'There is no end to the illusions of patriotism.' --Borges

My rejected submission for the Shell-Economist essay contest:

“How Much Freedom Should We Trade for Our Security?”

Synopsis. The author rejecting the terms of the question as inadequate and unhelpful, seeks a formulation that, while radically idealistic, at least represents a step toward acknowledging what we are up against.

Tough times call for tall tires. But it isn’t like we still could choose.

If security were a pure function of armaments and high-tech surveillance; if something that depends on intricate patterns of trust and consent could be boxed, weighed, and placed on the auction block; if our deep-seated will to be isolate agents in a world made for our sole unbridled pounce-chomp-slurp, were anything but sheerest delusion and despair of humanity-- then we could indeed trade five cents of freedom for a nickel’s-worth of security. We could ride on our tall tires. America wants so badly to believe this. And no one we hear will tell us it isn’t so.

This land was taken by force from the first ones who lived here, but all we see in the mirror is our white hat of destiny. We rose to industrial might on the backs of slaves and demi-slaves, but all we see is the frolic of our gadget circus. And while our empire acting like an empire rewarded its allies and punished those who opposed it, we kept on seeing ourselves as the light of the world.

No wonder we don’t understand. Who hates Santa Claus?

And the facts are there, the reality of our deeds can be known--if you try to find out. Right. Watch America reach for the owl-flavored spoon. Not now, and maybe not ever. So sugar rules. And in the name of upholding all we hold dear (which means in effect our fantasies), we have lost or are losing a genuine precious thing, something we haven’t yet once had the wits to celebrate, and something the rest of the world really does have reason to admire, envy, or fear. I mean the openness of our society. Our tolerance, and receptiveness to change.

This accidental fruit of a frontier storming by misfits, this one historical miracle, might be doomed. Just let blinded Polyphemus flail about wildly, let the mad goading of otherwise impotent would-be martyrs continue, and the fear mount, and the media spew its ineluctable blather: it isn’t going to take much to brick up “Fortress America”. But not even the President will sleep secure in such a state. And cameras in the malls will receive the chrism of blood.

Do we want peace? The peace within our grasp is not a matter of military muscle, domestic rigor, or geopolitical clout. The only peace possible is to cease the breeding of hate. And that would be the work of many generations, even if all of us at once could instantly see the need. Vengeance will not end as long as humans remain trapped by their national identities; as long as there are borders, these borders will not be secure. The tall tires of our dreaming have too long kept us from feeling the road, and it is high time we got down and started a different journey, barefoot on the earth, toward peace that all can share. Is this realistic?

Is it realistic to expect the mass of Americans to suddenly start thinking hard about our place in the world, the responsibilities of wielding such unprecedented power, and our share in creating the oppression and mayhem we alone have had the dubious good fortune to be able to ignore till now? Is it realistic to expect our all-blinkered media to shake itself out of its parrot drone of reiterated snap-jabberwocky, and begin to speak honestly of cause and effect? Is it realistic to expects our gamester politicos to summon up enough personal courage to face down the juggernaut of jingoistic self-righteousness that passes for purposeful discourse? And is it realistic to expect the bunch of right-wing zealots, greedheads and corporate lackeys we’ve inadvertantly entrusted our entire future to, to listen and act accordingly?

i myself am not sanguine, but among the ancient gods and goddesses of Greece I think there was one called Nemesis, and her job it was to punish the sins of hubris; and as Carlyle once remarked in a fit of advanced lucidity:

“NO LIE CAN LIVE FOREVER.”

7-21-02