Dr. John Persico Jr.

Ecclesiastes: The Wisest Book of All Time?

21 Sep 2015 2 Comments

by Dr. John Persico Jr. in Uncategorized Tags: arrogance, ecclesiastes, greed, humility, meaning, meaningless, nihilism, Pride, profit, skeptic, wisdom

I want to write about Ecclesiastes this week. It is one of the 24 books of the Hebrew Bible. It is among the canonical Wisdom Books in the Old Testament that can be found in most Christian Bibles. It has been called by some a book of skepticism. Others see it as one of the most profound and erudite books that has ever been written. Much of the writing in this book reminds me of the Shakespeare passage in Macbeth wherein he says:

“Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” ― William Shakespeare, Macbeth

“Vanity of vanities! All is vanity,” says the Preacher at the beginning of Ecclesiastes. In some sense echoing the same sentiments as Macbeth, Ecclesiastes tells us of the folly of wealth, riches, power, fame and even wisdom. Herein lies the great paradox in Ecclesiastes. Ecclesiastes is a book of wisdom which has the audacity and temerity to decry the power of wisdom. Whereas most tomes praise the power of wisdom to solve all the evils of the world, to Ecclesiastes, wisdom is also just another vanity.

“I applied my mind to know wisdom and to know madness and folly. I perceived that this also is but striving after the wind.” — Ecclesiastes

If power, riches, fame and wisdom are folly to pursue, that would seem to leave us with only pleasure left as a goal of life. A sybaritic existence of hedonistic pursuits measured by the wine, women and song we have endured. Epicurus said: “It is impossible to live a pleasant life without living wisely and well and justly. And it is impossible to live wisely and well and justly without living a pleasant life.” The Hedonist position has often been criticized starting with Socrates and Plato who felt that a Hedonist was endorsing a doctrine that was contradictory to right living (see Plato’s Gorgias).

Just when it might seem we have a goal in life that can be mutually satisfying for everyone, Ecclesiastes says: “I will make a test of pleasure; enjoy yourself. But behold, this also was vanity.”

Everything is vanity. If Saint Ignatius was right in proclaiming that “ingratitude” is the fountain of all sins, Ecclesiastes shows us that the other side of the coin is vanity. Rich or poor, wise man or fool, famous or obscure, death will take us all and care not one whit about our history. “How the wise man dies just like the fool!” – Ecclesiastes

Another book which I think has a great deal in common with Ecclesiastes was written by Max Stirner and is called “The Ego and Its Own.” Stirner (a 19^th Century German philosopher) has been labeled a nihilist for the pessimism he exudes in this book. For instance, Stirner says:

“Man, your head is haunted; you have wheels in your head! You imagine great things, and depict to yourself a whole world of gods that has an existence for you, a spirit-realm to which you suppose yourself to be called, an ideal that beckons to you. You have a fixed idea! Do not think that I am jesting or speaking figuratively when I regard those persons who cling to the Higher, and (because the vast majority belongs under this head) almost the whole world of men, as veritable fools, fools in a madhouse.” — (The Ego and Its Own, New York 1907, p. 54)

You may well ask “what is the difference between nihilism and skepticism?” One answer to this question which I found on the Internet is as follows:

“Skepticism is a critical attitude, orientation or outlook towards a proposition or a thesis. It typically is characterized by doubt about, or at least dubiousness towards, its substantive truth value.”

“Nihilism, on the other hand is an attitude, orientation or outlook of indifference towards a proposition or thesis. The nihilist refuses to engage in an epistemological process of examination, discovery or analysis into its truth value.”

These definitions and more about the differences between these two concepts can be found at http://phenomenologicalpsychology.com/2011/03/what-is-the-difference-between-skepticism-and-nihilism/

To sum the differences up in my own words, skeptics doubt everything while nihilists do not give a damn about anything. Some would describe nihilism as extreme skepticism. Hence, reading the works I noted above might lead you down either path. You could decide that nothing is worth doing since there is no truth or value in anything we can accomplish so why bother. Or else you could decide that you simply do not care about the world so why bother with any of its myriad blandishments. I somehow think both paths might ultimately bring you to the same place.

There are many people who believe that the world is nothing but a mad house and that we are all inmates in one large global asylum. My father often said that heaven and hell were both on earth and that it was our choice which one we lived in. As Yoda noted in Star Wars we make a choice whether to go to the dark side or the light side. Of course, a determinist would say we have no choice, that fate or life has already determined which choice we have to make. I am constantly at odds with a good friend of mine who has staked this position out for his life and decisions. In some ways, it is very difficult to refute. I can refute all of his arguments but at the same time, I can refute all of my arguments against his arguments. This leads me to the inexorable conclusion that life is more complex than I can explain or understand. My trying to understand it is my own particular brand of vanity and folly.

“Fear is the path to the Dark Side. Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, and hate leads to suffering.” –YODA, (Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace)

If we do have a choice, then I think we have two coins to choose between. We can choose a coin of ingratitude and vanity, perhaps this is the dark side or we can also choose a coin of gratitude and humility. Is this latter choice, the light side? Jesus said:

Blessed are the meek,
for they shall inherit the earth.

It is kind of amazing when you think about it how many people today are guilty of unbridled arrogance and hubris. Does that mean that more people are choosing the dark side than the light side? My friend would argue that they have no choice.

When I was young I was taught that “Pride goes before a fall.” It would seem to be an aphorism that too many of our leaders and people in positions of power have forgotten. Some people believe that this lack of humility comes because we have forgotten God. It reminds me of the stories in the Bible about the Israelites in the desert who had to be taught again and again that it was God who was the instrument of their salvation. As soon as a little time went by, they would forget the help that they had been given and begin to ignore God and act arrogantly. You don’t have to believe in a God to have this problem.

We are all much like the Israelites. We forget the little people that helped us. We forget the people that looked out for us or assisted us when we were in need. We begin to think that we are smarter, stronger, wiser and better than other people. We develop a mythology that attributes all of our success to our own self-discipline and hard work. It is true that even Thomas Jefferson believed that luck comes from hard work, but it is also true that all the things that we will ever attain in life can be at least partially attributed to the support we have received from other people. The Beatles set it well with their song:

I get by with a little help from my friends. (Click here to hear the entire song)

So what would Ecclesiastes say about the folly of arrogance and pride? I borrow from my wife’s Revised Standard Version of the Bible dated 1952 for the following:

“In my vain life I have seen everything; there is a righteous man who perishes in his righteousness, and there is a wicked man who prolongs his life in his evil doing. Be not righteous overmuch and do not make yourself over wise; why should you destroy yourself? Be not wicked overmuch, neither be a fool; why should you die before your time.” Ecclesiastes 7:15-17

This passage was from Karen’s confirmation Bible which she received when she was 13 years old. She still has the Bible and has highlighted, annotated and nearly worn the binding out from much usage. I am proud to say that my wife is one Christian who reads the entire Bible from Genesis to Revelations and everything in between. We often have discussions on the meaning of certain passages and I respect her belief in Christianity as she respects my agnosticism. We both respect Jesus, Mohammed, Moses, Buddha and many other prophets whose wise words have guided us in our lives.

I conclude with some advice knowing full well the old adage “Never give advice. Wise men don’t need it and fools will not heed it.” Nevertheless, hope springs eternal in my breast and I must break with the aforementioned sage advice to offer the following:

Believe nothing of what you hear and half of what you see. Our senses are deceiving.
Take science and religion both with a grain of salt. Today’s wisdom will be tomorrow’s folly.
Regard both the expert and the idiot with a healthy bit of skepticism.

Time for Questions:

Have you ever read Ecclesiastes? What is your view of this book? What wisdom in it do you pay attention to in your life? What follies do you fall prey to? Have you found a way to avoid vanity? How do you do so? What advice from this book would you give others?

Life is just beginning.

“Nothing in all the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity.” — Martin Luther King, Jr.

Happy Days Are Here Again?

14 Sep 2015 Leave a comment

by Dr. John Persico Jr. in Uncategorized Tags: democrats, Evil, happiness, Happy Days, hatred, inequality, injustice, joy, pollyanna, racism, republicans, rose colored glasses, sexism, stupidity

I like to think that my writing falls in the category of political and social satire. I suppose I am giving myself more credit than I deserve since it is not easy to be a good satirist. My spouse is always saying that my satire often misses the mark. Nevertheless, I aspire that at least someday my writing can be compared to Mark Twain or perhaps Kurt Vonnegut. I will have to leave it to my readers or at least posterity to find out if I ever achieve this lofty aspiration. Who can judge the quality of their own writing without a large degree of prejudice? (To hear the “Happy Days Are Here Again” song, click here.)

One element that seems typical of good satire (be it Mark Twain or Jon Stewart) is the ability to evoke humor in ones writings and ideas. To make people laugh at the same time that you are getting them to see the absurdity of their viewpoints or society’s viewpoints. You can have “dark” satire or “light” satire and in my opinion they form a continuum. I think of Joseph Heller and Kurt Vonnegut as falling on the darker side of this continuum and Mark Twain and Jon Stewart as falling on the lighter side.

One of my goals is to keep a balance on my perspectives that helps me to fall more in the middle of this continuum. I see being repeatedly on the light side as too comical or humorous. I do not want to be thought of as a comic or entertainer. I concede that these people can make a difference in the world as one of my early heroes was Lenny Bruce. I think Lenny was a great comic and a great social satirist. However, I do not see my nature as capable of embracing a very high degree of humor in some of the evil and stupidity I see in the world. I have never been very Pollyannish. I want to stay away from embracing a view of the world that resembles the “Happy Days” syndrome. All is good, nothing is wrong, everything will be all right. Just sit back and watch TV. This attitude can lead to the pitfalls of complacency and neutrality.

Getting repeatedly too close to the position of “dark” humor on this continuum also has its pitfalls. I think I have lost many friends along the path of life because I have sometimes become too critical and carping on the evils and stupidity of the world. You start condemning evil and stupidity and before you know it, you are attacking people. It is easy to start associating individuals with policies, ideas and positions that you loath. Soon, you are surrounded by former friends who are all stupid and evil. The final stage in this process is to see nothing but a world that is evil and stupid populated by evil stupid people. Everyone in the world becomes your enemy. The exact opposite of Pollyanna becomes your gestalt.

I do not choose to follow either extreme. I want to follow the Greek “Golden Mean.” In ancient Greece the Golden Mean meant to pursue moderation in all things. I don’t really want to hate all Republicans despite the fact that today I can see little good in the Republican Party. Nor do I want to love all things associated with the Democratic Party. In some ways, the Democrats have helped to create the Tea Party and Right-Wing extremists in the Republican Party. Though I doubt many Democrats would either see or confess to their culpability in this matter. There has always been and there always will be excesses and vices in both parties. Politicians of either stripe have more in common with each other than they do with the average middle class worker in this country or any country.

“I was really too honest a man to be a politician and live.” — Socrates (Ancient Greek Philosopher, 470 BC-399 BC)

Things do not seem to have changed much in respect to politics since Socrates was executed for his anti-political beliefs. Socrates openly expected the youth of Athens to challenge and question authority. This stance was no more valued in ancient Greece then it is in 21^st Century America.

The title of my blog this week was meant to be somewhat humorous and somewhat satirical. Hence the question mark on the end of the title is not an accident. I know many people who think that the world has never been in a worse state. One of my ex-friends kept reading Revelations to me and telling me that the world was going to end about a year or so ago. Our friendship ended but the world did not. I have other friends who say “Obama has ruined this country.” Many Americans say that the USA is in decline and that the end days are near. I don’t understand this negativity. I understand that much of the world economy is coming out of a bad recession. I truly see that the world has more problems than anyone can count on two hands. We have poverty, war, famine, drought, global warming, disease, inequality, injustice, tyranny, evil of all sorts and a great deal of stupidity and ignorance. Is there a silver lining in this maelstrom of disasters?

Some people believe that if we can only go back to the “good old days” that everything will be all right. I don’t want to say too much about this option since I think it is a fantasy. Only in the movies, can you go back in time. Time marches forward and waits for no one. Either get on the train or they will bury you where you stand. We are not going to go back to pre-cellphone days, pre-internet days, pre-abortion days, pre-global warming days, pre-nuclear power days or pre-any other days. We can only go forward. We can embrace many of the old values that made our countries great but we must pay them forward. We must embrace new values and blend the old and the new together in a modern version of the Golden Mean. This is not an easy task.

I published a book about fifteen years ago that I called “The New Business Values for the 21^st Century.” The book did not become a best seller but it had several good chapters which IMHO have stood the test of time. The basic idea for this book was based on a model that I called the “Five I Model.” My mentor Dr. Gary N. McLean told me to always work from a model. I tempered his advice with the advice of Dr. George Box that “All models are wrong but some are useful.” My Five I’s included the following:

Information
Improvement
Innovation
Inclusion
Incentives

The premise of my book was that new organizations must revolve around these five key elements which I had elevated to the status of values. I think these same five elements or values also pertain to building a great nation or great country. I do not want to repeat what was in my book; you may still be able to find it on Amazon or E-Bay if you are interested. However, one element that I think has significant relevance to this blog today is the 4^th Value of Inclusion.

Inclusion is a value that embraces diversity and working together in a win-win fashion rather than working in opposition. Inclusion abhors a culture or position of divisiveness such as we see in politics today. In fact, many of the conflicts in the world today are caused by the divisiveness that is the enemy of inclusiveness. Inclusion is a friend of immigration and not an enemy of immigration. I have a T-shirt that reads “We need a fair immigration policy and not an anti-immigration policy.” Too many of our politicians today are preaching a divisiveness that borders on hatred and bigotry. I do not need to mention names here. All you have to do is read the newspapers or listen to the TV to see the politicians that are preaching exclusion rather than inclusion.

We cannot go backwards into “happy days.” We can only go forward. To do so we must practice the old values that made our nations great alongside of the new values that have become critical to success in the new millennium. My book addresses at least five of these new values. Do doubt there are others. I am not certain of what they are, but I am certain of what they are not. They are not values that foster:

Exclusivity
Divisiveness
Inequality
Anti-intellectualism
Anti-immigration
Bigotry, racism, sexism or discrimination of any kind

There is a major US election coming up in the next fourteen months. No doubt the news will be full of “trending” stories concerning the pros and cons of various candidates. It will be easy for many of us to take sides. He is a Democrat. She is a Republican. They are independents. He belongs to the Tea Party. She belongs to the Coffee Party. Such identification can and will only lead to more divisiveness, more intolerance and a greater inability to understand the arguments that are often critical to a comprehensive solution that can result in a win-win. There is an antidote to this problem.

I suggest we look at all of the candidates running for office and ask ourselves “Will they bring our country together?” “How do they rank in terms of the new values?” “How do they compare in terms of the negativity values in my list above?” I offer that we need to care less about party affiliations and more about the values that we see our candidates espousing. We are no longer a “New nation conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.” The USA is nearly 250 years old now. We can remain true to the values of our founding fathers only by realizing that it is now the 21^st century and that there are new values that must be added to the old values that made our nation great. This truth applies to every country in the world. The path forward can be to a future that will be a happier world for all of us to live in. As Jesus said:

“No one, after putting his hand to the plow and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God.” — Luke 9:62

Time for Questions:

What can we do to help create a better world for everyone, not just those in our country? Which of the USA candidates for president do you think will most care about people? Are you picking your candidate out of fear or distrust of the future? What candidates will do the best to be inclusive, ethical and moral? Are you supporting these candidates? Why or why not?

Life is just beginning.

“Nothing brings me more happiness than trying to help the most vulnerable people in society. It is a goal and an essential part of my life – a kind of destiny. Whoever is in distress can call on me. I will come running wherever they are.” — Princess Diana

Autobiographies from the Dead – Joe Six-Pack the Republican/Tea Party Stalwart

07 Sep 2015 Leave a comment

by Dr. John Persico Jr. in Uncategorized Tags: American, american dream, arrogance, bigotry, discrimination, hero, joe six pack, patriot, patriotism, racism, rage

Well, this is the last of my autobiography series. I have channeled the voices of seven people so far and I have come to the end of my time for this work. My last autobiography will speak for a large section of the American polis. It has been claimed by both Donald Trump and Sarah Palin that he is the center of the Republican Party or as they would say in Germany, he represents the “politische mitte.”

This week, he will tell you in his own words about his life, loves, dreams and political aspirations. Of course, he is deceased now, so he is talking from the great beyond where perhaps he has gone to meet his maker.

Joe Six-Pack the Republican/Tea Party Stalwart

My name is Joe Six-Pack. I am looking down at my body now. I can’t understand why this has happened to me. I am only forty years old. One minute I was healthy, happy and full of life and now this – dead. Who would have thought that the old bag would have carried a 10mm Glock in her purse? I only wanted to scare her. I did not really mean her any harm. That’s the problem with this country, too many old bags driving when they should be in a nursing home.

Here is what happened to me. I was driving down the street minding my own business, when out of the corner of my eye, I saw this 2011 Buick Regal coming down a driveway. I sped up to get by her before she could pull out but she was just a little faster than I was and turned in front of me. I had to break hard to avoid the old bag. This pissed me off. She then turned right and did not even seem to notice my car. I decided I would scare her a little bit. I got as close as I could on her bumper and followed her for a few blocks when she suddenly stopped. For the second time, I almost hit her. Now I was really mad. I jumped out of my car and took my Buck folding knife out of my pocket. I wanted to give the old bag a little fright.

She was sitting in the car as I walked toward it with my blade out. I could not believe what occurred next. She opened the car door, stepped out and stared right at me and my knife. In her hand, she held a Glock automatic. Before I could say anything, she had fired three shots at me and then three more. The first three were enough since I was dead before the second three hit me. I crashed to the ground as horns started blaring, brakes were screeching, people were screaming and sirens were going off everywhere. It sounded like a New Year’s Eve celebration in Times Square. And there I lie, right in the middle of it, stone cold dead.

The NRA say that when “Guns are outlawed, only outlaws will have guns.” Where did this old bat get her gun license? I would never have believed that she had a concealed carry permit. My biggest mistake was to not heed that old admonishment about “not taking a knife to a gun fight.” Who would have thought, that I would be killed by a 70 something year old “senile” citizen. Me, a card carrying member of the NRA shot down by an old grandmother simply for jumping out of my car. What is this country coming to?

I remember just the other day, as I sat at the bar with a bunch of other Joe Six-packs and we were watching the big game. This was right after we had watched the NASCAR 500. We were talking about how this country was in decline. That “black” president was ruining America. It used to be a good place to live and now you cannot get a job, everything is being made in China and the minorities are running everything. In addition, the country is being taken over by illegal immigrants and Islamic terrorists. And that is not all that is wrong with this county!

Women can now get abortion on demand. Gays are getting married and hugging and kissing in the streets. Lesbians are holding hands as they walk through the malls. Soccer moms are trying to destroy our national sport of football and the price of guns and ammunition is skyrocketing.

My parents were once strong union members and I think they may have even voted Democrat once or twice. Today, my friends and I are Tea Party members and we support Donald Trump. He is the only politician that can be trusted because he is not really a politician. Donald knows how to make money the old fashioned way by buying and selling and not by robbing the citizens through excess taxes to pay exorbitant salaries. The Democrats should all be arrested. They are all a bunch of socialist, faggot intellectuals who only want to take money away from the rich and give it to the useless people who don’t want to work or who want to come to this country and get a free ride.

It is time to take back our country. We need to get back to the values that made America great. The Second Amendment is the backbone of this country. Women belong in the kitchen; gays need to see a psychiatrist like Michelle Bachman’s husband and minorities need to go back to their own countries. I bought a concealed carry permit because every true red blooded American needs to have a weapon to protect our country. My only mistake was in not having the right weapon on me when I ran into “Grandma Moses.”

Well, no more NASCAR races. No more football games. No more golf games. No more basketball games. No more baseball games. No more hockey games. I grew up loving sports. I will really miss them now. What I shame that I could not play any. Busted my knee playing football in high school and could not run after that. They said that if I had not busted my knee, I might have made All-State and gone to college on a football scholarship. I wanted to go into the Army after high school but with my bad knee they would not take me.

When I was young, I dreamed of going places and seeing the world. My parents did not travel at all except to visit relatives. I thought I would go to many of the places that we talked about in my high school geography class. I was not much of a book reader but I was always interested in new ideas and new ways of doing things. I was a quick learner and could pick up mechanical things very easily. I went to a work for a company where they taught me preventive maintenance and mechanical skills. I always hoped that someday I would have my own company and be able to leave my kids some type of a business that they could take over. My father had worked for the post office and made a decent living but did not have much to leave anyone except the shirt on his back.

I quit the manufacturing company after a few years and ended up getting a maintenance job at my old high school. It was a union job and it paid good wages and had good benefits. I married about a year later to a girl I met shooting pool at our local bar and grill. She was someone I had known from high school but had never paid much attention to there. We had two kids, a boy and a girl.

I was a good father and a good husband. Never hit my wife or kids like a lot of guys I knew. I wanted the best for my kids and I made sure that they paid attention at school and listened to what the teachers said. We took the kids to church every Sunday and enrolled them in bible school when they were old enough. I took them camping and took my son hunting and fishing. We liked to do things together as a family. My children adored me and I adored them.

I never broke any laws. I never cheated anyone or lied on my income tax reports. I worked hard and believed in the value of hard work. I liked what Thomas Jefferson said about “The harder I work, the luckier I get.” I believed in God and I supported my church with tithes and donations. I was always willing to help anyone in need. My wife and I often helped with the maintenance and repair of homes for needy people in our community. I believed that it was important to contribute to our country and society. I believed in the value of education, God and the Constitution of the United States of America. I believed that the USA was still the only place on earth that I would want to live.

Why did I jump out of the car? What was I so angry about? I can still feel the anger coursing through my dead veins. Nothing seemed like it should be anymore. What is happening to our country? My dreams for the future seemed to be getting further and further away. It was all I could do to pay my bills and afford a car and health insurance. All my friends said the same thing “The American dream is evaporating.” “America is in decline.” The lazy, crooked and deviants are taking over our country. Is this why I am so mad?

The old lady really set me off. Just another person who thinks they can do what they want and walk all over you. People don’t have respect for anyone anymore. There is no civility in our country any more. I have tried to teach my children to respect and honor other people. I truly believe that we need a world where all people love and have compassion for other human beings.

I just wanted to scare her. I wanted to teach her to look where she was going and to have some respect for other people. I wonder what she thought when she shot me.

My wife and kids will miss me. I will miss them. I hope they will remember me for the good things I tried to do for them and others.

I most go now. I don’t belong here anymore. I believe that there is a heaven and I will go and find it. I never hurt anyone so I know they will let me in. I want to talk to God. I want to ask him why? Why is America no longer the place it used to be? Why do people no longer have respect for others?

Time for Questions:

Do you think the USA is in decline? What do you think made this country great in the first place? Do you still think we follow the values of our Founding Fathers? Why or why not? What do you think we need to change in the USA? Do you think we still have the respect of other nations? Why or why not?

Life is just beginning.

“Show me that age and country where the rights and liberties of the people were placed on the sole chance of their rulers being good men, without a consequent loss of liberty?” ― Patrick Henry

“America will never be destroyed from the outside. If we falter and lose our freedoms, it will be because we destroyed ourselves.” — Abraham Lincoln

Autobiographies from the Dead – Chima the Slave

24 Aug 2015 Leave a comment

by Dr. John Persico Jr. in Uncategorized Tags: africans, bigotry, civil war, discrimination, freedom, hanging, hatred, justice, lynching, negros, old south, Plantations, prejudice, racism, slave owners, slavery., slaves, south, torture, whipping

Chima the Slave

My name is Chima. My slave name is Julian. My family and I were Igbo people. I was 9 when I was brought to the United States. My father and mother also came with me. We were captured one night by Arab slave traders who sold us to the British slavers. The year was 1790. We were chained together with other Igbo tribe members and forced to walk many miles to the coast of Africa.

Once on the coast we were loaded like cargo into the hulls of the British slave ships. Nearly 600 of us were loaded onto one slave ship. As we were loaded into the vessel, we were branded with red hot irons on our arms or chests or legs with the marks of various slave owners. We were crammed so close together below decks that there was no room to move or change position. We sat between each other’s legs and could not lie down.

There were numerous pails placed among us to use for feces and urine. Several people were selected to dump the pails overboard each day. Usually they were overflowing before they could be dumped. The smell was horrible. Many of the people selected to dump the pails overboard never returned. We often heard how they had jumped overboard to drown rather than return to the hull. Other slaves were then selected to replace them.

We were fed on deck twice per day. We ate rotten meat and a mixture of oats and gruel. We were given water to wash our food down with. The amount of food was never quite enough to make one feel satiated and there was always a gnawing sense of hunger that was pervasive among us. Many of use died from starvation or dehydration. The slavers deliberately underfed us in the belief that the stronger of us would survive and bring better money at the auctions.

Some of my tribal members tried to attack our captors. This would end in either being thrown overboard or hung upside down from the Yard Arms until they died from starvation or dehydration. Screams and cries were a constant sound at all times of the day from sick or hungry slaves. My father died from some disease before we reached shore. Diseases were rampant aboard ship and no one received any treatment. Smallpox and scurvy were the most common disease killers. Probably one third of all the slaves who boarded our ship died before we reached port either through starvation, beatings, suicide or disease.

My mother and I were still together when we reached the harbor in Charleston, South Carolina. We were brought to an auction house with many other slaves and placed into large rooms with no furniture or windows. We were kept locked in these rooms like animals in a pen. They discussed whether to sell my mom and I separately or together and it was decided that because of my age, they would keep us together for a while.

After some White people purchased us, we were loaded onto a cart with the other purchased slaves and taken on a two day journey to our new home. We arrived at a large white building with big columns set in the middle of a large field. In the field and around the house were many other slaves and White people riding large black horses. The horse riders all carried whips and riding sticks. We heard constant yelling and orders which we later learned were instructions to speed up and work harder.

My mom and I were brought to a single room shack where an old Black woman lived. She was given instructions to wash us and show us what the rules were around the plantation. She was told to get us out in the fields as soon as possible and to show us how to pick and tend the crops. Anna, as she was called, told us that she had lived on this plantation for over fifty years now. She told us we would both be field hands and that if we worked hard enough we might someday become workers in the big white house.

I first ran away ten years later. I was nineteen years old. I did not get very far as some other field workers yelled to the Master that I was running off. When they caught me, I was tied to a large oak tree and given twenty five lashes. I was warned never to try it again. As soon as my wounds healed, I ran away again. I ran away at least five more times in the next three years. Each time I got further and further from the plantation. Each time I was caught the beatings got more severe. They hung me by the neck once for about three minutes before cutting me down. I was told that the next time I ran, the hanging would be for real.

My mom and some of my slave friends told me to never quit or give up. “No matter what they do to you” said my mom, “never give up your freedom.”

I have heard tell of how happy slaves are and how much better off we are on the farms then if we were left on our own. I never met a happy slave. I never met a slave who did not want their freedom. I never met a slave who did not want to go back to their home in Africa. If we were so happy on the plantations, why do they beat us, chain us, brand us and torture us?

I see my body now hanging from the trees. It looks like a big celebration going on beneath me. My eyes are bulging out, my skin is flayed off my loins and I am bleeding from many wounds made by the whips and dogs. Some people are throwing rocks and sticks at me while other people look like they are having a picnic with their families on blankets below where I am hung. I see a large pile of sticks being placed under me. I assume they are going to burn my body now. It won’t matter much to me because I am already dead. My soul left my body several minutes ago and I am simply dead meat hanging there. I am finally free.

I am wondering what I ever did to these people to make them hate me so much. Why do they treat us as like animals when we have souls and dreams just like they do? I have heard that White people fought for their freedom and declared the following:

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness.”

How could any people who believed in the above saying treat other human beings as we were treated? The phase says “all men.” Was I not a man? Were my people not men and women? Did we not want to have happiness and liberty? How could we have a life and happiness if we were treated as animals and beaten and chained and whipped daily? I do not understand.

Furthermore, the White people on our plantation all said that they were Christians. They said they believed in a God who wanted peace and love among all people. I heard it said that their savior (whom they wanted us to believe in) was a savior of compassion and mercy and forgiveness. But these people never showed my people any love or mercy or compassion or forgiveness. They treated us with contempt and scorn and intolerance and hatred. Everything they showed us was the opposite of what they said their savior stood for.

They have lit the pile of sticks below me now and they are burning my body. The smell is awful and many people in the crowd are holding their noses while many others are laughing and patting each other on the back. It is time for me to leave. I want to go find their God. I need to see why he would let my people be treated like this. What have I done to deserve such a fate? Maybe he will be able to explain it to me.

Time for Questions:

Do you think the slave were happy down on the plantation? Do you think the Confederate flag is about “heritage and not hate?” Do you practice tolerance and love to only people of your own color or do you love all people regardless of color? Why or why not? What do you do to help fight racism and discrimination? Do you think it is only a Black fight?”

Life is just beginning. For some people anyway!

The facts cited below are from: Center for American Progress

While people of color make up about 30 percentof the United States’ population, they account for 60 percentof those imprisoned. The prison population grew by 700 percent from 1970 to 2005, a rate that is outpacing crime and population rates. The incarceration rates disproportionately impact men of color: 1 in every 15 African American men and 1 in every 36 Hispanic men are incarcerated in comparison to 1 in every 106 white men.
According to the Bureau of Justice Statistics, one in three black mencan expect to go to prison in their lifetime.Individuals of color have a disproportionate number of encounters with law enforcement, indicating that racial profiling continues to be a problem. A report by the Department of Justice found that blacks and Hispanics were approximately three times more likely to be searched during a traffic stop than white motorists. African Americans were twice as likely to be arrested and almost four times as likely to experience the use of force during encounters with the police.
Students of color face harsher punishments in school than their white peers, leading to a higher number of youth of color incarcerated.Black and Hispanic students represent more than 70 percentof those involved in school-related arrests or referrals to law enforcement. Currently, African Americans make up two-fifths and Hispanics one-fifth of confined youth today.
According to recent data by the Department of Education, African American students are arrested far more often than their white classmates.The data showed that96,000students were arrested and 242,000 referred to law enforcement by schools during the 2009-10 school year. Of those students, black and Hispanic students made up more than 70 percent of arrested or referred students. Harsh school punishments, from suspensions to arrests, have led to high numbers of youth of color coming into contact with the juvenile-justice system and at an earlier age.
African American youth have higher rates of juvenile incarceration and are more likely to be sentenced to adult prison.According to the Sentencing Project, even though African American juvenile youth are about 16 percent of the youth population, 37 percent of their cases are moved to criminal court and 58 percent of African American youth are sent to adult prisons.
As the number of women incarcerated has increased by 800 percentover the last three decades, women of color have been disproportionately represented.While the number of women incarcerated is relatively low, the racial and ethnic disparities are startling. African American women are three times more likely than white women to be incarcerated, while Hispanic women are 69 percent more likely than white women to be incarcerated.
The war on drugs has been waged primarily in communities of color where people of color are more likely to receive higher offenses.According to the Human Rights Watch, people of color are no more likely to use or sell illegal drugs than whites, but they have higher rate of arrests. African Americans comprise 14 percentof regular drug users but are 37 percent of those arrested for drug offenses. From 1980 to 2007 about one in three of the 25.4 million adults arrested for drugs was African American.
Once convicted, black offenders receive longer sentences compared to white offenders.The U.S. Sentencing Commission stated that in the federal system black offenders receive sentences that are 10 percentlonger than white offenders for the same crimes. The Sentencing Project reports that African Americans are 21 percent more likely to receive mandatory-minimum sentences than white defendants and are 20 percent more like to be sentenced to prison.
Voter laws that prohibit people with felony convictions to vote disproportionately impact men of color.An estimated 5.3 million Americans are denied the right to vote based on a past felony conviction. Felony disenfranchisement is exaggerated by racial disparities in the criminal-justice system, ultimately denying 13 percentof African American men the right to vote. Felony-disenfranchisement policies have led to 11 states denying the right to vote to more than 10 percent of their African American population.
Studies have shown that people of color face disparities in wage trajectoryfollowing release from prison.Evidence shows that spending time in prison affects wage trajectories with a disproportionate impact on black men and women. The results show no evidence of racial divergence in wages prior to incarceration; however, following release from prison, wages grow at a 21 percent slower ratefor black former inmates compared to white ex-convicts. A number of states have bans on people with certain convictions working in domestic health-service industries such as nursing, child care, and home health care—areas in which many poor women and women of color are disproportionately concentrated.

Autobiographies from the Dead – Abdullah the Terrorist

17 Aug 2015 Leave a comment

by Dr. John Persico Jr. in Uncategorized Tags: Attack, Bomb, Freedom Fighter, Hamas, Israel, jihadist, Mayhem, murder, muslim, Palestine, Terrorism

Abdullah the Terrorist

My name is Abdullah. My name means “One who serves Allah.” They will call me Abdullah the Terrorist. I have killed twenty-five Jews, five Christians and of course myself. They will call me a suicide bomber. Calling it suicide is ironic since I did not want to die and neither did any of the thirty people I killed.

I am twenty-four years old and have recently graduated from Al-Azhar University in Gaza with a degree in Pharmacy. My parents said that people will always need medicine and I could help many of my people with such a degree. I had always wanted to help people and I thought of being a doctor but I did not like seeing blood. Another irony, since I probably have not helped any of the thirty people I just murdered and now I am covered with their blood and my blood. The blood of an Arab mixed with the blood of infidels.

I am not a fanatic. I did not choose to do this act. Never in my wildest fantasies did I think I would become a terrorist. I am not the type of person who wanted to sacrifice themselves for a cause. I certainly did not need thirty or forty virgins. I had all the virgins I could want while I was in college. How did I get to this place? I should not be dead. I should be enjoying a good career, a happy family and a long and prosperous life.

I was taught by my father and mother not to hate people. I was the eldest son in a family of six. I have two younger sisters and one younger brother. My father was a well-respected business man with a small appliance store. He had gone to college for two years but dropped out to help his father run a family business. My mother is a stay at home mom who loves to read, sew, cook and take care of the family finances. Both my mother and father are very devout Muslims. My father always told me, “If you hate people, you are no better than the people you hate.” So how did I become a “Terrorist?”

It began about a year after I graduated from college and after I had started working as a pharmacy assistant at a small pharmacy in Ramla. The pharmacy was about an hour commute from my home in Gaza. I had no problem getting a position there as I had never been linked to any anti-Israel activities. One day, my father was visited by three men in masks shortly after my family had eaten dinner. We were all told to “get lost.” My father was given the following message.

“Allah has been good to you. You have a thriving business. You prosper and your family prospers. Over the years, nothing has ever been asked of you for your people and nothing has ever been given. You take but you contribute little to the freedom of our country. You are a Palestinian but you ignore the sufferings of your neighbors who are oppressed by the Jews.”

“What do you want of me” said my father.

“All we ask is that you speak to your son. We want him to join us and help his people.”

“My son has his own free will” replied my father.

“Yes, but your son is also a Palestinian and all good Palestinians are expected to help overcome our oppression. This is not a request. It could go very badly for your family if you are on the wrong side here. You are either with us are against us. There is no in-between. Speak to your son and explain this to him.”

“Are you threatening me?” said my father.

“We do not threaten. We speak for the good of our people. You have been asked nicely. Please talk to your son and explain how it is to him.”

They left my father with the address of a meeting place for me to go to.

Later that week, my father came to talk to me about his conversation with the freedom fighters. He told me what they had said. He told me that he would not force a decision on me and that it was my choice whether to join them or not. He said that regardless of my decision, he would stand by me and respect me.

I would not dishonor my father and mother and family. I decided to meet with the men whom he had talked to. At our meeting, it was emphasized that I had a responsibility to my country as well as my family. I was told that many of my friends were also freedom fighters and that I would bring great honor to my family by joining them. I did not really have a choice. There were no other options. Thus, I became a freedom fighter for my country or in the West, I became a Terrorist.

A few months went by and nothing really terrible occurred. I continued working at the pharmacy by day. At night, I ran messages around the town and other minor errands. My family and friends continued on as before and to all appearances nothing really changed in my life. Then one day, I was called to a special meeting. Many of the upper level officers were there. I had seen some of these men before but as a low level soldier I had never talked to them. One older and very important looking man stood up and said:

“Abdullah, your time has come.” Your country has need of your services. You are the only one who can carry out this assignment. It will require great bravery and great dedication to our mission. Your actions will bring great glory and honor to your family. You will be remembered by all of our people and the name of Abdullah will go down in history for your heroic deeds.”

My knees were shaking and I was full of fear but I answered “What must I do?” I was going to become a real Jihadi.

The next few weeks were full of instructions and operational details. I often went between my pharmacy and a pharmacy in East Jerusalem to exchange products and some medicines. On one of these trips, I would carry a package strapped to my chest. I would probably not be inspected too thoroughly at the checkpoints since the guards were very used to seeing me come across. They would usually just wave me through. I did not have to use too much imagination to know what I would be carrying. The entire apparatus that I had strapped to me weighed about twenty pounds. It had a large cord with a ring on one end. The other end of the cord was attached to a detonator.

My instructions were to go the pharmacy where I made my purchases and exchanges and simply act as I usually did. I was to do this on a typical workday so as to appear that I was simply doing my job. The time of day that I was to make the trip was between one and five in the afternoon. It was thought that at this time of day, the pharmacy would be the busiest and there would be more Jews and tourists waiting for drugs or prescriptions. I was to count the number of people in the pharmacy and note whether more or less were coming in. If there were at least twenty five people shopping, then I was to yell out “Allahu Akbar” and pull the detonator.

The day started out like any other day in my life. I rose at 7 AM. My brother and sisters were all getting ready for school. Mom was making breakfast for all of us and dad was doing some work on the internet. I knew it was going to be the last time I would see any of them but I tried to act like nothing was different and nothing was going to happen. We ate breakfast and I said goodbye to each of my siblings as they left. As I went out the door, mom reminded me to take my lunch and I gave her a hug and told both my mom and dad goodbye. I did not say farewell as I did not want them to be suspicious. It was all I could do to leave my home knowing it would be the last time I would ever see it.

On the way to the pharmacy, I stopped at our headquarters. Two men attached the weapon to my chest under my tunic. The officer in charge asked me if I wanted to go over operational details one last time. I said no and he asked me if I wanted to take anything for my nerves. I again replied no. I left for the pharmacy. Once at my place of employment I went about my normal routine until 1 PM. At that time, as I had planned, I said that I needed to go to Jerusalem to pick up some medicine and supplies. This was a fairly usual procedure for me, so no one raised any eyebrows.

I passed through the check point with no problem. I was greeted cordially by the guards who made some funny remark that I did not catch. I guess I was too nervous to concentrate on any banter. I proceeded on to the bus which took me to the large pharmacy in East Jerusalem where I often purchased supplies. I entered the revolving front door and was surprised at how many customers were either shopping or waiting to have a prescription filled. I started to follow my instructions and count the number of people who were in the shop. I stopped after I counted at least twenty five people who were there. I knew it was time. I took a deep breath and said a quick prayer to Allah. I reached under my jacket. I took hold of the large round ring. I pulled it as hard as I could. That is the last thing I remember doing.

**FILE2004**
Paramedics take care of a victim who was wounded in a suicide bombing of an Egged bus no. 19 in Jerusalem. Eleven people were killed and over 50 wounded, 13 of them seriously. Both the Fatah-related Al Aqsa Martyrs’ Brigades and Hamas claimed responsibility for the attack. January 29, 2004. Photo by Flash90
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I have never seen such mayhem and carnage. Even in war movies, it is nothing like this. There are no words that can describe the horror. People are screaming and crying and pulling their hair out. Body parts and blood are everywhere. People are calling out names and looking through the debris. People are fainting and others are vomiting. Everywhere, people are weeping. Ambulances, doctors and nurses are attending to some injured people while others are being carried out on gurneys. I look for my body but I cannot find it. People are cursing Allah and many are swearing retribution on my people. I am wondering if this is Jahannam and I am in it. Surely, I am not in Jannah.

“Did I do the right thing?” This is the question that now torments me. Did I help my people? Was it worth the cost to other people? What have I now brought down on my country? I need to find Allah and ask him these questions. My soul will never rest until they are answered.

Time for Questions:

What is a terrorist? What is the difference between a terrorist and a freedom fighter? Do you think terrorism is ever justified? Do you think terrorists might be just like you or I? Are terrorists cowards or courageous? What do you think of the comment that the American Revolutionists were considered terrorists by the British during the American War of Independence?

Life is just beginning.

The following deaths are attributed to US military Action during Operation Iraqi Freedom. The toll of Iraq’s war dead covered by the report is limited to the early stages of the war, from March 19 when American tanks crossed the Kuwaiti border, to April 20, when US troops had consolidated their hold on Baghdad.

Researchers drew on hospital records, official US military statistics, news reports, and survey methodology to arrive at their figures.

Total war dead (Iraq) From March 19 to April 20

Between 10,800 and 15,100, with a midpoint of 12,950

Combatants killed (Iraq)

Between 7,600 and 10,800, with a midpoint of 9,200

Noncombatants killed (Iraq)

Between 3,200 and 4,300, with a midpoint of 3,750

Up to 15,000 people killed in invasion, claims thinktank by Suzanne Goldenberg in Washington

Autobiographies from the Dead – Ed the Soldier

10 Aug 2015 5 Comments

by Dr. John Persico Jr. in Uncategorized Tags: battle, general., heroism, insurgents. army, military, patriotism, patrol, platoon, private, soldiers, squad, war

Ed the Soldier

I was brave and loyal. I gave my all for the corp. I was taught to respect and obey authority. Right or wrong, it was my job to follow orders. I never questioned my assignments. I never questioned my Sargent or my Captain. As was said in the famous poem, “mine was to do or die and not to question why.” I am looking now at my body and those of my nine squad members. We had one medic, three guys with M-16’s, one guy with an MGL-140, one guy with a Barrett .338 Lapua Magnum, one guy with an MPIM/SRAW rocket, one radio guy or in this case a radio gal, Sarge our Squad Leader and of course me also carrying a good old US issue M-16 along with a bunch of grenades.

It looks like my arms and chest have been shot full of holes. However, I think it was the two bullets that caught me in my brain which finished me off. My head looks like it was stuck in a meat grinder. Most of my squad does not look much better. There are a few guys minus heads, some missing legs and others missing body parts. A good jig saw puzzler could not put us all back together again. I can’t believe the number of bullets that hit us. One minute we were joking around and the next minute it sounded like a Fourth of July celebration. The difference being that we were the targets and the bullets and rockets were lighting us up instead of the sky. What happened to our vaunted Intel?

I enlisted right out of high school. I did not want to go to college and I could not think of anything else to do. I went down to my Army recruiting office and was scheduled immediately with an appointment. I did not have to wait long. About thirty minutes later, a well-dressed very sharp looking soldier came out of an office to greet me. “Son” he said, “You have come to the right place. We will fix you up so that you can serve your country and really make a difference in the world. Do you want your parents and friends to look up to you? Do you want to be get laid more than you could ever dream possible? Do you want to be a real hero and not some phony cardboard actor hero, then just sign right here.”

“My boy, you have just saved the free world. Welcome to the US Army.”

After basic training, they said I had been selected for a tour in Iraq. They said it would be easy duty. It would just be some mopping up operations and nothing really tough. The really tough stuff had been done months before. And besides that, the “ragheads” could not shoot straight so we had nothing to worry about. Each day we went out on patrol to a different village or a different part of the same village. They all looked alike. Some of the locals seemed friendly, but most just ignored us. Kids would come over and ask us for candy or cigarettes when they would see us walking. We were taught to trust no one but after a while you got to know certain kids and you would give them candy or sometimes some money.

The women really kept to themselves. You hardly ever saw any on the street and if you did they were always covered from head to toe. We were not allowed to have any alcohol as it is illegal in Muslim countries. There wasn’t much to do all day long except when we were on patrol. Most of the fun we had was out in the villages. We loved to play pranks on each other. On one patrol, one of the guys had hid behind a wall and as we started to walk by, he threw a dummy grenade at us. We scattered like rabbits and waited for it to go off. After a few seconds, we could hear laughter coming from behind the wall. We soon realized that it was one of our guys. He was laughing so hard, it gave him cramps. It took us weeks but we figured out how to get even with him. I guess we were always really wound up when out on patrol, so it was not hard to find something to break up the tension. Often it would involve shooting at anything that seemed sinister or menacing.

The Soldiers of Company F “Blues Platoon,” 3rd Assault Helicopter Battalion, 227th Aviation Regiment, 1st Air Cavalry Brigade, 1st Cavalry Division, move forward, almost shoulder to shoulder, with live ammo while practicing team movement drills at an Advanced Close Quarters Marksmanship course at Camp Beuhring, Kuwait, May 13. The ACQM course is meant to sharpen the Soldiers skills before moving north to support Operation Iraqi Freedom.

The day we got it was like any other day, nothing unusual about it. It was bright, sunny and warm. We had an assignment to check out a village that had been quiet for some time. We were on foot patrol. Ten of us joking and clowning around. Some kids had just run by and yelled “Go home Americans” at us. We threw some candy at them and laughed as they scrambled to pick it up. As we turned the corner of a street, we saw some quick movement in a doorway and some guys running across the roof tops. We raised our rifles to fire but it was too late. The grenades and RPG’s burst all around us and then the AK 47 fire started. We never had a chance. There must have been about fifty of them. We never thought that there were that many bad guys left. One by one we went down. I never even got off a round.

I can see them now. They are picking over our bodies. They are taking cash, weapons, armor and anything else of value. The little kids are there too. They are kicking us in the heads or what is left of our heads. I even saw one kid who I thought was my friend (I gave him many snicker bars) come running up and kick me in my head. He then took out his wiener and pissed on me. It seems like a holiday for them. They are all so happy. Like one big celebration. They are laughing and patting each other on the back. I can hear one guy in English saying: “I guess these fucking Americans will go home now.” Another one replied: “Yeah, home or Jahannam.”

I know I was supposed to be a hero. I thought I was making the world safe for democracy. Where did it all go wrong? Looking down at our bodies now, it does not seem like we really accomplished much. It looks like they would have been happier if we had never come. I guess I might be a hero when my body comes back to Ohio. I never got laid either.

I can’t hang around here much longer. I can’t bear the sadness. It is time to leave. I was brought up as a good Christian. I am sure that there must be a reason for all this. My pastor said “God’s ways are unknowable.” I am going to go find God. I am sure he can tell me what this was all for.

Time for Questions:

Do we fight for the right reasons? Do we simply fight the wars that our leaders tell us we should? Do we question whether we should fight or negotiate? Are we fighting wars for gold or for justice? Can we be proud that we are the “land of the free and the home of the brave?” Are we fighting for the rights of humanity or for our own National pride? Do you question authority or do you simply go along?

Life is just beginning.

The following excerpt is from “War is a Racket” by Major General Smedley Butler. General Butler was one of the most highly decorated soldiers in WWI. He won two Medal of Honor and at the time of his death was the most decorated Marine in United States history.

WAR is a racket. It always has been.

It is possibly the oldest, easily the most profitable, surely the most vicious. It is the only one international in scope. It is the only one in which the profits are reckoned in dollars and the losses in lives.

A racket is best described, I believe, as something that is not what it seems to the majority of the people. Only a small “inside” group knows what it is about. It is conducted for the benefit of the very few, at the expense of the very many. Out of war a few people make huge fortunes.

In the World War [I] a mere handful garnered the profits of the conflict. At least 21,000 new millionaires and billionaires were made in the United States during the World War. That many admitted their huge blood gains in their income tax returns. How many other war millionaires falsified their tax returns no one knows.

How many of these war millionaires shouldered a rifle? How many of them dug a trench? How many of them knew what it meant to go hungry in a rat-infested dug-out? How many of them spent sleepless, frightened nights, ducking shells and shrapnel and machine gun bullets? How many of them parried a bayonet thrust of an enemy? How many of them were wounded or killed in battle?

Out of war nations acquire additional territory, if they are victorious. They just take it. This newly acquired territory promptly is exploited by the few — the selfsame few who wrung dollars out of blood in the war. The general public shoulders the bill.

And what is this bill?

This bill renders a horrible accounting. Newly placed gravestones. Mangled bodies. Shattered minds. Broken hearts and homes. Economic instability. Depression and all its attendant miseries. Back-breaking taxation for generations and generations.

Autobiographies from the Dead – Josh the Teenager

03 Aug 2015 4 Comments

by Dr. John Persico Jr. in Uncategorized Tags: angst, depression, fear, parents, suicide, teen suicide, teenagers, teens

Each semester the Graphics Multi-Media Students select a global issue that is meaningful to them and then create a logo and infographic about their issue.

Josh the Teenager

They are sorry now! They are all weeping and crying. They care more about me now that I am dead then they did when I was alive. All I ever heard from Mom was her telling her friends how handsome I was and what I good student I was. Bullshit! The only time Dad ever talked to me was to tell me how well Robert (my brother) was doing in law school and why couldn’t I be more like him.

Robert was a real suck-up. He is 21 years old and is forever gloating about his accomplishments in school and in sports. The big shot was our high school football hero. Dad spent all his time with him and never had any left over for me. Robert was a four letter athlete and was in every league in town. If he wasn’t getting A’s in school, he was getting medals and trophies for his athletic exploits. I hated him.

I also have a sister Maria who is fourteen years old and the most popular girl in the high school. That’s because she goes to bed with anyone who has a zipper in their pants, girls as well as boys. Mom and dad think she is an angel. She is the biggest slut in school. My friends are forever making fun of me about her. Like: “When can I come over and screw your sister?”

My father works for an investment firm as some kind of an analyst. He makes good money but is always busy. He probably invented multi-tasking and 24/7 work. Anytime, I ever suggested doing anything together, his standard reply was: “Great idea. Let’s hold it for a while until I catch up on my accounts.” I have been holding it for seventeen years and still waiting. He can go to hell. I hate him also.

My mom was some sort of a medical worker in the local hospital. She did not like to cook or clean so we went out to eat a lot. Twice a week, we had a housekeeper come in to do our laundry and straighten up the house. Mom spent a lot of time at Robert’s ball games. She also spent a lot of time shopping with Maria. My mom liked to spent money on clothes and sometimes I could not decide whether Maria was the teenager or my mother was the teenager. My friends all said that my mom was one hot MILF.

I am seventeen years old and a junior in high school. I have a Facebook page and do lots of on-line stuff. I hate school and I hate my teachers. I hate most of the kids in school. The majority of them are either jerks or snobs. I don’t belong to any groups and I mostly hang around with one or two friends. My father wanted me to play sports but I knew I could never be as good as my brother so why bother. The teachers at my school treated me like I did not exist. I was a B student and I can’t say I really excelled at anything. Most of the time, I felt like a born loser.

I often thought of making a big name for myself by blowing up the school or maybe killing both of my parents and my sister and brother but I decided against it. Not that I did not think they were good ideas but what if I screwed up? My father was forever telling me what a screw up I was. What if I screwed up my high school massacre? What if I botched killing my entire family? That would prove what a screw up I really was. I decided that I could not risk it. Safer to simply kill myself!

I thought of shooting myself but that would be too messy. I thought of jumping off a high bridge but that might not be fatal. I had heard of too many people who had survived such falls. I finally decided to hang myself. I would hang myself in the closet at home. That would be great. They might not find me for a few days and they would be worried sick. That would serve them all.

Anyway, I could be pretty sure if I killed myself at home mom and dad would be the ones to find me. And sure enough they did. The look on my mom and dad’s eyes was priceless. There I was swinging from the clothes hook suspended by a leather belt which I had wrapped around my neck. I had stood on a small step stool and kicked it far away so that I could have no second thoughts. It was much less painful than I had imagined. A few choking breaths, a feeling of swelling in my head and that was it. Lights out! I think I must have died about ten minutes after I kicked the stool away.

I am hanging with my tongue and eyes bulging out. My face is quite red and swollen. I look rather pitiful. There is a pool of piss on the floor under me and an awful smell coming from my pants. I suppose I shit myself when I died. I am glad. They deserve it. I hope they are really sorry now for the way that they treated me. I just wanted them to like me for who I was. But no, I was never good enough.

It seems like our society is full of heroes and idols and celebrities and athletes and rich people and music stars and famous politicians. I was a B person in an A society. Nobody cared about me. Nobody gives a damn about B people. Not my mother, father, sister, brother or teachers. I was not popular or smart or athletic enough to get the girls like the A guys got. The only girls that were interested in me were the losers like I was. I went out with one girl once and that was my last date in high school. We kissed a little but she got all agitated when I put my hand on her tit. She asked me to take her home. I was a loser with girls as well.

Well, now they will all be sorry. Screw them. I don’t care. They had it coming. I finally feel like somebody cares about me. It only took my death before I really mattered to anyone. I look forward to visiting my funeral service. That should be funny. I can imagine all the good things that they will say about me. At last they will all be able to spend some time with me, even though I am now dead.

I am going to go look for God now. I would like to ask Her why I was such a loser. How come I did not get the brains or skills or something that would have made me stand out and be noticed? Why was life so unfair to me when everyone around me seemed to get some sort of special treatment? Maybe God will be able to tell me why I was a loser.

Time for Questions:

Can we spot potential teenage suicides? Are we taking neglecting our teens? What do we have to do to help decrease teenage suicides? How does our culture contribute to the problem?

Life is just beginning.

Suicide (i.e., taking one’s own life) is a serious public health problem that affects even young people. For youth between the ages of 10 and 24, suicide is the third leading cause of death. It results in approximately 4600 lives lost each year. The top three methods used in suicides of young people include firearm (45%), suffocation (40%), and poisoning (8%).

Deaths from youth suicide are only part of the problem. More young people survive suicide attempts than actually die. A nationwide survey of youth in grades 9–12 in public and private schools in the United States (U.S.) found that 16% of students reported seriously considering suicide, 13% reported creating a plan, and 8% reporting trying to take their own life in the 12 months preceding the survey. Each year, approximately 157,000 youth between the ages of 10 and 24 receive medical care for self-inflicted injuries at Emergency Departments across the U.S.

Suicide affects all youth, but some groups are at higher risk than others. Boys are more likely than girls to die from suicide. Of the reported suicides in the 10 to 24 age group, 81% of the deaths were males and 19% were females. Girls, however, are more likely to report attempting suicide than boys. Cultural variations in suicide rates also exist, with Native American/Alaskan Native youth having the highest rates of suicide-related fatalities. A nationwide survey of youth in grades 9–12 in public and private schools in the U.S. found Hispanic youth were more likely to report attempting suicide than their black and white, non-Hispanic peers. (Center for Disease Control and Prevention)

Autobiographies from the Dead – Cindy the Wife

27 Jul 2015 2 Comments

by Dr. John Persico Jr. in Uncategorized Tags: battered, beaten, boy friends abuse, domestic abuse, domestic violence, husbands, women

Cindy the Wife

He beat me. He beat me. He beat me. I hurt so badly from the pain. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the emotional pain. I loved him. Why did he hurt me? He kept on beating me. Finally, I yelled for him to stop. He screamed “I will stop when I am damn well ready.” He then picked up a baseball bat and started to beat me with that. The first blow to my head, and I could see stars. The second blow, I thought my head would explode. The third blow was the last one I could remember and then I lost consciousness. I can see my body now. My brains are leaking from my skull. My blood is splattered all over the walls. I think my arms are both broken and maybe my legs. My poor body looks so lonely and disfigured. I can hardly recognize my face. I don’t feel pain any more but I still feel lonely.

I probably should never have married him. I was only twenty-five and he was thirty. I had dated a series of jerks and losers and he seemed like a real nice guy. We married about a year later. We were so happy at first. I thought all my dreams had come true. Then the fights and arguments started. A year after we were married was the first time he hit me. He slapped me in the face and called me a bitch. I think I deserved it. I apologized and said that I was sorry. A short time after that he punched me in the face. I apologized again. I probably deserved it. The punches and hits became more and more frequent. What was I doing wrong?

Terrified abused woman trying to stop the attack and devend herself,

My friends all urged me to leave him but I could not. I know he loves me and needs me. If I could only get him to stop hitting me. The punches turned into beatings. More and more beatings! I would frequently have a black eye. I always had bruise marks on my arms and legs. He knocked a few of my teeth out one day. Another time, he threw me against a wall so hard that it broke two of my ribs and dislocated my shoulder joint. I told him I was sorry. He screamed at me that I was a bitch and it was all my fault.

Police photos of Heather Thompson in a hospital bed are displayed at her home in Monroe, N.C. Thursday, May 28, 2009. Thompson was 23 in 1994 when her then-husband Thomas Howard Price Jr beat her senseless, leaving her with bone spurs, pinched nerves and osteoarthritis. She has taught law officers about domestic violence in the years since Price vowed in a letter from prison to kill her and their daughters. Price was released Friday May 29, 2009, from a federal prison in South Carolina. (AP Photo/Nell Redmond)

I don’t know if I can take any more of this. Maybe I should leave? If only I could figure out what I am doing that makes him so angry. I try and try. I am a good wife. I cook and clean and sew. I keep a very tidy house. My meals are always cooked just like he likes them. I fold his clothes and put them all away. I try to adjust my time so that I am available whenever he needs me. I want to have children some day. I always watch how much money I spend. I get along well with all of his friends and relatives. I always try to make them feel right at home. I am a faithful, loving and loyal wife. My name is Cindy. Please do not forget me. I need someone to remember me.

Nobody is home now. The police have come and taken him away. I feel sorry for him. I know he loves me and did not really mean to hurt me. I don’t physically feel any pain now. All I feel is this deep loneliness and regret. I must go to find God. I do not really understand what I did wrong. I have always believed that God was good and he would protect me. I need to talk to God and ask him for forgiveness. I want to know how to make this feeling of loneliness go away. I will ask him to explain to me how I could have been a better wife. My soul will never rest until I find God and ask him this question: “Why?” I know I am very sorry for whatever I did to cause this problem.

Time for Questions:

Why do we put up with so much domestic violence? What do we teach our children that make them think it is okay to hit a woman? What do we have to do to stop this violence? Should we have a “War on Domestic Violence?” Do we simply accept that there is nothing we can do about it? Do you realize that t this is an international problem and not just a US problem?

Life is just beginning.

May 10, 2015 5:00AM ET

Brazil passes femicide law to curb domestic violence

Legislation defines gender-based killings and sets out tougher punishments for attackers

by Donna Bowater & Priscilla Moraes

RIO DE JANEIRO — “My best hope is that he dies,” the tall, slight and articulate 45-year-old speech therapist said calmly of her husband. “I know that he can kill me.”

The woman, who asked not to be identified, had gone to the courts in Rio de Janeiro to seek protection from her husband of 22 years.

After her husband suffered a psychiatric breakdown in 2001, she said, he became violent and threatened to kill her, their daughter and himself. “I learned that between him and me, it’s me first,” she said.

It is estimated that more than 13 million women have been victims of domestic abuse in Brazil, where a woman is killed every two hours. Despite measures to reduce domestic violence with the Maria da Penha law in 2006, government figures suggest 700,000 women still live with aggression and assaults. Out of 84 countries, Brazil had the seventh-highest rate of women killed, according to the World Health Organization.

Autobiographies from the Dead – Ephraim the Jew

20 Jul 2015 4 Comments

by Dr. John Persico Jr. in Uncategorized Tags: Extermination Camps, Final Solution, hate, hitler, holocaust, Jew, Jewish, nazis, prejudice

For the next several weeks, my blogs are going to consist of “autobiographies” written by some very special people. They have one thing in common. They are all dead. Some have a burial place and some were simply discarded like pieces of trash. Their stories will be told by the deceased themselves. They cry out from the fields, rivers and graveyards to speak. I have heard their cries. They want to tell their stories to you. They want you to know what their living and dying was for. They chose me to be the medium for their voices to be conveyed to you. I do not know why or how I was chosen. I do nothing but repeat in 12 pt. font the stories that they tell me. There are many more dead who want to be heard, but for now I have only agreed to share eight of their tales. Each of the dead will give you a brief vision of their lives but much more importantly to them, they will give you a vision of their deaths.

Ephraim the Jew

My name is Ephraim. I was born to a Jewish mother and a Jewish father in Germany. My parents and great grandparents were all born in Germany. We were not rich but we made a living over the years in various trades. My family was all hard workers and I was taught the value of hard work and an education at an early age. We were proud to be Germans. My father had served with distinction in WW I and my great grandfather had served in the earlier Franco Prussian war. We had many musicians and writers in our family and were proud that we could contribute to the rich German cultural heritage of our homeland.

One day, some young men started throwing stones at my father and me as we came home from work. We arrived home with bruises and cuts but no broken bones. My mother said that things were getting worse for Jews in Germany and that she had heard of many such incidents from other friends. My father said she was being an old woman and should not worry so much. This was just the result of a bunch of hoodlums and the government would soon arrest such bullies so that the streets would be safe again.

Weeks and months went by. More assaults! More bullying! Everywhere we turned it seemed that people hated us. The government passed Pro-German Laws to protect “Pure” Germans. Somehow this seemed to mean that we Jews were now the enemies. We were no longer Germans. Our businesses were taken away from us. Our jobs were taken away from us. Then they took our freedom away from us.

They took us in trains to these large detention centers. Smoke and flames were visible from numerous chimneys when we arrived. Some people whispered that these were Jews who had been cremated. It was too horrible to conceive. It could not be true. We were whipped, kicked and herded off the rail cars. An angry looking German soldier in a black uniform with skulls and lightning bolts directed each person either to the right or to the left when we fled the cars. Women and young children went one direction. Men and young boys went the other direction. My mother and sister went to the right. They waved and said good bye. “We will see you soon.” “We must go to the showers first.” We never saw them again.

My dad and I were assigned to work details. Food was meager and work was hard. We labored with very little rations from before sunrise to well after sunset. My father died a year later. He was nothing but skin and bones. He said: “I am sorry.” Another year later and I could not get up and go to work. The guards came for me one day and said, “You are garbage and you are no longer useful.” Two other Jews were forced to pick me up. They carried me to a large pit. I noticed many other bodies in the pit. They threw me in the pit with the other bodies. A holocaust-bodies-mass-grave guard shot me three times. “Like shooting fish in a barrel he said.” I was shot once in the head and twice in the chest. He laughed as I twitched and as the blood oozed out of my veins. I was surprised that it did not hurt as much as I thought it would. I could feel my soul leaving my body.

Finally, I was looking down at my distorted figure and it was no longer twitching. Even the blood had stopped oozing out. The guard who shot me had lit a cigarette and was enjoying a quick smoke before returning to another work detail. I watched for a while as other men and boys were carried to the pit and murdered. I could no longer bear to look. I decided to go find God and talk to him. I was confused and angry but I thought that perhaps a talk with God might straighten things out. My spirit left this hell on earth.

I am dead many years now and I am still searching for God. I want to know what we did to deserve such a fate. We worked hard. We paid our taxes. We treated our fellow Germans with respect. We worshipped on the Sabbath. We upheld all of the commandments. We were good people. We were good Germans. Why did they hate us so? What did we do to cause this suffering? Was this some kind of a test?

I think God is hiding from me. He is nowhere to be found. I have wandered now for years and still I find no God. I know he exists. I believe in God but I think he is avoiding me. I think he may be ashamed for letting this happen. I swear my soul will never rest until I find God and ask him this question: “Why?” But what if he doesn’t know the answer?

Time for Questions:

What is an Anti-Semite? Why do people still hate Jews? What did any Jews ever do to deserve such a fate? Are you an Anti-Semite? What can you do to help fight Anti-Semitism? Do you try? Why not?

Life is just beginning.

“I swore never to be silent whenever and wherever human beings endure suffering and humiliation. We must take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented.” ― Elie Wiesel

Perspiration or Inspiration: Which is more Important to the Writer?

13 Jul 2015 10 Comments

by Dr. John Persico Jr. in Uncategorized Tags: faulkner, hemingway, inspiration, perspiration, stein, writer, writing

Inspiration or perspiration, perspiration or inspiration, which is more important? Is inspiration the mother of writing while perspiration is the father? Some weeks, I am going to write a blog on a subject that I have been thinking about for many years when suddenly out of the blue, I get some crazy thought and I feel impelled to write my blog about this sudden flash of insight. These insights might come from something I heard from someone, some bit of news, or just an impulse to write about something. Inspiration has provided the content for about 1/3rd of my blogs. For the other 2/3rds of my blogs, the ideas come from perspiration. I sit, sweat, read and do research on the subject. (Here is a song to listen to as you read my blog this week: Jeremy Secrest – HELP! I’m Writing A Book! Theme Song)

Some writers will tell you that writing is hard work and that perspiration is THE key element of the writing craft. They will tell you how they get up every morning and sit down in front of the keyboard and start to write. It will not matter what they write as long as they write. They may grind out one or ten pages each day this week. They discipline themselves to do this day after day, week after week and year after year. If you think about it, this will produce a prodigious amount of work. Think 3 pages a day for 365 days and you have put out about 3 novels. Think doing this for ten years and you have put out about 30 novels. With good writing and a bit of luck, you just might find one of these pieces of works makes the NY Times Best Seller Lists or the Amazon Top Ten or perhaps the Oprah Book List. Once you have broken through with your writing, you have simply to reap the benefits of recognition and acclaim. Many writers simply become “one hit wonders” while others capitalize on a “formula” to keep churning out hit after hit.

“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” ― Ernest Hemingway

Stephen King tells the story of how and why he wrote the Bachman books. After achieving much fame and fortune with his suspense novels, he decided to see if he could start over again and achieve popularity and success under a new name. He published three or four books under a pseudonym as Richard Bachman. The books (Which I enjoyed very much) were nowhere near as popular as his King novels but before he could finish his experiment, he was outed. The books were then re-released as “The Bachman Books” by Steven King and of course, their sales skyrocketed. Perhaps with time, King would have been able to duplicate his former success, perhaps not. I have read many works by many authors which I think should have become best sellers but did not. Hard work and perspiration for an author does not simply transfer into major book sales.

“If you don’t have time to read, you don’t have the time (or the tools) to write. Simple as that.” ― Stephen King

Inspiration will sometimes take a writer where mere perspiration fears to tread. In my weekly writers group, I sense that many of the authors rely a great deal on inspiration for their themes. The idea of perspiration is anathema to some wordsmiths. Why “force” yourself to write if it is not fun or if you do not feel really excited about the idea. According to this school of thought, writing should be a pleasure. You do not subscribe to a weekly time frame of when to write or a quantity to write. You simply write when you feel moved by the spirit or impelled to write by the muse of writing. Writing like this flows more naturally because it seems to come from somewhere other than the brain. Perspiration writing is driven by intellect and discipline but inspiration writing is driven by the heart and by the soul.

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” ― Maya Angelou, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

One of the most famous examples of inspiration writing must surely be Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address. It was written on the back of an envelope while he was on a train going to the recent battlefield to give a testimonial to the men and women who fought and died there. Two hundred and seventy some odd words depending on which of the four versions you read (Computers and exact copies for things were not as prevalent in 1863 as they are now) and it has become one of the most famous and well known pieces of writing in the history of humanity. You never get tired of hearing this speech or reading it because it truly reflects the soul and spirit of this great human being. Full of repetition and redundancy, it nevertheless achieves a magnificence that can only be attributed to the power of inspiration. No Madison Avenue ads men or White House speech reporters had a hand in the words that Lincoln spoke that day. We tremble in horror at the very idea.

“No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader. No surprise in the writer, no surprise in the reader.” ― Robert Frost

There is an entire school of inspiration writing. Go ahead and Google the theme and you will find over 387 thousand hits on the subject. There are numerous books, programs, quotes, articles, courses and even software that will teach you how to be an “inspiration” writer. Paradoxically, the Father of writing is much less popular. When I type in Google “perspiration writing” I am only able to find 1,090 hits on the topic. Apparently sweating is a lot less popular as a writing motive than inspiration.

“If genius is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration, then as a culture we tend to lionize the one percent.” ― Susan Cain,

When I wrote my blogs on Immigration, I read over a dozen books on the subject before I started to write. I read pro-immigration books, anti-immigration books, history of immigration books and some textbooks on immigration law. The result of this research was a three part series on Immigration. I am very proud of this work. I put a lot of time and effort into the writing in the hope that it would reflect an intelligent and actionable manuscript. I wanted to produce a piece of writing that might help people who were thinking about this subject and wondered what we should do about it. I even created a t-shirt that read: “Necesitamos una política migratoria justa. No es una política anti-inmigración.” Translated, it means “We need a fair immigration policy. Not an anti-immigration policy.” I wanted to express an opinion that would be understood by much of the Latino population in Arizona where I live in the winter. (See my blog titled: My Take on Immigration – Part 1 of 3 Parts)

There are those who would say that writing must be comprised of both inspiration and perspiration. Writing they say is 99 percent perspiration and 1 percent inspiration. Such formulas are more easily quoted than done. Many the author who has had a brilliant idea and then waited years for another spark of brilliance. The great science fiction writer Ray Bradbury wrote at least 27 novels and more than 600 short stories and yet is primarily remembered for one novel: Fahrenheit 451. It is rare indeed for many scribes to be remembered for even one. There is a large degree of serendipity that goes into any popularity that does not seem to be captured by effort alone. Think of all the books that were written on the O. J. Simpson Trial. There were over 7 thousand books dealing with various aspects of this case. How many of them can you name or remember? One might argue that most if not all of these tomes were written based on the sordid idea of making money. Whether any of them were guided by pure inspiration is a question that probably cannot be answered. Nevertheless, there is little evidence that even adding inspiration will make a successful book. The Goddess of Success seems to be very fickle when it comes to writing.

“The moral flabbiness born of the exclusive worship of the bitch-goddess SUCCESS. That – with the squalid cash interpretation put on the word ‘success’ – is our national disease.” ― William James

You and I may never be a Hemingway or a Faulkner or a Stein or even a “best seller.” What really matters is that we share our joys and fears with the world and bring passion and conviction to our effort. If we can do this, then the question of inspiration or perspiration will fade away like Mc Arthur’s “Old Soldiers.”

Time for Questions:

Have you ever wanted to write something? When will you start? Did you write today? Why not? What is holding you back?

Life is just beginning.

“If there’s a book that you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.”
― Toni Morrison

Aging Capriciously

Ecclesiastes: The Wisest Book of All Time?

Happy Days Are Here Again?

Autobiographies from the Dead – Joe Six-Pack the Republican/Tea Party Stalwart

Autobiographies from the Dead – Chima the Slave

Autobiographies from the Dead – Abdullah the Terrorist

Autobiographies from the Dead – Ed the Soldier

Autobiographies from the Dead – Josh the Teenager

Autobiographies from the Dead – Cindy the Wife

Autobiographies from the Dead – Ephraim the Jew

Perspiration or Inspiration: Which is more Important to the Writer?

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