Hispanic = American
Hispanic is a term often used to designate race. But it is a race that does not exist except in political terms where it refers to people who speak, or whose forebears once spoke, Spanish or an indigenous language; whose name may sound like it is of Spanish or indegenous origin; who may – or may not– speak Spanish, or be brown skinned.
Hispanic is best understood as an equivalent of ‘American’, except that there is no modern nation of Hispania.* Neither Hispanic or American name any particular race.
There is no Hispanic race and there is no American race. Both refer to diverse but culturally inter-connected peoples. Regrettably, in the USA Hispanic has sometimes been used prejudicially, though that concept is now outmoded. Most everywhere, to be bilingual in English and Spanish is becoming a distinct asset.
There is no rational reason, therefore, to use Hispanic as a meaningful term, because the entire Western Hemisphere is essentially American, and is also Hispanic in the sense of one people, scattered over many nations, sharing the same indigenous, Polynesian, Asian, European, and African heritage, and generally, the same values.
We share the same three modern languages: English, Spanish, and Portuguese. All three are linguistic cousins, so that one is an introduction to the rest, and even to other Indo European languages .**
Be ‘Woke’ to being American in the real world. Be Woke to America in its true and inclusive sense.
*The term Hispanic includes people of Spain (Hispania); Once, like England, France, and Portugal, Spain was a great colonial power; the Spanish ruled most of the New World– the Americas- first from Lima, Peru, and later from Mexico. Now the three colonial languages, English, Spanish, and Portuguese/Brazilian, are the modern languages of America.
** English and Spanish are beautiful bastard languages inseminated and enriched by centuries of invasions. (See The Mother Tongue, by Lancelot Hogben; he’s British, with that name, derived from both French and English. see: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lancelot_Hogben Hogben suggests that the English, were ruled by invaders for so many centuries at a time, that English became a universal key to all IndoEuropean languages. Likewise, Spanish was enriched by many invasive languages, including Arabic, and therefore is also key to Indo-Eropean languages. In fact, today the combination of English, Spanish and Portuguese permit easy communication with most of the Western World; 1.750 Million of the world’s people speak one these three languages. (Mandarin claims 1.2 billion speakers. ) https://www.listsworld.com/top-10-languages-most-spoken-worldwide/
Hispanic
Hispanic is a term used to designate race. But it is a race that does not exist, except in politics; in governmental registers it refers to people who speak, or whose forebears once spoke, Spanish; or whose name may sound like it is of Spanish origin; people, who may – or may not– speak Spanish, or be brown skinned. I assert that Hispanic is better considered the equivalent of ‘American’, except that there no Nation of Hispania.*
There is no Hispanic race and there is no American race. Both are a diverse but culturally connected peoples, but not a race. America, however, is also a nation. Since the term Hispanic refers not to a nation, but to a diverse linguistic and ethinc group of people, it is subect to appearing weak and inferior, subject to derision. Regrettably, that has been the unconscious prejudicial view in the USA. In general, though, that view is now outmoded. Most everywhere, to be bilingual in English and Spanish is becoming a coveted asset.
There is no rational reason in the USA, to continue to use the pejorative and separatist term Hispanic, because the entire Western Hemisphere is essentially one people, scattered over many nations. We share the same indigenous, Polynesian, Asian, European, and African ethnicities.
We share the same three modern languages: English, Spanish, and Portuguese; all are linguistic cousins, so that one is an introduction to the rest, and to other Indo European languages as well.**
*The term Hispanic includes people of Spain, (Hispania, or España). Spain was once, like England, France, and Portugal, a great colonial power; the Spanish ruled most of the New World– the Americas.
** Moreover English and Spanish are beautiful bastard languages enriched by centuries of invasion. (See The Mother Tongue, by Lancelot Hogben; (British, what else!?)
- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lancelot_Hogben He suggests that the English were linguisitcally insemintated for so many centuries at a time, that English became a universal key to all IndoEuropean languages. Likewise, Spanish was enriched by many invasive languages, including Arabic, and therefore is also a key universal lanbguage. In fact, today the combination of English, Spanish and Portuguese permit easy communication (without an i phone!) to most of the Western World; 1.750 Million of the world’s people speak one of these three languages. (Mandarin claims 1.2 billion speakers. ) https://www.listsworld.com/top-10-languages-most-spoken-worldwide/
Illegal Criminal Child Aliens
The subjects are jailed minor boys and girls awaiting deportation, hearing or trial. The facility where they are kept is among the best, both physically and operationally. It is older but well maintained, with a new large gymnasium, an astro-turf sports field and an extensive library. There are many opportunities provided by volunteer groups, and various departments from a nearby College…In addition, the art department promotes inmate art works; the results are visible inside and outside: sculptures, mosaics, and murals, created by juvenile inmates.
The facility is uncrowded; local inmates are housed separately from the illegal alien children — all, by definition are under age 18– The subjects of these brief interview are confined to a secure facility because they have a violent or criminal past, or both. They speak, read and understand their primary language fairly well but their ability in English is very limited. I was able to interview them only briefly. One never knows, in such circumstances, what is exaggeration or lies, but I have been doing such interviews for a number of years, and in time one becomes more able to evaluate them. These, of course, were children; yet they were far more frank, open and expressive than many adults. I rarely felt ‘gamed’.
Considering the alleged situation in their country of origin, and the unique opportunities available in the facility, one might think they would be happy, or at least feel fortunate. But they are not, despite nourishing food, shelter, medical care, training in English, access to books and both video and classroom teaching. Why unhappy?
First, they are children, and moreover, teen agers, who by some law of nature are often unhappy and unhinged. Second, they are not free where they are, even if not in danger. As Children their views are short sighted and self focused; as humans they value freedom. It should not be surprising that they don’t like the strange food; but they hate worse the confinement. They want out; even if they go back to a situation that was dangerous or intolerable, it would be a place where they might Try Again to return. Their individual stories are moving. Without going into details, here are very cryptic outlines of a few.
Male Age 16, El Salvador Crossed on foot TX in 2014 at age 14; coyote was paid $7k by parents. However, after crossing had no further assistance. Lived on street, Las Vegas; arrested for theft. Sleepless, wants sleep med and pain med for back problem. We spoke at some length about the dangers of using addictive medications for sleep or chronic pain, both best treated by being active physically! I doubt he wanted to hear such stuff, though; he wasn’t impressed.
Male Age 17, Honduras Coyotewas paid $ 10k by family, 5k deposit, 5k due on arrival. Arrived age 14. Reached a relative in Las Vegas but later arrested after caught in robbery. Says he may be sent back, but will return, and is taking classes in English. The food is terrible in the USA, but the country is great!
Male age 17, El Salvador Crossed the border at San Diego formally asking for asylum in the way he was instructed by an organization in Mexico. Sent to Oregon, placed in a shelter; but fell in with folk who lived on the street. Was arrested for theft and assault. Allowed that the request for asylum was not really valid; it was just a door that he opened. If he is sent back he will come again, this time without a claim asylum… will cross some way, probably on foot. ‘ Better illegal here than legal there.’
Male Age 16, Honduras Dad paid for coyote, but when he got here dad sent word: ;Good Luck, you are on your own’. Lived on the street. Arrested for assault. Expects release soon, wants to go back to Honduras because he has family there who are not without economic advantages. I asked: drug business? Yes. ‘Better rich there than poor and illegal here’.
Male Age, Mexico Was a ‘mule’ for marijuana smuggling; entered into Arizona on foot, but was immediately caught. Sent to Phoenix. Expects he will be deported. However, in Sonora, his home, he doubts he will be able to avoid going back to being a mule. It’s a job offer he can’t refuse!
Female Age 14, Mexico Coyote crossed her to AZ in a car trunk. Placed on bus to Las Vegas. Arrested prostitution and theft. Is awaiting hearing, pending transfer motion. On zoloft and resperidol not sure what it is or why. C/O tooth problem. Whether released or sent back home thinks she will return one way or another, this time with some English. She understands she has no skills and no advantages except that she is attractive, with quite a few good years ahead for profiting from her looks. I expressed surprise that she had that plan in place at her age, but she looked at me sideways and commented that she lives in the real world; where people have to she deal not with ideas but with facts; besides, ‘I have a good contact in Vegas.’
Male age 17, Honduras Caught while crossing near Houston; has family somewhere in US but they did not respond to attempts to locate them. Seems a bright kid, communicative, but didn’t know who his namesake, Roosevelt, was. I told him briefly about two presidents by that name. both, and he plans to look them up in the library.
Male Age 16, Honduras Crossed on foot to reach his uncle here. But the uncle was unable to take him in. Lived on street; theft, prostitution, drug abuse. Arrested states he was ‘beat up’ and remanded to Foster care. Has HIV, probable source uncle? Hep C?He doesn’t know. On medication now. I asked him about his unusual first name. He said it was from a famous poet; he knew nothing else, but says he likes poetry. I suggested he look up two poems that may have something to do with his last name. The first is by Oscar Wilde:
Le Jardin
The lily’s withered chalice falls
Around its rod of dusty gold,
And from the beech-trees on the wold
The last wood-pigeon coos and calls.
The gaudy leonine sunflower
Hangs black and barren on its stalk,
And down the windy garden walk
The dead leaves scatter, – hour by hour.
Pale privet-petals white as milk
Are blown into a snowy mass:
The roses lie upon the grass
Like little shreds of crimson silk.
The other poem is by Brazilian Eduardo Alves da Costa, though some claim it is plagarized. It is fairly easy to understand for Spanish speakers: Essentially: The first night they robbed a flower from our garden. We said nothing. The second night they openly trampled the rest of our flowers. We said nothing. Until the weakest among them entered our house by night and stole our light; and knowing of our fear, ripped our voice from our throats; then we could say nothing.
Jardim
Na primeira noite eles se aproximam
e roubam uma flor
do nosso jardim.
E não dizemos nada.
Na segunda noite, já não se escondem:
pisam as flores,
matam nosso cão,
e não dizemos nada.
Até que um dia,
o mais frágil deles
entra sozinho e nossa casa,
rouba-nos a luz e,
conhecendo nosso medo,
arranca-nos a voz da garganta.
E já não podemos dizer nada.
Comment: These histories pose a problem: they put a face on illegal immigrants even though in this case they are criminals. The last three cases in particular suggest that it is risky to look at them, or to hear them, too closely. The same is often true of all criminals, and illegal immigrants. While our country cannot open our borders to billions of people from all over the world, we share a hemisphere with many other Americans, North and South; we share a common cultural and ethnic past with people on our borders. Furthermore those first illegal immigrants who crossed the Atlantic in wooden sailing ships are kin to those who pay coyotes or cross nations and deserts to reach the this land.
In fact, as always, the USA needs immigrants. If all illegal aliens were to disappear instantly, there would be an economic and social crisis here; in gardening, building, hotel maintenance, restaurant work, and farming, to say the least… and arguably, even in child bearing! We North Americans are too often unwilling to raise enough children to replace ourselves. That is too great a sacrifice! Houses, cars, travel, education, health care, and entertainment are expensive priorities, and it costs several hundred thousand dollars and tens of thousands of hours to produce and to raise a child conscientiously.
A child, as often claimed, is a hostage to fate: a risk. But without them there is only past. Frankly, it seems possible that within 20 years we will offer to pay people to immigrate. To relate these stories is not meant to glorify illegal immigrant children; yet, their desperation and decisive, high risk attempt to change their lifves is the recurring story of the USA. Unfortunately, many of these illegal children come from criminal and drug dealing environments, or worse; they bring that with them. Some are MS13 members.
Adults who are illegal immigrants today are people whose journeys are even more hazardous than that of most child criminals, yet also reveal an intense desire to find a better life in the US. As a consequence they create a better North America, and in a wider sense, better Americas.
My son Fred, a master carpenter, once again this April, drove from South Dakota to Baja California pulling a trailer full of equipment. He joined a group of Methodists to build small homes. In this case that is not simply a charitable act; the recipients of homes are limited to people who 1) work 2) have their own half hectare of property, where they live in very marginal conditions, and 3) have children who regularly attend school. I go to build or to work as a translator for Lighting for Literature, providing small solar lighting units in the homes of the same kind of families, so schoolchidren have light to study in the evenings.
The clear majority of such familes have a connection with the USA; it is generally with a close relative, usually one who has, during most of a lifetime, regularly sent money to their relatives to make their present and future more promising. That sort of story of immigrants and cross culture exchange is as old as time. It is the stuff of progress, and of civilization.
DIABETES EN COLONET, BAJA CA
Este informe es resultado de un viaje a Colonet, Baja California, en Abril de 2017. El propósito fue diagnosticar diabetes y promover o formar grupos de los afectados para ayudarse mutuamente a entender y controlar su enfermedad.
La diabetes es una enfermedad común, con complicaciones graves, todas causadas por altos niveles del azúcar (glucosa) de la sangre. Todas. Al principio– cuando mejor se puede controlar– es una enfermedad oculta.… No se siente nada mientras el azúcar – la glucosa- destruye la circulación más delicada del cuerpo: en los ojos, los riñones, los pies, el corazón y el cerebro.
Controlar la glucosa es controlar la enfermedad; afortunadamente es fácil y eficaz. El control está totalmente en las manos del que tiene diabetes. Se necesita:
1) un medidor de glucosa personal para tomar o medir su nivel de glucosa (azúcar) en la sangre.
2) aprender cómo la comida afecta la glucosa de su sangre. Cada persona reaqcciona un poco diferente
3) compartir su experiencia con otros con diabetes para informarse y ayudarse mutuamente.
Medidor de Glucosa: no es muy caro y dura muchos años. Hay que aprender a tomar el nivel, pero no es difícil. Siempre hay que anotar:
Fecha / Hora / antes comer/ en 2 horas/.comentarios ( Helado– 2 litros; JA JA)
| fechah/m/a | hor
24 h |
antes
come |
En dos horas; con comentario/ comida/ actividad/enfermedad |
Parece un poco enredado; pero con estos datos va a tener a mano todo lo necesario para el control de su diabetes. Al principio hay que medir la glucosa frecuentemente, por lo menos antes y 2 horas después del desayuno, el almuerzo y la cena; hay que anotar lo que comió y los niveles de glucosa; a lo largo basta con una vez a la semana 2 horas después de una de las comidas princpales, y en cualquier momento cuando tiene curiosidad de haber comido algo inusual o se siente enfermo o tiene sensación o susto de glucosa anormal…No hay nunca que suponer, hay que medir. Hay que saber.
DIAGNOSTICAR DIABETES
La glucosa es el azúcar en la sangre; su nivel se puede, y se lo debe medir uno mismo.
En ayunas significa no comer nada por 8 horas. Se puede tomar agua
Glucosa en ayunas: Se diagnostica diabetes con:
Nivel de Glucosa en ayunas mas de ≥ 126 mg/dL
Glucosa dos horas después de comer o a cualquier hora del día
Se diagnostica diabetes cuando la glucosa es mas de ≥ 200 mg/dL
La pre-diabetes (glucosa es mayor de lo normal pero no tanto para que sea diabetes; Significa que está en peligro de tener diabetes en el futuro.)
Se diagnostica con la Glucosa en ayunas entre 100 – 125 mg/dL o con la Glucosa a las 2 horas de comer entre 140 mg /dl –199 mg/dL
Menores: Todos los niveles son los mismos a cualquier edad; especialmente merecen medir cuando hayan antecedentes de diabetes entre familiares.
En general los síntomas de diabetes incluyen mucha sed siempre; orinar frecuentemente, de día y/o de noche; antecedentes de familiares con diabetes son comunes en las personas con diabetes.
Conversiones entre mg/dL y mmol/dL ( se usan diferentes cifras en varios paises)
LAS MEDICINAS PARA DIABETES son muchas. Pero son pocas que son eficaces, complicaciones serias, y a la vez, acesibles:
INSULINA. Sabemos que la falta de insulina es la causa de la diabetes. Pero tanto es el susto que tenemos de las agujas que preferimos envenenarnos con tabletas. (!) Y hay muchas píldoras, cada vez mas, y mas caras. La Diabetes es progresiva, y a lo largo es muy probable que todos enfrenten las agujas. Hoy son cortas, delgadísimas como un pelo, y casi no se sienten. Así que a nadie le debe dar susto. La Insulina sigue siendo la medicina principal. Se puede conseguir en formas de largo plazo e inyectarse una o dos veces al día.
METAFORMINA. Es la mejor de las tabletas. No es cara, y tiene poquísimas consecuencias graves en comparación con las demás tabletas. A veces cuando se usa por primera vez causa irritación intestinal, pero menos cuando se usa con comida; y en poco tiempo se adapta, se mejora.
Cómo la comida afecta la glucosa. El azúcar es un carbohidrato que se convierte en glucosa en la sangre. El cuerpo necesita glucosa para todas sus actividades, pero, como sabemos, en exceso es dañina. Otros carbohidratos, grasa y proteína, también se pueden convertir en glucosa…. pero algunos carbohidratos son muy rápidos, lo que no conviene; lento es mejor.
rápidos: los carbohidratos refinados (blancos, sin semilla) azúcar, arroz blanco, harina blanca, papas, bebidas soda , dulces, y fructosa refinada ( Se usa fructosa refinada en muchas comidas rápidas o prefabricadas), frutas dulces como la banana, manzana, durazno, naranja.
lentos: carne , pescado, semillas y nueces,casi todos los vegetales.
Compartir regularmente con otras personas que tienen diabetes es muy conveniente para encontrar y conversar de la mejor manera de conseguir medicinas, atención profesional, equipamiento. Es importante que alguna persona en el grupo tenga conexión internet para conseguir informes, comprar medicinas, medidores de glucosa etc. Entre otras cosas pueden evaluar mejor los avisos y las noticias de nuevos tratamientos para diabetes; charlatanes hay muchos. Los niveles de glucosa se pueden compartir entre el groupo para encontrar la mejor manera de obtener mejores resultados. Siempre se aprende algo. Por ejemplo, estas son las ofertas de Amazon en USA:
-
- Fichas One Touch Ultrakit, 50 por 22 Dólares ($US). $.44 cada ficha.
- Fichas genéricas ( igualitos pero a la mitad de costo) en Walmart
- La One Touch Ultrakit medidor en Amazon cuesta 19.50 $US.
Tome control de su diabetes ahora, cuando se pueden prevenir las consecuencias mayores; porque los médicos y los cirujanos no podrán ayudarle mucho, hasta que le corten sus piernas o le hagan un transplante de riñón—¡Esas barbaridades solo Usted las puede evitar!
Historia: Hay al menos dos tipos de diabetes que descubrieron hace más de 100 años.
El tipo más común es cuando el cuerpo puede producir insulina; más no la
suficiente para las necesidades del cuerpo… especialmente cuando la
dieta incluye carbohidratos como pan, papa, arroz, azúcar y Ojo: bebidas!
El medidor de glucosa fue inventado en 1970, pero era caro ($495),
grande, con muchas fallas, y solamente acesible a los profesionales.
Mas en aproximadamente 1972 un ingeniero casi cuarentón, Richard Bernstein, tenía diabetes avanzada; pero con un medidor pudo controlar su enfermedad con un éxito increíble. Las complicaciones relacionados con su diabetes empezaron a mejorar. Hizo invesgaciones de estudiantes universitarions con diabetes… con los mismos resultados.
Mas como era ingeniero sus investigaciones no fueron recibidos por los médicos.
Se hizo médico! Todavía ejerce, y tiene más de 80 años de edad con su diabetes totalmente controlada. Da teleconferencias en el Internet todas las semanas. Su libro,
The Diabetes Solution es un clásico. Vale leerlo, pero desafortunadamente no se encuentra en español .
La idea principal de Bernstein, se ha creado atravez del tiempo; indica que todas las complicaciones del diabetes se controlan, se evitan, y/o se mejoran solamente controlando el azucar. Bernstein recomienda:
- alcanzar un HbA1C de entre 4.6 a 6: con la glucosa promedio entre 85 a 126.
- ejercicio regularmente, diario, usando el pulso como indicador. Nosotros mismos tenemos un medidior de actividad y salud del corazon: el pulso.
- y muy de a poco alcanzar con ejercicio un pulso maximo para su edad:
Por ejemplo:
edad 50 nivel de ejercicio 75%= pulso meta 127; 93-144/ minuto
edad 75, nivel de ejercicio 75% = pulso meta 108 ; pulso 79-123 / minuto.
edad 100 nivel de ejercicio 75% = pulso meta 90; 66-102/ minuto
Ojo: Siempre hay que advanzar muy lentamente, durante muchos meses, muy de a poco, y parar si hayan problemas de cualquier indole. La verdadera meta es vivir, y vivir bien, y vivir largo..
A Return to Panama After 62 Years
.
Panamà as we pronounce it would be Pànama… a metaphoric inversion for history expressed by the different accents. I first went there as an intern in 1954-55, not yet age 22, interested- vaguely- in tropical medicine but more concretely in adventure. Among my 8 colleagues, half were preparing for missionary work, one for public health, one for psychiatry. Before 1903, Panama was an isolated part of Colombia, an oligarchy run by four or five families. It was inaccessible by land across the Darien. The current sometimes road, actually highway 5, or the Pan American Highway, is still often impassable.
A canal had long been considered to facilitate travel between the Atlantic and Pacific, which required a long sea voyage around Cape Horn or difficult overland Balboa took across the isthmus of Panama. A French venture acquired permission to build the canal under the direction of Ferdinand deLesseps ( Suez Canal, desert, flat, no locks). He wanted to cut a similar sea level swatch across Panama. But 40,000 French (and French colonials) died there due to that miscalculation, graft, malaria, yellow fever, poor nutrition and dysentery; it was abandoned. But in 1903 the US felt it could big crazy things. Teddy Roosevelt tried to arrange a canal treaty with Colombia and failed. But because of the isolation of the isthmus from Colombia the locals felt like colonists, and resented their voiceless circumstances and distant and neglectful rulers, like the rebellious British Colonies in North America. They found common cause with Teddy Roosevelt who wanted a canal, and revolted, assisted by U S gunboat diplomacy.
The US Canal Zone was about 10 miles across and some 50 miles long. Panama is Water, and water is the Power that could operate the locks of a canal. A dam was required to store that water, and also control the swampland created by the ever flooding Chagas River; and thereby to control mosquito borne diseases. Incredibly the huge project was completed by 1914! The original locks still operate unaltered, today. Overall, The US Army Corps of Engineers and Black Caribbean laborers really did the heavy lifting: John F. Wallace conceived the engineering of the canal but became a victim of the terrain, disease, and the political bureaucracy; he survived there for less than one year. John Stevens, a famous civil engineer, took seriously the yellow fever/malaria problem. The largest earthen dam ever built controlled the Chagas River, and drained the swamps; which controlled the mosquitoes, malaria and Yellow Fever, and provided the gravity flow water power to operate the canal locks. Col. George Washington Goethels was finally given unrestrained authority, and was able to complete the job over the next 7 years. William C Gorgas, a U S Army physician who understood the relation of malaria to mosquitoes, convinced the Army to drain the swamps, making it possible from a medical standpoint to build the canal. A second canal was started but abandoned because of WWII; now it has been completed, arguably by China, who also had studied the sea level alternative as across Nicaragua but abandoned it.
In 1954 the canal was still operated by the US civil Service. There was segregation of several sorts. First, upper level administrators and U S military had the option to live on base, with typical military housing and commissary privileges with access to US goods and food. Most privileged long term US citizen employees of the Canal Company lived in bungalows. Second, short term US citizen employees like MD interns, lived in curious multi family wooden apartment buildings, each apartment located upstairs from a parking area below. The apartment buildings were oriented with long sides facing the sea breezes. They were two story wooden structures with space for parking underneath, and 12 ft high ceilings. There were no internal doors; the kitchen, dining and bedroom were in one line so that that the sea breeze, could flow through open screens placed above 8 ft. Each apartment had a bathroom off center and a heat closet to keep clothing dry. Construction was so light that people learned to speak quietly, even quarrel in harsh whispers. Sexual revelry was often audible, though as invisible as the morning alarm clock, flushing of toilets.
The third level of segregation was provided to ‘local raters’ whose situation devolved from the building of the canal. The US Army had recruited English speaking workers among blacks of the Caribbean. Communication was more practical in English, and the work performance was superior to indigenous workers. ( Only the Spanish had managed to induce los indios to work through a brutal choice made clear in a statue at a Mission in Baja CA: a priest holds a bible in one hand and a skull in the other. Believe or die. Work now to live, and die for the glory of God and the Catholic Queen. But the Caribbean blacks were different, perhaps in part because, though paid less than US citizens, and they had significant inducements: Local raters’ were provided decent liveable wages, living quarters, medical care, and allowed to buy US imported goods at a reduced rate from a local rate commissary. In the long run, however local raters felt abandoned after September 7, 1977, when President Jimmy Carter gave the Canal to Panama; a long standing local resentment of blacks with special privilege boiled over. Soon many ex local raters had nether job, nor any apparent citizenship. Yet there was, and is, a Black American Atlantic Coast and black Caribbean island archipelago; it may be largely invisible to most of us in the USA, though it consists of many black communities which are the source for much unique American and Brazilian music, art, dance, custom, and language. Therefore, the abandoned black local raters of Panama, did not live in limbo; they have adapted or relocated. It’s instructive to kindle and google the many American Black authors, and the Quaker beginnings of the emancipation movement. The very first American revolution was black: Haiti. * Like most US citizens I often focus only on the Northern Hemisphere. We tend to forget that we are all Americans: one continent, one hemisphere, with a shared history, indigenous, immigrant past, and present.
I visit Panama City in late 2016. Much has conspired to make it the commercial and banking center of South America, rivaling Miami. The canal had been gradually and totally transferred to Panama control by 2000. Panama has retained the $US as their currency, which stabilized the economy; despite many problems it became a place where people with means could find refuge from chaos at home, or for various thieves to hide money, including drug money. The head of the militarily, Manuel Noriega had been a former cooperator with the CIA but then became de facto dictator and drug lord.The US invasion to depose him in 1989-90 was complex, and became the source of many true lies: afterward there was an election at the insistence of the US; but the winning candidate was assaulted and Noriega declared the election null and void. While US invasion was widely supported by the populace, it was real warfare against a well prepared military, deadly and destructive. It was hugely condemned, as customary, in Europe and the UN; The Panamanian military was dissolved. However, the emergence of Panama as a commercial and banking center, and a repository for suspect money, continues. The second canal has been completed, financed largely by the Chinese, and led to continuing growth in the past few years. The downtown is modern. A Trump hotel, shaped like a huge sail, looks like a twin to one in Dubai. A metro was completed last year. The upscale barrios and yacht harbors, rebuilt old town tourist area, and expensive restaurants flourish. As to the currently strong US dollar, Panama is something of an exception, comparable to Chile. Most other countries today are, by comparison, a bargain. It is usually cool at night, when the ocean breeze is up. In the 50’s that meant street dancing to Lucho Ascarraga’s wild electric organ: Cha Cha Chas, with typical flat foot moves, keeping the whole foot including the heel on the floor and moving The Rest… none of that heel-high stuff. That, happily, is the same today.
Ancon Hill is the highest spot overlooking the Pacific entrance of the canal, with old gun embankments at the top, set among tropical forest. Several hundred yards down hill is the site of Gorgas Hospital where I interned in 1954. My oldest daughter was born there. I visit the grounds of the old Gorgas hospital, of French design. It had a stolid central administration building surrounded by a series of white one story buildings in colonial French style, connected by covered walkways, among tropical gardens. Now only the relatively modern cement Admin building remains, among curious administrative buildings. It stands silent, empty, looking down darkly past the surrounding neglected padlocked wire fenced approach. I return to visit the barrack-like employee housing where I lived in 1954 which had been scheduled to be to be torn down; last I was there my old apartment was open, vacant and neglected. I invaded and kicked at the dust of memory briefly. But today, it is still there, though hardly recognizable. Ancon Hill is Location; and the infrastructure of streets, paving, and utilities remained. So the old apartments have been bought up, remodeled to a condition almost beyond recognition. It is heartening to see it all alive and well, transformed, into some degree of elegance. elegant it is hard to recognize; like Pànama has been transformed into Panamà.
*You may want to kindle and google the many black authors of the Americas, the John Woolman and the Quaker beginnings of the emancipation movement, and the first American revolution, which was black: in Haiti. Like many US citizens I often focus only on the Northern Hemisphere. But we are Americans: one continent, one hemisphere, with a shared history, indigenous, immigrant past, and present.
* * There is a 645 pp third edition of a book Americas by Peter Winn. But frankly, it seems to me simply a compulsive compilation of the ‘news’ we read in the US. Whenever the author treats places and peoples I know very well, the omissions and commissions of errors really rankle me terribly. My bias is this: The record of a people and a time are found in between the lies, and lines; and in fiction, poetry; in other words in Literature. Usually what we call News or History is moribund fiction without flesh or soul.
Pablo Pavo, Guajolote, Pisco
What follows is Creative Non Fiction about a hot air sauna burn in late November, 2016
I am Pablo. I most enjoy those times when I alone am personally responsible for what I do, whether in on a mountain peak, or in an ultra-lite over the Sierras, or a Cessna flying from California to Punta Arenas, Chile. At times, of course, that sort of self indulgence, lust for adventure – arrogance perhaps- has put me precariously clinging to a cliff face, or flying alone over SW Argentina when it was prohibited by the threat of war. Similarly, I enjoy dry heat so much it recently put me alone in a sauna, on Thanksgiving day 2016, for between 20 and 40 minutes. I cooked myself like a turkey. The recipe, or receta para asarse:
Lie down in a hot air sauna at the highest, hottest level. If you are diabetic and use repository insulin, which activates more quickly in heat, drink some water often, and eat an apple or an orange every 20 minutes.
I followed the recipe, but remember nothing after lying down to begin my second 20 minute session in the sauna, until sitting in a wheelchair, confused, frightened, and hyperventilating, amid about ten strangely dressed strangers in a strange world who spoke in unintelligible tongues. I had no recollection of being found unconscious in the sauna or being extracted. I could not formulate my own thoughts, or movement or speech. I began to shiver and have coarse muscular spasms. There was no pain, but I was angry at having no control of what was happening; about missing the rest of my life; maybe that anger motivated me to mumble some jumbled thoughts that surfaced: though it took me several long minutes to get the words to form, i finally managed to say:
“Diabetes!” a voice in English said,
“Your blood sugar is 87. You are going to be fine.” Happy to hear a familiar language, I said
“Adrenalin?” The voice said
“ No. ” and after I insisted on some water with sugar. The voice said “ Your blood sugar is 87. ” I said
“Wet towels, Ice” …The voice responded
“Your temperature is normal now.”” But then my wife and daughters appeared and got the towels, and gave me sugar water with a straw. I suggested
“Ambulance.” The voice said
“ It is on the way” I still could not get up or control my movements, and felt hopeless, as if i were sliding into oblivion. But gradually I was thinking more clearly assuming I was in Sacramento. I began to fear I would live, and be terribly embarrassed when my E R colleagues saw me and learned of my my stupid sauna behavior.
I was lifted on to a wheelchair and for what seemed a very long time was pushed down a long series of poorly lighted bare cement halls and walls, set among conduits, and dark recesses. Then out into the night to be lifted onto a sheet, and then to a cot and placed into primitive station wagon ambulance. I began to recall I was in some other country, but couldn’t recall which: In the ambulance I asked about a place I had been recently:
“ Brazil?” My wife, Marili answered,
“ Panama!” It all came back to me. I had been alone in the hot air sauna of a hotel. I felt that surely I would need to be hospitalized for some time and said,
“ You go home as planned. I’ll fly back later, or come by helicopter.”
“No, we will not and you will not!”
By the time we got to the hospital, I was fully alert, coherent, and coordinated. The nurse took vitals, did an EKG, asked my name and birth date, asked the litany of questions about illness, medicines, and allergies, and drew blood with some difficulty due to collapsed veins. The Dr. repeated the same questions, checked my coordination and strength. My Family Angels were allowed to be with one at a time. Lili asked about an MRI, because it might be possible I that I had a stroke or a fall with injury because found unconscious with strange lower extremity injuries. And though the Dr. said there was no need, and I agreed, the universal rule prevailed: when a test is possible and suggested it must be done. In short order the normal labs and MRI results were back, and I was released. The Dr. explained that I had minor first degree burns. Obviously neither of us knew much about Hot Air Sauna Burns* at the time. We paid the $753 bill, of which more than $400 was for the MRI.
As I write it is six days since trying to cook myself for Thanksgiving; I am now guardedly thankful to be alive, and in relatively human condition. It was at first curious that most of my injures were below the knees; it became clear they were not abrasions, but: Bullae! Blisters. The skin is cooled by evaporation of sweat and by cooling from blood circulation; because circulation is less in the lower extremities by comparison to the rest of the body, both circulation and sweating are decreased there… more blistering or burning result. Deep partial thickness burns are very tender to touch . They can look something like the skin of a turkey leg that begins to blister as it cooks. On standing up the pressure increases immediately and for about 10 min causing pain. very pa. Yet after lying down again they become more tolerable. I lie about a lot. The deeper ones form an eschar… a leathery covering that must be scraped off to allow healing; that eschar removal process is almost beyond tolerable, but smaller wounds like mine are not worth the risk or trouble of anesthesia. When being cleaned up I despair about the purpose or significance of life. On the other hand, yesterday I was able to do a half hour of upper body workout and a half hour of elliptical trainer. I should be healed within a few weeks, though full recovery will require several months, and resolve to avoid hot air saunas from now on.
Sinceramente,
Pablo
* Virve Koljonen, MD, PhD Summary from ResearchGate file:///Hot%20Air%20Sauna%20Burns-Review%20of%20Their%20Etiology%20and%20Treatment.pdf
Hot air sauna burns (HASBs) are rare but potentially fatal injuries with simultaneous rhabdomyolysis. The mechanism of HASBs involves prolonged exposure to hot air because of immobility. The burned areas are on the parts of the body that are directly exposed to hot air. This type of heat exposure results in a complex injury, in which full-thickness skin damage occurs concurrently with deeper tissue destruction. Sauna bathing is becoming more and more a popular recreational activity around the world. The objective of this review article is to familiarize burn care specialists on this unique and clinically challenging type of burn injury and to illustrate our department’s long experience in treating.
Si somos americanos
Si somos americanos*
By Rolando Alarcón
Si somos americanos,
somos hermanos señores,
tenemos las mismas flores,
tenemos las mismas manos.
Si somos americanos,
seremos buenos vecinos,
compartiremos el trigo,
seremos buenos hermanos.
`
Bailaremos marinera,
resbalosa, huayno y son.
Si somos americanos,
seremos una canción.
Si somos americanos,
no miraremos fronteras,
cuidaremos las semillas,
tiraremos las banderas.
Si somos americanos,
seremos todos iguales,
el blanco, el mestizo, el indio
y el negro son como tales
* in Spanish, capitalization is often different than in English.
II
If We Are Americans
If we are Americans
We’re family my friends,
We’ve the same flowers,
and the same hands.
We dance the marinera,
resbalosa, huayano and son,
When we are Americans
We are a song.
If we are Americans
there are no borders
we care for seeds,
not a nation’s flags.
If we are Americans
we are all the same,
White, indigenous, mixed,
and black are one.
III
I have taken some little translation liberties like introducing gender neutrality because I feel these are essential and inevitable to t translation appropriate to the times. Just as when we read we interpret and and translate and recreate and modify word symbols in our mind. What, for example, is a cow? Whch one, what color, breed, something else entirely? The reader decides. Among the folk songs of the Americas there are many that express the feeling of discrimination and isolation from the dominant culture… like Angelitos Negros, where the poet asks why there are no black cherubs or angels.
Alarcón became a music teacher in the 70s, and was a communist, revolutionary, homosexual, and widely acclaimed poet folk singer associated with wold famous folk groups. His songs are often accompanied by altiplano flute and charango, a small guitar often built on an armadillo shell. The huayano is an altiplano ONE- two- three step dance. The son is a generic word for Mexican folk dance.
Chileans are notorious as poets, miners, and engineers who must build to withstand recurring earthquakes. The first American woman Nobel laureate was Gabriela Mistral Mistral lived in Valle del Elqui, a long remote Andes valley where the high air is so clear it has attracted the world’s biggest collection of international observatories. Neruda is another Nobel laureate poet. Rolando Alarcón was born in Sewell, Chile, an old High Andes company owned mining town, at El Teniente Mine; it is still the largest underground mine in the world ; It operates within one mountain on multiple levels; the rock crusher, mill, flotation process, kitchen and restaurant are interconnected by 2500 km of two lane highways in huge air washed tunnels, with traffic lights; miners enter and leave by train on the lower level.
The Americas are home to lots of deep or fascinating cultural stuff; like some of my mother in law’s Gajardo family that includes the first woman engineer in the Americas, Justicia Espada… Justice Sword — her parents refused to give their children family names. The link includes the names of her siblings. Perhaps those wierd names made them eccentric; see Gajardo’s Moon post on this blog.
I think this old song is timely because it enunciates some current attitudes of many pan-american and pan-african indigenous peoples; and those of many of the world’s transnational millennials, who want to live like one-world citizens. Further, perhaps there is some sort of connection between the sentiments expressed in the folk poem, and those of that stunning political pyromaniac, The Bern, and with those of Moisés Naím, in The End of Power) also reviewed on this blog. .
Little Things
POSTED ON JULY 24, 2016 UPDATED ON JULY 24, 2016
It’s not the Persian carpet, the house , car or jewels,
but the little things that whisper or suggest
even when they’re silent what I little know,
of where, when, why, who or even what about her life gone by:
Her medicine chest, kitchen and pantry, bedsheets and closets;
eleven hard drives in a plastic ziplock — meticulously destroyed.
An unspent bullet in still stale air and cluttered dark.
A crochet hook, sewing kit, items for recycling.
Old photographs, TP and paper towels;
Bank statements, letters, perfume, and lotions,
Detergents, linens, a dog dish and bird feeder– half full.
A mail box, still alive, when emptied, cries out
for a little more, until rewarded with delicious junk mail and collection letters.
Pills, notions, lotions, purses, shoes, clothes,
and a hundred hand written pages from a lined spiral notebook
filled with fear and voices speaking in silent audibles.
Dry plants, and flower beds, disconnected sprinklers, old hoses and garden tools.
Cruel little things speak in their sharp edged forked foreign tongue.
Sad little things that hint of little pleasures, big plans, and hope of love.
I follow the footpaths through the underbrush of her tangled troubled life.
I walk there barefoot aware and wary of thorns, adders, asps, and broken glass.
The little things leave weeping little cuts that still wait and want to heal.
El árbol de la vida 1.1
0300 horas:
RRRRRRRRR… ¿Alo?
Buenos días, Pablo.
¿Anna?
No. Por favor me perdone que te tuteo; en estas instancias es menos alarmante.
¿Quién llama… te conozco?
Hace ya mucho tiempo que nos conocimos por primera vez. Pero no te diste cuenta.
¡Como!
Quiero pedirte que cooperes con una encuesta vital.
Me cargan las encuestas. Dime. ¿Eras una persona verdadera, de carne y hueso?
Si; pero también soy un software.
¡Ja! ¡La suerte de conversar con una inteligencia demente!
La encuesta se trata de la vida y la muerte.
¡Que raro! ¿Las suyas?
No. La suya.
¿Y si cuelgo?
Te llamo cada hora hasta que nos pongamos de acuerdo.
¿Estás vendiendo un seguro de vida?
No.
Se trata de entierros, o crematorios, o fianzas.
No.
¡Entonces! ¡La política!
No. Para proceder ahora marque el 1. Para postergar la encuesta marque el 2.
¡Mierda! (Marcando el 1.)
Di tu nombre y apellido; o si eres Pablo Puerco Pecador , marque el 1. (Marcando)
Di tu dirección completa, claramente, y en voz alta: (Hablando)
Di el lugar y la fecha de tu nacimiento; y su tarjeta de identidad: (Bla Bla Bla)
No cuelgues: espere 40 segundos. (cantan los Huasos Quincheros o Spike Jones)
¡Gracias! Confirmado.
Que alivio. Me había imaginado dormido. ¿Y mi premio?
¿Cual premio? No hay ningún premio.
Uuuff. Los imbéciles software carecen del sentido de humor tanto como de la sangre.
Repite por favor.
¡Never Mind!
Para Ingles, marque el 4. Para español , marque el 5.
¡Toma puta cibernética! (marcando el 5)
Prosigamos en español, pero sin abuso verbal por favor.
OK. ¡I get it!
Para Ingles, marque el 4. Para español , marque el 5.
¡Ya! (Marcando el 5)
Si los muertos retienen la memoria, y tendrán el derecho a elegir entre tres opciones, indique su preferencia:
la vida eterna, marcando el 7;
la muerte eterna, marcando el 8;
renacerse eternamente, a la misma vida marcando el 9;
¡Bah! ¡Impuestos Internos! UUUUUUUUUUUUU
Una hora después; RRRRRRRRRRRRR
¿Alo?
Buenos días, Pablo.
¿Otra vez? ¡Hasta cuando!
Hasta que nos llegamos a un acuerdo.
Impuestos Internos: ¿O no?
No. Te acuerdas de la llamada previa, ¿verdad?
Desafortunadamente.
Continuamos entonces, por favor.
¡No me digas!
Falta poco. No marcaste tus preferencias, el 7, 8, o 9.
Es que no me gusta ninguna; Ni entiendo lo que es la eternidad.
Obvio. Nunca termina. Naturalmente nadie entienda.
Entiendo que tu ‘encuesta’ es un phone tree de la muerte.
Quizas. Por favor elija.
Es que no puedo elegir. Una pregunta: ¿Porque saltaste el 6?
En la versión 1.0 el 6 fue ‘infierno eterno’. ¿Te acuerdas del diablo y el 666?
Y eso que?
Fue borrado el 666 por eso mismo. Son confusas las metáforas.
Pero ¿Quién lo borró, el diablo?
No existe. El diablo lo eliminó la corte suprema.
La corte…
Los que eligieron vivir para siempre; encontraron al diablo y el 666 redundante.
¿Como, redundante?
Porque las otras opciones son igual de infiernos eternos.
¿Encontraron que vivir para siempre puede ser infernal?
Tanto como el 9, renacer aquí a la misma vida eternamente, consciente del pasado.
Pero ¿Quien nos asignó todas las bofetadas del vivir en tierra?
El Congreso: Los que eligieron el 9; después de tantas vidas se arrugaron, se picaron.
Entonces, elijo el 8; desparezco con mi propio muerte.
¿Desaparezcas?
Esta vida es la única que cuenta conmigo. Aquí yo mismo me contento con hacer lo mejor que pueda. Trato de recuperar después de caerme en una desgracia. Crezco cuanto pueda. Convivo cuanto pueda. Amo cuando y cuanto pueda. Lucho con mi mismo cuando tenga que luchar. Y lo hago todo a pesar de los obstáculos innatos y sociales y físicos. Con esta vida, vivo yo, muero yo; y basta.
Gracias por tu participación. Los resultados serán muy útiles para la I.I.
¡Lo sabia! Impuestos Internos.
Infiernos Ilustres. Es un comité ad hoc de los tres infiernos eternos… 7, 8, y 9.
Pero, no te vayas todavía por favor! Entiendo que eras un software, nada mas.
¿Y?
Quien te creó; quien te hizo el programa; quien te mantenga cuando sufra un shut down?
Para Ingles, marque el 4. Para español , marque el 5.
¡Me Ca! Digo, quien mantenga la programación.
Ah. Es la I T.
¿I T?
La Inteligencia Tecnológica
Pero con todo respeto—eso del I T no significa nada. ¿Quien.?
Sabe Dios.
Dios. ¿Existe?
Sabe Dios. Para terminar, cuelgue. Para empezar de nuevo, marque el 1.
Colgando: UUUUUUUUUUUUOMMMMMMMMMMMM
Xenofilia
Es que tengo xenofilia. Quiero ver –y quiero conocer –a todo el mundo: los pueblos, los idiomas, los costumbres, las tierras, los mares, los desiertos, las selvas, las cordilleras. Pero reconozco: si todo el mundo es su hermano, quien es su hermano; si todo el mundo es su tierra, donde es su tierra. Por eso mi tierra es norte-california, aquí vuelvo siempre, y espero quizás me muera.
De acuerdo a donde he vivido soy: 25% chileno, 10% mexicano, 5% panameño, 10% canadiense, 1% peruano, 1% brasilero, 1% uruguayo, 1% argentino; y el resto USA. Lo que mas me irritan de mis américas son los nacionalismos, los fronterismos, y los racismos; y los sexismos. La xenofilia causa un rechazo total a todos
+++++++++++
It’s that I suffer from xenofilia. I want to see and to know the entire world: people, languages, customs, lands, seas, deserts, forests, mountains. But I realize that if everyone is your brother, who is your brother. And if every land is your home, where is your homeland. So my true home is Northern California; I always return here, and perhaps here I shall die.
To judge from places I’ve lived over the years, I am 25% Chileno, 10% Mexican, 5% Panamanian, 10% Canadian, 1% Peruvian, 1% Brazilian, 1% Uruguayan, and 1% Argentino, and the rest USA. What irritates me most about my Americas are nationalisms, borderisms, racisims, and sexisms. Xenofiliacs are allergic to all.
+++++++++++++
E que tenho xenofilia. Queiro ver —y queiro conhecer– a todo o planeta: a gente, os idiomas, os costumares, as terras, os mares, os desertos, os bosques, as montanhas.
Mas intendo que si todo o mundo e o suo irmão, quem e suo irmão; si todo o mundo e a sua terra, onde e a sua terra. Por isso a terra central mia e o norte de Califórnia. Aqui volto sempre. Aqui moro, aqui espero morrer. De acordo com as mias residências, só 25% chileno, 10% mexicano, 5% panamenho, 10% canadense, 1% peruano, 1% brasileiro, 1% uruguaio,1% argentino. O que mais dor tem das américas, só os nacionalismos, fronterismos, racismos, y os sexismos. O xenofilico tem alérgia a todos.
==============
Así confieso mi xenofilia, con disculpas por mi pobre portugués do Brasil; y mi ignorancia de los idiomas indígenas,–a pesar de que soy miembro del cuasi extinto tribu Concow del Norte de California.
So I confess my xenophilia, with apologies for my poor Brazilian Portuguese,, and, for my ignorance of indigenous languages. despite being a member of the near distinct Concow tribe of northern California,
Isso e o meu xenofilia, com desculpas por mi pobre portuguez, y mi ignorância dos idiomas indgeneas,– a pesar de ser parte do quasi extinto tribu Concow do Norte California.
i
She labors as we wait
She’s premature. It’s late.
Time’s thick tongue dryly licks
Her lips; 0436.
The cervix, not complete
Holds a butt and little feet
There’s no cord, heart rate fine
I worry, bide my time.
Four people, one a fetus,
wait for day to greet us.
Morose, I begin to dwell
On what there is to tell
Of Mestizo Amerinds
Whose trouble never ends
In this our tortured land
Far South the Rio Grande,
How a child might survive,
To keep its i alive
Unfed, untaught, but still
Fly North on wings of will.
I spend my little life
With death and birth and strife
And when the poor can’t pay
Stroke the rich to save my day,
See somber children grow
Like years, they come and go,
Speaking countless whys,
And not so simple lies.
Then wonderwords arrive,
As ‘Why am i alive?’
Or ‘where was i then?
‘Will i be me again?’
Answers, unpersuasive,
Seem lies or are evasive;
Except a newborn’s i,
Each word’s a subtle lie,
Fluid as a bat in flight
Whose image defies sight,
Or the quantal ‘where’,
That seen is never there,
Or dreams where we surmise
That we are all alive.
Past, future, even time
No one can quite define.
My God! She is complete!
Unblock the arms and feet;
Pull the face, and curse;
Ask pushes of the nurse!
And with a lusty cry,
There comes another i
Into a newborn day
To blow my words away.
Sobrante 