Dha Odd-ass-city of Wiss

“Waat an arrogant guy, dat Obbama dude, hah?” shouted my neighbor Manny, as soon as I had turned my head away from him after returning his greeting of “Hi, howyu doin” with the usual “fine”–and the obligatory “Howbout yurself?” pitchback. Normally that would have been the end of our conversation of casual encounter when I would be preparing to mow my lawn. But on that fine day in April, Manny seemed to be in a mood to be the talkative neighbor. If it were any other subject, I would have made some agreeable noises and continued with my work. But, this remark about Obama piqued my curiosity, particularly because it was from Manny who had not talked politics with me until then. Even though the 2008 election season was not in full swing, this presidential election year had become so unusual–with a black and a woman competing fiercely, at that time, even if in only one party–that even Manny must have become active, I thought.

Good; more people taking interest in candidates is always good. But, Manny’s take on Obama went against my grain. So I challenged him, “What did Obama do?”

“Havn’t yu herd?… Geez….it’s all ov’r dha noos.” Manny was nodding his head in disbelief of my ignorance as he walked over to me.

I had to stop in the middle of priming my lawn mower–why waste precious (and getting more precious by the minute!) gasoline; better wait till Manny goes back to his house.

“He said yest’rday dat wee workin folks are bittrr an’ wee clin’ ta owr gunns “n rileejjin. Watan…watchthey callit… I beleeve dha wurd is “elleettiz’, ha?… yu know wat I meen?”

I was thinking hard how best to handle Manny and his outburst. Of course I had seen the news–and read a lot about it in the papers and had seen the reactions in the blogs. Hence I had already formulated my own position before I had stepped out of the house. But all my arguments were appropriate for my usual friends–all shamelessly well educated people. I just did not know how exactly to engage Manny–how to dumb down my analysis. But that is a skill that is becoming extremely crucial nowadays. So I better practice, I thought to myself.

Manny is the typical blue-collar worker. I have seen him hopping in his beaten pick-up truck fairly early in the morning and driving off real fast even on the bending roads of our children-filled neighborhood. Sometimes I have seen him holding a “Slow!” sign at road-work sites. Other times, I have seen him mowing lawns or digging holes near other people’s houses. I envy him because he must be doing better than us lowly engineers since he has a house in this neighborhood where many of my colleagues live–and we always complain about the high property taxes, while he is always getting his house renovated.

“What do you mean by “elitist”?” I asked Manny when he came close to me.

“Yu know, dhem ejucated peepl, dhem who look down uppon us workin’ folks,” said Manny.

“No, I don’t know. Who are all those?”

“Geez, yu wan me to poin out evry one of dem?”

“You mean the Democrats?”

“Nah, nah. I’m not blamin all Dems…er, demacratz. I ment jus some ejucate show-off talkers. Dhey annoy me. Gawd, I’m pissed off at dhem kind.”

“Can you tell me who make you annoyed by their talk? Give me an example.”

Manny scratched his head while trying to come up with names. After a few seconds of murmuring, he said aloud “ya, ya… dat dude … wat’s “is name…it”s on dha tipp of me tunng…….Geez…giv me a sec….”

He danced around for a few more seconds and then said “Well, dhere’s dis othr one….. dha one who’s on TV all dha time…. I can see “is face …”

But he still could not come up with any name. Then finally he straightened up, looked me in the eye, and declared, “take Obbama, fur exampl.”

“Manny, you already named him, remember?” I said

“Yah, dat”s rite, I deed. Lemme see… dhere’ar so menny of dhem darn elleettisuz…, geez, but I jus can’t think about names jus now.”

“Do you consider John Kerry, you know the one who ran against Bush in the last election, an elitist?” I volunteered.

“Yah, Yah… he ees elleettiz… yah…defnitly…Kerry ees one of dhem. Dat’s why I dijn’t vote for im lastime,” said Manny, being happy about getting to name one–even if I was the one who handed him the name.

“What made you decide that Kerry is an elitist, and that Bush is not?”

“Can’t yu see itt? It’s cleerly dhere, man. Yu know dha vay both talk.”

“You mean Massachusetts accent versus Texas accent?”

“yah, yah, dat’s exactly watt I’m talkin “bout.”

“So all the people living in Massachusetts are elitists and those in Texas are non-elitist?”

Manny did not answer for a few seconds. Then he said, “I dijn”t meen dha accnt. I ment, yu know, dha elleete talk.”

“You mean talking like college educated?”

“Yah, like dat. Usin all dhem beeg wurds.”

“Like Obama titling his book, “The Audacity of Hope”?”

Manny became very happy that I had thrown him a good one to clutch on to and prove his point. His face brightened as he said, “Yah, like datt. Now, watt dha heck ees dat wurd?…Odd-Ass-City or watevr.”

I could not help bursting out with laughter at how Manny had come up with a very funny compound word, forming it from the simple ones he must have used frequently.

Manny at first was suspicious of my sudden laughter at what he had said. But after a couple of seconds he also began grinning wide–sheepish tinge notwithstanding.

“Audacity, Manny, Audacity,” I said after my laughter came down a bit.

“Odd…., wat dha heck eet meenz?”

“Well, it is hard to convey its meaning in general. In the context of Obama’s book, you can say it means “daring”.”

“Dare yu go!.. “Dare” ha?.. how dare he dare! Dat eetself showz he ees makin trobl. No good, I tel yu.”

“No, Manny, it is not that kind of “dare.” It just means taking a bold step and challenging the status quo.”

“Challennje. Dare yu go egeen. Challenje wat? Owr govrmnt? Owr cuntree? Owr rillijin? Ah, deese eytheeiz are allvayz doin dat kind of trobl.”

“No Manny, Obama is not an atheist. He is a Christian. Where were you when all the big fuss broke out about his pastor, reverend Wright?”

“Ya, ya, I know all “bout eet. But…nevvr mind if he”s no eytheeiz. But yu aughtta admeet he ees an elleettiz.”

“How do you conclude that?”

“How? I tollyu allredy. “cause he uzes dem beeg wurds. Like dha one yu jus explaynd to me. Why he use”n it? Why coon’t he jus say “Dha Ope”?”

Now it was my turn to be silent for a few seconds. I was trying my best to convey to Manny’s uneducated mind the richness and complexity of the book title. But I needed probably an hour just to make him get a vague idea of the significance of the title. I could not afford that much time. But I could not let go either. In a fit of impulse, I decided to pull his leg.

“Hey, even that is too elite, isn’t it?”

“Wat d’yu meen?”

“Now how often we use the word “Hope”? It is not a natural word that pops up in casual conversations, is it? If you hear it spoken, it sounds too much like pompous college talk, isn’t it? ”

Manny thought for a second and began nodding his head in agreement. He seemed to be glad that I was supporting his argument even more than he had expected.

“Yu know, yu’r rite. Workin clasz folks don’t uze “Ope” much,” he paused for a second. Then he began grinning with some internal realization. “I gess I’m more polishd than most peeple! Gee, I’m hi clasz! I nevr saw dat til now.”

“Sure, you are more classy than you give credit for yourself,” I was laughing my head off internally as I stroked his ego externally. “Now, back to the book title. What do you think would be a better word to replace the definitely elitist word “Hope”?”

“Mm. Ya, lemme see. Ope… Ope…., ” Manny strummed his fingers on his cheek. But he seemed to be stuck. So I jumped in.

“Don’t you think folks use the word “Wish” most times when they “hope” for something?”

“Yez… Yez… Defnitly. Yu’re rite on dat one. Yes. Wiss. Dat’s bettr. Wiss.”

“So the title of Obama’s book should have been, what?” I taunted him.

“Ya, dha book. I forgot wat yu said dha title ees. Jus got carriedway by “Ope”.”

“It is “The Audacity of Hope”.”

“Oh, ya. Dat’s rite. Butt dijn’t we deecide dat big wurd ees bad? Soooo…it goz, skrachd out.” Manny made a big X in the air, to make sure the word “Audacity” is painted across–in red, with a red circle around it I am sure, in his mind’s eye. It would have come to him naturally, what with him doing traffic control at construction sites.

“So, what’s left of the title?” I prodded him.

“Ya, watz left?” he echoed. Then he formulated–with some difficulty–the words that remained of the book title. “Dha… Ope,” he said slowly, looking at me for confirmation.

“Yes, “The Hope.” But we decided that the word “Hope’ is also too elite…”

“Ya, I know, I know. I’m not stoopid. I waz getting to dat. Jus wanted to go one step at a time, yu know. Jus so we’re both in sync. Yu know?” Manny was trying to convince me that he was a real logic freak, thinking always in clear steps, as doing an algebra problem in the hated school. I smiled and waited.

“Ya… Now we need to get rid of “Ope”…,” Manny did his X thing again, and continued, “an put in… mm… wat’s dhat? wait, wait, don’t tel me…. Yaa, dha Wiss.”

“Correct. So the book title now becomes…..”

I was cut off by Manny jumping ahead and screaming loudly, “Dha Wiss.”

‘Dha Wiss’? I said, unbelieving at the metamorphosis of the book title. It sounded like something you eject out of your body–may be a couple of things, both accompanied by the sigh of “Oh what a relief!” That’s what Manny was saying that Obama should have named his book as?

Manny was beaming with the satisfaction of having completed an arduous, challenging task. He seemed to be very happy of being so creative in coming up with such a non-elite title for Obama’s book. A working class person putting the elitist celebrity right in his place!

‘Dha Wiss… Dha Wiss…,’ Manny repeated, as if savoring the delicious new flavor he had created. “I like it. Yaa. Well, wat d’yu know, I’m a geniuz!”

“Yes, you are,” I said, playing along. “Man, I don’t know why you didn’t go to college. You would have been good at translating elitist language into folk-talk.”

“Yu think so? Thanx man! Yaa, I would’ve been good at dat…. Yu know wat, I could’ve changed all dhose elleetteez bookz into simpl ones, yu know, so ordnary peeple can understan dhem. An dhen expoze dhem elleetteez fraudz fur wat dhey are.”

“Yes, you certainly could have. You know what Manny”

“Wat?”

“You would have become very rich also doing that. There is a great need for that kind of translation of all those hard-to-read books–most of them written by elitist politicians, not understandable by most people.”

“Ya, Ya…Also, “cause mos folks can”t understan dhem, dhem elleettteez get away widh talkin nonsenze. If ordnary folks get to reely know wat’s in dhem bookz, dhen dhey can shred dhoze argoomentz to peezez,” Manny gestured by tearing the air into many pieces in his hands. “No more talkin nonsenze by dhem snotz, like dhey are gettin away withid now.”

“You should look into it Manny. I am serious. There is great potential here.”

“Ya, Ya” He began giving serious thought to it. While he was mulling over it, I began checking my lawn mower in preparation for firing it up.

“Dhere’s one problem dhough,” Manny said after a few seconds. “I don’t know wat all dhem bookz are. To pick, yu know. Will yu “elp me in dat?”

“I don”t know….” I said slowly, having not expected that my prank would boomerang. I was not ready for this turn of events.

“Aah, c’mon! Be a good nayburr an “elp mee.”

“I don”t think I can, Manny. I don’t have much spare time….”

“Wait, wait. I know wach yu’re thinkin… Yu’re thinkin “wat”s in it fur me?’ Rite? Not to worry, my frend. I will reeward yu farely. Dont worry. I’m not stoopid, yu know. Fare is fare, as dhey say. Yu will be reewarded, sir, when I get dha dough. OK?… Say “yes”, my frend,” Manny extended his hand to seal the deal.

I shook his hand, absent-mindedly–as an automatic reaction–before realizing what had happened. I regretted it, but it was too late. Manny was already patting my back while saying “Thankz man, I reely apreeshieet” repeatedly.

“Well, I leeve yu to yu’r mowin. I need to get back too.”

He began retreating, to get back to his house. His walk was more like a prance. He was happy as if he had just found a buried treasure.

‘Oh what have I have done,’ I kicked myself immediately. I should not have carried my prank that far, I blamed myself. Guilt–for leading Manny on–haunted me for several days.

Fortunately, I was not forced to do more harm. Whenever I bumped into Manny, he would say “Sorry, my man, I aven”t bin able to wurk on dat ting. Been too bizzy. Wil sit witth yu tho, soon.’ And then he would hurry to whatever he was going to. Still, I hit myself internally for making him think that he would rise up and destroy all the educated snobs. “Oh what a monster I have created,” I kept chiding myself.

But as I began following the 2008 political campaigns, it occurred to me that what I had created–out of jest and innocence–was nothing compared to what the demagogues–those in power as well those out of power, those running for office as well as those who work behind the scenes–have already proliferated around us–deliberately, deceitfully, and doggedly. The dons of political-mafia, unhesitating to assassinate–characterwise, careerwise, or even otherwise–anyone who is a threat to their established corrupt empires. They silence all voices of progressive, inclusive, just, and humanitarian ideas to govern by. Cut off the heads–and tongues–of those impertinent idiots foolish enough to complain about the stinking state of affairs in the country today. And parade the spoils–with paid “volunteers” shouting down the victims–so as to create fear in other potential trouble makers.

Politics today is dominated by thugs whose power-base is the dumb, dense, irrational, stubborn “citizens” in the society. And at least half the voting population is just that–and that number is growing. Politicians–with no other purpose than to cling to power no matter what–have inflated the empty egos of these virtually illiterate, ignorant masses, thus making them extremely arrogant also–arrogant posturing that they are right no matter what. The pandering politicos have made it a crime for anyone to criticize any group about their lack of basic civic or economic knowledge, their unwillingness to learn the facts, and their inability to think reasonably–the horrific mindset predominant in millions of the electorate. While even the poor and the illiterate in other parts of the world desperately desire higher education and cultural elevation, here in America a person who argues elegantly, thinks comprehensively, and dreams grandiosely is immediately labeled as the worst enemy of the people–an elitist! Labeled so by the same politicians who themselves are multimillionaires, are Ivy League alumni, who live in expensive places, shop at exclusive stores, never work with anyone but the rich, and who never pumped an ounce of gasoline in their lives. What a horrible hypocrisy. And how dumb are those millions of folks that adore these phonies as saviors! Oh, hypocrisy hyena! Your stupid tail wags obediently when the head barks shamelessly.

Pandering to the lowest, basest instincts of people is so pervasive today that a rare politician who falls behind in that race is widely condemned as cold and callous. No pork, no vote. How are problems going to be solved when we keep electing incompetent idiots who have no essential knowledge, no capacity to understand complex issues, no managerial skills, no desire to think long-term, and certainly no intention to tell the truth. The ubiquitous sacrosanct anti-intellectual mindset has nurtured large numbers of fanatics who are afraid of anything innovative, of anyone with higher education, and of any behavior that is dignified. They are hateful of everything that is different from their own primitive tribal totems. Public-office crooks have manipulated the medieval mentalities of those who do not know more than a few simple words, cannot talk without grunts, do not possess common sense, cannot think straight on any problem, and do not care if they slash their own throats as long as they can cut-off the noses of those they hate viscerally. These are the populist’s darling “folks” who cannot understand the essence of any public discussion, cannot see through the unrealistic promises of the fraudulent politicians, cannot evaluate the true character of any public figure, do not want to gather facts, do not tolerate colors, do not listen to saner voices, do not understand how the economy works, and have no clue about the complexity of modern institutions. They do not demand good judgment in politics; just public praising of how great, virtuous, and wise the dispossessed are. They do not demand visionaries; rather they adore the bitchy brawlers stooping to the lowest of heinous acts, just as long as they are feisty and fight mighty dirty.

Iron-clad proof of lying, cheating, and other despicable acts of their favorite politicians do not matter at all to these folks. When the scoundrel leaders screw the working people by destroying their livelihoods while providing bonanza to the rich, or by sending the poor recruits to meaningless death while showering the politico progeny in luxurious mansions, it does not enrage these dumb citizens. Rather, they argue passionately that these leaders are doing all those things to protect the country! These are the same “patriotic” folks who cheer and hoist up those irresponsible politicians who are itching to launch nuclear weapons against any country they don’t like–never mind if it brings on the obliteration of all; they are, after all, the darling politicians of those religious wackos who are unashamedly clamoring for their glorious, god-demanded Armageddon.

Yes, Manny is mild compared to the millions of monsters brought forth by the demagogues drunk with power. Manny just wants to make a killing by translating the elite books; the other monsters, on the other hand, want to kill, period. They are salivating at the chance to roar in a thunderous chorus for crushing the “enemy”–anyone would do, just need a target. However, these are monsters only in their costumes; they are really little creatures that find their voice only in mobs. These are the cowards that hop into their foreign-made SUVs and bolt from their towns at the first threat of a disaster. They are the same ones that brush past everyone else in line to go grab that cheap giveaway trinket at the mall. Their individual lives are worthless with dead-end low-paying jobs and dysfunctional households. They know it; hence their attempt to feel great by crying hoarse for war–as long as they are safe in their homes.

Manny is definitely docile compared to the creatures coming out of the woodwork in response to the growing tempo of drums beaten by the unscrupulous politicians. Those drums may seem to die out at times, but don’t be fooled; it always is temporary; it is only a smoke-screen to a re-grouping to re-charge–the thirst for war never goes away in the society. Self-aggrandizing politicians have had no other more powerful weapon in their arsenal. Politicians who have no clue about how the economy works, what makes the climate change, how connected is the globe, how the rest of the world is viewing America, and how fragile is the planet. The only thing the wicked pols are good at is in awakening the inner demons of the worthless multitudes in our midst. And for them there are plenty of points on earth to pin-point for bombing: Rouge nations here and there, rouge regions straddling borders of independent countries, rouge leaders not falling behind America, inept governments not keeping their America–denouncing masses from the streets–and more importantly, from the cameras that broadcast these demonstrations to the entire world. “Oh, there is no end to the bad spots on earth. So we have to be always on the war path; always, yes for the next hundred years.”

Instead of realizing that the traditional war is obsolete and actually counter-productive today, an increasing number of phony-patriots are chanting for more military might with religious zealotry. Look at the witches who are cackling with crazed eyes and raised arms, in incantation of their Lord, to have him materialize in monstrous form in full wrath, to breath fire on the “enemies” the witches are pointing at with their accusing fingers. Behold their beloved white-haired warlocks–looking, walking and talking like corpses–demanding to be put on pedestals and to be praised sky high. Both these kinds of “leaders” are chanting with satanic zealotry “wars, wars, wage more wars. Blood, blood, flood the world with human blood!” Their stupid, aroused, marauding armies of diminutive goblins are destroying with a vengeance everything rational, sensible, just, civil, humane, and ethical. But the greatest tragedy is that these moronic zombies are violently ramming, rocking, and breaking down their own house–the lighthouse whose beacon once used to be a cherished guide to the ships that were adrift in the turbulent seas of the world–and the only support on which this house stands: spaceship earth that is precariously perched at the precipice of history.