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If Sabina Had a Child

You say you are married, you have a nine year old son you are devoted to and you cheat. You say your husband is clueless. In conversation you easily express attractive values as though a mirror unaware of conscious expression.

A person might have the three dimensions of no sense of guilt, no shame and no fear of outcomes and be either psychopath or highly evolved, depending on a peculiar circumstance… the absence or presence of a fourth dimension.

Going to the difference between morality and ethics or, sympathy versus empathy, there exists a typical social lie most of us are unaware of; the idea because we can express values and sympathy, we are doing something right. This does NOT mean we are whole or complete beings. Values are meaningless without ethics or, the applied principles which is the power actually to care for someone other than ourselves, and to be aware of the effects we might have in outcomes in other peoples lives, those responsibilities we incur with making of life choices, when taking decisions impacting others.

Family, and children especially, in order not to become emotional deserts, rather to be strong, require in the beginning, exercising a self-principled stance precluding any emotion of sympathy. Sympathy is a robber, enabling feeling sorry for oneself. People who express sympathy enable themselves and others to feel sorry for themselves and are the ones contributing to the cycle of people dying inside, expressing and enabling sympathy only reinforces behaviors which are self serving and shallow.

Empathy empowers. What is empathy? Empathy is the ability to set aside any self serving emotion or motivation and know in some sense a compassion for the circumstance of another. Empathy, as a capacity to care for another, can only be acquired via the discovery of principled behaviors or, better said, a dimension of ethics which precludes any sense of real guilt, shame or fear, in a positive sense of self that is a positive sense of self-acceptance.

Fear,  guilt and shame, taken together with sympathy, have been used to manipulate and control in the negative sense of shaming, the shaming of children particularly. This teaches feeling sorry for the self, inculcates a blindness to positive outcomes and perversely too often creates a self centeredness numb to morality motivated expectations in behavior. Here is created the emotional desert of no real personality, a seeming wasteland devoid of the fourth dimension of empathy and ethics; equaling what might be the psychopath. A psychopath born of the failed negative motivated morality concept, knows no authentic sense of guilt for harming others. No sense of shame in a shallowness void of any real caring for any person outside their own self-centeredness. No sense of fear of consequences in relationships, and incapable of genuine feeling or taking responsibility for damaging the emotions of people whose lives must rightfully depend on them for example of stability and a future, especially children.

Morality’s combined negative effects absent principled behaviors and sincere empathy, demonstrates a profound lack of caring first; for oneself. This negative self-centeredness only can only come across as a life lived as a lie. No matter how strongly values are expressed with language, the negative motivations of fear, guilt and shame, absent the lessons of principled ethics, only develops a heightened sense of self worthlessness, often to a point of numbness. Without applying a discipline to the self, a practical decision taken without regard to self-pity, to conform oneself to a principled stance, taking responsibility for those whose lives you must impact, absent this, negative reciprocity must be the outcome. I am not expressing any concerns for your many lovers. I am speaking of your relationship to your nine year old son. A child is a sentient being and any child’s awareness is capable of detecting, or absorbing a lie, no matter how one might lie to oneself as realtes to a honest caring for that child..

Can what seems a psychopath become a light, a beacon, a depth, a beauty? I believe so.

No sense of fear to look at the shallowness of the self, can open one to grow inwardly, to initiate overcoming a sense of worthlessness, even nothingness.

No sense of guilt turned on the self rather than projected onto others, might enable a honest self-examination.

No sense of shame turned to the self-examination can enable self-forgiveness in a sense of letting go… AND THEN:

A principled stance applied to the self in relation to ones behavior can open the door to know empathy, to discover caring for another and watering the seed of a healthy emotion; in society where we lose our children most often because of emotional disconnect. Otherwise the spirit of the child must become severed from the parent who may have been there in every superficial aspect but was not there in the most important way; the ability to model caring for the self inside. The self inside that knows to be both kind and principled in example to the child, the self inside that knows to care for a child in the empathy of a relationship of peers that breeds a sense of loving admiration, the self inside that shares with a child the development of self respect. The self inside that empathetically models taking responsibility.

Without these, children can wither and become lost… a child’s spirit knows what a child’s mind cannot; we so often lose these kids because we have provided no healthy love in a principled and practical sense, they are dying inside themselves and suddenly we may not see them again; because they have no sense of being protected, no solid basis within to fall back on, they’ve not learned to care about themselves in any healthy way, they make poor decisions, and consequently meet life tragedies far too often.

I wish to introduce to you the lie your behaviors can only bring demise in your relationships with yourself and family when in actuality you are but a short step away from great ability of knowing what it could mean to discover to be alive inside, to know a sense of being loved such as only a child can bring to you. Your child could give you a life inside, a sense of self respect, an opportunity to grow deeply, to discover and to develop a real personality. It would only require a sustained applied ethics, a simple, new habit you sustain for no other reason than to make a difference for one person with whom you should know the most sacred of all binds, yourself (for the sake of your son.)

Principles which are applied to the self, no longer values superficially espoused, can serve to sustain life for your son who must otherwise despair in ways he cannot know how to express to you, except to one day become lost for having felt cast adrift, the emotional desert of having died inside. If this strikes deep, perhaps you are not a psychopath, not dead at all, and a past altogether lack of guilt, shame or fear can become your great strength with a self examine of behavior and subsequent applied self discipline, because you actually are capable of caring despite any sense of worthlessness that may have been inculcated and manifest in a destructive desire. Because when you cheat, the environment you create is self-perpetrating; a lie of self.

It is a simple, sustained act of self discipline that can lead to your birth inside, to have a genuine personality. And your child will respond to your principled caring for you.

To be a child again, to explore in small and simple ways together the marvels of our existence, to know your child will love you unconditionally because you become open to the idea you are valuable to him beneath the surface of having become numb to real emotion. To know what it means to really be free, to explore the world anew with a friend that desires to know your presence intimately, deeply, truthfully. To give life again, to be a mother in a sense so important, following on the physical birth of your son. To allow your son opportunity to water a seed in yourself for the sake of yourself, to be generous in your new, authentic and positive desire to live for another.

I wish to introduce to you the lie of your worthlessness, shallowness, and incapability of becoming valued and deeply considerate in a reciprocal love knowing the real meaning to care.

I wish to introduce to you to the lie of you are a psychopath.

The preceding inspired by conversations with a married woman with a nine year old son; looking for interesting men (online) to have casual sex. She had been inspired by Anias Nin.

My position is, you cannot cheat your way through life, there must be a principled stance. Related to this, taking responsibility for making choices, setting example, is critical-integral to raising healthy children. If she was not satisfied with her marriage, she should have gotten out with honesty or toughed it out with self-discipline, to set example. Children are like a sponge, they absorb their environment. Dishonest parents will, almost without exception, raise dishonest children. Or worse.

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Exiled

Dreamt up at an out of doors café in Sant Feliu de Guixols

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Napi. Just who is this guy? Napi is many things. Napi is a teacher, an archetype, our Blackfoot ancestor and much more. Napi is a god, he is like Jesus or a holy man. Napi is the devil, Napi is the first real human being, Napi is a fool, a friend, and the trickster- Old Man Coyote. Essentially Napi is all the possibilities embodied in any Blackfoot MALE

Everyone learns from Napi (his stories) in Blackfoot culture, and the idea behind Napi is to foster what is sane and healthy in men and put strict controls on what is not. Because men are men, there are the men’s Napi stories which are supposed to always be cleaned up in the presence of women (sorry.) Culturally speaking, some of the men’s Napi stories simply should never be told in the women’s presence at all

Did the women have the prurient Napi stories? Men were never admited (NEVER) to the women’s secret societies, so we (men) supposedly must accept at face value the idea the women only knew the cleaned up versions of Napi stories. But because I am Napi (a Blackfoot male) onetime I tricked one of the old ladies into an admission of sorts, that is I made a reference to Napi’s butt

When one of my elder woman teachers was present, I had an opportunity to identify myself in the Blackfoot language.. and instead of using my proper Blackfoot name Pee-ma-na-kwan (man with a rope), I identified myself as Penucquem (Puh-nuck-qwee-um) or that is to say I identified myself as Napi’s rectum with the proper/formal expression

That drew a belly laugh from the old lady, the spontaneous and deep sort of laugh burst out that would make a man think she had heard the dirty stories the men tell (but only behind the women’s backs.)

In actuality I cannot know, it may be she simply believed I am an asshole, that interpretation works just as well. And as she was my elder teacher, I had to stop there, because she subsequently gave a look of spine shivering evil, as though daring me to die for having breeched her dignity and caused her involuntary laugh. It is safe to say I never broached the subject with her again. She was what would be known in the old matriarchal times as a Ni-na-wa-ki, or a woman that was the highest form of Blackfoot chief. You do NOT cross these women

I will come back to Napi, and how he ate his own ass for lunch, but first I think I need to explain Indian humor is more typically healthy, and give folk here in the outside world some idea of how it works

Native humor is all about keeping things honest, in a fun and entertaining way, and consequently, this humor is often self-deprecating in a gentle or harmless way, that is laughing at having made a fool of oneself, or jokes can be created with a little license describing another’s encounter with life’s many surprises. Spontaneous jokes are appreciated, a quick, creative wit is a prized possession in the personality. The taciturn Indian is a face presented to the outside world only, within the community life is filled with fun and liveliness in most conversation.

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A Honky Snow Cone

I was at a pow-wow in the southwest where people did not readily know me as an Indian.. looking like ZZ Tops. I was watching the dancers, there was a Rastafarian dreadlocks White guy doing what appeared to be a stoned southern style war dance, overly exaggerated and out of time and I was amazed at the Indians straight faces as this guy made an incredible spectacle of himself. I could not help but laugh, it was that ridiculous

I was thirsty, it was hot, I walked to a concessions stand to see the possibilities with this fresh memory of someone that made me feel pretty stupid about my original race. The Native ladies ceased their conversation, normal when a White comes into earshot, I noticed that and realized they would not know I was Indian. As I approached the stand, I did not have a joke in mind about my Whiteman appearance but being Indian, it had to pop out

The only refreshments on sale were all sugar laced poisons, generic colas and other pop, and I did not want any of that. I ordered what I figured was least sugar poisonous, a snowcone. The (quite pretty, actually) young woman dutifully scooped the crushed ice into the paper cone and then turned to face me and asked “Which color?” (sugar syrup, red, blue, green or yellow)

I asked “Can I have it just as it is?”

She seemed surprised “No color?”

I replied with the perfect musical reservation inflection: “We could just call it a honky snow-cone.”

She looked down at the cone of pure white ice she was holding for me with a dumbfounded expression and the other girls broke out in involuntary laughter but quickly recovered their straight faces and gave this what looked like a Whiteman with perfect Native expression a suspicious look (wondering for a brief moment what had happened, is it safe?) but I had got them

She broke out in a gentle and wry, but friendly smile as she handed me the little cone of ice and took my money.. as I said quietly “I am diabetic” and she replied while now smiling in a truly sweet way and with genuinely friendly voice, also quietly, “Thank you.”

That “Thank you” stated more than the outsider would ever imagine. Indians don’t typically say thank you except in sincere heartfelt circumstance. It was ‘Thank you for being genuine’ and ‘I recognize now you are Indian’, and it was ‘Thank you for the joke and bringing a great laugh into our day.’

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Who Framed Melvin Bunny?

Because men are men (yes, in Native America as well) and because the culture is breaking down and becoming western, the humor is becoming ever more dangerous, as it must, to serve keeping the culture honest

So, to another real life Indian story. I hate to do this to my old friend Melvin Running Rabbit (his Indian nickname is Melvin Bunny) but here is how it is in Indian country today. It is a story about accountability

Melvin (if he is still alive) is a really good guy but he had a blind spot. He never looked at the possible consequences of those times he occasionally ran with the wrong crowd when he liked to go out of town to indulge in a really good Indian drinking binge, and those can be pretty stupendous events. I had checked it out for myself on a couple of occasions, any damn thing can happen, it is crazy to drink with Indians or, better said, when Indians drink, crazy things happen, like waking up from passed out with only one braid, the other having been cut off. Melvin was destined to a bigger joke. The Indian joke that backfired, but as the Indian world is not logical, neither are the consequences.

Melvin had, with several other Indians, drunk himself into the oblivion that seems required at these often extraordinary events, in a motel room in Great Falls, Montana, in the 1990s. There was a popular animated video out at the time: “Who Framed Roger Rabbit”

As it happens, there was one late arrival to this drinking binge who did not pass out to the typically near comatose condition and he was feeling a bit hard, or hard up. So he pulled the pants off of a passed out woman, used her like an ultra-conservative Republican on viagra would use a plastic blow-up doll for sex and then he had an idea for a joke. He pulled the passed out Melvin’s pants down and dragged him on top of the passed out woman he had just squirted full of his stuff, and left. That was a bad joke, but it gets better

If he had not done that second part of his criminal act, but rather had pulled the woman’s pants back up instead, he likely would have gotten away with the rape, because every Indian woman that attends these binges knows the risk, it has happened many a time and is often the joke story of the modern Indian drunks. She likely would have been disgusted with herself, having discovering what had happened to her, taken responsibility for being there and let go of it. End of story

But as fate would have it, along comes a family member looking for her and stumbles on the passed out old guy, Melvin, lying on top of the much younger woman, both with pants down. He called the cops and Melvin went to jail and was charged with rape

Melvin professed his innocence at his arraignment, the Indian humor telegraph was working hard on the story, supposedly in his cell Melvin was given a Viagra pill, a playboy magazine and a paper cup, to get his DNA and the subsequent big story on the Indian humor telegraph was:

“Who Framed Melvin Bunny?”

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Napi Eats His Butt

I close this essay with a story of the proverbial trickster, our Napi. There were many stories of Napi holding philosophical conversations with his rectum, and this is where typically the Napi stories become really dangerous.  If you can understand this story, then you will have a good idea of how to see where human nature has gone wrong in the Whiteman. Because this is the Indian story of the Evangelical Whiteman, the Whitemen we have met in Andrew Jackson and George Bush. It is about the Whiteman that rules America today. It is about corporate America and nacissism in the extreme. It is about narcissistic men like Barack Obama. It is about a man that does not learn from his mistakes. It is about a man that does not put two and two together concerning the consequences of his actions. It is about a man that does not understand his relationship to essential functions in nature necessary to his survival. It is about a man that does not pay attention or listen. It is about a narcissistic man so full of himself, he lies to himself about others good intentions. It is a story about how not to live your life. And perhaps most of all, it is a story about recycling old and failed ideas. The name of this story is “Napi Eats His Butt.” The story is told by Napi’s asshole, Penucquem, and it goes like this:

Napi had been to a great feast with his brothers. He returned to his camp very full of food and tired. Napi curled up to sleep by his fire, and you know where a dog’s nose is when he curls up to sleep!

Spuurrpp! Napi farted and it woke him up, his eyes were watering. Napi said aloud ‘Well, that was really rude’ and curled back to sleep…

Spuurrpp! Napi’s head popped up again, irritated, Napi shouted at his rectum: ‘Penucquem! If you won’t let me sleep, I am going to teach you a lesson!’ Napi curled up again.

Spuurrpp! That really did it. Jumping up, Napi grabbed up Tail, out of harms way, and sat on his campfire to get even with Penucquem. “Yii! Yii!” Napi really took off, like only a hurt dog does, and this started him on his travels.

Napi moved for a long time, he was thinking of how Penucquem had bit him really hard when he had tried to punish him, he didn’t understand how his asshole could do that to him while pushed down on the fire. It was Penucquem that should have cried out and ran away.

So Napi kept moving and thinking, he was traveling a long time in a big circle…

Napi walked and thought about it for so long that finally the large scab fell off of his rectum and still walking in a circle, he came across the scab and said “What do you know! Dry Meat!” Napi was getting hungry again about this time and he was happy to have found the dried meat some Indian had lost.

The Magpies shouted out to him “Napi! Don’t eat that! It fell off of your rectum!” Napi shouted back to the Magpies “You’re not fooling me, you just want this dry meat for yourselves!”

And then very delicately because there was not much of it, and with a lot of savor because he was hungry, and very deliberately, so the Magpies would envy him while watching, nip by nip, Napi ate his butt.

“Hun Neow Wah Nee Moo Oosss” (This is what your ass has to say)

The best part of the story about Napi eating his butt is, it was just such a good story I couldn’t help myself, I stole it from the Crees. I stole it from Wee-say-kay-cha (the Cree trickster) and gave it to our Napi. It’s a Blackfoot story now-

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“Two Medicine Men, both teachers, visited the big city and took in a service at the cathedral. Returning home, they took their Indian students on a journey of ‘Discovery.’

“First, they killed the nicest kid in the group and told the rest it was their fault for being born. But now, if they would eat the nice kid and drink his blood, calling it communion, they would not be held responsible for anything, ever.

“And this conferred upon them the right to tell other people how to live their lives- what they can and cannot do”  –Penucquem’s Journal

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Two Indian Jokes

Two Northern Plains Indians talking about the Southwestern tribes, originating with one of the Northern Indians experiencing married life among the Apaches, beginning with a question: “Well, what did you discover?” Answer: “Apaches are feral Navajos.”

After I’d moved to New Mexico, and Floyd HeavyRunner called to see how things were going, Floyd asked me “Are they (the New Mexicans) on Indian time?” I answered “No, they’re on Mexican time.” Floyd: “Mexican time? What’s that?” Myself: “They fall asleep and forget.” Floyd [belly laughs] “That was good.”

Related:

Life in Indian Country

Collected stories, folklore and anecdotes concerning my many years life with Blackfeet Indians and traversing Native American territories

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A former Special Forces Sergeant of Operations and Intelligence, Ronald Thomas West is a retired paralegal/investigator (living in exile) whose work focus had been anti-corruption and human rights. Ronald is published in International Law as a layman (The Mueller-Wilson Report, co-authored with Dr Mark D Cole) and has been adjunct professor of American Constitutional Law at Johannes Gutenberg University, Mainz, Germany (for English credit, summer semester 2008.) Ronald’s formal educational background is primarily social psychology. His therapeutic device is satire, uh and yeah, he grew up with and spent most his life in close association with Indians…

Ron10

a Ronald Thomas West assessment

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CIA veteran Melvin Goodman on David Ignatius: “The mainstream media’s apologist for the Central Intelligence Agency”

Glenn Greenwald on David Ignatius: “The CIA’s spokesman at The Washington Post”

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Body of Lies

I’d been perusing titles at ‘Books in Berlin’ (an English language bookstore) somewhat absent-mindedly, but noticing quite a few titles dedicated to international intrigue. I suppose that should come as no surprise, there are many CIA and other English fluent ‘spooks’ in town, as well they must have quite a few local acquaintances and it is reasonable to assume they’d be interested in ‘shop-craft’ reading.

I had no particular interest in the fiction side of the game, it is difficult enough to sort through the propaganda and disinformation rife in non-fiction titles, but then a book I happened to glance inside the front cover caught my eye.

“Body of Lies is fiction but reads like fact. CIA officers admire [author David] Ignatius because more than any other writer he understands the nuances of their trade – fascinating” -George Tenent, former CIA director.

‘Well then, why not’ was my thought and I purchased the used paperback Body of Lies.

If George Tenent was accurate in his assessment of the book, and there is no reason to expect otherwise, he’d have done the agency a favor to have kept his mouth shut.

But first, the author. It has been a very long time since quality fiction has been appreciated, and David Ignatius adds to the thought. Though not as cheesy as, say, The Da Vinci Code (a profound disappointment) the quality is far short of classic American literature. It is not so much a phenomena of dearth of quality writers in modern American literature, so much as it seems there is a dearth of readers who can appreciate quality, which sadly is no longer seen in best selling works, we have not seen a Washington Irving in quite some time. David Ignatius is no Washington Irving and Body of Lies is no ‘Astoria’ .. but is better (not by much) than Dan Brown’s cheese that passes for literature.

If Body of Lies accurately depicts CIA covert operatives and actions, as Tenent claims, I should recommend the book as a lesson in why CIA is about as useful to my nation as the folk proverb ‘tits on a boar.’ Other than revealing his taste for crass literary shallowness, Tenent also should have kept his mouth shut because what he authenticates has endorsed:

1)  Cowboy culture and mentality. Throughout, there is a hackneyed and simplistic theme of ‘if we kill first, they won’t kill us’ coupled with the idea ‘what the politicians don’t know (breaking laws, committing murders), won’t hurt them (or us)’ leading to:

2)  CIA operations officers who are culturally so self-centered, narcissistic and vain, there is no qualm felt whatsoever at sending repentant jihadists, even innocents into intrigues, as pawns in circumstance that more often than not gets them killed, to further any objective, no matter how minimal or trivial the gain; attended by the thinking 2 wrongs or 10 wrongs or 100 wrongs can add up to make something ‘right’ for the American people (by a virtually lawless CIA.)

One gets a sense the author/book deliberately cheats certain social realities to promote a fantasy ideology, and one gets this is how a ‘body of lies’ so to speak, is fed to the agency’s fans who worship this author.

The simplistic protagonist is a CIA officer with a ‘conscience’ who falls for the books heroine who does charity work in refugee camps, with plot set in the radicalized Islamic world of the ‘war on terror.’ She works on his head with a principled demand he cannot be CIA and have a future with her because someone has to be the ‘good American face’ with a demonstrable commitment to social justice for the Palestinians. But this aspect of the plot altogether fails to convince because the author hammers on a theme of ‘they all want to kill us’ [Americans] without any delving AT ALL into the WHY.

There is zero honest history presented (zero history in fact, as though it were too embarrassing to present to the reader) of the long time habit of the CIA and other western intelligence agencies manipulation and exploitation of the Islamic world on behalf of western economic models (corporate boards) with deceits, corruption and violence.

In this novel, Murder Inc (CIA) happily runs amok murdering with patriotic spin, while going after Murder Inc Jr (Al Qaida) with no end in sight and no honest attending story line of how we had arrived in this circumstance.

Our CIA operational officer protagonist dutifully follows orders he knows will get people killed without cause, rhyme or reason, repeatedly, and demonstrates little conscience in this regard, if only it might lead to one more ‘tip’ and in fact it is obvious he (or the author) only is capable of caring when it comes to the woman he thinks he wants to fuck, a portrait in actuality of a sociopath (at odds with any suggestion the man has real feelings.) Her character is developed almost entirely on chauvinist habit of perception, what a great lay she should be, and no aspect of her ‘caring’ in the purported Palestinian social cause is developed, bringing across the idea the author (and his fans) are in fact incapable of any depth in this regard.

The sympathy for Islam set in the book is mainly based in admiration for duplicity, and emphasizes the idea Islamic culture is based on a principle of ‘dissembling’, and there is no ‘ordinary’ Muslim character developed in any depth or sense of a sympathetic human understanding (other than admired as a fellow killer in the trade.) In fact the books ‘happily ever after’ ending strongly sends the message there is none, and cannot ever be, any American with Muslim heritage accepted as a patriot or trusted to work honestly for CIA.

Body of Lies would be excellent reading for the ideologically driven intelligence agent who wished to keep his or her head in the sand and promote killing without conscience, all the while maintaining the self-deceit a worthwhile action and patriotic goal is pursuit of western economic domination (modern corporate board colonialism.)

In fact the novel, Body of Lies, is at its heart Islamophobic. It is small wonder the neo-conservative criminal George Tenent has endorsed what amounts to a shallow and ignorant work serving as a propaganda tool as much as anything, if there were to be any useful description of this novel, subsequently made into a movie. The book appeals to a visceral chauvinism, excusing every criminal excess in a guise of patriotism. That David Ignatius is considered to be a responsible reporter on intelligence issues generally, and CIA particularly, points to how widespread ‘information operations’ have been turned loose on the American public, essentially proselytizing naked aggression far beyond buying reporters, as well proselytizing agency personnel:

“The emails also show that the CIA asked the Post‘s Ignatius to speak at a May 2012 off-the-record conference, “Political Islam’s Future: Challenges, Choices, and Uncertainties,” for U.S. government intelligence analysts and policymakers. The invitation was extended in an email from the press office, which said that the conference organizers “would like you to draw upon the insight from your field experience, reporting, and broad network of contacts during the lead up to the Arab Spring to share how journalists sense that major political, social, or religious changes are in the making.””

The tripe Ignatius writes for CIA is clearly ‘institutional’ propaganda-

**

Written at Wiesbaden, Germany, Summer of 2008 –

I went to the university to see my classroom for the first time, visit with my boss in the law department and check on some important protocols, i.e., would a self educated Honky raised Indian in the Rocky Mountains, be thrown out of a university in Europe for basically being himself. A matter of personality.

As I entered the law department and traversed the halls to the department chair’s office, this new Professor Witch-Doctor garnered stunned looks of disbelief from the rather straight looking lawyer academic males and friendly laughs from the women, I wondered what that said about my new life in academia.

I have known my boss for years, relating to past human rights and international law work, as an investigator in Indian country, and in his office I have questions relevant to current affairs. This is in regards to my stand-up comedian nature and my new professorship; will I be able to make the point to my students the name of the law professor who composed the Bush administration memos authorizing torture had inspired a change in the spelling of the English language expression ‘Fuck Yoo’

Also, I established I do not own a tie and was not about to acquire one. I believe the tactful language I had used in negotiating this important parameter was “I don’t believe I could manage a tie.” I was duly assured casual clothes would be fine, after-all, I am Professor Witch-Doctor Ron, having never subjected myself to PhD imprisonment in any ivory tower.

In the Native world, life’s little surprises are ascribed to The Trickster, and when we encounter these events, we are supposed to pay attention because life is trying to tell us something. Such as the time I had been wandering about the Arizona desert, and picked up a Horned Toad for a pet to give to a child. I slipped the creature into my jacket pocket and it had already slipped my mind by the time the day warmed up and I tossed the jacket into the back of my car and forgot about it for a week.

Subsequently, I was driving down a desert road and my heart nearly blew its way out the top of my head when some flat, cold scaly alien about the size of a tea saucer suddenly was attached to the right side of my neck. With the missed photo opportunity of a lifetime, the look on my face I am sure, I grasped the horned toad and pulled it free of my neck and into my line of vision and started to laugh somewhat insanely.

I stopped, walked the creature back into the desert apologizing profusely and set it free. Life had just told me in a moment of unfounded terror, to leave Horned Toads alone. In the Native view, even such a small and harmless creature has real power.

These many years later, I’d gotten to be the Horned Toad.

Mephisto

On my way to university appointment, I spryly hopped onto an escalator at the train station, and was quickly sandwiched in by people front and back and noticed the little woman in a nun habit standing next to me. She was staring at the new Professor Witch-Doctor with an expression indicating if she could leap off a twenty story building to escape me, there would be no hesitation… my camoflage bandanna and shades can do that? I had forgot… I looked down at my t-shirt with a cameo portrait of the devil and the name “Mephisto”

I did not wink at her (Oh, the temptation was great) but merely wondered at people who are prisoners of fear… with my life dedicated to peace and non-violence (not to mention free expression)

**

In student emails to me after the course was completed; “you showed me there is more than one way to learn at university”, “I’d take your class again just for fun!” and my favorite “your class was so refreshing after all of the suited and stiffed up law professors.”

These students are the truly bright minds

I suppose when I have survived life’s present international intrigue and achieve fame, perhaps the university could consider awarding me a honorary witch-doctorate of satire in letters and law, and I will enjoy teaching again-

A true story based on my summer semester (2008) adjunct professorship at Johannes Gutenberg School of Law (Mainz, Germany)

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The Satires