Initial Reflections on Pope Leo XIV

Raining on parades is not something of which I’m fond, especially given how many parades I participated in during my youth while a cadet, first at the Eastern Military Academy in Huntington, New York, and then at the Citadel, the Military College of South Carolina, which is not to say that I and my fellow cadets were not, at times, very grateful for rain that resulted in cancellation of weekly parades permitting us to enjoy additional leave time.  Today, however, as I reflect on the passing of Jorge Mario Bergoglio, Pope Francis I, and of Jose Mujica several weeks later, I find myself doing just that, although perhaps it’s just tears cascading I hear.  That we were privileged to share this world with two souls as purely beneficent as theirs has been an amazing blessing.

Following Francis I will not be an easy task, it may well prove extremely challenging as there is little hope of equaling his charismatic humility and the aura of human decency he generated.  It is unlikely that Robert Francis Prevost will follow the examples of humility and personal frugality that Jorge Mario Bergoglio set, both before and after he attained the papacy.  It is interesting, in a very sad manner, to note with profound regret that we lost both Pope Francis and his political homolog, Jose Mujica, the late, former president of Uruguay, within several weeks of each other.  That is an immense degree of decency lost in a very brief period, especially when human decency and humility among those who currently lead us is in such short supply.

My first impression of the new Pope was not positive but I admit that after Francis probably no one would have seemed comparatively positive to me, at least at first blush.  However, I fear that my unfair initial reaction may unfortunately have been instinctively and cognitively perceptive, especially after rumors that pressure to select Cardinal Prevost were exerted, who knows how, by the American Israel Public Affairs Committee and by neoliberal and neoconservative elements in a number of governments, especially that of the United States.  But I guess it would be extremely naïve in a professional political analyst to believe that the election of a new pope would be free of geopolitical pressure from many sides.  Especially if one has studied papal history.

Cardinal Prevost, now Pope Leo XIV, has aspects that should appeal to me emotionally.  He is a Peruvian as well as a United States citizen, the son of Louis Marius Prevost of French and Italian descent and of Mildred Martínez of Spanish descent and it appears that his maternal grandparents, Joseph Martinez, born in Haiti, and Louise Baquié, a Creole a native of New Orleans, were partially of African descent.  Like the new Pope, I’m also a dual national, having been born a citizen of the Republic of Colombia and naturalized many decades ago as a citizen of the United States of America.  And I share at least the Pope’s Spanish and French roots.  But for some reason, the ethnicity and dual citizenship that we share did not impact me in the way that Pope Francis’ Argentinian birth did.  It should have.  Instead, the fact that he is a United States native seems a double edged sword.  He is viewed with pride by United States’ citizens as the first United States born Pope but with suspicion by many throughout the world, fearful, as noted above, that his election was impacted by United States and especially, Israeli pressure.  Something that is given at least some credence if one reads between the lines of some of his public statements involving international affairs, both before and after he became Pontiff.

Still, he is unlikely to be as Deep State oriented as were his predecessors, John Paul or Benedict XVI, but he is also unlikely to be as progressive or humble as Francis, something his decision to reside in the Papal Palace at Castle Gandolfo eschewed by Francis makes clear.  However, as in the case of Supreme Court justices in the United States, the office frequently changes the holder and perhaps, rather than a disappointment (to me) he will prove to be an inspiration.

Only time will tell. 

The only certainty is that my perceptions are emotional, intuitive and not factually based although, like billions of others, I’ve sought for whatever facts I can find but, other than glowingly positive reports concerning his priesthood in Peru, reports of the kind frequently generated by public relations specialists rather than by historians, not much that rings true to me seems available.  Perhaps as I’ve matured, I’ve become a bit too cynical.

I certainly hope so.
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© Guillermo Calvo Mahé; Manizales, 2025; all rights reserved.  Please feel free to share with appropriate attribution.

Guillermo (“Bill”) Calvo Mahé (a sometime poet) is a writer, political commentator and academic currently residing in the Republic of Colombia (although he has primarily lived in the United States of America of which he is also a citizen). Until 2017 he chaired the political science, government and international relations programs at the Universidad Autónoma de Manizales. Previously, he chaired the social studies and foreign language departments at the Eastern Military Academy in Huntington, New York. He is currently the publisher of the Inannite Review available at Substack.com; an intermittent commentator on radio and television; and, an occasional contributor to diverse periodicals and publications. He has academic degrees in political science (BA, The Citadel, The Military College of South Carolina), law (JD, St. John’s University, School of Law), international legal studies (LL.M, the Graduate Division of the New York University School of Law) and translation and linguistic studies (GCTS, the University of Florida’s Center for Latin American Studies). However, he is also fascinated by mythology, religion, physics, astronomy and mathematics, especially with matters related to quanta, cosmology and cosmogony. He can be contacted at guillermo.calvo.mahe@gmail.com and much of his writing is available through his blog at https://guillermocalvo.com/.

The Sad Saga of Adam Everyman: a confession of sorts

As he aged he increasingly came to acknowledge the harm he had caused others, either intentionally or carelessly or unavoidably, and he came to profoundly regret it.  He had too often been callous, albeit with a warm and sort of sincere smile, believing that he really sought to govern his life with good intentions, but his failures to do so were legion. 

He hated hypocrisy but that was mainly in others, his own example in that regard having been poor, although he tended to gloss over it in his introspections. 

He was a social and civic critic, and his related observations and speculations and analyses tended to be highly idealistic, and he was well thought of, except, perhaps, by those towards whom he had behaved inappropriately but, instead of seeking their forgiveness after admitting his faults, he sought forgiveness through penance of sorts, directed towards a divinity in which he did not really believe but which he constantly sought to find and understand. 

Faults in others were easy to identify and to criticize but in himself, they had for too long been artfully hidden, especially from himself. 

He had once reflected that if good and evil were objective rather than subjective, and that if an afterlife existed where punishments and rewards were bestowed based on merit, the only sure way to attain an adequate state of grace was to both forgive all the wrongs he had suffered and to attain forgiveness for the wrongs he had committed from those he had harmed.  Given his inability to do either, his only real hope rested in the unlikely possibility of immortality.
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© Guillermo Calvo Mahé; Manizales, 2025; all rights reserved.  Please feel free to share with appropriate attribution.

Guillermo (“Bill”) Calvo Mahé (a sometime poet) is a writer, political commentator and academic currently residing in the Republic of Colombia (although he has primarily lived in the United States of America of which he is also a citizen). Until 2017 he chaired the political science, government and international relations programs at the Universidad Autónoma de Manizales. Previously, he chaired the social studies and foreign language departments at the Eastern Military Academy in Huntington, New York. He is currently the publisher of the Inannite Review available at Substack.com; an intermittent commentator on radio and television; and, an occasional contributor to diverse periodicals and publications. He has academic degrees in political science (BA, The Citadel, The Military College of South Carolina), law (JD, St. John’s University, School of Law), international legal studies (LL.M, the Graduate Division of the New York University School of Law) and translation and linguistic studies (GCTS, the University of Florida’s Center for Latin American Studies). However, he is also fascinated by mythology, religion, physics, astronomy and mathematics, especially with matters related to quanta, cosmology and cosmogony. He can be contacted at guillermo.calvo.mahe@gmail.com and much of his writing is available through his blog at https://guillermocalvo.com/.

Reflections on an Easter Sunday

While I am admittedly not a believer in the divinity of any being born of a human woman, or perhaps, of any divinity at all, I am not a “non”-believer, acknowledging that anything is possible and that I have yet to discern the truth, though I have searched for it during eight decades so far.  Nonetheless, I have had a lifelong fascination with the Palestinian born in Nazareth whose personal name was probably Yešu and who would perhaps be most non-confrontationally referred to as Yešu of Nazareth, although he was purportedly born in Bethlehem, both Palestinian villages. 

I have read a great deal about him, not only through biblical sources but also the Jewish response to the Christian Gospels, a series of alternative versions collectively referred to as the Toledot Yeshu, and I have written and published a bit on the subject which draws me to it as a means of seeking to understand myself and ourselves and perhaps, even the concept of divinity. 

Today is a confluence of days holy to major branches of Christianity, the Orthodox, the Catholic, the Protestant and others, as well as part of a season sacred to Jews, a somewhat rare confluence, and it is taking place during the Zionist genocide of the Palestinians and the ethnic cleansing of Palestine thus, at least to me, it is a day not for joyous celebration of a resurrection but of sad reflection on human nature, and on how disappointed in us Yešu the Nazarene would be, as hypocrisy and murder and mayhem have become the norm, although it may well be probable that such has always been the case.
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© Guillermo Calvo Mahé; Manizales, 2025; all rights reserved.  Please feel free to share with appropriate attribution.

Guillermo (“Bill”) Calvo Mahé (a sometime poet) is a writer, political commentator and academic currently residing in the Republic of Colombia (although he has primarily lived in the United States of America of which he is also a citizen). Until 2017 he chaired the political science, government and international relations programs at the Universidad Autónoma de Manizales. Previously, he chaired the social studies and foreign language departments at the Eastern Military Academy in Huntington, New York. He is currently the publisher of the Inannite Review available at Substack.com; an intermittent commentator on radio and television; and, an occasional contributor to diverse periodicals and publications. He has academic degrees in political science (BA, The Citadel, The Military College of South Carolina), law (JD, St. John’s University, School of Law), international legal studies (LL.M, the Graduate Division of the New York University School of Law) and translation and linguistic studies (GCTS, the University of Florida’s Center for Latin American Studies). However, he is also fascinated by mythology, religion, physics, astronomy and mathematics, especially with matters related to quanta, cosmology and cosmogony. He can be contacted at guillermo.calvo.mahe@gmail.com and much of his writing is available through his blog at https://guillermocalvo.com/.

Thoughts on an Equinox in the Year 2025

At 5:01 a.m., EST, today, the 20th of March in the year 2025, all hemispheres on our planet experienced one of the two annual equinoxes.  One would hope today’s would involve an instant of harmony and balance but, … not so. 

Genocide, murder, ethnic cleansing and hypocrisy reign thanks to the monsters who inhabit Israel and to their enablers in the United States, the United Kingdom, Germany and France as well as among the diverse Middle Eastern dictatorships: Saudi Arabia, Qatar, the United Arab Emirates, Jordan, Egypt, etc. 

It is instead an instant during a multiyear period when evil reigns and when, as Leo Durocher once noted, nice guys finish last, although, among world leaders, nice guys are a rare breed, as rare as are decent men and women.

As was the case when the Nazis ruled in Germany, most decent people, at least in North America and Europe, are deluded.  They’re like ostriches with their heads in the sand or like the three simians who believe that as long as they can avoid hearing, seeing, or talking about the evil in which they’re immersed, they’re safe. 

Those in the Global South, more sensitized by their experience with the colonialist North, look on enraged and ashamed but impotent as the phrase “never again” morphs into “as usual”. 

Sad thoughts on a lonely planet spinning along in a multiverse where justice and equity are irrelevant.
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© Guillermo Calvo Mahé; Manizales, 2025; all rights reserved.  Please feel free to share with appropriate attribution.

Guillermo (“Bill”) Calvo Mahé (a sometime poet) is a writer, political commentator and academic currently residing in the Republic of Colombia (although he has primarily lived in the United States of America of which he is also a citizen). Until 2017 he chaired the political science, government and international relations programs at the Universidad Autónoma de Manizales. Previously, he chaired the social studies and foreign language departments at the Eastern Military Academy in Huntington, New York. He is currently the publisher of the Inannite Review available at Substack.com; an intermittent commentator on radio and television; and, an occasional contributor to diverse periodicals and publications. He has academic degrees in political science (BA, The Citadel, The Military College of South Carolina), law (JD, St. John’s University, School of Law), international legal studies (LL.M, the Graduate Division of the New York University School of Law) and translation and linguistic studies (GCTS, the University of Florida’s Center for Latin American Studies). However, he is also fascinated by mythology, religion, physics, astronomy and mathematics, especially with matters related to quanta, cosmology and cosmogony. He can be contacted at guillermo.calvo.mahe@gmail.com and much of his writing is available through his blog at https://guillermocalvo.com/.

Brief Reflections on the Ides of March in 44 BCE almost 2069 Years Later

The Ides of March, again, sort of.  

But how long has it actually been since that fateful 15th of March in the year 44 before the dawn of what we, for some reason, refer to as the Common Era? 

Actually, because of changes in the nature of our calendar, the 2069th anniversary of the assassination of Gaivs Ivlivs Caesar on the Ides of March in 44 BCE, as calculated under the Julian calendar adopted the year prior to Caesar’s death, would today yet be almost two weeks away, on the 28th of March in our current Eurocentric calendar. 

A tidbit to be sure but perhaps interesting given the nature of our world today, a confusing complex of false history and false news with just enough verisimilitude to make it sufficiently credible to aid in our perpetual manipulation.

Interesting also given how many among our polarized citizenry are reflecting favorably on the events of that day, without considering its consequences.
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© Guillermo Calvo Mahé; Manizales, 2025; all rights reserved.  Please feel free to share with appropriate attribution.

Guillermo (“Bill”) Calvo Mahé (a sometime poet) is a writer, political commentator and academic currently residing in the Republic of Colombia (although he has primarily lived in the United States of America of which he is also a citizen). Until 2017 he chaired the political science, government and international relations programs at the Universidad Autónoma de Manizales. Previously, he chaired the social studies and foreign language departments at the Eastern Military Academy in Huntington, New York. He is currently the publisher of the Inannite Review available at Substack.com; an intermittent commentator on radio and television; and, an occasional contributor to diverse periodicals and publications. He has academic degrees in political science (BA, The Citadel, The Military College of South Carolina), law (JD, St. John’s University, School of Law), international legal studies (LL.M, the Graduate Division of the New York University School of Law) and translation and linguistic studies (GCTS, the University of Florida’s Center for Latin American Studies). However, he is also fascinated by mythology, religion, physics, astronomy and mathematics, especially with matters related to quanta, cosmology and cosmogony. He can be contacted at guillermo.calvo.mahe@gmail.com and much of his writing is available through his blog at https://guillermocalvo.com/.

Thoughts on a Winter’s Day High in the Central Range of the Colombian Andes in a City in the Sky in early 2025

I sometimes listen to Paul Simon’s album Graceland when I’m making my bed and arranging my bedroom for the day ahead.  I tend to dance exuberantly (if not well) as I do but, concurrently, I also reflect on the context in which that album was developed and recorded.  And that invariably leads me to consider much more serious issues, and it gives me hope, even in today’s world where things seem so dark, and where evil and injustice and hypocrisy rule.

The album was contextually set in the Republic of South Africa just before it transitioned from a racist, nuclear powered apartheid state into one slowly evolving towards some sort of equity and harmony and justice, still only goals with ups and downs as though a roller coaster was involved, but for one amazing instant in time, an instant impacted in part by that album, South Africa became the shining beacon on a Hill that Ronald Reagan mistook for the country he led.  And that light, that spark, had a name and a history and a profundity hard to match, although other contemporaries who, to some extent shared the trials and tribulations involved, among them, Mohandas Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Jr., Malcolm X, and Muhamad Ali, came close. 

That catalytic shining light involved was the late Nelson Mandela who, after having suffered decades long attempts to humiliate and destroy him by the white South African oligarchs became not only a leader but a unifying symbol in his heterogeneous, multiracial society, the only society to give up both its racist traditions and nuclear armaments voluntarily, and it was white leaders among the white oppressors who, somehow or other, finding a moral compass or perhaps, just coming to their senses, voluntarily albeit grudgingly surrendered their hold on power.  A white society to an extent redeemed, more so certainly than the United States after its Civil War, an event historically distorted and manipulated for political ends having nothing to do with liberation of the Africans and African descendants so long held in bondage, slaves and their descendants who have, unfortunately, whether or not they realize it, merely exchanged one form of involuntary servitude for another.

Today, of course, an evil much worse than that of South Africa’s former masters dominates the Middle East with an even worse form of apartheid, one implemented through genocide and theft and rape and plunder, through calumny and deceit, one arguably even worse than that of the Nazis during the end of the Second World War, and that evil is made possible by hypocrites who claim to be defenders of liberty, justice and human rights from their safe bases in Europe and North America, the places where goods and services looted for centuries from the Global South are hoarded; the world against which Eric Arthur Blair warned us in 1948, a terrible year for justice and truth and equity, the year in which Zionism began its imitation of the Huns and the Visigoths and the hordes of Genghis the Khan.  “Graceland”, an album aptly named but perhaps not after Elvis Presley’s mansion but rather, aspirationally, perhaps reflecting on how a traumatized land and its traumatized indigenous population might one day attain a semblance of grace, of freedom, perhaps even a semblance of justice even if such aspirations are not yet realities.  Unfortunately, Israel’s Zionists do not seem likely to imitate South Africa’s white leaders and revert to the Jewish values, ethics and morals they purport to represent.  Rather, they seek to emulate European colonists in North America and Africa and Latin America and Southeast Asia who, in the name of a confused deity (at best), subjugated and virtually eliminated the indigenous populations who for millennia had peacefully occupied the territory European “settlers” coveted and to which they felt divinely entitled, notwithstanding the Decalogue’s (which they claim to hold sacred) Tenth Commandment.

My bed is now made, my bedroom is now attractively ordered, my exuberant dance is now done.  At least until the morrow.  I have now also read the daily news and reflect as I read about devastated Palestinians returning to their destroyed homes and homeland mourning their dead and attempting to care for their maimed and injured, at least for a few days, maybe even a few weeks.  And from afar, I wonder about what the future will bring now that the genocidal Biden administration is hopefully just a terrible part of recent history and a new era is promised.  Most probably a strange and incoherent era full of inequity and injustice, albeit perhaps not as evil as the dark days that purportedly ended on January 20, 2025.  Who can tell?  After all, even in our world miracles sometimes take place.  Miracles such as the one that took place when Nelson Mandela crossed that bridge after his liberation from decades of imprisonment to assume a path towards a future like the one we are all so consistently promised.  Like the future that Martin Luther King, Jr. perceived just before he was assassinated.  Like the one Mohandas Gandhi also saw for his people, Hindu and Muslim alike, before an assassin’s bullet ended his life.  Like the future of which so many Palestinian leaders murdered by Israel’s purported defense forces during the years since 1948 also dreamed.  Like the one in which murdered Palestinian children perhaps still believed as their limbs were sundered and their skulls were shattered by Israelis using armaments gifted to them by United States, British and German taxpayers, we among them.

Times like ours have long led me, at best an agnostic, to hope that whether or not a Heaven exists, there’s a Hell, one even more horrible than the one imagined by Dante Alighieri, even as I recognize that such an aspiration betrays my belief in the importance of empathy and understanding and forgiveness, one to which I aspire in emulation of someone in whom I don’t quite believe but who fascinates me and who I love and respect, fictional though he may be, at least in the guise presented to us: that gentle Palestinian from Bethlehem or Nazareth who purportedly lived two millennia ago and whose name, Yešu, is universally mispronounced and coupled with a sort of grammatical verbal, an adjective converted into a noun, a Greek term he never considered his own.

2025, like so many others, I wonder what it will bring, some of us hoping for the best, albeit with serious doubts, while others, not only hope for the worst but feel duty bound to do all they can to assure that the next four years will be terrible so that those they follow and support can regain power, the price being no object.  Lemmings come to mind and I wonder what it feels like to float in the air for a few instances before one crashes into the hard surface of a cold sea.  It must at least be interesting given how many of us continuously follow such course.

So, about Paul Simon, I wonder what he thinks about Zionism and Palestine and Palestinians.
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© Guillermo Calvo Mahé; Manizales, 2025; all rights reserved.  Please feel free to share with appropriate attribution.

Guillermo (“Bill”) Calvo Mahé (a sometime poet) is a writer, political commentator and academic currently residing in the Republic of Colombia (although he has primarily lived in the United States of America of which he is also a citizen). Until 2017 he chaired the political science, government and international relations programs at the Universidad Autónoma de Manizales. Previously, he chaired the social studies and foreign language departments at the Eastern Military Academy in Huntington, New York. He is currently the publisher of the Inannite Review available at Substack.com; an intermittent commentator on radio and television; and, an occasional contributor to diverse periodicals and publications. He has academic degrees in political science (BA, The Citadel, The Military College of South Carolina), law (JD, St. John’s University, School of Law), international legal studies (LL.M, the Graduate Division of the New York University School of Law) and translation and linguistic studies (GCTS, the University of Florida’s Center for Latin American Studies). However, he is also fascinated by mythology, religion, physics, astronomy and mathematics, especially with matters related to quanta, cosmology and cosmogony. He can be contacted at guillermo.calvo.mahe@gmail.com and much of his writing is available through his blog at https://guillermocalvo.com/.

Dreams of Freedom on an Early Winter’s Day

I’ve been listening to the beautiful Scottish Anthem, Highland Cathedral lately.  Almost compulsively so.  I’m very supportive of the rights of subjugated peoples, rights to the independence purportedly guaranteed as a result of the first war to end all wars, the one we now know, after its abject failure as World War I and, to me, the Scotts are an enigma.  Brutally subjugated by the English, they morphed into English tools for the subjugation of others including the attempted subjugations of residents of thirteen of England’s North American colonists, whole peoples throughout the world including the Indian subcontinent, Asia and Africa.  As an aside, I wonder why India is a subcontinent while Europe is a continent when, in reality, both are parts of Asia. 

Still, many Scotts are awakening and discarding the hypocrisy inherent in their subjugation.  Bagpipe hymns like Highland Cathedral and Scotland the Brave bring to mind the aspiration for freedom, independence and self-expression of legendary Scottish folk heroes like Robert the Bruce, John Balliol, David II and even he who was referred to as Bonny Prince Charley, the original Charles III.  Today, of course, they would be joined by numerous Palestinian martyrs.

Perhaps many of today’s Scotts are being shamed by the courage of the Palestinian people in the face of genocide, ethnic cleansing and the theft of their country by European invaders.  Scottish independence.  Now wouldn’t that be something.  And perhaps a United Ireland.  And, maybe even a free Wales.  And, of course, a Free Palestine. 

Highland Cathedral, perhaps an anthem for the subjugated everywhere. 

No wonder it resonates so in my soul.
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© Guillermo Calvo Mahé; Manizales, 2025; all rights reserved.  Please feel free to share with appropriate attribution.

Guillermo (“Bill”) Calvo Mahé (a sometime poet) is a writer, political commentator and academic currently residing in the Republic of Colombia (although he has primarily lived in the United States of America of which he is also a citizen). Until 2017 he chaired the political science, government and international relations programs at the Universidad Autónoma de Manizales. Previously, he chaired the social studies and foreign language departments at the Eastern Military Academy in Huntington, New York. He is currently the publisher of the Inannite Review available at Substack.com; an intermittent commentator on radio and television; and, an occasional contributor to diverse periodicals and publications. He has academic degrees in political science (BA, The Citadel, The Military College of South Carolina), law (JD, St. John’s University, School of Law), international legal studies (LL.M, the Graduate Division of the New York University School of Law) and translation and linguistic studies (GCTS, the University of Florida’s Center for Latin American Studies). However, he is also fascinated by mythology, religion, physics, astronomy and mathematics, especially with matters related to quanta, cosmology and cosmogony. He can be contacted at guillermo.calvo.mahe@gmail.com and much of his writing is available through his blog at https://guillermocalvo.com/.

Thoughts on a New Year’s Eve Two Score Years after 1984

1984, now forty years in our past, was a terrible year for me for many reasons but, amazingly, I somehow survived.  Something that did not please the evolving informal collective of unelected bureaucrats which was to eventually be grouped together with the military industrial complex, much of the judiciary, the corporate media and the Democratic Party under the sobriquet “Deep State.

Nineteen-Eighty-Four (perhaps also set forth numerically as 1984) was also a very prescient book published in 1948 (interesting numerical inversion) by Eric Arthur Blair, formerly a student of Aldous Huxley while Blair was at Eton College.  Mr. Blair is better known to us as George Orwell and he also wrote the dystopian novel, Animal Farm.  Both novels were highly charged with what a future anthropologist studying our times might consider “mythic” elements.  Aldous Huxley was, of course, the author of the dystopian novel Brave New World.  I wonder what Joseph Campbell thought of Eric Arthur Blair.  Or of Aldous Huxley for that matter.  Or of Kurt Vonnegut.  The list of dystopian authors during the middle of the twentieth century was quite long.  I also wonder what they thought of Dr. Campbell.

When my sons were in high school I persuaded them to study Latin.  Rather than learning Latin as a language, my goal, they learned a good deal of mythology, something which they enjoyed and at which they excelled in statewide writing contests involving creation of modern myths.  However, their award winning entries did not really deal with myths in the profound philosophical and psychological sense that real myths deserve, but rather, they involved excellent adventure stories, stories that set one of my sons on a literary path specializing in the bizarre and the terrifying.  Something that always fascinated him.  He’s rather good at it although I may be a bit prejudiced.  You can find him on a number of social media sites usually under the “handle” (whatever that is) @alexcalvoishaunted.  Sites include TikTok (assuming it’s still legal in the US), YouTube, etc.  However, I have my own perspective on the nature of myths and their uses which differs from theirs. 

For some reason, recalling my sons’ adventures in Latin Class at Forest High School in Marion County, Florida, brings to mind a segment in the old Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoon series, the segment called “Fractured Fairy Tales”.  I loved it, as did they, and we engaged in fracturing fairy tales (as well as myths) on our own as a form of delightfully immature family entertainment.  It became a family tradition now carried on by my sons with their own children.  I miss Rocky and Bullwinkle and all their fellow conspirators.  Boris Badenov and Natasha come to mind but there were many others.  I guess the segment on fractured fairy tales comes to mind because we tend to do that in a much more serious vein with our ancestral myths and with the myths that we now mass produce.

Popular perception tends to assume that a myth is an inaccurate belief reflected in some sort of generally shared statement but that is inaccurate.  Myths may or may not be partially or even wholly accurate or inaccurate but usually lack generally recognized substantiating evidence.  That is especially true of myths that have existed for long periods of time, whether or not during such time they have experienced mutations.  Nonetheless, myths pack significant psychosocial power.  I believe that myths, like poems, should be perceived as having been inscribed on metaphorical mirrors permitting both believers and doubters to engage in reflective introspection and personal exploration based on the information conveyed in the differing versions of any given myth and thus, generating echoes permitting better understanding.  Understanding of oneself as well as of others.  Of course, myths as well as poems can be abused.  They can be used, as many authors of dystopian novels throughout the past three or four centuries have noticed, as tools to help reinforce prejudices and to facilitate control.  That, of course, is true of all means of communication, especially those focused on purported entertainment.  Like so much else, consider nuclear energy for example, positive things are not all that difficult to pervert, and that is the case with myths.  And that is the path towards perdition on which we seem to be embarked as 2024 becomes 2025.

We humans weave diverse webs, both figuratively and literally, webs that are either constructive or destructive.  And we use them as guides on paths sometimes leading somewhere special.  But, at other times, paths that merely spin us in delusive circles leading us nowhere at all.  Worst of all, all too often, the metaphorical tapestries we weave, or which, more frequently, are woven for us, lead inexorably towards polarizing divisive self-destruction.

The tapestries we weave or which are woven for us are usually based on our myths, both those predicated on ancient sources and those premised on recently created narratives, and they have a profound impact on how we react to our environment and with respect to the diverse contexts in which we find ourselves.  Indeed, they are the bricks and mortar of what we perceive as reality, a phenomenon which all too frequently involves delusion, especially when the weavers involved have been tasked by a privileged few with crafting a world according to their own designs, one meant to keep us artfully enslaved while convincing us that we are free and in control of our own destinies.  Such tapestries all too often tend to be crafted in the Hollywood hills based on scripts ordered in Washington, D.C. and written in New York City, with input from London and Paris and Berlin and Tel Aviv and now, more and more, in Brussels.  Most seem based on a perversion of the mythic Worm Ouroboros cycles, a perversion in which most of us chase our own tails like rabidly confused canines, believing that the cyclic circles we repeat will eventually lead us to a better world and that we’ll get there soon if we only stay the twisted course and increase our pace.

A metaphor comes to mind concerning “the road to hell” and “good intentions”. 

I wonder why.

The reality, of course, is that such endevors only make us dizzy and very effectively confused.  Confused enough to be easily deceived and manipulated.  Thus, to cite an all too relevant example, we believe that Hitler and the Nazis were the epitome of evil because, despite impressive social, civic, educational and technological accomplishments, they engaged in ethnic cleansing in a quest for lebensraum which, during a massive economic wartime blockade against them, led them to consider genocide as a final solution to their problems, both immediate and long term, a consideration they seemingly implemented.  Only a very few individuals doubt that the Nazis engaged in genocide and they are pejoratively labeled as “holocaust deniers” and “white supremacists”.  But very few people dare to look into the context in which the Nazis actions took place.  Indeed, research into the actions of the Nazis that might challenge the established narrative is actually a crime in various countries.  Such restrictions on speculation are attempts to prevent the generation of related myths and involve a recognition of the power of myths.  One related myth, however, is that the Nazis invented genocide and concentration camps as well and that myth is clearly wrong.  Of course, the Nazis did not invent genocide, it has a long and proud history, one shrouded in myths exalted in Abrahamic sacred writing, most of all in the Tanakh, an acronym for the three parts of the Jewish Bible (the Torah also known as the Pentateuch or the “Teaching of Moses”; the Nevi’im, the books of the prophets; and, the Ketuvim, which includes the psalms and wisdom literature).  One also exalted in the Quran and the diverse versions of the Christian Bible.

Given the horrible “current events” that traumatized us during 2024, it seems worthwhile to reflect a bit on the myths associated with “genocide, the collective activity that until recently, at least for a brief while, three quarters of a century or so, we considered the greatest of all evils, and to consider how we’ve twisted the myths with which it has been associated over the past three or so millennia in order to fit our current needs.  And such reflection, as usually occurs, should perhaps start with a bit of historical context.

Sooo.

The greatest mythic genocide of all was the prehistoric deluge, the one where all living creatures were destroyed (except for a select few) in a worldwide flood, a prominent Abrahamic myth but with corollaries in the more ancient Sumerian civilization and in the subsequent Hellenic mythos.  Following that example, one set by diverse divinities, genocide sort of became a “thing”, especially among a group some refer to as “Hebrews”, a “thing” almost always attributable to suggestions, instructions or even orders issued by a divinity.  Take the genocide involving all the firstborn sons of the ancient Egyptians (see the book of Exodus) as an example.  The “beneficiaries” were purported slaves but if so, very wealthy slaves as they left Egypt, not empty handed but well-armed and laden with loot: precious metals, woods, gems, cloth, etc., a part of the myth rarely related although obvious when the related “sacred” writings are actually examined.  After leaving Egypt, treasure laden, the former slaves purportedly traveled in the Sinai for four decades (interestingly, the same period of time which separates us from 1984) led by a certain Moishe, apparently, on a quest for further loot and further victims.  That in turn led them to ancient Jericho where, purportedly, Joshua, the Hebrew successor to the mythic Moishe (not the subsequent King of Judea), had all of that city’s inhabitants, men women and children killed, and perhaps their livestock as well.  That trend went on throughout a land then called Canaan in city after city as the former Egyptian slaves, purportedly under orders from their god, YHWH, sought to cleanse whatever land they passed through of what they considered to be human vermin.  The former slaves had apparently become very clean.

Hebrew genocide was not always direct.  Take for example the genocide which took place in the year 614 of what has come to be known as the Common Era in a city that had once been known as Salem until it was conquered and cleansed by descendants of the Hebrews.  The Hebrews had conquered and ethnically cleaned Salem a millennium or more prior to 614 and, after its conquest, had added the prefix “Jeru” to its name for some reason.  However, by 614 Jerusalem had become populated primarily by a schismatic offshoot sect of Judaism (as the religion of the Hebrews had come to be known), a sect that had taken to calling its members Christians, and the genocide in Jerusalem in 614 was not perpetrated by the Jews of that time themselves but rather by the Sassanid Empire, although perhaps at the suggestion of Jewish leaders, Jewish leaders furious with their brethren who had converted to Christianity and assumed control of the city, a city that had become sacred to both Jews and Christians and would soon become holy to a further Jewish heresy which would come to be known as Islam.  A city still causing serious problems, mayhem, murder, theft and other very unholy things. 

All of the foregoing examples of genocide were, according to related myths, divinely blessed.  Indeed there are Hebrew terms for sacred genocide, e.g., “zavakh” and “cherem” (using the Latin rather than Hebrew alphabet).  But times purportedly change and we humans purportedly progressed ethically and morally.  In modern times, at least since the genocide perpetrated on Armenians by Ottoman Turks at the beginning of the twentieth century, genocide has come to be frowned upon, or at least that’s what we claimed during and after a series of trials held in the German city of Nuremburg and the Japanese city of Tokyo following the end of what is known in the so called “West” as World War II or the Second World War (but known further East as the Great Patriotic War).  In that war, all sides engaged in large scale genocide but only the genocide attributed to the losers was deemed to have been “inappropriate”.  Following the trials in Nuremburg and Tokyo, an international organization was erected by the five principal victors in that Second World War, erected over the metaphorically dead body of the international organization founded at the end of the First World War (originally known as the War to End All Wars).  The old organization, one known as the League of Nations, had to be replaced as it was democratic and the victors wanted one that they could control in perpetuity, one camouflaged as a democracy but in reality, a tightly controlled oligarchic dictatorship.  That second international organization (the United Nations) was tasked with preserving peace and guaranteeing human rights and especially with avoiding further genocide.  Unfortunately, like its predecessor, it has proven an abject failure in its primary mission, or at least in the cover story cited as its primary mission.  The United Nation’s ruling body to which one might reasonably refer as the “Board of Dictators” (five permanent members each with a veto power of a “security” council established by the victors to rule the world using the United Nations as its tool), had an internal falling out shortly after the organization’s foundation (which at that point might more accurately have been referred to as the Disunited Nations) and the Board of Dictators had become divided into two separate opposing camps, each vetoing efforts to enforce the sort of constitution they had forced on all other countries (they referred to it as a “charter”, the Charter of the United Nations in fact), a high sounding set of covenants, as constitutions tend to be but so internally contradictory as to make its enforcement impossible (as also tends to occur with constitutions).  So, talk about myths, myth making and the evolution of myths.  Wars, especially world wars and their aftermaths and the ensuing attempts to justify them are practically cornucopias for myth creation.

But back to myths associated with genocide, a concept once purportedly orchestrated by divine command but then, well, eventually, considered a horrendous sin.  Mythic cycles tend to be incoherent and confusing.  Consider the reality that, after three quarters of a century where genocide was considered unsavory albeit it continued unabated in diverse parts of the world, where genocide had to be undertaken surreptitiously under cover of great propaganda campaigns, it has now come out of the closet, so to speak.  During the past fourteen months and, apparently, for the foreseeable future, genocide has come back into vogue, at least when it is backed by three of the five members of the United Nations’ Board of Dictators and their allies. 

A bit of context again, one as ironic as it is incoherent. Almost immediately after they had organized the United Nations following the Second World War and had purportedly sworn off violence as a means of conflict resolution, three of the members of the United Nation’s Board of Dictators had quickly founded another, purportedly compatible, international organization known as the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO), one which, was incongruently a military alliance. And it has grown and grown and now engages in military activities all over the world, albeit in the name of peace.  Ironically but predictably, NATO has evolved from a purportedly inchoate defensive union into one charged with assisting in the overthrow of any governments elected democratically or selected aristocratically contrary to the wishes of NATO’s principle member, coincidentally the de facto chair-entity of one of the two factions that sit on the United Nation’s Board of Dictators (more politely referred to as the “permanent” members of the United Nations Security Council).  I’ll leave the specific identity of that chair-entity vague for the moment, although it would not surprise me all that much if many readers immediately guessed its identity.

Well, perhaps the change in attitude and related general mythic confusion concerning the morals and ethics associated with genocide is not all that recent and ironically, it sponsored by the United Nations itself in that fateful year, 1948, the year that Eric Arthur Blair wrote his most famous dystopian novel, the one mentioned above.  Ironically, the change in attitude was sponsored by that same second international organization that had been founded following the Second World War in order to prevent further genocide, a phenomenon that Mr. Blair referred to in his novel as “Truth Speak” (which means lies forcibly albeit unartfully imposed).  Based on the “Orwellian” concept of Truth Speak (pursuant to which convenient myths are generated, on demand), genocide is sometimes sacred, other times it is intolerably evil, and now, well it is pragmatic, a final solution of sorts to bothersome consequences involving massive theft and large scale murder, but engaged in by nice people. 

For example, during the past three quarters of a century, starting in 1948, a country was “facilitated” by the United Nations in a region known as Palestine, a region inhabited for millennia by a multiethnic population of Jews, Muslims and Christians.  Jews, Muslims and Christians who collectively called themselves Palestinians.  The beneficiaries of that bounty, a group of Jews supported by many Christians (none of whom lived in Palestine), a group that referred to its members as “Zionists”, immediately decided that Palestine required a bit of housecleaning.  And there was no time like 1948 to get on with the housecleaning, something those “cleansed” have come to refer to as the “Nakba”.  The territory assigned by the United Nations to the former terrorists who had become seemingly respectable and were now referred to, at least by their friends, as the “leaders” of the new nation (sounds a lot like the ancient Egyptian, loot laden slaves discussed earlier doesn’t it), quickly realized that the territory allotted to them was really much too small for the population they hoped to import into Palestine (which they renamed Israel and at times, aspirationally including the entire Middle East, Greater Israel) and thus, unfortunately, they were forced to implement a policy based on a term made popular by an enemy they claimed to hate, one of the major losers of that Second World War to which we previously alluded.  The term was “lebensraum”; i.e., living space.  Something essential to all growing families.  And that, of course, required “some to relinquish so that others could prosper”, and, after all, there was plenty of space in neighboring countries to which the displaced “relinquishers” could be relocated, at least until that space also became required. 

The concept of lebensraum actually involved an older concept known in some places as “Manifest Destiny”.  Manifest Destiny is synonymous with “genocide” but, as in the case of the genocide committed by the ancient Hebrews, is viewed positively, except, of course by its victims and their descendants, but they don’t really count.  For reasons which an alien anthropologist would probably never fathom, as opposed to the genocide purportedly perpetrated by the Nazis against descendants of the ancient Hebrews and others, Manifest Destiny was mythically described as a beneficent and cleansing, divinely ordained task, one related to a similar concept referred to by Europeans during the nineteenth century as the “White Man’s Burden”.  Manifest Destiny involved the ethnic cleansing of North America by European colonists who found themselves in need of “lebensraum” and were thus forced to “suggest” that those already inhabiting the territories into which they were migrating move in order make space for their new neighbors, although perhaps “make space” was not exactly the correct phrase.  The wonderfully brave and enlightened colonists had been forced, against their will, to deal with the intransigence of the indigenous population by pretty much “wiping it clean” (a euphemism for “terminated” or otherwise “ethnically cleansed”).  Pretty much the same occurred with respect to the White Man’s Burden in Africa and parts of Asia where brave and farsighted European colonists likewise found themselves forced to ethnically cleanse areas they just had to have, for one reason or another.

Is it any wonder then that European Zionists found such examples for dealing with the issue of lebensraum perfect for the situation in which they placed themselves in the former Ottoman area known as Palestine?  Indeed, upon reflection, Zionists may need to admit that it was their own ancestors who had first discovered the principle of lebensraum back in their good old Canaan days.  Indeed, the Middle East in which Palestine is located was actually the same land that they had ethnically cleansed millennia before.  Thus, in a sort of summary, myths associated with genocide and lebensraum, etc. are good, indeed divinely inspired when engaged in by Hebrews, their descendants, and by Anglo Saxons and their descendants (as well as by the French) but horrible when engaged in by Germans, the Japanese and, at times, inhabitants of the Italian peninsula. 

The foregoing would seem to be a bit complicated for descendants of the Hebrews for two reasons.  First, those they now seek to ethnically cleanse and exterminate are also descendants of their ancient forbearers, fellow Semites; and, second, those with whom the Zionists are now relying for support are the descendants of those who, for millennia, sought to contain and ethnically cleanse their ancestors under a theory referred to as “antisemitism” (except perhaps in a place called Germany, but that’s another story, definitely for another time).  Ain’t life strange?  One never knows when ancient enemies will become teammates, and visa versa.

It’s good to have understanding friends during trying times.  Friends with shared experiences, shared aspirations and shared values.  Friends who are willing to rearrange attitudes towards diverse myths, as “appropriate” to changing circumstances.  And who cares if there’s a bit of hypocrisy involved.  That’s the way it’s always been.  Just study ancient myths, and modern myths as well.  We’ve actually got a factory for the creation of useful modern myths.  Actually a number of factories.  One group of such factories was founded by a guy named George Creel during the First World War and is headquartered in Southern California, a region located in a State which the descendants of its old inhabitants keep trying to sneak back into, a place the world knows as Hollywood.  A second group is more dispersed, dispersed among universities all over the world and whose primary purpose seems to be to keep rearranging information through purported research, and then disseminating it to vulnerably malleable young minds, and, a third group seems omnipresent, centered in diverse groups collectively referred to as media, each charged with providing us with creative fiction on a daily (make that hourly) basis.  Each of the foregoing groups is charged with manufacturing the new myths which will either replace, modify or supplement older myths, as required, in order to explain just how fortunate we all are to be living in such wonderful times.  Somewhere, I sense Eric Arthur Blair sadly smirking and wonder just how one “sadly smirks”.

Well, wonderful times for some of us although perhaps not so much so for Ukrainians or for Africans or Libyans or for Lebanese or Iraqis or for Afghanis or most recently, for Syrians, and of course, not so pleasant for the Palestinians that are still around, and perhaps, not so pleasant in the near future for the Iranians or the Taiwanese.  Indeed, perhaps only pleasant for a tiny minority of us and highly unpleasant for most of us, but, as someone once purportedly told Humpty Dumpty, “one can’t make omelets without breaking eggs”.

Another very useful myth. 

Remember, myths are not always inaccurate, that’s a serious misperception.  Or if you did not realize that, well, … now you know.  As I indicated at the inception of this sarcasm filled end-of-year diatribe, myths are easy to interpret, easier to misinterpret and not that hard to manipulate, although when properly dealt with, they are windows into our souls.

As I conclude my rant, a complex character comes to mind, a former railroad lawyer (the equivalent at the time of a corporate lawyer today) who became a president of the United States and managed to engage in large scale genocide while maintaining a saintly public image.  He was an avowed racist who is perceived of as the liberator of oppressed races. He is the epitome of an ideal myth maker.  He claimed that although you could “fool some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you cannot fool all of the people all of the time”.  And yet, there he sits his visage atop Mount Rushmore and sitting in a special structure in Washington, D.C., sanctimoniously frowning down on us as though he were the YHWH of Hebrew, Christian and Islamic mythology, sort of proving the opposite of the final part of the quote I just shared.

Thoughts two score years after 1984 ad eight score years after 1864.
_____

© Guillermo Calvo Mahé; Manizales, 2024; all rights reserved.  Please feel free to share with appropriate attribution.

Guillermo (“Bill”) Calvo Mahé (a sometime poet) is a writer, political commentator and academic currently residing in the Republic of Colombia (although he has primarily lived in the United States of America of which he is also a citizen). Until 2017 he chaired the political science, government and international relations programs at the Universidad Autónoma de Manizales. Previously, he chaired the social studies and foreign language departments at the Eastern Military Academy in Huntington, New York. He is currently the publisher of the Inannite Review available at Substack.com; an intermittent commentator on radio and television; and, an occasional contributor to diverse periodicals and publications. He has academic degrees in political science (BA, The Citadel, The Military College of South Carolina), law (JD, St. John’s University, School of Law), international legal studies (LL.M, the Graduate Division of the New York University School of Law) and translation and linguistic studies (GCTS, the University of Florida’s Center for Latin American Studies). However, he is also fascinated by mythology, religion, physics, astronomy and mathematics, especially with matters related to quanta, cosmology and cosmogony. He can be contacted at guillermo.calvo.mahe@gmail.com and much of his writing is available through his blog at https://guillermocalvo.com/.

A Nostalgically Melancholy Christmas Carroll[1]


[1] To the tune of Joan Baez singing “There but for Fortune” and Simon and Garfunkel’s version of “The Seven O’clock News/Silent Night”.

An introspection dedicated to Billy, Alex and Edward, to Marina and Teddy, to my mother, Rosario who’s been gone now for a third of a century, and to her sisters Carola (who joined her a while ago) and Livia who is blessedly still here.  To long gone “Pop” who left us in 1972 and to our matriarch, Juanita, who after having lived a bit more than a century, determined, on her own, that it was time to go.  And, of course, to Natalia.

Christmas has often seemed nostalgically melancholy to me.  It involves an anniversary, each anniversary different, sometimes very different.  My happiest were when I was surrounded by family, first as a young child with my younger sister Marina, then with Marina and my little brother Teddy and with my mother and my stepfather Leon.  Then, eventually, much later, as a parent with a wife and one, then two, and finally three sons.

My first recollection is when Marina and I were very little.  My mother and father had separated and he was probably with his family in Barinas, Venezuela while my mother had started her adventure in the United States.  We were left in my grandmother Juanita’s care, along with my wonderful aunts, Livia and Carola.  My earliest Christmas memory involves my grandmother’s annual Christmas event for the poorest children in the City of Manizales in Colombia.  My grandmother owned a hotel, the Hotel Roma, which included a wonderful restaurant with a large dining room and, for Christmas, she’d pile the dining room with a small mountain of gifts which, on that occasion, I, in representation of baby Jesus (I was three at the time) was charged with distributing to the many dozens of very poor young children present.  It should have been a beautiful event except that I misbehaved.  I kept a toy I liked for myself and when my grandmother found out, my baby Jesus role was over forever.  She said I’d behaved more like baby Satan.  My transgression that evening, even as young as I was, impacted me profoundly and since that time I have always tried my best to be kind to those less advantaged than I.

My next set of memories were after I and Marina had joined my mother in the United States and we had formed a new family with my stepfather Leon (who I always called “Pop” at his suggestion).  We didn’t have very much back then but we didn’t know we were poor and Christmas was full of presents, or so it seemed. For me, usually toy guns, toy guns that became more and more realistic (that not being politically incorrect back then) and, on two occasions, electric trains.  I can’t recall what presents Marina and Teddy received except on one occasion, Christmas of 1956, an eventful year.  We’d been living idyllically for over a year in Charlotte, for once in a house rather than in an apartment, and even had a housekeeper but, in a flash, it was all gone and we were headed back to Miami Beach, to a tiny apartment again, and worse, my stepfather was not with us having been injured in a serious car accident.  We had virtually nothing except a bit of charity from my stepfather’s sister, my aunt Mary, and my mother was understandably a wreck so that a good deal of family “management” had devolved on eleven year old me, and Christmas was around the corner.  I’d arranged for small presents for Marina and Teddy so that they’d continue to believe in Santa, comic books for Marina as I recall, and perhaps a football for Teddy (which I too could use) but, on Christmas Eve, as twilight fell, in walked Pop, his arms loaded with gifts.  The relief I felt was intense and the happiness awesome.  The best present ever.  We had each other.  ….  Until we didn’t.  Not quite.  Not in the same way.  Five years later, in 1961 our family abruptly fragmented as so many, indeed most, do now.  As the one I was to lead in the future many decades later was to do as well.  I recall our last Christmas all together, it was in New York, in Queens Village, and it had snowed, and I recall that Marina, Teddy and I along with other children made snow angels in the yard of the small apartment complex where we then lived on Hillside Boulevard between 215th and 216th streets.  Abbot Arms it was called, as I recall.

After that I was in a military boarding school, the Eastern Military Academy, and then in college at the Citadel, the Military College of South Carolina, and I usually spent Christmases with friends at their homes.  Pleasant times, even wonderful times, but not the same.  And after college, I returned to the military academy from which I’d graduated, the one that had become home to me and where I spent almost a decade as a teacher and administrator.  The Eastern Military Academy was a magical place, indeed, it was a real castle (Oheka Castle nowadays), and Christmases were interesting, almost always white.  All the students were gone and the resident faculty members gathered to share the season in front of roaring fires with special egg nog and shared meals.  Christmas then was communal, shared with special people.  With Susan Metz with whom I lived at the time and with the literary scholar, Roger Hamilton, and with the LaForges and the Coffeens, and especially with the wonderful Greene family, David, the patriarch and his wonderful wife Jane, and their children: Robert (who was to become my best friend) and Laurie who passed away much too young.  They were family but, of course, a very different sort of family.

My second “real” family, the one I founded as an adult, also shared what to me seemed beautiful winter holidays and that was as true when we could afford anything any of us wanted as it was when, occasionally, very briefly, we had practically nothing.  Billy, Alex and Edward, my sons, always made Christmas very special, no matter what.  Indeed, my most beautiful memory involves a time when, after a country hotel and restaurant we’d bought in Laurel Hills, North Carolina (the Echo Mountain Inn) had failed and we’d lost almost everything, we were spending Christmas morning in the Florida home of George and Agnes Chamberlin, the wonderful parents of a childhood friend, and presents were being opened.  One came packed in a series of boxes to the utter delight of my second son, Alex (then about three years old).  Alex was very excited as every present was opened (even though most were not for him) and, when the gag box within a box within a box package was being opened, he kept exclaiming, “a box; a box”.  I also very fondly recall when some years later, at a time when our fortunes had vastly improved, my sons’ mother Cyndi and I climbed the roof of our large comfortable home to plant replica reindeer tracks so that my three sons would continue to believe in St. Nicholas, or at least to remain open-minded on the subject.  Open mindedness reinforced by their mother’s refrain of “if you don’t believe you won’t receive”.  A persuasive argument.  I also recall the time some years later when I combed the country looking for a just released video game console my sons were desperate to receive (am Xbox as I recall), one which a business partner in upstate New York finally located for me.  And I recall how pleased I was with myself for having been able to find it, the best present of all for me having been being able to please my sons.

When Christmases were happy times, one of the things that most impacted me, in addition to being extremely grateful for my family, was the spirit of decency and goodwill that seemed to permeate the season.  The hope for peace and justice and for a better world that seemed a legacy from the Nazarene who many called “the Prince of Peace” (but in whose name, incongruously, his most devoted followers caused so much killing and mayhem and misery).  The latter reality became more obvious to me as I matured intellectually and became a more devoted historian and academic; when I eventually began to pierce the veils of delusion woven around us all and Christmas lost much of its allure, its tidings of hope receding and becoming instead, an opportunity for contrasting the stark realities in which we lived.  Realities in which a tiny few had more than they could ever consume.  Realities in which a seeming majority managed to get by somehow.  But a reality in which many, way too many, suffered terribly, both materially and spiritually.  A reality where far too many found the holiday season the saddest and most despairing time of the year.  To a greater and greater extent, the latter’s despair touched me, every year a bit more.  It touched me as our world spiraled more and more out of quilter, it touched me more and more as justice and equity were revealed as empty promises, mere delusive illusions, and it touched me more and more as I came to realize that superficial things that seem to bring us pleasure, things like television programs and concerts and movies and sports were merely temporary distractions used to maintain us tightly under control.  In that regard I remember the famous version of “Silent Night” by Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel released in 1966 (the 7:00 News and Silent Night medley) at the height of the military misadventure then known as the Vietnam War, a war that claimed many of those I most loved and admired.  People like my Citadel classmates Woody Woodhouse and Ron Ashe and John Bradman and too many others to name.

Still, even then, Christmas had its enchantment.  I recall Christmas during 1976 while I was attending the graduate division of the New York University’s School of Law to earn a postgraduate degree in international legal studies.  I recall how on the day before Christmas Eve that year I drove with my wonderful friend, Robert Greene, through the neighborhood in lower Manhattan adjoining the Williamsburg Bridge which I traversed every weekday as I travelled to classes in Washington Square Park, and how from my car window we passed out bottles of Lowenbrau dark beer to the homeless men and women who congregated on our route, people who we were too poor to help on normal occasions, and I recall how pleased we were with our apparent beneficence, something which certainly did more for us than it did for the recipients of our gifts.  And then I recall that, after my classes that evening, we were off, back to our Long Island home at the military academy where we both taught, off to share tidings of comfort and joy, a time of awakening for both of us but shielded from the dark by families and friends sharing memories that would keep us warm for years to come.  That keep me warm today.

The 1970’s were a strange time, a time full of hope when we who’d come of age in the sixties thought we could change the world only to have it change us during the 1980’s.  The 1980’s when we reverted to form, our idealistic illusions fading more and more each year as we had our own families and I had my own sons.  Providing for them became the greater good and the world’s ills, and the ills of many around us became less clear, less important, at least to us.  That digression lasted through the turn of the millennium, a privileged time for many of us in many senses, but a worse and worse time for most of the world.

I remember the last Christmas I spent as part of a family with my sons and their mother Cyndi, still my wife then.  It was in 2006.  By 2007 our family had imploded and exploded and fragmented and the last traces of merry Christmases had faded until their echoes had become dissonant and I found myself among the masses of those for whom the holidays were the saddest part of the year rather than the happiest.  Not that I was terribly off, just that by 2008 I was in a different country, back in Colombia where I’d been born, in a different continent, separated from the family I had once led and which I missed very much.  And that in that loneliness, although I was not alone, I came closer and closer to understanding the darker side of our world, a darker side about which I, then a college professor, taught.  And I became very personally impacted by the seeming futility of seeking that world that the promises attributed to the ancient Nazarene proclaimed were our due and our responsibility.  And I somehow blamed him for having failed us when the reverse was much more true.

Those darker times have now largely passed, at least personally.  Since 2019 I’ve found comfort with my current wife, Natalia, a woman who, as a noncustodial parent, has also endured the loss of intimacy with her children.  Because of shared negative experiences we’re able to comfort each other and to share a new version of joy, although one tinged with maturity and reality.  One grounded in spirituality and civic activism.  One which resonates with the echoes of the homeless and the poor and with their suffering, suffering of which Joan Baez once sang “there but for fortune go you or I”.  So now, this season is neither merry nor full of despair but, at least for my wife and for me, it has evolved into a time for reflection and introspection, and for recalling memories of other days, and for watching old Christmas classics like “The Bells of St. Mary’s” and “Going My Way” where Bing Crosby, long gone, still creates the illusion of Christmas as a magical time, a time when anything is possible and, at any rate, when things seemingly turned out well.  It has evolved into a time for my own version of Charles Dickens’ “A Christmas Carroll”; a time where I welcome the spirits of Christmases past to share a cup of cheer, albeit nostalgically and melancholically as I recall happy times now receded into fond memories.

Soo, it’s that season again, but this year, this terrible year when genocide has become acceptable in Nazareth and Bethlehem and the other areas where the Nazarene whose birth we celebrate once trod, it’s a time for even more reflection and introspection than usual, and for treasuring the people, not the things, that leave us with at least a trace of hope that the Christmas dreams of our youth will someday be reflected in better, more just and kinder realities.  Times when that gentle Nazarene, were he among us, whether or not he was or is divine, would find us having been worth his sacrifice.  And with that image in my heart, an ironic refrain seems to fill the end of a movie as a portly old man dressed in red and white, in extremely good humor, shouts: “and a merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night”.
_____

© Guillermo Calvo Mahé; Manizales, 2024; all rights reserved.  Please feel free to share with appropriate attribution.

Guillermo (“Bill”) Calvo Mahé (a sometime poet) is a writer, political commentator and academic currently residing in the Republic of Colombia (although he has primarily lived in the United States of America of which he is also a citizen). Until 2017 he chaired the political science, government and international relations programs at the Universidad Autónoma de Manizales. Previously, he chaired the social studies and foreign language departments at the Eastern Military Academy in Huntington, New York. He is currently the publisher of the Inannite Review available at Substack.com; an intermittent commentator on radio and television; and, an occasional contributor to diverse periodicals and publications. He has academic degrees in political science (BA, The Citadel, The Military College of South Carolina), law (JD, St. John’s University, School of Law), international legal studies (LL.M, the Graduate Division of the New York University School of Law) and translation and linguistic studies (GCTS, the University of Florida’s Center for Latin American Studies). However, he is also fascinated by mythology, religion, physics, astronomy and mathematics, especially with matters related to quanta, cosmology and cosmogony. He can be contacted at guillermo.calvo.mahe@gmail.com and much of his writing is available through his blog at https://guillermocalvo.com/.

Reflections and Prognostications with respect to a First Tuesday Following a First Monday in November

Dateline: October 3, 2024

Faith in electoral processes all over the world seems to be at all-time lows, largely because, for so long, elections in most places have been manipulated, either through distortion of information presenting false scenarios and expectations or, because of threats of economic or military castigation should voters fail to follow electoral scripts designed by their self-perceived “betters”.  As last resorts, until fairly recently, orchestrated coups d’état and even direct military intervention from abroad were popular; however, new technologies, especially with respect to communications and hackable electronic voting have reintroduced a strain of subtlety.  The British and the French were the past masters of such manipulation but for a century at least, it has been the United States that has taken over that function, initially through the State Department but now through intelligence agencies; and intelligence agencies acting more and more on their own.  Power, of course, is the ultimate prize, economic power derived through theft of natural resources but more and more, through organized war profiteering of the kind Ike warned against as he left office. 

Until recently, the foregoing did not bother United States citizens very much, even when it involved domestic electoral fraud.  We were aware that domestic electoral fraud was not unusual.  Bribery was a tradition as was vote buying and, when all else failed, destruction of ballots with replacements stuffed into ballot boxes.  Nor unusual were the super patriotic voting dead.  In any case, electoral promises were always illusory, few felt they would be kept and fewer seemed to care that they’d been deceived.  Elections were a sort of game, like baseball perhaps, but of the Black Sox variant.  Now, however, chickens seem to have come home to roost.  Of a sudden, the United States electorate really seems to care about the results, albeit futilely so. 

One cannot tell if the United States federal elections of 2020 (both presidential and for the Senate, i.e., in Georgia) were “stolen”, something a substantial portion of the United States electorate believes.  We will probably never find out.  But groundwork for electoral fraud in 2020 was facilitated by the orchestrated response to the Covid 19 pandemic, with electoral safeguards demolished both bureaucratically and judicially, purportedly in the name of democracy.  During the past decade electoral safeguards have been minimized in the United States in a manner not seen anywhere else in the world.  Almost everywhere else, at least the illusion of ballot security is maintained with voters required to establish who they are through picture identification, signatures and finger prints before being permitted to exercise their so-called “sacred franchise”.  Additionally, ballots are strictly restricted to voting booths, with their collection strictly controlled.  Those are the norms except in a number of states in the purportedly United States. 

Electoral manipulation in the United States would seem difficult on a national scale given the nature of federalism, with important electoral functions vested at the county level, but in a society so polarized, electoral fraud need not be widespread but rather, concentrated at the points most equally divided in the states with the most electoral votes, and with efforts coordinated at the national level through sources of logistical and legal support. 

Electoral orchestration has evolved from an art form to a science.  Of course, implementing the groundwork for successful electoral manipulation is not enough, it must at least be flavored with plausible deniability.  Thus, the same bureaucracy and judiciary that facilitates electoral creativity shields electoral fraud from being proven by refusing to seriously investigate allegations of electoral improprieties, usually dismissing most such allegations on technicalities after which, the corporate media that supported the electoral misconduct in the first place, loudly proclaims that the allegations were bogus and that those alleging the existence of electoral fraud are evil, seditious “election deniers”.  That is the world in which the citizenry of the United States now lives, the same world the United States has forced on so many other countries whenever it suited the interests of those who controlled it.

Democracy, in the sense of majority rule, does not exist anywhere and never has, even absent electoral shenanigans.  It doesn’t exist because most people are not interested enough in electoral participation, either because it bores them or because they believe it is futile, thus, because of inadequate participation, majorities are rarely possible.  Instead, the majoritarian concept is replaced by mere plurality, i.e., were usually more votes are collectively cast against a specific candidate or proposal, or not at all, than in favor.  However, for some strange psychosocial reason, both the victims and the victimizers of political fraud feel that a semblance of popular government is essential, something we perhaps inherited from the Greeks and the Romans.

In a few days the people of the United States, both citizens and in all probability a number of non-citizens as well, will again earnestly participate in an electoral charade, a futile exercise by a populace utterly polarized by a corrupt corporate media, a corrupt entertainment industry and a corrupt bureaucracy, all making us relatively easy to manipulate, although we seem to be tottering closer than ever to a breaking point as more and more people have somehow gotten the impression that their votes can make a difference.  Indeed, we may be approaching a possibly violent breaking point such as has not been seen in the United States in over a century and a half, and that, despite the best efforts of the powers-that-be to create the impression that, as the Borg may someday become fond of saying, “resistance is futile”.  During the past four years it has become clear that, under Democratic Party rule, protest will not be tolerated unless it is orchestrated by the right people (e.g., the “woke”), that has been made more than abundantly clear through prosecution and persecution of those who dared to express their refusal to accept what they honestly believed was a stolen election in 2020.  A reality which many, too many, discovered on and after January 6, 2021. It is worth noting how different the attitude towards rejection of electoral results deemed fraudulent is when the protestors are political allies of the United States, as in the recent cases of Venezuela and Georgia (the country, not the state), as opposed to our opponents.  Evidently protest abroad is patriotic when in support of United States puppets but involves terrorism when challenging those the United States places and maintains in power.  At home, it’s even more hypocritical.  Electoral protest in the United States against results orchestrated by those who really rule us is anathema, it is seditious and treasonous, notwithstanding the platitudes redolent in our Declaration of Independence.

As an aside, I wonder what vice president Kamala Harris will do in the unlikely event that her opponent prevails when it comes time for her to exercise her constitutional function and certify the result.  An unlikely situation given my pessimistic analysis of probabilities but, wouldn’t that be interesting?  The Chinese have a curse that sounds a bit like a proverb “may you live in interesting times”.  It certainly seems to apply to us.  To many of us, the results of the proximate elections have already been written and, unlike 2016, that script will, in all likelihood, not be subject to evasion, not even temporarily. And even if it were, as Mr. Trump found out during his term in office, the federal bureaucracy and judiciary are so riddled with moles that governance contrary to the interest of the tiny group of powerful elites who rule us as if they possessed Sauron’s ring of power, is virtually impossible.  The reality is probably that, even if the election were not rigged by misinformation and electoral fraud, our future would remain bleak as we will, in all probability, continue to be led towards the Armageddon too many see as an essential way-stop on the road to paradise.  Tipping points are all but impossible to reverse and we seem to have reached ours as both major presidential campaigns applaud genocide, ethnic cleansing and apartheid and most of the United States electorate, as German citizens once did, looks the other way; and as antagonizing powers that share our capacity to destroy everything has become a bipartisan ideal.

As a supporter of third party and independent candidates for many decades, no candidate likely to win ever enjoys my support, but that is not as negative as it sounds.  Those of us who find ourselves perpetually outside-looking-in tend to attain a clearer vision of political realities, one free of the emotional price associated with passionate advocacy and of a hope to share in the spoils.  Thus, from the sidelines, what most matters to me and others like me is to share perspectives concerning the greatest threats to whatever remnants of liberty remain, not many as during the past four years censorship and castigation of deviation from opinions deemed acceptable has become the norm, and of course, it is important to those of us with strong civic consciousness to share information concerning how electoral processes are safeguarded in diverse parts of the world, contrasting such safeguards with trends in the ever more autocratic United States, a country whose people, if not its governments, I love profoundly.

From the fringes, the more decent among the political class, a tiny group led by aspirants to political power like Jill Stein, Cornell West and Dennis Kucinech, look on horrified, desperately fighting against the fatal entropy that has us firmly in its grasp, while the universe, disinterested, spins on its merry way.  So, don’t be surprised when this November 6, 2024, at the end of a long evening, the elections of 2020 are once more repeated, their format now become the template with which our subjugation will be made ever more clear.  Perhaps, in the future, rather than bother to deceive us, the charade will end and we’ll just assume the posture and accept the inevitable, hoping for the best, knowing that as has almost always been the case: in our own destiny we have little if any say.

So sayeth the realist (that’s what pessimists always call themselves), as from the Global South, where hope still somehow survives, an expat in exile looks North.
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© Guillermo Calvo Mahé; Manizales, 2024; all rights reserved.  Please feel free to share with appropriate attribution.

Guillermo (“Bill”) Calvo Mahé (a sometime poet) is a writer, political commentator and academic currently residing in the Republic of Colombia (although he has primarily lived in the United States of America of which he is also a citizen). Until 2017 he chaired the political science, government and international relations programs at the Universidad Autónoma de Manizales. Previously, he chaired the social studies and foreign language departments at the Eastern Military Academy in Huntington, New York. He is currently the publisher of the Inannite Review available at Substack.com; an intermittent commentator on radio and television; and, an occasional contributor to diverse periodicals and publications. He has academic degrees in political science (BA, The Citadel, The Military College of South Carolina), law (JD, St. John’s University, School of Law), international legal studies (LL.M, the Graduate Division of the New York University School of Law) and translation and linguistic studies (GCTS, the University of Florida’s Center for Latin American Studies). However, he is also fascinated by mythology, religion, physics, astronomy and mathematics, especially with matters related to quanta, cosmology and cosmogony. He can be contacted at guillermo.calvo.mahe@gmail.com and much of his writing is available through his blog at https://guillermocalvo.com/.