But there
is more. The figures tell us that 1% of the American population holds 30-40% of
American wealth. That is scary. But what is scarier is that many of those
'have-nots' largely believe in the American dream. They look from the same
place and see the same world and figure its ok to be without. Not that they
don't want more. They figure they just lucked out. The German playwright'
Goethe said somewhere in his memoirs that the man, the phenomena, 'Napoleon'
was only possible because France was made up of a lot of little Napoleons. He
would have said that Germany during the war was made possible by a lot of
little Hitler’s. In New Zealand I get a strong sense of mediocrity high and
low. So America now which is suffering from corporate greed may be said to be
made up of main-chancers. It is endemic; it is like right inside in the gut so
it's not about making a wrong choice. In a sense it's like taking a wrong turn
because it was thought to be an okay thing to do.
I BELIEVE
that we all end up in the boat we end up in because of what beats in our
hearts. We end up amongst those who best reflect us. The old adage ' birds of a
feather flock together'. But we can change what is in our hearts. A nation, a
world can change its mind. This seems to be what is happening. When Bush and
Blair took the world into war in the East there were so many qualities that
made up the events that followed. I wrote this poem at the time and will share
it with you.
I know that this danse macabre;
Being played out in the desert,
Being played out in the streets of Basra,
Being played out in the streets of Baghdad,
Being played out in our newspapers,
Being played out on our airwaves,
Being played out in our houses of debate,
In the canteen, and on the factory floor;
Is just the rattling of old sabres;
We have heard it all before,
And amidst stories of carnage,
Amidst stories of joy,
As half a nation make like
Mafia bank robbers in their balaclavas,
With sawn off shot guns,
Little Al Capones of Iraq,
The little Italy of Arabia,
Fight till we die;
And children, old men and women,
Sprint crying for freedom from a regime of hate,
As the soldiers from the west,
Ride in, much like the cavalry in Custer’s time;
Except Custer’s cavalry at Little Big Horn,
Helped secure a once proud nation on reservations,
Retired humans of the wrong skin colour;
Made crushed and spiritless, by the greatest nation
spawned in this century;
America – throbbing with industry and vibrant with
charisma,
Waves of new culture through every other nation on
earth,
Oh to be American!
And this flagrant spark is just a dance of life and
death;
And today my wife of thirty years flew out of my
arms,
Into the arms of another,
Wars in the desert of married bliss,
Of children that we love and that love us,
Of dirty nappies – broken bones – bruised knees,
bruised egos;
Of prayers on bended knees, as one son falls from
the cliffs
At Piha; twenty metres onto cruel rocks, every bit
as sharp as desert sands,
Thank God to live;
Of proud moments of motherhood, fatherhood,
Quarrels and making up,
Marriage, a dance of life, now death.
I know that while the boots of marauders clump the
streets of,
Unlikely sounding towns, in far flung desert lands;
Whistling songs of freedom in a hail of lead;
With one hand tossing projectiles of death,
With the other tossing some gap toothed boy,
Dying for the sight of freedom in western boots,
Onto victorious shoulders;
Protective arms of peace;
Sobbing women greet this army of liberation,
Feeling the weight of years, lift from bowed
shoulders;
I know this scene; it’s the danse macabre;
A dance of life and death.
The Danse Macabre,
The dance of life and death,
Plays out in every human breast;
The dance on the factory floor,
The dance in the boardrooms,
The dance in the bedroom,
The dance in the playground,
The dance at the dinner table and over the washing
up,
The dance in the hotel bedroom,
The dance on our roads,
The dance in our bars and discothèques,
The dance of life and death.
As I said
there are many facets to every question. Because, many of those who opposed the
war, particularly in America, hated Bush for what he did; and yet in a way, it
was his actions in Iraq and later in Afghanistan, which led to the Arab Spring
and thence to the Occupy Wall Street. There is no difference between these
latter two events. We think they must be because the Arab Spring is taking
place in places of need and poverty and war. And 'Occupy Wall Street' and its
spinoffs all over the world even to Aotea Square, New Zealand, are taking place
in peaceful democracies. Yet that's not true. This is a silly example yet it is
true what I say. I hated when large stalls started printing computer check out instructions
on their product packaging. It felt like a number. On my life somehow. But then
they stated placing them directly on some products such as CD's, books, DVD's.
And these are items I am buying for my own personal pleasure and I have these
barcodes all through my book shelves, all through my DVD collection. And nobody
asked me. If they had I would have said - no thanks - find another way of
keeping track of your stock etc. But nobody asks. And that is the smallest tip
of corporate mentality. Like car parks with big signs spelling out 'NO
RESPONSIBILITY'. We are not responsible. And this is the whole difficulty. Because
if I have a business - someone can point the finger at me and say. - You did
this and you shouldn’t have. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE. But in a corporation if I
ring up to complain I can only talk to an agent. And even if the agent did it
they are only acting on the behalf of a headless chook. And my City Council is
a corporation. My government is a corporation. And if I want to complain whose
ears are there to hear me. And if I have a legitimate complaint I haven't the
wherewithal to take a corporation to court. If I wish to take my local council
to court they have all my tax dollars to protect them and if that runs out they
can hike the taxes. That was tongue in cheek but it’s sort of true.
If we do
wrong whether as an individual or as a legal enterprise we must be responsible.
We all know this. Because if there is a child on the street hungry, without
shelter we say - how sad. And look around for someone to do something. But if
that child is ours we hold out our hand and help. And yet all the children are
ours. Let me look in to your eyes and say - I don't know you.