Ian Turns Sixteen, Iraq a Year Later

Wednesday, March 17th, 2004

Words for Today
"Of course the people don't want war. But after all, it's the leaders of the country who determine the policy, and it's always a simple matter to drag the people along whether it's a democracy, a fascist dictatorship, or a parliament, or a communist dictatorship. Voice or no voice, the people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. That is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked, and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism, and exposing the country to greater danger."
So said Herman Goering in statement before the judges during the Nuremberg Trials. I quoted him a year ago in my journal entry from Zion – on a St. Patrick's Day when we were still wondering about just how much havoc it would be necessary to wreck in Iraq (see 3/17/03). I also quoted Senator Hiram Johnson of California (served from beginning of World War I to end of World War II) – Johnson said, "The first casualty of war is truth." And one of greatest minds who ever thought and wrote in the English language, Samuel Johnson, wrote in 1758, ". . . among the calamities of war may be jointly numbered the diminution of the love of truth, by the falsehoods which interest dictates and credulity encourages."

Whatever good we did in Iraq in terms of removing a despicable dictator who killed thousands – tens of thousands – of his own people, we did indeed, in retrospect, enter into a commitment of tens of billions of dollars and an ongoing presence, with no end in site – and little confidence that the Iraqis will become a democracy in a year or so. There will probably be no grand party in Baghdad today – they really don't care about St. Patrick's Day – the grand celebration in Ireland and throughout the world marking the departure from the middle world in the year 461 of the man who brought Christianity to the Emerald Isle, Bishop Patrick. The day was first celebrated in the New World on this day in New York in the Crown and Thistle Tavern – the year was 1756. Of this day, senior correspondent of the Chicago Tribune, Charles M. Madigan, wrote, "Patrick . . . one of the few saints whose feast day presents the opportunity to get determinedly whacked and make a fool of oneself all under the guise of acting Irish." We even do it in beauuuuuuuuuuuuuutiful Dakota, where 'tis indeed a glorious day – yesterday began with snow and ended with a great thaw and spring in the air – today 'twill continue to thaw, even dwindling those piles made at the edges of parking lots during the long winter. There are not a lot of Irish folk in Dakota, which is dominated by the descendants of Norwegian and German homesteaders. Few Irish took to farming in Dakota – they preferred to live in town – except for such as the family of our gift to the millennia, the poet Thomas Matthew McGrath. But we celebrate St. Patrick's Day -- which falls during Lent. When I was growing up out in Hannover Township in Oliver County, the Center of the Universe, 'twas the single day that some folks wandered into town to down a few and even dance – there was not a single person of Irish descent in Hannover Township, as far as I know. March 17 was the only day during Lent that dances were permitted in most towns – my big brother Jim and his lovely spouse Lucille caused quite a scandal when they had a wedding and dance during Lent on March 28 – the city fathers of New Salem, nineteen miles south of Hannover, were not pleased about allowing such in the city hall back in 1958, when I was sixteen. But 'twas OK to dance on St. Patrick's Day, so ingrained was the holiday in American culture. Still is, of course – the river in downtown Chicago will turn green today, and there will be no few getting whacked throughout the nation. There will be marches in the cities, and more Americans than not – regardless of their ancestors' origins – will be wearing a bit of green. I did myself back in the early years of the 1970s when I taught at Dickinson State – in fact, I played piano most of the afternoon and into the night for Irish sing-a-longs at the Shamrock Bar in downtown Dickinson -- the watering hole for a few brave faculty members and students more than thirty years past. As far as I know, no person of Irish descent ever owned the Shamrock, and very few who imbibed and communed there could claim Irish in their blood – my lovin' spouse had an Irish-by-way-of-Canada grandmother, Bertha Hogan, so me own children are one-eight Irish – five-eighths German, and one-fourth Czech. There were many more folk from the Dickinson area of Czech descent than Irish at the Shamrock at any time of the day. A curious place, the Shamrock served the older, retired folk in the morning – they would waiting for the place to open at 8:00 A.M. Late in the afternoon, the business community would gather for an hour or so – and then it became a college bar. I played and sang – both rather badly – such as "When Irish Eyes are Smiling," "Sure, a Little Bit of Heaven Fell from out the Sky One Day" (or whatever that one's titled), and "The Wearin' of the Green" --

"O Paddy dear, and did ye hear the news that's goin' round?
The shamrock is by law forbid to grow on Irish ground!
No more Saint Patrick's Day we'll keep, his color can't be seen
For there's a cruel law ag'in the Wearin' o' the Green."
I met with Napper Tandy, and he took me by the hand,
And he said, "How's poor ould Ireland, and how does she stand?"
"She's the most distressful country that ever yet was seen,
For they're hanging men and women there for the Wearin' o' the Green."

"So if the color we must wear be England's cruel red
Let it remind us of the blood that Irishmen have shed;
And pull the shamrock from your hat, and throw it on the sod
But never fear, 'twill take root there, though underfoot 'tis trod.
When laws can stop the blades of grass from growin' as they grow
And when the leaves in summer-time their color dare not show,
Then I will change the color too I wear in my caubeen;
But till that day, please God, I'll stick to the Wearin' o' the Green."

Aye, but 'tis a grand song! I fell in love with Irish folklore and music in graduate school when I took an intensive seminar on the poet and playwright, William Butler Yeats. When I came to Dickinson State, I taught a seminar on Yeats in emulation of the course I took at Colorado State. There's not a drop of Irish blood that courses through my veins – all German. Germans, by the way, don't limit themselves to the excesses of St. Patrick's Day to a single day – they go on for at least a week during Octoberfest. The Irish, of course, have their problems – and, to my mind, no few were brought by St. Patrick – but what a marvelously poetic folk who recognize the importance of the weest bit of music. So Happy St. Patrick's Day, kola – whatever your ancestry. I won't be getting whacked – or even have a sip of green beer (don't think that O'Doul's have such, but it's probably at a tavern somewhere, places I no longer frequent) – but I'll sing a bit of "Wearin' of the Green" as I go about my tasks this grand day. And a special St. Paddy's Day greeting to my good friend, mentor, and general fine fellow, Bernard O'Kelly, the former Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences at the University of North Dakota – he now lives with his delightful and lovely wife Marcia in the Chicago area. The good Dr. O'Kelly is my very favorite Irish-Canadian of all time. Here's a huge gulp of Welsh's Strawberry Breeze in your honor, Dr. O'Kelly.

This 17th day of March 2004 marks the sixteenth birthday of my youngest nephew, Ian Kubik – son of my spouse's brother Joe, who left the middle world far too young almost two years past after a battle with lymphoma, and Kris Bergerud who grew up around the nation, including Killdeer, the cowboy town that lies about twenty miles north of Dickinson. Ian has a most winsome way with the ladies – the photograph is from a prom he went to way up in Grenora, North Dakota, on the Canadian border last May. He has an Irish name – and red hair. He and his mom stopped the other day – he's stretched a couple of more inches since then – must be around 6' 3" or 6'4". An honor student (straight A's, of course), a voracious reader, and the kindest of teenagers to such as his Uncle Everett, Ian Kubik is one fine fellow. He and his cousin, Alex Bleth, who's almost two years older (son of Leslie's sister Janet), spent a good deal of time together as young fellows. I remember them on the Kubik Farm, operated by Ian's father, Joe, for several years before it was leased – trying very hard to stay out of trouble. Ian's an eclectic young man – he does track well, collects coins, and reads deeply into any subject that he becomes interested in. He was just a month past his fourteenth birthday when he arose at his Dad's memorial service and delivered a tribute to his father – few moments have touched me as deeply as that moment.

Here's Ian and cousin Alex at the Kubik farmstead back in the early 1990s – as their Grandpa Alfons would say, "Such good boys, such good boys." Enjoy your birthday, Ian – and no getting whacked, me boyo – not today, or ever. Besides, a fellow of your talent and imagination does not any stimulation – you generate enough on your own. Know that your old Uncle Everett loves you – thank you for all the kindnesses you have extended me. May you blessed with your father's intelligence and great humor, your grandpa Alfons' free-thinking ways, and your Mom's incredible sense of following through on all commitments – along with all the best of genes you carry from those who contributed to your makeup.

What I do not wish for you, Ian, is the life of the politician – unless you can somehow find a way to be a successful one without sacrificing the truth and responsibility to those politicians are supposed to serve – the kind of politician who might ask with singer and activist Holly Near, "Why do we kill people who are killing people to show that killing people is wrong?" Near, born in 1949 of parents from New York and North Dakota who lived in Ukiah, California, Near continues to be indefatigable in her search for social justice. In the great album, Edge (2000), Near sings "I Ain't Afraid"

I ain't afraid of your Yahweh
I ain't afraid of your Allah
I ain't afraid of your Jesus
I'm afraid of what you do in the name of your God

I ain't afraid of your churches
I ain't afraid of your temples
I ain't afraid of your praying
I'm afraid of what you do in the name of your God

Rise up to your higher power
Free up from fear, it will devour you
Watch out for the ego of the hour
The ones who say they know it
Are the ones who will impose it on you

CHORUS

Rise up, and see /find/ know/ hear a higher story
Free up from the gods of war and glory
Watch out for the threats of purgatory
The spirit of the wind won’t make a killing off of sin and satan

I ain't afraid of your Bible
I ain't afraid of your Torah
I ain't afraid of your Koran
Dont let the letter of the law
Obsure the spirit of the your love--it's killing us

CHORUS

Money
Culture
Choices
I’m afraid of what you do in the name of your God

Sunday
Spirt
Teachers
I’m afraid of what you do in the name of your God

Sabbath
Borders
Dances
I’m afraid of what you do in the name of your God double
Children
Music
Stories
I’m afraid of what you do in the name of your God

Rise up to your higher power
Free up
Rise up to your higher power
Free up
Let's try to be highly evolved
I aint afraid

There ain't nothing wrong with a bit of blarney – in fact, 'tis the ability to speak of nothing with some authority is a wonder to beyond, a talent much admired by the Irish in foreign leaders. But blarney and civic leadership do not always mix well, for soon politicians begin to lie so well that they themselves become confused about what is a lie and what is the truth. War encourages lying – and winning at all costs. 'Twas one of the greatest at talking blarney in the history of the world, Adolf Hitler, who rose to power in no small part because of his mesmerizing speaking ability – 'twas Hitler who said, "No one asks the victor whether or not he told the truth." Perhaps at no time in the history of our social compact will the truth be more obfuscated than it will be during the long seven and one-half months ahead, for we are in for the longest of campaigns for president. Charges and countercharges will fly, television will be clogged – and the winner is likely to be the one who tells the most outrageous lie long and often enough to be picked as the best choice by default. No few votes, finally, will be cast out of fear of change and threats to our social compact from terrorists, true believers bent on destroying us. The only answer to most seems to be war and violence.

My lovin' spouse came home from seeing the movie The Fog of War, based on interviews with Robert McNamara – and man in charge of the Vietnam War who had a change of heart. He's eighty-seven now, and he appeared about a month ago at Berkeley, the seat of so much of the protest against the war – including McNamara's son Craig, who came to the event with his wife and two children – Craig is a walnut farmer in Davis. The aging hippies came ready to take on the old hawk – and left generally pleased with the change in the old man. At one point in his speech, Robert McNamara challenged his audience with the rhetoric of a peacenik – "We human beings killed 160 million other human beings in the 20th century," he said. "Is that what we want in this century? I don't think so." McNamara said that he's now convinced that pre-emptive war and regime change is not way to meet the threats to our security from abroad – but, in fairness to those who find in absolutely necessary – most of our leaders at the turn of the twenty-first century – he didn't offer a recognizable alternative.

Those who advocate the role of world policeman for the United States say they have been vindicated for their going to war – and perhaps at least stretching the truth the weest – by what happened this week in Spain – the terrorist network that attacked on 9/11/01 struck in Spain, where the leaders supported our position in Iraq (although 90 percent of the population apparently did not) – al-Qaida changed the election – the organization must be stopped at all costs. Yet, Germany and France, who opposed our invasion and did not support it, is as much a target as Spain. Finding the truth in all of this is most difficult – in fact, many Americans fear the truth and rather would not deal with it – which is that we have to be prepared to make enormous sacrifices to our personal freedom and accept something of a Big Brother government if we are to be successful in meeting the very real threat. Among the questions behind the crisis is "How much are we willing to give up in order to feel secure?"

Heady question for St. Patrick's Day – which 'tis a grand day indeed to enjoy a bit of song and dance, laughter and the kind of fun we had at the old Shamrock some thirty years and some past. Those were heady times as well – a nation divided over Vietnam – and then the 1972 presidential campaign with Watergate and all the rest. We had high hopes that our society would dramatically change in the coming decades back around 1970 – and it has, for the better, in many ways. Alas, it does seem as though 'tis still politics as usual. Do take care of yourselves, kola – don't get whacked, and find a way to reach out to your neighbors.

Ev Albers