Road to Guantanamo

I’ve slacked. It’s been busy, but is that an excuse? I have a lot to share, so where does one start?

Where does one start?

I saw Road to Guantanamo last night. I’m definitely at a loss for words, and the fact that there could be plenty more people in the same position as the “Tipton Three”, and our congress passed new laws to ensure the government’s legal protection to continue such actions. Well, makes me sick to my stomach.

The only way one would care is if they put themselves in the shoes of someone like Ruhel or his friends. Have you ever been accused of something you’ve never done? How’d it feel? Did things resolve in a just manner? While Bush contends that the detainees in Guantanamo are “bad people” “killers” and the like. I would say, yes, some are killers, but how do you differentiate the guilty from the innocent. When is “guilty until proven innocent” ethical?

One thing the film did not spend much time on, is answering the question of WHY the three young men went to Afghanistan in the first place. This leaves a lot of holes in the story. While these men were indeed not linked to any terrorist organizations, it’s still hard to fathom why they would up and leave Pakistan and just jet over to a war-zone, in the midst of crisis. Or maybe I have a hard time believing that there exists the kind of compassion where young people want to make a difference in areas of conflict. Maybe I hope is what I’m lacking, and maybe there is hope out there. Unfortunately, an incident like this will make people think twice before stepping into situations where they probably could make a difference, because maybe you’ll find yourselves at the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe the defenders of the free world will be there waiting for you, and may break you, and may rob your freedom, to protect the rest of ours.


Waves: A New York City Hurricane Story

Saturday afternoons were the times he waited for the most and cantankerous was his attitude before and after these times. All his favorite sports aired Saturday afternoons, on network TV; the ones that were not worthy of a school night. This particular Saturday, however, he could not watch TV, because Hurricane Ernesto made it impossible. You see, Ernesto had shown up in Brooklyn, and made the conducting of electricity rather impossible for the residents of Bay Ridge, and this, proved to be quite upsetting for this fan of professional golf. Reluctantly he agreed to step out into the storm at the insistence of his wife, who threatened to leave him if he did not go out and buy batteries for the flashlight.

As he put on his rubbers, he whinced at the fact that he was living in a world where rubbers could no longer be mentioned without the snickers and grins of young people he set out to the bodega at the corner to buy the four D batteries that his marriage depended on.

Walking out of the bodega, on the way back to his apartment, he caught a glimpse through a crack between the buildings that the straight-paved roads the the boroughs seldom provided, of a magnificent wave hurling over the cars driving East and West on the Belt Parkway. He had never seen anything like it before, and that was most probably due to the fact that when storms hit, he was inside watching his precious Television, while nature stated her authority outside his building. So naturally, he had to get a closer look, and when he emerged from within the caves of apartment buildings and retail stores, he found a stretch of concrete boardwalk on the other side of the Parkway, lined by a metal fence, overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, spotted by passers-by stood, and waited to be covered by the enormous waves that were crashing upon the the highway.