Land of Roots

Those are the lands of my roots, the northern reaches of the subcontinent, but I can speak with a Texas twang or maybe even a bit of that Chicago-sounding thing. Raised amid the cornfields but long-now living in Texas, I can speak one way or the other or somewhere in between. My eyes and hair and olive-colored skin obscure the place of my birth and ambiguously hint at one part of my roots.

Those are the lands of my roots, where armies stare each other down down over mountain peaks and across the valleys in between, armies of brown-eyed, brown-haired, brown-skinned soldiers spewing their hatred across dotted lines on the map, where bombs and assassinations and communal violence are commonplace. Those are the lands and the people of part of my ancestry, but I do not understand them.

Behind arrayed nuclear weaponry, behind the mumbling of coup-installed presidents and double-speaking ministers, behind the religious zealots and fighters and martyrs there is no humanity left, only poverty, misery and death.

But then, where is the humanity in Palestine? Where is the humanity in Ireland? Where was the humanity in Oklahoma when the tears of nations fell and no one saw and still too few care.

Those are the lands of my roots. And those are the lands of yours. Hatred lurks deep within us all, just waiting for an opportunity.

5:46:41 PM   permalink: []   feedback:   comments: []  

Like Father, Unlike Son

Democracy did not exactly flourish in Morocco under King Hasan, a condition sadly typical of most Islamic regimes in the world. Under his son, however, things are changing -- for the better, one can only hope.

Over 14 million Moroccan voters will head Friday for polling stations across the country to elect their representatives in the future 325-house of representatives, a vote set to be a decisive turning point in the construction of democratic Morocco.

9:16:01 AM   permalink: []   feedback:   comments: []  

Google News

Go to a school. Ask the kids to look for something on the web. Tell them to "google" for this or that. They'll know what you mean. Google is great, and it's more than just their great name.

Now they're using their technology to gather news stories, trolling the web for breaking stories and grouping related stories from different sources together under single headlines along with an indication of how long ago (in minutes!) the news was gathered. For example, their world news page.

And here's the cool part. Scroll to the bottom of their page and you'll see this:

This page was generated entirely by computer algorithms without human editors. No humans were harmed or even used in the creation of this page.

9:09:51 AM   permalink: []   feedback:   comments: []  

First in Line

The plane was mostly full. The overhead bins were overflowing. The boarding passengers left in the aisles were looking anxiously for seats and a place to put their bags.

An elderly couple got on at the end. They must have come late to the airport. Gray-haired, walking slowly, looking forlornly for two seats together, they began a hopeless walk to the back.

There was a single seat next to me and another one in the row in front, so I patted the man on the arm and held up two fingers, pointing to the empty seat and mine as I stood up. He smiled and said thank you as I moved my stuff and sat down.

The flight was quick -- one of those up-and-down ones that Southwest flies so many of. The boys in the front had barely finished their hot cocoa when the pilot announced our descent, and we were on the ground less than 30 minutes after we had taken off. As usual, the plane had barely pulled up to the gate when the aisles were full of pushing passengers making a dash for the front.

I had never seen the dash close-up before. Usually I sit behind the wing well away from the rush, but this time I was in the second row and saw it all firsthand. It's a spectacle I've never quite understood.

I stood up.

And there I stood in the second row as people dashed up from behind and blocked the aisles for everyone else. There I stood in the second row as the distinguished gray-haired man and his quiet wife elbowed their way from their row behind me to stand in the aisle in front of me so that they could get off first.

You're welcome, I thought but kept the words to myself.

They squirmed around so to be the first to deplane, and when I finally managed to get off myself, I saw them sitting in seats several gates down the concourse waiting for a connecting flight. The gate where they sat was not open yet, so the two of them sat in the front row nearest to the counter, waiting.

My connecting flight was leaving from across the hall, and I saw them sit there for 30 minutes before the gate finally opened. They were first in line.

8:43:28 AM   permalink: []   feedback:   comments: []