say yes, we will be
appreciative, or say no
we will remember
The Haiku is based on a quote from the leader of the free world [sic] speaking to the World Economic Forum, an international advocacy non-governmental organization and think tank, based in Cologny, Canton of Geneva, Switzerland.
According to Wikipedia, the forum’s stated mission is “improving the state of the world by engaging business, political, academic, and other leaders of society to shape global, regional, and industry agendas.”
Leaders from across the world meet once a year in a conference organized by the World Economic Forum to talk about what might be done to improve the state of the world.
This feller currently in office gave a speech and Bret Stephens, an opinion columnist for the New York Times was there to hear it.
Mr. Stephens, a conservative of the pre-trump era, discussed the speech in a back-and-forth article with liberal opinion columnist, Frank Bruni.
Is this meeting of world leaders, coming together to discuss improving the state of the world, Mr. Stephens writes:
And then there was Trump’s speech, for which I was in the audience. It was like a geopolitical version of a Mafia shakedown. “You can say yes and we will be very appreciative, or you can say no and we will remember.” That was Trump’s message to Denmark on the subject of ceding Greenland. It was like watching a scene from “The Sopranos.”
He also terrified. Going into the speech, I was almost sure that what he really wanted was to gain some control of Greenland’s mineral resources. Leaving the speech, I was absolutely sure he means to take the whole island, and that his negotiating tactic will be to tie Danish cession of the territory to America’s continued participation in NATO.
Mr. Stephens is younger than I am.
He referenced the TV Mafia show, The Soprano’s.
I had another thought from another Mafia movie.
And the line that came to my mind, as this feller stood in front of this meeting of world leaders, coming together to discuss improving the state of the world, was this feller was making the rest of the world … an offer they couldn’t refuse.
I like to tell the story of my first day in kindergarten at Grand Rapids Crestview Elementary class.
Another kid, and this was 60 years ago, I clearly remember it, came up to me in the play area of the classroom, introduced himself and then to establish the pecking order, slugged me in the ear.
This, I said to myself at age five, is upper education?
I didn’t know it at the time, but that is exactly what it was.
I was skinny, always about 20lbs under weight for a kid my age and wore glasses.
That was the fall of 1965.
For the next 11 years of public education, I waited everyday for someone to slug me in the head.
Sometimes I deserved it as I had a mouth but most of the time is was because someone could.
Not that they were always bigger than me but that they had that outlook.
They could slug me so they did.
My first weeks of junior high were absolute terror as this one little kid figured out he could slug me in the head and I wouldn’t retaliate.
Never found out why, but this kid was transferred to another class and the daily confrontations went away until the next year when another little kid found it he could hit me with impunity.
I had read by then, Roughing It, Mark Twain’s book on life in the Great American West after the Civil War and Mr. Twain wrote about shootings in Virginia City, Nevada, that:
The reason why there was so much slaughtering done, was, that in a new mining district the rough element predominates, and. a person is not respected until he has ‘‘killed his man.’’ That was the very expression used.
If an unknown individual arrived, they did not inquire if he was capable, honest, industrious, but— had he killed his man? If he had not, he gravitated to his natural and proper position, that of a man of small consequence; if he had, the cordiality of his reception was graduated according to the number of his dead. It was tedious work struggling up to a position of influence with bloodless hands; but when a man came with the blood of half a dozen men on his soul, his worth was recognized at once and his acquaintance sought.
Boy Howdy but I knew exactly what he was writing about.
In Grand Rapids Public Schools you were respected by the number of kids you slugged … or could slug.
Sad to say I have to admit I was not above this and I looked for my kid to slug but the ridiculousness getting slugged by me just added to the pathos of the moment.
Since getting slugged didn’t kill you, I was there as a mark for lots of other students who needed someone to slug.
It was what it was.
I tried to learn to keep my head down.
The only tool these guys had was a hammer and if I stood out, I would get hammered down.
Of course being me, I had a very hard time trying to stay quiet.
Then I got to Grand Rapids Creston High School.
It had three stories.
The bottom floor had the offices, some classrooms and the print shop, the metal shop and the wood shop.
Most of the other classes were on the 2nd and 3rd floor.
Not wanting to get into other discussions on life, but it didn’t take long to see a general sifting of the population.
The bullies in my life pretty much stayed on the first floor.
I entered the world of Latin and Physics and such and found refuge on the 2nd and 3rd floors.
I felt like I had arrived.
Or, I felt like I had escaped.
But that first year at Creston, my sophomore year, all the students had to take what was called ‘American Life‘ which was the new way to teach history.
This class was still on the first floor.
And as you had to take and pass the class, there was a certain element of students who were still taking this class in their senior year.
One day walking down the hall, two other students who had made my life what it was in junior high school were standing outside the classroom.
One of them was taking American Life for the 3rd, maybe the 4th time and the other was standing there with him to commiserate over the situation.
I looked down and tried to walk past them into the classroom and not be noticed and at the last minute the one kid who wasn’t in my class gave the door a shove so that it smacked into my shoulder hard, bounced me off the other side of the doorway and knocked my books my hand.
Before I could stop myself I looked him in the eye and called him an obscenity.
Then I stooped and gathered my books and got into class and sat down.
The teacher walked in and as class started the other kid slowly came in, glaring at me.
He came up behind me and stooped down and whispered in my ear, “He is going to kick your ass.”
I shrugged, been there done that.
And I waited.
When the class came to an end, I got my stuff together and went to door.
I looked out, looked left and right.
Just out the door was the back stairs to the upper floors and I ran for it.
And that was where it ended.
I don’t know what happened, most likely they just forgot, but I never got my ass kicked.
That stays in my mind as my last real clash with the jungle, with the world of the first floor.
Those feelings of dread and doom slowly went away from being a part of daily life.
That is …
Until now.
Bullies in high places.
The first floor is ruling the jungle once more.
And of late in these posts, I keep coming back to this.
Someone I know who defends the feller in office said that he supports him, “because he fights my battles for me.”
Gee whiz, what kind of battles did you need fighting?
Picking on Greenland?
To be a world leader in history, I guess that feller has to ‘kill his man.’
So everybody said, so everybody believed, and so they will always say and believe.
For myself, I like Greenland just as it is and there has to be a 2nd floor around here somewhere.
No Haiku For You 