Which one of these people isStill Smiling?

Which one of these people isStill Smiling?

Volume 4 ~ Issue 1 ~ Fall 2007

Tallahassee’s Community Newsmagazine

� | The Yeti ~ Vol. 4 #1 ~ Fall, 2007

Support the Yeti – Advertise! Advertisers in The Yeti reach an informed and active

readership of more than 5,000 people per month.

One Issue

Two Issues

Four Issues

Full Page $ 175 310 540

Half Page $ 100 170 280

Quarter Page $ 50 80 120

Business Card $ 25 40 60

The Yeti CollectiveRyan Jenkins, PresidentVirginia Kotzias, Vice PresidentWilliam Hermann, Treasurer

ContributorsBrandon BasinoKashan FieldsD. J. FlynnJocelyn GiancoliNicole GilboDave GilsonLaura Guidry-GrimesNicki KarimipourLindsay KravittBrian LeeMad-EJim McKayMichelle NewellDaniel Vahab

Advisor: Paul RutkovskyFront Cover: Ryan JenkinsBack Cover: Danny Clifton

Printed with assistance from Campus Progress and the Student Government Association of Florida State University.

2 Letter3 The Privatization of Impunity4 Shake and Bake5 Engineering by Design6 Reader Poetry8 Our Shared Ideals9 Those Meddling Kids10 Scratching at the Balance12 House of Cards14 DemocracyNow! Headlines15 Interview with the Slackers18 Ghetto Deliveries20 Cook Some Damn Rice21 A Stain Not Forgotten22 The Race Against Iran23 In Iraq23 A Recapture

SUBMIT!The Yeti cannot function without your contribu-

tions! We need articles, opinions, artwork, poetry, short stories, ideas for events/articles, letters to the

editor! YetiSubmissions@Hotmail.com

Everything else: FSUYeti@Hotmail.com

The Yeti needs you to...

This town has no paper. This city of one hundred and sixty thousand, this state capital no less, is serviced by the Tallahassee Democrat and, if you must, the FSView, both owned by Gannett, the largest newspaper conglomerate in the country. (Gannett is the company that boasts such hard-hitting, investigative rags as USA Today.)

What you are holding, on the other hand, is the proud product of the student body of Florida State, paid for by your A&S fees, by a grant from Campus Progress, a wing of the Center for American Progress, and advertisements from local businesses. This, my friends, is pure, unadulterated, grassroots journalism in its finest form.

Inside these pages, you will find articles written by your fellow students, as well as students around the country, culled from Campus Progress’ syndication service, and some of the highest quality liberal outlets in America: Mother Jones magazine, DemocracyNow!, and MediaMatters.

It says something that, with our shoestring budget, we can turn out such a product.

The Yeti has quite a year ahead of it, and as we kick it off, it is with genuine enthusiasm that I extend my hand to each and every one of you. Join us. Help to make this publication better. Unlike the other newspapers in this city, we are deeply in touch with the student body and the local community, because we are essentially composed of them. Together, we can be this town’s paper.

Ryan Jenkins

About the YetiFounded in April 2005 by a small group of students from FSU, The Yeti was created as a truly independent alternative to the corporately owned FSView. Fueled by a hatred for the official FSU newspaper’s constant dribble, our publication is for interested and active people by an ever-increasing collective of the same. The Yeti allows you to become the media at Florida State.

ContentsLetter

The Yeti ~ Vol. 4 #1 ~ Fall, 2007 | �

by BRIAN LEE

The Privatization of Impunity

In September of 2007, The Chiquita Banana Company was fined $25 million in federal court for paying $1.2

million dollars to Colombian paramilitary organizations including FARC and the United Self-Defense Forces of Colombia (AUC) for “protection” from 1997 to 2004. While some Colombians feel that the Chiquita Banana Company “got off light” (Goodman), the fine was possibly completely avoidable through better decision-making about who to hire for security. Chiquita had decided to outsource their security to organizations that were declared to be terrorist groups by the U.S. government, and were responsible for massacres (Goodman). If only the Chiquita Banana Company had contracted some of the private security firms used by the United States government to help control such hostile territories as Baghdad and New Orleans, they might be safe in the knowledge that they will never have to show any accountability whatsoever when their hired guns are used to slaughter civilians.

The most well-known of these private security contractors is the trigger-happy ultra-violent Blackwater USA firm. In a September 16 “shooting incident”, 11 Iraqis were killed by Blackwater USA contractors. In fact, Blackwater USA has been shown to be involved in a higher rate of shootings than any other firm employed by the U.S. State Department for certain security purposes (NYT 9/27). Since 2005, Blackwater USA employees have been involved in almost 200 shootings, in the majority of which Blackwater USA employees shot victims from moving vehicles without stopping to assist the wounded or even to count the dead. (NYT 9/27). In another case that is beginning to get some increased coverage in the media, a former guard from Blackwater USA shot an Iraqi vice president’s bodyguard to death at a Christmas party last year (NYT 10/6). The main difference between

Colombian death squads and Blackwater USA’s private security forces seems to be that Blackwater’s people are better paid, and face no legal reprisal.

Officials in the Iraq government recognize these acts as murder, but have yet to start legal proceedings against the murderers (NYT 10/8). The United States government sees them as negative externalities to a business decision over which they have little authority or accountability. Families of victims have been quieted with $15,000 payments from Blackwater USA, but the State Department and the FBI have yet to determine if a crime has even been committed. Civilian contractors for the State Department may not be subject to the Uniform Code of Military Justice, and are claiming immunity under Iraq’s 2004 Transitional Administrative Law (NYT). No legal authority seems willing to deal with the issue of Blackwater USA’s habits of violence. It is easier to pay off the families of victims than it would be to develop a rational policy for having private security forces that are accountable to a government authority.

The 1989 General Assembly condemnation of the use of mercenaries, ratified by only twenty-seven states, also has little authority (Robertson pg 233). Of course, the State Department never calls the employees of Blackwater USA “mercenaries”. Blackwater USA “private security forces” should hope that they continue to not be considered mercenaries. Even under the Geneva Conventions, mercenaries are not given the same international legal protections in times of war as other soldiers. Under Protocol I of the Geneva Conventions, Article 7 exempts mercenaries from the protection of humanitarian law (Robertson pg 235). Blackwater USA is operating outside of United States civil and military law, outside of Iraqi law, and outside of the protections of the Geneva Conventions.

The idea that private security forces

operating for profit can, with absolute impunity, kill civilians is ridiculous. That the United States government would continue to claim no controlling authority over a group of uniformed and armed people acting as State Department contractors and paid for by U.S. taxpayers is the height of irresponsibility. The State Department needs to reconsider its use of private security firms in war zones, particularly when those private security forces are quickly gaining reputations similar to those of groups labeled as “Terrorist Organizations” when they operate in Colombia in the employ of banana companies. Blackwater USA has been operating in the manner of a death squad, whose members fear no punishment other than being fired for committing murder.

SourcesReport Says Firm Sought to Cover Up Iraq Shootings.

Sep 2, 2007 By JOHN M. BRODER – New York Times

Chiquita fined 25 million dollars for payment to paramilitaries. Sep 17, 2007 – AFP newswire.

Banana giant got off light, Colombian official says. Sep 19, 2007 By JOSHUA GOODMAN – Seattle Times.

Blackwater Tops Firms in Iraq in Shooting Rate. Sep 27, 2007 By JOHN M. BRODER and JAMES RISEN – New York Times

STATE DEPT. PLANS TIGHTER CONTROL OF SECURITY FIRM. Oct 6, 2007 By JOHN M. BRODER and ERIC SCHMITT – New York Times

GOVERNMENT

� | The Yeti ~ Vol. 4 #1 ~ Fall, 2007

On October 11, 2002, the United States Senate passed House Joint Resolution 114 by a vote of 77-23, giving President Bush authority to use military force against Iraq. The early

operations in Fallujah, in late April of 2003, were plagued by spiraling violence. Demonstrators who broke curfew were fired upon, 17 were killed. (Fallujah is also the location of the infamous insurgent attack against Blackwater contractors: four contractors were killed and their bodies burnt, drug through the streets and hung from a bridge.) To quell the rising violence, US forces initiated a crackdown in November of 2004, during which they allegedly employed white phosphorus.

White Phosphorous (WP) is a yellow-white waxy substance used in explosive rounds as an illuminator and smoke screen. When exposed to air, white phosphorus explodes into phosphorus pentoxide and, in moist air, forms phosphoric acid. Effects on humans range from irritation of the eyes and mucous membranes to “deep and painful” “extensive” “chemical burn injuries.” If flakes of white phosphorus should alight on human skin, they continue to burn through the flesh, unimpeded by water, and can melt straight through to the bone (Global Security).

The allegation that white phosphorus was used in Fallujah was originally very contentious. In November of 2005, the documentary “Fallujah: Hidden Massacre” aired on Italian state television. The documentary alleged not only that white phosphorus had been used in the battle for Fallujah, but also that Iraqi civilians, including women and children, had been killed. The documentary relied on the testimony of numerous observers and at least one hospital official that stayed behind during the siege to treat the wounded.

The Pentagon first denied the reports outright, saying that white phosphorus had not been used (Buncombe). Later, they amended their statement to say that the weapon was used “very sparingly” and for “illumination purposes” (Rothschild).

Soon after, an article from a military magazine surfaced on the Internet. The article was entitled “Fight for Fallujah” and was published in March-April 2005 issue of Field Artillery magazine, published by the United States Army. In the article, three US soldiers—a captain, a first lieutenant, and a sergeant—describe the effectiveness of white phosphorus in the siege of Fallujah. They recall that

WP proved to be an effective and versatile munition. We used it for screening missions at two breeches and, later in the fight, as a potent psychological weapon against the insurgents in trench lines and spider holes... We fired ‘shake and bake’ missions at the insurgents, using WP to flush them out and HE to take them out (Rothschild).

A further report surfaced from North County News, a San Diego newspaper. Darrin Mortenson gave an account of the shelling of the city. His account contradicted the article published in Field Artillery, implying that white phosphorus and HE where fired simultaneously and indiscriminately:

[Corporal Nicholas] Bogert is a mortar team leader who directed his men to fire round after round of high explosives and white phosphorus charges into the city Friday and Saturday, never knowing what the targets were or what damage the resulting explosions caused (Mortenson).

And again:

The boom kicked dust around the pit as they ran through the drill again and again, sending a mixture of burning white phosphorus and high explosives they call “shake ‘n’ bake” into a cluster of buildings where insurgents have been spotted all week. They say they have never seen what they’ve hit, nor did they talk about it... [One soldier] said no one has told him what the charges have hit (Mortenson).

Finally, Pentagon spokesman Lieutenant Colonel Barry Venable admitted that white phosphorous was used in Iraq as “fire at the enemy” (Buncombe) and “directly against Iraqi insurgents” (Shane). The New York Times quoted Venable as saying, “It’s perfectly legitimate to use this stuff against enemy combatants” (Shane). Whether that’s actually the case is a question for the international community to consider.

SourcesBuncombe, Andrew and Hughes, Solomon. The Fog of War: White Phosphorus,

Fallujah, and Some Burning Questions. November 15, 2005. Independent via Commondreams.org.

Buncombe, Andrew; Sengupta, Kim; and Brown, Colin. Incendiary weapons: The big white lie. The Independent. November 17, 2005.

Global Security.org. White Phosphorus (WP).

Mortenson, Darrin. Violence subsides for Marines in Fallujah. North County Times. April 10, 2004.

The Constitution in Crisis: The Downing Street Minutes and Deception, Manipulation, Torture, Retribution, and Coverups in the Iraq War. House Judiciary Committee Democratic Staff. Published by the office of John Conyers, D-MI on December 20, 2005.

Rothschild, Mark. Who’s Misinforming Whom About White Phosphorus?. November 11, 2005. AntiWar.com.

Shane, Scott; Fisher, Ian. Defense of Phosphorus Use Turns Into Damage Control. New York Times. November 21, 2005.

by RYAN JENKINS

Shake and BakeThe Use of White Phosphorus in Iraq

war & peace

The Yeti ~ Vol. 4 #1 ~ Fall, 2007 | �

You may be asking yourself, “What is Engineers Without Borders and why should I care?” To answer this

question (and hopefully raise many more) Engineers Without Borders is an organization dedicated to providing technical assistance for the development of society across all boundaries. EWB Tallahassee Student Chapter has had many positive impacts on the Tallahassee community and beyond. From school structure maintenance and hosting elementary science fairs, to private consulting with the development of the City of Monticello water distribution system and wastewater treatment facility, FAMU-FSU EWB Student Chapter has touched many lives in a mission of providing assistance, wherever the help may be needed.

The Engineers Without Borders team is now extending efforts on a global scale. A new challenge has been raised and they are up to the task: EWB is in the preliminary stages of solving an issue of preserving the Amazonian Rainforest, while sustaining social and economical growth of the population in the region. The solution begins with the small village of San Rafael.

San Rafael, of Loreto Peru is located on a major tributary of the Amazon River, approximately 18 miles from Iquitos, Peru. The indigenous communities of this region in particular have experienced drastic loss of natural resources. It has been observed that many logging companies and associated predators exploit this region vehemently during the weeks leading up to school session. This often leaves the locals little option but to trade large tracks of land for meager pennies in order to finance the books and materials required for their youngest to attend school. Change, however, has been implemented.

Recently, a European organization funded construction of a tourist hostel. This new travel destination not only provides insight to the unique culture and

environment of this remote area, but serves as an economic mechanism for sustaining the natural resources which are steadily diminishing. Costing each tourist only $3 U.S. dollars a day, the few who do make it to this indigenous community refuge provide more than enough commerce to improve the lives of the locals.

A crisis, however, has disturbed this success story and requires the expertise of EWB. Because of limited funding, the pipe connecting water to the community (and hostel) was constructed only long enough to reach the river during the rainy season. Now, during dry, season the river has receded nearly 1500 feet. Consequently, tourism has dropped dramatically because of the lack of potable water.

We Can Make the DifferenceUpon notice of this crisis, the local

Tallahassee chapter of Engineers without Borders sprang into action. In conjunction with Dr. Tarek Abitchou and additional practicing professionals, they are currently in negotiation with vendors interested in providing the remaining length of the required pipe and planning the most effective methods of solving this predicament. It has been estimated that nearly $10,000 may be required to acquire the resources needed to ship and install this water life line. Engineers Without Borders needs your help to make this dream a reality.

FAMU-FSU Student Chapter of Engineers without Borders is an established non profit organization. This enables our chairman to document and issue a receipt of payment that becomes 100% tax deductible. Furthermore, as a contributor you will be entitled to detailed updates as the project develops. For corporations specifically, this is a great opportunity to save on tax dollars, boost employee morale, and effectively preserve our environment by contributing to a cause worth fighting for.

To donate by check or money order please address the donation to EWB-USA, BUT WRITE “FAMU/FSU” in the memo filed and send it to the following address:

Dr. Tarek AbichouEngineers Without Borders2525 Pottsdamer Street, Rm A129Tallahassee, FL 32301

Tel: 850-410-6661Fax: 850-410-6142

Email: ewb@eng.fsu.eduabichou@eng.fsu.edu

Engineers Without Borders sincerely appreciates your support. Remember, the impacts of our actions today will undoubtedly return tomorrow. In front of us here is the perfect opportunity to prevent the uncertainty of what life will be like if our rain forests are gone.

You are invited to join the Engineering By Design walk! Guests will be served refreshments courtesy of Bali HI and Railroad Square Art Park.

Engineering By Design Walk:

Sunday December 09, 2007 @ 2:00 p.m.Starting: Pitaria on Tennessee St.Ending: Railroad Square Art Park

by NICOLE GILBO

Engineering by Design

outreach

� | The Yeti ~ Vol. 4 #1 ~ Fall, 2007

Rain on the Windshieldby Michelle Newell

My head spins throughout the day,things to do and places to go.And I don’t have time to tell myselfthat I’m all right.But, at night,when my work is through,And my mind begins it’s wandering,it all comes back to you.I’m left here rememberingthe way your hands move through my hair,And how the rain on the windshield makes

you crazy;Your breath on my neck when I sleep-and the weight of your arm around methe memories crash over meI’m drowningand when I hit the bottom - I find you therewhen the house is quietAnd my head and heart are screaming for

younow, the tears are all I have to hold on toYou weren’t strong enough to stayI’ve grown to hateall of the thingsYou ever loved about me;my own laugh makes me sickAnd my hair won’t lie right;and the worst part is knowingThat I’d do it all again.I’d feel the painfor every smile you sent my way;I’d cry riversfor every laughBecause what we havecannot be ignored.No matter how far you run,your mind can always wanderAnd there I’ll be

En la Primavera by Jim McKay

¡Despierta!

Una procesion de ideas-progresos, quizas…Hay gente que no necessitan musica para

bailar.En el fuego verdeEl registro por la paz-Orden/compasion/minimalismoMi pulso es Electrico nunca me perdiAhora me he halladoMe pareceSeis por dos,Nada uno es trecePor todo el mundo la ignoranciaEs la herramientaDe La OstiaPara controlar nuestros pensamientosEl tiempo viene para abrir las puertasY decir que no somos muertosY decir que no somos muertos.

Untitledby Nicki Karimipour

Wielding a sword is fineUntil you get demoted to a page.Bad haircut, worse pay.Let the ugly deliquesce.Midnight snacks in the mausoleum.

Freezer burn on my kneesCorporate meatpackerslaughing in the alley.

Spent the summer at CatskillsBut never met my Patrick Swayze.Mommy packs my lunch withgummy bears and pretzels.

Rhinestone cowboys can’t even milk a cow.Potential crisis at thetouch of a red button.Dubya looked like an Ewok last time I saw him.Abominable snowmensleep on Wall Streetwhile shivering scootersslide down icy roads.

Reader Poetry

poetry

The Yeti ~ Vol. 4 #1 ~ Fall, 2007 | �

Time will tell…by Kashan Fields

There are so many things I want to say to you

My spirit is dressed very thickMy mind can barely contain its’ thoughtsMy soul has little peaceMy eyes heavy with its weightMy stomach tied in knotsMany thought the battle was wonIn actuality, it’s never been foughtTricked into thinking we are okScoffed when we raise our browAre times so different from yesterday?That we should not be marching nowIf we sit and think a bitWe will see that things really haven’t

changedAmerica’s wheels are still rollingThe fire is still aflame Could southern trees still bear strange

fruit?Look deep and you will seeTime keeps telling me its truthThough America was built on meI once heard a great woman say-

When someone shows you who they are believe them it’s the truth-

So why do we keep getting burned in the fiery flame?

If there is work that we can do

America she owes us stillAnd yes we should complainSome will say, “That was yesterday”And others will add wood to the flameWhere are all the bleeding hearts?When it comes to meHaven’t blacks suffered enough in America?With no real reciprocityI can no longer smile and coo as if things

are okTime is telling us her truthI once heard Malcom X sayWhy, my Lord, are we fighting wars for her?

When she is still at war with usTime is finished with keeping quietThis devil we should never trustYes, the devil is alive and strongAnd it takes on many formsIt wears masks, and can change it’s tintAnd can come in before the stormIf you are one that says, well that’s not me!!!And goes on with your lifeIt’s time that you stand up with meCause you know that it’s still not rightIt amazes me that you’ll show upOver the fighting of some dogsBut when blacks demand true rightsYou asking “Why all the fuss?”As if nothing is wrongAmerica, she is sick with slim hopes of

getting wellAnd I believed Malcom when he said” just

wait-time will tell”

The Having is the Wantingby Brandon Basino

I broke an egg beneath my orange tree,the one wilting in a pot labeled “Lowes

Hibiscus”under August’s high noon sun. Within an

hourthere came two varieties of ants, a

cockroach,a centipede (for roach not yolk) and one

fruit fly.

The clouds broke a promiseso I began the sapling’s meal in reversewith dessert out of spite and to arousejealousy in the same manner divorcedparents go about child rearing. I believe

the clouds and I see each other that way.Shell in hand, I turned my head skyward to

imaginea muscular marble arm reaching aroundthe largest cloud and groping its curves to

really cement it,you know: my vengeance. But the cloud

then arched

languidly at its torso and I had to look away.And then a drop of rain tapped meon the forehead like a door in the ass (And

stay out!)as I realized that my tree—that all trees—

growtowards the sun, and, by association,the clouds.

� | The Yeti ~ Vol. 4 #1 ~ Fall, 2007

Chairman, thank you. I’m deeply honored to be here, selected to speak to the annual meeting of the AFL-

CIO, America’s largest labor union.Some eleven score and eleven years ago,

our Fathers brought forth upon this continent a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Throughout the history of our Land, this proposition and its sons have been tested and re-tested, from within and from without. Now we find ourselves, after the Trials and Tribulations of our fathers, tested yet again, as to whether this nation, or any nation so conceived, can long endure the unending and unflinching assaults of the vices of human character.

Our Fathers knew of these vices — for all of our nostalgia and remembrances, we are tempted oft to overlook their human nature.

Though these men were indeed as flawed and as human as their tireless detractors rest not in pointing out, their foresight, their vision, and their prescience elevate them in the American mind above those earthly shackles into the halls of marble and stone.

For our Fathers, ever aware of the coming time when they would shuffle off this mortal coil, hath endowed for posterity the very implements with which we defend our personal liberty even today.

It is this crisis of vice to which I draw your attention, and these implements of justice I forbid you from neglecting.

Avarice, greed and hubris today threaten the ideals our Fathers enshrined on that sacred parchment more than two centuries ago. They knew the powers of corporations, of fear mongers, and of Kings, all too well. For it was all three that drove them hither and inspired them to draw from within the philosophy of the Greeks to create a magnificent political spectacle on this rich and vibrant continent for all the world to see, where the temperance of the masses would check the excesses of the

God-king, where public welfare was a sacred ideal, and where the blessings of Liberty were secured to all people, under the Law, equally and fairly.

Of late our beloved American ideals have been perverted into a grotesque parody of their true form — the noble principle of self-reliance suddenly an overbearing and inerrant principle by which a suited man spits on a vagrant, by which a corporation runs a prison, or by which a lobbyist scoundrel may mock our checks and balances of Federalism.

The Progressives of our Ancestors were right in their Crusade for populist rights — for a return of control to the citizen. And from their dreams, their struggles and, yes, their blood, was born a new era of accountability and transparency. The Fathers would have been proud of the Great Society thus created.

But not seventy years — not one generation later — a rise of regressive interests sought a return to the very excesses, abuses, and unsightly underbelly of American history that so many of us would like to close our eyes tightly against. To them, the shining pillars of industry are coupled — nay, built upon — the crippled masses of workers, yearning to breathe free and powerless against a corporate onslaught.

We are gathered here today because we share the ideals — the American ideals — of justice for all, of equal protection under the law. And we recognize the moral imperative to return control of our nation to We the People. And we recognize that our sacred ideals, however slandered, employed, and mischaracterized today, are immutable and ever resounding through the halls of freedom and justice.

Our Fathers fled across the ocean to escape the oppression of tyrants and dynasties. We find ourselves in a similar position. But shall we flee? No. We have come here, instead. We have come here, together, as an expression of solidarity against the treasonous and heretical abuses and usurpations that inspired our Fathers to organize as well. This is the first step,

and today, at this meeting, we recognize and celebrate our common ideals.

And although the right of the people to collectively bargain has been assailed in recent years, never has the time been more important that we stand strong, in the courts and in the streets, in the workplace and in the picket line.

Ours is a mission vital to the integrity of the nation as the Land of the Free — where the voice of a lowly worker is not drowned by cries from management about the bottom line; where a man can live in dignity and not be daunted by the constant and perilous perch of employment, forever weary of a fall from glory, forever fearful of that sword of Damocles waiting to slice his name from the roll.

And what are the implements that have been left us? Aside from the separation and enumeration of powers, the Bill of Rights, and the Courts, the legends the Forefathers left should be inspiration enough to galvanize our resolve. Our strength in our cause, our commitment, and our solidarity: these are the New Legends of American history.

We hold these truths to be self-evident: that progress and rights are not mutually exclusive, but forever intertwined in a Divine Circle. We are gathered here today because of our vision for the future: one of enduring dignity and quality of life. Yes, ladies and gentlemen of our brave unionized workforce:

We are gathered here today, to celebrate the very essence of our nation, the very boldness of the Founders, and the very heritage of our Progressive ancestors. It is for us here to take renewed devotion from all of these peoples, from their ideals, from their hearts and minds. As we remember their marble busts and monuments of stone, it is for us to do our solemn duty; to stand above all for what we believe is right, so that these noble values shall not perish from the Earth.

Thank you.

by RYAN JENKINS

Our Shared IdealsAn Imagined Oration

fiction

The Yeti ~ Vol. 4 #1 ~ Fall, 2007 | �

Meanwhile, the past year has seen the usual flurry of extracurricular activity, with students across the

country taking to the streets to decry tuition hikes, marching to cut carbon emissions, and besieging military recruitment offices to protest Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. Some actions went for catharsis over content—like mooning Karl Rove’s car when he visited American University in April. But other students took on real causes and got results, such as a series of hunger strikes to help campus workers. More of the year’s most memorable moments:

Show and Tell A provision tucked away in the No Child Left Behind Act that gives military recruiters access to students’ personal information inspired Lawrence High School students Alexia Welch and Sarah Ybarra to pick up video cameras. Though military recruiters refused to be filmed, Welch explains, “since they’re at our school, and it’s a public thing, we were allowed to use that.” The Kansas kids’ documentary, No Child Left Unrecruited, caught the eye of Rep. Mike Honda (D-Calif.), who proposed axing the provision.

Veep Show At Brigham Young University, students railed against the selection of Dick Cheney as this year’s commencement speaker. Those wishing to see an only slightly less divisive figure attended an alternate ceremony headlined by Ralph Nader.

Tased and Confused You’d think campus cops would have figured out by now that a kid with a cell-phone camera is never far away. Evidently not: Last November, video showing UCLA cops repeatedly tasering

an Iranian American student for failing to show his ID at the school library landed on YouTube. When a couple hundred protesters gathered outside the police station a few days later, jumpy cops shut off the lights and outfitted themselves in full riot gear.

Spin the Bible When Jenny Parker launched a living-wage campaign at Baylor University, she did some Frank Luntz-style framing, dubbing her effort “1 John 3”—a nod to a biblical passage urging compassion for the needy. So far, 600 students at the Texas Baptist school have signed on to the campaign.

Crossing the Line In February, New York University’s Republican Club sponsored a game where “border agents” searched for an “illegal immigrant” on campus. Protests and national media attention ensued. Club president Sarah Chambers insisted the stunt’s goal was dialogue. “What gets people discussing the issue isn’t always what is politically correct.”

Taking Sides Adopting a tactic popularized on other campuses, in April San Jose State University students built a mock version of Israel’s “security wall,” complete with checkpoints and 50 fake Israeli soldiers and Palestinians. Pro-Israel students crashed the event, wearing shirts that read, “If I were a suicide bomber, you would be dead.”

High Court In 2002, Alaska senior Joseph Frederick unfurled a 14-foot banner proclaiming “Bong Hits 4 Jesus” outside Juneau-Douglas High School, for which he was promptly suspended. Frederick’s absurdist prank launched a five-year

legal odyssey that ended in June, when the Supreme Court ruled that the First Amendment doesn’t protect pro-drug references in public schools.

Flashback It was a brilliant way to get attention from the nostalgic lefty press: reviving Students for a Democratic Society. Since being reconstituted last year, “New SDS” has opened chapters at 148 colleges and 50 high schools. It’s got some new tricks, such as the SDSwiki—because there’s nothing like a wiki to prevent the kind of infighting and petty bickering thatdoomed its predecessor.

Reading Comp While on a visit to the White House in June, high school seniors representing the prestigious Presidential Scholars Program presented George W. Bush with a letter asking the administration to reform its treatment of detainees. Bush read the letter, signed by 50 of the students, and kept a straight face as he assured them the U.S. does not use torture.

# # #

Reporting by Neha Inamdar, Celia Perry, Jen Phillips, Rafael Valero, and Anna Weggel.

Reprinted with permission from Mother Jones magazine. A magazine and web site of investigative reporting, Mother Jones offers readers probing public interest journalism and thought-provoking analysis of contemporary politics and social issues. For more information, or to subscribe for only $10, visit www.motherjones.com.

Those Meddling KidsReprinted from Mother Jones magazine

CAMPUS ACTIVISM ROUNDUP

Each year in its September/October issue, Mother Jones magazine features a roundup of campus activism over the previous year. The magazine kicks off its 14th annual review of campus activism with a question: Why, four years into the Iraq War, are college students so mystifyingly quiet about it? Does it take a draft to generate mass protests? Jonathan Williams, the 22-year-old national coordinator for the Student Peace Action Network, insists there has been a surge of antiwar activism—but clearly it has stayed under the radar. “I have hope that students can and will rise up,” he says. “We are a renewable resource. There will always be students.”

10 | The Yeti ~ Vol. 4 #1 ~ Fall, 2007

Adalgisa and Roger Nimitz, sitting across from each other, sipped their beef barley stew silently. An indoor dusk dimly lit the couple and the oppressive arrangement encircling

them. Chartreuse corduroy drapes stretched across the iron rods of every window, the navy magnolia pattern supplanting the invasive sunlight. A small, ecru lilac design hid in the obscured burgundy wallpaper. The carpet, imported from Germany, revealed gold fleurs-de-lis embedded within the crimson. Mrs. Nimitz eyed her husband between swallows. He seemed so tranquil, enjoying his soup as if the MRI had never happened. A peculiar rage shortened her breath as she realized that he had already completely accepted the brain tumor. He probably thought of it as the next step in life. He would blow off this development just as he blew off the car accident that took his eyesight and the arthritis that started plaguing him ten years ago. This morning Dr. Franklin had given the couple the results of Mr. Nimitz’s scan along with other tests. Once the doctor mentioned treatment plans, Mr. Nimitz waved his hand in dismissal. “No, no. That won’t be necessary.” Mrs. Nimitz hated that his sensi-tive ears had picked up her nearly inaudible weeping.

Mr. Nimitz asked if she was finished and took their bowls to the sink. While the water ran, Mrs. Nimitz moved the coffee table slightly. On his way to the bedroom, Mr. Nimitz tripped and almost face planted himself into the wooden surface. Mrs. Nimitz smiled slightly, taking malicious pleasure in the buffoonery of this man who glided through life all too gracefully.

• • •At three o’clock in the morning, Mr. Nimitz awoke. He listened

intently for a moment. “Wake up,” he said to the grey-haired lump next to him. Mrs. Nimitz mumbled and brought the ivory down comforter up around her sagging neck. He groped for her shoulder and found her face. After being poked in the eye, she grunted and moved to the edge of the bed. “Hon, I hear something. Do you hear the scratching?” Her eyes opened a sliver. “I think it’s a rat. Adalgisa, we have a rat.”

Mrs. Nimitz sat upright as quickly as she could given her bulky body. “Where? Where is it, Roger?” she spoke in hushed whispers, as if the rat would hear her and attack.

“Listen.” They sat in silence for a few moments. Then: “There! Do you hear it?”

“Where?” she whined.“I’m not sure. The steel in the walls is carrying the noise.”Mrs. Nimitz slouched against the headboard and let out an

exasperated sigh, dramatizing her helplessness. “Well what the hell are we going to do?”

Mr. Nimitz considered the options. He knew that once he recommended any sort of action, Mrs. Nimitz would be up all night,

driving herself crazy with possibly futile solutions. “Nothing now. We’ll call the exterminator in the morning.”

Mr. Nimitz swiftly nestled between the ivory linen, hoping his wife would not challenge his suggestion and drive herself batty regardless. Within a few minutes his feigned snores resonated throughout the room. Mrs. Nimitz glared at his motionless body and let out another disgusted sigh. As she gazed at the ceiling, trying desperately to hear the activities of their rodent intruder, her thoughts revolved around her loathing for her husband.

• • •Mrs. Nimitz followed Arnie, the exterminator, as he made his way

around the house. She glowered whenever he moved the furniture to get to potential cracks in the wall. Even though he returned the desk and sofa and bookshelf to their original places, Mrs. Nimitz felt the rooms lacked the perfect symmetry they had before this reckless man came into her home. She had the urge to accuse Mr. Nimitz of senility, to discount any claim of a rat. But she kept her mouth shut,

by LAURA GUIDRY-GRIMES

Scratching at the Balance

fiction

MAKE

COLLEGEAFFORDABLE!

COLLEGE AFFORDABILITY

ESSAY CONTEST

MAKE

COLLEGEAFFORDABLE!

The Yeti ~ Vol. 4 #1 ~ Fall, 2007 | 11

so Arnie would not have to stay any longer than necessary.Mr. Nimitz, on the other hand, stayed seated at the dining table

until Arnie came to him with a report. He had found no signs of a rat, but he cleared out their closets and placed poison inside. He recommended buying duct tape for any cracks or holes they found. When Mrs. Nimitz realized that she could have done Arnie’s job with a quick trip to the convenience store, she let out a loud groan. Mr. Nimitz paid him his outrageous fee, and Arnie left.

Mrs. Nimitz was nearly to the point of tears. Seeing a stranger tear up her carefully organized closets for a rat that might not even exist traumatized her. Mr. Nimitz continued to sit in the chair, knowing that walking around the altered house was dangerous. Mrs. Nimitz wished she could see some sympathy in his vacant eyes. With a wilted body, she headed for the bedroom. She would need the rest of the day to reconstruct the rooms’ balance.

• • •Three weeks later the poison remained untouched. Duct tape

surrounded all four sides of all the closet doors, even those that did not need it, for the sake of symmetry. The furniture became increasingly dusty. Cobwebs accumulated in corners. Mrs. Nimitz found herself having less and less strength.

It began two weeks ago when Mr. Nimitz was washing the dishes. Mrs. Nimitz was talking about having their friends the Stewards over for pot roast some time. The Stewards would not inquire about the doctor’s report. They would simply discuss other topics and not move outside the dining room, so Mrs. Nimitz never had to worry about her house when they were there. In the middle of her spiel, Mr. Nimitz quit rinsing dishes. He stood over the steam as the water scalded his hands. Mrs. Nimitz saw no expression, no twinge of life in his wrinkled countenance. Normally benevolence presided over his features, but at this moment a sinister force robbed her husband of all spirit. She called his name, but he did not acknowledge her. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks and neck. She wanted to gloat. She wanted to remind him that he had shrugged off this tumor. At the doctor’s she had told him that this cancer would ruin their lives. He never seemed to understand. And now the tumor had seized control, not allowing him to finish a simple chore. Mrs. Nimitz was furious at him for leaving her alone. She knew that this minute of solitude would soon become years. No balance existed anymore. She was trembling when he suddenly resumed dish washing.

Ever since that day she couldn’t bring herself to eat. The past two weeks she had given herself a plate with nothing but a couple mouthfuls of vegetables. They both spent more time sleeping. Their skin paled. She felt stabbing pains in her gut. Her head frequently ached from migraines. Mr. Nimitz heard her footsteps drag wherever she went. She slurred words together as if exhaustion

always oppressed her. Most markedly, Mr. Nimitz noticed how quiet she had become. Sometimes he would rearrange books on the bookcase and wait for a lecture. He always found her obsessive compulsiveness and whininess endearing. The lecture never came. He smelled mustiness throughout the house. Previously he feared cleaning because Mrs. Nimitz would throw a fit and remind him that her way was the best way. Now he attempted vacuuming and sweeping, but his own vigor was waning.

When Mrs. Nimitz did speak, she spoke softly and affectionately. Every so often he would stumble and find his wife crouched in a corner. “Sorry, Dear,” she would reply. “The room’s too cold.” He said nothing, but he started holding her at night.

• • •Mrs. Nimitz felt Mr. Nimitz’s arm jerk when he sat up suddenly

in the middle of the night. She tried rising, but her feeble arms could not support her sagging body. Huffing and still lying on the bed, she asked, “What’s wrong?”

“He’s back. The son of a bitch is back.” They listened.Mrs. Nimitz could make out a muffled scurrying. It seemed to

come out of nowhere and everywhere at the same time. “I hear it. I hear the rat.” She cried softly, condemning herself for ever doubting her husband.

Mr. Nimitz heard her voice quake, despite her attempt to hide it. He rubbed her back affectionately. “It’s okay, Sweetheart. It’s only a rat. We’ll deal with it. It’s only a rat.”

She allowed herself to sob louder. “How do you know? I tried dealing with it before, but here it is, troubling us at ungodly hours. What if it never leaves us alone, Roger?”

“Everyone gets rats, Adalgisa. It’s just one of those things. They always leave sooner or later.”

The ominous gnawing abruptly stopped. Light seeped through the blinds and illuminated the stark faces of Mr. and Mrs. Nimitz. Prostrate and expectant, they listened for their visitor. After a few anxious minutes in the blackness, Mrs. Nimitz could not stand the silence. She curled herself up next to her husband and kissed his hands gingerly. She burrowed her face into his underarm. Mr. and Mrs. Nimitz waited with gaping mouths, knowing their rat would return.

1� | The Yeti ~ Vol. 4 #1 ~ Fall, 2007

Signing up a new credit card cus-tomer: $58. Buying off Congress: $8.5 million. Keeping Americans in hock

for life: Priceless.In 1970, 51% of Americans had a credit

card, compared with 93% today. The aver-age cardholder has 7 cards.

Americans owe $850 billion in credit card debt. The world’s 54 poorest countries owe $412 billion in foreign debt.

A “preferred customer,” according to one MasterCard vice president, is someone with a “taste for credit” who’s “willing to make minimum monthly payments—for-ever.”

60% of Americans have been in credit card debt for more than a year.

The average U.S. household owes $9,659 on its credit cards.

If you owed that much on a card with a 14% apr (the average interest rate) and made 2% monthly payments, it would take you more than 6 years to pay off—and you’d pay $4,922 in interest.

1/3 of Americans claim they pay off their credit card bills in full every month.

Inside the credit card industry, these customers are known as “30-day wonders” or “deadbeats.”

The average American household spends 14% of its disposable income pay-ing off debts. It puts negative 0.5% into savings.

Last year, banks sent out 8 billion credit card applications, a 30% increase since 2005. Credit card companies spend an average of $58 to sign up a new cus-tomer.

Madonna reportedly gave her 9-year-old daughter a credit card with a $10,000 limit in 2005. A friend told In Touch, “She is hoping to teach Lourdes to be respon-sible with money.” The Material Girl’s publicist denies it.

In March, Hasbro announced that Visa would be the “preferred form of cur-rency” in a new Game of Life. A Visa exec called the move “a powerful illustration of

by DAVE GILSON

House of Cards

FEATURE

Each issue of Mother Jones magazine includes “Exhibit,” a collection of surprising statis-tics on a given subject. The September/October issue of Mother Jones offers the following astonishing statistics on Americans’ addiction to credit cards, reprinted here with permis-sion.

The Yeti ~ Vol. 4 #1 ~ Fall, 2007 | 1�

consumer preference to pay with Visa for everyday purchases and once-in-a-lifetime experiences.”

Americans charged $51 billion worth of fast food last year, a 29-fold increase since 2001.

1/3 of low- and middle-income house-holds report going into credit card debt to pay for rent, utilities, and food.

Kiss of Debt; Make Love, Not Debt; Wallowing in Debt; and Broke-Ass Student are among the dozens of “debt blogs” that chronicle their authors’ struggles to pay off credit cards and other bills.

Since 1996, when the Supreme Court struck down limits on credit card fees, the average late penalty has jumped 162% and the average fee for exceeding credit limits is up 138%.

Credit card companies earned $90.1 billion in interest last year. They earned $55.2 billion in fees.

After Discover charged a woman more than $9,000 in interest, penalties, and fees on an initial bill of $1,900, an Ohio judge erased her debt in 2004, slamming the company for being “unreasonable, uncon-scionable, and unjust.”

Nearly 1/3 of bankruptcy filers owe an entire year’s salary on their credit cards.

In 2005, Congress tightened bank-ruptcy rules at the behest of credit card companies.

In 2006, the top 5 credit card compa-

nies—JPMorgan Chase, Bank of America, Citibank, Capital One, and HSBC—made $8.5 million in congressional campaign contributions.

Almost half of bankruptcies are due to medical expenses, according to a 2001 survey.

As of late 2005, 900 soldiers injured in combat owed the military $1.2 million. Nearly 3/4 of these debts were due to er-rors. An Army sergeant paralyzed below the waist was saddled with $15,000 of debt.

Soldiers with a Pentagon-approved Military Star card get lower interest rates if they are deployed in a war zone. All debts are written off if the cardholder is killed in combat.

In 2004, homeowners spent more than $150 billion from second mortgages to pay off credit cards and other debt.

The World Wide Association of Spe-cialty Programs encourages parents to refinance their mortgages to send their kids to its “emotional growth boarding schools.”

In 2001, First USA signed up two students as human billboards in exchange for paying their college tuition. The credit card company made late payments, almost forcing them to drop out.

Installed in the cars of drivers with subprime auto loans, Payment Protection Systems’ On Time device issues payment reminders and disables the vehicle if a

payment is missed.The Koran forbids charging interest. In

2002, a bank in Bahrain released “the first Islamic credit card that conforms to Sharia principles.”

In 1978, the Supreme Court ruled that banks only have to follow the interest rate limits in the state they’re based in—not the states where their customers live.

After the ruling, Citibank’s credit card division relocated to North Dakota, which had just lifted its usury laws. “That was a good deal for us,” said then-Governor Bill Janklow. “It was a hell of a deal for them.”

In Dante’s Inferno, usurers occupy the seventh circle of hell.

Reprinted with permission from Mother Jones magazine. A magazine and web site of investigative reporting, Mother Jones offers readers probing public interest jour-nalism and thought-provoking analysis of contemporary politics and social issues. For more information, or to subscribe for only $10, visit www.motherjones.com.

$0

$5

$10

$15

$20

$25

$30

$35

average over-limit feeaverage late fee

TAKE A HIKE: RISING CREDIT CARD PENALTIES

$13

$34$31

$13

6991

5002

$0

$2,000

$4,000

$6,000

$8,000

$10,000

’06’05’04’03’02’01’00’99’98’97’96’95’940

160

320

480

640

800

dlohesuoh egareva credit card debt (2006 dollars)

sdrac tiderc latot in circulation (millions)

1� | The Yeti ~ Vol. 4 #1 ~ Fall, 2007

Bush Vetoes Expansion to Children’s Health Care

President Bush has followed through on a promise to veto a bill expanding health care to millions of low-income American children. Bush quietly issued the fourth veto of his presidency on a measure expanding the State Children’s Health Insurance Program, known as S-CHIP. The bill would have spent thirty-five billion dollars over five years, funded by a tax increase on cigarettes. The White House said it would only accept an increase of five billion dollars. White House spokesperson Dana Perino tried to portray the move as a way to protect low-income Americans. She said: “In a time when [Democrats] think that they want to increase funding for children’s health care, they’re actually wanting to pay for it with a cigarette tax…. People who smoke are usually… in the low-income bracket. And so they’re raising taxes on something to pay for a middle-class entitlement. It’s just completely irresponsible. Stop the madness on Capitol Hill.”

Democrats were scathing in their criticism.

Sen. Ted Kennedy (D-MA): “Mr. president I think that this is probably the most inexplicable veto in the history of the country. It is incomprehensible. It is intolerable. It is unacceptable.”

There is enough support to override the veto in the Senate but not in the House. Democrats say they’ll put off a new House vote until later this month to try to win the twenty extra votes they need.

Blackwater Hires PR Firm Connected To Hillary Clinton

It has been revealed that Blackwater recently hired a public relations firm with ties to Senator Hillary Clinton. A subsidiary of the PR firm Burson-Marsteller helped Blackwater founder Erik Prince prepare for his recent testimony before Congress. The president of Burson-Marsteller is Mark Penn – the chief

strategist for Clinton’s presidential campaign.

FCC Won’t Investigate Role of Telecoms in Domestic Spying

The Federal Communications Commission has announced it will not investigate whether Verizon, AT&T and other telephone companies handed over customer phone records to the government as part of its domestic surveillance program. FCC Chair Kevin Martin cited National Intelligence Director Michael McConnell’s claim that such an investigation would pose an unnecessary risk of damage to the national security.

Supreme Court Rejects Hearing for CIA Torture Victim

The CIA kidnap and torture victim Khaled El-Masri has lost an appeal to have his case tried in US court. On Tuesday, the Supreme Court said it would not take up El-Masri’s appeal of two lower court rulings rejecting his case. The Bush administration had invoked the so-called ‘state secrets’ privilege to deny Masri a trial. Masri was seized in Macedonia and flown to Afghanistan where he was held in a secret prison and tortured. In December 2005, two years after his abduction, Masri described his ordeal.

Khaled El-Masri: “They took me to a room. I had handcuffs and I had a blindfold and when the door was closed I was beaten from all sides. I was hit from all sides. I then was humiliated and I could hear that I was being photographed in the process when I was completely naked. Then my hands were tied to my back. I got a blindfold and they put chains onto my ankles and a sack over my head and just like the pictures we have seen from Guantanamo for example.”

Masri was committed to a German psychiatric facility earlier this year following an arrest on arson charges. Attorneys say his kidnapping and torture has left him a ‘psychological wreck.’ The American Civil Liberties Union has taken up Masri’s case in

the United States. Reacting to the Supreme Court denial, ACLU staff attorney Ben Wizner said: “The Court has provided the government with complete immunity for its shameful human rights and due process violations.”

Senate Leaders Agree to Telecom Immunity for Domestic Spying

Democratic and Republican leaders in the Senate have reached a deal with the Bush administration that would grant retroactive immunity to major telecommunications firms that have aided the spying on U.S. citizens without court warrants. The measure would wipe out a series of pending lawsuits against the companies for alleged violations of privacy rights. Senate Democrats won a requirement that would allow the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Court to review the government’s procedures for deciding who is to be the subject of warrantless spying. The measure would also face renewal every six years, instead of being made permanent. The agreement came as House Democrats pulled their version of the surveillance bill under threat of a Republican-led defeat.

FCC Chair Proposes to Undo Media Ownership Rules

The Chair of the Federal Communications Commission is proposing to do away with media ownership rules that bar companies from owning both a newspaper and a television or radio station in the same city. Kevin Martin says he will allow one month of public comment before the FCC puts the plan to a vote. Martin has backed a series of studies on the rules criticized for an alleged bias towards media consolidation. Gene Kimmelman, vice president of the non-profit Consumers Union, said: “We will demonstrate that this is purely an ideological, politically motivated effort to allow media companies to consolidate and dominate local markets.”

headlines

The Yeti ~ Vol. 4 #1 ~ Fall, 2007 | 1�

As Vic and I walked up to a bench

we see a gang of kids setting off firecrackers and a

little black and white kitty…

Vic: Oh look it looks like my cat!

Mad-E: Aww…Vic: Moow!Mad-E: giggles nervously. So the boat cruise, it

was tight right, it was fun?

Vic: The boat cruise is always fun.

M: Yeah, you guys do that every year?

V: Yeah, five years I guess. It’s a fun gig because

it doesn’t feel like a regular gig.

M: Yeah, the boat rocks a lot. You think you’re

going to go under maybe.

V: That’s when you feel like if you’re not loose,

the ocean will loosen you up, or the river rather.

M: Right, so Married Girl is a popular song,

have you ever killed a man?

V: No, I’ve never killed anyone!

M: Ok I just had to get that off my chest.

V: I feel bad killing insects.

M: Good, good. V: But I’ve done it. Very often.

M: Euugghh. What’ve you been up to lately?

What’s with that new Japanese import record

“Hamburguru”?V: Oh! The Japanese company that put that

out, I had licensed the solo record to them and

they made me an offer they said “Hey! We want a

record of our own for Japan!” I guess Japan really

likes to have their own kind of thing.

M: Yeah, it’s unique.

V: Basically. They just asked me to make a

record they said “Can you make one?” and I said

“Yeah” because now a days I say “YES”.

M: Oh good! Ok!

V: Like Nietzche said “More yes” I say “yes”.

M: So Mr. Hillyard is talking as if the Slackers

are evolving away from labels. Would you say that

most of your music is being released D.I.Y.?

V: Okay. Nowadays? All of my music I always

made a point of releasing D.I.Y., all my very personal

music. The Slackers I’ve been trying to encourage,

using my own solo stuff as a model to let them know

that it’s possible?M: Right.V: Although it looks like a step down—

M: No! V: That’s the thing I think they’re afraid of, it

looks like a step down. It’s actually a step like kind

of side ways into like more freedom.

M: It’s cooler, y’anno?

V: Its cooler! But you have to have faith in your

fans and people who enjoy that stuff. A lot of times

people look at their C.D.s as like um, you know?

“Oh! It’s just a bootleg!” you know? “Wait for the

real C.D.!” And I started to realize people just put

things in their iPods.

M: Yeah nobody really buys C.D.s anymore.

V: Yeah yeah! It’s the burned C.D. So I sell it for a

little cheaper, the music gets out. The Slackers never

made money off records anyway.

M: Yeah?V: Not that much. We make a little bit, but not

much, y’anno? We’ve made everything off of our own

stuff so basically it’s a little self reliant business.

i n t e r v i e ww i t h

THE SLACKERSF r o n t m a n

Vic RuggieroVic RuggieroF r o n t m a n

i n t e r v i e ww i t h

interview by MAD-E Ruthlessinterview by MAD-E Ruthless

1� | The Yeti ~ Vol. 4 #1 ~ Fall, 2007

M: Yeah and when that N.P.R. show came out I heard those record sales spiked up a little bit. How was that? How was N.P.R.?

V: It was cool. N.P.R. was great. We reached a lot of people who liked us. You know, people that would like us listen to N.P.R.

M: That’s true.V: But you know? The record company

didn’t really back it up and it’s like, I don’t know. We kind of felt like “Oh thanks” you know? We sold a few records, what did it do? It could’ve been really good. I think we got a lot of new fans from it. It proved to us that a little moment on the radio.

M: Right!V: Did a lot of good. M: That’s the fancy radio business.V: Ok! Radio works. We just can’t get

on it. M: Is it difficult to describe what you

do to strangers? Can you put the Slackers in a genre?

V: Definitely not. Okay, it’s Ska, it’s Reggae, it’s whatever it is. It’s easy to put it into context with strangers. When you get down to specifics? It’s difficult. But I think any good band, if they give a shit, is not going to be able to describe themselves easy.

So I fall into a very typical mindset.M: Alright. You played keys on tracks

with Doreen Schaffer and Cornell Campbell and you’ve also shared the stage with Jimmy Cliff and Toots and the Maytals. Are the old school founding fathers of Ska music still well received?

V: They’re as well received as they ever were, which is not well.

M: Awww!V: In England they still know about

‘em.M: Right right! In London they go wild

for ‘em.V: In England you can still get some

people to show up if you say Cornell Campbell is going to be there, and he’s like “Alright!” In America they never made it. We always hoped that we’d find people who would appreciate them, and they’re probably more appreciated now then they ever were then.

M: That’s exciting, kind of.V: Which is good! But they’re still

not… You feel bad because your like, “Those guys... they should be like Elvis”

M: Right, I know! I don’t understand it. Ok, can you tell me about Slackness? Your C.D. with Chris Murray?

V: Oh that was cool! That was like Chris Murray said that he wanted to make a record and he had a backing band

and some of the guys in his band got mad and said “Hey! What do you mean Chris Murray? You’re going to make a record with a band and you’re not going to make a record with us?”

M: Ohhh! Uh oh. V: Yeah so it just turned into that, you

know? And he’s just really fun.M: Yeah, what a nice guy, huh?V: Nice guy, just like, we’re real big

fans. M: Would you have picked Janie Jones

or is there a different Clash cover you would’ve done?

V: Oh I don’t know, Janie Jones was cool. I never knew the words to Janie Jones before!

M: I know! Right? It’s like “Oh, it’s so clear all of the sudden!”

V: Yeah! I had no idea that that’s what it was about. “I got a Ford Cortina that just won’t run without fuel.”

M: “Fill er up Jack-o!”V: I was like “Really? A Ford Cortina?”M: Well so can you tell me a little bit

about Sic and Mad? Is the band spread too far out to do gigs or do you have an album?

V: Well our singer just came back to the United States. He was living in Japan. So now he’s living in Tennessee and we might actually do some gigs? Maybe play a little

The Yeti ~ Vol. 4 #1 ~ Fall, 2007 | 1�

come on?V: Oh I don’t know. I mean I don’t

listen to Ska bands you know? I mean there’s a few bands that I listen to and enjoy. I think those Westbound Train guys? Made a good record, you know? I think Jeff Baker, Django? All that stuff! I think he makes good records. He just made a really good you know, Ska/Reggae record. I think, man I think there’s bands out there…

V: What’s the other band? Deal’s Gone Bad!

M: Yeah! They’re good too!M: Ok and inquiring minds want to

know about the Silencers. There’s that one track on that Hellcat compilation (Give Em The Boot) and where’s the rest of it?

V: The rest of it is in Tim Armstrong’s house and you can go pick at his house and write him a billion emails or whatever and….

M: You’ll never hear it right?V: You will definitely hear it one day.

I tried to make him a thousand deals on how to get a hold of that stuff.

M: Well but I hear he’s got like over 500 songs that are just sitting on his computer but aren’t released.

V: Yeah well that’s true too and that’s fine, that’s his music, but there’s guys that play on that Silencers thing that we all worked on and I don’t know if we ever got…We did a lot of work on that stuff! There’s two albums that are made.

M: But everybody talks about that stuff all the time!

V: There’s a lot of guys that played on those, good music, for some reason it shall remain.

Thank you to Vic Ruggiero for being so incredibly accommodating to a rude girl and her fan zine. It made my trip to New York!

bit? We made a record recently, just for the hell of it ‘cause we knew it was like… I don’t know

M: Awesome?V: He had a bunch of tunes! He was

like “You wanna do it? You wanna make a record?” I said “Yeah! Let’s do it man.” And it’s cool!

M: Definitely.V: So what the hell? M: Okay.V: We live to create, what the hell else

is there to do?M: Well I enjoy it, so keep doing it.V: Yeah.M: Alright, well the Slackers have been

around for a while, how would you say Ska and Reggae music have evolved in the past like five, six years, well maybe since like the death of MoonSka.

V: Well, I’d say there are more bands that I like now then in a long time. There’s probably more bands around now that are like half way decent and that I can go for then there’s been since I’ve ever liked the music. Because when I got into it there were two or three bands that I liked and now I listen to them and I realize that those bands were good, but they weren’t all that, they were good. There’s bands that are better, that are higher quality, more of them, aware of better music...

M: Well so who do you listen to today,

1� | The Yeti ~ Vol. 4 #1 ~ Fall, 2007

Part 4 of 6: The swarthy saint on the sizzling pavement

Another sweltering bright day on a route just a few blocks West of Ford St., I was clipping along the sidewalk between

the battered bulky duplexes which were spaced about 2 yards apart. I never saw the bee that stung me just above the right elbow. Instantly I was sprinting down the sidewalk yelling and flailing about, and then off onto a front lawn to evade my unseen winged foes. Then I stopped (noting no pursuing bees), and tried to calm off and control the surging adrenaline, recalling those horrendous stings from summers of my childhood which threatened to send me into shock if I didn’t lower my heart rate and get some ice on it to stop the swelling. But with so many stings over the years, I had been gradually building up a tolerance to their attacks, and the allergic symptoms had subsided to a mild swelling-provided that there were few stings, and a cool place to recuperate for a bit with ice and drinking water. This time I had got off easy with just one, but I had just started my route not an hour before, and still had a long afternoon ahead of dodging my way through the ghetto.

Just as I had cooled off and started walking back to my mail truck. What would I find there? Nothing to help, of course. Where would I go? A tall and stout black man in a grubby, threadbare cobalt blue t-shirt and jeans with stains of paint and turpentine and tar, along with numerous other unidentifiable substances making their splotchy stamp on the beaten bleached denim. He ambled off his porch a few doors

down and hollered at me, “you alright, dere?” The sudden question threw me and I paused, realizing that with the heat and the shock of the sting had left me in quite a state, flushed and sweating. At last I mumbled, “Um, I’m a little bit allergic to those stings, but this one’s not too bad, so I think I’ll be OK…” He came back with a mellow, deep drawling, “Well saynow, whatchu usually take for dem stings?” I paused at this, struggling for a moment to dislodge the answer from a dusty card catalog in the self-preservation collection in my brain, and stammered, “Uh, I just drink water and take a pill called Benadryl, or if none’s to be found, anything like Tylenol or aspirins will do.” He gave me an almost imperceptible nod as he turned his head and walked around the side of his house.

I shrugged and sat down under a tree, relaxed for several minutes before picking up my mail and back to the turf of the winged arch nemesis. I had only got two doors down, when up pulls a battlescarred, medium sized pickup truck, showing more brown from rust than it’s chipped and faded shade of blue paint. He had probably bought it in the early 80’s, when he would have been about my age. As I strode up to the cab, my gaze fixated on the whites of his eyes. Or rather, the yellows, I should say, for his glassy oily eyes were fathlomless black pupils, each swimming in it’s own luminous yellow sea. This sickly pallor is a common symptom of jaundice and hepatitus victims, as well as certain nutritional deficiencies. Other causes include smoking too much herb…

He spoke as gently as if praying, “Dem’s

by JIM MCKAY

Ghetto DeliveriesThese are true events as

experienced by the author while he was employed as a temporary

substitute US Postal carrier. Parts I - III were printed in the

March 2007 issue of The Yeti.

NON-FICTION

The Yeti ~ Vol. 4 #1 ~ Fall, 2007 | 1�

whatchu need, right dere.” He swiveled his buttery orbs down to focus on my right hand, which was fumbling around for my wallet in the back pocket of my long shorts-I only carried a couple of bucks with me on these mail routes. “Now, thass’not necessary. Jes’ go on an’ take whatchu need.” I thanked him and took from his massive work-worn chalky pinkish-gray hands a bottle of drinking water and two foil packets of pairs of Benadryl. I looked up and smiled, trying to think of what to say, but he was already slowly pulling away from the curb, and going on his way. My elbow felt better already and my pace recovered from it’s feeble totter to an ever steadier stride.

Part 5 of 6: Inertia the omnipotent

The blood was still a bit wet and shiny, baking a sticky dark crimson in the midday, midsummer sun. A

spattering had reached the sea-green colored siding, the shade which the Viet Cong had used in their torture chambers because it was supposedly the best hue to contrast the blood. I couldn’t tell where the body had been on the porch, I didn’t try to visualize how and where she had fell after the blows from the kitchen knife, but being familiar with this place it was impossible not to see the images in my head in the same detail I would have seen them if I had arrived on time a mere half hour earlier. As always, the news crew had arrived before the ambulance. One of the cameramen was lounging about now, so I asked him how it went down. He put it to me simple and direct. The two women who shared the house argued over the payment of some bills, in the end one lay cold on the floor and the other waited calmly in the chair for the police to show up. I put their mail (just a few bills) back in my bag and strode on to the next house, forever scurrying through these stinking, sad ghettos, trying to get it over with for another day by 5 in the afternoon… the power of inertia to keep me alert-ready for anything and not thinking too much about the chaos, the hideous manifestations of the Beast all around me…

Part 6 of 6: Crack viles went crunch! and my job went flush! down the drain…

Note: names have been changed to protect the innocent and the guilty alike in this series.

In the middle of August I was posted in an even worse neighborhood. About every third house was boarded up, and

the municipal government had smeared neon orange posters all over them which stated boldly that the citizens would not tolerate the use of abandoned buildings for the selling and consumption of drugs. Little plastic crack viles laughed forth a defiantly cheery crunch crunch! rhythm beneath my sneakers on the hot concrete. I had devised a simple method for determining how bad a ghetto was-find the ratio of liquor stores to churches. If the ratio is more than 3/1, I would be very busy on the day the welfare checks arrived, having to visit nearly every house (excluding the crack houses, of course).

One day in the ghetto just South of West Main, which undoubtably had the first or second highest ratio in Rochester, residents received free promotional samples of Pringles potato chips. Out in the affluent suburbs/countryside where I grew up, our mailbox was stuffed with some freebie roughly twice a week (small bottles of shampoo, soap, stickers, etc.), but companies generally don’t bother to market to the ghetto, and I hadn’t given out a single freebie there in three months. I thought I would be as popular as Santa Claus on this fortuitous day in the hood, but the thermostat read over 100° Fahrenheit and the day was oppressively muggy, and so I didn’t see a soul on the street. Even the porches were vacant as I trudged through the steamy mid-afternoon funk. I had forgotten to pack a lunch that day, and there was of course nothing to buy in this part of town aside from alcohol, and possibly some peanuts, chips or chitterlings. There was no time to drive just four blocks to my favorite inner-city greasy spoon, “The home of the world famous Garbage Plate,” Nick Tahou’s Hots.

I was running behind schedule, as is normal in an unfamiliar neighborhood. I

had a surplus of five or six cans of Pringles-they were addressed to the local derelict, boarded up crack houses, which don’t receive mail. I took one and munched away in gratitude, while I tried to find the next batch of mail in the truck, which was no more than a steel box now, a sweltering oven. I wasn’t surprised to turn around and be face to face Sam, with the station manager. He coldly informed me that undeliverable mail was federal property and must be returned intact to the station. I had violated a federal law and we would discuss this tomorrow at the station, he said.

Sam could scarcely understand the obstacles carriers face. He had only delivered mail for a few months, mostly less demanding commercial or suburban routes, before rocketing up the chain of administrative command. Everything about him was dull and harsh-his ashy yellow skin, colorless eyes and sub-par intelligence. Some of the more persecuted among the postal workers told me that his mommy was at the top of the organizational pyramid in Washington, which could be the only plausible explanation of his abnormally rapid promotion. Underskilled and over-ambitious, he was an anal-retentive bureaucrat who was obsessed with efficiency and thus was constantly hounding and spying on his workers. At least one of the mail carriers, Floyd, had a lawsuit against him for racial discrimination; a barrel-chested, benevolent baritone in a gospel choir-and this man could sing! Sam had told him that singing was a “safety hazard.” Floyd sang anyway-and you can be certain that all the carriers enjoyed it while throwing and pulling their mail from their vertical file shelves at 7 o’clock in the morning. Passively or actively, the entire mail room floor acknowledged the validity of Floyd’s battle against our tyrant overlord.

The day after the Pringles Incident I wasn’t called in to work, and the following day I discovered that I had been fired. With just three weeks left before I left for the start of the fall semester at university, I could hardly care less. But I do remember just a slight pang of regret that I would never roam those desperate, dirty, dangerous streets again with the neutral status that my pseudo-uniform had given me.

�0 | The Yeti ~ Vol. 4 #1 ~ Fall, 2007

Fast food has helped concentrate corporate ownership of American

agribusiness, while endorsing malignant labor practices and eating patterns.

The McDonald’s, Burger Kings, and Wendy’s of the world have their roots in the car-centric culture of California of the late 1940s and 1950s, a culture that spread as the interstate highway system was laid and suburbs sprawled nationwide. Shrewd entrepreneurs like Carl Karchner and Ray Kroc expanded their drive-in restaurants to accommodate Americans’ increasing mobility and desire for familiarity. By bringing the all-American concept of assembly-line production into the food industry, they started an industry that would be worth billions.

To promote mass production and profits, the industry must keep labor and material costs low. Teenagers and recent immigrants make up much of the fast food workforce, often

under intimidating and poor conditions. Turnover is huge, and the companies profit from it: Short-term workers accrue few benefits and are less likely to organize; McDonald’s and its ilk have fought against unions, sometimes closing stores to prevent workers from unionizing. Similarly, within the gruesome business of meat-processing exists a mostly unskilled workforce, where severe injuries are common. The meat-processing industry continually lobbies against regulations that would improve worker and food safety.

As far as the actual food goes, three companies grow and process about 80% of all French fries now served by fast food chains. Multinational food companies operate French fry plants in a number of different regions, constantly shifting production to take advantage of the lowest potato prices. The economic fortunes of individual farmers or local communities matter little. The same practices

are true in the ranching, poultry, and hog industries.

By 2005, just four companies (Tyson, Cargill, Swift & Co., and National Beef Packing) were slaughtering 83.5% of cows. That number has inched up from 81% in 2000. In hogs and chicken, the big are getting bigger even faster. In 2001, the top four companies (Smithfield, Tyson, Swift & Co., and Cargill) killed 59% of hogs. By 2005, that number had risen to 64%. For chickens, just two companies, Tyson and Pilgrim’s Pride, kill 47% of birds. The top four companies control 58.5% of the market, up from 50% in 2000. High-volume meat production makes it easy for virulent strains of bacteria to travel far and wide. A major source of contamination is, damn real, feces.

How did a few corporations gain such dominance over food production and retailing? One response is: people want cheap food, and the market gave it to them. If low cost is the main goal of food production, consolidation makes sense. Big operations gain economies of scale. You can’t argue with the results - the U.S. has the world’s cheapest food as a percentage of income.

But that reasoning is half-assed. Agricultural markets don’t operate freely; they’re manipulated as a matter of course. The government subsidizes corn and soybean production, allowing farmers to sell at prices that don’t even offset production costs. And taking animals off of pasture and confining them

in cages, which is the dominant production mode for our meat, dairy, and eggs, only works if there is a cascade of cheap corn and soybeans to feed them.

To override the distaste of industrial, chemical-reliant farming, “flavorists” in laboratories along the New Jersey turnpike concoct the “natural and artificial flavors” found in almost every processed food product to make it “taste good”. McDonald’s infuses its fries and chicken sandwiches with essences that mimic beef tallow. A milkshake’s strawberry flavor is more likely to come from a test tube than from actual fruit.

Fast-food chains are especially rampant in college towns and military bases. They know you were raised by advertisements and instilled with a short-sighted logic as to how to get the most for your dollar. But nobody in the United States is forced to buy fast food. Amid all the jibber-jabber of organics and menu-shifting, a radical approach to fast food is actually quite simple: don’t buy it.

by JOCELYN GIANCOLI

Cook Some Damn Rice

opinion

The Yeti ~ Vol. 4 #1 ~ Fall, 2007 | �1

Smash! Chips from the passenger door splatter like confetti. Chewy barks

with a wolf ’s howl. Firestone tires screech and skid. The white bandanna on Bill’s head is covered in slimy red. His brows furrow and his eyes protrude. Bill’s dimples disappear. His legs become crushed and his arms become sprawled across the roof of the car (the car has since become a convertible). A squeak like a mouse is heard

from Chewy, and then... there are no more barks heard from Chewy. Bill’s car rests at a forty-five degree angle.

I recognize the Greek letters of his black hooded sweater; the boy is in a fraternity. His head bobbles and his eyes blink and his legs wobble a little. His sweater smells like marijuana and Jell-O-shots. His mouth is ajar and his shoulders limp. I ask myself, “Does he know what just happened? Does he know

there’s a gash on his chin and forehead?”

My mom, younger brother Jonny, older brother Drew, and I drive back from a quick drive-by of University of Central Florida campus, heading back to Coronado, our Disney World resort. Jonny’s 18 and about to graduate, so a quick detour from Mickey Mouse is necessary. Fifty-five miles per hour feels like seventy in a Chrysler Sebring convertible. Yellow Submarine, a favorite song of ours, blasts our speakers. Drew, my older brother, harps about yesterday’s bad weather.

Suddenly, our car slides by like it is just escaping a train at high speed. Abruptly, the car stops. I jump out. My brother says, “No, stop!” I only hear the “No.”

My feet carry me to the metal barrier on the north side of the road. A blue Honda Accord is half balanced by the barrier and half tipped over in a small highway townhouse. Smoke, from the hood of the car, floods the area. The driver’s door and the car’s bumper are smashed in. Reaching in the car, I grab the frat boy’s left wrist and pull him out a little. Suddenly, a tie touches my right ear. A man in a business suit is grabbing the boy’s forearm. The smoke increases and enters the interior of the car. We pull harder and faster. The boy is out of the car and in the road, hunched over. His palms are at his thighs. Someone says, “Don’t let that fucker move.”

I scan the free newspaper in the lobby of Coronado. My arms and legs feel a tingle of little bumps. The headline of the Local section of the newspaper reads: Frat Boy’s Honda Tee-Bones Bill The Dentist’s Gallant, with the subtitle, Bill Is Paralyzed and His Dog Chewy, Is Dead; A Car, Not A Gun, Was The Instrument He Killed Chewy With.

Loud and judgmental, silence is heard.

I question myself. “Why did I help that frat boy out? Chewy is dead and Bill is paralyzed. Why, why… why? I shoulda let him die? No, this is not fair. Life is not fair. He killed them. He deserves to die. I shoulda let him die.”

Hitherto, I was that frat boy. I partied until 5am, drank away millions of brain cells, and would smoke a half-eighth daily. Worse—I did this and drove. That day, after the incident, I promised myself to never drive messed-up again. Two years later, I haven’t broken that promise.

by DANIEL VAHAB

A Stain Not Forgotten

non-fiction

All Saints Cafecoffee and mocha choca locas galoretasty treats from Higher Taste903 Railroad Aveopen 24/7free wi-fi

�� | The Yeti ~ Vol. 4 #1 ~ Fall, 2007

Politicians are not scientists, nor are they historians. Politicians can be wildly intelligent people, passionate

about a commitment to public service and the overall improvement of the standard of living, but at the end of the day, the men and women we elect to office have never worked in a nuclear research facility or spent hours in a library studying the nuance of Middle Eastern history. We surround them with a throng of advisors and hope that the delicate balance of Constitutional checks prevents them from making the wrong decisions.

So tell me, ladies and gentleman, what are we going to do about Iran?

President Bush’s push for military action centers conspicuously on the development of Iran’s nuclear program, stating in an October 17th press conference, “It is in the world’s interest to prevent Iran from having a nuclear weapon.” At what point does the development of a nuclear reactor for energy purposes turn into the creation (and, more importantly, deployment of) nuclear arms? What is the role of the United States in determining when and

where that line is drawn and how does that relate to US involvement in the past? With a little bit of science and a little bit of history, alternative view points are sure to be found.

On Monday, November 17th, the FSU Public Debate Society engaged this topic head-on, discussing the advantages and disadvantages of US-involvement with Iran’s nuclear program. The resolution read:

RESOLVED: The United States Federal Government should permit the development of an Iranian nuclear program.

Kimmy Stewart, Captain of the FSU Policy Debate Team, lead the efforts to affirm the topic with teammate Dustin Daniels.

“Iran isn’t going to build nuclear weapons,” insists Stewart, “The western view of Iran as an anxious, war-hungry nation is ahistorical – nukes just aren’t their bag. As it stands, Iran has considerable nuclear technology but they depend on the West to enrich the uranium necessary for nuclear power. We are forcing them to depend on us and projecting a strictly neocolonial policy on a modern state.”

Stewart’s claim holds considerable weight when viewed in conjunction with certain scientific truths, the first of these being that a nuclear reactor is not equivalent to a nuclear bomb. While the technology of one is helpful for the development of the other, Stewart points out that “there is little incentive to fund a multi-billion dollar nuclear reactor to hide and aid a clandestine weapons program.” While I won’t pretend to understand the intimacies of nuclear physics, I do know one thing: plutonium equals bombs. Only the finest enrichment of uranium can yield the high-potency plutonium required for the creation of a nuclear warhead, a process that far exceeds the enrichment needs of a nuclear energy site. If Iran is to rebuild its most recent nuclear program, under various contracts with Russia and China since 1995, the constraints of the building agreement do not describe the kind of facility required to refine uranium for any purpose beyond the creation of energy.

On the negative side of this resolution, FSU Debater Renzo Cafferata attempted to undermine the entire concept of nuclear development. “Though the ideas behind the NPT [Nuclear non-Proliferation Treaty] were good,” he says, “the Treaty itself is flawed. Reducing the number of arms while allowing for the development of nuclear energy sites is the 1970s answer to the question of nuclear war and alternative energy – better alternatives can be found.”

Engagement on the question of environmental politics is one which the Bush administration has avoided completely, focusing instead on impending war, doom, and gloom. US involvement with the initiation and development of Iran’s nuclear program since the 1960s seems to have completely departed from modern discussions of Iran’s nuclear capacity, with current leadership poised as both the innocent victim of potential assault and the defensive leader of the world police. Should the US invade Iran? Does the support of a nuclear program compromise global security, international treaties, or environmental concern? The Public Debate Society engaged each of these topics at the debate. In the future, come, get involved, get educated, and prevent catastrophe.

The FSU Public Debate Society was created to bring national and international topics to the larger public for the purposes of education, activism, and engagement. Each debate lasts approximately 45-minutes, followed by a question and answer period between audience members and the debaters. For further information regarding the debate or the team, please contact FSU’s Policy Debate Coach, Matt Grindy at mag04m@fsu.edu.

by GINNY KOTzIAS

The Race Against Iran

policy

Human history becomes more and more a race between education and catastrophe.

–H.G. Wells

The Yeti ~ Vol. 4 #1 ~ Fall, 2007 | ��

President Bush has proclaimed for years that the goal of Operation Iraqi Freedom is to create a democratic government

that can aid the U.S. in its fight against Islamic extremism. While conservative pundits suggest that “The Surge” is working, its success or failure is incomplete without a proficient government and political reconciliation within Iraq.

Unfortunately, the newly formed government represents (and has for years) one of the chief hindrances to democratic efforts within Iraq.

Let’s limit the scope of this article to after August 2007, which the Iraqi Parliament took off because of hot weather.

After investigating for only a year, anti-corruption task forces, on behalf of the U.S. and U.K., issued 44 arrest warrants for Iraqi government officials, including two former ministers. Cited in a 2005 BBC article, an Iraqi anti-corruption commission study labeled the corruption problem an “epidemic” within the new government.

The Iraqi government’s failure to lay the foundation for political reconciliation is perhaps the most troubling. Suppose America’s brilliant military succeeds in eliminating all insurgent violence within Iraq, and trains and mobilizes a large number of Iraqi battalions. To whom do American commanders relinquish power?

The need for political compromise within Iraq cannot be overstated. Even if the streets of Baghdad are John McCain-safe, the Parliamentary chamber will remain

polarized, and, as a result, powerless.Even liberals concede that it takes

time to construct a capable democratic government within a formerly authoritarian nation; however, this does not legitimize a continuous American troop presence in the mean time.

Iraq’s government should begin to take steps toward political reconciliation, or consider other measures, such as dividing the nation into thirds (for the respective religious sects).

But, “should” is not good enough anymore. America has lost more soldiers in Iraq—not the nation or regime responsible for 9/11—than it did citizens in the World Trade Center.

President Bush needs to send a clear message to the Iraqi Parliament by immediately beginning to safely redeploy troops from Iraq to Afghanistan and Pakistan, where the real 9/11 murderers are hiding.

by D. J. FLYNN

In Iraq:Success Contingent upon Political Progress, Regardless of Military Outcomes

war & peace

non-fiction

Prior to my departure to Israel, I sat in a hard plastic terminal chair, my mind blank and numb. Israel meant as much to me as the

film I was shown in fourth grade about those early Yankee men hurdling pounds and pounds of tea bricks into Boston Harbor. I knew of its existence and significance in time, but I was busy high up above the cosmos on the Cyclone at Coney Island swirling and swirling quasi-euphoric spew into my leather bound journal. I foresaw my trip to Israel just as I’ve foreseen any figurative or literal trip during my space-time saga–with pessimism–but with a definite willingness. I had purposefully cut myself off from any clue as to what was going to take place in the coming 240 hours of my life. I didn’t want brain fluid pollution. Itineraries weren’t meant for me. I wanted surprise! Action! Adventure! A play on fate and free-will.

I would preface this by saying “I’m a bad Jew”, but one important lesson I learned in Israel was

that there are no “good” or “bad” Jews.Not practicing Judaism formally does not

make one a “bad” Jew. Still, for the majority of my life, I denied God, and I especially denied myself as a member of the circumcised, curly-haired clan of Elohim. To be honest, if it weren’t for the fact that this trip was completely free, in all forms, Israel would’ve never been graced with the bottoms of my Asic Onitsuka Tigers.

So, everyone thinks, “Well this is what they wanted to happen to you. Those evil brainwashing zionists.” Not exactly. I’m not necessarily pro-Israel. But I’m most definitely not anti-Israel. In a political sense. My love for the land that the world calls either Israel or Palestine transcends all earthly boundaries. My relationship to Israel is precisely analogous to my relationship with God, yet the two have little to do with one another, retrospectively. I love both infinitely without the contamination of society’s respective definitions. Israel to me is the bath houses below Masada and the pure earth blanketed over it, the crisp saltiness of Dead Sea air, the dirt from the archaeological caves that still gets between my toes when I wear my dark-green woven sandals, fresh Bedouin breakfast goat

cheese, wailing desert camel cries, letting go of rope into Jordan River currents, mountain Galilee starry skies, the electricity of Jerusalem’s streets, and the eccentricity of Tel Aviv’s.

They’re fighting over this land for a reason.It solidified me. Looking out to where

Pangea split from where the Roman Civilization flourished, I loved God. Right there, I loved God.

God, who was always just like those Yankee tea party spoilers. There’s something about the air in Israel. It goes beyond the rudimentary purposes of carbon dioxide. In all its historical glory, in all it’s documentation, the ironically turmoiled land is the humblest, the most noble geography on Earth. The waterfalls in Galilee don’t scream “Look at me!”. The lowest, saltiest point on Earth breathes solidarity.

John the Baptist baptized Jesus of Nazareth in the Jordan River.

When I drifted down the aquatic biblical spotlight, it didn’t persuade me of its fame. When I dug out Roman pottery from a cave in Jerusalem, I wasn’t starstruck by life.

I just felt like I was humbly living it.

by LINDSAY KRAVITT

A Recapture

Volume 4 ~ Issue 1 ~ Fall 2007

Tallahassee’s Community Newsmagazine