At 6:30 pm on a weekday, Mopac is choked with traffic. As soon as you muscle your way
onto the freeway and race off, you suddenly stop for no apparent reason. Traffic then lurches forward and everyone gains about 25 feet, only then to abruptly stop once more. You nervously look into the rear view mirror to make sure the person behind you is aware that he must come to a complete stop in about… two seconds. It’s stressful. NPR, at times, can make the commute much more enjoyable. Their coverage of the terrorist attacks and the aftermath have been exceptional. Last week we were treated to Fresh Air each evening at 7:00. No stupid shows about cars, blah Blues shows, etc.
But yesterday there was a PRI special, called “youth radio.” High school kids, most from Berkeley, were enlightening us about how we must respond to the fact that over 6,000 Americans were murdered two weeks ago. Their collective message was that we should… not respond. Y’know, cause that would be like, bad, or something. I have been getting a lot of this lately. Stopping at Jo’s for a bagel and Orangina the other day, I was
greeted by the bouncy, smiley girl (who is seriously great, even though I’m kinda clownin’ her here) and she inquired if I was “for peace, or for war.” I kind of laughed and then replied, “What kind of question is that?! Of course I’m for peace!” She nodded her head in approval and handed me my change. I then saw a sign that loudly proclaimed that Jo’s is against any kind of vengeful retaliation and was “for peace.” Oh, I get it now.
The most egregious example of “We asked for it, we deserved it” was experienced at a Modest Mouse show last week. Just before the band came on, I was eavesdropping on two lads discussing the attacks. One of them just started flipping out: “Oh dude! This is just totally the war-machine-industrial-complex-blah-blah-blah-blah so Bush can get votes! Our foreign policy is just soooooo fuc%&ed up!” There were some other insights about various “indstrial complexes.” I about died when he referred to Afghans as “Afghanistanians.” I’m pretty sure this cat had something to say about being “for peace” too, but I had to move cause the asshole kept blowing cigarette smoke in my face. It was an amusing peek into contemporary discourse from today’s pacifist.
I think what is so irritating about this is that there is an underlying suggestion that those who do support a fierce economic, military, and diplomatic retaliation just “don’t get it.” If only we could learn to let that hate go and love each other. Maybe even try to understand where their rage comes from. That is the one right there, correct? Once us hate-filled warmongers understand where the anger comes from, change our foreign policy in the Middle East, the Islamic militants will call off the jihad. Noam Chomsky, the ?ber-intellectual dinosaur, also asserts that “we may try to understand, or refuse to do so, contributing to the likelihood that much worse lies ahead.” Again, the message is that if you’re for peace and tolerance, than we must collectively understand why they act the way they do. I will assume that one of his points of contention would be our involvment in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. But given what we know about Osama bin Laden, there is absolutely no reason to think anything we do in the foreign policy arena and beyond will result in a retraction of calls to war against “the West.” And no, Michael Moore, Bush’s refusal to sign the Kyoto Protocol was not the reason either! (
“In just 8 months, Bush gets the whole world back to hating us again. He withdraws from the Kyoto agreement…”)
A now famous 1998 Al-Qaid, and their ilk cannot be negotiated with. Maybe some understanding is in order: as Salon.com lefty Joe Conason put it, “barbarism is what needs to be understood?and resisted with force.”
My comprehension of America’s involvement in quagmires such as
Contra funding, Somalia, and Clinton’s bombing of the Sudan is totally inadequate. But put simply, our country has never done anything to another state, or people, on the scale of the NYC attacks on September 11, 2001. “But what about..” No.
We all know that the Taleban and other militant Islamic fundamentalists are brutally oppressive to Muslims in Afghanistan (especially women). A Dateline special last night (I think it was Dateline) featured a British woman who had infiltrated Taleban-occupied Afghanistan
and disguised herself as a covered Muslim and documented some of the inhuman condtions people there are subjected to. It was horrific. I want to be clear: I am very much troubled by the possibility of even more suffering that these
people may endure. And it has been stated by Russian soldiers who invaded Afghanistan in the late 70s that we will probably not find well-marked terrorist camps to bomb. The terrorists will likely be
in villages with their families and civilians. It is frightening to think of how messy this could be. But being “for peace” may require taking a serious look at the magnitude of the global terrorist threat. Simply writing off our multi-layered retaliation as just “revenge” is sophistic and a cop-out.
September 26th, 2001
I have never been a big fan of alternative country, “y’allternative,” or whatever the correct label is now. I am proud to say that I witnessed an amazing Uncle Tupelo show, however. It was in Bozeman, Montana in 1993, at The Cat’s Paw, a casino/bar. Uncle Tupelo broke up in mid-1994, with Jay Farrar going on to form Son Volt and Jeff Tweedy fronting Wilco. Wilco’s third recording, Summerteeth, was a total departure from their two more roots-rockin’, earlier releases, AM and Being There . With Summerteeth, the band had
ventured off into quirky, dreamy pop arrangements that had more in common with the Beach Boys Stubb’s BBQ. Stubb’s is one of, if not my favorite venue in town. I’m sure music purists would argue that other clubs have better acoustics, or dislike the lack of intimacy that you would find in a smaller place.
Stubb’s gives you the sensation of being at an outdoor festival, with grass, Port-o-Potties, and lights strung in the trees, yet you are downtown, just off 6th Street. And where else can you see a band play and look up and see groups of birds, migrating in formation.
The sold out performance began with the first song (not sure what the name is) off the new record Yankee Foxtrot Hotel. It seemed like Wilco was having a hard time connecting with the huge crowd during the first couple of songs. Alicia, Peter, Joel, Nicole, Laura, Bob, Sarah and I were standing pretty far back and that may have had something to with not getting into it at first. Let me share a beef of mine: it never fails that when I go see a show, especially at Stubb’s, people will journey through the packed-in crowd to score a better spot. This is fine. No problem. But what pisses me off is when you move out of their way, so they can
pass by you and then they take your spot! This happened over and over at the Wilco show. After about three songs in, I was determined to get closer and try to get away from the
Manute Bol tall dude in front of me. I trudged forward with the intention of reaching the “Sonic Youth Spot.” When Sarah, Jon Moore, and I saw Sonic Youth, we found an easy way to get to the very front by sort of going under the balcony next to the big stacks of speakers, inching down into the crowd, and then breaking for the front. It is a super easy way to get to the very front and I’m sure many Stubb’s veterans have finely honed this technique.
As soon as I arrived, the show had just taken off. They had played “She’s a Jar,” probably my
favorite song off Summerteeth and later belted out “A Shot in the Arm.” When Jeff started screaming, along with hundreds of people around me, “Something in my vains, bloodier than blood” there was practically a breeze coming off the speakers. I had to frantically find a piece of napkin or risk ringing ears for the next 6 months.
The highlight of the evening was when they played “California Stars,” from Mermaid Avenue, the Wilco/Billy Bragg collaberation. I can’t think of another song I would have rather heard from Wilco off of this record. At some point in the middle of the song, I looked up
and kind of smiled as there were in fact plenty of stars out on this balmy, Austin evening. I then looked behind me and as far as I could see people were dancing and singing along.
September 24th, 2001
I have attempted to write about what I am thinking and feeling a number of times over the past few days. I’ll tap off a sentence or two and then think, “Why am I doing this?” What possible perspective do I have on Tuesday’s events that have not been said a dozen times? I’m determined to make it happen this time. Allow me some room to also reflect on some of the more mundane things that have become part of the conversation and imagery of the events that this country has experienced along with matters way more serious.
It is so frustrating to attempt to analyze and logically deconstruct why the attacks happened. With most newsworthy events, such as the 2000 presidential election, you think about the debates, the differences in approach and agenda, the mood of the country, and so on to reach a conclusion about how the results ended up the way they did. With this I keep
coming to similar places: “What good do they think would come from this? Isn’t murder and suicide against the teachings of the Koran? How does this demonstrate to us our sleazy, secular, decadence? Do you really think this makes Allah happy?”
But we know that all these rational questions do not apply here. It scares me to death to keep hearing that “war has been declared.” My initial reaction has been that we’re acting in a knee-jerk fashion, appealing to cries for revenge, and could potentially be counterproductive. I’ve been reading editorial columns, past articles from the New York Times, listening to our president and other world leaders and trying to play things out… if we move in with crushing force, against identified terrorist cells and the country or countries that harbor them, we could potentially prevent scores from terrorist attacks
in the future. The flipside to that, as is being argued, we risk summoning a thousand more blood-thirsty beasts that otherwise may reserve their hatred for America for the occasional US flag burning but will likely not get the coveted chance to play their
part in the Jihad. My fear is that it almost doesn’t matter. The more you learn about groups like ,
Al-Qaid, the more it sinks in that these fanatics are simply determined to rid the world of the head of the snake, the last superpower, the United States. I recently
read a fascinating account about life inside a militant Pakistani relgious school. The young boys there were of the belief that most Americans are bisexual and that “Westerners engage in sex with anything, anywhere, all the time.”
One can only imagine the lies and conditioning that goes on. As many have stated, it is not a really shocking surprise that these radical groups see us as an enemy of Islam, and one which must be destroyed.
While we’re on the topic of fanatacism, I received in email early this afternoon about comments Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson made, I think today, on the 700 Club. This is what Falwell said:
“I really believe that the pagans, and the abortionists, and the feminists, and the gays and lesbians who are actively trying to make that an alternative lifestyle, the ACLU, People for the American Way - all of them who have tried to secularize America - I point the finger in their face and say, ‘You helped this happen.’”
I knew that it would be a matter of minutes before the Day of Prayer and Remembrance would turn into, “Can you believe what Falwell said!?” I really only heard a few people fuss about it. My first frustration with this is that this guy is not mainstream, not widely respected, not represenative of Christianity, etc. so why get so worked up? I mean, what do you expect? Are we surprised that he is making these kinds of ridiculous comments? Get back to connecting, grieving, laughing, loving, and donating. My second frustration with this is that I think many people are questioning the role (or lack of a role) of spirituality in their life and I am afraid that comments like this, coming at this point in time, could prevent someone from making an important change in their life. We always hear people talk about the various reasons that organized
religion offends them. Maybe thousands of people dying in the blink of an eye will make then rethink the path they’re on. I know I feel more
vulnerable than I ever have in my life.
More to come… gotta go to sleep.
September 19th, 2001
It is awkward to discuss the “good” things that have come, or are developing, from last Tuesday’s tragic events. Andrew Sullivan writes
“But there is, among the public, a unity that does not seem as if it will evaporate soon. Everywhere you go, you see American flags. They are draped on roofs, hung on fences, crammed into cracks in walls, stuck on lamp-posts. This tells you something. The response to previous acts against Americans was different.”
in a piece that appeared in London’s Sunday Times. People are citing various examples of heroism, patriotism, and courage. We are rediscovering poetic verse and dusting off passages about the mythology and purpose of the United States of America. Churches are packed, there is a collective stampede to volunteer, and the civic glue that binds
our country is undeniably stronger.
Way down on the list of “positives” is the sudden demonstration of the importance of a diversified transport infrastructure in our country. We have heard on almost a daily basis stories of regional airlines suspending all future flights, such as Midway Airlines. The Air
Transport Association is claiming that job losses could exceed 100,000 =in the next few months. Airlines are requesting upwards of $24 billion in government assistance resulting, of course, from last Tuesday’s attacks. For the first several days following the attacks, our nation’s mobility was crippled. As I write this, commercial airlines are at about 75% of their normal flight volume. If there were a better rail infrastucture–or more correctly, if there were a rail infrastructure, thousands of people could have returned to their destinations instead of being holed up in hotel rooms because the rent-a-car stocks were depleted. While I was standing in line at a cafe the other day, a woman in front of me was telling her friends a story of one of her co-workers who showed some true resourcefulness. Because the rental car outlets’ fleets were empty, this man rented a huge U-Haul truck to get himself back to Austin. After kind of giggling to myself at the length this
man went to get to where he needed to go, it really sunk in at how urgently we need rail service in this country. Scrappy Amtrak has seen demand for service double since last Tuesday. At this past 69th Winter Meeting of the US Conference of mayors, there was a strong message sent to the federal governement that increased investment in high-speed rail, and inter-city light rail was
supported by not just mayors all over the country but also overwhelmingly by citizens, as indicated in polls. Governors, Congrssional leaders, the Bush Administration’s Tommy Thompson, leaders from every political stripe have been insisting that we have more transportation choices. But America’s changed flying habits will likely be the most resounding and successful plea for rail transportation.
September 17th, 2001
We left Austin around 8:30 am, after hitting Jo’s for some caffeinated goodness. We headed southwest, toward the little border town of Eagle Pass. The drive was pretty uneventful and we were at the border in probably 3.5 - 4 hours. Getting over the border was a snap-you simply cross the Rio Grande (which should be renamed the Rio Peque?o-its like going over a drainage ditch) on the International Bridge. We expected Piedras Negras, the neighboring town across from Eagle Pass to be a Trinketville with many similarities to a US city and not be much of a culture shock. Frankly, we were wrong. The town, a rock’s throw from Eagle Pass appears to be a world away. You spill into the town square-el centro de ciudad-immediately upon exiting the bridge. The square was humming with activity. Vendors were everywhere, people on bikes rushing around on the sidewalk, in the street, pedaling with a sense of urgency. Sarah and I knew we needed a tarjeta de turista-a tourist card to venture 20km or so beyond the border. We stopped at tourist information building right across from the buzzing square. When I opened the door to the office, I thought I was mistakenly in the wrong place. Two teenage boys were just sitting in the dark, talking to each other. There was nothing inside that clued you in that you were in a tourist bureau. I inquired about the tourist permit and they looked at each other in confusion. Although I have a limited Spanish vocabulary, I was confident that my question should not have been that unusual. They eventually just reached into a drawer and handed me a street map of Piedras Negras. I thanked them and left and looked up again at the sign, which read, “Tourist Office.” Hmm. We winded through the gridded streets of Piedras Negras following well-placed signs for the highway we were looking for. The contrast of Piedras Negras to Eagle Pass was amazing. Eagle Pass did not seem to have any center or downtown at all. All you see are familiar hotels, fast food chains, and billboards. Skip across the bridge and you are in a vibrant town with people milling about everywhere and an active street life. We stopped at a Holiday Inn Express in Piedras Negras to ask to inquire again about the tourist card. The hotel was bumped up against the sidewalk and not turned sideways as many similar hotels are here in the states. We realized that at some point on the highway, we would simply have to stop and go in a customs office and fill out paperwork for our short stay in the country. We were not prepared, however, for the Brazillian, soul-sucking experience of las aduanas.
The customs office was probably 20 miles outside of Piedras Negras. It was little more than a small office complex sitting out in the middle of nowhere. The office where we would process our paperwork was probably 50′ by 50′. It was packed with people taking care of various official obligations. We waited in a short line and showed our Mexico driving insurance, title to the car (it was expired- doh!) and some other stuff and more or less thought we were done. An agent said that we needed to make some copies and then wait in another line for some more paperwork and to get our sticker. There were maybe 30 people in front of us-but they were gathered in groups so we did not expect a really long wait. We were excited but patient and could handle a 30-minute inconvenience. An hour went by and we had not advanced at all in the line. There were no windows to look out, awful fluorescent lights flickered overhead, babies were crying, and it didn’t smell so good in there. It stank, actually. We did meet a great group of people from Dallas. One of them was a pastor and was visiting a church from what I believe was his hometown that was having an anniversary. He heard that we were concerned about losing our reserved hotel room in Cuatroci?negas and let me use his phone card (like Europe, all Mexican pay phones work by card only) to make a long distance call. When I couldn’t get through, a friend of his let us use his cell phone. It seemed perfectly normal to do whatever it took to make sure we were taken care of. They helped the two-and-a-half-hours go by a little faster. It felt like a small victory when we stepped out into the sun and could officially, legally travel anywhere in the country we wanted.
We set off for Cuatroci?negas a little after 4:00, if I remember correctly. The highway was a narrow, two-lane strip that sliced the desert. The land reminded me of that of the southwest United States, and was mostly flat desert with the jagged brown mountains in the distance. There were a lot of prickly pears and Joshua trees. You go through two small towns, Sabinas and Monclova, before arriving to Cuatroci?negas, which is literally in the middle of nowhere. One interesting thing about all the small towns we passed through was that they have very distinct entrances and exits. Every single one of them greeted you with a Bienvenidos sign and usually an arch that you passed under. The highway would then become an avenue with a median in the middle, and often contained well-groomed plants and palm trees. The curb on the median was always painted yellow and there were yellow gooseneck street lights in the middle. When you exited the town, you saw the same technique used, and would almost always see Feliz Viaje- Happy Travels, on the arch as you left the town. Also, as you approach these towns you have to be prepared for abrupt, exaggerated speed bumps. In the US, highways, interstates, freeways, boulevards, etc. have exclusive purposes. In Mexico, a highway where you could comfortably do 75-80 mph could have huge speed bumps and wide sidewalks as you approached a town.
Monclova is an interesting place. According to our travel book, the city has essentially no tourism. We passed a very upscale sushi restaurant on the way in. There were pizza parlors and a few familiar chain restaurants. We made one wrong turn off the main avenue on the way out of town and found ourselves on a residential side street. But when I say residential, understand that it is still totally urban. If you had found yourself on a similar looking street in the US, you would be convinced you were in the ghetto. There were dogs roaming the streets and dog droppings on the street and sidewalk. Buildings were crumbling and everyone was out on their stoop or sitting on the porch. I remember thinking that Mexican towns and cities have an odd tendency to be really walkable and pedestrian-friendly with the speed bumps, sidewalks, and emphasis on town plazas. On the other hand, there would be large sections of sidewalk missing in places, dangerous roads with no good places to cross and drivers speeding through the streets, frequently bolting through yellows and reds. Speaking of traffic lights, whenever a light is about to change, it will blink three times. For example, if the light is about to change from green to yellow, it will start blinking and then turn yellow for a shorter period. I quickly adjusted to this system and found it effective.
After exiting Monclova we did pass through a few tiny villages before arriving in Cuatroci?negas. Often in these small settlements, you will see Indians (I think they are Kikapu) lined up along the streets selling what appear to be cookies or similar treats.
We arrived in Cuatroci?negas at 8:00 pm, almost twelve hours after setting off. We found our hotel, the Hotel Plaza, with little trouble and walked across the street to the plaza. It was packed with people and there was an annual coronation of king and queen going down. I’m still not exactly sure what took place, but it was somehow connected to the Catholic church. We watched the runoff between Diana and Jaqueline, two teenage girls who were battling it out to be queen. I think whoever raised the most donations won. Later, we befriended a young woman that worked at the hotel named Fatima. It was a lot of fun to find out what her life is like in the little town. She dreamed of becoming a mother and was pretty surprised that we were married and in our twenties and don’t have children our immediate plans for a child. Fatima was genuinely interested about our home, what we like to do, etc. and it was a joy to talk with her. I spoke as much Spanish as she did English and although we struggled, there was really not much trouble having a normal conversation. Sarah and I are thinking of sending her a letter and maybe we can stay in touch.
Walking through Cuatroci?negas was a little unsettling at times. You would see people on the streets that appeared well-to-do or maybe slightly poor. But some of the living conditions *seemed* awful. Our travel book said that the city had great examples of “homogenous pre-1930 northeastern Mexico architecture.” There were so many gutted buildings and apartments with iron on the windows and crumbling facades or even missing roofs. The town was totally urban and I don’t remember seeing anything of a neighborhood or subdivision that had detached single-family homes. Sarah and I agreed that while some of the buildings looked to be in such bad shape, often they were simply old and need of repair-but on the inside living conditions were likely to be much better. Judging from some of the meticulous attention paid to plants, and tidy porches, you get the idea that despite the outside appearance, people lived pretty well.
We had been debating between visiting Saltillo, the capital of Coahuila or the country’s third largest city, Monterrey, which is in the state of Nuevo Le?n
. Some people suggested Saltillo was great for its colonial influence, but that it’s really dirty and industrial. But at around 800,000 people it would not be as hectic as Monterrey. Others said that Monterrey was too “American” and industrial but had some beautiful parts too. We decided on Monterrey. It was an easy drive from Cuatroci?negas but extremely stressful actually getting to the center of the city. In fact, we spent probably an hour lost in a suburb, trying to figure what direction the middle of the city was. Driving from the suburb to the city proved the “too American” detractors correct: there were a lot of familiar sites. We passed a huge HEB (think Kroger or Safeway) that looked like a giant, colorful Ikea store. There was a Sam’s Club, 7-Elevens, KFCs, Chili’s, etc. But once we neared La Zona Rosa, the core of the city, it felt more like a European capital, than any American city. The idea that people were dismissing Monterrey as second class because of its aggressive pro-business economy seemed ludicrous.
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September 8th, 2001
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