The cost of 9/11

By NEAL R. JONES: Guest Columnist
THE STATE

On this 10th anniversary of 9/11, it would be a mistake to remember only what was done to America. We also should look back on what we have done to others and ourselves in response to that cruel day.

Whenever individuals or nations suffer great loss, their pain can be expressed as either grief or anger. Unfortunately, our political leadership chose to channel our pain into vengeance and retaliation by launching two wars — one against a country that had nothing to do with 9/11 and another that persists though we accomplished our goal of toppling a hostile government.

These wars have cost more than 6,000 American lives. Hardly ever counted is the so-called “collateral damage.” By some counts, more than a million Iraqis have died directly or indirectly because of our war, most of them children. Hardly ever mentioned are the more than 600,000 American troops who have been treated so far in veterans’ medical facilities, many of whom will be physically and psychologically disabled for the rest of their lives. Hardly ever mentioned is the tremendous number of divorces and family breakups and veteran suicides, which have topped 18 per day in recent years.

These wars have been costly financially. When Noble Prize-winning economist Joseph Stiglitz estimated the wars’ costs three years ago, his conservative tally was $3 trillion to $5 trillion. That doesn’t include future borrowing for war expenses, interest on the debt or the cost of replacing military equipment. Neither does it include the long-term disability and health-care costs of veterans, which Stiglitz projects will run $600 billion to $900 billion. We will be paying for these wars for a long time.

These wars have been costly to our national priorities. The tea party has tried to convince us that the reason for the deficit is that school teachers, policemen, firemen and other public workers are making too much. They conveniently forget the cost of these two wars over the past 10 years — the first wars in history paid for entirely on credit. In every other war, we raised taxes to help pay for it. President Bush inherited a budget surplus, which he erased with a tax cut mainly for the rich. Then, incredibly, when he declared war and with deficits already soaring from his first tax cut, he plunged ahead with yet another round of tax “relief” for the wealthy. You don’t have to be an economist or a mathematician to know that if you increase spending and cut revenue, you create a deficit. Let us be clear: Conservatives are now using the deficit they created to excuse their shredding of the social safety net and their slashing of programs to protect and empower our most vulnerable citizens.

These wars have been costly to our national soul. We have squandered America’s position of moral and political leadership in the world and sullied our global reputation. We have forsaken our precious civil liberties and violated our constitutional rights, authorizing the government to spy on its own citizens, wiretapping their phones and intercepting their emails without a warrant. We have rounded up thousands of civilians and sent them to prisons beyond the reach of the law, where they have been held indefinitely without formal charges, without legal counsel and without trial, and where they have been tortured. We have poisoned our national discourse with intolerance and fear and paralyzed our political process with distrust and acrimony.

We finally killed Osama bin Laden. But if his intent was to undermine the American economy and America’s moral authority, then he may have won.

The Rev. Dr. Jones is the minister of the Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Columbia, our preacherman. Contact him at nealjones@sc.rr.com

DIFFERENTIAL DIAGNOSIS

Is It Or Isn't It? What The Heck Is It?

Tom woke me up moaning in pain.  His foot was throbbing, swollen and slightly red.

I was pretty sure right away that I knew what it was.  About 6 months ago the exact same thing had happened to me. I waited several days before going to the doctor and when I did, they x-rayed for a stress fracture but found nothing; took blood to test for uric acid level to diagnose gout and found it was not elevated, but decided to treat it as though it was anyway.  They gave me medicine, put me in a boot so I would stay off it and predicted that the intense pain would immediately diminish. It did and I was soon well.

There were differences.  Tom's hurt just below the last joint in his middle toes; mine had been in the last joint in my little toe; gout usually occurs in the big toe.  His hurt more when he walked on it; mine hurt all the time.  But then men are tougher than women, aren't they?  And of course he walked on it all the time, against my strong advice, while I rested mine and elevated it.  He believed that, whatever it was, exercise--at least moderate exercise--would be beneficial, as would loud complaining.

He limped around for more than several days (so like a man) and listened to the law office entertain guesses -- an insect bite causing Lyme disease was one ominous diagnosis. Stress fracture and gout got equal votes. Someone supposed that a scratch from one of our cats, called cat scratch fever, could  be responsible. My consistent prediction, shored up by my google research,  was always gout and I urged him to go to the doctor.

At the same time he was having some intestinal problems, which he had used otc medicine to deal with, diarrhea, to be specific. Suddenly it was the day before our trip to our annual family fourth of July week Edisto beach trip and he realized he couldn't head off to such an isolated place, with only one doctor--if she was still in practice--without checking things out. We spent the day going from doctor to doctor; first for the intestinal problem, then for the gout.  The intestinal problem was taken care of quickly enough, but the foot problem required a long wait and then we had to be seen by a new doctor.

First an x-ray to eliminate the possibility of a stress fracture-same thing they had done with mine-then a blood test which revealed no elevated uric acid, then the diagnosis of gout-just like mine!  (I was
right, wasn't I, Tom!)  He got a shot, a prescription for a round of 

 steroids and an admonition to stay off it as much as possible while in Edisto, with the promise that the medicine would work its magic and he would soon feel better.

 
He did not! 

 Every night he went to bed with his foot swollen and throbbing, swearing he would stay off it the next day.  

Every day he went crabbing, swam with the grandkids, rode out on the boat for hours (though at

least he didn't go tubing), danced on the porch during our talent shows and danceathons.

Jeff recommended some folk remedies which he had read about, on-line of course. Cherries were the ticket.  Tom is a great believer in the old adage "in for a penny, in for a pound"   and more is better, so he ate cherries, and ate cherries and ate cherries till every dish and trash can in the house was filled with cherry pits and he was doing midnight runs further and further off island to grocery stores, as the nearby ones sold out of cherries.  Unfortunately Jeff also suggested celery. Soon the bunches of celery crowded out the eggs and milk and other essentials in the refrigerator and the continuous celery crunch assaulted our ears. Tom's foot got no better.

Several weeks after we returned home,  we went to an orthopedist, who, pursuing the idea that it might not be gout, decided to do further testing.

Doctors really don't know.  I used to think they did.  They talk to you about your symptoms; they perform various tests; then they know--they diagnose; they treat,  based on their diagnosis and then you get well.  How could I have been so naive?
What they do is,  they take an educated guess.  Then if that isn't it, they eliminate that diagnosis and go to the next possibility, then the next, till they hit the right one--if they are lucky.  It is called differential diagnosis.  They are good at it and usually get it right the first time--or the second.

They got Tom's right the second time.  Dr. Burnworth ordered an MRI which revealed what the xray had not--a stress fracture. Now the treatment of this many times is a boot--that big, heavy, removable, Velcro wraparound with straps that has a rocker bottom.  It stabilizes your foot while it heals, yet you can walk on it--carefully. Tom was unwilling to wear such a thing--too unwieldy, too time consuming to put on each morning.  The doctor agreed to let him wear his Birkenstocks,  because they have a stiff sole which gives much support to the foot.  We left armed with pain medicine, some topical pain reliever to apply to his foot and an admonition to stay off it.

He did not!


Tom really tried.  We had many meetings to attend though--The Hispanic Leadership Conference, the Christian Action Council Racial  Healing Workgroup, the Carolina Peace Resource Center, Food Not Bombs, Homeless Helping Homeless. Our turn to work at Transitions for supper, the HHH car wash, a worship service that we were the worship leader for were all on the calendar.  Our garden was in full tending mode.  And of course there is the law firm.  No time to rest and put his foot up--even under doctor's orders.  He did make some concessions.  When we went to the grocery store, he used a wheel chair--and loved it. He didn't use the electric one, but the manual one, which he propelled down the aisles and across the parking lot with great abandon.  After his knee on the other side started hurting because of the way he had to walk to favor the injured foot, he did use a cane. Sometimes, when he wasn't doing anything else, he did elevate it.  He did let me do some things in the garden that he usually does--but sometimes I would catch him out there.

His foot continued to hurt, to swell, to be red.  Our next adventure was with his friend, Tim,  of Pedorthic Orthotics who fits orthopedic corrective devices, which Tom wears in his shoe because of an old football injury. Tim persuaded him to wear a short, simplified boot. Desperate to do something, he agreed to try it. He has been in it since.  Tim said he would notice a difference right away.

He did not!


It got worse.  In addition to continued pain, the swelling took on a whole new shape--which we agreed was quite odd.  The next emergency visit to Dr. Burnworth on  August 29th was quite a revelation, to him and to us.  Another x-ray showed a new fracture in Tom's foot, next to the original one--this time large enough that it did not take an MRI to reveal it! 

Now what?  Tom is really trying to take it easy. He is iceing the foot every hour, staying off it more and worrying.  He is scheduled for a bone density test on Monday.  The doctor didn't call it Osteoporosis, but I believe that will be his differential diagnosis. 

He mentioned Boniva.

  You know--Sally Fields--on television.  Pharmaceutical advertizing. 

We'll see.       

SNORTBUCKET

 Poetry From My Youth

 

Mother died several years ago at 93 after a life full of joy and wonder.  I have several boxes of her belongings, which I have been slowly going through, a little at a time. Last week I hit a treasure trove.  The bottom of the box was filled with all the things of mine that a mother would keep—report cards, homemade Mother’s Day cards, objets d’art from Scout camp, term papers, poetry. I spent all the rest of the day reading the contents of the red file folder there—my writings from second grade on.  I had forgotten lots of them.  Some are pretty bad; some are pretty good; some are hilarious. Here’s a poem from the eighth grade.  The theme for our journal writing for the week was imagination.      

Snortbucket

She got away with anything.

She got away with it all.

She was Sneaky;

She was Bold.

She tore across the back porch with no clothes on at all!

 “Do this, do that,” my Momma said.”

“You must clean up your room.”

But Snortbucket did nothing.

No tasks did she assume.

She got away with anything.

She got away with it all.

She was Sneaky;

She was Bold.

She tore across the back porch with no clothes on at all!

She laughed when grown-ups scolded.

 She said smart-alec stuff. 

She never got  switched for nothing;

No eye was fast enough.

She got away with anything.

She got away with it all.

She was Sneaky:

She was Bold.

She tore across the back porch with no clothes on at all!

 

 At dinner time she had her way.

“Artichokes make me regurgitate”

Ice cream, cookies, popcorn, cake--

Whatever she wanted, that’s what she ate.

She got away with anything.

She got away with it all.

She was Sneaky;

She was Bold.

She tore across the back porch with no clothes on at all!

Snortbucket bullied the cats and the dogs.

She tore up the neighbor’s yard.

All of us got the blame for her tricks.

She would laugh at us really hard.

She got away with anything.

She got away with it all.

She was Sneaky;

She was Bold.

She tore across the back porch with no clothes on at all!

 Snortbucket was my nemesis.

I wished that she was dead!

And when I grew up--

She went away.

See, Snortbucket lived in my head.

SC OBSERVES THE CIVIL WAR SESQUICENTENNIAL

And Tom and I Read a Book

This year marks the 150^th Anniversary of the start of the bloody Civil War that took the lives of over 650,000 Americans.  Civil War anniversary celebrations are being held throughout the South and across the nation.  A Grand Secession Ball was staged in Charleston.

  
In this sesquicentennial year, April 12, 2011 was a particularly significant day here in South Carolina. Ft. Sumter was fired upon to signal the beginning of the Civil War one hundred fifty years ago. On that day one hundred years later, on April 12, 1962, the Confederate flag first went up on the Statehouse dome during the centennial observances of the Civil War and in defiance of the growing civil rights movement.  The date was observed across the state in many different ways. School children toured historic sites. Academicians pontificated about the significance of various aspects of the War of Northern Aggression.  Civil War re-enactors reveled in the glory of the goriest war in history with battle reenactments and camaraderie around their campfires. Some people fired cannons. Some lit fireworks.  Tom and I read a book!

  Fraternities and sororities, social justice groups, politicians, theater people, high school and college English classes, churches, Girl Scout troops and Tom and I were asked to get involved in an Uncle Tom's Cabin Reading Marathon.We gathered all through the day at the Historic Modjeska Monteith Simkins House to take 10 minute shifts reading the anti-slavery novel, Uncle Tom’s Cabin.

The organizing of the event was pretty complicated.  Almost 200 people with busy weekday schedules had to be coordinated. The S.C. Progressive Network, local Quakers and the Harriet Tubman Freedom House Project were sponsors and kept the line moving, thanking each of us with a big smile as we finished.

The setting was just the right place.  The modest white wooden house in downtown Columbia, now a museum, was once the home of the fiery Modjeska Monteith Simkins, known as the “matriarch of civil rights activists” in South Carolina. For over sixty years she fought to alleviate the pain and hardships of our state's sick and poor, the underrepresented and underprivileged.  She challenged the white political leadership of the state to do what was fair and equitable among all people and she challenged black citizens to stand up and demand their rightful place in the state and the nation.  It was around her kitchen table that much of the work was done to develop the lawsuit seeking equality for black schools filed in Clarendon County under the name Briggs v Elliot.  This case, consolidated on appeal with others around the country, challenged the “separate but equal” doctrine in our nation’s schools. In 1954 the United States Supreme Court issued their opinion known as Brown v. Board of Education.

For his Irmo High School history class project some years ago, our son Jeff taped interviews with several South Carolinians from the civil rights era.  They included his father, Tom, who helped set up private schools to avoid integration, and US District Court Judge Matthew Perry, a former civil rights lawyer and colleague of Thurgood Marshall.  The best interview was with Modjeska, 82 years old by then, as they sat rocking on the front porch of this house, chatting.  Jeff said she told a million stories—some irrelevant, but still absorbing--sipped a lot of something from the mason jar—he thought maybe it was not the same as the sweet tea she brought him—and she was the most fascinating person he had ever met

.

Community activist and writer, Kevin Gray organized the daylong reading of the iconic slavery-era novel as a way for community members to participate in history--to pause for just 10 minutes in the rush of our busy day to read a passage from the most relevant book the group could have picked on the day the Civil War started. Some South Carolinians tout states’ rights as the major cause of the war and deny that slavery was the primary reason for secession and the war. Kevin and many of us felt that it was important to set the record straight in a historically connected and low key counterpoint way.  Published in 1852 and written by white abolitionist Harriet Beecher Stowe, the 650 page book depicts life for African-American slaves. It tells the story of the slave Tom who refused to betray his fellow slaves, at the cost of his life.  The book is credited with having a huge impact on the abolitionist movement.  It’s the book that convinced white folks around the country and around the world that slavery was a cruel institution.  Legend has it that, upon meeting her, Abraham Lincoln greeted Ms. Stowe by saying, "so you are the little woman who wrote the book that started this great war."

All day long on April 12^th, women in heels and sandals, men in suits and jeans, kids in scout uniforms and soccer shorts came and went. Inside we sat in folding chairs, straddling camera cables, as we followed along in the books scattered around the room. When it was our turn at the mike, we stepped up to face the cameras, and began.  I was nervous. A room full of people listened. ETV was recording the event for a documentary. WIS was filming for the evening news. Our words were being streamed live on line.  I am a good reader, but the language in Uncle Tom’s Cabin is somewhat dated, and I was afraid the dialect would trip me up. I wanted to read with some expression, so nobody would miss the meaning of the story. All that was running through my head as I began to read, and my voice was shaky at first.  But when I started reading, I forgot everything except the compelling words of Harriet Beecher Stowe. I had forgotten what a powerful book Uncle Tom’s Cabin is.

When I came to the podium at 10am, we were in Chapter VII.   The evil slave trader Haley is crashing through the woods, searching for Eliza, the runaway slave. Even though he feels bad about it, Eliza’s “good” slave master  has sold her child, Harry, to cover his debts and she has fled the plantation, her home since her birth, so that her family will not be ripped apart. The tension is fierce. Eliza, alone and desperate, is tortured by fears of what will happen to her child as she makes her way through the thicket toward what she hopes is freedom.  Haley, wild-eyed and enraged, tears around in the undergrowth along the path in mad pursuit. The slaves assigned to guide him, playing dumb, lead Haley down the wrong route, giving Eliza a good head start. My time ends on that very satisfactory note.

For readers in the North, who had no idea what slavery really meant, this part of the story would be their introduction to one of the horrors of the institution of slavery. Slave holders sell their people as property; Families are torn apart; mothers watch their children sold, knowing they will probably never see them again. Even a relatively kind slaveholder makes no difference in the system.  I’m glad I got to read that section of the story.

We read late into the night, from 8am till 4:15 a.m.  We finished in just over 20 hours.  It was a good day.

Does Our President Fear the War Complex?

Would Obama Die for His Country?

Obama won the Presidency campaigning as a peacemaker but has approved $40 billion for arms sales to other countries in his first year in the White House compared to the $34.5 billion President G.W. Bush approved in his last year in office according to the US State Department. Bush, who blustered his way into war has been replaced by Obama, a smooth salesman for the US war complex, aka the military, industrial complex or defense industry. Obama has surged the number of troops in Afghanistan; deployed planes, cruise missiles and electronic attacks against Libya; and provided increasing amounts of arms to most of the countries in the Middle East, South Asia and most any other country that wants them.

The war complex relies on war and the threat of war to create their markets. Members of Congress, with defense plants and military bases in their states and districts and war complex contributions in their pockets, put defense spending cuts off-the-table while education, health care and other quality of life programs are cut to the bone. A Commander-in Chief that goes to war, okay sales and gifts of killing tools to almost any country that wants them and takes campaign contributions from the war complex is their kind of President. According to national security analyst Lawrence Korb, the baseline defense budget has grown for 13 straight years. Between fisca
l 1998 and 2011, the budget rose from $271 billion to $580 billion This doesn’t include war costs and the Afghanistan War alone costs us roughly $2 billion per week. The U.S. share of global military spending has jumped from one-third to one-half. If big money is made killing people is anyone exempt from being killed?

A lawyer friend was a White House Fellow assigned as an intern to top officials of the CIA in the late 1970s. A badge wielding agent came to my office and questioned me about his credibility for a top secret security clearance. My friend was in a position among the spooks to hear some inside stuff. Years later after a few drinks one evening he told me what he had heard about intelligence and military officials giving ominous messages to newly sworn in Presidents when they meet their Commander in Chief and explain to him their duty to provide him personal security and intelligence about national security.

Nowadays, national security bigwigs are from the United States Intelligence Community(IC) led by the Director of National Intelligence and includes top officers in military intelligence, the CIA and Secret Service. The IC collects and produces foreign and domestic intelligence, contributes to military planning, performs espionage and provides for the President’s personal security. They gather at the White House to brief the President on matters of national security like how he can authorize a nuclear attack with the black box brief case they present him. Finally, their spokesman lowers his voice in a sinister tone and says something like:

“Mr. President you are our new Commander-Chief and you have a very dangerous job. Four of your predecessors have been assassinated and six more survived assassination attempts. We will protect you but you must listen to us about matters of national security and cooperate with us for your personal safety. This video is about the safety issue.”

The new President is shown a video of John F. Kennedy’s assassination.

I learned that war is a killer and money maker as a young soldier in basic training at Ft. Jackson, South Carolina in 1955. I enjoyed the running and calisthenics but bayonet and machine gun training made me realize what the military is all about. In bayonet training we attached our bayonets to our rifles and ran and stuck a dummy that was “the enemy”. Our trainers had experienced close up killing in Korea and they made us scream “kill, kill, kill” as loud as we could and stick the dummy as hard as we could. If we didn’t holler loud enough or stick the dummy hard enough we had to do all over again. A trainer shouted, “young soldiers this is what the Army is all about, kill or be killed!” I realized then the Army was not for me because I did not want to kill anyone and damn sure didn’t want to be killed.

Later we practiced shooting 30 and 50 caliber machine guns. When we finished the trainers shot up and wasted several boxes of ammunition. I asked my sergeant why they were wasting the expensive ammunition and he muttered, “Shut up young soldier, it’s the Army way.” Is this Obama’s way?

He has awarded 3 Medals of Honor to families of military personnel killed in
combat and said each “fallen hero…gave his life…his last full measure of devotion for our country.” Obama would be a global hero who risked his life for our country and people everywhere by saying “No” to war and the war complex.