Dominion

“Power resides where man believes it resides. It’s a trick, a shadow on the wall. A very small man can cast a very large shadow.”

— Game of Thrones

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Blaque Diamonds

Diary of an American Girl’s Journeys to the Forbidden Land (Excerpt 24)

I wonder if Spaniardophobia bled across our country back then the way Islamophobia is doing right now…?

It must have.

Because Spainiards wouldn’t have been America’s idea of White back then. Spainiards were, like, a hair’s breath away from being the world’s palest tint of brown, weren’t they?

And, as deeply racist as we Americans were, our brown-dar was probably fine-tuned to within an inch of White life.

But Victor said something else really interesting about this Spanish-American War.

He said our president was against it.

Our president then, McKinley, had been a major general or something in our country’s Civil War. He knew what war was like. Victor said McKinley’s view of war was: ‘Been there, done that. Hated it then, hate it now.’

But Hearst & Pulitzer’s victim soup media war had inflamed American anger into a fire that would not be quenched by anything but a good, Spanish ass-whipping. When President McKinley tried to hold off on war, Theodore Roosevelt — who was then a leader in our Navy —  called McKinley a wuss.

That would sell a lotta papers. 🙂

Diary of an American Girl’s Journeys to the Forbidden Land (Excerpt 23)

Hearst newspaper.
“Patriotic citizens advocate recourse to arms, to wreak vengeance upon Spain for the cruel and cowardly destruction of the Maine.”

 

Ahhh! Sweet sugar.

With those Cuba Spaniards gone, their sweet sugar profits would be alllll ours. 🙂

So, what did we do?

We cooked up a big bowl of victim soup to pour across news wires around the world.

Pre-invasion media prep!

 

We cried and raged stories about our blown up soldiers on the USS Maine. We threw pie charts in the world’s face depicting our invested sugar millions that would be lost to Spain if we didn’t step in. We created horror stories about how those Spanish colonists in Cuba were torturing and killing poor Cubans.

Of course, we didn’t give a damn about those racially-integrating Cubans who posed a too-close-for-comfort threat to our White supremacy. ‘Poor Cubans‘ was just the guild on our image to coat the tarnish of truth.

What truth?

That factions of our government/wealthy, powerful business interests saw millions in invested sugar profits to be lost, and billions to be gained by snatching Cuba from Spain’s clutches. And in the process, we could put a stop to the racial integration occurring so threateningly close to our shore.

With a pre-war media blitzkrieg, we succeeded fantastically in inflaming American patriotism into a national mania, while spoon-feeding acceptable justification to the rest of the world for our war against Spain.

“Mission Accomplished!”

 

Wait…where have I heard this story before?

Oh. Right.

I lived it.

Except the USS Maine was the Twin Towers, the “poor Cubans” were “poor Iraqis,” and the sugar was oil.

(cue Twilight Zone music) 😯

 

Diary of an American Girl’s Journeys to the Forbidden Land (Excerpt 22)

Sugar cane.

It wasn’t just our American fear of Cuba’s racial equality practices that made us shine our imperialist boots in preparation for a good ass-kickin’.

We wanted Cuba’s sugar money.

Cuba was the top sugar producer in all the world.

The world.

That’s a lotta sugar dough.

 

We had tried to buy Cuba from Spain, but our first offer was so low it slapped ‘em in the face with insult, and showed those Spaniards just how little we thought of them.

Then we came to our senses and grudgingly upped our offer to a more realistic number.

But by then Spain was like, are you serious? Why would we sell the goose that lays the golden eggs to you, of all people? Hahahaha! You Americans are funny!

So, we had to settle for investing in their sugar industry on the island. But, though we invested millions, we were only getting a comparatively tiny amount of sugar dough return.

Spain was the one swimming in the juice.

Which stuck deep in our craw. (Not real sure what a ‘craw’ is, but this is a well-known expression. And I like saying ‘craw.’)

So, with our craw all bent (since I don’t know what a craw is, I’m pretty sure I can bend it ), we were like, why should Spain get all that Cuban sugar dough? We’re closer. In fact, we’re so close that, rightfully, Cuba should really belong to us – along with all the other tobacco, coffee, citrus, and other profitable products-producing islands colonized by Spain.

Those island geese should be laying golden eggs for us.

Not Spain.

Something had to be done about that…

Things I wish I did not know. But I do. So, now what?

I am heartsick.

Did not sleep last night.

Not sure how I’ll sleep tonight, though exhausted.

Have no idea what happened in classes or at work today. Just a blur. This whole day is blur. The only thing I remember is last night…

Some Leaders Are the Real WMD’s

I came across this during President G.W. Bush’s Iraq war…

“Of course the people don’t want war. But after all, it’s the leaders of the country who determine the policy, and it’s always a simple matter to drag the people along whether it’s a democracy, a fascist dictatorship or a parliament, or a Communist dictatorship.

Voice or no voice, the people can always be brought to the bidding of the leader. That is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked, and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to greater danger.”

– Nazi leader Herman Goering at the Nuremberg trials

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Uprooting Fear, Hatred

I came across an inspiring article that left me feeling hopeful for the next generation of Palestine/Israel relations.

Following, is an excerpt from a Worldpress.org news article Seeds of Peace

by Joshua Pringle.

To someone living in the United States—where war is not something experienced on your home turf on a regular basis—it is hard to imagine what the gravity of this first encounter [an Arab child with an Israeli child] might be like. Amer Kamal is a Palestinian Seed who grew up in East Jerusalem. He told Worldpress.org about the nerves he felt going to camp in 1997, recalling the shock he felt when he learned that he wouldn’t have his own room and would have to bunk with the other kids. “On both sides of me there were Israelis,” Kamal said. “I didn’t feel safe. I was worried about my stuff, even. I kept my stuff in the bag; I didn’t unpack.”

Sobering words from a child…

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