, and we have rights. No person has the right to choose life or death. These are the things that simply are, in all ways inalienable and incontrovertible.

It’s not magic… there is no magic moment. There is no breath of God magically bestowing some sort of magical soul into the fetus. Is it life when the sperm fertilizes the egg? Is it life when the guy unhooks the bra? Is it the first trimester, the last? Is it life when it passes the birth canal? Leaves home?

Or is life some precise clinical moment where science tells us that "Yes there is brain activity. It is alive." Has digits? Has organs? Sucks its thumb? Responds to a stimulus? Says it hates you?

These two moronic arguments over minutia fail to realize that all life has struggled to exist since the beginning of time. It was here before us. It will be here after us. We are but among caretakers in the garden, tiny little caretakers, humbly tending to the bounty of the universe, joyous to have existed at all, grateful for the opportunity to live, honored to have been given such a gift as to be tenders in this wondrous mysterious place. But instead we pretend to be the masters of the garden, where we decide what is what, and what was and what will be.

There are only two things that are infinite – the universe and human hubris. And I’m not sure about the former.

Oh holy crap, how I am annoyed by both political parties.

On
the one hand, conservatives are for the rights of the unborn, which is
good. On the other, they are against gay marriage, which is bad.
Liberals are against the rights of the unborn, which is bad, but for
the rights of gays (maybe), which is good. What’s a conscientious
person to do?

How come these incongruent beliefs naturally
group like Cheerios in a bowl of milk? Is there some natural
attraction, some political Vanderwaals force or something? How come
there’s nobody out there that’s pro-animal rights, anti-death penalty,
anti-euthanasia, pro-life, pro-gay marriage, and pro-equal rights. Or
just to be internally consistent, pro-euthanasia, pro-death penalty,
pro-abortion, anti-animal rights, anti-gay marriage, and a member of
the KKK. I’m a big believer in internal consistency. How come both
wings of our political system are so off balance? I’m a tree hugger
personally, but I’m also a baby hugger, a lover of dogs and animals,
appreciative of the meat that I eat, anti-death penalty, and see that
those among us that are most disabled, weak, or oppressed are those
that deserve the full measure of our protection.

What is
going on in this country, where what the majority decides, or the
whimsy of popular opinion, can trump the constitution that guarantees
equal rights to all. In California, Gov. Schwarzenegger advocates for
the rights of the voters who voted to uphold that marriage is between a
man and a woman. What?! Their rights? How in the hell do their rights
have anything to do with the liberty of Americans to marry whom they
choose? How can anyone rationalize a certain right applying to one
group of Americans but not another? Pick a right, any right, I dare
you. I dare you find something that is not strictly biological or
geographical (like men can’t bear children or you can’t swim in the
ocean because you live in North Dakota) where you are not allowed some
right by law afforded to some other Americans.

We might say
to gays, "If you want to get married, no one is stopping you." And as
an aside, with a snicker, "Just let them marry someone of the opposite
sex. Men marry women. Women marry men. Simple." You have all the rights
I have, as long as you agree with me.

And in an earlier time
we remember all too well, "Well, since you were born a little black
boy, you can’t go to school with little white Johnny."

"Why?"

"’Cause that’s jus’ the way it is, boy. It’s God’s law."

We
as a nation grew up and it became apparent to us that such attitudes
were wrong-headed. We had blinders and hadn’t seen the truth. We see it
now though. Whew! Glad we’ve realized it. Weren’t we fools back then?
So ignorant, so bigoted. Gosh, we’re so superior now. We get it!

Do
you actually have a GOOD reason for not wanting to let gays marry? Come
on, I’m open-minded. I’d like to hear this Truth that gay marriage will
lead to the death of society and the institution of marriage. I’ll
listen, and I’m open to any explanation on how gay marriage will affect
you in your marriage, or your kids marriage, or your grandkids, or or
or. My only caveat is that you can’t use the Bible as proof. The Bible
will only work if its laws are binding in U.S court, and the last time
I checked the U.S. was not a theocracy, and not everyone was a
Christian.

Mayor Daly of Chicago, put it like this, "Don’t
kid yourselves, divorce has done more harm to marriage than anything
else." I’d agree with that and tack on, TV, popular culture,
consumerism, false expectations, and co-habitation as the true dry rot
of the institution of marriage. What is that bible quote about noting
the splinter in the eye of another but failing to see the log in your
own.

So what can gay marriage do for marriage? I see these
long lines of people in San Francisco, standing in the rain, the cold,
looking to bind their lives to one another and witness before the
state, profess their devotion, and go one better than just shacking up.
They are taking a leap of faith, making a commitment in love. I don’t
see them as subverting marriage. I don’t see them making a political
statement, trying to tear down OUR beloved institution of marriage,
like some ancient barbarians at the city wall just waiting to loot and
sack. No, watching all the couples in San Francisco getting married
does not turn my stomach. It fills me with great hope. Here are people,
who through all the shit that we little monkeys throw at them, given
the opportunity, their first step is toward devotion and commitment to
each other. They are taking a leap. What could be more noble than that?

I’d say we have much to learn from their example.

Rant mode on… or ala Johnny Storm, "Flame on!"

Well,
while we’re contradicting ourselves, let’s talk about animal rights
groups. "Trees have rights. Dogs cannot be owned (only cared for) etc.
in California" While at the same time saying that human beings in fetal
form have NO rights and are useless, disregarding the fact that as soon
as they pass the arbitrary barrier of the birth canal, wham, magically
they have lots of cool rights, unless of course they end up being gay.
Damn, sucks to be you. Glad I’m not an abortion or worse… gay. Tsk
tsk, equal rights don’t apply to you.

All the contradictions only
serve to confirm one fact: Humans will do what they want to do in any
given circumstance because we believe we have the right to do what we
want, that MY rights trump all of your rights, when I deem it so.

• When we needed land, we decided that the native inhabitants were only savages and killed them, moved them.
• When
  we needed manual labor for agricultural work, we went and got slaves
  because we had conveniently deemed them non-human, and then later we
  compromised and said they were 3/5th of a human. Hey, give us a little
  credit, huh? Such nobility.
• When we (humanity) decided that our woes were Jew-induced, we decided they were not human and killed them.
• When we decided we were offended by those different than ourselves, we decided to call them immoral and abominations.
• When we decided that a human life was causing us inconvenience, we decided it was tissue.
• When we needed votes, we appealed to the basest instincts, the lowest prejudices, the most primitive emotions.

This,
my friends, is why religion and government should never ever mix. This
is what we get, governments that persecute and oppress those that are
deemed outside of the moral fabric of some arbitrary belief system
based on an ancient book. Jesus didn’t say ala Dr. Phil, "Buy my book."
He said listen to my message. And his message takes the form of two
rules:

1. Love each other.
2. see rule 1.

Ah,
but the list of contradictions goes on and on. Instead of elevating our
lives, our aspirations, we debase them, pawning our tiny little hearts
for a bit of instant gratification at someone else’s expense.

Don’t
kid yourselves. Both we and our parties are big bags of contradictory
hot air. It’s time for us to stand up for what’s right, human dignity.

I didn’t want to go. They made me, sort of kicking and screaming. I don’t know really why I didn’t want to see it. Maybe it was because it was such a big thing, in vogue. If it’s in the current fashion, I want something else. Maybe I felt uncomfortable around religious people. I kept making jokes. "Is this where the religious wackos hang out?" or "Oh, you’re one of those religious people." I mean, we all go to church together, so I’m one of you too. I’d chuckle.

But there was a kernel of truth there in those off-handed comments, that belied what I really felt.  Sometimes I feel like I don’t fit in. When I’m in mass, I’m one of the "in" crowd, part of the culture, on the inside. Sometimes, though, I feel like an infiltrator, like they’re going to find out who I really am and boot me. Sssh.

In all reality, the Catholic church bugs me to no end, from the Pope on down. There’s lots of things that are weird, wrong, or just plain stupid. Many people are sheep. Much of the hierarchy is lost in the abstract, wrapped around many layers of dogma, protective coatings designed to preserve rather than serve. And the people; coming to mass hoping to receive something, perhaps a magic wafer? They hop into their cars and rush off to some trivial secular affair, content that they have done their weekly hour of religious devotion. They learned the right words to say. Piety comes in a can.

And then there are those that have mystified things to an unrecognizable degree…Virgin Marys in wet cement in Guatemala, weeping statues, dripping candles, mystical lights, apparitions, miracles. Each of these people believing that they have faith, but really deep deep down they hope that their faith can be proven, and seek something upon which to rest their salvation. May I have a coaster for this cup of mine, I am having trouble holding it.

And so there I am, left lamenting the dogma, practice, and the many faulty hearts and minds of humanity. I am now forced to endure an epic produced and directed by a pre Second Vatican Council zealot, a movie deemed to be anti-semitic by the media at large. What’s more, even among critics favorable to the movie, it is said to be the bloodiest two hours in movie making history, hard to watch, and downright gratuitous. I’m not really in a good place right now, I don’t know if this is going to help.

Well, let’s just get this thing over with. At least I am getting out of the house, and I got to see the Spider-man 2 trailer that’s showing.

As the final movie credits started rolling, Laura began to feel sick, so I got up to help her to the lobby. I began to get uncomfortable at the world closing in around me, like I’d stepped outside naked. I wanted to hide, run away. I wasn’t ready to leave the darkness of the theater yet. Now, I’m standing here amongst the popcorn, teenagers, parents, and hustle bustle of activity. I thrust my hands in my pockets. I felt trapped. I stepped outside. It was raining torrentially, exaggeratedly. It was a wall of water. I stood there briefly trying to contain my emotions. I struggled there uncomfortable, wanting to be alone, so I ran. I stepped off the curb bursting into tears, and soaked immediately as I made my way to the car, a quarter mile away or so.

I remembered the scene in the movie that broke up all the parents in our row. Jesus had stumbled as the Romans are beating and taunting him. His mother, who has had trouble facing the whole affair had been hiding on a side street too distraught to look. She suddenly flashes back to a fall that her son had suffered at an early age, perhaps 5 years old or so. She runs to him to pick him up and comfort him, comfort her son who was hurting. Mommy’s here, don’t cry. She suddenly realizes her place and rushes to his side. There was not a parent with a dry eye in the house.

We watched Jesus come to terms with his life, his mission, his vocation. The movie opens with him pleading to have this burden lifted, why oh why must it be this way, he asks. Beyond any sort of mystical or metaphysical possibility of ANYONE being able to lift his burden from him, was the realization that he was who he was. If he were to run away, he would not be who he was. He had heard his calling in life and once heard, there was no other possible course of action. It would be as if you grew up to be an artist, engineer, politician, leader… could you be anything but that to which you were called, that which you knew to be right and natural, that which filled you with passion?

It’s weird, but there’s nothing religious about this. Christians will say, "God is calling you. Listen to His will. Do His bidding." What they are really saying is, "Be true to who you are." Who am I? Well, that sometimes takes reflection. You’ve got to seek it actively, sometimes be quiet, sometimes listen to the voices of others, sometimes take chances, sometimes make decisions. In the end, when you are doing what you were meant to do, it will feel like love. You just know.

Love isn’t easy, and neither is vocation, but could I be anything but who I am? Sure, you may sell out your life, ignore your true vocation, be moderately happy, and die having been successful, but once you realize your vocation, your calling, can you ever go back, no matter the cost?

When Martin Luther King Jr. realized that he had to bring freedom to America, they told him he was crazy, a trouble maker, stirring things wrongly. Just relax, play ball, and have a nice fulfilling peaceful life quiet and tranquil with your life and family. I am sure Martin Luther King Jr. wished for this at times, worried about his family, his friends and what he was putting them through. Damnit, why did it have to be me, I am sure he asked. He was compelled to act, and he knew no other way to be. He realized his place. It may not have been the path he would have picked on a multiple choice test, but once he realized it, that was it.

Laura and I are in Puerto Rico trying to get a foot-old through Open Source software, trying to reform education, technology policy, the status quo, and raise two children. Does it make it any easier to know that there is no other way to be, no other course of action in which we would be satisfied. If we jumped the tracks, we’d inevitably find ourselves veering back to this one. As much as we suffer and struggle, there is no other course of action for us. Why oh why am I like this? Why couldn’t I have been born a rule follower, a person satisfied with the way things are? Why oh, why must I attempt to change things? I cause turmoil both for myself and others. I fail more often than I succeed. Everything is a struggle. Why did you make me this way, God?

Jesus pondered that, lamented that a rollback was an impossibility, but did realize that it was nice to just vent every once in a while.

The full weight of vocation hit me during this movie. I think this is the strongest and most important thing that could possibly come from this, and one that kept playing over and over to me throughout. It hit me so hard, it knocked me over, and I lost it for bit. It wasn’t religous, it wasn’t magic.

Jesus knew what he had to do. Geez, and they crucified him. And he knew it, and he could have sidestepped it, but he couldn’t, didn’t want to… no couldn’t, even if he wanted to, because that was who he was.

Are you angry with God? Do you look around at all the injustice, hatred, and pain in the world and ask yourself, how could a God that is all love and compassion allow this to happen. How can He let us live lives filled with such sorrow and torment? How could He let my loved ones die such cruel deaths? How could he let rapists and murderers steal our little children and do such awful things? How could God let beasts such as Hitler, Saddam Hussein, Pol Pot, Genghis Khan, the Black Plague exist in this world where he lets his children play.

Why not baby proof the place a bit?

It’s a simple question, possibly the simplest question ever asked. It’s incongruous to us why God would let such awful thing coexist with his beloved children. Would you tell your children to run out and play by the in-ground pool. Oops, you fell in and drowned. Free will… what’re ya gonna do? You fell in. I told you to be careful. I told you to take care. I guess it was meant to be.

And it burns us up. It makes us angry. Does it make you angry?

I was doing my weekly session at the juvenile prison last week and I had occasion to express to my young pupil a bit of wisdom that came to me in a flash. It was inspired by these children, some of them murderers, car thieves, drug addicts, robbers, and petty crooks. It was inspired by what I saw in their faces, their innocent baby faces.

"You see," I said, "It’s like a child with its father. You have any kids?"

"No," he said.

"Cousins, nephews, nieces?" I asked. He said that he did, but I realized that he might not get what I was about to say. I’ll try it anyway, I thought. Can’t hurt.

I asked him if he saw babies crying because they were hungry, tired, or needed a diaper change. I asked him if he had ever tried to explain, or saw someone explain to the baby why it was crying. "Did the baby respond properly? Did the baby stop crying because it now understood. The irritation, its angst, now made sense, so it calmed down. He laughed and said no. Of course not. His laughter lifted me. He was going to get this, I thought.

It’s interesting to note, that parents will never ever be able to fully explain, allay all fears, take on all burdens from their children. In adolescence, parents attempt to explain the feelings of awkwardness and rejection as normal. Everybody feels that way, they say. Meanwhile, the child thinks or says that they couldn’t possibly understand. How could they? How could they understand the pain I feel right now? I’m living it. You parents can’t understand what it’s like.

Every time a parent tries to explain, or convey experience and wisdom to a child, the child rejects it. You won’t understand until you live it. You will try to explain it to your children but they will reject it. All you can do is be there to pick up the pieces and try to cajole, motivate, and guide. All you can do it change the diaper, bring the food, soothe the restless nights and hold them when they cry.

If you believe in a God with whom to be angry, can you at least see through that clouded consciousness of your childhood and see a father who wants to help? Can you at least realize for a brief instant how we can’t possibly understand what’s to come next, and by next, I mean tomorrow? Can you see yourself as a child who cries and doesn’t know why?

If I know anything about being a father, it’s that when I hold Olaia or Jaimito, I would do anything to take away their pain, their frustration, but I can’t. I can’t because there is no way in the universe I can convey experience. And what is experience if not a combination of pain, joy, suffering, and happiness?

You don’t want to throw out the baby with the bath water do you? It’s okay, though, if you’re angry with God, I’ll give you a hug if you need it. I understand. I empathize. I hurt too, but I know someone who hurts more. He’s been locked up at the age of 17. He has no father. His uncle is in prison. He best friend was gunned down. He has no education. He’s poor and a drug addict.

The Art of War, although often studied within the business world, is frequently misunderstood and incorrectly applied by those not versed in the language of war. I have read two different translations of Sun Tzu’s The Art of War. It is a fascinating treatise of what is required to win when losing is not an option. As a military man, I have studied it not just for its lessons of the battlefield, but for its gems of wisdom on leadership and the true cost of war. I didn’t stop there, however. General George S. Patton’s writings have (after reading Sun Tzu) some amazing similarities. I don’t know if Patton was a disciple of Sun Tzu or if he arrived at some of the same conclusions but nonetheless here are examples:

• Sun Tzu: Now, when your weapons are dulled, your ardor damped, your strength exhausted and your treasure spent, other chieftains will spring up to take advantage of your extremity. Then no man, however wise, will be able to avert the consequences that must ensue. Thus, though we have heard of stupid haste in war, cleverness has never been seen associated with long delays.

• Patton: A good solution applied with vigor now is better than a perfect solution applied ten minutes later.

• Sun Tzu: Do not repeat the tactics which have gained you one victory, but let your methods be regulated by the infinite variety of circumstances.

• Patton: Good tactics can save even the worst strategy. Bad tactics will destroy even the best strategy.

There are many similarities in the philosophies of each, and while Sun Tzu primarily wrote of battlefield tactics, he also has some to say about leadership and discipline, moving men, and accomplishing goals.

Patton’s writings incorporate much of Sun Tzu, but diverge a bit from the minutia of battlefield tactics from the pithy "Go forward!" to the sublime "It’s the unconquerable soul of man and not the nature of the weapon he uses, that ensures victory."

The modern William Edwards Demming and Walter A. Shewhart took these tenants and expanded upon then further, creating their revolution in quality control during WWII and beyond. "Create constancy of purpose toward improvement of product and service." "Cease dependence on mass inspection to achieve quality." "Drive out fear."

Then came another student, by the name of Jack Welch, CEO of GE. Almost, a modern day Patton in the boardroom, he transformed the culture of GE from bloated, bureaucratic, and slow moving to an empowering, nimble entity where every employee was an agent for change with responsibilities and authority.

If Sun Tzu could be summed up into one word it would be "deception."

Patton would be "action."

Demming is "purpose."

Welch is "transformation."

Each of these great leaders and tacticians built upon the last, grew, learned, adapted, bettered. They used the tools they had at hand to accomplish the mission. I would hope that humanity has learned something in over 2000 years, but all too often, today’s upwardly mobile disciples of Sun Tzu’s great meta-tactics of conquest and destruction apply his teaching of deception to the widest possible swath. The Art of War is a square peg in a round hole. The Art of War does not lead to victory in the corporate world, and I will tell you why.

You can see Sun Tzu at work all around in today’s society. Business is war. Co-workers quietly focus their ambitions on upward mobility, concealing their movements within the company as they maneuver their way into an advantageous position. Whether intentional or not, much of reality TV draws on Sun Tzu’s teachings of misdirection and deception. If you are weak, appear strong. If you are strong appear weak. More or less if you are on an episode of survivor, and you are strong, that is, if you have the advantage, hide it. Keep it secret. Do not let your enemy know you have such power. If you are weak, you must be careful not to let your enemy know. You must study your enemy and trick him into error. Get him reacting to you instead of seizing the advantage you know he has.

This works on reality TV. It is always the most deceptive person, the one who disguises his true intentions until the last possible instant. This is the person that convinces his adversaries up is down, black is white, and advantage is disadvantage. This is the person that wins, not the most likable, not the smartest, not the strongest. The person that wins is generally not the one with the obvious assets. In fact, it could be the fat weird abrasive gay guy. The winner is the one that most convincingly hides his true face, obfuscates his inner strategy, and conceals his movements with rigorous discipline.

Deception is fine, when the goal is victory in an adversarial arena. That is, there is really nothing collaborative about reality TV. Sure, the producers will give the group some common task in which they need to cooperate, but it’s really just for the fun of the viewer. Make no bones about it, these shows are war, everybody looking for advantage at every possible moment. Reality it is not, at least no reality in which I would want to live.

The real shame is that we see that Sun Tzu thrives in this arena, and we attempt to apply it to the world in which we live and breath. We say to our young children, "What you see on TV is only make believe." And "Don’t try this at home." As adults we should know that Coyote could never operate as he does and expect to succeed.

Yet we fail to see that Sun Tzu is ill-suited to the real world, in fact, as Gen Patton found out, not wanted either. Within the confines of business and society, we actually hurt society by focusing on "winning at all costs," deceiving our co-workers while we maneuver for position in the corporate structure, furthering our personal ambitions to the exclusion of others or the wellness of the company (think Enron, Worldcom).

They say, "Well, that’s the real world, folks. If you can’t handle it stay at home, and leave business to the big boys, " and they will puff themselves up like a little male lizard flaring its neck up for an appearance of formability. You play warrior, but warrior you are not. You would treat your fellows as adversaries, pretended foes upon whom to project your energies. You deceive, because you seek your prize. You seek your victory. You seek your fortune, like a great warrior predator strutting upon the grassy safari, beholden to no one, dependent upon no one, answering to no one.

Now, pardon me if I burst your bubble, but that is NOT "the real world." The little lizard world, I described is a world divorced of humanity, the savage world of the animal kingdom, the horrendous world of war and violence. Human beings have evolved to be cooperative creatures. We didn’t get speed. We didn’t get strength. We didn’t get size, or a short gestation period, or quick maturation, or flight, or or or. We got shafted in every possible way according to the laws of nature as we see them, as Sun Tzu saw them. We need each other for even the most basic of necessities.

We did get one thing, though, that sets us apart, on the top, at the crest of the wave of life, the pinnacle. We got love. Love calls us to others’ needs, love inspires us to help rather than hurt. Love is compassion, empathy. Love is what takes away personal fear and allows us to trust, allows us to work together for a common goal.

Reality TV is an perversion of our natural social order, an order where we should collaborate rather than compete, an order where our goals are mutual rather than individual. Love is not to be about individual satisfaction, gratification, or needs. It is not about you, just as people are not just put here on earth for you. The sooner you realize that Sun Tzu was the master of being successful in an aberrated world, the master of hell, guru of a perverted state, the less you will attempt to apply his principles to this world of creation and potential.

For if it is in this pit of fire where you reach your potential, where you find success, then it will spread, it will consume those not strong enough to resist its flames. If you become master of the flames, you damn humanity, your children, your fellows to the same torment. The weak shall be consumed, and you will say to them, "you were not strong enough." A thousand souls will lay scattered upon the landscape in various states of starvation and despair. A few tens will survive, wild-eyed fearless, standing defiant amidst the flames. To survive in this world they have had to give up their humanity, leave their compassion behind, to stand finally alone with nary a soul to raise a cup of water to their burning lips. In the end, they shall finish their days alone, kept from the banquet to writhe in the street wailing and gnashing their teeth.

I had trouble falling asleep last night, probably the late dinner
and the excitement of Olaia’s sleep-over with her cousins, Mariam and
Robertito. Whatever it was, I tossed and turned before falling into a
shallow slumber. I began to have a disquieting nightmare.

I
find myself in a hospital, with rows of patients. It’s strangely bright
and open, almost as if it’s in my house. Something is happening,
something big, tragic. I must get my family out, I think to myself. Out
of where and from what, I can’t say, but there’s this urgency to move
or run or something. There is this hurried hopeful movement all around.
Something is coming, but it can be dealt with, or so everyone believes.

I
snap from the dream briefly and focus on my sleeping self. I’m asleep,
I halfway realize, and then as if to make sense of the disconnect, my
dream seizes upon the realization and weaves it into the plot.

You
are asleep. You know who comes for you in your sleep. There is some
realization that there is a Freddy Crouger, nightmare type scenario
playing out, and even though I’ve never seen a single slasher movie in
my life, I’m now in one. He’s coming for you, and there is nowhere to
hide. I choke, the realization coming over me. There is only a split
second of angst for myself, as I realize that I am in control. But the
rest? These people here don’t know they are safe, that they are in
control. I begin to run around, making tons of noise. "I know who you
are!! You can’t hurt these people. You can’t hurt me. You’ll all be
okay," I shout. I’m getting mad now. I want to find this character and
tear his head off.

Suddenly, I’m accompanied by a middle-aged Mia
Sara, Ferris Bueller’s girlfriend in "Ferris Bueller’s Day Off." We’re
walking inside a plush carpeted hotel. The hallways are wide and tall,
and everything looks like it’s covered with various earth-toned crushed
velvet. She is talking to me, in a sort of evil villain/philosopher
tone. "You will have a choice," she says. She is communicating with me
in some way beyond talking. I am filled with feelings, emotions,
anxiousness at what is to come. I’m unsure why I am here or what I am
to do.

"Answer me truthfully," I say to her, for some reason knowing she cannot lie, "am I in Hell?"

"Yes."
And she dissappears. I follow the corridor and exit into a dark street.
It still feels closed in, like a movie set of Las Vegas. I am drenched
in seeminess. It’s not unpleasant, just drenched in some sort of
manifestation of selfishness, lust, greed. Women proposition me on the
street in their high heels, fishnets, and bustieres. Street hustlers
call my name, with gay grins and bejeweled hands. "Comeon, wanna try
yer luck." It’s tempting. Looks like it might be fun. Just for second,
I think…. no feel, this isn’t so bad. It’s sad, but not evil as I had
imagined it.

I am traveling now through the streets, flying,
running, I don’t know which. I absorb the scene before me with ever
increasing ownership, and I keep accelerating until it is all so much
blur or images, faces, seeminess, sex, greed, gluttony, envy,
aimlessness, despair, and loneliness. I boldly shout to them, "Repent!!
Repent!! Jesus – God loves you! You are all loved by God." I fix on
myself, and how I sound. Repent, evil doers was not my intent. I hear
in my head the cries of a fire and brimstone Baptist preacher, facing
his congregation wagging his finger at the unworthy. My feeling as I
fly through the wasteland and all the emptiness is not that they are
evil, but that they are lost, worthy of love. "Repent!" is a call to
reach out their hands, and to not let their despair keep them from
redemption. I am aware I am in Hell, and I know with every fiber of my
being that Hell cannot exist where there is a willingness to be
redeemed. If the love of the Creator is infinite, there is no possible
reason for these poor creatures to live in the dark unless they choose
to. And no one, I know, would willingly choose to give up being loved.
I will deliver the message, "Repent, and ye shall be saved!!" I am
filled with such strength, force of will, to be saying such things. I
want to save them all, share with them what I know. No matter how far
you have fallen, you can still be saved. I know this.

And on a
dark street I come to an instant stop. In front of me are three figures
ready to accost me. I take a bold step toward them to deliver my
message. They immediately transform into monsters dripping blood,
fingers stretched out in contorted razor sharp claws, eyes rolled back,
all night of the living dead-like. They had been normal human figures a
moment earlier, but suddenly turn hideously grotesque.

I shrink
for a millisecond. I am startled, and fear for a brief instant, but it
isn’t fear of dying or being attacked, it is a point of infinite
revulsion, like all possible nausea compacted into an impossibly short
period of time. Get away from me, I think.

And as quickly as it
had come, the next moments fill me with ever increasing compassion and
I say, "fill me" because I don’t get the sense that I was the one doing
it. I become bolder and bolder. My speed picks up again, and I race
toward the figure on my right at an impossible rate. I embrace his
torso and speed off, my arms wrapped as tightly as I can possibly
imagine around his breast, him facing away from me, my chin on his
shoulder. "Don’t worry, He loves you." And my embrace strengthens like
my life depends on it. I will hold onto you.

I ask him how his
life had been in this place. Had it been tough. He tells me at first it
wasn’t so hard, but then there were those that beat him. He had been
kicked down and bloodied, living on the street, in the cold for so
long. "It’s not so bad." I ask him what it was like before, in life.
"The same," he says.

The night fades, replaced by a brightly
lit plaza of intricate stone work. I come to a stop and release this
person to whom I had clung to tightly.

"Sorry, about that," I say wiping spittle off his shoulder.

And
I awake in a sweat, hot as hell, my pillow wet from drool. Yeech. I
adjust my covers and sigh. "Hon, I just had the weirdest dream. I don’t
even know if I can call it a dream."

To me, it’s all those people in the middle saying, "Look, I don’t
know. Sometimes the idea of a creator seems so ludicrous and other
times so right. I don’t know. I don’t really believe, but neither do I
disbelieve." Then after some thought and perhaps years of struggle,
they realize. "You know what, it really doesn’t matter. I will live my
life. I will be kind to others. I will try to leave my space better
than I came into it. I will try to ease the suffering of others. I will
make a difference here and now… and I WON’T do it just because I will
get into heaven(if such a place exists). And I won’t not do wrong, not
because I DON’T want to go to hell (or other such nonesense)…. but
because, and here comes the revelation… because we are ALL here
together going through this thing called life. We all hurt. We all cry.
It’s difficult. We are all lost and fearful, and if we stick together
we just might be okay.

Have the "Under God" or don’t have it… it doesn’t really matter.
If you truly have no fear, then it shouldn’t matter. Not worrying about
"Under God" is not apathy, it is something that makes you strong.
People will recognize it and will search for a way out of the dark. The
dark can be a lot of places… not just non-belief in God. It is fear
and uncertainty which leads to selfishness, anger, hate.

The Message was simple. Have no fear. If you don’t fear, you
will find your salvation, which is to say, don’t worry about your
salvation. The problem with people who try to insert "WORDS" and
"SYMBOLS" into the collective conscienousness, is that they truly show
their fear. Same goes for those who fight to take them out You know
what, like I said, it doesn’t matter if the world is Godless. They
might just kill you…. but that wouldn’t change the Truth, would it?

The common theme is to just relax and be the kind of person
that God (insert your diety here) wants you to be… gentle but strong
and calm but firm. People recognise a person of principles and will
emulate accordingly. Jesus, didn’t wage lawsuits in Roman court to get
"Under God" placed in Roman children’s education.

He said, give to Cesaer what is Cesaer’s. That’s synominous with, dude, look, fight over words if you want, I’ve got work to do.

I said goodbye to my students at the Juvenile Detention Center last week (Tuesday). They had a day out from the prison at a local Catholic University, a day of swimming, exercise, and enjoyment, capped off with a prayer vigil in the university chapel.

The project is called "Tutores en Acción" (Tutors in Action) de San Ignacio (our parish). I saw an announcement in a Sunday bulletin last year that was calling for volunteers to tutor in a prison. It spoke to me. Who among us is more lost than those that have fallen so far to the wayside. If there is anybody that needs companionship, tutoring, mentoring, or somebody to care, it is they. Anyway, I wanted to do it, but hadn’t the time or the motivation to get off my ass and actually execute. The road to hell is paved with good intentions, or so the saying goes.

One Sunday, the sermon was about being ordinary during Ordinary Time (season of the liturgical year). "Do you want to be ordinary?" was the call. Hell no, and I signed up. As it turned out the semester was just beginning on Tuesday, so it was fortuitous.

I ended up with two students, Manuel Nuñez and Juan Luis Rivera, because there weren’t enough of us to go around. I helped them with their english (just to do something), but mostly we talked, learning from each other. I helped give them a perspective outside of the streets, gangs, and limited opportunities that face them every day in their ambient. Sometimes when all you see around you is a particular behavior or life path, it doesn’t seem so bad, rather, it seems right. It isn’t until you see how other people live, get a bit of perspective, possibly step outside of your cultural limitations, see new vistas, that you see how small your life has been… or rather how much bigger it could be. I think once you take that first step outside of what you have known, it creates a hunger that never ends. I want to know more. I want to become more. Basically, we hit that point over and over and over all semester.

At one point, Manuel got into some trouble with a urine test. Perhaps he had reverted to drugs, or something, but bascially got caught switching urine samples. Anyway, he received another 4 months of encarceration for this. He nearly despaired completely. I noticed a change in his demeaner, he became more withdrawn, melancholy, angry.

We had a long heart to heart in which he expressed his axiety of being in this place. "No puedo," (I can’t) he would say, as if to say four months more would break him. He expressed his anger, his weakness to become enraged (as one week his black eye confirmed). It was costing him more time in this purgatorial realm.

"Manuel, you need to stop thinking about the day you leave this place. You will drive yourself nuts thinking about that year and four months down the road. Your life is here now, isn’t it."

"Yes," he agreed.

"You can’t think about your life outside of here. Look around, what can you do with your life right here? You have a year and four months to do SOMETHING. What is it going to be? Sit on your ass and whine, or make something of this time?"

"I dunno," he said as if it was the first time he had heard that before.

"Why do you think, Manuel, that this guy dissed you? Do you think he was frightened or threatened by you? Do you think he had something to prove to someone else? In either case, he needs something he doesn’t have. He’s more lost than you are. He’s smaller than you are.

"Maybe…"

"Next time look at him as a tiny little lost child throwing a tantrum. Try to help him, not maybe in the heat of the moment, but walk away and then come back later and offer a hand of friendship. Make a project for yourself. Manuel, there is much to do here. Take some of it upon yourself."

"I’ll try," he answered skeptically. I didn’t hope for much, but maybe just a tiny bit sunk in.

In subsequent weeks we practiced tranquility, quiet words, peace, calm in the face of the torment. I related to him my failings with my temper, and how I should try to reflect more empathy before I lash out with my words… try to put myself in the shoes of the other. "I fail frequently," I told him.

"Claro, we can’t be perfect. Everybody fails from time to time," he answered.

"Yes, that’s for sure."