No Country for Old Men

Last May I found myself close to the grassy knoll at the Hyatt Regency in Dallas. I was a parent chaperone for a high school mock trial team which had made it to the national championship. A bunch of mock-trialers from Kentucky along with their coach were waiting with me to ride an elevator. When the elevator arrived, a young kid named Kevin stepped out and told his coach and team mates who were about to board the elevator, “I’ve left a little present for you. Enjoy.” The entire group scampered away, leaving me somewhat surprised and alone on the elevator going up. Nine floors later I realized that a pair of nose plugs would have been handy to deal with Kevin’s not-so-little present. Then it dawned on me that I needed a refresher course in the semantics of language.

There are many, including some of my good friends, who would argue that my education is sorely lacking. Not because I did not attend school or college, but because I ask the dumbest questions about some of the phrases in language that are widely disseminated by journalists (a.k.a. “infotainment-ists”) today. What others find crystal clear and easy to grasp, I find to be an assault on my senses (and sensibilities). I was chewed out a few years ago for not understanding that “wardrobe malfunction” actually meant “nipple exposé.” Although Kevin’s present is easy to handle with nose plugs, I am unable to find similar widgets to handle brain farts in print and broadcast media.

Take for example President Johnson’s “war on poverty.” Of course Johnson wanted to end the conditions that caused people to starve to death; but this is accomplished by giving to others, not fighting them. The very phrase runs counter to the idea of war.

President Nixon’s “war on drugs” created a significant rise in the number of African-American men in prison though white people were using the most drugs. It also provided the Reagan-Bush administration the military justification to fund and support the Contras in Nicaragua and the mujahideen in Afghanistan. The war on drugs is a war that is being waged against US citizens by funding covert operations in other countries and passively facilitating them in trafficking drugs destined for the US market.

The post-9/11 “war on terror” or “war on terrorism” are phrases with no well-defined meaning. The reality is that terrorist groups and illicit drug producers tend to emerge in any area where there is abject poverty. In their book, “Collateral Language: A User’s Guide to America’s New War,” John Collins and Ross Glover write:

The United States constantly disregards the demands of impoverished countries, enforces its will on people with less ability to fight, and brutalizes the impoverished both at home and abroad . . . . The war on poverty has been operationalized through the war on drugs and the newly articulated war on terror (ism).

Another area where brain farts are freely distributed by presidential hopefuls and inhaled by journalists and media outlets is education reform. Candidates want everybody to receive the best possible education. But I am not sure what their intent really is. Yes, they would like you to receive an education to be able to guarantee that once every four years you would be gullible enough to understand and believe their rhetoric. But no, they would not like you to be so well educated that you would be able to think for yourself, or question what they say, or challenge the infotainment-speak of the best political team in the country. Unlike Collins and Glover, they do not want you to stand up and say, “Language is a terrorist organization, and we stand united against terrorism.” They want you to stand “with them” in the “war on BLANK” which elicits the customary fulsome fawning from the media (Note to Press Corps: “war on clean water” will be quite apt for the 21^st century).

Unfortunately for me, my friends are right about my education. My parents could only give me the best education possible, not the best possible education. Which is why I do not fully comprehend the nuances of language.

Admittedly this is no country for old men like moi. I wait unwearyingly for Javier Bardem to take me out. I only hope the end occurs on the lower floors of an elevator in Dallas.