"Omigod, President Bush's helicopter is cruising outside!"

This sighting yesterday prompted all the merry minions to scurry from their cubicles and align themselves at the windows with uninterrupted sights of the Brooklyn Bridge and FDR Drive from our office. Choruses of "ooh's" and "ah's" just made me roll my eyes and continue working. I suppose my blatant indifference to the commander 'n thief's arrival for annual UN general summit meetings were blinking in neon letters because Al*, the resident GOP-flag bearer was incredulous that I had no intention of craning my neck to see what was happening. I politely demurred, but it seemed as if he needed to phone a friend to take a fucking hint. Little did he know I had a lifeline of my own in store.
It's at this point where I could suppress the Sista Souljah wanting to rage against the machine not a second longer and a bitch had to check this clueless cracker right quick.

Respect? You want me to pay respect to a drunken frat boy who hid out in the luxuries of Air Force One rather than heading down on the ground where people were dying in New Orleans? I'd really like to send my regards with a phlegm-laced token of appreciation for such a bang up job. How many Marlboro Lights do you think I'd have to chain smoke downstairs to hit my mucus quota?

Bullseye.

He skulked away from my desk back to the East River view, smirk full of smarm replaced with visible contempt of the "how dare that negress use that tone with me!" variety.

It's uneasy exchanges like these I've tried to avoid since Katrina wrought her fury. Simply because by and large, White people just don't fucking get it. My Kanye West moment happened out of the sheer repulsion of listening to these condescending assholes talk long enough to reveal what really lies beneath. And just as the hurricane ripped through cities to lay bare the ugliness of truths we've tried to sweep under the carpet, the apathy of White America has come squarely into focus in the aftermath of such a publicized cauldron that resurfaces about every decade without any real discourse to address the roots of the problem.

In the fallout of thousands from New Orleans and elsewhere along the Gulf Coast decimated by the destruction, fingers have been quick to point out class as the prevailing issue which left so many residents stranded without a way to escape. A not-so-clever tactic to walk on the eggshells of that dirty 4 letter word non-minorities avoid like the plague. RACE.

Who are the poor? With whites making up 72 percent of the population, the United States contains more poor whites than poor blacks or Hispanics. In fact, the Center on Budget and Policy Priorities reports that the increase in white poverty in nonurban areas accounts for most of the recent uptick in the poverty rate. But only a little more than 8 percent of American whites are poor, compared with 22 percent of Hispanics and nearly a quarter of all African-Americans (in a country that is 12 percent black). This represents a significant advance for blacks in recent decades, thanks to the growth of the black middle class, but it's still a shamefully high number. By contrast, immigration has sent poverty among Hispanics up, though it has not been as intractable for them across generations. - source, Newsweek.com [The Other America]

It's impossible to disconnect the complexities of race and class when weighing in on the repercussions of what went on in the Big Easy. The uncomfortable truth is that the color of one's skin not only determined how skewed press coverage would be in the mainstream media [ex: the now-infamous Yahoo! press photo captions, incessant loops of young Black men looting] but in how evacuees were being unwelcomed with not-so-open arms in nearby cities.

White suburban police closed at least one bridge to keep a group of blacks from fleeing to white areas. Over the course of two days, a white river-taxi operator from hard-hit St. Bernard Parish rescued scores of people from flooded areas and ferried them to safety. All were white. "A n--ger is a n--ger is a n--ger," he told a NEWSWEEK reporter. Then he said it again. When they did focus on race [in the aftermath], many Louisianans let their fears take over. Lines at gun stores in Baton Rouge, La., snaked out the door.

The new catchphrase of this debacle is "the blame game." As if pointing out the obvious for the sake of banding together for photo ops will do any good at this point. It's been said that the very definition of insanity is repeating the same mistakes and expecting a different result every time. Well, it's high time that America check itself into a psych ward because the self medications with dimestore salves instead of cold, hard therapy will ensure more casualties ahead to rouse the majority still wandering around eyes wide shut.

Labels: George W. Bush, Hurricane Katrina, race, rants

Bring 'em out, it's hard to yell when the barrel's in ya mouth
Bring 'em out, bring 'em out
Bring 'em out, bring 'em out

*sniff* *sniff* You smell that? I know it's faint, but hear me out on this one.... is that the stench of accountability approaching the Bush administration's front door? Dumbya & Co. have been able to deflect all blame in the past 4 years on outside threats and imminent danger from the Koran worshipping bogeymen hating us for our freedom in the Middle East. Now that disaster's struck in his own backyard - right in red-state country - think staying holed up at the Crawford compound will be the quick fix outta this one? Uh uh. The proverbial shit is about to hit the fan and the curse of the second presidential term is beginning to cast a dark cloud on a legacy of treating foreign affairs like one long episode of Gunsmoke and unsuccessfully smoking terrorists out of their caves.

At such a time of blistering criticism from all sides including his own party, in rides the always genial thorn in the side - Michael Moore. I previously posted his searing open letter to the conehead-in-chief and now comes word that we may see the horrors of Hurricane Katrina captured in a forthcoming documentary. I was worried that once the body count is underway and commissions begin on Capitol Hill, the cold reality of just how devastating this was would disintegrate in Lake Pontchartrain's toxic soup. But not this time. We've been asleep at the wheel for far too long and petulant cries for unity ring false in the wake of corpses littered all over New Orleans like forgotten remnants of what used to be. The truth will NOT be denied.

Labels: George W. Bush, Hurricane Katrina, Michael Moore

Ever wondered where those seeds of "compassionate conservatism" were planted in the bible thumping soul of our President of the United Mistakes of America? Look no further than the mother of the village idiot — Barbara Bush.

After being defrosted earlier than usual from the cryogenic tomb at the North Pole which keeps her elderly Mrs. Claus facade intact for the annual Christmas society balls, the former First Lady found a way to look at the bright side of things after visiting with evacuees at the Houston Astrodome. Surveying the victims who were disproportionately Black residents of the New Orleans area prompted this nugget of empathy in an interview with American Public Media's Marketplace.

"What I'm hearing, which is sort of scary, is they all want to stay in Texas. Everyone is so overwhelmed by the hospitality. And so many of the people in the arena here, you know, were underprivileged anyway, so this [slight laughter] is working very well for them."

Could Marie Antoinette script this slice of verbal diarrhea any better?

I mean, of course it's working well for those displaced Negroes! What beats having your home torn apart like papier-mâché, worrying whether loved ones are dead, alive or shipped off to a separate state, huddled together with over 10,000 other perfect strangers in less than ideal conditions and winding up unemployed in the blink of an eye! Fold out cots squeezed together and the cries of children forced to adapt to life in a makeshift halfway house in a football stadium just seems like pennies from heaven, don't it?

I'm amazed this decrepit fart took the Grey Poupon-stained silver spoon out of her mouth long enough to drop such a heartfelt gem. I'm sure just the thought of all those unwanted undesirables in the Lone Star state just makes your catheter a wee bit looser. Fucking senile douche bag. Like mother, like alcoholic devil spawn.

Labels: Barbara Bush, Hurricane Katrina, race

There aren't enough words that sufficiently capture the seething anger and frustration I feel towards our gaggle of incompetent nitwits masquerading as government officials, beginning with the commander 'n thief. I can always count on that lovable rascal of a troublemaker, Michael Moore to tell like it really is. So, here's an open letter to President Bush in the wake of disaster along the bayou.

Friday, September 2nd, 2005

Dear Mr. Bush:

Any idea where all our helicopters are? It's Day 5 of Hurricane Katrina and thousands remain stranded in New Orleans and need to be airlifted. Where on earth could you have misplaced all our military choppers? Do you need help finding them? I once lost my car in a Sears parking lot. Man, was that a drag.

Also, any idea where all our national guard soldiers are? We could really use them right now for the type of thing they signed up to do like helping with national disasters. How come they weren't there to begin with?

Last Thursday I was in south Florida and sat outside while the eye of Hurricane Katrina passed over my head. It was only a Category 1 then but it was pretty nasty. Eleven people died and, as of today, there were still homes without power. That night the weatherman said this storm was on its way to New Orleans. That was Thursday! Did anybody tell you? I know you didn't want to interrupt your vacation and I know how you don't like to get bad news. Plus, you had fundraisers to go to and mothers of dead soldiers to ignore and smear. You sure showed her!

I especially like how, the day after the hurricane, instead of flying to Louisiana, you flew to San Diego to party with your business peeps. Don't let people criticize you for this -- after all, the hurricane was over and what the heck could you do, put your finger in the dike?

And don't listen to those who, in the coming days, will reveal how you specifically reduced the Army Corps of Engineers' budget for New Orleans this summer for the third year in a row. You just tell them that even if you hadn't cut the money to fix those levees, there weren't going to be any Army engineers to fix them anyway because you had a much more important construction job for them -- BUILDING DEMOCRACY IN IRAQ!

On Day 3, when you finally left your vacation home, I have to say I was moved by how you had your Air Force One pilot descend from the clouds as you flew over New Orleans so you could catch a quick look of the disaster. Hey, I know you couldn't stop and grab a bullhorn and stand on some rubble and act like a commander in chief. Been there done that.

There will be those who will try to politicize this tragedy and try to use it against you. Just have your people keep pointing that out. Respond to nothing. Even those pesky scientists who predicted this would happen because the water in the Gulf of Mexico is getting hotter and hotter making a storm like this inevitable. Ignore them and all their global warming Chicken Littles. There is nothing unusual about a hurricane that was so wide it would be like having one F-4 tornado that stretched from New York to Cleveland.

No, Mr. Bush, you just stay the course. It's not your fault that 30 percent of New Orleans lives in poverty or that tens of thousands had no transportation to get out of town. C'mon, they're black! I mean, it's not like this happened to Kennebunkport. Can you imagine leaving white people on their roofs for five days? Don't make me laugh! Race has nothing -- NOTHING -- to do with this!

You hang in there, Mr. Bush. Just try to find a few of our Army helicopters and send them there. Pretend the people of New Orleans and the Gulf Coast are near Tikrit.

Yours,

Michael Moore
MMFlint@aol.com
www.MichaelMoore.com

P.S. That annoying mother, Cindy Sheehan, is no longer at your ranch. She and dozens of other relatives of the Iraqi War dead are now driving across the country, stopping in many cities along the way. Maybe you can catch up with them before they get to DC on September 21st.

Labels: George W. Bush, Hurricane Katrina, Michael Moore