RIP Howard Zinn

If you've never read A People's History of the United States, now would be an excellent time to do so. Radical, controversial genius Howard Zinn passed away yesterday at the age of 87. A lifelong activist and celebrated revisionist, he spoke openly for the rights of those suffering from injustice, and worked to shed light on subjects left long hidden in the dark.

It's Hard to Stay Weird

Seriously, why do I keep blogging? There's a million crickets chirping in the night. There's maybe six sets of ears listening. And three of those pairs probably belong to cricket-eating predators. Who cares?

It's great that some folks are blogging for a better day. It's great that you can text "HAITI" to 90999 and donate $10 to the Red Cross. No fuss, no muss, just that great feeling that you've done something. It's great that Americans, dredging themselves out of an economic depressive, can offer lip service, money, and action to the billions of people less fortunate than we are. It's easy to feel like you've made a contribution.

On the other hand, it's easy to forget that there was a massive tragedy in Haiti because the developed world has spent FIVE HUNDRED YEARS ignoring millions of small tragedies taking place every single day. A country that once looked like nothing so much as paradise on earth, is 95% deforested. It took a slave revolution to create two centuries of dictatorship and social unrest. Even before 200,000 people died in an earthquake, living in Haiti was not easy.

And the same things are going to continue happening: in Haiti, in Indonesia, in Africa, in America. Every day, little kids and young women are being sold into sexual slavery. Every day, profit-minded business people are exploiting environments and cultures they don't live in to squeeze out a few extra dollars. Every day, organized crime is wielding untoward influence and negating the potential for peace. There is war and ethnic violence and a growing gap between the rich and the poor, while the planet's resources are sullied, wasted, hoarded.

And a million crickets are chirping in the night.

Anyway, happy effing New Year. Now that this is out of my system, we'll try to return to our regularly scheduled program of mayhem and mirth.