Month: November 2016

There is no Donald Trump. He is an Avatar.

Avatar (Computing) in the digital world, an Avatar is the graphical representation of the user or the user’s alter ego or character. It may take either a three-dimensional form, as in games or virtual worlds, or a two-dimensional form as an icon…” Wikipedia.

You are perhaps asking why you should believe me when I say Donald Trump is an avatar, an icon, not a human being, since I was wrong about the outcome of the Presidential Election. I did not imagine my very idea of democracy would be knocked on its knees by a barrage of tweets.

Donald Trump is not real. He is a fusion of the Television and Digital Age, a kind of political Frankenstein long in the making. I’ve been sniffing around and thinking.

Trump is to me the evocation of George Orwell’s novel Nineteen-Eighty-Four, a chilling vision of the future sprung suddenly to life in our time. Trump is an Avatar, the ultimate conspiracy, the digital creation of the wealthiest billionaires, entrenched politicians and most powerful corporations in the country.

He is an amazing piece of software.

If you read this novel or follow Orwell, it will all become clear – the Tweets, the conspiracy theories, the never-ending controversies, exhortations, media feuds and appearances, threats and hateful insinuations,  the Make America Great hats, the planes, the steak and the wine, the frenzied and adoring and oddly creepy crowds.

Just think of Big Brother.

Political language, wrote Orwell,” is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable, and to give an appearance of solidity to pure wind.”  People can foresee the future only when it coincides with their own wishes, and the most grossly obvious facts can be ignored when they are unwelcome. In a time of deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act.

Get to know Big Brother. He is the fictional character and primary symbol of Orwell’s novel, his brilliant vision of our inevitable future as the screen universe takes hold of our people and their minds and values.  It is a very timely and prescient book, as it was meant to be.

Big Brother rules over Oceania, a totalitarian state ruled by one entity, and one political party, which wields total power over government, and “for its own sake” over its citizens.

Donald Trump is an avatar, orange hair and all, a digital character and primary symbol of the ultimate triumph of ubiquitous technology over the minds, hearts and judgment of a once independent but now subdued  and malleable people.

In the society that  Orwell foresaw, Big Brother is everywhere, watching over everyone, commenting on everything.He is ubiquitous, looming so large and ever-present that he transfixes and dominates the world around him.  He knows that what he says doesn’t matter, what matters is that he is always saying it, on every screen all of the time. There is no one other than him, no other truth but his.

He becomes so dominant there is nothing else, everyone around him seems to shrink day by day, he is surrounded by the faithful and adoring. All diversity of thought vanishes under his ever-watchful eye. No idea that is not his is allowed to live.

Big Brother’s Ruling Party, presented to the people as independent and free,  as a balance, has become a myth, another screen creation.There is no balance.

The Ruling Party is utterly subordinate to him. One by one, its leaders have submitted or vanished or been broken. Any sign of dissent or compromise or disagreement is uncovered, attacked and removed. Big Brother is never seen, questioned, or spoken to by any other human being. He just speaks.

He is accountable for nothing, answerable to no one. Truth is on its knees.

His words become the only reality the people have ever known.  Over time, falsehoods become the New Truth, there is no one lef to correct them. Defiance is heresy, a crime.

Thus truth becomes a revolutionary act.

This was Orwell’s vision of our future as new technologies arose that gave tyrants and opportunists and corporations enormous power to control our own sense of reality, our money, and our freedom.  Free and spontaneous thoughts are banished in Nineteen-Eighty Four, bludgeoned or beaten down by argument, big lies and innuendo. Or hauled away to prison camps on distant islands.

It is possible, wrote Orwell, to conquer a world without firing a single shot or equipping one army. All you needs is to own and control the screens. The minds and hearts of the people will follow.

H.L. Mencken said that Americans fantasize and romanticize the power of democracies to work miracles and bring them perfect lives without sacrifice. When they are disappointed or betrayed, as is inevitable, they turn to demagogues in response.

Every now and then, Mencken wrote, the bubble bursts, and the people rise up against the elites that have abandoned them.  In our world, Twitter and Facebook are superhighways to grievance, much of it justified.

This is never pretty, but often necessary. There are elites all over the place in capitalist cultures – look at our two political parties –  and as Mencken pointed out, you really can’t rebel against them enough. The real test of democracy is whether or not it can keep its promises. We’ll see.

America, is it is now clear, is in the midst of a populist revolution. The more I follow it, the more I am coming to understand it. Working class people of all races and genders have been abandoned by the very people sworn to save and represent them. The rich have, in fact, gotten richer, and everyone else, has in fact, gotten screwed. In a democracy, that is the biggest trouble there is.

The elites, warns Mencken,  sometimes suffer temporal, even shocking,  defeats, but they always win in the end.

They have all of the money (and control all of the screens).

The oldest story in the world is the rich screwing the poor and the working class.  In a political sense, that is every story. We have been living it for years in my good country. It is the big story now. It is a big mistake to blame Trump on racism and sexism and ignorance, he is about something much bigger than that.

The people have launched their own revolution, and we are all transfixed, frightened or cheered by it. They want what they used to have and believe they can have again.

We will see how Big Brother fares in this new and different kind of universe. The election, said commentator David Axelrod,  was a primal scream from ordinary people seeking their own justice.

We are all hearing it now.

A disenchanted reader messaged me a month ago and said I was a “parasite and elitist,” and he said one day people would come and burn my books on my lawn. I was surprised, some animal rights people have been promising that and worse for a while. I told him I am a blowhard too, and perhaps an unknowing elitist as well.

My angry e-mailer said he would be watching me on Twitter. In Stalin’s time, this would have been an invitation for me to head to America. Threats are not what they used to be.

In Orwell’s vision, Oceania is ruled mostly by telescreens.The journalists are all gone.

The people are constantly reminded of this by the slogan “Big Brother Is Watching You,” a maxim on eternal display.

The tele-screens constantly show throngs of people screaming support for Big Brother and roaring over his every word. In democracies, adulation is rare, the people are said to be equal to their rulers. In Oceania, adulation was the only permitted form of expression.

Since Orwell wrote the novel, Big Brother has entered the popular language as a synonym for abuse of government power, particularly in respect to traditional freedoms and civil liberties.

I am an admirer of George Orwell, he was a great thinker, a visionary and prophet.

Like Mary Shelley, he sensed some of the dangers in the rise of technology and it’s uncharted impact on human behavior. He saw into the future.

Orwell wrote that the most effective way to destroy people is to deny and obliterate their own understanding of their history. I can’t speak for the world beyond me, but my wish is to affirm and remember my own understanding of my history.

I wish to be a warrior for truth.

If the truth is a revolutionary act, I’m joining the revolution.

We met  Bill this afternoon, he called out to us as we were leaving and heading down the hallway of the Mansion. “Hey,” he shouted, “can I meet your dog?”

Sure, I said and we veered in. Ed said his friend Pete, who lives next door, was taken to the hospital today and he was worried about him. He said he was a great dog lover, and I could see that he was and is.

He told me the story of Duke, his beloved terrier, who went outside in the cold and snow and brought the paper into Bill every morning. “I loved that dog so much,” he said, “he was a great dog.”

Where is he now?, I asked.

“I had to give him up,” he said, “I had to give him back to the breeder when I came here a few months ago.” Bill said the breeder promised that Duke would get to be a therapy dog, just like Red, Bill said.

The holidays will be hard for him, he said, it will be  his first Christmas alone. His wife of 62 years died last year, and then he had to give up Duke, he couldn’t take care of himself any longer in the house.

Bill and I talked about dogs for awhile, and then he shook my hand, and asked me what I do. “Well,” he said, “I never heard of you or your books, but if you want to bring me one I’ll read it.”  I will do that, I said.

Bill and I talked dogs for awhile while he stroked Red and praised. He was almost as good a dog as Duke, he said, and I knew that was the highest praise. I told him I’d be back in a day or so. Bring Red, he said. I miss my dog.

Before I left, Bill said “I miss my wife every day. You know…62 years.” I can only imagine, I said.

If you wish, you can write Bill c/o The Mansion, 11 S. Union Street, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816.

I think he would love to see photos of dogs and hear about them.

When Red and I came into the Mansion today, a staffer took me aside and said it would be good if we could visit Connie, she gets a bit low around the holidays, she said. Red and I went down the hall, Connie’s door was open and Red didn’t wait for any commands, he made a beeline for her room and was soon enveloped in a loving bear hug. Connie loves to touch Red and hold him close.

She told me she was thinking over the holidays of a child she lost, and of family and home. She did seem down. I sat silently with her and let her be with Red. I asked her if I could get her anything, and she said she would love a Crochet Pad for Scarves, an easy one, if I could find one.

So far, I haven’t been able to find one, even online, I’ll keep looking.

Red does cheer people up, and the atmosphere at the Mansion is warm and empathetic and earnest, I admire the staff greatly.

Still, I know this is not the place many of the residents would wish to be during the holidays. I understand that, Gracious Acceptance asks that we accept people where they are, not where we tell them to be. I could see Connie misses her family gatherings at Christmas.

She asked me how I celebrated Christmas and I said Maria and I didn’t have much family around and so we just sat by the tree with Red and Fate and gave one another gifts. We don’t have a tree this year, but I could tell that Connie wanted me to have what she wanted to have.

i told her I would keep looking for a Crochet Pad (an easy one) for scarves.

If you are so inclined, Connie loves to receive letters and messages, the staff says your messages have been a remarkable blessing for everyone there, the gifts and messages are still coming. During the holidays, they will be doubly appreciated.

You can write to Connie or the other residents c/o The Mansion,  11 S. Union Street, Cambridge, N.Y.,  12816.

Red and I spent an emotional few hours at the Mansion Assisted Care Facility in my hometown of Cambridge today. The holidays are here, and a singer was performing an afternoon concert of Christmas songs in the beautiful big room of the Mansion downstairs. Many of Red’s friends were there, and Peggy was excited to see him, they are great friends.

The staff is working extra hard to keep everyone’s spirits high, I am always touched and inspired by the warmth and sensitivity the staff shows to the residents, the works is challenging and often unappreciated.

There is, at the mansion these days, a keen sense of loss and longing – for family, for homes left behind, dogs and cats given away or lost, and for the loss of connection to the life and work and rhythms of the outside world. We keep these good people alive, but we then put them out of sight and mind and take from them almost everything they love and value.

Red and other animals seem to bring people back to that time of connection and community, I’m not sure I understand it but I see it very clearly. The staff is heroic about paying attention to the residents and honoring the holidays – trees and lights are everywhere – but there is no doubt about the sense of loss.

Your gifts and letters have made a truly astounding impact on the Mansion. There are bags of yarn, quilts, teddy bears, cars, caftans, quilts, warmers, comforters from Mississippi, Iowa, California, England, Oregon, Kansas, North Dakota, Illinois. There may be divisions in the country, but there are good people every where who went to great trouble to write to these people and lift them up.

You cannot really know what a difference you have made until you see it, everyone tells me about the letters they receive, Peggy reads everyone almost every day. In this time, Red and I will pick up our visits, he sheds light and joy wherever he goes and the residents all day he brings them back to their best times and good feelings.

I’ve been invited to the Christmas Party on December 15, can’t wait to go.

You’ve done plenty, but if you wish to contact these people, it would be much appreciated, especially now. You can write to Peggy or the Residents, c/o the Mansion, 11 S. Union Avenue, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816.

November is the most difficult month for me as a photographer, I am so keyed to color and light, November is a challenge to me to be creative and see the beauty around me. This morning, the mists hung over the hills lie a velvet shawl, and I saw some of the beauty of November. There is beauty everywhere if you can see it.