Tuesday, May 20, 2008

A Thousand Fathers (Assignment)



"Those soldiers out there are just boys. Boys who are trained to do a terrible unthinkable thing. If that ever occurs, the only reassurance they'll have that they're doing the proper thing, is gonna derive from their unqualified belief in the unified chain of command."

- Captain Jack Ramsey, Crimson Tide, 1995


Since March 20, 2003, 4,079 spirits have been commended to the heavens.

4,079 sacrifices...

4,079 families forever transformed...

Even those who decried the U.S. invasion of Iraq from its outset couldn't have envisioned a human toll this costly.

Or perhaps those of us who were sold on President Bush's false bill-of-goods were simply too blind, too ignorant, and too trusting to doubt the assertions of an institution, a government, that had long proven itself to be anything but above reproach.

Prior to the launch of the Persian Gulf War, the U.S. successfully persuaded Saudi Arabia's King Fahd to grant permission for American troops to be deployed on his country's soil, by using intelligence that was later proven to be faulty, concerning a build-up of Iraqi troops along the Saudi border.

Beginning on January 17, 1991, the awesome might of the newly computerized American war-machine was fully demonstrated to the public, as the U.S. drove Iraqi President Saddam Hussein's antiquated military forces out of Kuwait, and shortly thereafter had them completely rolled up 100 hours after the first coalition tank crossed into Iraq.

Featured prominently during the live news report from Baghdad that aired the night Operation Desert Storm commenced, was the actual video of the punishing air strikes.

The gun-camera footage of the surgical air strikes, combined with the blinding speed at which the American-led coalition raced across the desert, created an air of invincibility around the U.S. military.

Despite the overwhelming success of the campaign, Saddam Hussein was never removed from power, and his regime would endure for the next 12 years.

Responding to the criticisms leveled against President George H.W. Bush for electing to not depose Hussein, then-Secretary of Defense Dick Cheney said,

"I would guess if we had gone in there, I would still have forces in Baghdad today. We'd be running the country. We would not have been able to get everybody out and bring everybody home. And the final point that I think needs to be made is this question of casualties. I don't think you could have done all of that without significant additional U.S. casualties, and while everybody was tremendously impressed with the low cost of the (1991) conflict, for the 146 Americans who were killed in action and for their families, it wasn't a cheap war. And the question in my mind is, how many additional American casualties is Saddam (Hussein) worth? And the answer is, not that damned many. So, I think we got it right, both when we decided to expel him from Kuwait, but also when the President made the decision that we'd achieved our objectives and we were not going to go get bogged down in the problems of trying to take over and govern Iraq."

In the years that followed, Americans witnessed the unveiling of several different types of technologically advanced military aircraft; including, the B-2 stealth bomber and the "Predator" drone.

That the U.S. succeeded where the Soviet Union once failed in its invasion of Afghanistan after September 11th, enhanced its credibility as a military power, further bolstering people's confidence in it.

So, taking these factors into consideration, for certain members of the Bush administration to have made bold claims about the ultimate outcome of the war in Iraq, such as the invading army being hailed as liberators and showered with rose petals, didn't seem terribly preposterous at the time.

Yet, the fanciful visages they gave weren't quite convincing enough in order for the American people to endorse a full scale invasion of the country (not that the president really needed them to).

President George W. Bush, along with other high-ranking members of his cabinet, made a case for war (which has since been proven to be false) that was based primarily on intelligence indicating that Iraq had resumed developing weapons of mass destruction.

If that wasn't enough to sway public opinion, the much-hyped military doctrine known as "Shock & Awe" would make for a more compelling argument.

Once the fighting ensued, as a means of advancing their political agenda, The Pentagon authorized the embedding of journalists with various military units on the battlefield, providing the American people back home a "bird's eye view" of the war; an event that was totally unprecedented in history.

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

West Side (Assignment)

The class field-trip to The New York Public Library for the Performing Arts wasn't conducted as a class. Unlike previous outings, our Composition I professor, Dr. Smith, didn't meet with us there. Instead, he gave us the option of visiting the library at our leisure, so long as we went before the next week's class.

Despite my insistence to my fellow group members, Zina and Ana, that we visit the library last Wednesday (we had a day off from class), they argued that it would be wiser to let the rest of our classmates go ahead of us, so that our tour of the facility could be more intimate. I acquiesced, and we all agreed to go on the following Monday.

Ironically, the weather that Wednesday was sunny and pleasant, whereas the conditions outside on Monday were absolutely treacherous. It was cold, breezy, and wet.

Our arrival at the library was met with collective pangs of hunger. So, before beginning our tour we ate lunch, first.

Two containers of Chinese take-out (Singapore Mai-Fun and Vegetable Lo Mein) and a couple bags of Kosher-friendly snack foods later, we stepped inside The New York Public Library for the Performing Arts; located at Lincoln Center.

Admittedly, none of us had researched the library's website in advance, to preview its extensive music and video collections, so we were quite the happy wanderers, as we meandered through the first two floors.

The 1st floor contained an extensive VHS, DVD, and CD collection. We spent the majority of our time there browsing the video titles, as my partners and I didn't really care to explore the music shelves. Most of the copies of the films we saw there were familiar titles: Chinatown, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Inherit the Wind, etc. There were also some lesser known classics, like the original Robert Wise version of The Haunting and I Never Sang for My Father (starring my favorite actor, Gene Hackman). There were also some documentary films like End of the Century: The Story of The Ramones and Half Past Autumn: The Life and Works of Gordon Parks.

The vast collection of film and drama books on the 2nd floor was arguably the most enthralling.

As detailed in her blog, I spent a good 10 minutes or so giving Ana a crash-course on the history of James Bond, via author Steven Jay Rubin's James Bond: The Complete Movie Encyclopedia. In addition, I browsed titles about actors Marlon Brando and Sean Connery, director Stanley Kubrick, and the history of comic book superheroes.

Many of the books I read were heavy as I held them in my arms while standing in-between the shelves, and my bee-line earlier to the movie-book shelves made me oblivious to the fact that there were tables just beyond them. So I sat down for a moment to restore the circulation in my legs before continuing on to the 3rd floor.

Apparently I wasn't the only one feeling fatigued, as Ana expressed her desire to return to the first floor to wait for Zina and me, while the two of us browsed the sound collection on the 3rd floor. Personally, I think the security checkpoint outside the archive room didn't sit too well with her.

To our dismay, one of the librarians on the floor informed Zina and me that the stacks there were closed and non-circulating, so we left shortly after our arrival. I did, however, take notice of the fact that there were some selections of theatre performances that had aired on WNET. Coincidentally, while on my way home later that afternoon, I bumped into my best friend's wife at our local supermarket, and shared the details of my visit to the Performing Arts library with her. A performance artist herself, she revealed that a recording of a Classical Theatre of Harlem production of Melvin Van Peebles' Ain't Supposed to Die a Natural Death (which she was cast-member of) is stored on the library's 3rd floor.

While it wasn't nearly as aesthetically pleasing as AMNH and NYPL, the Performing Arts library proved itself to be no less enjoyable. My comrades and I were quite taken by the seemingly limitless wealth of information pertaining to movies that it contained. Much to its credit, unlike both AMNH and NYPL, the greater accessibility of the materials housed there made for a truly engaging experience.

Friday, May 9, 2008

Tunnel's End (General Discussion)

I'm not going to pull any punches.

I'm going to be perfectly blunt.

Sometimes I feel so bad inside, I feel like I want to die.

That is not to say that I actually want to die, but I want to convey certain sentiments of mine.

One is exhaustion. Sleeping for five hours a night, on average, is a fairly common occurrence for a college student. Yet, I can't help but to wonder if I've been driving myself past my limits in order to achieve the "A" grades I've earned.

A couple of months ago, I worked so late into the night that once I was finished, I slept for only thirty minutes before getting up again to go to class.

I told a friend recently that "I'll sleep when I die."

Now I know why I like 24 so much: I identify with Jack Bauer.

I feel like a man on a mission; who can't allow himself to rest until the mission is complete.

My impetus is the passion I have for the work that I do. The work I do for school doesn't feel much like work to me. It has purpose. It has meaning.

If there's one thing I know for certain it's that nothing I've given of myself has been wasted.

I know what it feels like to do work that has no value or worth, it's loathsome. Taking courses this semester has been the total opposite of that.

That's not to say I don't feel any pain; I most certainly do.

College is both physically and psychologically demanding.

Some days when I return home, I go into my bedroom and free-fall onto a mattress that easily could be six feet deep.

I press my body against its surface, desperately trying to massage my every sore muscle. I can hear Sergeant Barnes' voice in my head, telling me to "take the pain."

But I don't always feel pain. Sometimes I feel numb.

Sometimes my brain feels like a blown fuse that's been overloaded. I feel like I can't think.

Actually, I don't care to think.

And I don't care to move, either.

Too much information. Too little REM.

I'm a wet-noodle; cooked and strained.

Not enough time available for me to round myself back into shape.

And maybe not enough time to fulfill my vision.

I'm 26. I can't help but to wonder if my window of opportunity is narrowing.

I don't want to keep up with the Joneses. I know I can't, and it's useless for me to try.

I can only try to work at a comfortable pace, but sometimes convenience takes priority over comfort.

Convenience, for me, is determined by necessity.

I have a lot of necessities. Just call me Baloo.

Full autonomy...a place to call my own...those are necessities.

That's why I'm still in the game.

The fulfillment of my earthly goals can only be achieved through hard work and sacrifice.

I don't ignore the pain. I absorb it.

I convert it into resolve. It makes me stronger.

I've waded through the darkness long enough to know how to feel my way towards the light.

Sunday, May 4, 2008

Love Song: I and Thou

Love Song: I and Thou
by Alan Dugan

Nothing is plumb, level or square:
the studs are bowed, the joists
are shaky by nature, no piece fits
any other piece without a gap
or pinch, and bent nails
dance all over the surfacing
like maggots. By Christ
I am no carpenter. I built
the roof for myself, the walls
for myself, the floors
for myself, and got
hung up in it myself. I
danced with a purple thumb
at this house-warming, drunk
with my prime whiskey: rage.
Oh I spat rage's nails
into the frame-up of my work:
It held. It settled plumb.
level, solid, square and true
for that one great moment. Then
it screamed and went on through,
skewing as wrong the other way.
God damned it. This is hell,
but I planned it I sawed it
I nailed it and I
will live in it until it kills me.
I can nail my left palm
to the left-hand cross-piece but
I can't do everything myself.
I need a hand to nail the right,
a help, a love, a you, a wife.

Deja Vu (Assignment)




The circumstances under which Sean Bell's (b. May 18, 1983 - d. November 25, 2006) life was needlessly taken came as no surprise to many.

The many that I speak of are the countless persons of color who have been, and continue to be, negatively impacted by a criminal justice system that is disproportionate when being brought to bear against them.

Sean Bell wasn't the first victim, and he certainly won't be the last. His death is but one in a long line of deaths, of both men and women, that resulted directly from some type of police action.

What's especially infuriating is the fact that there has yet to be a judge or jury that is willing to hold a single officer accountable, by sentencing one of them to prison, for the shattered lives that such actions have created in their wake.

I won't attempt to argue the merits of the prosecution's case against the police officers that were tried, and subsequently acquitted, for killing him.

Instead, I'll provide you with a narrative that clearly establishes a pattern of how innocent people's lives are snuffed-out by the police department, because of the routine application of deadly force against "minorities" living in America's ghettos, particularly those of New York City.


Timothy Stansbury (b. November 16, 1984 - d. January 24, 2004)

A 19 year-old Brooklyn youth, whose only crime was passing through the doorway of a Bed-Stuy housing project rooftop that, unbeknownst to him, was being patrolled by an NYPD officer who had his gun drawn. His purpose for being on that rooftop: To cross over to an adjoining building, where a party was being held. According to the officer, Richard S. Neri Jr., the sudden appearance of Stansbury as he opened the door caused him to fire his pistol. The round that was fired pierced Stansbury's chest, killing him instantly. Neri was brought before a grand-jury, but they opted to not indict him on charges of criminally-negligent homicide; ruling that Stansbury's death was accidental.

Alberta Spruill (b. 1946 - d. May 16,2003)

After receiving an erroneous tip from an informant, the NYPD's Emergency Services Unit (ESU) launched an early morning, no-knock search warrant, raid on a Harlem apartment that was alleged to have contained a closely guarded cache of guns and drugs. Using a concussion grenade during the breach, they stormed into the smoke filled apartment and arrested its sole occupant: 57 year-old city employee, Alberta Spruill. About to leave for work that day, the terrified Spruill was placed under arrest. Shortly afterward, a police captain on the scene realized that the layout of her apartment didn't match the description provided by their informant, and she was subsequently released. Although she stated upon her arrest that she suffered from a heart-condition, Spruill declined medical attention when it had been offered to her. Despite her earlier refusal, an ambulance was summoned. Tragically, while en-route to the hospital, she went into cardiac arrest and died later that morning. The city medical examiner ruled her death to be a homicide; the result stemming from her "stress and fear" during the raid. Before long, Police Commissioner Raymond Kelly ordered several personnel changes within the department: the transfer of the chief ESU commander, the reassignment of the ESU lieutenant who supervised the raid, and the transfer of the commander of the precinct, the 25th, that housed the ESU officers who executed the operation.

Ousmane Zongo (b. 1968 - d. May 22, 2003)

Less than a week after the death of Alberta Spruill, Ousmane Zongo, a West African man who came to the U.S. looking for work so he could provide for the wife, mother, and two young children that he left behind in Burkina Faso, was gunned down during a police raid on a Chelsea warehouse where a CD/DVD piracy ring had been operating. Coincidentally, Zongo worked out of that same warehouse as a repairman of the African art and furniture that were sold there; he didn't know of the piracy ring. The police executed their search warrant on two separate storage rooms of the warehouse, one on the third floor and another on the sixth; Zongo occupied the third. A lone plainclothes officer, Brian Conroy, had been guarding a room full of counterfeit discs on the third floor when he encountered Zongo. According to him, though he was disguised as a postal worker, the badge hanging from around his neck identifying him as a police officer was clearly visible, but a chase ensued, nevertheless. 50 yards and one dead-end later, Zongo allegedly tried to wrest Conroy's gun away from him. Conroy went on to state that he felt Zongo's actions left him with little recourse, but to shoot him. Zongo, who didn't speak English, was fatally shot four times in both his abdomen and chest. The veracity of Conroy's claims couldn't be independently verified, as there were neither witnesses to the shooting, nor surveillance cameras inside of the warehouse. He was charged with reckless-manslaughter, but the jury in his case couldn't reach a verdict, and declared a mistrial. He stood before the court a second time, but in that trial the verdict came down from the bench. The presiding judge in that case found Conroy guilty, and sentenced him to five-years probation and 500 hours worth of community service, but no prison. As a result of the guilty verdict, Conroy was dismissed from the NYPD.

Patrick Dorismond (b. 1974 - d. March 16, 2000)

During a botched buy and bust operation, Patrick Dorismond, security guard and father of two young girls, was shot to death by an undercover NYPD detective while standing outside of a lounge. Two other detectives who were nearby serving as backup did not witness the shooting, and thus were uncertain as to whether or not the detective in question, Anthony Vasquez, had fired his gun deliberately or accidentally. All three detectives had made several arrests in the area, a suspected Bloods gang hangout, that evening. They were preparing to leave when Vasquez spotted Dorismond and a companion coming out of the Wakamba Cocktail Lounge. The detective approached him, and asked where he could go to purchase marijuana. Angered by Vasquez's insinuation, Dorismond told him to keep moving. A heated exchange of words followed before the two men engaged in a scuffle that would end with Dorismond shot dead. Immediately after the shooting, then Mayor Rudolph Giulliani, had asked for the media to, "allow the facts to be analyzed and investigated without people trying to let their biases, their prejudices, their emotions, their stereotypes dictate the results." In contradictory fashion, however, Mayor Giullani condemned Dorismond for his behavior prior to being killed. He authorized then city Police Commissioner Howard Safir to release Dorismond's sealed juvenile record; stating that he was no "altar boy." Neither Mayor Giulliani nor Commissioner Safir made any mention, however, of the fact that Detective Vasquez had, as described in a New York Times article, "in 1997 pulled a gun in a bar fight, and before that he shot a neighbor's stray Rottweiler." That July a grand-jury hearing was held, and Detective Vasquez escaped an indictment for the fatal shooting, as the circumstances involving Dorismond's death were deemed accidental.

Amadou Diallo (b. September 2, 1975 - d. Feburary 4, 1999)

Before Sean Bell was felled by a 50 round hail of gunfire, Amadou Diallo, a Guinea native who had lived in the U.S. for more than two years, was cut down by NYPD officers from inside the vestibule of his Bronx apartment building. What was particularly striking about the manner in which Diallo had died was the fact that after taking out his wallet, which the officers responsible for his death mistakenly believed to be a gun, in an ill-fated attempt to identify himself, he was shot 19 times; 41 rounds having been fired, in total. The four officers who killed Diallo, Kenneth Boss, Sean Carroll, Edward McMellon and Richard Murphy, were assigned to the city's Street Crimes Unit. They were there to make arrests that night as a means of turning up information that would, potentially, lead them to a serial rapist they had been searching for. The officers approached Diallo, who had just returned home from a local eatery, and questioned him from his apartment building's vestibule. The officers hadn't radioed in prior to their engagement of Diallo, but it was later revealed that they believed he bore a resemblance to the rapist they were hunting after. The four officers were charged with second-degree manslaughter, and tried in an Albany courtroom, as a change-of-venue request had been granted in their case; due to concerns regarding the potential lack of impartiality by a local Bronx jury. All four men were acquitted of the charges against them.


I want to make one thing clear, this is not a question of racism, and this is not about Black vs. White; as a number of the officers involved in the incidents mentioned were "minorities", themselves. This is a mere reflection of the disparity between the privileges enjoyed, and the liberties taken, by the men and women dressed in blue, and the civil-rights of John-Q Public.

The answer to the question of whether or not the circumstances that led to the deaths of these individuals were accidental, unintended, or otherwise, is purely subjective. Furthermore, no one in their right mind would dare to question the severity of the danger that these truly brave men and women face, each and every single day, on the streets.

What can be argued (and with little difficulty, at that) is the fact that the divide between police departments and the local communities whose security they are charged with providing, particularly the citizens who live in impoverished urban centres, has jeopardized people's lives.

Be it "the thin blue line" or "the blue wall of silence", this barrier has yet to be diminished in any capacity, and until these departments and their union representatives come to heed the call for that gap to be bridged, innocent people will unjustly continue to die.

The neighborhoods of Harlem, Brooklyn, the Bronx, and Jamaica aren't quite the hotbeds of violence that we see on television during nightly news reports about the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Yet, the militaristic tactics employed by the NYPD, LAPD, and other police departments nationwide, in high-crime rate communities, are virtually identical to those of our armed forces fighting overseas.

Every Iraqi isn't considered to be hostile, nor should every Black or Latino. Unfortunately, like some of those Iraqi civilians, there are a number of Blacks and Latinos who live in slums and ghettos; where the level of crime is, typically, greater. Still, that hardly justifies every resident of such communities to fall under police suspicion, but this is the recurring issue.

Something must be done to improve the police department's community relations, and more non-lethal measures should be explored.

Otherwise, more Sean Bells will be laid to rest, and their deaths, like those that preceded them, will be meaningless.