Heroism indeed

 

Yesterday, reading Larry Lambert's "Virtual Mirage" blog, I came across this quotation from World War II Army nurse June Wandrey.

An eighteen-year-old boy is carried into the shock ward, and he looks up at me trustingly, asking, “How am I doing, nurse?” I kiss his forehead and say, “You are doing just fine, soldier.” He smiles sweetly and says, “I was just checking,” Then he dies. We all cry in private. But not in front of the boys. Never in front of the boys.

That's genuine heroism on the part of those nurses:  to keep going, day in and day out, knowing ahead of time that they're going to lose patients - a lot of patients - yet doing their jobs regardless, being compassionate carers.

That quotation reminded me of an experience I had in southern Africa.  AIDS was (and still is) a major problem in that part of the world, with tens of thousands dead and hundreds of thousands infected every year.  It's even more tragic because of the warped, twisted, completely inaccurate myths and beliefs of that culture.  For example, a man with AIDS or a venereal disease may believe (and thousands do) that if he has sex with a virgin, the disease will leave him and transfer to her.  However, very few eligible African women are virgins;  so he'll kidnap a child and have sex with her.  Since so many children have been raped, the "targets" of such men have grown younger and younger.  It's no longer unusual to find three- and four-year-old girls (and some boys) who've been abused like that.

I visited a place most people avoided like the plague (a very apt simile, in this case).  It was an orphanage, run by religious sisters, that cared for orphan children infected with AIDS.  In most cases, their mothers had been infected by their husbands or partners, so that the child was born with the disease.  The mother would usually die before the child, having been infected earlier, and the child would be abandoned (sometimes literally, in the bush) to die alone.  These nuns passed the word to the communities nearby that any such baby should be brought to them, rather than be abandoned.  They took them in, fed and cared for them, knowing they were undoubtedly going to lose them.  They believed it was God's work for them to at least let the child die in the midst of a caring community, knowing that it was loved and cherished.

I vividly remember standing on the front porch of their building, watching a nun cradling a two-year-old girl in her arms, tears running down her face as the kid reached up weakly to touch her face.  As I watched, the girl's arm flopped back down, and she took a last, gasping breath, and died.  The nun stood there until it was over, then headed back inside to take the little body to their makeshift morgue . . . and then turn to the next baby or child, and do it all over again.

I've never seen courage like that, before or since.  I certainly don't have it.  To do that, day in, day out, knowing that it will never change, never improve . . . that all your patients are going to die, no matter how cute and lovable they may be . . . and yet being willing to do that, over and over again, so that they can die in whatever peace and love they may find - that you can give - in a world that doesn't give a damn.  That's heroism of the highest possible order, IMHO.

We think too little about the real courage required of our health workers on the front lines, wherever they may be, whatever their circumstances.  In the old days, the Catholic Church used to say that normally, doctors could not be ordained as priests, and priests could not serve as doctors, because both professions were God-given vocations, not just jobs.  They were different and distinct callings, both important enough to warrant being singled out as a lifelong ministry rather than just a career.  I don't know whether that distinction is still made, but it always made a lot of sense to me.

Peter

This dog is having way too much fun...

 

This just made me smile.

Peter

Some inflation is nothing more than deliberate price-gouging by businesses

 

I was cynically amused by the outrage displayed by a shopper at Whole Foods in Boston.

A Boston-based influencer has sparked outrage over inflation after claiming she paid $7 for a single apple at a Whole Foods.

. . .

“Genuinely what economy are we all f–king living in that it costs 7 dollars to buy an apple?” she asked. “I could have sworn that some other like apple that I bought was not 7 f–king dollars. It’s crazy, like 7 dollars for a latte? OK. This apple better be tasting so f–king good.”

There's more at the link.

I agree with her:  that price for a single apple is absolutely ridiculous - but so was her behavior in buying it.  If she'd put it down and walked away, she'd have saved money and the store might have learned a lesson in consumer economics.

Something like this is behind quite a lot of inflation.  Businesses aren't pricing their goods according to what they pay for them, plus a fair and reasonable profit.  Instead, they're pricing them as high as they think they can get for the product.  From a strictly capitalist perspective, of course, they're entitled to do so, because there's nothing forcing us to buy their products in the first place.  We can always look for lower prices somewhere else.  However, that becomes a lot more difficult when the availability of product is restricted (e.g. a breakdown in the supply chain, a natural disaster, etc.).  Under those conditions, products that are critical to life, health and safety may be priced out of the reach of those who most need them.  Is that just?  Is that fair?  "Pure" capitalism says it doesn't matter - that the market determines the price.  Simple human decency (not to mention the teaching of a large number of religious faiths, including Christianity, Judaism and Islam) argues otherwise.  There's no point in debating that here.  Opinions are likely as numerous (and as diverse) as our readership.

Another aspect of that problem is corporations that enter a market offering deliberately low prices, even below cost, in order to gain dominance there.  By doing so, they drive out of business other companies that can't afford to price-match them.  As soon as their competition is gone, they increase their prices to normal levels - sometimes far above normal levels.  Since consumers no longer have anywhere else (local) to go for what they need, they have little or no choice but to pay the now-inflated prices.  I've seen that at work, too.  A few years ago, back in Tennessee, a garbage removal company tried to enter our local market by offering rock-bottom rates.  Our existing service, a small family-owned business, put out flyers to all its customers, pointing out what was happening and saying that if the new entrant succeeded, they'd have to close their doors, because they didn't have the financial resources to fight back.  When a number of us checked, we found that the new entrant had used those tactics in a number of nearby municipalities, and then drastically raised its prices once customers were "locked in" to its services due to the absence of competitors.  Most of us stayed with our existing supplier, and the new entrant, frustrated, took its efforts elsewhere.

In so many words, a lot of the inflation we experience from day to day is actually caused by manufacturers and vendors setting the highest prices they think they can obtain.  They'll cite scarcity, supply chain issues, weather and anything else you can think of - but they won't reduce their prices unless and until market factors force that upon them.  Fundamentally, it's greed at work . . . and greed is one of the Seven Deadly Sins.  Unfortunately, many businessmen appear to ignore such factors.

One major exception to the rule is Waffle House, and they deserve a round of applause.  I'm sure most of my readers have heard of the "Waffle House Index", a widely referenced measurement of how severely an area has been affected by a disaster.  I've seen Waffle House at work through several hurricanes in the South, and one thing is very noticeable;  they never gouge their customers on price.  They get their restaurants back up and running as fast as humanly possible, and they maintain their pre-disaster prices no matter how much extra it costs them to bring in supplies over disrupted and sometimes hazardous routes.  Kudos to them for offering their services to survivors and rescue workers who need them very badly.  There are other stores that do likewise, but that's often at the discretion of local store managers.  Waffle House is the only chain I know of that does so as a matter of policy.  (If any readers know of other chains that do business that way, please let us know about them in Comments.)

Peter

Memes that made me laugh 206

 

Gathered from around the Internet over the past week.  Click any image for a larger view.

Sunday morning music

 

A reader sent me the link to this video a few weeks ago.  It made me smile, so I saved it in my Blog Fodder directory until I had a chance to use it.  It's titled "Top 100 One-Hit Wonders", which is self-explanatory.  Unfortunately for the title, a lot of the songs come from performers and groups who had more (sometimes a lot more) than one hit song;  but it's still an enjoyable collection.

Peter

Saturday Snippet: A survivor's story about a modern crisis

 

We've mentioned Selco Begovic in these pages several times.  He lived through the Bosnian war from 1992-1995, and has written three books incorporating his and others' stories from that war, plus lessons learned that we can apply in other emergency situations.  He's one of the few writers in that field who's "been there and done that", and speaks with the authority of hard-won experience.

This morning's snippet is from his book "SHTF Survival Stories:  Memories from the Balkan War".  I highly recommend it, and Selco's other books as well.

The blurb reads:

There are many books out there on all the different aspects of preparedness and survival that can provide you with information, checklists, and theoretical solutions to potential problems. But no matter how much you read or how well-researched the books you choose are, there’s only so much you can take away from these tomes. Getting your information from someone who has survived a "sh*t hit the fan" crisis will take your preparedness to an entirely different level. Meet Selco, a legend in the preparedness world. He survived in a city that was under siege for more than a year. He had no power, no running water, no stores for supplies, and every day, he ran the risk of meeting a violent death, whether by shells, sniper fire, or a person intent on hurting others. This book is a collection of memories from the darkest days of the Balkan War, where each moment could have been his last. This isn’t a cheerful and uplifting guide to survival. There’s no misplaced optimism. There’s only Selco, the darkness he faced, and the grim reality of an SHTF scenario most of us can’t even fathom. But if you can grasp it all before it happens, you’ll be much further ahead than those who are frozen in shock. Please note that Selco's first language is not English. These stories have been lightly edited for clarity, but they still retain the "accent."

As the blurb says, this isn't light, easy reading at all:  but it's very accurate in describing how civilization can (and does) go to hell in a handbasket when things go very wrong.  I've experienced that in three nations in Africa, and therefore I can verify what Selco says from my own experience.  The misery war brings is pretty much the same all over the world, no matter where it takes place or in what language its stories are told.

I've chosen just one of the stories Selco tells in this book.  This is "Laura's Story".  WARNING:  This discusses brutal violence, rape, and a number of other very dark topics.  If any of those subjects offend or upset you, you should not read further.

“Laura” was 42 years old at the time of the event, a clerk at the local bank, two kids in school, and her husband was a driver for the city bus services.

She is now 64 and the house where we are having this conversation is small and wet. On the floor there are several pots, probably used for catching rain from roof leaks. She looks like she is sick, smoking homemade cigarettes. The smell is awful.

She looks like she has given up, like she is going to kill herself right after our conversation.

She told me her story of the war.

Do you remember the period of hyperinflation when you could buy with credit and when that check came to payment it would be worth maybe 10% of the original value, some few months before killing and chaos started?

Inflation was like a toy for some folks.

Now when I remember that I feel like an idiot because I did not realize that everything was going to shit when something like that is possible.

Women from bank, my colleagues, were bragging how they bought extra stuff that way with almost no money, I was proud because I did not do that.

You know, my father was one of the first who organized an uprising against the Germans here in the big war, a real Communist. He even went as a volunteer in Spanish civil war there, fought against Franco.

He told me a story that once he met Marshall Tito in war, at some Communist conference. It was deep in the Bosnian woods in the winter of 1943, while they were encircled by Italians and Germans.

He told me that he was not like a man, he was an idea, he was the state. The movement that you just need to follow because he knows best.

I was raised to believe in the state, in the communist system, in the ideals of the state for workers and peasants.

When the war started in Croatia, I, just like most of us, believed that somehow someone will recognize that we are all same people, Socialists and Communists, and that we just needed to stick together, and everything would be fine.

But I did not know that the Western world did not want us to have Yugoslavia. We were simply too strong for them. They wanted us to hate each other, and to pull out that old hatred between Yugoslav nations.

And then one day my husband came home earlier from work. He looked badly shaken.

He told me that his coworker was absent from work for two weeks, officially he was ill, with pneumonia.

Rumors were that he was volunteering as a fighter in Croatia. Some people believed and some did not believe.

But when he came back to work, he had golden necklaces around his neck, golden rings, and big smile on his face.

Some folks said that he was bragging around that there in Croatia if you are willing to fight there were a lot of things to plunder, money and gold, and he whispered with sick smile that if you have the will and if you wanted there were lot of “available“ women, too.

Husband said that guy was always bit weird when it came to women and alcohol, but after he returned from that “weekend fighting“ for money, he always had a sick smile on his face, like he had seen that you can get money, gold, and women in much easier ways than standing all day long in a decades-old bus and selling tickets to angry workers and confused school kids.

My husband never was a brave man. He was good man, but he liked to pull back from situations where people used fists or knives.

You could say that he was coward in some way.

After few stories he heard from that colleague, the fear installed in him for real and forever. Anyway, that forever did not last too long.

S*** moved from Croatia to our town pretty soon. One morning I realized that my coworkers who were other nationalities were missing from work.

And I realized too, that their workplaces were empty more or less. While I was talking about how we should stick together in the spirit of socialism, they were organizing how to get the hell out of town.

I still believed in life together between people of different nationalities.

And then one morning my husband came earlier from his job. He told me that people in uniforms came and confiscated the buses in the name of the “Cause” and the state. Nobody said what cause or state, but he saw that they had blood in their eyes, and nobody was willing to ask too many questions.

They told the workers that they need to go home and follow the orders of the local “crisis government.”

In that time there were already several of those crisis governments, each with their own agendas, militias, and orders. People still tried to understand which of those government represented the state.

What they did not understand was that the state was already gone. There were wars between those people too.

My husband finally beat his fear and went to the local criminals to buy a rifle. He gave almost half the money that we had saved for new car for that thing.

When he came home with the rifle, he was even more afraid.

He did not talk too much, but I understood that he was more afraid to use that rifle than to be without it.

He was a weak man. He could not help it.

Somewhere around that day when he bought the rifle, we sent our kids to my sister, some 200 km from our place.

It was the first and probably last time when my husband’s fear was used to make a good decision. I did not want to be separated from my kids, but he just kept on telling me, “Laura, you do not know what is happening, and what are people saying outside. The kids need to go away from here.”

They left town in one of the last of the Red Cross organized convoys. Their small faces were confused behind the glass. While I was waving them at the local market where the transport was organized, my husband was in our backyard trying to kill beer bottles with bullets from his rifle.

Our neighbor was trying to teach him how to operate the rifle. Rumors in town were that this neighbor had some violent history. Some even said that he was in the French Foreign Legion.

My husband was a cook during the basic training in army, and he forgot even the basic stuff that he learned in the army.

After we got word from the Red Cross that our kids got to their destination in good order, we were kind of more relaxed, but silence moved into the house.

For days we listened to the radio on our car battery. Electricity, water, and all other services were gone. We still were trying to figure who was fighting, who was defending who was liberating, and who was representing the law in our city.

And then one night we awakened to strong kicks at the door.

“Police!” they shouted. “Open the door, now!”

My husband shouted at me, “Where is the rifle?”

I did not know of course, and I still believe that he simply forgot where he put it. He was completely lost in fear.

Anyway, he opened the door. They told him that they were newly organized police and that they trying to organize law in the city.

Of course, he believed them.

They had uniforms, helmets, weapon, and authority. He simply was that kind of man. He wanted to trust.

He even remembered where he left his rifle when they asked him. And then they told him that he needed to go with them to the police station and fill out some simple paperwork because that rifle, nothing more.

I never saw him again.

I still remember how he was very calmly putting his jacket on while he was having a conversation with those guys. He had trust on his face. He was happy there was someone finally who he could trust, who would tell him what to do.

What else does a law-abiding citizen need? F***!

I never saw him again.

But I saw those people again the very next night.

They did not knock or yell this time. One of them simply crushed the doorknob with his boot.

When they entered house one of them punched me in the face right away, and he said to me just one word. “Gold?”

He kicked me with his boot few more times before the meaning of that word finally got through my brain and then he kicked me few more times before I caught my breath and strength to tell him where my gold necklaces and rings were.

You are asking me did they do anything more to me? You mean did they rape me?

Yeah, they did. Two of them raped me while the two other guys were collecting interesting stuff in my house.

I still do not remember if the other two guys raped me, or if they did not.

After the second one somehow, I kinda left my body. It was like I was floating next to the ceiling while he was on me.

I remember the words “Let’s just kill this bitch.”

Much later I realized that those words were spoken about me.

Did I want to be killed after that?

No, actually not. In that moment I felt only physical pain, but I still had the will to live. I did not want to die. Not yet.

I survived that, just like hundreds of other women in that time.

I do not remember how I lived the next month or two.

I mean I remember everything in a way: black market, famine, diseases, endless killings, side switching, rumors about peace and everything else.

But from the moment when those guys left my house, everything was blurred. I simply pushed on and on.

I learned how to treat wounded in one of the local militias, I found a man who protected me, not because he loved me or because he was a good man. It was because I was a woman.

I remember endless wounded guys screaming and in pain.

And then one day peace came, I was hearing from all sides that peace has come, and finally everything was gonna be fine.

And that was moment when I broke.

I was an old woman. My husband was dead, but actually officially he was still missing. I could not even get a pension from state because officially he was not dead. He was not founded in one of the thousand improvised graves.

He was probably killed immediately after he was taken from our house, maybe 500 meters from our house. Turned to dust or just pile of bones somewhere in someone abandoned well, or on the bottom of the river.

Where are my kids?

One is in America. She is some kind of small boss in a local fast food restaurant. Whenever I speak to her on phone, I understand her less. Each time she uses more English then our language, and each time I am happier.

Why?

I want from her to forget this country, this language. I want from her to forget me, to never come back here, I do not want her to be one day outside her body while some guy is on top of her and another searching her home for gold in the name of state.

My other kid?

Well, he is some kind of musician. Lives in Italy. I think he is homosexual.

What are my feelings about that?

I do not care, as long as he does not come back here. I do not want him to be taken from the house in the middle of the night in the name of the cause, in some future “Balkan conflict.”

Sometimes I have a dream that he might be on the other side in some future war here. What if he was one of the guys who searched for gold and valuables after he killed a woman’s husband?

And next morning when I wake from that dream, I even more want from him to hate everything that is here, country people, system, even me.

Just as long as he does not come back.

What do I do for living?

I do what I learned in that time. I care for sick folks. I have a few older people that I take care of. I wash them, clean them, take care for this disease, and similar.

It is enough for cigarettes and beer and that food that I eat.

I’ll be fine.

Do I trust in living together with harmony between different people?

Hmmm, I do not care for that. I do not give a s***.

Well, there you have it.  A family who had never prepared for the complete collapse of the society in which they lived . . . and paid the price for it.  If you think that can't happen anywhere else, even in America, you're deluded.  I've seen it happen elsewhere, and experienced for myself the consequences.  In some of our inner cities today, conditions very like those Laura describes are a daily fact of life.  I'm not joking.  They really are.

Read, and learn . . . and ask yourself:  "If this happened to my family, tomorrow, how well are we equipped and trained to survive it?"

Peter

Whatever works...

 

Wisdom from Stephan Pastis and his 'Pearls Before Swine' cartoon.  Click the image to be taken to a larger version at the comic's Web page.

Peter

Not your average gun store clerk

 

I had to smile at this news report.  If you'd prefer to read it rather than watch the video, you'll find the article here.

Now that's a warm and fuzzy gun story for you!

Peter

Religious zealots and peace in the Middle East: No. Nope. No way.

 

I've known for years about Iran's spiritual and temporal leaders, the Mullahs, and their belief (to a greater or lesser extent) in the return of the last Imam of Twelver Shi'ite Islam.  One article summarizes contemporary Iranian beliefs as follows:

The Mahdi is expected to appear when the world is wracked by utter chaos and war. Many Sunnis also believe that the Mahdi will come in such a judgment day scenario, but believe that he has not been born yet.

The Twelver beliefs have raised concern in conjunction with Iran's steeped interest in furiously pressing forward with its nuclear program, combined with threats against Israel and the West. Critics of the Islamic Republic allege that Ahmadinejad and the Supreme Leader would even go so far as to hasten a nuclear showdown and cataclysmic strike—perhaps an attack on Israel and inevitable retaliation—to hasten the arrival of the 12th Imam. Ahmadinejad has even called for the reappearance of the 12th Imam from the podium of the United Nations General Assembly. During his speeches within Iran, Ahmadinejad has said that the main mission of the Islamic Revolution is to pave the way for the reappearance of the 12th Imam.

There's more at the link.

Unfortunately for the rest of us, there's a similarly eschatological belief among some Jewish groups.

According to various media outlets, Jewish groups in Israel are preparing the sacrifice of a red heifer on the Mount Of Olives overlooking the Temple Mount. Speculation is that the sacrifice will take place on April 22nd during Passover in an act that Judaism deems is necessary to purify the ground on which the Third Temple must be built to bring forth their Messiah. The purification of the ground the Third Temple would require the destruction of the Al Aqsa Mosque which stands there now. Looking to materialize that prophecy will not only to provoke even more religious and cultural strife between Jews and Muslims in Israel and throughout the world but increase volatility in a region whose political instability represents perhaps the greatest threat to the mankind today.

The dictate requiring the sacrifice of the red heifer is part of a ritual set in chapter 19 of the Book Of Numbers, The Red Heifer And The Cleaning Waters, which deems that "a red heifer without defect or blemish and that has never been under a yoke" must be sacrificed before the temple can rise again. Performing that sacrifice was the impetus behind Uvne Jerusalem importing 5 red angus cattle from the Texas in 2022. To circumvent export laws preventing US cattle exports to Israel, Uvne Jerusalem member Yitshak Mamo declared the red heifers as his pets, undertaking an arduous task to bring them to the Holy Land and prepare them for sacrifice. Uvne Jerusalem is one of many groups encompassed by the Temple Movement that has swept across Israel. The mission of these groups is to advance the the creation of the Third Temple which itself is preceded by the sacrifice of the red heifer to purify the temple mount. The accomplishment of stage one of that mission appears to be on the horizon according to others in the Temple Movement.

Again, more at the link.

So, Iran's Shi'ite Muslim government appears to regard it as a religious imperative to destroy Israel:  and certain Jewish groups in Israel regard it as a religious imperative to build the Third Temple, which necessarily involves the destruction of the Al Aqsa Mosque, the third-holiest site in all of Islam.  Can we say "religious world war", or what?

Islam is the second largest religion in the world in terms of numbers of adherents (currently estimated at about 1.9 billion).  If their third holiest site is destroyed, they'll paint for war.  Similarly, if Israel is destroyed or seriously threatened, it has many allies across the world, and Jewish influence in many states is significant;  so it would not be simply abandoned to its fate.  I think such a conflict would be the irresistible force versus the immovable object.  There's no saying who would win, or what the ultimate outcome would be.  Israel undoubtedly has enough nuclear weapons at its disposal to neutralize Iran;  but if it uses them, other Islamic nations will instantly move to acquire them, and will no longer feel any restraint against using them against Israel, which they will not allow to dominate them.

If you need a recipe for disaster, I think there's one being cooked up in the Middle East right now . . .

Peter