T P O

T   P   O
The Patient Ox (aka Hénock Gugsa)

G r e e t i n g s !

** TPO **
A personal blog with diverse topicality and multiple interests!


On the menu ... politics, music, poetry, and other good stuff.
There is humor, but there is blunt seriousness here as well!


Parfois, on parle français ici aussi. Je suis un francophile .... Bienvenue à tous!

* Your comments and evaluations are appreciated ! *

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Withholder - in - Chief - by Maureen Dowd





Withholder-in-Chief
----------------------
By MAUREEN DOWD
Op-Ed Columnist, NY Times
Published: August 9, 2011




Even the Butter Cow at the Iowa State Fair is not enough to sweeten the mood.

Three years ago, Barack Obama’s unlikely presidential dream was given wings by rapturous Iowans — young, old and in-between — who saw in the fresh-faced, silky-voiced black senator a chance to leap past the bellicose, rancorous Bush years into a modern, competitive future where we once more had luster in the world.

“We are choosing hope over fear,” Senator Obama told a delirious crowd of 3,000 here the night he won the Iowa caucuses.

But fear has garroted hope, as America reels from the latest humiliating blows on the economy and in Afghanistan. The politician who came across as a redeemer in 2008 is now in need of redemption himself.

Faced with a country keening for reassurance and reinvention, Obama seems at a loss. Regarding his political skills, he turns out to be the odd case of a pragmatist who can’t learn from his mistakes and adapt.

Many of his Democratic supporters here, who once waited hours in line just to catch a glimpse of The One, are disillusioned.

“We just wish he’d be more of a fighter,” said one influential Democrat with a grimace. Another agreed: “You can’t blame him for everything. I just wish he would come across more forceful at times, but that is not the dude’s style. Detached hurts you when things are sour. You need some of Clinton’s ‘I feel your pain’ compassion.”

The president has been so spectacularly unable to fill the leadership void in Washington that the high-spirited Michele Bachmann feels free to purloin Obama’s old mantra.

“The power behind our campaign is hope and a future,” she chirped to a sparse crowd Monday in Atlantic, Iowa. “That’s all I believe in.” That and making America safe for old-fashioned light bulbs and not those weird curly ones.

Obama’s response on Monday to Friday’s Standard & Poor’s downgrade and to the 22 Navy Seal commandos and 8 other soldiers killed by a Taliban rocket-propelled grenade in Afghanistan was once more too little, too late. It was just like his belated, ineffectual response on the BP oil spill and his reaction to the would-be Christmas Day bomber; it took him three days on vacation in Hawaii to speak about the terrorist incident when the country was scared about national security, and then he spent the next week callously shuttling from the podium to the golf course.

Bachmann has been riding around Iowa in her bus, with Elvis music and her name emblazoned 25 times on the outside, mocking Obama for going to Camp David last weekend and burrowing in, while the country was roiling.

His inability to grab a microphone and spontaneously assuage Americans’ fears is strange. If the American servicemen had died on a Monday, he wouldn’t have waited until Wednesday to talk about it. He doesn’t like the bully pulpit, just the professor’s lectern.

After failing to interrupt his Camp David weekend to buck up the country on one of its worst days in history, he tacked on his condolences for the soldiers’ families to his economic pep talk, in what had to be the most inept oratorical segue of his presidency.

He long ago should have gone out into the country to talk to Americans in person and come up with a concrete plan that people could print out from the White House Web site and study. Hasn’t he learned how dangerous it is to delegate to Congress? His withholding and reactive nature has made him seem strangely irrelevant in Washington, trapped by his own temperament. He doesn’t lead, and he doesn’t understand why we don’t feel led.

Speaking from the State Dining Room of the White House, he advised America it was still “a triple-A country” like some cerebral soccer coach urging the kids to win one for the London Interbank Offered Rate.

With traders hearing nothing new, just boilerplate about “common sense and compromise” on deficit reduction, the Dow Jones industrial average, which had already fallen 410 points, fell 20 more points while the president was talking around 2 o’clock. By the 4 p.m. close, the Dow was 634 points lower.

Obama has spent a lifetime creating his persona — superior, wise, above all parties and interests, all-seeing, calm, unflappable.

But as Drew Westen, a liberal psychology professor at Emory University wrote in The Times on Sunday, puzzling about what has happened to his former hero’s passion, the president never identifies the villains who cause our epic problems.

It’s unclear, Westen wrote, whether that reflects his aversion to conflict or a fear of offending donors, or both.

Obama’s assumption that you can rise above ascribing villainous motives has caused him to waste huge chunks of his first term seeking bipartisanship from Republicans who were playing him for a dupe. And it has led to Americans regarding the nation’s capital as a place of all villains and no heroes. 


Wednesday, August 17, 2011

The Bus Ride to Fugue (Part IV) - by Hénock Gugsa







The Bus Ride to Fugue
Part IV
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by Hénock Gugsa







Furtively and with a slightly tremorous hand, the girl pulled a compact out of her small red leather purse. She raised the little mirror up in front of her face as if to inspect the state of her appearance. [I suppose I was watching her somewhat more intently than I should have been.] However, her real purpose with the mirror was to get a sly glimpse of the three noisy passengers in the back of the bus, namely Pepe, Carlos, and me. Then she met my eyes in her mirror looking back at her. Needless to say, she was so unnerved that she dropped the mirror. It rolled down the aisle like an over-sized coin and stopped near the foot of a zombie sitting in the first row of seats.

But this girl was no Mata Hari. She seemed too scared or ashamed to get up and go after her property.

Pepe had been watching everything with amusement, and must have thought that now was his moment for heroism. He was going to rescue this damsel in distress. Maybe he would win her corázon or devoción, he must have thought, as he got up off his seat to go to her.

But Carlos saw that I was already getting up also, and made Pepe sit back down. Evidently, Carlos understood that I had no designs on the young lady except that of a fatherly concern. After all, she was young enough to be my daughter.

Despite the disconcerted looks I was getting from the zombies on all sides, I walked diffidently toward where the little mirror lay. I stooped quickly, picked it up, and turned back to where the girl sat. She was sitting frozen in one place, her face red with embarrassment and discomfort. It just about broke my heart seeing the distress in her face.

I smiled kindly and warmly at her to put her at ease.

“I think this belongs to you. I saw it roll down the aisle. I hope you don’t mind me getting it for you.” I said as I extended my hand with the compact mirror in it.

She raised her head the tiniest bit and showed her gratitude with a tremulous smile. However, she would not allow herself to look at me in the face as she whispered, “Thank you.” Still smiling, she accepted her compact and carefully put it back in her purse.

As I turned away and began to head back to my seat, a thought occurred to me that maybe I should invite her to come and join the merrier group in the back. And so without hesitation, I said to this young lady, “If you would like to come over to the back and join our little happy club, I’m sure we’ll be delighted to have your company. Pepe back there is quite a character and may seem wild but he’s actually harmless.”

She looked up at me for the first time, and her pale green eyes were glistening and blurry. I thought for a second that she was going to start crying, but she didn’t. Instead, she gave me a dignified smile and said, “Thank you, but I’m fine right here. Walter here is my cousin, and he won’t bother me. He has never been much of a talker anyway, and that’s alright. Thanks for the invite all the same.”

I stood frozen where I was .... Did she really speak? ... Did all those words come out of her? .... I did not know how to react or what to say. She was pleasant enough albeit in an enigmatic way. But I was so rattled by this turn of events that all I wanted was to terminate this encounter quickly and pleasantly.

I just blabbered, “My apologies. I didn’t realize he was your kin. He seems harmless enough; they all do for that matter. It’s just so unnerving their being so quiet and listless. It’s almost like they’re not human at all. Look, it’s none of my business anyways. I just thought you might want to talk to someone for a bit and make the journey less tiresome and dreary. It’s up to you anyway.”

I gave a forced smile and walked back to my seat with determined steps. When I got back to my seat, Pepe and Carlos were watching me with suppressed, expectant looks in their eyes. I just flopped myself down and looked away morosely ... at nothing.

Five minutes later, the girl got up off her seat, turned and started walking back in our direction.


... Conclusion ... in 
Part V