Tuesday, February 07, 2006

Chomsky

Going through some old email, I came across one I sent as a response to a spam email I'd received that was one of those "if you're not with us, you're against us" drivelly jingoistic spews that I suppose have some kind of good intention (I think too many people confuse nationalism for patriotism!)...

In any event...

One of my pet peeves is how people seem to not think for themselves. So much of our populace seems to have their political intellect shaped, not by careful consideration of facts and opinions, but by bumper-stickers and one-liners by politically-motivated media types like Rush Limbaugh and Bill O'Reilly.

No doubt more people were more concerned with the status of Jennifer Lopez and Ben Affleck's spectacle/debacle than how the Bush administration is bamboozling the American public. A "flim-flam", my father would have called it.

Do you realize that while Bush's reasoning (at the heart) for getting into war with Iraq was the "security" of the United States, he hasn't asked for $87 billion to be put towards improving the security systems at our nation's airports? Don't you think that much money would make our airports considerably safer than what they are now?

While reading this interview of Noam Chomsky (below -- published in the October issue of The Sun), I was interested in a statement that "I'm really not interested in persuading people. What I like to do is help people persuade themselves."

So, that's what I'm trying to do here . . . trying to help you to persuade yourselves. My goal is to get you to actually think about this disgusting mess the current administration has gotten us into.

I awakened this morning to more pathetic news . . . that the Bush administration has apparently leaked information that has, in effect, bared the indentity of a CIA operative whose husband (former U.S. Ambassador Joseph Wilson) was an outspoken critic of the intelligence the White House had used as its basis for attacking Iraq.

This is quite the twist of irony, of course, as Bush's father (a former CIA director) said in 1999 that those who expose the names of intelligence sources are "the most insidious of traitors."

LANGUAGE OF MASS DECEPTION:

NOAM CHOMKSY ON HOW THE GOVERNMENT CONTROLS PUBLIC OPINION



by David Barsamian

NOAM CHOMSKY seems to lead a double life. As a professor at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, he practically invented the field of modern linguistics, but outside the academy he's drawn more attention as a trenchant critic of U.S. foreign policy and the media.

At seventy-four, Chomsky is "one of the radical heroes of our age," according to the Guardian. His activism spans five decades, and the Village Voice compares him to "a medic attempting to cure a national epidemic ofselectiveamnesia.'7he mainstream U.S. media studiously ignore him, but he is frequently quoted in the international press, making him better-known abroad than he is at home.

Though not a particularly arresting or charismatic orator, Chomsky invariably attracts overflow audiences from New YorkCity to New Delhi. His speaking engagements are booked years in advance. At the January 2003 World Social Forum in Porto Alegre, Brazil, some twenty thousand activists, workers, and trade unionists packed a stadium to hear him. Six months later, I saw him lead seminars for small groups of students
at the Z Media Institute in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. 7he number of attendees did not affect his delivery: he is always patient and composed, with a dry sense of humor that often goes unnoticed amid the torrent of facts.

My relationship with Chomsky began more than twenty years ago when, after reading one of his books, I wrote him a letter. I was surprised to get a reply. Letter followed letter, and a friendship developed. Since 1984 I have been interviewing Chomsky as part of my Alternative Radio program. A series of books we have done together have sold many thousands of copies, despite having almost no promotion. Our latest is
Propaganda and the Public Mind (South End Press).

Chomsky has written scores of books himself, and, according to the Arts and Humanities Citation Index, he is among the ten most cited authors, living or dead, right behind Plato and Freud. His most recent titles are Middle East Illusions (Rowman & Littlefield) and Power and Terror (Seven Stories Press). His book 9-11 (Seven Stories Press) spent seven weeks on the New York Times extended bestseller list. 7he hardcover Hegemony or Survival: America's Quest for Global Domination is due out in November 2004from Metropolitan Books.

People often ask me, "What's Chomsky like?" I've always found the Philadelphia native to be straight forward, soft-spoken, and unpretentious. 7here is no power trip or air of superiority. His approach is best summed up by something he once said to me: "I'm really not interested in persuading people. What I like to do is help people persuade themselves."

I caught up with Chomsky last April 5, in Boulder, Colorado, where he was helping celebrate the twenty-fifth anniversary of KGNU community radio. We conducted the following interview a few hours before his sold-out talk that evening Ever generous with his time, he was bound for L.A. the next morning to do another benefit. As we spoke, the U.S. invasion of Iraq was underway, and coalition forces were pushing toward Baghdad. I attempted to bring together Chomsky the linguistics professor and Chomsky the media critic by asking him about language used by the government and subsequently adopted by the media, to influence public opinion during the war.

Barsamian: What sort of propaganda is at work today with Operation Iraqi Freedom?

Chomsky: In this morning's New York Times there's an interesting article about Karl Rove, the president's manager - his "minder" is what they would call it in Iraq - the one who teaches him what to say and do in order to look good and get reelected. Rove is not directly involved in planning the war - but then, neither is Bush. That's in the hands of other people. Rove says his goal is to present the president as a powerful wartime leader so that the Republicans can push through their domestic agenda, which means tax cuts for the rich and other programs designed to benefit an extremely small, highly privileged sector of the population. (Rove says it's to benefit the economy.)

More significant than that - and this part is not outlined in the article - is the attempt to destroy social support systems like schools and Social Security and anything based on the concept that people must have some concern for one another. That idea has to be driven out of people's minds: that you should have sympathy and solidarity; that you should care whether the disabled widow across town is able to eat. The problem with things like schools or Social Security is that they are based on natural human concern for others. Driving such thoughts from people's minds is a large part of the Republican domestic agenda. The best strategy for this is to produce citizens who are focused solely on maximizing their own consumption and have no concern for anyone else.

Since people aren't going to accept total self-interest at face value, however, the way to achieve it - and this is stated explicitly in the Times article - is to make people afraid. If people are frightened, if they think that their security is threatened, they will suppress their own concerns and interests and gravitate toward strong leaders. They will trust the Republicans to protect them from outside enemies. Meanwhile the Republicans will drive through their domestic agenda, maybe even institutionalize it, so that it will be very hard to take apart. And they will do this by presenting the president as a powerful wartime leader overcoming an awesome foe. In reality, of course, Iraq is chosen precisely because it is not awesome and can be easily crushed.

This strategy is laid out pretty overtly in today's Times - not in precisely the same words I just used, but the message is very clear. And it's aimed at the next presidential election. That's a large part of this war.

Barsamian: Clearly, on the subject of the Iraq war, there is a huge gap between U.S. public opinion and opinion in the rest of the world. Do you attribute that to propaganda?

Chomsky: No question about it. The public-relations campaign against Iraq took off last September. This is so obvious it's even been discussed in mainstream publications. For example, Martin Sieff, the chief political analyst for United Press International, wrote a long article describing how it was done.

In September 2002, which happened to be the opening of the midterm Congressional election, the wartime drumbeat began. And it had a couple of constant themes. One is that Iraq is an imminent threat to the security of the United States: we have to stop them now, or they're going to destroy us tomorr6w. The second is that Iraq was behind September ii. Nobody said this straight out, but it was clearly insinuated. The third lie is that Iraq is going to arm terrorists who are planning new atrocities, so, again, we've got to stop them now.

The polls reflected the propaganda very directly. Immediately after September 11, 2001, only 3 percent of the population thought that Iraq had been involved. Since September 11, 2002, that number has grown to roughly 6o percent. More than half the U.S. population believes that Iraq was responsible for September 11, that Iraqis were on the planes, and that Iraq is planning new attacks. No one else in the world
believes any of this.

When Congress authorized the president to use force in October, it said that Iraq was a threat to the security of the United States. Yet no other country regards Iraq as a threat. Even Kuwait and Iran, both of which have been invaded by Iraq, don't regard Iraq as a threat to their security. As a result of the UN sanctions, which have killed hundreds of thousands of Iraqis - probably two-thirds of the population is on the edge of starvation - Iraq has the weakest economy and the weakest military force in the region. Its military expenditures are about one-third those of Kuwait, which has one-tenth of Iraq's population. And, of course, the real superpower in the region is that offshore U.S. military base known as Israel, which has hundreds of nuclear weapons and massive armed forces.

After the U.S. takes over, it's very likely that Iraq will increase its military spending and maybe even develop weapons of mass destruction just to counterbalance other states of the region, particularly Iran. This administration will support the buildup, just as the Reagan administration and the first Bush administration supported Saddam Hussein's military programs, including weapons of mass destruction, right up to the day of his invasion of Kuwait. But the other countries in the Middle East weren't afraid of Iraq. They hated Saddam Hussein, but they weren't afraid of him. For the past five years, in fact, they've been trying hard, over strong U.S. objections, to reintegrate Iraq back into their own system. Only in the United States is there fear of Iraq. And you can trace the growth of this fear to propaganda.

Barsamian: It's interesting that the United States is so susceptible to fear.

Chomsky: Whatever the reasons are for it, the United States happens to be a very frightened country, comparatively speaking. Fears of almost everything - crime, aliens, you name it - are off the chart. And the people in Washington know this very well. They are, for the most part, the same people who ran the country during the Reagan administration and the first Bush administration. And they're reusing the script: pursuing regressive domestic programs and staying in power by pushing the panic button every year. If you do this in the United States, it's not hard to succeed.

Barsamian: What is it about our culture that makes Americans susceptible to propaganda?

Chomsky: I didn't say we're more susceptible to propaganda; we're more susceptible to fear. We're a frightened country. Frankly, I don't understand the reasons for this.

Barsamian: So if the fear is there, then propaganda becomes easier to implement.

Chomsky: Certain kinds of propaganda become much easier to implement., When my kids were in school forty years ago, they were taught to hide under their desks to protect themselves from atomic bombs, At that time, President Kennedy was trying to organize the hemisphere to support his terrorist attacks against Cuba. The U.S. is very influential in this hemisphere, and most countries just went along, but Mexico refused. The Mexican ambassador said, "If I try to tell people in Mexico that Cuba is a threat to our security, 40 million Mexicans will die laughing."

People in the United States didn't die laughing. They were - and are - afraid of everything. Take crime. Our crime rate isn't that much higher than any other industrial society. Yet fear of crime is much greater here than in other countries. Even nonsensical fears, like alien abduction, are higher. If you go to Europe and ask people, "Are there aliens among us?" they'll laugh. Here, probably half the population will say yes.

Barsamian: Don't you think the media contribute to that with TV crime shows and movies?

Chomsky: Probably, but there is also a background fear that the media exploit, and it goes pretty far back. It probably has to do with conquest of the continent, where the colonists had to exterminate the native population; and with slavery, where Americans had to control an oppressed people that threatened, if only by their existence, to turn on their masters. And it may just be a result of the enormous security we enjoy. The United States controls the hemisphere. It controls both oceans. It cannot be seriously threatened. The last time the U.S. was threatened was during the War of 1812. Since then, it has just conquered others. And somehow this incredible security engenders a fear that somebody is going to come after us.

Barsamian: On Thursday, March 6, President Bush gave a prime-time press conference, his first in a year and a half It was actually a scripted press conference. He knew in advance whom he was going to call on. A study of the transcript reveals Bush repeating certain words and phrases: "Iraq"; "Saddam Hussein"; "increasing threat" or "deep threat"; "weapons of mass destruction"; "9/11"; "terrorism." On the following Monday, there was a sharp spike in public-opinion polls: a majority of Americans now believed that Iraq was connected to 9/11.

Chomsky: You're right about the spike in the Polls, but the change began back in September, when the poll results first indicated widespread belief in Iraqi participation in 9/11. That belief has to be continually reinforced, however, or it will drop off. These claims are so outlandish that it's hard to make people believe them unless you keep driving your point home.

You're right, too, that these press conferences are carefully programmed events, like television ads. The public-relations industry has plenty of experience in this. President Reagan was carefully programmed. Everyone knew that if he got off his note cards, he was going to say something insane. He was a media creation.

This administration has a collection of highly crafted media figures. George W. Bush is crafted to be a simple, honest, religious, straight-talking man who's got gut instincts and a deep sense of morality. Colin Powell is made out to be the moderate multi-lateralist, committed to diplomacy, so that when he stands up and says, "We have to go to war," people will think it must be true. There is not a particle of evidence for Powell's vaunted reputation, by the way. His record is horrendous.

But fear is the primary propaganda tool. Take a look at the 1988 presidential campaign. How did George H.W. Bush get elected? The Willie Horton ad campaign. Willie Horton was a convicted murderer serving time in a Massachusetts state prison when Democratic presidential candidate Michael Dukakis was governor. While out on a furlough, Horton, an African American, raped a white woman. The message of the Bush campaign ads was clear: If Dukakis is elected, an African American criminal is going to come and rape your daughter. They didn't say it in those words, but it was insinuated. And it shifted public attitudes about Dukakis.

Actually, one of the most spectacular cases of propaganda occurred in September 1989. Throughout the ig8os, the drug war had been in the news, but in September 1989, the first President Bush intensified his Hispanic-narco-traffickers-are-going- to-destroy-us rhetoric. Before that, drug trafficking hadn't ranked high among people's concerns. By the end of the month, it was the public's top concern. Media coverage of the drug threat was greater than the coverage of all international affairs put together. That campaign was a buildup to the invasion of Panama, which occurred in December of that year.

Barsamian: How long has this sort of propaganda been in use?

Chomsky: The practice of using language and information to shape attitudes and opinions and promote conformity and subordination is as old as history, but it didn't become an organized industry until the last century. And, contrary to what one might expect, this industry was created in the more democratic societies.

The first coordinated propaganda ministry, called the Ministry of Information, began in Britain during the First World War. It had the task, as the British government put it, of "controlling the mind of the world." And it was particularly concerned with the minds of Americans. The British thought if they could convince American intellectuals of the nobility of the war effort, then those intellectuals could stir the remaining population of the United States - which didn't want to have anything to do with European wars, and rightly so - into a fit of anti-German fanaticism and hysteria. This would convince the U.S. to join the war, which was the ultimate goal, because Britain needed U.S. backing.

So Britain's Ministry of Information aimed its efforts primarily at American opinion leaders. And it succeeded, especially with liberals of the John Dewey circle, who organized a propaganda campaign that, within a few months, turned a relatively pacifistic population into fanatics who wanted to destroy everything German. It got so the Boston Symphony Orchestra couldn't play Bach. These liberal intellectuals actually took pride in the fact that, for the first time, wartime fanaticism was created not by military leaders and politicians, but by the more responsible, serious members of the community - namely, them.

President Woodrow Wilson - who had won the election on the slogan "Peace without victory" - reacted by setting up the first US. state-propaganda agency, called the Committee orf Public Information. The members of Wilson's propaganda agency included Edward Bernays, who later became the guru of the public-relations industry, and Walter Lippmann, a respected media figure and leading public intellectual of the day. And these men learned from that wartime experience that they could control the public mind by controlling attitudes and opinions. As Lippmann put it, we can "manufacture consent" by the means of propaganda. Bernays said, "The more intelligent members of the community" can drive the population to do whatever they want by way of what he called "engineering of consent." Both of them believed this to be the essence of democracy.

The public-relations industry had existed before World War 1, but it was very small. It's interesting to look back at the thinking in the 1920s, when public relations really got started. This was the period of Taylorism in business; workers were being trained to act like robots: "Move to the left here," and so on. By turning human beings into automatons, Taylorism created highly efficient industry. The Bolsheviks were very impressed with this and tried to duplicate it throughout the Soviet Union.

The thought-control experts soon realized that you could have notonly "on-job control" but also "off-job control." Off-job control means turning people into robots in every aspect of their lives by inducing a philosophy of futility and focusing their attention on the superficial aspects of life, such as fashionable consumption. Basically, it got the masses out of the way so that those who were supposed to run the show could do it without any interference. And from that came enormous industries, from advertising to universities, all consciously committed to the concept that the elite must control attitudes and opinions, and the people have no business in the public arena.

Barsamian: Which flies in the face of democratic principles.

Chomsky: Actually, they had good constitutional support for that position. This country was founded on the Madisonian principle that the people are just too dangerous to wield power: power has to be in the hands of what Nfladison called "the wealth of the nation" - those who respect property and its rights and want to protect the rich minority from the working majority. In order to do this, the majority has to be fragmented somehow.

Barsamian: Why did public-relations propaganda flourish in democratic societies?

Chomsky: Because governments there couldn't rely on force to control the population. If you can't control people by force, it becomes necessary to control attitudes and opinions. The public-relations industry was later imitated - with varying degrees of success - in Germany and Bolshevik Russia and South Africa and elsewhere. But these attempts were always based quite explicitly on the American model.

In 1933 a progressive Wilsonian named Harold Lasswell - one of the founders of modern political science - wrote an article called "Propaganda." (People used the term freely then, before it picked up negative connotations from the Nazis.) In his article, which was published in the Encyclopedia of social Sciences, Lasswell said we should not succumb to "democratic dogmatisms about men being the best judges of their own interests." And since people are too ignorant to understand their best interests, his reasoning goes, great humanitarians like Lasswell must marginalize and control them. And the best means for doing this is propaganda. Propaganda, Lasswell said, is just a tool, as neutral as a pump handle. You can use it for good or for evil. And since he and his associates were noble, wonderful people, they'd use it for good - to ensure that the ignorant masses remained marginalized and separated from any decision-making. This is not the right wing that I'm talking about; these are the liberal, "Progressive" intellectuals.

The Leninist doctrines are approximately the same: the "right" people would be in control, because they know what's best for everyone. The Nazis also picked up this philosophy. If you read Mein Kampf, Hitler was very impressed with Anglo-American propaganda. "The broad mass of a nation will more easily fall victim to a big lie than to a small one," he wrote. And, "By shrewd and constant application of propaganda, heaven can be presented to the people as hell," and vice versa. He argued, and not without reason, that propaganda was what had won the First World War, and he vowed that the next time around the Germans would be ready. They developed their own propaganda systems modeled on the democracies' ' The Russians tried it, too, but theirs was too crude to be effective. Always at the forefront was the United States, because of course the more free and democratic the society, the more important it is to control attitudes and opinions.

State-run propaganda continued in the U.S. right up to the 1980s. The Reagan administration had what it called an Office of Public Diplomacy. But by that time, the public was no longer willing to accept state-run propaganda agencies, so the Office of Public Diplomacy was declared illegal, and the propagandists had to operate in roundabout ways. What took its place were private corporate systems, which don't take orders from the government but are closely linked to it, of course. And that's our contemporary system. We don't even have to speculate much about what these companies are doing, because they're kind enough to tell is in industry publications and the academic literature.

Barsamian: One of the new lexical constructions of the currently an ABC correspondent in Iraq, but they almost never use him. In his article, he points out that the United States must be the only country in the world that would call someone a terrorist for defending his or her own country from attack.

Glass is sitting there in Iraq, watching this with wonder. In fact, anybody who is even a little displaced from the United States and its system of indoctrination has to observe this situation with wonder, if not enormous fear and hatred of the United States.

Barsamian: The U.S. attack on Afghanistan in October 2001 generated some interesting terms. One was "unlawful combatant."

Chomsky: Prior to World War II, there were few laws of war, but this changed under the Geneva Convention, which was established in the postwar period to outlaw the crimes of the Nazis. Prisoners of war were granted special status by the convention, among other things. The Bush administration, with the cooperation of the media and the courts, is going back to the pre-World War II period, when there was no
international law dealing with war crimes. The Bush administration is not only carrying out an aggressive war; it's classifying the people it bombs or captures as some new category of combatant that isn't entitled to the rights granted by the Geneva Convention.

In fact, the administration has gone well beyond that. It has now claimed the right to arrest American citizens and place them in confinement indefinitely without access to families or lawyers, and with no charges made against them. Presumably, these "suspects" will remain imprisoned until the president decides that the war on terror, or whatever he wants to call it, is over. What's going on is a gross violation of the most elementary principles of international humanitarian law. It's unheard of in an industrialized nation, and yet it's been, to some extent, accepted by the courts.

In fact, a new act, sometimes called PATRIOT Act 2, is being kicked around inside the Justice Department. So far, it's not been ratified, but there have been a couple of articles about it in the press by law professors and others. It's astonishing. The government is claiming the right to remove citizenship, the most fundamental right, if the attorney general "infers" - they don't even have to have evidence - that a person is somehow involved in actions that might be harmful to the United States. You have to go to totalitarian states to find anything like this.

Look at Winston Churchill. Right in the middle of the Second World War he condemned the use of executive power to imprison people without charge as the most odious of crimes. And Britain was in rather desperate straits at the time, not like the United States today. There is a bust of Churchill looking at George Bush every day in the White House, but the president might pay better attention to Churchill's words.

Barsamian: What do you make of British Prime Minister Tony Blair's saying on Nightline that the attack on Iraq 'is not an invasion"?

Chomsky: Tony Blair is a good propaganda agent for the United States: he's articulate, his sentences flow together, and people apparently like the way he looks. He's following a position that Britain has self-consciously taken since the end of the Second World War. During that war, Britain realized that it was not going to be the dominant world power any longer. The U.S. was. And Britain had to make
a choice: would it be just another country, or would it be a junior partner of the United States? It accepted the role of junior partner, and that's what it's been ever since. It brings to the table centuries of experience brutalizing and murdering foreign peoples.

Barsamian: The British occupied Iraq in the early 1920s.

Chomsky: When Britain ran the region, it did just what the U.S. is doing now: it undermined international conventions banning the use of air power against civilians. British Prime Minister Lloyd George's comment was blunt: he said we have to "reserve the right to bomb niggers." It's the same now, because moral principles like that are lasting; they don't change.

Barsamian: At the talks you give, you're often asked, 'What should I do?' We heard this question just last night in Denver, for example.

Chomsky. You hear it a lot from American audiences, but you never hear it in the Third World. When I go to Turkey or Colombia or Brazil, they don't ask me, "What should I do?" They tell me what they're doing. When I went to Porto Alegre, Brazil, the first thing I did was go to a Via Campesina (International Peasant Union) meeting at a Landless Workers Movement farm. These are poor, oppressed people living under horrendous conditions, yet they would never dream of asking me what to do. They know what to do, and they do it. It's only highly privileged people who ask, "What should I do?"

We have every option open to us. We can do anything. But we're trained to look for a quick and easy solution that will let us go back to our ordinary lives, and it doesn't work that way. If you want to do something, you're going to have to be dedicated and committed. You have to keep at it, day after day. We all know what needs to be done: it's educational programs; it's organizing; it's activism. That's the way things change. You want a magic fix that will enable you to go back to watching television tomorrow? It's not there.

Barsamian: You were an active and early opponent to US. intervention in Indochina in the 196os. How has dissent changed since then in the United States?

Chomsky: Actually, another article in the New York Times today offers an interesting perspective on that. The article says that professors are the antiwar activists today, whereas the students used to be the primary antiwar activists. That's a common misconception about the sixties. It's true that, by 1970, as the article states, students were active antiwar protesters. But that was after eight years of a U.S. war in South Vietnam. In the early years of the war, from 1962 on, U.S. planes were bombing South Vietnam, the use of napalm was authorized, chemical weapons were used to destroy food crops, and U. S.-sponsored programs drove millions of people into "strategic hamlets" - essentially concentration camps. All of this was public. Yet there was little or no protest. It was impossible to get anybody to talk about it. Even in a liberal city like Boston, you couldn't hold a public meeting against the war because it would be broken up - by students. You needed hundreds of state police around to allow the speakers - most of them professors like me - to escape unscathed. The student antiwar protests came after years and years of war. By then, hundreds of thousands of people had been killed, much of Vietnam had been destroyed, and the war had spread to all of Indochina.

I'm sure the Times reporter is only saying what she was taught: that there was a huge, spontaneous, student-led antiwar movement. All of the early history of protest has been wiped out, because it tells the truth: that years and years of hard work by many people finally ended up building a protest movement. But the New York Times can't report that, because you can't learn that dedicated, committed effort can bring about significant changes. That's a very dangerous thought to allow people to have. What we hear about is the tail end of the movement, after all the real work was done. And we say, "How come it's not like that now, with this war?"

Barsamian: How does one distinguish propaganda from news, and what are some techniques of resisting it?

Chomsky: There are no techniques, just ordinary common sense. If you hear that Iraq is a threat to our existence, but its closest neighbor Kuwait doesn't regard it as a threat, nor does anybody else in the world, you should ask, 'OK, where is the evidence?" As soon as you ask this, the story collapses.

You have to be critical of whatever is presented to you in any media. Of course, the whole media system and the educational system are designed to drive critical thoughts from your mind. You're taught to be a passive, obedient follower. And unless you can break out of those habits, you'll be a victim of propaganda. But it's not that hard to break out.

In 1985, President Reagan declared a national emergency because of the threat posed to the U.S. by the government of Nicaragua, which, he pointed out, was two days' drive from Harlingen, Texas. If you listened to Reagan, Nicaragua was poised to take over the hemisphere. That National Emergency 'Declaration of 1985, which was a means of building support for the U.S.'s covert war in Nicaragua, was a model for the Congressional declaration of 2002. The wording is almost the same. Just replace "Nicaragua" with "Iraq."

How much critical thinking does it take to determine that Nicaragua is no threat to the United States? Again, people outside the U.S. just look at this in wonder. Throughout the 1980s, the tourist industry in Europe collapsed every few years because Americans would read news stories that made them afraid to go to Europe. They thought there would be some Arab there who would try to kill them. Europeans don't know what to make of this. How can a country be so frightened of something that is completely nonexistent?

Barsamian: That's happening again right now.

Chomsky: Yes, but to break out of this, we simply need to use our ordinary intelligence. Just examine what's presented to you with common sense and skepticism. Read the newspaper the same way you would read Iraqi propaganda. How do you decide that the minister of information in Iraq isn't to be trusted? Look at your own government the same way.

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Tour Eiffel avec des feuilles et un papier

A three-frame vertical panoramic photograph of Eiffel Tower from ground level, with leaves and one candy wrapper in the foreground
Tour Eiffel avec des feuilles et un papier — ©2026 Patrick T. Power

From my first trip to Eiffel...

For a half-hour or so, I sat on a bench not too bar from here, perusing my travel guide, watching a couple making out an a bench across from me, and hoping that the kids who were kicking a soccer ball (in a play area behind me) didn't use my head as a goalie! I was still fairly exhausted from the flight in and nodded off on several occasions.

I got up and headed towards this green area—Parc du Champ-de-Mars—to begin considering how I would photograph the tower. I happened upon a man and a woman—he was struggling with his camera, trying to set it up on a small post in order to take their picture in front of Eiffel, so, I offered to help. They spoke Spanish, so I assumed that they were from Spain, although I didn't ask. I went to bended knee with the camera as low to the ground as I could get it (and still see the LCD panel) and took a couple of frames for them. I didn't realize until afterwards, of course, that the ground was a bit soggy. It left a lovely wet spot on the knee of my jeans.

Aaaarrrggghhh!

But onward I pressed... looking for "my shot" of the tower. I had made the very conscious decision earlier that my first shot of the tower was not going to be typical (and it wasn't). But at this point, I had to let the tourist in me take over a bit. After all, I'd come to Paris with the idea that I'd take loads of photographs... it wasn't going to kill me to be typical for a few minutes. Right? Naturally, it occurred to me to do a panoramic image, and as has been my custom of late, I shot from a very low angle, mingling with the leaves a bit.

It's not a great shot, and surely nothing that hasn't been done already, but I am posting this more as a reminder to myself to use my eyes just a little bit more as I look through the camera. If there is one thing that I have been working on this past year, it is the ability to see everything that the lens sees.

Like candy wrappers!

Best view of the paper is at the original size!

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Saturday, January 14, 2006

Daily 50

Self-portrait. A close-up of me cropped to include only about five-sixths of my face (about three-quarters of my right eye, image's top left) is showing. I'm resting against a wooden storage locker and my head is tilted slightly upwards. The top of the image is cropped to about mid-forehead, and the bottom is cropped to about mid-neck. A little of the wooden storage locker is showing at the frame's right.
January 13 — by Patrick T. Power

Last month, I undertook a project that I thought was a relatively easy thing to do — a series of self-portraits marking my 50th year.

The plan was simple: I would create and post (at flickr) at least one self-portrait each day from 1 December 2005 to 1 December 2006. How difficult could that be, right?

Well, aside from the fact that I got wrapped up in other things on several days and forgot to shoot anything at all, I'm finding it to be an extremely challenging task.

Now, I'm not one to go to extremes for my self-portraits. I haven't the desire to get overly dramatic with my poses, or to use props. For the moment, I've made do with existing lighting around the apartment — the bathroom window light tends to be the best (although the sun has made rare appearances since the end of November), but I've found the desk lamp at the computer to be surprisingly useful.

As I have cruised flickr for the past year, I have seen comments posted on other flickr members' self-portraits complaining that "your stream is nothing but self-portraits." That tends to be a bit of an exaggeration most of the time, but I suppose I can understand how the process of doing self-portraits might be misundertood.

For most of us who shoot self-portraits on a regular basis, I think that it comes from the simple fact that we are our most convenient (and cooperative) subjects for portraiture. That surely is the case for me. It's not that I have any great desire to look at myself... it's about light and shadow and composition and (when I'm moved) post-processing.

But as convenient and willing and cooperative as I might be, there have been days that I just feel as though I'm way in over my head with this project. I often wonder if over the course of 360 days I can maintain a consistent level of creativity (subjective, of course) and interest, without the photographs being too similar.

Last night was an occasion in which I didn't get around to taking the picture until almost 11:30. I tried using the living room torch lamp as I lay on the couch/bed, but there was nothing really interesting there. I tried the foyer area (finding that the colour temperature of the light there is lower than tungsten, so that proved useful), but was again rather uninspired. I then proceeded to the basement and began exploring what opportunities were there.

I discovered a few empty storage lockers with light that came through the gaps between the wooden slats which proved interesting, but the light wasn't strong enough for the Nikon's auto-focus system. I would also have preferred to have a tripod — I suppose I'll keep that i mind for future sessions.

I was fearing that I'd not come up with anything that I liked, and at one point considered that I'd just sit up against the white wall, shoot something and let it go at that. I recognized, however, after shooting a frames, that I was sitting between two equidistant ceiling lights. It was like sitting on a copystand — boring, uninteresting light that didn't really show much form.

Moving to the north end of the room, I sat against one of the lockers, illuminated by only one of the lights, eventually getting the shot that I've posted here. Upon editing the image, I desaturated the colour, bringing my skin tones to approximate the wood behind me. The crop you see is the crop I created in-camera.

Today, there is sunshine, so I will probably take advantage of it and shoot at the bathroom window for the first time in a week or so.

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Thursday, January 05, 2006

I Want...

to write again.

The desire is returning slowly but surely... I remain Paris drunk and am sluggish at getting real-life things done of late. But real life is a moment or two from slapping me upside the head. I can feel it.


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Wednesday, January 04, 2006

Hope

screenshot of a seven-day weather which shows one day of seven in which sunshine is predicted
I took Penny to the airport in Grand Rapids (she's leaving the car with me for three weeks while she's in San Francisco) and she said that as of today, we've had 43 consecutive days without sunshine.


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Weather Update

Rain.

Grey.

More Rain.

More Grey.

Update:I was told today that this is the 43rd day in a row of no sun.

Rain.

Grey.

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Monday, January 02, 2006

Crisis... What Crisis?

The new year has started out much like the last month of the one that just flashed by... it's grey and rainy outside. I honestly can't recall when the sun made a significant appearance in East Lansing. Zach said he recalls having seen it a week or two ago.

Since my return from Paris, I have procrastinated like I never have before in my life... I feel as if I'm floating in some kind of vacuum. Hah! Now there's an idea... perhaps I'm actually in some cosmic vacuum cleaner — on my way to some very undesirable destination!

I had a discussion with a friend recently about a comment she'd made one night just before I'd left for Paris. We were at a meeting and I was gushing about my upcoming adventure when she blurted out, "Well, I think it's just a mid-life crisis!"

It bothered me to hear that at the time — especially because she is one of my dearest friends — but I didn't say anything to her about it until last week.

I told her about the comment and how it bothered me, then I explained to her that the trip was very much arranged on a whim... at the suggestion of a flickr friend, and not designed to coincide with my 50th birthday, something which (truth be told) didn't occur to me until after I'd made the flight reservations. I think that the most annoying aspect of her comment was that she so easily put me into some kind of box despite knowing me as well as she knows me. I told her that, if anything, I'm having a life crisis — that it has nothing to do with mid-life.

But then, is it really a crisis at all?

The other day, I talked about this with another friend and she suggested that life is one long crisis. I tend to agree with that. We wake up each day with something new to deal with — earth-shattering or otherwise — and we have to manage our way through.

Thursday, December 22, 2005

I've been asked to open a show next March for the amazing Jack WIlliams (the show is tentative at the moment), so I've begun to brush up on my playing. I've pushed my songwriting and playing so far to the backburner that the other day, my guitar threatened to put itself on eBay!

I will get thirty minutes, so that means about six or seven songs (mine tend to be rather short, so maybe even eight).

It's an honour to have been asked, and a greater honour to be associated with Jack in this way. For the ten or so years that I've been involved in the folk music business ("folk music business" — that's almost a contradiction of terms, I realize!), Jack has been one of my favourite people.

Thursday, November 03, 2005

(Stupid) American In Paris

Well, today was my first full day here... I had fallen asleep rather early last night and was up by about 7:00am (that's 1:00am to you in the Eastern time zone), and after emailing and blogging, I got out of here at about 10:30.

It was quite a beautiful day for most of the day... big clouds rolled in at around noon, but nothing rain-related; it was a rather blustery day as well.

After stopping around the corner for an orange, I headed immediately for Boulevard Saint-Michel so as to get to the Seine in the vicinity of Cathédral Notre-Dame de Paris (note the de Paris part! Heh!). I didn't spend as much time as I thought I would there as it was—as you might expect—loaded with tourists (damned tourists!). What was surprising to me was that there was a mass going on at the same time! I took a few photos there—one was of a couple of girls (sisters, I'm guessing) who were taking each other's photo with the enormous expanse of the church interior behind them.

I left the church and walked a bit along the west bank of la Seine... looking for a good photograph of the cathedral from that angle, but didn't find much of interest. There is a beautiful section behind the Cathédral with trees and benches... very photogenic, but a garbage truck was on duty. Along the river were gobs of newstand/souvenir booths which I resisted for the time being. I was wishing I spoke French... I would have loved to engage some of the vendors in conversation — either about their art or what they were selling.

I walked along the river in the direction of Tour Eiffel, grabbing a few snaps here and there. There was a sax player on the opposite side of the river, his music reverberating under one of the bridges and seeming to hang in the air. This was near the Palais Royal Musée du Louvre, which I passed by today, instead walking through Jardin des Tuileries. It was here that I snapped my first picture of Tour Eiffel that I decided at the moment would be called "The Tower For The Trees"...

I took a few more frames for a panorama in le jardin before heading back to the streets. I glimpsed Arc de Triomphe from near Champs-Élysée, but walked across the river in the direction of Eiffel... it was after visiting Eiffel that I got lost. Not a bad thing, really, as I discovered some interesting areas of the city. As for getting lost, I had a map with me and somehow misread where I was. Also, there are a few incidents where a rue and a boulevard share the same name. That could have been my problem. As I said, getting lost wasn't such a bad thing, it's just that I had just bought a bag of groceries and had to carry it around the entire time!

Speaking of the groceries, I decided to avoid the difficulty of ordering food at a restaurant (and I refuse to eat at McDonalds—yet!), so I figured the easiest thing would be to select groceries for a couple of days, take it to the cashier, say, "Bonjour!" and "Merci!" then be on my way. Well, the best laid plans... I was told (in French, of course) that I needed to weigh the bananas (she spoke little english but was able to get that out). After I went back to do that, and after paying for the food, she asked me more questions... I had no clue. She was pointing to bags on the wall. I had no clue. Finally, the cashier next to her noticed we were having a problem and asked my cashier if I spoke english, then explained to me that I had a choice of two sized bags for purchase. (I was told that there is a campaign to reduce the number of discarded bags.) While I didn't have to purchase a bag, it was a good thing as the bag had a more substantial handle, which made carrying the bag FOR TWO HOURS a little easier.

NOTE: I have been having trouble posting via Blogger, so my posts are likely going to be a bit delayed... I have a whole 'nother day to write about but my problems with Blogger have messed up my timeliness with posting.

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Paris

paree!
Paree! by Phil Hilfiker

I have arrived in Paris!

The flight from Detroit went very well... there was a crying child only a few seats in front of me that I was afraid would never stop; but he did.

I sat next to a woman returning to France after ten days in the states with her son and several others. She is from Brittany (a three-hour train ride from Paris) and had many more miles of travelling ahead of her as she was to leave for Spain within a few hours of returning home.

Paris skies were grey as we landed at Charles DeGaulle airport (CDG), and after making a quick call to my host, Callixte (say kah-LEEKST), I found where to buy my train ticket for the city. There were a couple of delays along the way; I also managed to fall asleep on the train, waking myself up with my own noise!

Callixte was at the station as planned (he'd heard of the delays) and we headed back to his place, a very short walk from Port Royal station.

After getting acquainted with his computer and taking care of emails, I went out for a walk in what was very quickly dimming light. Soon, a light rain began to fall sporadically as I walked up Boulevard du Montparnasse to Boulevard Saint-Michel, then around Jardin du Luxembourg (Luxembourg Gardens) via Rue de Vaugirard and Rue d'Assas, where I passed an elderly man walking with his hands clasped behind his back, clasping a rosary. I wished I'd had enough light for a photograph.

I walked a bit more, then decided to head back to the apartment as the rain began falling a little heavier. Callixte arrived home shortly afterwards and we went for dinner, eventually ending up at Café Royale (if memory serves); I can't recall what I ordered by name, but it was some kind of fish casserole (cod, I think) with a salad. I had a fine French beer — Heineken — to drink. Hah!

Upon returning to the apartment, I pretty much passed out while Callixte chatted online. I didn't hear him go to bed but he said that he went fairly early. Methinks my presence is cramping his style a bit as my bed (a futon) is in the same room as the computer.

I am going out now... it is after 9am and the days only get shorter!

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Monday, August 29, 2005

Singing Mea Culpa

Sepia-toned photographic self-portrait of me, shirtless, from about the chest up, holding my right hand to my head; the lighting is rather harsh sunlight coming through a window from frame left. It illuminates my right arm, most of my face, and my upper left arm
Singing Mea Culpa

the sins we commit
grab us by the throat and squeeze;
with luck, they let go

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Recently, one of my flickr contacts posted an apology (now deleted, I see) to another flickr member for an indiscretion of some sort. I don't know the details, but I don't need to in order to empathize somewhat with his situation.

Like any other community, flickr presents opportunities to meet people — whether "virtually" or (eventually) in person — as well as opportunities for us to be misunderstood, to miscommunicate and/or miscalculate.

I had an experience earlier this year which, if I could, I would do it over again differently. It was a very dynamic relationship I'd developed with another flickr member, one in which we fed off each other's creativity, but one in which I surely made a misstep or two. It has been said that talent is an aphrodisiac. Hers certainly affected me, drawing me in — not so much that she wanted that, but because I was ripe for it, I suppose.

Our communication was basically limited to occasional emails and the photos we created, and while much was communicated, there was also much that was left unsaid and unheard. I misread her, and went a little overboard, which, despite being very honest, sincere and innocent, made her uncomfortable. That's fair. I think she misread my intentions as well, but email, as concise as it allows us to be with words, fails often to clearly convey what's between the lines, or what's truly in our hearts and minds.

I thought I'd backed away enough to salvage the friendship, but it wasn't the case, and I'm sorry for that. It has been her choice to sever ties, and I've not pressed the issue, although there are times I wish I could have had the chance to explain myself better.

I apologized for anything I might have done to upset, bother, annoy or unsettle her, but it wasn't enough. I presume she remains unsettled. I remain bummed about the whole chain of events, but sometimes we can't do anything more than apologize and move on, hoping that the other person's wounds eventually heal, or that time brings a different light with which to see thing differently enough to allow us to get close again.

Or not.

So goes life.

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Unless otherwise noted, all writings on this blog are copyright Patrick T. Power. All rights reserved.

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Thursday, August 25, 2005

Switching Modes

Most of my life, I've been a fairly creative person... I've drawn, sketched, painted, coloured; I've written; I've photographed. I've designed.

A little over a year ago, I discovered the concept of blogging, which has been — for me — a means by which I've written a journal of sorts. Early on, I concentrated on the political scene, thinking that whatever I had to say might have an impact on last fall's election. Alas, it didn't. (Well, I'm pretty sure it didn't... let's hope it didn't! Heh!)

The election results were such a letdown that I've not paid as much attention to the ol' VOP blog on any kind of regular basis... I was so disheartened by the prospect of four more years of the miserable failure that I stopped writing even my more personal essays. I wouldn't say I was depressed, but realizing to my marrow that this country and the world were going to have to somehow survive the misappropriation of patriotism, national pride and justice courtesy of the miserable failure was a bit difficult to bear. I felt a sadness for the world.

Also, for the last several months, my family has been reading my posts... in and of itself that's not a big deal to me, but that things I write here can be misconstrued and misunderstood has bothered me. I've thought about blogging a bit more anonymously, or creating another blog that family wouldn't find, but there's nothing that I write here that I feel I need to run from. I'm just a fellow who wants to write. I just want to write about things I know. Honestly, the only thing I really know about is me and my life.

I had a chat with my sweet friend Rebekah last night thanks to Google Talk. We haven't spoken in over eight months, I'm guessing, and it was such a delight to once again hear the slightly scratchy blend of Saskatoon, Saskatchewan and Savannah, Georgia in her voice. Rebekah is a prolific blogger – despite being so busy with her thesis work, she manages to find time to read books and blog. I've still not finished the John Irving novel I picked up last month (granted, I had a trip out east and a festival to help produce), but still...

That I'm sitting here writing this, though, has much to do with her encouragement and her spirit. Thanks, Ms. B!

The brain is a funny thing, though... for years, I absorbed music. I memorized lyrics to probably every Bob Dylan song that came to light (officially or otherwise), as well as many by John Prine, Loudon Wainwright III, Martin Mull, Neil Young, etc., etc. When I worked for the Michigan State University Instructional Media Center, however, my mind began a shift towards a creativity of my own. I began to study portraiture more seriously — specifically lighting. I bought many books on lighting, as well as books that featured the images of (mostly) commercial photographers. I tried to figure out how they used light to obtain the results they achieved. At the time, I got up the gumption to ask the Lansing Art Gallery's Karen Stock if she'd take a look at my portfolio and give me a chance to have a show at the gallery. She agreed to a date (April/May of 1995) and I went about asking local visual artists if they would pose for me.

The show required a bit more than simply taking pictures, however. I sought support from Kodak (film and photographic paper), the now defunct Photo Conexxion (same), PhotoMart and Custom Photographic (darkroom). I also needed to set up studio space in a couple different locations: the Unitarian Universalist Church in East Lansing, and in my then-wife's ArtSpace gallery/studio/classroom. It was during this time that she wanted out of the marriage, so another fairly ignominious variable was thrown into the swirling pot of emotion and creativity. That I had to shoot her portrait was almost a challenge I didn't want to bear, but I really had no choice — she played a huge role in the inspiration for the project.

As that project came to an end, I seemed to drop photography as my first choice for creative outlet. All of a sudden, songwriting became my medium for creative expression and I dove in as if my life depended on it. In a way, I suppose it did.

For a long time (just about ten years, I guess), I didn't think I'd move away from songwriting — it seemed as though songs were all I knew. Anything that happened to me was turned into a song — whether on paper or merely in my head for a few minutes or hours.

Mingled in amongst all that has happened to me over the course of the last ten years, has been my involvement in the local folk music scene (namely, serving as the booking manager for the Ten Pound Fiddle Coffeehouse), helping to manage the career of an amazingly talented singer from Cadillac, Michigan and (for the last four years) getting a job coordinating the music for the Great Lakes Folk Festival.

As the internet became a part of my life, I've also designed a few websites... mostly folk music-related, one which required doing a Google search for the photograph of a band that I needed for one of the sites.

That led me to flickr.

And my return to photography.

It started out fairly innocently... I had clicked through flickr a few times (from others' blogs — including Rebekah's), but I didn't really experience it until I stumbled onto Marya's flickr page. It hit me like a ton of bricks — photo sharing! Comments, contacts, descriptions... all of a sudden, all of my creative worlds seemed to be colliding. Of course, clicking over to Marya's blog provided further impetus to join flickr, as she so deftly married words with images — with lots of wonderful wordplay.

I wanted to let her (this "emdot" woman) know that I liked her photos, and that I liked her clever, witty remarks about them as well. The email address on her site, however, didn't work, so I had to join flickr in order to leave a comment, which I did. I also wrote her a note using flickrmail. In a return note, she asked me when I was going to begin posting photos to flickr. Since I was yet to purchase a digital camera, my only real option was to begin scanning some of my favourite photos (starting with those from my exhibit) and posting them.

Shortly after that, I borrowed a camera that my son had borrowed from a friend of his and began exploring the digital world a bit. The immediate gratification of digital photography can be very addictive (addicting?), and I soon fell under its spell. In December, I purchased my first digital camera, then went deeper into debt with a bigger, better (though not totally satisfying) model that has 8MegaPixel resolution.

Since I joined flickr, I've posted over 3700 photos and have taken many, many, many more times that! My flickr site has had almost 55,000 views (whatever that really means) and there seems to be no end in site to my af-flickr-iction. I think that what drives me (and others) to post to flickr — as well as spend untold amounts of time cruising others' photos, etc — is the idea that prior to flickr, perhaps only a handful of people would see the photographs I took (my personal ones, that is)... now, I can share them — literally — with the rest of the world. What a concept!

Still, there is this desire to lay down words on paper (or more succinctly, cathode ray tube pixels), so I hope to be doing a lot more of that soon. I have imagined writing a novel one day's worth of blogging at a time, but that hasn't yet seemed to settle into its proper place. Like anyone who loves writing, I believe I have a novel in me somewhere.

Perhaps like flickr, I can use this blog to share that novel with the rest of the world, if and when it decides to rise up and bite me on the ass!

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Unless otherwise noted, all writings on this blog are copyright Patrick T. Power. All rights reserved.

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Wednesday, August 10, 2005

How Cool Is This?!?

I was minding my own business this evening, when I came across a comment at my flickr site on the photo at the right. The photo, which has become my most "faved" photo (by a longshot!) at flickr, as well as my "most commented" and — as deemed by flickr's algorithms — "most interesting", has been posted at the flickrBlog.

The photo was already on its way to becoming my most viewed photo at flickr as well (it took the number one spot earlier this evening), but there's a chance that it'll become my first photo with 1000 views (it's approaching 600 now) considering its prominence now on what is ostensibly flickr's front page.

How cool!

Sunday, August 07, 2005

In Her Shadow

Photograph of me sitting in Penny's shadow at the 1994 Blssifest Music Festival
In Her Shadow — ©2025 Patrick T. Power

I was filling out my passport application this evening when I came to a portion of the form that asked for my spouse's (or former spouse's) name and the date of my most recent marriage.

As it turns out, today would have been our 23rd anniversary had the marriage lasted this long.

I had an email discussion with a friend the other night about what she perceived as my continued grieving of my loss. She might have a point, but as I told her (as well as others), I think that I will probably never get over the best parts of the marriage. It will always be difficult to look Penny directly in the face and not see the woman I fell in love with twenty-five years ago.

But as I have processed everything for the past ten years, it has become clear to me that a major readjustment would have had to occur on both our parts for things to have gotten better than they were. I will probably always be bitter that she decided not to make the attempt, but I have realized, too, that I wouldn't have grown as much as I believe I've grown in the last ten years had I still been married. But that's the great unknown, I suppose. Had we continued, I'd probably still be in her shadow.

As for the photo, I recall this day very well... we were at odds with each other over nothing particularly important—we just weren't getting along. You can see the pain she's enduring for the photograph in her face. What looks like a smile is due more to the sun being in her eyes than that she's pleased.

Shortly after the divorce, Loudon Wainwright III came out with a record with a song that seemed to sum it up pretty well:

OUR OWN WAR
by Loudon Wainwright III

Hostilities ended
Nobody cared
Any more for the war
So a truce was declared
So it ends in surrender
Then there’s peace at least
Arms are withdrawn
And fire is ceased

To stay in a skirmish
One needs appetite
Two need desire to
Keep up a fight
But when appetites off
And desire is gone
Then the fire is held
And arms are withdrawn

When losses and wounds
Are grievous and gory
When the battle is pitched
In the field there is glory
When hearts just aren’t in it
Retreat leads to rout
And then arms are laid down
And the fire goes out

We remember the ones
Who run out of dumb luck
Monuments are erected
And statues are struck
But we tend to forget
If and when we forgive
That survivors survive
But they never quite live

As for our own war
Yes I recall it well
Just what it was like
Our own personal hell
I’ve forgotten the good times
Heaven’s so vague
I remember the battles
Oh how they raged

When losses and wounds
Are grievous and gory
When the battle is pitched
In the field there is glory
When hearts just aren’t in it
Retreat leads to rout
And then arms are laid down
And the fire goes out

The irony (if there is any) is that Loudon performed at Blissfest the year this photo was taken.

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Wednesday, July 13, 2005

Reading Again!

Photograph of me holding up a copy of John Irving's novel Until I Find You, partially covering my face
Time Away — ©2026 Patrick T. Power

I have spent too much time away from reading over the last year or so... That will change this week as the new John Irving novel came out yesterday. I'll be hunkering down for the next few days reading it before I head out to New York next week.

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Thursday, July 07, 2005

London, My Heart

Photograph of white billowy cloudsLondon, My Heart

LONDON, MY HEART
by Patrick T. Power

London, my heart is calling
Through dust that fills your skies
London, my heart is falling
With the tears that cloud your eyes

London, my heart is aching
With the pictures on my screen
London, my heart is breaking
Is this all just make-believe?

London bridges falling down
Morning turns to night
Hopes and wishes all around
Does black ever turn to white?

London, my heart is bleeding
Will a cure come sure and swift?
London, my heart is pleading —
Will this shadow ever lift?

London, my heart is grieving
For the victims of this game
London, my heart is screaming
At the ones who are to blame

London tears are falling down
Does wrong after wrong make a right?
Hopes and fears are all around
Will black ever turn to white?

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Unless otherwise noted, all writings on this blog are copyright Patrick T. Power. All rights reserved.

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Wednesday, July 06, 2005

"Me And My Guitar..."

Photograph of me peeking out from behind a guitar's headstock
Me And My Guitar — ©2025 Patrick T. Power

"...always in the same room" —James Taylor

A little over ten years ago, I lost my interest in photography. Or so I thought.

Only a couple of years before that, I had begun writing songs, but with the demise of my thirteen-year marriage, songwriting took up a major chunk of my creative psyche. I wrote songs on the way to work, at work, on the way home from work, in the car, in my head... anywhere I had a free moment to think, it seemed, songs invaded my headspace.

While in the thick of splitting up with my wife, I purchased my Martin guitar a few months before I moved out of our house. It was a present to myself as way of making up for all the years I'd pretty much denied myself personal possessions beyond books and record albums/CDs. I'd owned a 12-string guitar which Penny had picked up from a friend of hers for $70 as an anniversary gift. It served me pretty well for a number of years, despite its rather high action. But to improve as a guitar player, I needed a better guitar. I'd long wanted a Martin, so over to Elderly Instruments I went. My choice came down to either a 30-year old D-21 or a brand new D-1R. While I sometimes think I should have gone with the D-21, I chose the latter.

Hour after hour I would play on some days, either learning someone else's songs or writing and rehearsing my own. I met many local (and a few not-so-local) musicians during my first year after moving out of the house, so I was often invited to jams and song circles. I also became a regular at open mics. Never wanting to be without something new to play on these occasions, I tried to write as often as possible. Mostly, I wrote about myself... taking some aspect of my life and turning it into song. Divorce is pretty fertile ground for songwriting, as you might imagine, so I did lots of plowing of that field. It's only natural to do lots of processing after such a life-altering event, so I did most of my processing in songs.

A couple of wonderful yet short-lived relationships provided more song material and for several years, I attended a songwriting retreat; I began writing songs that didn't necessarily involve me thematically, although I'm always in there someplace, I suppose.

For the last year or so, I haven't done a lot of writing, other than for my blog, which until recently, has even been forsaken for my resurgent interest in photography thanks to Flickr. Every now and then, however, a song comes to me—whether to celebrate a friend's birthday, or in response to emotions I might feel from looking at a photograph. I write almost as if it's my duty, sometimes, whether that means giving voice to something I—or someone else—might be feeling.

I've re-recorded my most recent song (complete with train whistle).

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Tuesday, July 05, 2005

Adrift

Sometimes my songs are inspired more by others' lives rather than my own. In this case, it was inspired by a photograph one of my FLickr contacts had posted.

Adrift
by Patrick T. Power

Down by the water
Down by the sea
Adrift on the shore
That's where I'd rather be
Looking over the waves
And out to the blue
Clouds in the distance
Remind me of you

Slowly, so slowly
The ocean creeps in
I wonder, I wonder
Where does it begin?
And where does it end?
And where does it go?
Questions with answers
That I wanna know

Far from the city
Far from the lights
Far from the laughter
That once ruled the nights
Far from the people
Far from the streets
Far from the madness
That repeats and repeats and repeats

Here by the water
Here by the sea
Adrift with these thoughts
Washing all over me
Slowly, so slowly
A sadness creeps in
I wonder, I wonder
Where does it begin?
And where does it end?
And where does it go?
Questions with answers...
Will I ever know?
Will I ever know?

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Monday, July 04, 2005

Guilty Pleasure

Still image of Blanche Baker (left) and Debra Winger taken from the film French Postcards
French Postcards: Blanche Baker (left) and Debra Winger

This morning, I was reminded of an old (1979) film, French Postcards. Many years ago, I happened to see it on Cinemax on a small black-and-white television in Lansing, Michigan, and it has turned out to be one of my guilty pleasures. So I pulled out the VHS (!) copy I have of it and watched it again.

The film is about a group of American exchange students who travel to France for a year to study the language and French culture. It's a fairly innocuous, predictable film, really, but it has many humourous moments and a few poignant ones. It also has – as one of its recurring musical motifs – a song that one of the students (Alex, played by David Marshall Grant) writes and sings for his teacher (on whom he had a crush) early on in the film. I suppose it's more of a ditty really, but I've always liked its naïve sweetness and the lilting melody. It's probably a song that only a songwriter could love.

Listen/watch

THE THING OF IT IS
by John Kander / Fred Ebb

I hear a sigh from a bench in the square
And the sound of the sigh says a lover is there
Then I suddenly see
That the lover is me
And the thing of it is...

Paris

Paris... is a lady with a light in her eyes
A surprise kinda glow about her
Paris... is a teacher who has lessons to give
how to love, how to live
That there's so much to learn
That you toss and you turn about her

I hear a song down a cobblestone street
And I've never heard singing that sounded so sweet
Then a jolt in my spine
Says the music is mine
And the thing of it is...

Paris

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Also notable about the film is that it's one of the earliest film appearances by Debra Winger (above right), who plays a bit role as the party-loving roommate of one of the main characters (Blanche Baker, above left), and Mandy Patinkin, who plays a sexist Iranian whom Lora finds to take her to what she calls "The Festival" in an unidentified town far from Paris. His favorite English phrase is "No problem!"

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Wednesday, June 29, 2005

Red Sandals

Photograph of red sandals on the feet of a woman standing on a lawn
Red Sandals — ©2025 Patrick T. Power

I was photographing a mailbox near my apartment complex when a woman ambled up the driveway to see what I was doing. I told her that I was photographing the neighbourhood for a project, then she pointed out that perhaps I should take a photo of the mole path that wended through her front yard. I humoured her by taking a shot of the brown trails, then turned my camera toward her feet.

The neighbourhood I live in is a very private area that sits just east of the US-127 / I-496 interchange... it's not accessible other than from Arbor Drive from the south, and doesn't connect with the other nearby "Flower Pot" (the streets are all named for flowers) neighbourhood, much to the dismay of many who have tried to find a short cut to Michigan State University.

Because my tendencies are to walk toward the University (in the other direction), this was the first time I'd done much of an exploration of the neighbourhood. So, it was nice to meet Joyce and her husband, Joe, who eventually walked up from what I assumed was a journey of his own.

We chatted a bit about the neighbourhood and the attempts of a local developer to build a huge student rental unit (directly in view and earshot of my apartment!!) in a lot previously occupied by a now partially-razed Ramada Inn. We also came back around to talking about their mole problem and Joyce said she'd tried just about everything to get rid of them. I told Joe not to let her watch Caddyshack, and he got quite the chuckle out of that.

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Saturday, June 25, 2005

Ready

Ready — Photo by Eric Payette. All rights reserved.

Boy, does this bring back memories!

Many years ago (I was probably no older than thirteen), as I slept soundly in my bed, I awoke to "Pat! Pat!" being called out by my brother Mike.

It was probably 1:00 in the morning — maybe later — and our parents were at another couple's house playing cards or something. Of course, I was groggy and a little dazed at the harshness of Mike's voice, but I crawled out of bed and headed toward the living room to see what was going on.

As I made the left turn from the short hallway outside my bedroom into the dining room, I looked up and to the right where Mike stood with my dad's 16-gauge shotgun pointed, essentially, right at me.

It was probably the strangest thing I've ever awakened to... possibly the strangest moment I've ever had in my life (well, except for that three-breasted prostitute in Rio*).

I don't recall what I said at that moment, but he told me to call mom and dad. Apparently, someone had broken a window in our basement and our dog (Snoopy) had begun to bark and go nuts — something which I managed to sleep through.

So, the gun was pointed at the door in the kitchen which led to the basement — not at me. Well, sort of not at me. It was a shotgun, after all, and I could have been standing several feet either side of the barrel's intended target and still have been in the path of its buckshot!

I really couldn't think much about that, though... I had to call my parents. Where was the phone? On the wall... in the kitchen... next to the door that led to the basement.

Have you ever had a gun pointed at you by a sixteen year old? Do you understand why this photograph stirs memories?

Well, I made the phone call and my parents arrived shortly (they were only a couple of blocks away), and we found that whoever had broken the window didn't gain entry. Likely, Snoopy's barking did the trick in running them off.

You know... to this day, I've never asked Mike if the gun was loaded.

*Just kidding! I've never been to Rio!

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Unless otherwise noted, all writings on this blog are copyright Patrick T. Power. All rights reserved.

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Sunday, June 19, 2005

Festival Of The Sun

A wide-angle photograph of people gathered under a tent in Lansing, Michigan for a wine tasting festival.
Tent City, ©2026 Patrick T. Power

I volunteered at the Festival Of The Sun last evening... it's a beer/wine tasting fundraising event for Lansing, Michigan's Old Town Business District.

A friend and I poured wine for a local distributor. By about 9:30, our booth was the only one with wine left, so we were inundated with many "whatever you have" requests.

Ohmuhgawd are drunk women obnoxious!

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Unless otherwise noted, all writings on this blog are copyright Patrick T. Power. All rights reserved.

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Friday, June 10, 2005

Thanks much to the amazing Catherine Jamieson for including me amongst the contributors to her Trains project.

Catherine is a tireless (sleepless?) photographer/artist living in Winnipeg's Big Sky country (in Canada's Manitoba Province), who regularly takes the time to put together projects such as this as a matter of promoting other photographers.

Catherine is one of the most prolific producers of imagery I have ever known and I suggest that you visit her flickr site — you will marvel at what you see.

Tuesday, May 17, 2005

Newsweek Retraction


What a crock of shit!

For several days now, much has been made of Newsweek's retraction of a brief story it had published in its May 9 issue that interrogators at the Guantanamo torture camps were abusing the Koran (Qur'an), the Muslamic equivalent to the Christian Bible.

"Fuck you!" I say to the media. Where do they get off making such a story about this retraction?!? This purported incident is only one of a series of events that have been uncovered which illustrate the Bush administration's "by all means necessary" approach to "interrogation".

"Fuck you!" I say to the Bush administration for even trying to imply that their misbegotten, misguided policies, their ill-conceived war in Iraq, and their unconscionable abuse of prisoners in Afghanistan and Iraq (and Guantanamo) haven't contributed in the least to increased violence in Afghanistan or Iraq.

"Fuck you!" I say to Condi Rice. Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! How a woman can be so complicit in the massive loss of life that her husband/president has caused is beyond me. Fuck you!

"Fuck you!" I say to George W. Bush. You pathetic excuse for a "Christian".

"Fuck you!" to anybody who can't place the Newsweek story in its proper context — there would have been no Newsweek story without the war in Iraq, the Abu Ghraib abuse and the Bush administration's lies and manipulation of the emotions related to September 11, 2001.

Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!

Here's the story that is the center of this nonsensical firestorm, in the event that the above link is rendered inoperable.


May 9 issue - Investigators probing interrogation abuses at the U.S. detention center at Guantanamo Bay have confirmed some infractions alleged in internal FBI e-mails that surfaced late last year. Among the previously unreported cases, sources tell NEWSWEEK: interrogators, in an attempt to rattle suspects, flushed a Qur'an down a toilet and led a detainee around with a collar and dog leash. An Army spokesman confirms that 10 Gitmo interrogators have already been disciplined for mistreating prisoners, including one woman who took off her top, rubbed her finger through a detainee's hair and sat on the detainee's lap. (New details of sexual abuse—including an instance in which a female interrogator allegedly wiped her red-stained hand on a detainee's face, telling him it was her menstrual blood—are also in a new book to be published this week by a former Gitmo translator.)

These findings, expected in an upcoming report by the U.S. Southern Command in Miami, could put former Gitmo commander Maj. Gen. Geoffrey Miller in the hot seat. Two months ago a more senior general, Air Force Lt. Gen. Randall Schmidt, was placed in charge of the SouthCom probe, in part, so Miller could be questioned. The FBI e-mails indicate that FBI agents quarreled repeatedly with military commanders, including Miller and his predecessor, retired Gen. Michael Dunleavy, over the military's more aggressive techniques. "Both agreed the bureau has their way of doing business and DOD has their marching orders from the SecDef," one e-mail stated, referring to Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld. Sources familiar with the SouthCom probe say investigators didn't find that Miller authorized abusive treatment. But given the complaints that were being raised, sources say, the report will provoke questions about whether Miller should have known what was happening—and acted to try to prevent it. An Army spokesman declined to comment.

-Michael Isikoff and John Barry


Newsweek Editor Mark Whitaker'scomments about the story and the subsequent retraction.

Tuesday, April 26, 2005

Quoting Shakespeare




Bigger size.

A Brave New Wonderful

In the days after September 11, 2001, I talked to one of my best friends who boldly told me that "we had it coming."

I wouldn't have gone that far, but I did go so far as to say that the foreign policy of the United States (as well as actions of American corporate conglomerates) contributed greatly to the conditions to which the events of that day were tied.

So, I applaud the public statement by actress Maggie Gyllenhaal in which she said that September 11 was:


...an occasion to be brave enough to ask some serious questions about America's role in the world. Because it is always useful as individuals or nations to ask how we may have knowingly or unknowingly contributed to this conflict.

Not to have the courage to ask these questions of ourselves is to betray the victims of 9/11.


Of course, her comments have created an uproar

It is beyond me how Americans can be so unable to connect dots... so unwilling to recognize that the attacks of September 11 didn't happen in a vaccuum.

Did the nearly 3,000 people who died that day deserve what happened to them? No. Did the Goliath United States deserve what the David Al Qaida slingshot its way. Maybe. But instead of trying to learn and understand the history that unrolled its matching red carpets in New York City, Washington and the Pennsylvania countryside, we attack those who have tried to point out that the attacks might never have happened had the United States been just a bit more respectful of human life around the world and a little less concerned with military and corporate might.

Monday, April 25, 2005

Mourning


Mourning II
Mourning II
Wow... it's been a month since I lasted posted anything here. Perhaps it's time to start using flickr as my point of entry for the blog, posting a photo a day.

It's not a particularly happy occasion that brings me to post today... For the past couple of weeks, I have been fairly wrapped in a euphoria of watching mourning doves nesting on top of the air conditioner just outside my living room.

I spotted the bird one morning on my return from the grocery store, and when I got a bit closer to investigate, found that there were two eggs in the nest. Eureka!

In the two weeks now since the discovery, I have been documenting — for all of the flickr world to see — the daily adventures of the mourning doves.

Of course, not much happened from day to day, except that the adult (or adults — it was somewhat difficult to tell the male from the female) would allow me to get closer and closer with my camera.

At first, I would set the ten-second self-timer, focus on something approximately the same distance away as the bird, position the camera and wait for the timer to count down. Eventually, the bird would allow me to actually place the camera on top of the air conditioner, which allowed me to get to within four or so inches from her/him.

I shared the photos with flickr (and the world) and each picture increased the excitement for me and those that were looking in.

I gave myself a scare last week when I returned from a trip to Midland, Michigan... I took a walk out on the balcony and from a distance took a look to see if anything was going on. It didn't appear that much was... just the bird sitting on the nest. But as I stood on the chair to raise myself above the top of the air conditioner for my daily shot, the bird flew off and one of the eggs flew out of the nest and landed on the balcony.

I was shook. I got down and walked into the house, pacing in fear that I'd killed one of the soon-to-be hatchlings. Knowing that I would have to document my crime for the world to see, I went back to the balcony and bent down to photograph the carnage, but what I saw was an empty shell, with traces of membrane on the inside surface of the shell. A huge wave of relief washed over me as I recognized what that meant.

The adult dove hadn't returned to the nest yet, so I climbed up once more to see the two hatchlings lying in the bottom of the nest. I quickly took a few photographs and got down so as encourage the adult to return promptly to its place in the nest.

Since that day, I've not bothered the birds all that much, except that I did manage to grab a shot last week of only one hatchling. I don't know what would have or could have happened to the other baby. I looked around on the ground for clues but found nothing. One of the birds engaged in some kind of fight with two other mounring doves last week... I wouldn't know if the events are related.

This past weekend, the weather turned cold again — a couple of days of mid- to low-30s (F) conditions — so I left the birds alone so that they would be able to properly care for the sole developing baby.

Today, I took a look out on the balcony at the mourning doves... and saw the adults sitting together at the edge of the air conditioner. I was hopeful that it was a sign that the young bird was bigger and stronger.

One of the adults flew away, so I slowly ascended onto the chair to take a closer look. As I raised up above the air conditioner, I saw that the brief return to winter this weekend must have been too much for the baby. It lie lifeless and sprawled along one edge of the nest.

Then, the adult that had remained walked closer to the nest where the remains of the baby lie. There was something touching about that... it made me think that I was being told to respect what had happened... that the adults were indeed in mourning.

Thursday, March 17, 2005

Words

I have spent so much time with my photography lately that I've not written anything here for close to a month.

Wow! Considering that I used to post several times a day, I feel as though I've gone mute.

Life, of course, plods on, and there is probably plenty for me to write about, but it's a very strange phenomenom to have my brain almost completely overrun by the process involved with creating photographs. Some of it has to do with the physical requirements of photography — particularly when it involves posting to Flickr. My trip to Montreal yielded over 700 images which needed to be pared down to what I felt was worth sharing, then cropped, color/density-corrected, uploaded and titled — a major task in and of itself since I titled everything I shot in Montreal in French!

Since that trip, I've made a couple of long walks 'round town in which I came back with loads more to edit and upload. Everywhere I go, I look with the camera's eye, hoping to see something interesting; looking at the details of this world.

Of course, Flickr is about more than simply uploading photos — at least it's more than that to me. Much time is spent looking at others' photographs and commenting on them... the process is very much a social event that involves people from all around the world. Flickr is truly one of the finest uses of the internet and it has been the place lately, in which I have spent most of my spare time. Okay... maybe not so spare.

I expect I'll slowly but surely begin to find that place of balance with regard to my visual vs. written forms of expression, but for the moment, I feel like I need to follow the photographic flame while it's still hot.