Terror Lurks in the Hearts of Men (and women)

Friday, June 08, 2007

Terror Lurks in the Hearts of Men (and women)

A post from this former sergeant who served in Iraq and the 445th Civil Affairs Battalion in Samarra and later Mosul. She worked a s a liaison to the governor of Nineveh Province, returning to her home in Montery in October 2004. Her perspective is there are things worth being afraid of, being scared about, but terrorists in the Homeland isn't quite one of them. - MS

Signs: The Seed Is Planted
By Sandi Austin

Special to the New York Times, June 8, 2007

Sandi Austin spent 11 months in Iraq as a sergeant with the 445th Civil Affairs Battalion, in Samarra and later Mosul. For most of her tour, she worked as a liaison to the governor of Nineveh Province. She returned to her home in Monterey, Calif., in October 2004.

A strange feeling came over me as the C-130 landed at Fort Bragg, N.C. After 11 months in Iraq, I wasn’t scared any more, but it felt like the rest of America was.
I now live in Monterey, Calif., home of sea otters, sea lions, harbor seals, cypress trees, California oak trees, tourists, newlyweds and nearly-deads. I was working in a local restaurant, Taste Café, when a sweet, costume-jewelry-wearing-grandmother, sipping her cappuccino said, “Oh, I was so scared at the aquarium today.”

Thinking that she must have seen the new shark exhibit I replied, “Yeah, lots of teeth on that Great White, huh?”

She shook her head and said, “No, not the shark, dear, the terrorists.” I was looking around at all of the people at the aquarium and thought this could be a terrorist target as well.”
I wanted to reply, “Ma’am, there is no need to be afraid, no one is going to come

into the aquarium and blow it up… enjoy the jellyfish, the penguins, and the giant tuna.” (Illustrations by Sindee Garcia).

It’s crazy to me the fear that seems to be growing inside Americans. It is as if a seed of poison ivy fell into a garden of tomatoes, corn, and peppers. From the moment the seed was planted it began taking over the rest of the garden.
This fear is planted as we read signs that shout “BEWARE,” as the media presents potential threats over and over again, and as small towns begin preparing evacuation plans against terrorist activity. I won’t fall into that trap. Having been in Iraq, I know what it’s like to be scared, to understand what a true threat feels like. Now that I am back on American soil, I don’t want to live in constant fear. I want to feel like I’m on vacation, worry free. Perhaps we should have fun living now, instead of focusing on the horrible things that “could” happen.
My stomach cringes as I approach the 20-minute wait to get through security. Mind you I have no problem waiting; lines are part of military life. The problem is all the signs glaring back at me while I wait. Their gory message blurts, “High Risk of Terrorist Attack,” “No Liquids, No Shoes, No Socks, No Jackets, No Toothpaste, or Water.” A seed is planted in all of our minds as we wait in line. Why don’t they say “No Knives, No Guns, No Machetes, No Num-Chucks, an

d No Tomahawks”? Now that is a sign that sends a message.

For a while I swore Proctor and Gamble had something to do with the increased level of security. Maybe I’m naive, but I don’t see the purpose of getting everyone worked up over this so-called terrorist. I wish they would give this character a name, maybe give it a face. Perhaps I should include a drawing of the terrorist I think exists, the one who can create a bomb using the fluoride in the toothpaste and plastic water bottle. (I think we know him as MacGyver.)
I am now a four-binner … shoes, belt and jacket in one bin, backpack in another, computer out of backpack in the third, and purple carry-on stuffed with a week’s worth of clothes in the fourth. So my thought is why don’t we all wrap ourselves in Saran wrap just to get through? Certainly would speed things up. Then again, an airport full of carefully wrapped, naked Americans could get a little scary!

I am almost dressed when the T.S.A. agent says “We will need to search this backpack.” Of course I’m thinking there is nothing in there besides the projector I had to carry for work. The agent reaches in and pulls out a bottle of Jason’s Deli water. I smile, laugh a little, and apologize. I’m sure she feels successful … job well done. That is one less water bottle on the plane! As I zip up my backpack, I decide to make sure I packed my iPod. I open the inside pocket and what do I see rubbing against the iPod … a bright and shiny, red-cased, 12-gauge round. This pack had been on a recent camping trip. I’ll say it once again. Thank god she found the water bottle.
I see this measure of security as another facet to make Americans feel safe, but safe about what? Something that “could” happen, something that we Americans should worry more about? Send out the message and it will be received. The Five Man Electrical Band — and more recently, Tesla — said it best: “Signs, signs, everywhere there’s signs, blocking up the scenery, breaking my mind.”
After being home for three months, I was inspired to write the following song:
”The Sign,” written and performed by Sandi Austin. (mp3)
The Sign
Sitting on my rooftop, trying to find some peace.
Watch the people pass by.

Watch the old man try to make a buck but he’s still got no luck.

Puts his hand in his pocket and empty again.
Old man made his way down town to the local café.

Wasn’t looking for a drink, just a quiet place to think.

Then he saw a sign, sent shivers down his spine.

Said have no fear my friend, the end is near.
Old man grabbed that sign, and he yelled these thoughts aren’t mine.

Raised his hands to the sky, years of rage fell from his eye.
He cried.
I’ll try to understand, what makes you think you can, change the way I see this world surrounding me.

I’ll try to understand, what makes you think you can, change the way I see, when you won’t listen to me.
Old man on the ground, hands on his head, mind racing round and around he cries.
I’ll try to understand, what makes you think you can, change the way I see, when you won’t listen to me.

New Community Radio Station is Launched in Key West

A new radio station, KONK-AM on the dial, was launched on May 26,2009, in Key West. It has evolved to its current place on the dial, at 1500AM, broadcasting from studios at 1106 White Street in the island city and can be heard from Islamorada to Havana, Cuba.

It is Community Radio, broadcasting its AM signal from a tower on Stock Island, and is most easily heard, cystal clear, on the web site, http://www.konkam.com/

I host my own show, ARTWAVES, weekdays at 11am until noon.
We talk about the arts, it's value, impact, where we find it, create it, support it. My guests range the full gamut, from filmmakers, poets, writers, sculptors, painters, jugglers/buskers, dancers (from ballet to modern), musicians of all stripes, arts administrators, policy makers and shakers, and advocates, gallery owners and operators, photographers, even a longboard artisan who creates stunning pieces from woods found only in the Keys, theater actors and directors, operatic singers, divas from dive bars and lounges, treasure hunters and finders, too!

Join in weekdays. Each hour brings another show host, a new program on different topics and issues. All Talk Radio, with live music added in as well. Tune in! Catch a wave...

Blame it all on the 70's

Author Thomas Hine argues we're still suffering from that "slum of a decade" that brought us gas lines, pantsuits and shag rugs.

If the left and right agree on almost nothing else, we agree at least on this: America's in terrible shape. Such shocking shape that -- how did we come to this? -- it might not actually survive.
And there our dialogue dissolves. The things about America you diagnose as lethal are the very things your megachurch-belonging cousin with the rifle rack in his truck prays might save its life. And vice-versa. Gay rights. Abortion rights. Prayer in the schools. Environmentalism. Corporations. Porn. There the shouting, and possibly shooting, begins.
How did we come to this? It's the '70s' fault, writes Thomas Hine in The Great Funk: Falling Apart and Coming Together (on a Shag Rug) in the Seventies (Farrar Straus Giroux, 2007), a richly if incriminatingly illustrated book about a traumatic "slum of a decade" in which "the country was running out of promise."
Well, the '60s were a hard act to follow.
"Only a decade before," Hine muses, "as the nation anticipated the conquest of space, the defeat of poverty, an end to racism and a society where people moved faster and felt better than they ever had before, it seemed that there was nothing America couldn't do." Flash-forward through Watergate, gas crises, helicopters escaping Saigon -- and "to live in the seventies was to live in a fallen world, one of promises broken and trust betrayed." Hine ticks off that decade's insults to heart, mind and eye: "The politicians were awful. The economy was awful. The insipid harvest gold and avocado kitchens were awful." Ditto gas lines, AMC Pacers, and pantsuits.
Nearly everyone who lived through those years would nod, flinching.
An eternal question about any era during which one was young is: Was the whole world embarrassing, or was it just me? As regards the '70s: It wasn't just you. A longtime design critic -- thus more sensitive than most to beanbag chairs and Bicentennial-patterned carpeting -- Hine painstakingly skewers pyramid power and Virginia Slims in chapters whose pop-culture-referencing titles evoke the chronic inferiority complex of those disappointed times: "Running on Empty," for instance, and "It's Too Late," and "Not Ready for Prime Time?"
Yet his skewering has an obligatory quality, a must-mock-Midler delliberateness. It's a setup. Because this book's real point is to burrow deep into the shag rugs and chest hair and extract wisdom. Yes, your dad lost his job. And disco sucked. But from an era that is all too easy to dismiss as silly, trivial and grim sprang most of the essential issues inflaming our discourse today. Grounds for celebration or destruction or for civil war, depending on whom you ask, were cultivated in that decade, in a petrie dish that smelled of Diet Pepsi, amyl nitrate, apple-spice air freshener and, well, funk.
Ecology. Diversity. Ethnic and sexual identity. Individuality. Alternative sources of energy. Feminism. Fundamentalist spirituality. Retrace our steps (in Earth shoes and a crocheted vest and Dacron flares, of course) through Jimmy Swaggart and solar-heated geodesic domes and blaxploitation films and the Village People and you will find it there, albeit all innocent and earnest and embryonic. And not just the topics themselves but the ways in which we face them now: our wary citizen-journalist vigilance, questioning authority, scoping out conspiracies, pursuing truthiness. The '60s tend to get all the credit -- for rebellion, for consciousness-raising, for everything. And those who were young in the '70s faced a deafening chorus roaring: You missed the boat and are, indeed, too late.
The era they'd missed had been imbued with a wild easy-rider-come-together optimism. "Even the protestors of the sixties," notes Hine, who is old enough to have been one of them, "objected that America was using its immense wealth and power to do the wrong things, not that it did things wrong. Yet during the seventies it seemed that the United States couldn't do anything right." And it was precisely that shattering of optimism, the serial humiliations of Nixon and Vietnam and ugly urban sprawl and the wracking poverty spawned by inflation and massive layoffs, that spawned a strange new kind of solidarity. A desperate bottom-of-the-barrel creativity. The sneaky kind of freedom that breaks chains and opens doors when -- to paraphrase Kris Kristofferson's "Me and Bobby McGee" -- you've got nothing to lose. And that, of course, was the last song Janis Joplin recorded before she died in 1970. Among baby boomers, Hine writes, "the song's refrain ... was heard as a kind of epitaph." Her death was itself a loss, thus one less thing to lose. As was Jimi's, one month before, and Jim Morrison's, one year hence. As was the Beatles' slow-motion collapse: mere markings on a timeline now and, to most, funny ancient history: Yoko smiling and smug, Linda singing off-key into a switched-off mic, flashing past in the neat anodyne black-and-white of documentaries. But to a generation raised to be the center of attention, the first wave to worship rock-'n'-roll, these losses wrought a shocking loss of innocence. The long and winding road was cracked.
But hey. "When the center cannot hold, well, that's good for those out on the edge," Hine reasons. "When the forces of order are revealed to be a malign conspiracy, it's a good time for a party."
And in that spreading uncertainty, "when the system weakened, the oddballs and malcontents found an opening. It became possible to try out identities and find solidarity with other rare birds like yourself." Failures, deaths and disasters had proven space-age optimism and patriotism illusory. Yet as darkness fell without, light swelled within: "Awareness of a world with limits allowed people to impose fewer limits on themselves and to explore frontiers within themselves." Struggling up out of the ruins of shared midcentury assumptions, Americans dusted themselves off and decided that their ripped jeans required patches -- but which to choose? Smiley faces, pot leaves, praying hands? In that scramble, Americans discovered a new icon:
Me.
Not me, who sits here writing this, but "me" as an idea. An ideology. A literature, a style. An endless source of fascination. "Finding your identity was extremely important," Hine writes of an era when "each family member dressed to express" -- with enormous clashing checks and plaids, with star-studded lace-up boots and "fun fur" skirts and factory-embroidered faux batiks, sudsing with a shampoo only the '70s could spawn: It was called Gee, Your Hair Smells Terrific. It was an era when, tellingly, Life magazine folded and People began.
Yes, this arguably turned us into narcissists. But Hine strives to show how all that mirror-gazing also brought self-awareness, direction and long-overdue self-acceptance to countless Americans, even if some of the gazing occurred over the tops of cocaine straws. And sometimes me morphed into an empowering we.
"The history of the seventies is dominated by the rise of like-minded but hitherto marginal individuals asserting the validity of their ways of seeing and doing things. Not all these ways of thinking were ultimately liberating. Nevertheless, finding that there were others who thought and felt as you did was liberating itself." The resounding popularity of the 1977 miniseries Roots, for example, "reached far beyond the African-American community" and, "as its title suggested ... spoke to a wider desire by all sorts of people to know about the circumstances and experiences of their forebears and to connect with their traditions. Roots, by telling such a rich story about slaves, for which the historical and genealogical record was presumed to be sparse, encouraged others whose ancestors didn't arrive on the Mayflower to look for evidence of these humbler lives."
Other corporate products, however cynically motivated, served as touchstones for what are today's identity politics. The 1973 film Jesus Christ Superstar, along with Jimmy Carter's born-againism and Hal Lindsey's 1970 megabestseller The Late Great Planet Earth -- which prophesied the end of the world and the Second Coming and sold 28 million copies -- alternately seduced and scared legions of Americans into "a Christian consciousness," Hine writes, "that was very different from the liberal Christianity that had become the consensus during the post-World War II era."
Disco sowed the seeds of technomusic. Funk sowed the seeds of hip-hop. Compact cars -- despite the Pinto's tendency to explode when rear-ended -- sowed the seeds for Priuses. Shattered ideals sowed the seeds of dissent.
The scrutiny was nonstop. "One of the fundamental approaches" of the groundbreaking 1973 women's-health manual Our Bodies, Our Selves "was self-examination," Hine reminds us, "and some passages were written to be read while holding a mirror, so that readers could discover previously unexplored parts of their own bodies. It was easier, however, to learn by looking at someone else's body. Many women recall consciousness-raising sessions at which, speculum in hand, they examined the vaginas of their fellow participants in order to understand what was inside themselves." During those same years, he points out, Hustler magazine revolutionized over-the-counter porn by printing "pink shots" -- interior photos, as it were. Ironically, if for different reasons, "feminists were engaged in much the same exploration."
Apocalyptic and disco fantasies mixed giddily in those years with a yen for authenticity -- by which yogurt and animal-rights activism and vibrators became mainstream, and by which manufacturers got rich churning out decor in feculent "earth tones." And this is what marks the '70s: this urgency, this dazed, tender, ever-so-public awakening on the cusp between Strawberry Fields and multinationals. It was the decade when a hundred pride movements bloomed. So much pride, so little embarrassment.
And that's what makes the '70s, arguably more than any other decade, so embarrassing.
But hey. They wore that Dacron so you wouldn't have to.

NUTCRACKER KEY WEST 2007

The Nutcracker Key West production, just ended at the Tennessee Williams Theatre, has been dazzling, spectacular and simply phenomenal. Joyce Stahl's amazing reimagined staging of the classical ballet with Key West imagery set records as well as setting audiences ablaze with a rapture usually reserved for high cathedrals or the New York stage.
Eleven performances, over 4500 attended, with the last 6 shows sold out. The Paradise Ballet Theatre brought in the many talents of 18 professional dancers from esteemed ballet companies in the US, with Alun Jones reprising his role as choreographer. You can see the amazing photos at http://www.nutcrackerkeywest.com/ and more will be posted here. Plans are already underway to produce a 2008 version, as Joyce is a whirlwind of motion, not stopping or slowing down for a second. The success of this year has obviously encouraged the consideration of mounting the next show, and will advance establishing the Nutcraker Key West as a real tradition in the community.

MidSummer's Night Update

Celebrate the Most Magical Night of the Summer this Monday, August 13

We’re assembling a wonder-full Midsummer’s Night Dream and Perseid Meteor Showers “Salon Spectacle” - a night of feasting, dancing, and theatrical antics celebrating the art and artists of Key West.

Presenting on Monday, August 13, by Michael Shields and Java Studios as a joint production with Marky Pierson, Christa Hunt, and Quincy Perkins, the Salon Spectacle is being hosted by Joyce Stahl at her 727 Eaton Street home, from 7 to 11 PM. The free event has attracted over 50 artist participants including musicians, singers, dancers, painters, fire jugglers, actors, poets, storytellers, and more, with filmmakers capturing and projecting the evening’s action. George Murphy is M.C. for the festivities, with actors from The Studios of Key West “One Night Stand” presenting their 10 minute plays, on the two outdoor stages, with a band and a DJ keeping the beats, urging people to roam the property and delight in the night. Many surprises are in store!

Midsummer’s Night has been observed worldwide by many cultures and seen as a time when the veil between this world and the next was thin, and when powerful forces were abroad. On Midsummer’s, legend held that you could gain the powers of a bard – or on the downside, end up utterly mad, dead, or whisked away by spirit faeries. Romances flourish, affairs are begun, mystery and mischief abound.

While traditionally celebrated on the Summer Solstice, in Key West, Midsummer’s Night is indeed the midpoint of the summer, between the Solstice and the Equinox. It is also the occasion of the annual Perseid Meteor showers, a true celestial event, displaying the most spectacular shooting stars of the year.

Midsummer’s Night “Salon Spectacle” is being created to celebrate why we live here, and to give artists a voice and a platform to share the power of their dreams. The launch of the Salon on this cosmic night of community is intended to stimulate the arts, foster greater awareness and spawn further Salon style projects. All are invited to join the creation of the Midsummer’s Night. Costumes are caliente! Dancing is delightful! Food and beverage provided.

It all begins with a dream. What is yours? Show your star!

Questions?
Call Michael Shields at 305-394-3804, or email michael@javastudios.org

Mid Summer’s Night Dream & the Perseid Meteor Showers SALON SPECTACLE

Come Celebrate the Most Magical Key West Night of Summer and Share Your Dream ! AUGUST 13th.
The evening historically is a fire festival called Midsummer's Day or St. Johns Eve, representing the middle of summer. Traced back many thousands of years, observed throughout Europe by many cultures, and later called St. John's Eve, which was seen as a time when the veil between this world and the next was thin, and when powerful forces were abroad.
Vigils were often held during the night. It was said that if you spent a night at a sacred site during Midsummer Eve, you would gain the powers of a bard, on the down side you could also end up utterly mad, dead, or be spirited away by the spirit faeries. Indeed, St. Johns Eve was a time when faeries were thought to be abroad and at their most powerful (hence Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream). Herbs gathered and foods eaten then are thought to be imbued with the power of the sun. Add to this the influence of the later sister summer festival of Lughnasa and the circle of fire is further made brilliant, promising abundance and peace in the coming harvest (and, an invigorated arts scene in Key West!)

The community gathers on this special night for the Midsummer's SALON. It is a night of feasting, dancing, theatrical antics and celebrating Mother Nature's summer bounty. While traditionally celebrated on the Summer Solstice, in Key West, Midsummer’s Night is indeed the middle of the summer, midway between the Solstice and the Equinox, or also seen as mid-point of the April-November axis when Summer weather prevails.

It is also the occasion of the annual Perseid Meteor showers, a true celestial event, displaying the most spectacular shooting stars of the year, August 12-13, 2007.

The most gifted musicians play their instruments, filling the night with their magical music. Performers from all avenues join to make the evening memorable and marvelous. Dancers swirl, painters create stories, wordsmiths paint pictures, and above all, dreams are woven in the night air and the shooting stars are witness.
PLUS, we’ll have prepared and festive summer food and beverage - the Keys’ most delectable and tasty – And FUN!
You are Invited ! Read ahead…

Key West is a haven for artists and now’s the time to step forward to further deepen our appreciation for the arts on this truly celestial evening.
Mid Summer’s Night is ideal to celebrate that we live here, to give voice and a platform to experience what gives meaning and pleasure to everyone. You can be heavy or you can be light, sweet or savory, it’s all tasty.
On this Night, we launch The SALON - the channel to make it all happen and set the stage for future SALON development.
Hosted at the home of Joyce Stahl, 727 Eaton Street and 328 William Street, presented by Java Studios and Michael Shields.

And YOU are the Creator of Mid-Summer’s Night!

What is YOUR Dream? Tell Everyone !
Say it in words, song, dance, film, and…?
The Night invites you to show your Star
From pre-sunset to midnight, every fifteen minutes, your turn to shine will be scheduled as you spotlight your talent, your idea, your song, your poem, whatever makes you shine!
We are seeking YOU - Artists, Actors, Singers & Songwriters, Dancers, Poets, Writers, to make the Mid-Summer’s Night a Carnivale, a Celebration of Celestial Light.
RSVP... by August 3…to be part of the SALON & Stage
RSVP… by August 10…to come to the NIGHT and see and hear the dreams being displayed and woven…
Stars In The Making!
394-3804…RSVP…

…Be creative!
and Circle The Date!

JAVA STUDIOS - Media That Matters and Community Development

Friday, June 08, 2007