Chris hedges AND george Monbiot ON THE IGNORANcE - ColdType

california dreaming
by the time we
reach guadalupe,
the train is nearly
full with the same
familiar, sad faces
of this earlier
depression, full of
hope and despair
36 thereader | November 2008
and enter through the doors of the forward
cars: “Kucinich for President…Get on Board
the Peace Train!” I can see through the windows
of the doors more red shirts, placards
and blue balloons, and the flurry of activity
I’d expect of a political rally. Each time the
doors open, the raucous noise of political
hubbub can be heard: “Bush,” “Cheney,”
“Iraq,” “Impeachment,” “Peace.”
The conductor offers a hint of recognition
as he comes to collect my ticket. “Oh,
hey,” he says, “how you doing today?”
“Great,” I answer as he pulls my ticket.
“Santa Ana station,” he says, placing a
colored tag above my seat.
“Hey,” I say, “are the Kucinich people on
the train this morning?”
“Yeah,” he responds, turning his head to
the forward cars, “they added two cars to
accommodate them.”
“Can I go up there and sit with them?”
“Sure can,” he says. “Have a good trip.”
Before venturing forward, I run downstairs
to buy a cup of coffee from the café
car. I half expect to see old men plotting
another grassroots American Revolution
but instead observe a pretty young woman
listening politely to a loud, overweight
and overbearing, red-in-the-face alcoholic
woman nursing a can of beer, ranting about
late trains, and unfaithful, abusive boyfriends.
The pretty one nods and doesn’t
say a word. It’s too goddamn early to be
that drunk and riled, I think. As I listen, another
woman, who has already met a few
of the Kucinich travelers, takes her place
in line behind me and says she has trouble
pronouncing his name: “Kook-an-itch? I
still can’t say it right.”
“It’s Koo-SIN-itch,” I respond.
I return to my seat where I pop open a
travel-sized bottle of Bailey’s and spike my
coffee, sitting back, taking in the sights, sipping,
satisfied, unconcerned with Kucinich
or his supporters, wishing the dreamy moment
of quiet isolation and the sweet alcohol
flavor of my morning coffee will last
forever. As we roll along, I peer out the
window at the open spaces of south SLO
County. The green and loamy sea of ag land
beyond Grover Beach and below the Nipomo
Mesa reminds me of an era captured
by photographer Dorothea Lange and author
John Steinbeck, when California had
become a place of golden dreams for the
poor and uprooted, and people dwelled
in hovels or dilapidated cars, attempting
to create new lives. By the time we reach
Guadalupe, the train is nearly full with the
same familiar, sad faces of this earlier Depression,
full of hope and despair.
At each stop, Kucinich believers carrying
their placards, balloons, a harmonica,
and noisemakers rustle themselves off the
train to meet people of like mind who have
come to meet them at the local station and
hug and briefly chat, to spread the good
and bad news, and show some love before
the conductor politely waves his arm and
urges them back: “OK, gotta keep her rolling
folks. Time to get back on the train.”
Cynial snort
In America, fear rules. I’ve noticed this in
friends who feel so completely demoralized
by our current political crises that they
can’t move. They refuse any longer to hope
in leadership that values human life, or
makes policies that benefit not just the rich
few but the entire commonwealth. They’ve
given up and turned all their hopes into
one long cynical snort: We’re fucked! It’s
over for the United States.
Oddly, Kucinich represents the other
side of this very same cynicism that has
turned him into an afterthought and an
amusing anecdote in Election 2008. To
many, he’s an annoying little man with as
much substance as anyone who believes
in UFOs. Yet, he speaks in a voice familiar
to my own (although I can’t say I’ve ever
seen a UFO). He speaks truth to power. He
confronts the corporate brokers of trade,
thought and production, telling them
that their polluting and plundering of the
world’s limited resources will come to an
end. He promotes peace rather than war as
the best means to national security, pros-