What Happened to the "Population Bomb?"

    

One hears endless and eloquent discussion of environmental problems--global warming, sea level rise, air and water quality catastrophes, desertification, shrinking wild animal habitat, species extinction, and chemical pollution from a dizzying variety of sources. Such reports are logical, well-documented, and, when presented on TV or film, breathtaking as well. 

Mysteriously though, none ever mentions the primary reason for this environmental assault: that being the burgeoning human race. It's always a proximate cause that's described and decried--excess carbon monoxide, sewage, mining, burning coal, farming practices, lack of rain, etc.   But ask yourself why are we doing this mining, cesspooling, crop raising, building heating and cooling, car driving and swimming pool-filling? Yes. Us. Me, you and all the rest of us. The world is overrun by the human species, but nobody seems to be able to even articulate it anymore. Much less do anything.

  I had an uncle, may he rest in peace, who thought that fashion and religion were the primary ways the human race arrogated itself: as in, "Well, if Christ died for your sins, you must be something!" It goes without saying, if God gave you dominion over the animals, you must be king of the hill. Turns out that "dominion" is (as so often happens) a mis-translation of a word that should have been rendered as tend, keep, guard, watch over, or even serve, but too late now.

      In spite of the cruel, negligent and occasionally blatantly immoral behavior that characterizes the  human race, a large portion of it is convinced that we are God's handiwork, his best production, his piece de resistance. As far as I know, God has not been contacted for his opinion on this. Nonetheless, some people feel to entitled to procreate as many mini versions of themselves as possible. Some even marry multiple women and fill up dormitories or tents.

           A gander at the top ten countries with almost 50 births per 1,000 inhabitants, shows that with the exception of Afghanistan (38.6), they are all in Africa: Niger (45.4), Mali 44.9, Uganda (43.7), Zambia (42.1), Burkina Faso (42) Malawi (4l.5), Somalia 40.14), Angola (38.7), Mozambique (38.5). The irony of population is it often highest in countries where poverty is highest leading to surfeit of young people who seem to manage to get on the Internet and TV, see lifestyles to which they cannot aspire in their own countries and are understandably discontent.

            There are a couple of other non-surprises in a table found on line at www.cia/library/publications/the-world-factbook/rankorder/2054rank.html:  The U.S. and China are back-to-back close to the bottom at 12.5 births per 1,000 as are several other European nations--France (12.3), UK (12.2), Australia (12.1)  Norway (12.4),  Sweden (11.9), Belgium (11.4) and Luxembourg (11.3).  Slightly above the middle of the pack are both India (19.5) and Mexico (18.8) along with most of the countries in South America.

Now this is no Modest Proposal, but if we can figure out how to keep the Iranians from getting a nuclear bomb, we ought to be able to figure out what to do to keep certain groups and countries from exploding the Population Bomb. Mysteriously, when I was in college this was reckoned to be a serious issue, one seldom even hears any reference to it

"Je Suis Charlie" Anniversary

Not a jolly one, but we can hardly ignore it. The first week of January 2015, a dozen people were killed in the Paris editorial offices of Charlie Hebdomadaire.

Of late, it seems that every time a couple of my liberal friends assemble, we get onto this issue. As I am perhaps the farthest left of the lot of us—a European-style democratic socialist—I am not insensitive to the eyebrow-raising the apparent glitch of my insisting Muslim women should not be allowed in public wearing headscarves constitutes, but Europe provides us a very useful illustration of how democracy fares on this question.

To “celebrate” the anniversary, watch (on Netflix) a documentary called Je Suis Charlie, which tells the story of the shooting. At the end of the film, one of the intended cartoonist-victims who lived asks this provocative question: “Who is going to risk doing a drawing, if the penalty is death?”

Read the news out of Koeln (Cologne) Germany. It appears that on New Year’s Eve there were informal, unorganized attacks on women by immigrant men, who apparently felt women shouldn’t be out and about celebrating New Years or not.  

What we need to ask ourselves is not simply: Who is going to risk going out, if you might be raped or beaten up? but what should you expect when you offer democracy to people who do not believe in it?  What choices does this leave us—and every other democracy in the world?

Glitziest New Year's Ever

    T'was the glamd-est New Year's Eve ever in--of all places--Las Cruces, NM.  Primarily due, everyone acknowledged, to David.  That would be David Chavez, style and manners maestro of the old downtown Mesquite section of town of primarily adobe homes built before and after the turn of the century. Not this one, the last one.

    David's handiwork might not have showed so glimmerously, if the shindig had not been in Mel's place. That would be Mel Stone, owner of the Mesquite Street Gallery, whose collection provided the classy backdrop for the evening's proceedings. In the front hallway, a charcoal of a real horse on rockers, commenting, it seemed, on the spurious use humans make of these elegant  animals. Mel's own photography provides glimpses we seldom get of them and the southwest around Cruces.

    A sharp left turn brings one in a large room dominated by Cassis among the Pyramids, the portrait of a perspicacious-looking cat, next to one of a dog and cat gossiping. In this spacious room, which is presumably usually devoid of furniture, there were elegant U-shaped tables set with white table cloths, silver, tall sparkling flutes and wine glasses. Down the middle at of each of the tables snaked a silver rope, it's convolutions graced by tennis-sized filigreed silver balls, and silver and gold fairy dust. Large white gold-trimmed dinner plates, alternated with navy trimmed ones.

   The island in Mel's kitchen was being set with paella and other Spanish--as in Spain--specialties. Irishwoman I am, I figure at 9 p.m. on New Year's Eve, libations aren't far, and right I was: Corona, Guinness & IPA for the cerveza set, Moscato and port for the sweets and for the dry winers, a nice Shiraz and Chardonnay.

    My predilection, certainly, but the most entertaining piece in Mesquite St. was in the barroom, a funky rendition of a cool couple emanating a great deal of colorful, contradictory energy. You can see these pieces for yourself, at 340 Mesquite St. in Las Cruces, NM on Thursday or Friday between 11 and 5 or between 2 and 5 Saturday.

    It's a little more involved to get invited to New Year's Eve, but you have a whole year to work on that. Among the discussion of the pitfalls and problems of adobe--it's assets are obvious in summer--we took our ample plates and filled them Spanish specialties, ate, toasted and wished one another the finest for the New Year 2016, which I wish all my readers.