Tom's Musings

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“It is difficult to say what is impossible, for the dream of yesterday is the hope of today and the reality of tomorrow.”

                    Robert H. Goddard

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I haven’t written anything since returning from South America in late February. I am sure many of you were hoping I had finally decided to end my indulgences in self-absorbed musings for some more productive pastime … like exercising or dieting. Sorry to disappoint you but that particular shift in focus toward a more healthy and productive lifestyle likely will never happen … ever!

No, since my return to reality I have been catching up on my personal reading obligations. Belonging to three book clubs (plus being drawn to the many other attractive literary works that catch my attention) can keep me quite occupied. It is a bit like being back in school or my professional career with all those endless deadlines, a likely source of those residual anxieties that generate my recurring nightmares.

I have discovered that spending one’s life juggling anxiety- producing responsibilities can’t easily be discarded even upon retirement. You simply find new things to worry about. But that particular life challenge can wait to be explored in a future blog.

Today, I want to touch on a couple of leftover points from my recent ocean travels. Toward the end of our journey, Viking has a tradition that I rather like. They bring in many of the staff that help keep us safe and comfortable during our travels. The staff members walk down the aisles and on to the stage to thunderous applause. (See pic below).

It is difficult to see but the ship’s staff is drawn from around the globe. They represent, in a real sense, the diversity that is our human family. Oh, I don’t want to gloss over the residual classism that exists on the vessel. The top spots on the boat’s staff tend to be filled by northern Europeans … with the lead officers likely to be Norwegians. I mean, really, the captain of this Viking vessel actually was named Vikingsson.

Still, I was taken with seeing the apparent harmony among people drawn from so many different cultures working together. It was as if it really were possible to successfully meld people drawn from virtually every conceivable racial stock and societal perspective into a harmonious whole. I could not help but think there was a lesson in that for us all.

That got me thinking about another experience from our recent trip. The gentleman pictured above was one of the expert lecturers on the Viking ship. Based on his extensive relationship with NASA, he gave a number of fascinating talks on the exploration of space and on the remaining mysteries still extent in the vast cosmos out there. His talks revealed just how little we yet know about our world. This pic was taken when he happened to be on our tour of a maritime museum in Valparaiso Chile. On that occasion, I had a chance to chat with him about a personal favorite of mine … space pioneer Robert H. Goddard.

Goddard was a throwback to an era when individual men (or women) of vision could change the world pretty much on their own. You know, like Albert Einstein reconceptualizing our universe while working in a Swiss patent office. Goddard grew up in my hometown of Worcester Mass during the beginning of the 20th century. As a young man, he dreamed of humanity breaking the binds of earth to explore the heavens above. His fantasies seemed wildly improbable at a time in the early 1900s when airplanes were rickety contraptions with an uncertain future.

Goddard never abandoned his dreams even after becoming a physics professor at Clark University in Worcester (my Alma Mater). While there, he persevered in his work to develop a primitive liquid fuel rocket. Apparently, he was persistent as well as forward thinking.

Almost exactly a century ago, on March 16, 1926, he launched the world’s first liquid fuel rocket on farm located on the outskirts of Worcester … a site that later would become Pakachoag Golf Course. This was a 9-hole public course on which I spent many hours as a kid cementing the reality that I had no future in the game. His initial venture into space was not an impressive flight. It reached a height of 41 feet, traveled a total distance of 184 feet, and lasted a total of 2.5 seconds.

Still, it demonstrated that a technology was feasible for breaking gravity’s grip. After all, the original Wright brother’s flight at Kitty Hawk was less than impressive, managing to travel only 120 feet during a 12 second flight. Unfortunately, Goddard’s wife was supposed to memorialize the event in film. Alas, she forgot to take the lens cap off the camera. Oh well!

During my misspent youth, I recall one day when I was hacking my way around my favorite golf course. I noticed a group of men in suits gathered at a spot adjacent to the hole I was playing at the time. Curious, I edged closer. I was taken aback to recognize Werner von Braun, the former Nazi refugee who managed America’s space program during the post-WWII era as we raced against the Soviets into outer space. He, and other luminaries, were there to mark Goddard’s singular contribution to space exploration.

Our planet is a bit like the Viking vessel on which I spent over two weeks. People from across our planet worked together in relative harmony to keep the ship functioning and on course. When you are bouncing around on a vast and turbulent ocean, you recognize your own vulnerability. You then appreciate the support and skills from those about you. Surely, there must be a larger lesson there for all of us.

The Centennial celebration of Goddard’s remarkable achievement reminds me of another personal insight of considerable moment. When Goddard launched the first of his many rockets a century ago, our understanding of the cosmos was quite limited. We could only see as far as our own galaxy … the milky way. As we actually began to explore space, and improved our technologies, we realized just how vast the cosmos was. Today, we understand that the Milky Way is merely one of perhaps four trillion galaxies out there, each containing hundreds of billions of stars. Appreciating our insignificant and remote position in the cosmos is humbling indeed, or at least should be.

Our human experience in space has resulted in another essential insight. Several astronauts have commented on a similar reaction to seeing our home from the heavens above. Looking down toward our fragile planet, they are struck by a singular emotion. There are no boundaries … no separation into countries, nor ethnicities, nor races, nor cultures. We are an indivisible family, floating apparently alone in a vast cosmos. The things that seemingly separate us are transient and insignificant. What binds us together is central to both our survival and our future.

I will end this message by noting a book just published by an old Peace Corps colleague, Peter Adler. In truth, he was not part of my group but did serve in India during the 1960s (India-40). Importantly, he did have the good sense to marry a lovely gal from my PC group (India-44).

Anyway, Peter’s fictional work is a cautionary tale for our times. His America is torn asunder by those who would destroy all because they want to create some form of singular society based on ethnic purity. In his work, the radicals tearing society apart are dedicated to purging what they consider impure elements within the nation, much like today’s MAGA movement seeks to recreate an Aryan, Christian society in America. it is a very old, self-destructive, impulse. Yet, Peter’s fictional vision of hell may well predict our intermediate fate.

Here’s the thing. When you reorient your perspective, such dystopian aspirations seem ridiculous. We truly are a vulnerable species floating on a fragile planet in a remote part of an inconceivably vast universe. We either see ourselves as part of a single human family or risk perishing as we pursue selfish and destructive ends.

In the final analysis, that choice is ours.

Below is a shot of our ship, the Viking Jupiter, as it lies docked in Valparaiso (Chile). Our final port of call is a quaint city built vertically from the sea. Its patchwork areay of streets are narrow and difficult to navigate. It has the feel of San Francisco but older, more worn, and a bit down on its luck. We were surprised that Santiago, the capital, was yet another 75 miles inland.

We arrived at our final port of call after one last day at sea. I was struck with a bit of nostalgia and even regret that the shifting panoramic scenes outside our veranda would soon be at an end. At the same time, there was an awareness that it was time to go home. A few more days of gorging on the endless array of culinary delicacies laid before us and they would have to pry me into the airline seat. Alas, I see a diet in my immediate future.

The going home process is never easy. We forced ourselves to arise very early on Sunday, the 21st. After mustering off the ship according to a remarkably orderly logistical plan, Viking put all of us with orange 4 tags on a bus to Santiago. After an almost 2 hour trip, we would have a whole day to wait for our Delta 11:00 PM departure that evening. We could have squeezed one more tour in but chose to wait in a luxurious Radisson hotel lounge area reserved for us instead. They fed us snacks and drinks throughout the day.

By the way, you could stay in the President’s suite at the Radisson when you are in town. It will only cost you some $2,500 per night … before taxes. I have no idea what you get for this princely sum, never having experienced such luxury.

We did walk around the area of Santiago adjacent to the hotel. That area had a distinctly different feel from what we experienced in Buenos Aries or Montevideo. Frankly, it looked like any American city. We soon found ourselves in an area of upscale restaurants and a retail mall that would rival any that might be found in the states (and I have been to the Mall of America on numerous occasions).

On thinking about it, this may have been a good way to segue from charming South America back into the more sterile, if convenient, environment that awaited us back home. Perhaps that was the plan from the beginning.

Anyway, after the usual airport crush of international travel and almost 12 hours on airplanes, we were back in Madison. We knew we were back to reality when the brash 25 degree air hit us outside the Madison airport. What happened to the high 80s we had enjoyed just the day before.

I must be old. I’ve been sleeping a lot since returning. Travel never tired me out as much in my prime. Still, we have all these great memories to recall 😀, like the distant past when I was in my prime 😞. They all will remain part of us, the good and the not so good.

I am back!

Punta Arenas, in Chile, was the first stop as we headed into the Pacific ocean on our way north to the Capitol of Santiago. Like Ushuaia, this also was first settled as an ideal site to store prisoners. There was nothing but miles of impassable mountainous terrain to the north. It also has grown with the tourist boom but, in addition, enjoys a surrounding area more conducive to the usual economic pursuits.

This settlement was later augmented by immigrants from Croatia and Russia. Aiding in its growth was a strategic placement on the Magellan Straights, a connector between the Atlantic and Pacific oceans. Trade, especially prior to opening the Panama Canal in 1914, found this a convenient stopping point.

The city lays claim to be the most southern city of more than 100,000 residents in the world. Take that…Ushuaia, Argentina. Magellan is treated as a hero here with many things named after him. I find that odd since he never completed his circumnavigation of the world, getting himself killed in the Phillipines. But there it is.

Upon leaving Punta Arenas we began our journey through seemingly endless archipelago that offered us continuing vistas of breathtaking beauty. In case you didn’t know, Chile is long and narrow with the southern tail composed of countless islands. We  wound our way through this maze as we headed toward our next destination  … the Amalia Glacier.

Amalia Glacier is the 2nd largest glacial field in the world, if I recall correctly. The total size (we can only see a small portion of it) is immense. I recall it being noted that enough water is trapped in this vast sea of ice to satisfy the world’s population for several decades. Seems improbable but that’s what they say.

Alas, as in much of the world, the glaciers of South America are receding. Someday, not too far in the future, no one will be able to gaze upon these marvels.

From this magical place, we push on over the vast seas. I can only imagine how endless, enchanting, and yet insidious they must have seemed to the mariners of old. I must admit, the waters out there are seductive. I find myself entranced by the endless sways, the incessant mutations of color and mood. It is like a narcotic. One can imagine why young men took to the seas despite the hardships and dangers.

Our next stop was at Puerto Montt and the nearby lake named Llanquihue. What is remarkable about this area is how it was settled. In the mid 19th century, the Chilean government made generous offers to skilled German farmers and craftsmen … offering land, subsidies, and tax breaks if they would emigrate and develop this area. They wanted Catholic settlers but got mostly Protestants. That aside, the project worked. Like the Italian, Croatian, and other ethnic communities found elsewhere on this journey, the German influence is found everywhere.

Llanquihue is the largest lake in Chile and is surrounded by volcanic peaks. The temperate climate makes it a lovely vacation spot. The entire area is growing rapidly, attracting refugees from hot, arid Santiago to the north.

What screams for your attention, however, are the peaks across the lake. There are several active volcanoes  🌋. The first pictured above is located in Argentina. Did I mention that Chile is a narrow country? 😀

The last one is a typical cone shaped volcano. It erupted only a decade ago and might do so once again in a couple of decades. The last blow threw so much ash into the air that the Buenos Aires airport, a continent to the east, closed down. Beauty and danger combined. That often is the case, isn’t it?

We have some time today as we sail north along the coast of Chile. So, I thought I might cover a few moments enjoyed at the bottom of the world … the Cape Horn area. Though these seas historically were known as the graveyard of ships and mariners (especially in the days of sailing vessels), we experienced exceptionally calm waters … at least according to those who make this a routine port of call. It wasn’t until last night, after leaving Amalia Glacier, that we hit rougher seas once again.

This pic above is Ushuaia. A city of about 82,000 souls, the whole region now counts some 180,000 inhabitants. The larger region has grown by some 50 percent in the last 15 to 20 years. I suspect this growth has been generated due to the port being a key launch point for tourist visits to Antarctica. Ushuaia has the distinction of being the southernmost city on the planet.

It also enjoys exceptional beauty, being framed by the southern most west-east reach of the Andes chain. The adjacent peaks frame this settlement in a spectacular fashion. There is, however, only a thin stretch of land between the mountains and the sea available for development or habitation. That provides a limit on possible expansion. It is gorgeous but chilly throughout the year. High temps in summer occasionally hit the high- 60s, only if you are lucky.

The start of civilization here is attributable to the powers in Buenos Aires deciding this would be a good place to send incorrigible prisoners. After all, where could they flee? To the north stood the formidable Andes. To the south, the freezing waters. They were stuck.

The prison, closed in 1947, is now a museum. The 2nd pic above shows a typical cell as they were in the old days. They were small and must have been freezing for much of the year. In addition, the prisoners worked at various jobs. The museum contained many artifacts shaped by the more talented of the incarcerated. The final pic above is a shot of Ushuaia facing north. Gorgeous,  indeed, though the residents just might have experienced a touch of claustrophobia on occasion.

After leaving Ushuaia, we sailed though the inner passage (Beagle chanel). With barren landscape on both sides of the ship, the dangers faced by the old sailing ships is quite apparent. You make your way through a maze of barren islands that seem endless. They are striking but void of virtually all human or floral activity.

However, interspersed among the harsh, barren landscape are several glaciers. That is, we sailed though what is called Glacier alley. Enjoy the pics below. They hardly capture the beauty presented to us.

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As noted, we visited Amalia Glacier yesterday. I will touch upon that experience in the next installment.

That is Cape Horn in the distance, the southernmost point of land until you reach the Antarctic continent. Having read many books about early explorers, those crazy mariners who would spend two or three years risking their lives on the high seas seeking gold and glory, my curiosity was aroused about this notorious place. So many adventurers died in these same treacherous waters whose unpredictable and even deadly seas ended their lofty aspirations. I oft asked what could motivate so many to risk their lives in such a fashion. The odds of success were not great.

Well, there was Sir Francis Drake of course. He came around the Horn, then surprised the Spanish before plundering a good amount of their gold and silver. He then circumvented the globe, returning to Queen Elizabeth 1st with much booty for her majesty. His personal take amounted to some 20,000 pounds or about $100 million in today’s currency. Most others were not as fortunate. Now, here I am though, alas, my fortune surely will be diminished, not enhanced, by the journey.

We are told the seas are calm today, an unusual condition. That was not the case around the Falkland Islands. On our approach to Stanley (the Capital) and on our exit, the seas were very turbulent. Getting around the ship, even making it to the bathroom, presented a challenge. During the night, the rolling, bumping, and banging was most disconcerting. In fact, I feared rolling off the bed on numerous occasions. I could just see explaining a broken bone or two from a fall off the commode 😞.

Based on comments made by our guest lecturers, it was touch and go whether or not we would land at Stanley. The odds were 50-50 at best. But the captain expertly  negotiated the challenge and all went well. There was an additional concern that the tenders taking us to the pier might be problematic. But that went smoothly as well, nothing like a boat trip I recall on the north shore of Kuai where ocean swells kept pitching our craft totally out of the water. Now, that was a ride.

We learned that such problems were common occurrences when sailing in northern and southern waters. Many other tour vessels have been forced to entirely skip this port of call. On our trip to Iceland last year, two planned stops in Greenland were canceled at the last minute due to ice buildups in their harbors. Instead, they took us to Nuuk, the capital. At least that port was open.

One lecturer on this vessel shared that he was on one of the first Viking ships back in 2015, when the company was just starting their ocean cruises. His voyage began in Bergen Norway before heading out to the North Atlantic. He chuckled as he mentioned the horrific sounds of crashing during one stormy night. The next morning, he learned that some $64,000 worth of wine had been lost due to inadequate storage of this liquid of the gods. It was a steep learning curve for Viking. Now they have ships all over the world and expect to further expand their fleet dramatically over the next five years. They have got the drill down pat.

The straights of Magellan and Drake’s passage remain treacherous even for today’s powerful ships. We were informed that two Chilean pilots are on board. Their experience enables us to get closer to various land masses than many ships would risk. I’m happy they are aboard. Truth is that I would hate to become a news headline … boat filled with old farts sinks off Cape Horn.

Above we have the southernmost home in the world (excepting Antarctica but that’s all ice so doesn’t count). The building you can see is a lighthouse and a home for the keeper. So what, you say! Thing is, a family volunteers to live there (for pay but in total isolation) for one full year. All supplies are periodically brought to them. The recent inhabitants (a couple with three kids and a cat) have liked it so much they just completed a three year tour. Wow, while I’m not a big fan of people, that kind of isolation eventually would wear down even a misanthrope like me.

Above is the southernmost tip of the Americas and (as noted) all other land masses north of the Antarctic. Last year, when we sailed to the north of Iceland, we reached the Arctic circle. Now we are approaching the other end of our planet. Alas, the Antarctic Circle is still a number of miles south. But I’m happy.

I can’t help but think about my parent’s generation. They never traveled much of anywhere. Florida was an exotic land to them. Only WWII got two of my uncles overseas, one as a Marine in the Pacific and the other as a sailor in the Atlantic (I know he was part of D-day). But that was it. That generation saw so little of the world. We, on the other hand, are so fortunate. I have visited every U.S. state as well as 30-plus countries on four continents (five by next year). Just this past year Mary and I have been to the top of the civilized world and (today) to the bottom.

We will soon be winding our way back north through the islands and rocks that proved to be the watery graves of so many in the past. We are headed to Ushuaia, Argentina, the southernmost city in the world. After that, we reach Punta Arena, our first stop in Chile. From there we meander along the Chilean fiords which contain some spectacular glaciers. Well, a former neighbor of mine tells me they are spectacular 😀, and he always struck me as a straight shooter.

The adventure continues.

Power without limits:

I started this when we were at sea, headed to the Falkland Islands … the Malvinas to the Argentinians. But more on that later. During our journey through rather rough seas, we attended a lecture on what is generally called Argentina’s Dirty War. This sad piece of history covers events that happened during the 1970s and 80s, but whose consequences remain with us today. More importantly, that piece of history may have relevant lessons for Trump’s America today.

Argentina, and other South American nations, had always been susceptible to military coups. What led to the coup of interest in this case was the sudden death of Juan Peron in the mid 1970s. His demise took place shortly after he had again been reelected as President after a period of absence from power (he was first elected in 1946).

Peron had appointed his 2nd wife (Isabel) as Vice President but she had little experience or support. The Military leadership (disenchanted with Peronism) saw their opportunity and pounced. They dismissed Parliament, the Supreme Court, and ruled by absolute decree. They also ruled by terror.

During their 8 year reign, they rounded up some 30,000 individuals. Virtually all of these unfortunates were never seen again. Many were tortured and shot. Others were drugged and dropped into the ocean. Imprisoned pregnant women were allowed to have their babies before being eliminated and the child given to a military family to raise.

One aspect of this sad story strikes a contemporary chord. Those deemed enemies of the Junta were picked off the streets, or from their homes and places of work, by men with no identification driving cars with no license plates. No warrants were obtained, no judicial review existed. These people just disappeared. Hmm, seems familiar to how ICE operates in America today.

These atrocities did not take place absent opposition, however. First, the mothers, later the grandmothers, would march each week on the center of government demanding information on their loved ones. This went on for years and years. As the Junta’s popularity decreased, the leaders became desperate. To rekindle support, they attacked the Malvines (the Falkland Islands under British control) in 1982. They thought the Brits wouldn’t care but failed to appreciate Margarate Thatcher’s iron will. It took the Brits about 74 days to oust the Argentinians but at a considerable cost of lives and treasure.

Still, there is an upbeat ending to all this. The Junta collapsed with their failed attack on the Falklands. Argentina, which had suffered from coups periodically in the past, has been a democracy ever since 1983. More importantly, for the first time in history, the military leaders were brought to account. After being tried, many of the Junta leaders were given life sentences. The process of trying those for their crimes stopped for a while, presumably due to fears of another military intervention.

That, fortunately, never happened. Rather, the trials of hundreds more who allegedly were guilty of heinous human rights violations have been carried out. Some were acquitted but over a thousand others eventually were convicted and sentenced. It would be wise for Donald Trump, and his minions, to remember this part of Argentina’s past. Karma does exist. One cannot act with total disregard for basic human rights and not fear some form of ultimate accountability.

It should also be recalled that American policy in that era supported many of these Juntas and military dictatorships not only here but throughout South America … Chile (and Pinochet) being another egregious example. This unforgivable policy (which began under Nixon and was reinforced under Reagan) was known as Operation Condor. Too bad those responsible for our own national sins in that sad era were never made to account for their sins against humanity.

A Land of Immigrants:

I have found one aspect of this journey particularly surprising. I thought of South America as being overwhelmingly Spanish or Portuguese (Brazil). But a wide range of immigrants have added to this continents culture. In Buenos Aires, Italians have profoundly impacted local culture and language. Locals told us that you should not come here to practice your Spanish. The local version has been corrupted, or enhanced if you will, by many Italian words and phrases. It is a dialect based on a fusion of two cultures.

And the food! Well, beef from their ranches remains a favorite of course. And empanadas are ubiquitous. Still, one can hardly go a block without seeing a pizza and pasta joint. Germans and Irish have also exercised considerable input into local customs and culture.

Here is another example. We stopped in the port of Puerto Madryn. This is a growing town that was settled in 1865 by emigres from … Wales. The original settlers amounted to some 150 brave souls from that far off corner of the United Kingdom. Despite the small numbers, their culture continues. You see Welsch street names and other signs that the ethnic origins of what is now a bustling metropolis of 140,000 have not been forgotten.

We were given a tour of the first school in Puerto Madryn. All that was interesting enough. But I noticed that the cakes offered us were based on an old Welsh recipe. When they showed us local cultural dances, we were taken by how British they looked. In fact, at one point I remarked that the moves reminded me of an Irish Jig. No tangos here.

While we found more diversity in Argentina and Uruguay than expected, the record is not without blemish. Back slaves once represented a significant portion of the population. While slavery was abolished here before it was ended in the States, African Americans were never integrated into the society. Many were killed in war or forced to emigrate. Few Blacks remain today.

Who would want to live here?

We visited the Falkland Islands today, which many of us recall only because the Brits and Argentinians fought over the place in the early 1980s. To be honest, disputes among several nations go back to the time that explorers stumbled upon these rocks in the 17th century.

What those explorers found was an archipelago comprised of some 700 islands. The place has a stark beauty, no doubt about that. But it strikes us as a harsh place to live for the 3 to 4,000 souls that call this place home.

To be entirely honest, it is difficult to see the attraction here. Yes, there is that rugged beauty and numerous beaches. But you are isolated in the middle of nowhere. It is 300 miles to Argentina and they don’t like you, so most flights from here go to Chile which is further away. Oh, you could fly to the UK but that’s 7,500 miles away.

Then there is the balmy weather. It is Summer here right now and guess what greeted us on our trip to see the cute penguins… snow squalls. That’s right … snow! Now, they do get a few warm days in December but this would not be the place to work on your tan. The guide also mentioned that most locals work two jobs. They have to. Imported stuff, like fresh foods, are incredibly expensive. One banana would cost about a British pound.

Still, I get a sense that people are happy. They certainly are attached to their British roots. In a referendum a few years ago, 98.8 percent voted to remain attached to the U.K. with a 92 percent voting turnout rate. You never get that kind of consensus on any issue in the States

And yes, the penguins are damn cute. See below:

Off toward Cape Horn tomorrow.

The image above was taken from our stateroom veranda as the sun began its descent to the west. Earlier, we had departed from Montevideo, the capital of Uruguay. Before that, we had a delightful stop in Buenos Aires, the capital of Argentina. Until we arrive in Santiago, future stops will be more intimate.

Both centers of government are located at the mouth of the River (or estuary) of Rio Plate. This water system connects the South American coast with the heart of the continent including today’s Paraguay,  Bolivia, Chile, and Western Brazil. Not surprisingly, as colonial powers began sniffing around in the 16th century, they quickly decided that military hegemony over this area was most essential. Control the entrance to the river and you could effectively exploit the riches to be found inland, including hoped for treasures in gold and silver.

The question was who would win the contest? With such promised riches, several nations competed for supremacy  … Spain, Portugal, France, the Dutch, and (of course) England. The Portuguese established a hold to the north in what would become Brazil. Spain to the south in what became Argentina. The north side of the Rio Plate is where these two maritime nations met.

After many skirmishes and battles, the Spanish pushed the pesky Portuguese back to the north. In 1776, Argentina was recognized as a separate and distinct entity by the Spanish crown, separating it from Peru which was the original colonial base on this continent. For a while, the powers in Buenos Aires sought hegemony over much of central and southern portions of South America. But the locals in Montevideo, Asuncian (and other growing jurisdictions) pushed back. They wanted to control their own destinies. The contours of today’s South America began to take shape.

In the early decades of the 19th century, the locals followed a pattern established by their American cousins to the north. The British helped the locals in North America form militia to fight during the French and Indian wars. Such militia forces later helped end British rule in the colonies. Likewise, such local forces were used by Spain to push back Portuguese incursions from the north. Similarly, they were essential when the locals decided that rule from Spain was more trouble than it was worth. It was not long before Spanish control ended in the early decades of the 19th century.

To keep this manageable, I will keep my comments on the two capitals very brief. Both have areas of neo-classical architecture, adjacent to charming (often cobblestone) streets along with modern skyscrapers that contain million dollar residences. You can feel the cultural differences in the foods, music, and even local enthusiasm. In 2022, Argentina won the Word Cup in football (soccer). Four million people crammed the main avenue (broadest in the world) to celebrate.

We were fortunate to be in Montevideo during the annual Carnival Season. It is a 40 day event of rioteous color, imaginations on steroids, and latin music. You would have to be here to appreciate it. Our stay was too short.

Before signing off, a comment about the Viking Ocean experience. Aside from the excellent food and service, it is clear Viking caters to a more mature crowd… old farts that is. No kids, no casinos, no frivolous nonsense. One thing it does offer are excellent guides at each stop. One comes away with a greater appreciation of what they have experienced.

What really impresses me is the educational experiences provided on board during the travel portion of our journey. Perhaps I should not be surprised. After all, Viking is a significant supporter of PBS in the States, more essential after Trump cut its federal funding. But we also discovered that it supports ventures such as Seawatch, an international effort devoted to ecogical causes.

On this trip, we have had wonderful lectures on history, astronomy, and ocean ecology. The resident experts really know their stuff, being members (for example) of the Royal Historical Society and the Royal Astronomical Society.

Of course, we have the usual diversions … music and even an opportunity to keep up with our favorite sporting events like Big Ten basketball 🏀 and the Superbowl.

Excuse all errors. Have to run. The adventure continues.

I am probably the last person in the Western hemisphere to see Hamilton, the eponymous hero of our nation’s founding. While I didn’t like it as much as Les Miz, (rap is not my thing) the production is energetic, ingenious, and remarkably accurate. I cannot imagine the gifts one must possess to turn an 18th century historical figure into musical entertainment, or turn Victor Hugo’s 19th century masterpiece into a stage play. I bow to their artistry and genius.

Yet, the play Hamilton is far more than a pleasing spectacle. It is a political statement for those paying attention. It even speaks to our current existential crisis in some important ways. For one thing, virtually all the major roles are played by black actors (in this touring production at least) except for George III, and he is one of the bad guys. As I watched this exceptional performance, I wondered how the many opponents of DEI now in power enjoyed their evening at the theater.

More importantly, the production managed to convey the deep schisms that have divided America and Americans even from its earliest days. The architects of this masterpiece used the ideological friction between Hamilton (plus G. Washington etc.) and Jefferson (plus J. Madison etc.) to highlight the deep political and cultural conflicts that bedevil America to this very day.

As humans, we tend to be myopic. We think our times are the best or, far more likely, the worst in history. How many times have we heard the refrain … this is the most consequential political race ever or we are now confronting the most existential threat to democracy and our way of life. Such hyperbole typically precedes a plea for more money. I know I’ve heard such assertions on many an occasion.

But the truth is that America has been deeply troubled from its earliest days. The founders were not embattled idealists with a clear and united vision of the future. Far from it. At best, they were confused about what they wanted and deeply suspicious of what democracy might come to mean. Worse, they oft had dark feelings about the motives and ambitions of each other. Passions often flared given the many  uncertainties of the times and the stakes associated with failure.

At times, I can only smile at our ahistorical take on events. I recall the run-up to the 2016 Presidential election. The supporters of Bernie Sanders (whom I personally admired) reacted with outrage when senior Democratic party officials steered the nomination toward Hillary. Those offended accused the king makers (or queen makers in this instance) of disregarding the traditional practice of permitting voters to select a political party’s nominee. Nice sentiment but untrue. Party bosses selected nominees throughout most of our history with primaries only emerging as a decisive factor in the 1970s.

We tend to assume that the flaws we see today are relatively recent phenomena. That simply is not the case. I think Hamilton (the play) does a remarkably good job of exploring the historical roots of the current divide tearing America apart. Our cultural tensions, our house divided, is not new … not by a long shot. It certainly has not been created by the pathological narcissist currently occupying the White House. No, as suggested by this popular musical, it can be found in the very political DNA from which our nation sprung.

The men who created our nation after the original Articles of Confederation collapsed in confusion by 1787 desperately hoped that political factions would not form. Not surprisingly, they did of course. Virtually over night, nascent political groupings created ever- widening divisions across distinct ideological factions. Hamilton, Washington and Adams were considered Federalists. Jefferson, James Madison, and others were termed Democratic-Republicans. This later faction eventually morphed into the early Democratic party during the Jacksonian era.

The Federalists, stronger in the urban north, contrasted sharply with the nascent Democrats who found strength in the agricultural, slave-dominated southern states. Once George Washington retired to Mount Vernon, the venomous cultural and political chasms between the emerging parties broke out with vicious attacks being issued from newspapers clearly representing one side or the other. There was no fairness doctrine to be found in the elections of 1796 and 1800. Partisans on one side believed an election loss would doom the fledgling Republic. The separation was that stark, the passions that raw.

I believe, as do others, that the real birth of America happened in 1800 when John Adams was apprised of the electoral college vote that ultimately would give the Presidency to his political enemy (Jefferson). He simply got in his carriage and went back to Boston. He did not cry rigged election, nor call out the militia. The Constitution prevailed. (Note: Jefferson and Aaron Burr were tied in the electoral college that election. Hamilton’s influence resulted in Jefferson’s victory in 1800 which cemented the growing animosity between Hamilton and the man who would kill him in that infamous 1804 duel).

At the same time, the inherent tensions between these two factions were the seeds from which America’s enduring divide would germinate. Jefferson (who is portrayed as an effete dandy in the Hamilton production) represented a vision of America rooted in an aristocratic, hierarchical world where a white, propertied ruling class would govern by something close to divine right. That feudal form of society assumed that an entitled patrician class would (and should) reign over poor whites and minorities, those groups bereft of basic rights until the 1960s when the Civil rights movement finally challenged the existing semi- feudal power structure in the South with some success.

Hamilton’s Federalists first evolved into the Whig Party and then into the early version of a quite progressive Republican Party. They were for a stronger central government, free labor, public investments in infrastructure, and (gradually) the expansion of democratic suffrage. With the creation of the Republican party in the 1850s, this offshoot of the Federalists would become the anti-slavery party (though its principles as defender of all would be eroded in little more than a generation to support big businesses interests above all). The two parties fully exchanged normative positions (essentially switching perspectives) by the mid 1900s while strengthening the internal integrity of each.

By the late 20th century, that once progressive Republican Party had fully embraced the perspectives around which Jefferson had organized his followers in the late 1790s. A white, propertied, educated class would rule with non-whites and other lower- class persons assigned the menial tasks that supported a rigid social hierarchy. Ideally, a nativist- oriented social order would prevail to be supported by an authoritarian rule that would crush democratic sentiments and stall any broader partication in governance or power- sharing. In many ways, this was a view of society that glorified the antebellum social order in the plantation- based South.

One moment in Hamilton struck me as particularly moving. The French nobleman Lafayette is talking with Hamilton just before the final battle at Yorktown. Like the young Lafayette, Hamilton is also a recent immigrant to the colonies. Their exchange goes like this.

Lafayette: “Immigrants.”

Lafayette & Hamilton: “We get the job done.”

At that moment, the audience in Madision, Wisconsin broke out in a spontaneous cheer, likely in sympathy with those suffering in Minnesota from the oppressive Fascist tactics to massively deport many immigrants (non-white) from our country.

Hamilton: “So, what happens if we win.”

Lafayette: “I go back to France. I bring freedom to my people… if I’m given the chance.”

Hamilton: “We will be with you when you do.”

Hamilton (and his Party) envisioned an America that would embrace all. He had made it to the top after starting out as a poor, illegitimate, and neglected child born in the Carribean. His vision of the good society would enable anyone to make it, as he had, if they were not hindered by social or political barriers.

On the surface, Jefferson (and his followers) seemed pro-democracy. After all, he authored all those noble words about the virtues of a free Republic. He would spend time in France and apparently support the French Revolution. But that support strikes me as shallow. He viscerally disapproved of a monarchy but instinctively was drawn to a form of feudal, patrician governance. Individualism reigned supreme in his world view that, in the end, favored a few at the expense of the many. Slavery, the new nation’s original sin, seemed natural to him. Though extremely well read, he likely succumbed to feelings of inherent superiority. He was a patrician to his core.

That essential tension between a broad democracy supported by universal suffrage and a hierarchical, authoritarian structure catering to an entitled elite has remained with us from our founding days. Today, Trump is pursuing a doctrine of ethnic cleansing, voter suppression, and the establishment of plutocratic rule by an entitled elite of the wealthy. It is a vision first articulated by Jefferson and his ilk at the birth of the Republic, all the noble language about democracy notwithstanding.

A nation so divided at its core is one that often is held together by force. We have a long history of violence (a civil war, eras of labor strife, ethnic cleansing, and periods of extensive civil unrest). Even today we seem on the brink of widespread domestic conflict. But even during our periods of relative quiet, a steady stream of institutional violence has persisted. I ran across the data below recently.

Citizens killed by police: 2010–19. 

Canada ……. 305.                           France  ……. 232.                     Germany … 100.                 Australia …  53.                             The U.K. ….  22.                               The U.S. ….  15,008

This is a shocking testament to our acceptance of sanctioned violence. Today, our attention focuses on two martyrs who were murdered by ICE thugs in Minneapolis. But, in fact, America has been an obvious outlier when it comes to the scourge of sanctioned violence. We also incarcerate more of our citizens than any other country in the world. The U.S. locks-up about 600 per 100,000 citizens while our neighbor to the north imprisons 85 per 100,000, a more typical rate among advanced countries. Why? What is wrong with us?

There are likely many reasons, including an unconscionable surfeit of guns. But I do wonder if the lack of a consensus about what constitutes our basic organizing principles plays an outsized role in all this discord. The sad fact is that we are not a united nation. We have no common vision of who we are. We tend to embrace a Dickensian winner-take-all ethos with a weak social safety net. In fact, we rather distrust and dislike one another as did our founding fathers so long ago. In the end, however, violence cannot keep us together.

Even during the Cold War of my youth, I never believed we would by taken over by a foreign power. Our essential threats were always internal. Consider the following 2000 year old warning about Trump and the MAGA movement: “A nation can survive its fools, and even the ambitious. But it cannot survive treason from within. For the traitor appears not the traitor…he speaks in the accents familiar to his victims, and he appeals to the darkness that lies deep in the hearts of all men. He rots the soul of a nation … A murderer is less to be feared.”                   Cicero – Roman Statesman

In my head, I keep going back to Lincoln’s admonition in the late 1850s … a house divided against itself cannot stand. It has not escaped me that 1 in 3 colonists remained loyal to the monarchy during our revolunary war. And today, at least that same proportion (perhaps 40%) seem to prefer an authoritarian (fascist- oriented) form of governance. Nothing, apparently, seems to change with time. I just might need a new house. 

I probably won’t write another blog until I’m in South America. Look forward to a travel story or two and not my usual rant. I can hear the cheers already. 😀

                           

It is mid January and winter has returned. I woke this morning to a fresh mantle of pure snow. It is lovely but a nasty reminder that we are in the very heart of our annual season of cold and dark. Oh well, just about two months til Spring. So, while waiting, a few random thoughts.

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Cognitive and Cultural Ghettos: We are certainly aware of the hyper-segmentation that exists in society. Before neo-conservative thought idolized wealth and consequently dismantled the mechanisms that restrained greed to some extent, the psychic and physical chasms between the uber-rich the rest of us regular folk was less daunting. If nothing else, you might sit in the same stands with the wealthy during a football game.

No longer, the privileged are now sequestered in their private cocoons atop multi-billion dollar stadiums. They fly to the games of their choice in private jets while enjoying the final leg of any journey in a lavishly appointed limousine. After the game, they will be whisked away to private soirees available to the select few. 

Even the players on the field, some at least, exist in rarified, isolated worlds. I noticed an ex Wisconsin football player getting hurt during a recent NFL playoff game. He is an obscure lineman, a player most casual fans would not recognize. I googled him and found he is making $10 million per year.

When I first started following sports, pro football players had to take jobs in the off season to get by. They drank in the same bars as regular folk. Now they are royalty. They reside among the very rich with little association or contact with the rest of us. Increasingly, we are a tribal society, with distinct groups living in very separate worlds.

Then, it struck me. Am I any different? I choose to live in Wisconsin. For many years, my late wife and I wintered in Florida where we had a second home. When she became sick, and we chose a single residence. I could have chosen our place in the Sunshine State as a full time abode. But that would mean living in a red state with people who actually believe that Donald Trump cares about the common man or, worse, that he is some kind of modern day messiah. How could anyone live among such cognitively diminished folk. Really!

Wisconsin, you might protest, did vote for Trump a couple of times. True enough, but I live in Madison … a liberal island of sanity. In recent elections, the county generally has gone Democratic by about an 80 to 20 margin. In my condo association, which is populated by retired, highly educated professionals (doctors, lawyers, engineers, academics, etc.), it is very difficult to find anyone who does not despise Trump and the MAGA movement. The word despise hardly begins to match their level of disgust.

My point is that I am a most willing participant in our increasingly segregated society, not by race or even wealth but by profession and education and beliefs. I simply don’t want to be around people who cannot think analytically, who are incapable of connecting the simplest dots, and whose definition of ‘evidence’ is the palaver issued on Fox News or similar right-wing podcasts. I can’t  discuss serious matters with those who believed that Q-anon nonsense about Hillary running a pedophile ring out of pizza shops. OMG!

I want to associate with those who believe in diversity, civility, compassion, and science. I want to be surrounded by those who read deeply, think about issues on a profound level, and embrace the notion that life is more than collecting riches and power. Perhaps I am contributing to the tribal isolationism that marks contemporary society. So be it. I am old and probably deserve a bit of piece in my final years. Besides, arguing with idiots who spout the latest conspiracy theory being pushed by Q-Anon would surely hasten my end.

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Moral licensing: The common definition of moral licensing involves the psychological phenomenon where positive behavior gives one permission to be bad. To me, this is a bit like the way the Catholic Church once operated. You could buy (or earn) indulgences which would offset past and even future sins. What a deal! Not everyone was convinced that this was kosher, though. One priest, Martin Luther, remained skeptical of the practice resulting in the Protestant reformation.

But I think another meaning might apply to the notion of moral licensing. Behaviors, once considered appalling, unethical, and illegal become sanctioned by authority figures. Often, the process is gradual. For example, the Nazis in 1930s Germany did not immediately start with the wholesale extermination of targeted populations. They started more slowly, gradually pulling people into their horrific vision.

They first permitted segregation and institutional discrimination. Then, over time and in the face of scant opposition, they moved to extermination on a limited scale. They started this phase with a population that could not defend themselves … the developmentally disabled or those who were considered  to be non- contributors to society.

As traditional moral constraints weakened, the level of heinous atrocities increased. Eventally, German society as a whole, once known for its sophistication and high culture, embraced genocide on an industrial scale, decimating Jews, Romanis, and many Slavic groups.  Permission to be cruel eventually evolved into mass slaughter. When modest expressions of hate were sanctioned, extreme steps became feasible, if not welcome.

In recent years, America has embarked on a similar path. One might say re-embarked given that Blacks were once lynched with impunity throughout the south. But even these moral transgressions were largely ignored outside the South and not widely encouraged by national authorities. 

Today, something quite similar to the Nazi escalation of moral degeneration is being seen.  Donald Trump is training a federal goons squad to hunt down and persecute people of the wrong color and those who speak the wrong language. He is beginning an ersatz genocide of the country’s Latino population, rounding up non citizens and citizens alike at the discretion of his hired thugs. His call to Make America Great Again is little more than a vision of restoring a white European hegemony over the nation’s culture and politics.

In short, ICE is being trained as the new Gestapo, or SS, or the original brownshirts in Germany and Blackshirts in Mussolini’s Italy. They ignore our 4th Amendment Constitutional protections as they invade homes, schools, and businesses without probable cause nor warrants in many cases. They offer their victims little to no due process while frantically building camps to house the thousands being rounded up. Just how closely do Trump’s actions have to resemble Hitler’s before one admits that history is repeating itself.

Trump is giving a moral license to a group of federal agents to act without regard to the law, to our Constitution, or to any moral constraints. Why would he do such a thing? It seems clear to me, at least. Trump, and the minions around him who are dedicated to completing the 2025 Agenda have no intention of giving up power, no matter the will of the people. They are dedicated to creating an authoritarian state and retaining power by any means at their disposal.

My best guess. Trump’s minions will foment some crises that will be used to suspend our normal rules and Constitutional safeguards when he finally faces consequences for grossly mismanaging the nation. He will let loose his new Fascist thugs, the ICE brigade supported by other loyal followers, to intimidate the opposition in the 2026 mid-term elections if not before. Hitler did after the Reischtag fire in 1933. It was the end of the Weimar Republic and that country’s descent into darkness. Perhaps 2026 will be remembered as America’s final descent into the abyss.

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Patriotism … a dirty word: Recently, I was reflecting on the concept of patriotism. My interest has been fostered by the many political solicitations from Republican operatives that typically start with the salutation of Dear Patriot. That seems innocent enough but I find myself reacting with distinct disgust. I am not one of those… I am better than that, I say to myself.

But isn’t being a patriot a good thing? Isn’t that the very identity which was drummed into us kids after WWII and during the cold war. I recall saluting our flag during recitation of the pledge of allegiance at the start of each school day. I remember being bombarded with all the myths about our moral position in global affairs even as we sided with various right-wing authoritarians because they were on our side.

Despite the constant propoganda about how enlightened we were, I apparently had reservations … even from an early age. The very concept of national identity seemed backward to me, primitive in a way. Weren’t we all part of a global family. Wasn’t fidelity to the fatherland merely an excuse to treat others poorly? Wasn’t it merely a rationale for egregious self-interest? Wasn’t it merely an excuse to ignore apocalyptic threats to our fragile host planet?

As I have mentioned elsewhere, I joined something called the World Federalist Society, purportedly a bunch of one world idealists. It was more of an emotional response back then, one perhaps rooted in other lessons from my early days. We had just finished a conflict of global proportions. Some 50 to 70 million had perished, depending on how you count things. And why? Because average people thought they had to slaughter others for the sake of national pride. How  stupid is that?

I can never forget the story of what happened on the front lines in France during WWI. It was Christmas in 1914, the first year of the war. Somehow, during a temporary truce, troops from each side met in no-mans land. They sang Christmas songs, exchanged gifts, and even played a brief football (soccer) game. Those charged with killing one another, for a moment at least, treated each other as brothers. That amity ended when high-level officers on both sides forced their troops back into their own trenches. The slaughter would begin anew and 20 million eventually would lose their lives.

So yes, I am revolted by being called a patriot. I would have the same reaction no matter which country I called home. It is a matter of perspective. National pride pales against what really counts … our future as a species attempting to survive and evolve in a vast and mysterious cosmos.