Opinions
Season’s Greetings
Watching TV recently, I was staggered by the statement made by a social scientist that surveys among certain American populations (and probably elsewhere) show that less than 10% can tell the difference between facts and opinions, and quoted President Trump who can number these among his acolytes. I’ve always questioned these numbers, but that was rational thinking, not something engendered by much of social media, Trump’s major means of communication.
Now that Trump is on the cusp of impeachment for “high crimes and misdemeanours”, he might be expected to moderate his strident railing against all and sundry, but no such luck; he is, after all, a narcissist; earlier this year Vanity Fair wrote that he had “told more than 10000 lies since being inaugurated”—a ghastly record (https://www.vanityfair.com/news/2019/04/). Other acts are equally egregious, like his recent intervention to reverse the sentence of a navy seal, Chief Petty Officer Edward Gallagher, accused of murdering an Iraqi teenager believed linked with ISIS, acquitted, but judged “guilty of a lesser charge that involved posing with the boy’s corpse”; he was, interestingly, defended by Trump’s lawyer, Marc Mukasey.
It is probably wishful thinking to believe that the old leopard will change his spots, even out of respect for Christmas. It is almost certain that the House of Representatives will vote to have him impeached, but it is equally likely that the Senate will vote “no”, since a two-thirds majority will be needed to endorse a House motion.
Many republicans have declared their solidarity with the GOP, and will forget their conscience or any respect for honour and decency, or responsibility to the people who still think that the highest office in the land should be governed with dignity, good manners and right thinking, none of which includes prevarication. Even a Fox News poll showed a majority in favour of impeachment.
The sad fact though is that while he stands disgraced, Trump might yet win re-election next year, as his campaign will emphasise the healthy state of jobs, economic performance, and cost of living which is likely to improve as tariffs against Chinese and other goods are removed, the manipulative manner in which Trump has chosen to deal with USA-China trade resulting in the whimsical raising and lowering of commodity prices.
The banning of business with Huawei is nothing more than self-interest, buying time for US technology to catch up. His trade decision should come just in time to impress Americans. The US Democrats will celebrate emptily this Christmas as they fumble in another sphere over the choice of Presidential candidate.
Over in Britain, Boris Johnson has emerged a runaway winner, and should complete the British withdrawal from the European union within two months. I never backed Jeremy Corbyn, if only for his ignorant comment on the Kashmir issue, adding to the distortion that characterised Britain’s best handling of Indian history. Corbyn’s performance was not unlike that of Andrew Scheer in Canada, both facing dissatisfied followers, losing an advantage. Scheer has resigned and so will Corbyn.
The current demonstrations in New Delhi against the Citizenship Amendment Act 2019 reveal the heavy hand of Hinduphobia. A few facts: in India’s northeastern states, the British turned education over to Christian missions, as in all colonies; since independence, the INC allowed NGOs with fat wallets, some CIA-influenced, to buy massive tribal conversions to Christianity, totalling nearly 8M of the area’s 28M. The Act provides Indian citizenship to Hindu, Buddhist, Sikh, Christian, Jain, and Parsi refugees who had fled from repressions in Pakistan, Bangladesh, and Afghanistan prior to December 31, 2014. The bill will not give these benefits to illegals in the tribal areas of Assam, Meghalaya, Mizoram, and Tripura. Needless to say, the exclusion of Muslims has heaped the vilest of invectives on the BJP, baring the fangs of every “secular” apologist, Hinduphobe, and promoter of divisions, of which India is replete. But the bill addresses the plight of genuine refugees from warring neighbours and tries to stem the flooding of border states by economic migrants, encouraged by state politicians eager to build vote banks; this has already swamped West Bengal and some northeastern areas with Bangladeshis, driving out non-Muslims, unfortunately.
Genuine complainers would allow time to settle anomalies, but the protests are obviously staged; who gains? Meanwhile, BrahMos, the joint India-Russia supersonic cruise missile has just been successfully test-fired from Chandipur on India’s east coast.
My sincerest wish to all for Christmas; I hope that New Year 2020 brings better outcomes than those of 2019.
It is probably wishful thinking to believe that the old leopard will change his spots, even out of respect for Christmas. It is almost certain that the House of Representatives will vote to have him impeached, but it is equally likely that the Senate will vote “no”, since a two-thirds majority will be needed to endorse a House motion.
Many republicans have declared their solidarity with the GOP, and will forget their conscience or any respect for honour and decency, or responsibility to the people who still think that the highest office in the land should be governed with dignity, good manners and right thinking, none of which includes prevarication. Even a Fox News poll showed a majority in favour of impeachment.
The sad fact though is that while he stands disgraced, Trump might yet win re-election next year, as his campaign will emphasise the healthy state of jobs, economic performance, and cost of living which is likely to improve as tariffs against Chinese and other goods are removed, the manipulative manner in which Trump has chosen to deal with USA-China trade resulting in the whimsical raising and lowering of commodity prices.
The banning of business with Huawei is nothing more than self-interest, buying time for US technology to catch up. His trade decision should come just in time to impress Americans. The US Democrats will celebrate emptily this Christmas as they fumble in another sphere over the choice of Presidential candidate.
Over in Britain, Boris Johnson has emerged a runaway winner, and should complete the British withdrawal from the European union within two months. I never backed Jeremy Corbyn, if only for his ignorant comment on the Kashmir issue, adding to the distortion that characterised Britain’s best handling of Indian history. Corbyn’s performance was not unlike that of Andrew Scheer in Canada, both facing dissatisfied followers, losing an advantage. Scheer has resigned and so will Corbyn.
The current demonstrations in New Delhi against the Citizenship Amendment Act 2019 reveal the heavy hand of Hinduphobia. A few facts: in India’s northeastern states, the British turned education over to Christian missions, as in all colonies; since independence, the INC allowed NGOs with fat wallets, some CIA-influenced, to buy massive tribal conversions to Christianity, totalling nearly 8M of the area’s 28M. The Act provides Indian citizenship to Hindu, Buddhist, Sikh, Christian, Jain, and Parsi refugees who had fled from repressions in Pakistan, Bangladesh, and Afghanistan prior to December 31, 2014. The bill will not give these benefits to illegals in the tribal areas of Assam, Meghalaya, Mizoram, and Tripura. Needless to say, the exclusion of Muslims has heaped the vilest of invectives on the BJP, baring the fangs of every “secular” apologist, Hinduphobe, and promoter of divisions, of which India is replete. But the bill addresses the plight of genuine refugees from warring neighbours and tries to stem the flooding of border states by economic migrants, encouraged by state politicians eager to build vote banks; this has already swamped West Bengal and some northeastern areas with Bangladeshis, driving out non-Muslims, unfortunately.
Genuine complainers would allow time to settle anomalies, but the protests are obviously staged; who gains? Meanwhile, BrahMos, the joint India-Russia supersonic cruise missile has just been successfully test-fired from Chandipur on India’s east coast.
My sincerest wish to all for Christmas; I hope that New Year 2020 brings better outcomes than those of 2019.
Joy in visiting Christmas homeland
Romeo Kaseram
A few family members begin avoiding me by around day three whenever I visit the homeland for the Christmas break, making excuses such as having to take a shower, or “just this minute” heading out into the bush, “Boy, for the whole, entire day!”, to locate a hunting dog gone AWOL.
Really! I was not born yesterday to know I am being shunned now that the glow of arrival wore out after the “suitcase of goodies” was opened. It makes my avoidance even more disturbing, since the suitcase was the first visitor to be welcomed to the house, with me trailing behind carrying hand luggage containing a change of shorts.
If I was left behind in the car while these few relatives ran ahead, pushing the suitcase on its wobbly casters and yowling like a chorus of happy puppies, then it is because I could not figure out which side of the vehicle to exit, the steering that is my reference point now inexplicably located on the passenger side of the car.
I try to manage my inner turmoil in the darkened interior of the vehicle: what if I were to open a door and put my feet out into careening, oncoming traffic. Minutes into the drive from the airport, and already I was pulling hard at the seat-belt, seeking reassurance it would lock into place on sudden demand.
It is not long before someone becomes aware that I too have gone AWOL, like the missing dog I discover days later was always domiciled under the neighbour’s porch. After the obligatory, foot-shuffling wait by the relatives, since visitors newly arrived from away tend to spend a lot of time in the washroom, approaching steps are heard on the walkway, each foot frantic and impatient.
It is difficult to know what is happening outside, since all the vehicle’s windows are heavily-tinted, and so I do not shut my eyes quickly enough as the car door is violently yanked opened. It allows in a super-heated blast of painful, bright light that causes me to see spots swimming in darkness for the entirety of a disorienting, dizzying minute.
Then come the obligatory hugs, a promenade of relatives throwing both arms up as if reaching to tear a ripened mango off a branch. My hair is admired for its spun silver; the fullness of the cheeks commented upon with a half-chuckle. Then comes a parade of newborn babies, delivered in profusion and constantly held up for admiration, all looking alike with wide, astonished eyes and foreheads creasing with incipient annoyance. I begin to wonder if the same baby is being recycled in the lineup for efficiency, this representative of genetic progeny fulfilling a functional, vicarious role, since the others are unwittingly asleep.
There are always numerous older aunties in any family, and a bane for any visitor who has lived away for decades. Each aunt is well-known in family lore for an assessing, critical eye, a caustic tongue, and for being self-opiniated to sour-faced, crusty finality. Lips are constantly being moistened with sips from water bottles resident in purses. Each purse is fondly cradled like pet dogs, and so looks like its owner by being distended on both sides.
Each purse is a container for an array of items necessary for any road trip more than an hour from home: a sandwich, a blackened banana sealed in plastic wrap, a small pouch with various types of nuts, a bundle of toothpicks tied with an elastic band, then wrapped and double-knotted with a late uncle’s handkerchief. Then there is the zip-lock bag with its cornucopia of medication ranging from a quick acting laxative to slow-release metformin.
The final relative delivers more than a hug; it comes with a bonus – that assessing silence after a step is dramatically taken backwards. Then comes the inevitable summation, the relative transmogrifying into an African griot, reciting the linkages of generations, begat after begat, of those who came before, walked on this earth, and on that final day when they were claimed by the grave, were lowered in proudly as thin and dried-out as a stick.
“But look what gone and happen to the boy! Life in the foreign good looking for you too bad! Look how you put on SIZE!”
Thankfully, the resident griot does not receive as much attention as the “suitcase of goodies”, each relative’s eye casting respectful glances, the shuffling of feet becoming more noticeable and impatient as dire warnings about burgers and fries are issued.
By now the relatives are impatient to get to my suitcase. It is my baggage that each airport Custom Officers stared at longingly after my arrival, constantly lifting a hopeful gaze it would arrive for their diligence. In it was nothing less than two Samsung tablets, then more ordinary tablets in vitamin form, and electronic gadgets from light dimmers to solar cells.
Perhaps one day travelers will be allowed larger suitcases. If so, then a few more relatives would add 55-inch televisions, to be wrapped in bedsheets and hidden among socks, the remotes stuffed in the pockets of Bermuda shorts.
I try to manage my inner turmoil in the darkened interior of the vehicle: what if I were to open a door and put my feet out into careening, oncoming traffic. Minutes into the drive from the airport, and already I was pulling hard at the seat-belt, seeking reassurance it would lock into place on sudden demand.
It is not long before someone becomes aware that I too have gone AWOL, like the missing dog I discover days later was always domiciled under the neighbour’s porch. After the obligatory, foot-shuffling wait by the relatives, since visitors newly arrived from away tend to spend a lot of time in the washroom, approaching steps are heard on the walkway, each foot frantic and impatient.
It is difficult to know what is happening outside, since all the vehicle’s windows are heavily-tinted, and so I do not shut my eyes quickly enough as the car door is violently yanked opened. It allows in a super-heated blast of painful, bright light that causes me to see spots swimming in darkness for the entirety of a disorienting, dizzying minute.
Then come the obligatory hugs, a promenade of relatives throwing both arms up as if reaching to tear a ripened mango off a branch. My hair is admired for its spun silver; the fullness of the cheeks commented upon with a half-chuckle. Then comes a parade of newborn babies, delivered in profusion and constantly held up for admiration, all looking alike with wide, astonished eyes and foreheads creasing with incipient annoyance. I begin to wonder if the same baby is being recycled in the lineup for efficiency, this representative of genetic progeny fulfilling a functional, vicarious role, since the others are unwittingly asleep.
There are always numerous older aunties in any family, and a bane for any visitor who has lived away for decades. Each aunt is well-known in family lore for an assessing, critical eye, a caustic tongue, and for being self-opiniated to sour-faced, crusty finality. Lips are constantly being moistened with sips from water bottles resident in purses. Each purse is fondly cradled like pet dogs, and so looks like its owner by being distended on both sides.
Each purse is a container for an array of items necessary for any road trip more than an hour from home: a sandwich, a blackened banana sealed in plastic wrap, a small pouch with various types of nuts, a bundle of toothpicks tied with an elastic band, then wrapped and double-knotted with a late uncle’s handkerchief. Then there is the zip-lock bag with its cornucopia of medication ranging from a quick acting laxative to slow-release metformin.
The final relative delivers more than a hug; it comes with a bonus – that assessing silence after a step is dramatically taken backwards. Then comes the inevitable summation, the relative transmogrifying into an African griot, reciting the linkages of generations, begat after begat, of those who came before, walked on this earth, and on that final day when they were claimed by the grave, were lowered in proudly as thin and dried-out as a stick.
“But look what gone and happen to the boy! Life in the foreign good looking for you too bad! Look how you put on SIZE!”
Thankfully, the resident griot does not receive as much attention as the “suitcase of goodies”, each relative’s eye casting respectful glances, the shuffling of feet becoming more noticeable and impatient as dire warnings about burgers and fries are issued.
By now the relatives are impatient to get to my suitcase. It is my baggage that each airport Custom Officers stared at longingly after my arrival, constantly lifting a hopeful gaze it would arrive for their diligence. In it was nothing less than two Samsung tablets, then more ordinary tablets in vitamin form, and electronic gadgets from light dimmers to solar cells.
Perhaps one day travelers will be allowed larger suitcases. If so, then a few more relatives would add 55-inch televisions, to be wrapped in bedsheets and hidden among socks, the remotes stuffed in the pockets of Bermuda shorts.
