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Looking for Hugh: The Capitalist Guidebook, Preface

 

Leon Weinstein

Looking for Hugh: The Capitalist Guidebook

 

Preface:

 

The sad reason that instigated me to write this book was that at the end of the year 2008 I realized that most of the population of the country I emigrated to (and was proud to be a part of) in a moment of weakness had chosen a socialistic dream over one of individualism and capitalism. I hope my adopted people will soon wake up from this nightmarish delusion and will reverse the course this country now took before it is too late. It will be painful, but it is the only way out of the experiment that was already time and again tried and failed in so many countries, including the one I escaped from, The Union of Soviet Socialistic Republics (USSR). If they will not wake up in time, this book shall be used by future generations as a practical guide for revival of what once was the envy of the entire world – the individualistic, arrogant, proud & capitalistic to the core the United States of America.

 

This book is an attempt on adaptation to everyday life the philosophical principals of Ayn Rand, Milton Freedman, Alan Greenspan and many other proponents of capitalism and individual freedom. My thanks go also to Antoine de Saint Exupéry for writing The Little Prince, Lewis Carrol for writing Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, to L.Frank Baum for writing The Wonderful Wizard of Oz and to Jonathan Swift for writing Gulliver's Travels. Those four authors were my guiding stars in creating Looking for Hugh.

 

I wrote this book as teens’/young adults’ adventure, but the intended readers are adults. There is a reason for such approach – I wanted the heroes to be innocent in certain economic and life matters, not to have any pre-set opinions on the subjects this book discusses. Children’s tale allows twisting plot in a unique way and I believe many important things can be expressed through eyes of a person who for the first time encounters certain complicities of life. I hope both young adults and adults with enjoy this book and will draw conclusions from it.

 

But before you start reading the story, I want to desperately declare:

 

Capitalists of the world – be proud of yourself! Please!

And here is the story:

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Looking for Hugh: The Capitalist Guidebook, Chapter 13

 

13.       Island of Peace

“You must remove your weapons and leave them with the Port Authority. They will be returned when you leave our Island of Peace,” said the smiling customs officer who greeted us at the small port of this lovely green island. It was indeed peaceful here; we understood perfectly why the islanders didn’t want visitors going around with swords on their belts.

What was strange is that border guards, customs officers and even police were not carrying weapons. “There are no weapons on the Island of Peace,” they explained. “We don’t believe in violence.”

“I like their attitude,” Ninoh said. “Think about it, weapons are bad. People feel powerful when they hold them. It might be a good idea to outlaw all weapons. Many lives could be saved.”

I wasn’t sure about that. I was told many times that weapons are not bad unless they fall into the wrong hands, and I believed this simple truth. But if they were taken off everyone’s hands, they couldn’t fall into the wrong ones, right?

We wandered the streets of the capital city. Everyone on the island was really kind and nice. We went to a farmers’ market. We watched clowns perform on a stage and agreed that, if things got rough again, we’d try our luck with a circus. There were many exotic fruits to try, and an abundance of nuts and fresh lemonade. “Don’t you have real fights here?” Ninoh asked one old farmer whose goat cheese we favored among a dozen we tasted. “Not clowns making fun of each other, but people defending their honor, for example, or just losing their temper?”

“Of course we do,” he answered. “We’re people, some of us with quite a temper—like my missus. But we reason with each other and since there are no weapons anywhere, it almost never comes to a tragic end. We even outlawed sharp knives. Sometimes it’s very inconvenient, but it’s worth it.”

“Wait a second,” Ninoh said, “what about soldiers? They have weapons, right? They can enter into a quarrel. Or a little boy can find daddy’s gun and fire it at his friend. Don’t tell me that’s never happened here!”

The farmer smiled. “You just gave me another good reason to ban guns forever,” he answered. “We don’t have an army. We don’t need it. We’re not planning to attack anyone, and we can reason with anyone who’d want to conquer us. We’re not a rich island. There is nothing here that would attract fortune hunters.”

Ninoh’s eyes flashed. “I’ve known people who sought power for it’s own sake They wanted to conquer just to conquer, to torture for the sake of torture. Those are bad people, and you can’t reason with them. You have to fight, and fight hard!”

“That’s where you’re wrong, young lady,” the farmer said with a smile. “You can reason with anyone. You can explain to them that trade and friendship is better than fighting. They have families too, and they’ll understand.”

I looked around; a small group of passersby had gathered and stood there listening to us, nodding their approval of the old farmer’s words.

“What you would do if such bad people came to your land?” asked a girl about our age, who carried a basket filled with fruits and vegetables. Ninoh’s hand moved to where her sword used to be. “You see,” the girl said, “you wouldn’t even sit down with them to discuss why they’re doing what they’re doing. Maybe they have problems, or maybe they just crave attention.”

“First I’d kick them out of my home,” Ninoh snapped, “and then I might be ready to reason with them and find out what their problem is. You, young lady, have got your priorities wrong. First kick their butts, then talk sense.”

“We’re pacifists here,” smiled the girl, “and pacifists think differently. We’re way past those violent thoughts and discussions. Violence is never the answer.”

“Excuse me.” I decided to join the conversation. “What would happen if those good people you’re talking about decide to kill a couple of kids here on this island?”

“You’re sick,” said the old farmer. “Don’t be ridiculous,” scoffed another. “What a disgusting thought,” spat a third. The crowd turned their backs on us and melted away while the farmers returned to their stands and ignored us completely. The girl remained, still smiling. I rather liked her. She was small, with a round, friendly face and very short light hair. She didn’t agree with what we were saying, but she didn’t dismiss us just because we thought differently

“You must excuse my countrymen,” she said. “They don’t like hypothetical conversations about killing children. They can’t stomach it. But you came from a violent world, where killing and waging war is normal. If you decide to stay here, you will come to understand that human beings are basically good, just confused. When you talk to them . . .”

“You mean you’d keep talking to someone who says he’s going shoot your children?” Ninoh was stunned.

“My name is Mona,” said the girl, “and I am too young to have children.”

“Well, Mona,” Ninoh said as they shook hands, “I want to ask you something, since you can stomach hypothetical questions about killing children. Let’s say there are two kids standing in front of a stranger, who has a gun and is about to shoot them. You beg him not to, but he says he doesn’t care and is about to squeeze the trigger. Suddenly you see a gun within reach. You can pick it up and shoot the murderer. Would you?”

“We don’t have guns on this Island, so there’d be no gun to pick up and shoot anyone,” Mona replied sweetly. “And yes, I’m quite sure I could talk this guy out of killing innocent children. He probably had a rough childhood and needs someone to talk to.”

“Are you ready to take a chance that he won’t kill one of the kids?” Ninoh insisted, but Mona smiled her widest smile and turned and walked away. It was probably too much even for her to stomach.

“Can you believe that?” Now Ninoh was angry. “I hope they never live to regret their words.”

How little we knew.

 Everywhere we went, we asked about Hugh. No one had heard about any newcomer. No one saw any boys flying with kites during a full moon. No one had any weapons. No one could give us any reason for a good fight, or for waging a war. They simply couldn’t see any reason why a person would want to kill or hurt another. Not one.

“Nice people,” Ninoh grunted.

I agreed.

“I can’t stand them anymore,” she added.

My feeling exactly.

We walked back to the port to retrieve our swords and leave this sickly-sweet island when we heard loud cries coming from the marketplace. We ran towards the conflict along with dozens of islanders.

A huge crowd surrounded the stage where the clowns had performed. Unable to see anything behind the silent mass that was staring at whatever it was, we elbowed our way closer. Finally we got to the first row and saw five midgets walking up and down the stage, holding armed crossbows aimed at the crowd. Near the stage lay a dead peace officer with an arrow through his neck. Another officer lay bleeding and moaning face down on the stage, two arrows in his back. The midgets ignored them completely.

The tallest of the midgets was addressing the crowd. “If anyone tries to leave this Island without my permission it will be considered a crime, and crime is punished by death. If anyone disobeys any orders from any of my men, it’s considered a crime. And crime is punished by death. If anyone is on the streets after sunset, it will be considered a crime. And crime is punished by death. I am Draga the Warlord,” he roared, thrusting his armed crossbow into the air, “and I will personally execute the offenders and their families. Do I make myself clear?”

The crowd sagged with shock. The answer to Draga’s speech was deafening silence. I signaled to Ninoh: Only five of them? Her eyes slid from side to side and I saw six or seven more, armed with crossbows and knives, walking behind the crowd. Then the crowd parted and we saw a tall man in his sixties who was led to the stage by two armed midgets.

“And who is this?” demanded the self-proclaimed warlord.

“I am governor of this Island,” the tall man stated clearly, “and I demand an explanation of . . .”

Draga shot him through the heart without even looking at him. The crowd gasped and cringed.

“No one speaks to me until they’re spoken to,” he said coldly. “Now, since your governor has had a most tragic accident and no longer can fulfill his duties, I hereby appoint myself in his stead. Is there anyone to oppose me?”

No one answered. No one even inhaled. “Good. That’s what I thought.”

“Excuse me, sir.” I heard a voice and saw the old farmer whose goat cheese we liked so much making his way through the crowd. I wanted to stop him but he was too far away.

The little leader gaped at the old farmer at utter disbelief. “Didn’t I just tell them that they can talk to me only when they’re spoken to?” he asked one of his minions who stood nearby, still aiming his crossbow at the crowd.

“I am an old man, sir,” the farmer continued, coming closer, “and I’d like to tell you that what you did was absolutely unnecessary.”

“And why is that?” Draga sneered, fingering the wicked-looking knife at his belt.

“We’re all civilized people here,” the old farmer said soothingly. “We can talk to each other. We can resolve problems. We can negotiate . . .”

 Draga’s knife flew across the stage and deep into the old man’s chest. The farmer collapsed, bleeding and unconscious.

“End of negotiations,” Draga spat. “I won.” He scanned the crowd. “Anyone else?”

I saw movement within the crowd and then a glimpse of Ninoh grabbing a young girl and pushing her down and out of the crowd. Ninoh’s hand covered her mouth, but I recognized Mona.

“What was that?” The stunted warlord whirled in their direction. Two midgets immediately began moving toward the disturbance.

I thought fast. “Lord Draga,” I said loudly, “may I speak, my lord?”

I had their attention and the girls were safe for now. “Go ahead,” he growled, towering over me from the stage.

“My lord,” I repeated with a deep bow, “I think we understood. May we go now? Or do you wish us to do something?”

Draga’s growl turned into a roar of laughter. “I like this boy,” he grinned at me. “I might use you. Come tomorrow morning and we’ll talk.”

He turned to the crowd. “You people got a very valuable lesson today. Now, clean up this mess, and bring food and wine to the governor’s residence—or a few more of you will be dead in the morning.”

When I found the girls around the corner, Mona was crying. “I’ve known him all my life,” she sobbed. “I’ve been buying cheese from him as long as I can remember. And the governor is my uncle. My mother’s brother. He taught me to read and write.”

“Do you know where those midgets came from?” I asked her urgently. “How many there are? How they got here? And how we can get our swords back?”

“Are there any weapons on this island?” Ninoh broke in. “Any people who could fight Draga’s little army?”

Mona didn’t know where those terrible people came from, or how many were on the island. But she knew that their ship had come to the island about a month ago, and they’d set up a big tent and performed circus acts. They had ridden fine horses, walked on ropes, and boasted that their best number was throwing knives, which for some reason were prohibited on the Island of Peace.

“Ship, eh?” Ninoh nudged me, and off we went to the port. There was a three-misted yacht in the middle of the marina. Several armed midgets patrolled the deck, and they all looked bored.

“I’d guess no more than fifty aboard,” Ninoh muttered, “and I’d bet on about thirty. What do you think?”

“The element of surprise,” I answered, “will serve us best if we attack tonight. They’re so sure of themselves, they’re already careless.”

“People?” Ninoh raised an eyebrow.

I shrugged. “Let’s hope that today’s show made a lasting impression on the islanders. But are they ready? I don’t have an answer.”

“I’ll fight,” Mona said quickly, “but I don’t know how. No one on the island knows how to fight. No one’s had a gun, a sword or even a knife in our hands for years, because we have none. But you can count me in.” I was proud of her.

“People first.” Ninoh’s tone was once again that of commander-in-chief and Third to the Throne. She was born and bred to lead in difficult situations; in critical moments something clicked inside her and she assumed leadership effortlessly. “We don’t need many, but about a dozen fighters is a must.”

“Have you a plan, my Lady?” I asked with a wink.

Ninoh grinned savagely. “In my head are all the plans ever developed on my island—which was notorious for fighting,” she added for Mona’s sake. After a short mental count she added, “There are about a dozen plans created for this very situation by the Supreme Lady’s staff alone, for kicking invaders’ butts and freeing an island of medium size. However, no one ever planned on using pacifists instead of soldiers, but we’ll try to manage. I hope they’re not cowards, just pacifists. Yes, I have a plan.”

“I know where all the important people will go today,” Mona offered. “I’ll take you there.”

It was almost dark, and armed patrols glared upward suspiciously at everyone on the streets. Mona quickly led us to an old mill on the outskirts of the city. “This is where we come for important occasions,” she told us. “There’s a stage and a dance floor, where we celebrate. There’s also our Museum of the Dark Ages, which contains many historical objects from our past. I’m sure other people who want to end this terrible situation will find their way here.”

We entered the mill and found about thirty to forty men and women, all grim, some in tears. A bold bulky man of about forty, whom Mona called Karl, was speaking when we came in. “We need to form a delegation of our most trusted citizens and discuss future arrangements with the new regime. We need to know what we will and will not be allowed to do, otherwise our relations with the new government will be strained. We need guidelines; that’s the most important task for tomorrow. We don’t even know how to address our new governor.”

A tall, well-dressed woman of obvious influence picked up where Karl left off. “We absolutely must learn how to live with the new government or we won’t be able to perform even simple everyday activities. I was planning my vacation, and now I’m not even sure my passport is still valid. I hope nothing will happened to destabilize the situation, and that we’ll find a way to cooperate. We’re all people, after all. We must work together to allow regular folks to live their normal, everyday lives without distractions, am I right?”

“What about freedom, Adulia?” demanded an older woman who looked like a school teacher. “Won’t you even consider fighting for your life?”

“This is exactly what I was afraid of,” Adulia sneered. “You’re only a museum curator, Mirra. What do you know about real life?”

“We’re surrounded by our history,” Mirra snapped back. “We’ve had great moments. We stood for something called principles, and we evolved from a society of barbarians to one of high moral values. Look around you; what do you see?”

I looked around. The island’s history was reflected in the costumes of previous generations, in samples of their furniture, utensils, and handicrafts. And ancient weapons. Not much, but something.

The curator continued, “We must never allow those murderers to make us a society of slaves. We must resist with all our might. We must learn how to fight again. Some things are more important than life itself!”

“Nothing is more important than life,” said bold Karl. “The new government . . .”

“The midgets, you mean,” Ninoh interjected.

“Don’t call them that,” Adulia snapped. “I personally have always preferred shorter men. And these gentlemen are not short enough to call them . . . that despicable word. They may be a little harsh, but that’s probably because insensitive people like you call them that.”

A timid young woman suddenly brightened up. “Do you think they might want to marry local girls? There have always been more women than men on our Island. We women suffered and no one cared.” Mona whispered that her name was Klara.

“I don’t care who’s in charge,” said a guy dressed like a working man but with manicured nails. “Everyone needs workers and workers need us organizers. They’re like little children without us.”

A well-dressed man in his forties named Utti spoke up. “There are many good things that can happen as a result of the change in regime. We badly needed fresh air, so to speak. Our government was corrupt, and I personally voiced my opposition to many of the former governor’s decisions. Second, I’m sure they’ll hire people to help with the day-to-day work. Someone will have to supervise the common folk, and I for example know our people well and can be invaluable. And don’t forget, if some other power tried to conquer our island, we’d have warriors who will protect us. So you see, it’s not so clear who is using whom. They need us as much as we need them.”

“I’m ashamed of you,” Mona broke in hotly. “I brought foreigners who can help us fight back, and you’re already surrendering everything we’ve stood for all these years.”

“She has a personal animosity toward the new regime,” Adulia. “The previous governor was her uncle, and she wants to use us to retaliate for her family loss. How selfish!”

“Thank you, Mona,” Mirra said. “I’m glad there’s at least one person on our Island who hasn’t lost her courage and personal integrity.”

“I’d fight,” said Arthur, a short plumpish man in his thirties, “but I always was taught that fighting is always wrong; that no matter what, one human being can’t harm another. Now my wife and kids can be harmed and I can’t do anything about it.”

“But you can!” Ninoh said urgently. “There are no more than three dozen of them. And more than a thousand of you. They won’t be expecting a counterattack tonight. They’ll be drunk soon, and even their guards will become careless. Yes, some of you will be injured, some may even die—but you can take back your freedom, your dignity. What you will be teaching your kids if you give up now?”

“Who is this person?” Adulia demanded, looking down her long nose at Ninoh. “Who gave her the right to open her mouth here and teach us how to educate our children?”

“We have no weapons,” Karl said, ignoring her outburst. “If we had good weapons, we could fight. But we don’t.”

“What about the ones hanging on the walls?” I asked. Everybody began looking around eagerly. 

“This junk?” Klara wrinkled her nose. “They’ll wipe you out with their crossbows. Didn’t you see how fast and how far they can shoot?”

A guy who looked like a college freshman came forward. “If we don’t argue, if we obey, they’ll have no reason to kill us. What are they asking for, after all? A little respect. And if we start fighting they’ll kill some of us and there goes any hope of compromise. We need to keep our doors open for future discussions. We haven’t even tried yet. And as a matter of fact, I don’t want to die. Is it a crime to want to live and enjoy life?”

“Those short soldiers may turn out to be nice people after all,” Klara added. “We don’t know the first thing about them, and we’re already rejecting them. That’s not fair. We must give them a chance to prove themselves.”

“They kill people,” Mona said flatly.

“No one said they’re perfect,” answered Klara.

Ninoh turned and spoke to me. “I don’t want to fight for these people. They make me sick. They’re not worth fighting for.”

She instantly became the focus of everyone’s attention.

“How many fighters do you have?” Adulia intoned, drawing herself up to full height. “And what do you want for helping us get rid of those bloody midgets?”

“I have no other fighters,” Ninoh grinned. “It’s just me and him.” She pointed, and I grinned too. “You pacifists confiscated our swords when we landed today, and now your port authority is controlled by the invaders. But my friend and I are willing to use your ancestors’ weapons right alongside you, and help you in any way we can—if you are also ready and willing to fight. But if you’re not, you’re not worth fighting for—and we’re leaving.”

“Wait!” Mona cried. “I’m ready to fight.”

“Me too,” said the old curator.

“I will,” Arthur piped up, and three or four other voices echoed his words.

Ninoh looked at me. Was it worth saving this island for the sake of a few righteous men?

A boy dashed into the mill yelling, “You’ve got to see this!” and everyone rushed out. It was already dark and the full moon lit the skies. Twelve teens were descending from the skies, using kites and carrying soda bottles.

“The Emperor’s death squad!” someone cried. “Sharks!” yelled another. “Hugh!” I hoped.

The first boy landed in front of us, looked us up and down, and announced, “The Emperor sent us to help.” There was silence while the other boys and girls landed. Each wore a sword and a backpack. I didn’t see Hugh among them.

The old curator stepped forward. “I, that is, we, thank you,” she stammered, “but who you are and how you can help?”

“The Imperial Guard, ma’am,” the boy replied briskly, “and I am captain. The Emperor sends his regards, and a warning. The midgets are very dangerous and bloodthirsty. They already invaded two other islands and left a great deal of suffering in their wake. They seek out islands without weapons because they’re the easiest to conquer.”

“And how you can help us?” asked Karl. “I don’t see any warriors, just twelve boys and girls without weapons or armor.”

“We will get rid of the invaders before they inflicted more damage,” the boy politely assured him. He was smiling quietly and meeting the eyes of everyone he spoke to, but somehow I got the feeling he was watching everything and everyone.

“And what happens to us if you all get killed?” intervened Adulia. “We could suffer even more if you all die.”

“Yes, ma’am. You might suffer more as a consequence of our deaths,” he acknowledged. Now all the Guards was looking at Adulia with interest, even amusement. “But I can assure you that, if we weren’t up to the task, we wouldn’t have been handpicked for His Excellency’s Imperial Guard.”

Adulia’s mouth opened and then snapped shut.

“We thank you from the bottom of our hearts,” Mirra said, “for your willingness to die for strangers. May I ask why the Emperor is helping us? History teaches us that the only place you can find free cheese is a mousetrap. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but this is an important practical matter for us.”

“I fully understand,” the young captain said earnestly. “I appreciate your directness and honesty, ma’am, and I will reciprocate. The Emperor doesn’t want to add your island to his holdings. He doesn’t want any tribute or payment from you in any form. He wants you to continue to be free, hopefully be our friends, but we’re not asking you to sign any treaty or agreement. Just be free, and prosper.”

There was a long silence, and then Mirra spoke out clearly. “God bless you all.”

“So it’s settled,” said the boy, and all twelve Guards moved forward, nodding and smiling. “Now, who can tell me where the midgets’ headquarters are, and describe in detail the building they’re occupying?”

“I can,” Mona offered. “I practically grew up in that building.”

“Excellent! Next, I’ll need volunteers. We must capture their yacht and enter their headquarters without losses on our side. I need help. The midgets might know our faces and we don’t want to alert them ahead of time.”

“I’ll help,” Mona said again.

“Count me in,” Arthur added.

“If I can help, I will,” Mirra promised.

Ninoh and I exchanged a silent agreement, and she turned to address the Guards. “Not one of these people has any battle experience, captain. My friend and I are travelers. We have been slaves and emerged victorious from the arena as gladiators. Don’t be fooled by our age and appearance. We can help.”

Now all twelve were staring at us. “There is never a connection between appearance and courage,” the captain replied, and saluted us. “We accept your offer.”

Those of us who were ready to fight returned to the museum and selected weapons from the exhibits. I found two short fighting sticks linked by a rusted chain; Ninoh located an ancient whip and grinned from ear to ear.

We caught a stray cat, put it in a sack and planted it on a narrow street not far from the governor’s residence, which three midgets were patrolling. The cat began mewling and all three ran around the corner with their crossbows armed. As they closed in on the sack, lassos flew from the windows of nearby buildings and in seconds the midgets were bound and gagged and hanging upside down in the school gym. The entire operation took less than two minutes, without a single sound to alert others.

“Now for the yacht,” the young captain whispered.

Ninoh and I borrowed a rowboat and headed for the yacht. As we drew near, two midgets loudly demanded to know where we were going. “Lord Draga,” I yelled back, “said to deliver a sample of the local wine to his loyal guards.” I stood and held up several bottles, and their snarls turned into smiles.

“About time someone remembered us,” one said. “Hey, boy, bring it up over here.”

“Lord Draga,” Ninoh added, “ordered us to deliver one bottle per person, not a drop more. But he didn’t tell us how many of you there are.”

“Give us the whole case,” said the second midget, and they both laughed.

“Oh, no!” I said. “He’ll kill us. We’d better go back and tell him that, since we didn’t know how many . . .”

“Now, now,” interrupted the first midget. “You can hand us six bottles. That will do.”

“May I see all of you together?” I asked nervously. “I don’t want Lord Draga to punish me.”

“Lord!” scowled one of the midgets. “If he’s a lord, I’m a horse. You just wait right there; I’ll call the others.”

When all six midgets stood looking down at us from the deck, I began to count loudly and slowly. “One, two, three . . .”

At “four” the Imperial Guards descended onto the yacht. Three midgets raised their crossbows; Ninoh and I quickly dispatched two and left the third to the first Guard who landed. The other three midgets fell to their knees with hands in the air, scared to death. They were tied up and gagged and delivered to the school gym. We collected their knives and crossbows, located an arsenal of other weapons and loaded everything onto our rowboat.

When we came back ashore we were met with good news: two more patrols had been apprehended, and the only midgets still free on the island were the warlord and six of his henchmen, all still in the governor’s mansion. But I felt the greatest joy when Mirra handed us our swords. “Carry them with pride,” she said.

It was already dawn when the entire resistance force—twelve Imperial Guards, Ninoh, myself, and both armed and unarmed islanders—surrounded the governor’s residence, which stood on the largest square in the center of the city. Then the big discussion about the midgets’ future started. Some said that we cannot harm human beings and the midgets must be set free after giving up their weapons, but were unclear as to what would happen if the midgets refused to disarm. Others said that the killing innocent civilians must be punished by lifetime imprisonment, but since the Island of Peace had no prisons, they should find another island that did and pay them for holding the midgets there. Opponents of this idea argued that many “war heroes” are actually killers in disguise, and if they were free and honored then the midgets should also be set free.

In my opinion, they just didn’t want to pay for the midgets’ incarceration.

Still others said that the midgets must give their word that they won’t come back to this island, and then they can go anywhere they want. There were many noble and smart ideas, but not one that would help to prevent future invasions.  

The Imperial Guards were patiently waiting for the outcome of the discussion, and I had a chance to approach the captain. “Excuse me,” I said, “have you ever heard about a boy who flew to this empire on a kite like yours? His name is Hugh.”

“Why do you want to know?” he asked.

“Hugh is my friend,” I said. “I am looking for him. If you know anything, please tell me.”

“Noble thing, to look for a friend,” the captain replied, his eyes on mine. “Which island did you say you came from?”

I remembered that most islanders have no idea about the outside world. “The Island of Honor and Justice,” I said after a moment of hesitation.

“So this Hugh is from the same island?” he asked. “And was he a slave like you and that girl who fights like a man?”

Just then we noticed movement in the group of the island’s big shots. Utti, the critic of the previous regime, walked cross the square and stood in front of the mansion. He picked up a pebble and tossed it at a second-floor window. Soon the window opened and Draga looked out. He scanned the armed crowd watching him from all sides of the square, spotted Utti, shot him right between the eyes, and slammed the window down.  

For ten seconds the square was deathly quiet. Then the mob burst into a frenzied roar. “Kill them! Kill them all!” The twelve Guards scurried into position as armed citizens closed on in the mansion from all sides. Some carried torches, threatening to burn every occupant alive.

I looked around but couldn’t find Ninoh. Noises sounded from inside the house, yelling and running footsteps and a few loud thumps and crashes. A few moments later the front door opened and out came Lord Draga, an empty crossbow in his hands and a gaping slash across his neck. He took three steps forward and fell down dead. No one came after him from within the now silent house.

The islanders stormed inside and found all six of Draga’s bodyguards dead, with either fatal cuts inflicted by a sword or throwing knives still stuck in their bodies. Suddenly Ninoh appeared at my side, outwardly calm, her nostrils flaring like a racehorse’s. She volunteered no explanations and I decided not to ask.

“Bury the dead,” ordered the captain of the Guards, “and then inform everyone there will be a meeting here in the square this evening. There’s a thing or two we need to tell you.”

Exactly what Ninoh and I thought would happen. One invader was defeated, but another one had come in disguise and was planning to stay. They had only pretended to be guardian angels, but they were obviously Sharks. We called for our own meeting first.

“You have weapons now,” we told the islanders. “Here’s the arsenal we took from the yacht and from the midgets on the island. The new occupation can be even bloodier than the midgets’. We’ve heard the horror stories about Shark Island, that it’s the worst place in the entire Thousand Islands Empire. You must show these Sharks that you won’t bend, won’t let them enslave you and your children. All you need to do is surround them with your weapons while we’re talking to them. We’ll let them say what they want at the meeting—and at our signal, they’ll get an answer they didn’t bargain for.”

We came to the meeting in full force—more than a thousand citizens of the Island of Peace, all armed and ready to defend their lives and their freedom. It was late evening and the Moon showed us the way. When we arrived the Guards were waiting for us on the steps of the governor’s mansion. Each one carried a kite and a soda bottle, and wore a sword and a backpack.

We hid our weapons and surrounded them. We even sent islanders in through the back door so they could take aim at their backs through the windows. When the square had filled with people, the young captain’s voice rang out.

“Citizens of the Island of Peace, your freedom is once again in your own hands.” He saluted us and all twelve threw their kites into the air. One by one they floated off and soon disappeared into the night sky.

“What happened?” demanded those at the rear of the crowd. “Where did they go?” asked those at the front. “Why did they come here?” queried others. “What did they want from us?” wondered many who hadn’t seen anything but had heard the story.

Rumors began to fly. “They were in on it with the midgets, and everything was staged by the Emperor.” “They had a hidden agenda all along.” “They heard we were going to attack, and they got scared and ran away” (very popular among the island’s youth). Someone even said, “They’re building a zone of influence,” and since few understood what that meant, many believed and often repeated the statement.

We heard things like “inhuman treatment of animals” referring to the cat in a sack we’d used to lure the patrol into a narrow street. “They should be sued in for excessive force and disproportional response” was repeated often in the local independent newspaper. We overheard Adulia telling a crowd of supporters that, if not for the Sharks’ “interference with the peace negotiation process,” there wouldn’t have been any casualties. Most memorable was Klara’s disgust with the “terrible example of discrimination against short people.”

Safe on our raft, Ninoh turned to me as we rowed beyond the surf. “Do you think the Sharks will return to the Island of Peace?”

“They will if there’s trouble again and they believe they can help,” I assured her.

She frowned and shook her head. “I don’t get it, Nik. Whoever has the force to occupy another island never leaves until they’re forced out. No island or country in the world would come to the rescue and then leave voluntarily.”

I thought about that a bit. “Actually,” I said, “I live in such country. That’s where I came from.”

And for the first time during my journey, I felt like something was missing. I wanted to go back to my own home, to be among my family and friends. I’ll find Hugh and then go home, I decided.

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illegal immigration

 

                                                                                                05-12-2008

Illegal immigration –

We the people were told by our leaders that between 12 to 20 million foreign workers somehow (illegally) crossed our borders and somehow intertwined in our economy. If they produce something (or provide services), that means that they are needed. Governor Romney said that if he would become the president, he would bus all illegal immigrants to the borders and will get rid of all of them. He lost me there. What would happen if we would kick all of those workers out? What will happen to our economy if we will take out 12 to 20 million workers? Who will fill their places? We have 5% unemployment, and for all practical reasons there are no spare hands to infuse into the low paying jobs. We probably will have to beg them to come back, will bus them in and offer incentives.

Those people came here illegally. Those people broke our laws. On the other hand they didn’t come here to kill, sabotage or still from us. They came here to work…. but they came here illegally. Is it a moral dilemma? Yes it is. No, it is not. We allowed them to come here. No one in his/her sane mind would think even for a short moment that the Soviet Union, North Korea, German Democratic Republic and many others could close their borders in mid-XX century, but we, the mighty Americans, can’t. If we didn’t know how to do it, why we didn’t invite Israelis? Two presidents, Clinton and Bush equally to be blamed for this mess. We the people were also waiting for a long time to voice our opposition to the situation, we are also to blame. 

We know that many people are waiting for years to go though the red tape and get here legally. Tough luck. I am one of them, who was waiting for almost four years, and was very very lucky to get in. There are many things in life that are unfair and this is one of them. We have 12 to 20 million illegals in the country who work here, live here, get sick here, drive cars here, get married here, bore children who enter our schools, and all of those people are somehow out of the circle of our normal life.

Yes, they get sick here and go to hospitals. We pay for them. Their employers pay them bare minimums, then they go to hospitals and we the people pay their health bills. Who else? Not their employers, but WE. Then illegally immigrated children go to schools, and we the people pay for their education. Not they or their employers, but WE. We subsidize roads they drive on. We the people pay local administration, pay police, pay for light on the streets – they themselves and the employers (who profit from their labor) pay nothing. I want all people who live and work in the US to get at least minimum wages, with lawful taxes paid by themselves and their employers. This way they will pay for education of their children, medical expenses and everything else what the state provide to its citizens.

Ever more ridiculous idea o handling this illegal immigrations problem then the one that Romney came up with, I have heard from Senator Obama. He offered to make all illegal immigrants to pay back taxes for all years they worked here, At the same time he said that no worker in the United States who earns under seventy thousand dollars a year will pay taxes. So, will they pay… or not? Retroactively at what rate? Who will know how much they earned in previous years and how many years they were here? Another question is - would they want to came out of hiding to pay those back taxes? Do they have money to buy the US citizenship? Will we kick them out if they don’t?

This is what many of the people whom I discussed this problem are saying:

1. Enact laws/rules/regulations to make it a crime to hire people without proper employment authorization, with rather steep penalties for breaking these rules.

2. Expand and simplify guest worker program to allow demand for workers to be easily met. Make it very easy to understand and implement, and advertise in Mexico and other neighboring countries.

3. Amend the "birth rights" law, denying automatic citizenship to the children born in the USA to those parents who are not here legally.

4. Cut off free benefits, welfare, schools, Medicaid (keep only emergency healthcare)

5. Seal off the borders (to keep terrorists, criminals, drug dealer etc. out; normal folks will not go there because of 1,2,and 3, they will go to the American Consulate to get guest worker permit, as it successfully done for example in Israel.

There are not a lot of alternatives in front of us. We have to build a fence, not a joke we are building now, but a border that will be impossible to cross. We have to offer all illegal immigrants a solution that will make sense to us AND to them. They are part of the process and if they feel it is bad for them, they will try to hide and resist. And we have to implement very strict rules regarding punishment for the ones that employ illegals.

This or any other “tough love” solution will take time and effort. It will take courage that I am not sure our leaders have. McCain in his private life had & hopefully continue having courage (and a will) in his political life as well.

We have to resolve this situation that is not a wining situation for both us the people and the illegal immigrants. There is no other choice. Otherwise we are passing this problem to our children and grandchildren, who wil face not 12-20 million illegal immigrants, but 50-100 million or more.

Sincerely,

Leon A.Weinstein

Los Angeles, CA

leonweinstein@hotmail.com

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lenin vs obama /conspiracy theory

 

 

May 17, 2008

 

Conspiracy theory

(Barack Obama vs. Vladimir Lenin)

By Leon A.Weinstein

An absolutely unproven theory of how a group of rich, educated & very left-wing comrades decided to take America over and beat it without firing of any single shot.

At the beginning of the XX century, a very bright, young and well-educated man who called himself Vladimir Lenin became a leader of the left wing of the social democratic party of Russia. His supporters, liberal & well-educated men (among them many wealthy including several “filthy” rich) were dead set against a not-popular war with Germany. The economy was in a bad shape, price of food rose, the government was at it’s all times low popularity. They decided to try to take country over by either parliamentary or non-parliamentary way. The ideas they propagated were becoming very popular in Russia – the main idea being re-distribution of wealth, free education and free medicine for all; free transportation for students, senior citizens and sick; social security payments to old and sick disregarding their work history, no taxes from half of the population and IMMEDIATE withdrawal from the war! Most of the country’s population loved it. Nobody explained to this population how Lenin would pay for all those great things, where he would get the funds. Since people were told that they would be given everything for free, they didn’t bother to investigate further.

Lenin led his party to a spectacular win, employing first parliamentary, then revolutionary tactics. In November of 1917 Lenin’s party was in charge. They immediately took over the ownership of all natural resources, all industrial complexes, all major real estate holdings, and signed a disgraceful peace accord with Germans, in effect giving to a foreign country a control over about one third of the Russian Empire. Little was known at this time that the Great Lenin’s Revolution was financed by the German Army Intelligence (please view “Wikpedia” under Alexander Parvus, a German agent that was a go-between Lenin and the German High Command). The Lenin’s revolution and subsequent annexation of huge territories of land by Germany were purchased with three million German marks, probably the cheapest real estate deal in the history of humankind.

Now let’s play a game of suspicion – what if…. a group of very educated, rich and very left oriented people decided a century after the great Lenin’s experiment to make America “more just, more human and more understanding of the needs of other peoples and nations”? What they would do, how they would plan their grand operation of taking over the greatest power on the planet Earth? How would they implement this simple idea of “If you can’t fight it, destroy it from within”? But first, let’s put our “what if” game into prospective and lay down several historical facts.

During the JFK era both major American political parties were patriotic and united in their will to defend the US and the American way of life from any possible enemy. Upon inauguration JFK said that the US would “pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe to ensure the survival and success of liberty.” At that time JFK’s policies toward Cuba, Soviet Union and Vietnam were shared by the entire congress, including the liberal wing of the Democratic Party. The New York Times wrote after the invasion of Vietnam that “Free World forces ... still have a chance in South Vietnam, and every effort should be made to save the situation.” This was written at the beginning of the war, before a draft at the Universities began. But when it indeed began, the American students felt scared. They didn’t want to be drafted and didn’t want to go to fight in Vietnam. Massive student’s protests erupted masquerading as political protests and civil disagreements. Intellectual elite joined the “young and scared” in accusations of gross mismanagement of the Vietnam War by LBJ, who inherited Vietnam problem from John & Robert Kennedy. The proof that fear was the chief reason for students’ protests is in the pudding - when drafts stopped, so students’ protests declined dramatically. But something significant happened. For the first time in the history of the US, the liberal Left (known in Europe under names “Socialists” and “Communists”) began to resonate with the mood of the mainstream Americans. This was the start of the new coalition that almost destroyed America, as we know it, and still threatens to change it forever. Let’s now remind ourselves that change is not always for the better, and as was once told by an old Chinese proverb “Save me God from being born at the time of major changes”.

Below are quotes of what American leftists were saying about communism, Soviet Union, war in Vietnam and about the “terrible, imperialistic, fascistic, militaristic and anti-humanistic” United States of America.

Literary critic Edmund Wilson called USSR “The moral light at the top of the world”. Writers Beatrice and Sidney Webb in their book entitled The Truth About Soviet Russia wrote that the Communist Party is “the most inclusive and equalized democracy on Earth”. Journalist I.F.Stone reported that “communism is a progressive force, lined up on the correct side of the historical events”. Princeton professor and TV commentator Stephen Cohen wrote about Lenin’s economic plans “...toleration of social diversity…social harmony… rule of law”. And on top of everything, in 1978 Secretary of State Cyrus Vance had told Time magazine that President Carter and General Secretary Leonid Brezhnev shared “similar dreams and aspirations.” Wow! This is the very same president that single-handedly toppled Shah’s regime in Iraq, put Ayatollah Khomeini (whom he viewed as great humanist and inspiration) into power and ignited worldwide radical Islamist revolution.

In 1972 George McGovern, the Democratic party nominee for the President of the United States said in his acceptance speech during Democratic National Convention: “There will be no more Asian children running ablaze from bombed-out schools. There will be no more talk of bombing the dikes or the cities of the North. And within 90 days of my inauguration, every American soldier and every American prisoner will be out of the jungle and out of their cells and then home in America where they belong. And then let us resolve that never again will we send the precious young blood of this country to die trying to prop up a corrupt military dictatorship abroad.” Doesn’t this sound familiar to those who follow 2008 Presidential election cycle? In his published in 1976 autobiography McGovern included his photos with Fidel Castro, and with the Vietnam’s premier Pham Van Dog. In the same book he wrote nothing about the fact that after the United States were forced by the anti-war movement and the leaders of the Democratic Party to withdraw from Vietnam, the Free world lost ten countries to Communists. As a direct result of the American withdrawal, Vietnam gulags were executing and “re-educating” hundreds of thousands of its own citizens. Khmer Rouge killed about two million Cambodians of the nine million population of this small Asian country. Millions of people in the world shall know that suffering, death, starvation, humiliations of millions of their friends and relatives happened as a direct result of actions and lies spread by the American Left.    

The tone of the New Left changes dramatically when socialists are talking about their own country. MIT professor Noam Chomsky wrote “America is a world leading terrorist state”. Filmmaker Michel Moor in his book “Stupid White Man” wrote “Do you feel like you live in a nation of idiots? I used to console myself about the state of stupidity in this country by repeating this to myself: Even if there are two hundred million stone-cold idiots in this country, that leaves at least eighty million who will get what I'm saying . . . “. Reverend Wright pronounced “The United States government is capable of creating AIDS virus in order to genocide the African and African-American population”. Billionaire George Soros repeatedly said in his speeches: “The main enemy of the open society, I believe, is no longer the communist but the capitalist threat. The (global capitalist) system is deeply flawed. As long as capitalism remains triumphant, the pursuit of money overrides all other social considerations. The main obstacle to a stable and just world order is the United States.

What “open society” is he talking about? Last time I checked, the most open societies in the world were (among handful of democratic nations) The United States of America and Israel, sworn enemies of the New Left. (I can debate with Mr. Soros the Henri Bergson and Karl Popper’s open society theory and absence of practical results based on this theory, but we will leave this discussion until the next time. Right now we need to understand that the Open Society is set off against the United States of America and that the US is on the way of achieving this desirable by the New Left way of life). But the most important point here is that the New Left doesn’t feel any more a part of this “stupid, oppressive and materialistic” country. They feel, think and act as enemies of the society we live in, ready to CHANGE it. But change it with what?

If you can’t defeat the strongest country in the world by military force, you can try to destroy it from within. What if George Soros and Michael Moore who hate American way of life and think that America is the main obstacle to building a paradise on earth, decided to put their money where their mouth is? (Hearing how stingy Moore is, I doubt he would put the money, but Soros in his many generous deeds proved that he might). After loosing an attempt in 2004 with the like-minded John Kerry, they may decide to act differently. What if … they would decide to put a Trojan Horse in the White House? A person dedicated to their ideas and ideals, but “dressed” as a moderate unifier. How would they do it?

First, who can be a candidate that millions overwhelmingly would vote for? Since it is obviously a year that Democrats are favorite to win (Bush is a very unpopular president, war is unpopular, economy in troubles and people generally want change), the candidate shall be a Democrat. Either female or an African-American would be a plus, giving additional votes to the contender. The person shall be manageable, meaning that he can’t be an established figure with a circle of friends and his own support. He/she shall be relatively new on the political scene, but with enough experience that can be sold as “qualified for the job”. Such politician shall be very dedicated to the extreme left socialist cause, but as we said earlier shall be masqueraded as a mainstream and centrist candidate. The revelation that he is not what he seemed to be would come after the fact, when he is already in the White house. The contender shall be good looking, great speaker and a demagogue. He shall be a good actor and know how to hide his true intentions and thoughts. Is it possible to find such a candidate? When you look hard enough, sooner or later you probably will. 

Next task is to very quietly train such candidate and his team. Even main Dems shall not be in on this secret plot… This is not a new task for George Soros. He already played a pivotal role in facilitating the Rose revolution in the republic of Georgia, then the Orange revolution in Ukraine. Those revolutions were aimed against Russian’s dominance in the region. Now he can start the greatest deed of them all, the revolution that would put on its knees the Great Satan itself, the US of A.

Next step is to train this candidate to promise something that can’t be checked, something intangible, like “bright future for the kids”, “harmony for all”, “peace forever”, “jobs for everybody”, “medicine for free”. In Russia one politician repeatedly told his constituencies that “every single woman will get a men, and if needed we will import men in sufficient quantities, strong, young and very potent men from the Slavic countries”. Don’t scowl – this election promise worked as a charm and sky rocketed the politician into the Russian parliament.

Next task of the group is to outlaw arms and take them from the people. At least the automatic ones. Stalin, Mao, Hitler all did it immediately after seizing the power, to be able to dwarf any possible resistance to “change” and “reforms” that the good Intended Reformers would want to implement. The socialists want best for the people, but “stupid people sometimes do not understand what is best for them and resist”. In every communist country such people were taken to special outdoor camps and re-educated. Much like Vietnamese and Cambodians did. Then others will suddenly understand how good the regime is.

Next step in the campaign is to make people feel bad about themselves, make people feel bad about their government, make people feel bad about their way of life, make sure they think that other ways of life are more human than theirs. Then make sure they loose (or think that they lost) a war, and that they will soon loose their houses, holdings, everything they have. If you ask how to do it – create several independent non-profit companies, channel huge sums of money into them and promote, promote, promote your agenda. Induce panic as much as you can. Lie and cheat, the bigger the lie, the faster people will believe it, as it was proved by the Nazi’s during WWII. Bring in major talent, Hollywood, writers, ex-Presidents, ex-Vice Presidents, sportsmen and TV personalities, journalists and commentators. And lie, lie, lie again. And watch how the lies grow from within…

The truth is - I do not know about any conspiracy to overthrow the US government. What I wrote is a speculation, a game called “what if…”. But it is scary to think that this can really happen. Let’s hope that the XXI century will not repeat mistakes of the XX century, at least not the most tragic ones.

Russians of the XX century learned the hard way that when you get something for free, something is taken from you. The old proverb about the mousetrap being the only place where you can find free cheese proves itself true time and time again. Russians (Soviets) were given free education, free medicine (bad but free), equal pay (small but equal), equal pensions… Several “unimportant” things however were taken from them such as a right to travel abroad, right to express their opinions, right to keep fruits of their labor, right to defend itself against the state, right to elect whom you want to elect, right to worship what you want to worship, and many other rights and privileges that we in the US take for granted. This was the consequence of getting things for free.

Every country that attempted to build this “wealth re-distribution social paradise” ended up with a totalitarian regime, gulags, killing fields and “starvation into submission” of its own population. Do we really want this to happen to the United States of America? I personally don’t. 

Sincerely,

Leon A.Weinstein

Los Angeles, CA

leonweinstein@hotmail.com

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open letter to senator obama

 

Open letter to

Senator Barack Obama,

possible Democratic Party of America Presidential nominee & some say next

Commander-and-Chief of the United States & Moral Leader of the Western World.

May 17, 2008

Dear Senator Obama,

My name is Leon Weinstein. I immigrated to the United States in 1986, and since I became a citizen, I was voting either republican or democrat, depending on issues and personalities. In fiscal and international areas I am conservative, on many social issues I am a liberal. I am pro-choice, pro-legalization of marihuana, pro-amnesty for illegal emigrants (with however a good solid wall constructed to regulate this issue in the future), pro-staying in Iraq until the situation stabilized, pro-getting our hundred billion dollars investment in Iraq back from sales of Iraqi oil, and with a strong stance against Muslim extremists and other aggressive countries and organizations. I would also want to disassemble the United Nations, this joke of a forum where human rights committee members are Iran & Syria.

When one tries to look into your life achievements, first what he sees is a great carrier in public service, which attests to your political skills. You run a very tight and successful campaign, which is also a very positive sign. On the other hand you have not much of a managerial experience, which is kind of important for the top job in the country. There is not much international experience as well. You are saying that you have good judgment and in media it transfers like the only right judgment you made is that you opposed the war in Iraq. On the other hand your critics saying that you were not in the US senate at that time and didn’t have an access to the intelligence they had (actually you yourself said it several times prior to the Presidential race). Another point that you are making is that you are post-racial and post-partisan candidate and that you will be able to unite the country and the congress. Again the critics say that you didn’t prove while in the US senate that you are able to cross the isle, so to speak. It’s all very confusing. With other candidates it is easier. They are for many years in the all-American politics and we know much more about them. I decided to take try to see by myself where is the truth. Below is my account of the finding regarding your past words and deeds that can shed a light on the two main statements you make: (a) you have good judgment, and (b) you can unite, not divide the country.

Let me stat with a little historical observation. My great grandparents were Jewish and lived in a small village, with no legal right to move to a larger city, being prohibited to enter Universities, denied elementary human rights and frequently being subjected to pogroms. They were killed, humiliated and raped. This was occurring so often that my ancestors decided that we will call our children’s race by their mother’s. Thousands upon thousands of those children of rape were proudly calling themselves Jews, and joined their brothers and sisters in their faith and destiny. It was very easy to blend into a non-Jewish environment and abandon your race and fate. Some did, most stayed. Let me honestly say to you that the very first thing that got me a bit worried in your book DREAMS OF MY FATHER were words: “I found a solace in nursing a pervasive sense of grievance and animosity against my mother’s race”.

As you may know, in a Jewish tradition a boy becomes a man at age 13. This is the age we Jews believe that a person can’t hide any more behind his parents, his ignorance or age, has to start choosing his path in this world and has to answer for his own words and actions. This is another quote from your book: “I ceased to advertise my mother’s race at the age of 12 or 13, when I began to suspect that by doing so I was ingratiating myself to whites”. You were not ready to stand up for people who raised you, fed you, schooled you and loved you. Those people where “whites”. I am white too. The question the crossed my mind was - will you be ready to stand by me if you are our next President? But that was many years ago, you changed now, now you are grown up man.

Every year about one million people legally immigrate to the US. Another million comes every year as illegal immigrants. They work, build their nests and stay here. There are millions of others who would give anything to be able to come and stay in America. When I was receiving my citizenship, the ceremony was conducted in a huge hall with some five thousand emigrants receiving their citizenship at the same time. I remember those five thousand people singing the American hymn and crying. They came from different countries and they all remembered how they lived over there. They had tears of joy in their eyes. Millions of people who came here as emigrants (believe me emigration is a very painful and difficult process) are grateful and love the same country your wife, your pastor and your friends appeared to hate. At least in the sound bites we sew on TV screen they shouted and said many bad words about the US of A. My question to you - did you do anything to stop this wave of hate against your mother’s race and your country? Did you fight and lead by example? Or you pretended not to hear, not to see, not to say?

In my old country we had a saying “tell me who your friend is and I will tell you who you are”. I understand you do not want to be judged by association with your friends. Many people pass in our lives and we can’t be held accountable for all their words and deeds. Let’s then see what’s going on in your own home. This is what your wife said: “…for the first time in my adult lifetime, I am really proud of my country!” and “America … is a mean country”.  Did you tell your wife that thousands upon thousands of people who dream of coming to this mean country? Why they want to stay here, raise their children and grandchildren? Because America is a mean country? Because there is nothing to be proud of here? Did you communicate those thoughts to your daughters? Or you take them Sunday after Sunday, month after month, year after year to sermons by Jeremiah Wright, filled with venom and hate?

As a mater of fact I personally do not believe that your never heard your pastor and mentor saying that AIDS were created by Americans to wipe out all Africans, or that Christ is black, or that America is a KKK country. This was on CDs and DVDs that were distributed by your church. I have read that you donated large sums of money to this church. Someone used your money to produce those hateful materials. Did you object to that? Did you exercise the leadership and moral authority we seek in our future President?

What else do I know about you? During student years you felt close to radicals and Marxists. It is perfectly OK at certain age to think that things can be easily and radically changed. Winston Churchill once said (or someone else equally smart) that if at the age twenty you are not a socialist, then you do not have a heart. But if at age forty you’re still a socialist, you do not have a brain. Are you still under a spell of Che Gevaras, Karl Marxes and Leo Trotskis? You went to ask for political support of the leader of Weather Underground. We all know what he and his wife are saying about America. You got their support. And became friends with them. So you probably did or said something that they liked. What did you do, say or promise that they liked so much? 

Then you were elected to the Illinois Senate. You were present but didn’t want to express your opinion on 129 subjects during your time in the state senate. What were the subjects? May be they were unimportant? One of them was an attempt to restrict the location of pornographic video stores & strip clubs within 1,000 feet of schools, churches and kindergartens. You refused to vote on this one. You were the only senator to be present but not expressing opinion on a bill that required teaching “respect for others” at schools.You voted NO on a bill that would require prisoners to pay court costs for frivolous lawsuits against the state. You were the ONLY vote in the Illinois Senate against prohibiting softening prison terms for sex offenders if they behaved well while in the prison. You voted NO on a bill requiring school boards to install software on public computers accessible to minors to block sexually explicit material. Why would you want the school age kids be able to watch porno on school computers? However you voted YES to allow purchase of hypodermic needles from pharmacies without a prescription.

Let’s also take a look on how you voted on fiscal issues. When tough was going tougher and tougher in your state, you supported … raising taxes. Not trimming expenses, but raising taxes. The state needed money and it was so simple to take them from the hard working people. You supported raising of more than 300 taxes and fees on businesses in 2004 to help solve a budget deficit. I will let your constituency guess what you would do as a President every time we have fiscal problems in the US.

But may be you are very trustworthy person? May be we shall rock solid believe in every word you say? Let’s examine that as well. In a speech in a church in Selma (Alabama) you said that when Democratic President John F.Kennedy offered all suffering people in the world to start believing in their own powers and come to study in the US, your grandfather in Africa heard this call and sent your father to study in the US. When your father came (with the help of the air-bridge that was organized by brothers Kennedy), he met his future bride to be, your white mother, on the historical civil rights march from the very same Selma to Montgomery.

When examining this story one comes to several interesting conclusions:(a) March from Selma to Montgomery started on Match 7, 1965. You were born in August 1961, four years earlier, (b) In order to be your father, the Obama senior was suppose to come to America the latest in November of 1960, and at that time America’s president was republican Dwight Eisenhower (not democrat JFK).

You said in many speeches and interviews that you would clean Washington and the politics from special interests. When asked about your relations to a shady businessman Tony Resco (an alleged Chicago mobster now being sued in Chicago), you said that you hardy knew the guy. Then you said that you knew him, but never took… then you said that he gave, but not a lot… and you immediately returned… even more then took… Sounds like Bill Clinton, right? No, this is you, Barack Obama.

The real truth we may learn (or not) during and after the Resco trial. But this is what we know - in June 2005 you purchased a 2 million house in Chicago. On the same day, Tony Resco’s wife purchased an adjacent lot and immediately sold part of it to your wife. The remaining part of the lot remained empty and your family conveniently uses it “temporarily” as your backyard. The picture seen on the Google Earth shows that from the air it is now one property with no boundaries separating the two lots. On top of this “small token” of several hundred thousand dollars, Tony was one of your main financial supporters and gave you over $150,000 in donations. Hardly a person whom you hardly knew. But the biggest question is – what were you paid for? What services you performed to this alleged Mafiosi that were worth purchasing a property and donating so much money to you? May be when saying that you will clean Washington from special interests, you meant “except President Obama’s special interests”?

Dear Senator, you are probably a very good-hearted man. Although, not very honest. Che Guevara was a good man as well. Leon Trotsky was a very very good man. Mao Tze-Tung was probably a good man. I am sure many people think that Fidel Castro and Hugo Chávez are good men. Those are very good men… but not for us. We need a good man with the clearly American values, with an ability to defend our nation against all attacks (as Bush did as a mater of fact), with an ability to reach across the aisle and unite the nation. We need one that doesn’t lie to us. Your autobiographical "Dreams From My Father" is not a story of reaching across the isle but of developing an African identity. Where is our dream of the melting pot? Instead of White Supremacy that I sincerely hope is already in the past, we are now facing Black Supremacy? Black Values? What the hell is that? Why simply not American values?

Do you know who said this: "There was no doubt in my mind that as a member of the black community, I am obligated to this community and will utilize all of my present and future resources to benefit the black community first and foremost“. Your wife said that. What did you do or say in public to counter this wonderful pledge of hers?

There is one more issue I would want to raise in my letter to you:

 

In 2003 you said according to The Boston Globe the following words: “The United States had an absolute obligation to remain in Iraq long enough to make it a success”. You stated that: “… failure of the Iraqi state would be a disaster and would be a betrayal of the promise that we made to the Iraqi people, and it would be hugely destabilizing from a national security perspective". In 2004 in your interview to TheNew York Times you said: “I'm always careful to say that I was not in the Senate, so perhaps the reason I thought [the war] was such a bad idea was that I didn't have the benefit of U.S. intelligence," In the same 2004 in an interview to the Chicago Tribune you said: "… here's not that much difference between my position [on the war] and George Bush's position at this stage." And again in the same 2004 on the Charlie Rose Show, when Charlie asked you if you would have voted against the Iraq War resolution had you been in Congress, your answer was already a simple, "Yes."  On November 2005 you made a speech and called for a gradual withdrawal of forces. You said: "Notice that I say ‘reduce’, and not 'fully withdraw'”. Today, you vow to "immediately begin to remove our troops from Iraq."

I think you turned your back on something you proclaimed as an "absolute obligation". I clearly remember that you made similar promises regarding the safety and security of Israel. How long will those promises last? Until January 2009? No wonder Hamas wants you to become America’s next president. And what other promises you are not intending to keep? In strict adherence to the policy of double-talk, your top foreign policy adviser Samantha Power (fired from the campaign) admitted in an interview that a President Obama may very well not keep the commitments regarding withdrawing from Iraq made by Senator Obama while campaigning. Something similar as far as I can remember was with the Canadian government and the North American Free Trade Agreement. I think in the Webster dictionary such behavior called hypocrisy. Correct me if I am wrong.

Senator, you lost me as a potential supporter. You represent so many things that I despise, that I am very much concern now that you might be nominated and (God forbid) elected to become the United States President. I can assure you that I will work hard to stop you from becoming our next Commander-in-Chief. From this moment on and until November I am fighting against you as hard as I can. I will write letters, I will organize meetings, I will talk to as many people as I can, I will send money as much as I can to those who as myself will be feverishly working to stop you from changing this wonderful country of ours into the Union of Socialistic States of America.

Sincerely,

Leon A.Weinstein

Los Angeles, CA

leonweinstein@hotmail.com

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why oil producers prefer d to r

 

                                                                                                05-17-2008

Why world oil producers prefer D to R:           

For a long time Republicans (Bush including) pushed for energy independence from the foreign oil suppliers. Among measures that they proposed were: drilling oil in the US (Alaska and off shore), building refineries and nuclear power stations, development of new energy sources including bio-fuel and other innovative solutions.

If the US will start creating nuclear stations and developing alternative sources of energy, it will obviously be good for us, but it will harm the world oil producers’ profits. New refineries and oil coming from the US will undermine their ability to raise prices, will reduce demand and psychologically make their biggest client feel more independent. If on top of that the US successfully launches inexpensive alternative energy, this might be the beginning of a slow end to those that rip us all off with $120 per barrel price of crude oil (and rising). Venezuela, Russia, Saudi Arabia, Kuwait and other Middle East oil producers badly want the US to stumble in its efforts to get of the hook of the oil they supply. For them it is a question of live or death. Can we safely assume that they are doing nothing to stop the US from achieving energy independence?

I am a marketing specialist and let’s assume that someone came to me and said – you have to stop America from achieving their energy goals. Money is not an object. We also have inroads into many media outlets, have hundreds of sympathizers in the upper echelons of the US power structure and people whose interests are coincide with ours (a couple o guys from the US oil companies will sell their mothers and their country to get the kind of money they make with us). So, dear Specialist, create us a plan.

Below is what I would do (assuming I took such task upon myself) to halt the US efforts to be energy independent:

1. Jump start movements in the US that under some “progressive” banners would fight against each of the proposed measures to drill oil on the US soil. For example, “there shall be no drilling in Alaska, because it … can endanger white sharks”. Or “there shall not be drilling in the continental shelf because it … will create an “Exxon-Valdez” effect on all of the US beaches”. More ridicules the slogan – less it can be logically and successfully rebuked.

2. Hire scientists that would proof “beyond any reasonable doubt” that nuclear power stations (even if they were tested for 40-50 years on the US navy vessels) would harm the environment and harm the population that lives near them.

3. Bring in hordes of journalists to create a mass hysteria about “Chernobyl-like” disaster that will “inevitably happen if such stations would be built.”

4. Channel money into creation of an “anti-nuclear stations movement”, and work hard on discrediting people who are behind the policies of energy independence.

5. Contact as many campuses as possible and create special de-stabilization groups from leftists-Marxists circles of both US and foreign students.

5. Offer some partial solutions to energy crisis to pre-occupy the population. Those initiatives shall produce results that will not really harm the oil producers. For example, promotion of energy production by wind and solar stations.

6. Take eyes of Americans off the oil problem by creating a phony global problem, for example “Global Warming”. Find a figurehead with great national standing who would champion such a problem without really researching it and weighting all sides of the arguments. 

Those are first and very general ideas that come to my mind. Now, let’s see if anyone is already doing that? We will not be able to trace sources of the money, especially since there probably is not ONE body that commissions those tasks. They’re probably many foreign organizations and individuals whose livelihood threatens by potential US energy independents. Some US companies can make their own moves to intercept some of the government actions. I doubt that the US oil companies would fight against oil drilling or building refineries, but gently push against nuclear and other power solutions, they might.

Now, let me ask you what party (D or R) supports the following movements and groups:

  1. Movement to stop building of nuclear stations in America,
  2. Movement to stop building new refineries in America,
  3. Movement to stop drilling in Alaska, and  
  4. Movement to stop drilling on the American coast shelf?

Also please think of which party (D or R) the following people are supporting:

  1. Journalists who relentlessly write against drilling oil and building new refineries,
  2. Scientists who relentlessly talk against nuclear power stations, and
  3. Politicians and personalities that relentlessly talk about an unproven Global Warming and scaring population about unproven consequences of it?

Now you will have to conclude by yourself who has your interest in heart, and who is not. Who fights for your best future, who believes in this country, who wants to continue the great American traditions, and who is not? You shall decide by yourself who consciously or unconsciously aids to our sworn enemies and our semi-friends. You can show your decision in November at the voting booth. And I hope you will make the right choice.

Sincerely

Leon A.Weinstein

Los Angeles, CA

leonweinstin@hotmail.com

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Looking for Hugh: The Capitalist Guidebook, Chapter 17

Chapter 17:    Treasure Island

 

You just don’t find treasure every day. I never met anyone who ever found anything worth bragging about. Some people constantly find things on the streets, probably because they’re looking down all the time and see things that people who look up don’t notice. I’ve got a cousin who finds money and small objects all the time, and once he even found a gold ring. But I wouldn’t call that treasure. I stopped believing in treasure when I was about ten years old, around the time I stopped believing in the Tooth Fairy and Santa Clause. But believe it or not, Ninoh found a treasure. A big one.

 

We were slowly drifting toward a large island. Our sail—my old shirt on a stick—was flapping away and we couldn’t catch much wind, but we were both tired of rowing. Suddenly several kids about our age arrived out of nowhere, each standing on a brightly colored board carried swiftly along by a huge sail about forty feet high. The sails looked like gigantic kites, and they worked like magic. The boy or girl on each board moved with amazing speed until they were parallel to our raft, about twenty yards out. Then tall boy leading the pack maneuvered straight for us at ramming speed. A split second before the inevitable crash he leaned back and leaped up, and his sail board shot over our heads as we dove into the water. The boy never even glanced our way as his laughing, shouting companions followed in rapid succession, repeating his stunt with varying degrees of success.

 

“I’ll get those jerks someday!” Ninoh swore. As we climbed out of water, wet and angry, the sails sped out of sight.

 

We approached a small lagoon where trees grew almost to the water’s edge, and while I was securing the raft Ninoh disappeared. I stripped off my clothes and laid them on the sand to dry. In about ten minutes she returned, dragging an iron trunk. “I found it in the water,” she panted, “pretty deep, like somebody buried it. I think it’s a treasure chest.”

 

It took us a pretty long time to open the trunk, and what we found inside was, well, simply unbelievable. There were gold and silver coins, jewelry and loose gems, and a separate compartment filled with small transparent stones. When Ninoh saw them her eyes popped. “Diamonds,” she gasped. “I’ve never seen such large ones.”

 

“How do you know they’re diamonds?” I asked, and the way she looked at me said she’d been born knowing. “Well, Lady Ninoh, what are you going to do with this fabulous treasure of yours?”

 

“First of all, it isn’t mine, it’s ours,” she said firmly. “Second, I’ve always dreamed about making people happy. I want to help those in need, feed the hungry, heal the sick. I hope you’ll join me in this honorable task.”

 

I agreed instantly, and we loaded the box on our raft and rowed along the shore in the direction the sail racers had taken. Before long we landed on a broad beach where a girl of about eleven or twelve was playing by herself, surrounded by different kinds of paper. She threw several white paper airplanes into the wind and observed how each one flew. Then she took several sheets of newspaper and let them fly. She ran after them, watching as they went up and down and eventually fell to the sand. She was so engaged in her experimentation that she didn’t even see us when we came ashore and stood watching her for some time.

 

When she finally noticed us, she greeted us—“Ah, the turtles!”—and continued with her play. “I saw how the Smarts played a nice game with you,” she said when one of her planes fell near my feet. “They call themselves Smarts, but they’re really dumb.” She spoke with the conviction of someone who knows what she’s talking about. “Granted, Eric isn’t dumb, but he’s not as bright as he thinks he is.”

 

Ninoh interrupted the flow of chatter. “Can you direct us to the poorest neighborhood on this island?”

 

“That’s easy,” the child replied, “I live there. Are you officials, or are you just curious about our ‘zoo’?” We quickly assured her we were just curious.

 

Her name was Cecilia, and she agreed to take us there for a small fee. “I need an incentive to go back there,” she said simply, “but you can find it yourselves if you want; just follow the smell.” She was one of the smartest kids I ever met, bright and sharp as a razor. And she was right: the smell was awful and the neighborhood was destitute.

 

They called it “the Project.” It consisted of a dozen rundown buildings of four to eight stories around a central common area they called “the Plaza.” If that was a plaza, then I’m a camel. Then again, maybe I am a camel. Every building had cracked walls and broken windows; graffiti and garbage and filth were everywhere. “Someone at city hall paid a developer to build this low-income housing,” Cecilia explained. “He pocketed all the money he could during construction and then disappeared. I’m sure he shared the money with the people who gave him the job in the first place, because now he’s building Projects like this all over.”

 

The Project smelled obnoxious and looked dangerous. But people are people wherever you go; we saw two drunks sprawled on a wooden bench in the middle of the plaza. One was short and stocky, dressed in orange coveralls like a highway worker. The other looked like a grade-school teacher with his glasses, old suit and dirty shoes. They both smiled at us as we approached and exchanged greetings. The short one, Bip, seemed a little more sober than his pal, Bop.

 

“Would you be interested in changing your life?” Ninoh inquired. Both said they would be very interested. Encouraged, she continued, “What would you need to change your lives?”

 

“Money!” they chorused instantly.

 

“And what would you do if you suddenly received a lot of money?” she asked.

 

“I’d buy my wife a nice dress,” Bip replied, “and then I’d move to another neighborhood, get myself a vehicle and find a job. There are no jobs around here; no one wants to open even a liquor store in the Project.”

 

Bop’s response took a while. “I would . . . travel. I would . . . see places. And  . . . write about them in beautiful magazines. That’s what I would do. And then, I would  . . . become a fireman.”

 

Ninoh reached into her pocket and pulled out several gold coins. “Here’s about twenty thousand dollars apiece,” she said, “That’s enough to do everything you said. Go and do it.”

 

We left them and approached a building where in a first-floor window we saw a woman in her forties, simultaneously ironing and battling several small children. “All yours?” Ninoh asked with a smile. “How many?”

 

“Five.” The woman smiled wearily. “Feels like twenty sometimes,” she added as she separated two wrestling toddlers.

 

“What would you do,” Ninoh asked, “if you had lots of money, and I mean lots?

 

The woman beamed. “I’d start a college fund for my kids. I dream about giving them a good education. I want all my children to have a better life.”

 

“That’s a very worthy goal!” Ninoh said happily. “How much do you think you’d need?”

 

“How much?” She chuckled. “Well, I suppose twenty thousand for each kid would do.” Ninoh smiled and handed her one hundred thousand dollars.

 

We met a man who said that if he had six thousand, four hundred seventy-seven dollars and thirty-seven cents, he’d be as happy as an elephant. I didn’t know that elephants were happy creatures, but what do I know?

 

A family of four living in a shabby apartment below Cecilia’s calculated that in order to be absolutely and totally happy they need seventeen thousand, one hundred and twenty-four dollars.

 

Cecilia’s next-door neighbor, a 70-year-old veteran of two wars, said he needed five hundred dollars and not one cent more.

 

Each and every one got exactly what they asked for. Ninoh was very excited. She said that now she knew her life was worth something, and surely the Great One in the Skies would take that into consideration during the final accounting. But she said she’d do it even if there were no reward for her in the afterlife.

 

The apartment where Cecilia lived with her mother was surprisingly neat and clean. Her mother was at work as usual, the child explained; that was why she spent so much time alone. Cecilia’s room was filled with books, models, diagrams and graphs, more like a laboratory than a little girl’s bedroom. Amid the organized clutter, she made us a business proposition.

 

“I want to build a sail,” she said, “that’ll be better than anyone else’s, including the ones the Smarts have. But I need money to buy materials and supplies, and someone to help me build it, and someone to test it out. If it works, we can either sell the idea to sailboat manufacturers or keep making sails ourselves. Either way it could be a very profitable enterprise.”

 

Ninoh said she wasn’t interested in making investments, only in making people happy. “You’ll make me happy if you invest in my sail,” Cecilia said.

That’s how we became shareholders in Cecilia’s Sails. While we slept in Cecilia’s apartment, she worked all night on perfecting her design and by morning left us to work on her project.

 

First thing we saw when we got downstairs were two drunks, Bip and Bop on the same bench in the middle of the plaza. They were very happy to see us. “Hey, there,” said Bip, “Nice to see you again. Can you give us some more money?”

 

“But what did you do with all the money we gave you yesterday?” asked Ninoh.

 

“Lost it. Lost everything,” Bip said cheerfully. “And why, you ask? ’Cause my luck ran out. I was sitting tight, waiting for hearts, and they kept dealing me spades. Can you believe it?’

 

“I believe you’ve had very bad luck,” Ninoh said, “but I thought you were going to buy your wife a nice dress, get a job, and get out of this slum.”

 

“Excuse me,” ventured Bop, the would-be globetrotter and firefighter, “but it’s not the end of the world, you know. If you’ll give us money this one last time, we swear we’ll do everything we promised. We’ll do everything we said we would, and this time we’ll do it right.”

 

“I’m not giving you another cent,” Ninoh said flatly.

 

“Why not?” Bip demanded. “Don’t we deserve a second chance? You never said it was a one-time deal. You have lots of money. Why won’t you share? That’s not very nice.”

 

“Not very fair, either,” Bop added. “I admit we made a mistake. Should we be punished for being human? For how long—the rest of our lives? Don’t you believe in second chances? Are you going to stand there and tell us that you’ve always done everything right the first time?”

 

“It’s unfair,” Bip announced angrily, “unfair and inhuman. Now I wouldn’t take your money the first time either.”

 

“I’ll think about it,” Ninoh snapped, and off we went to visit the mother of five.

 

We found her ironing by the same window, but now she was wearing a very expensive dress and using a brand-new cordless iron. There was an ugly bruise under her left eye and she looked like she’d been crying. The apartment was crowded with state-of-the-art appliances and stacks of unopened crates and boxes. All five of her kids were running around between the boxes and playing hide-and-seek behind the shiny new machines.

 

“Oh, I’m so glad to see you again,” she exclaimed. “Yesterday my husband and I went to the bank to open accounts for the kids’ college education, but we stopped to buy a new iron. The old one wasn’t working very well anyway. For the first time in my life I could afford a brand-new iron, and we decided that such a good iron deserves a new ironing board. Then we decided that the kids don’t have to go to the best university; after all, we’re not educated, but we managed somehow. So we bought a new TV, and a good air conditioner, and a whole new bedroom, like the ones on that show about the rich and famous. I’ve always wanted a bed that would make me feel like a queen. But silk sheets are very delicate, so we had to buy a new washer and dryer. So we could live like normal people, we told each other. We bought the best of everything, and it was wonderful. It was the best day of our marriage!

 

“The only thing is,” she continued, “on top of the money you gave us, we spent all of our savings. My husband took off on his new motorcycle; said he wants to be free now. Can you give me enough to feed the kids? It’s your fault he left us, so now you should take care of us.”

 

She began to cry and we slowly backed away. “I’m afraid to go see the others,” Ninoh said quietly.

 

The man who wanted six thousand, four hundred seventy-seven dollars and thirty-seven cents wasn’t happy at all. In fact, he didn’t even open his door when we knocked. The family of four had stopped speaking to each other. The only happy recipient of our money was the old veteran, who spent his five hundred dollars on a huge flag, new combat uniform, an M16 and ammo, and a bronze monument inscribed “In Honor of Our Fallen Heroes.” When we knocked on his door and entered, we found him guarding his monument with the flag displayed behind him. He couldn’t speak on guard duty, of course, but his eyes sparkled and danced and he couldn’t keep himself from smiling.

 

Those weren’t results to be proud of, and angry Ninoh turned around and left. I decided not to follow her and instead find out what Cecilia was up to. I found her in a small fabric store where she was bargaining, and bargaining hard. That little girl was the toughest haggler I ever saw. She was trying to reduce the price of fabric for her sail by two cents a yard. Three salespeople were explaining that she was already getting the best price and that further discount would be impossible. All three looked exhausted, and one went to summon the owner.

 

As I drew near Cecilia was saying, “If my sail is any good I’ll sell hundreds of them, and I swear I’ll come back here! Give me a good price and I promise to come to you for all the material I’ll need.”

 

I took her aside and told her that two cents more or less didn’t matter, that we’d give her more money if she needed it. She looked at me as if I were from another planet. “It isn’t important for the prototype, but it’ll be crucial if we start producing quantities. You see, I want to make the best sail in the world at the best possible price. I want to sell lots and lots of sails, and I want people to be able to afford them.”

 

She got her two-cent discount from the owner himself. He thanked her graciously for her purchase, saying he looked forward to cooperating with such a tough young lady. He added that she had already won his heart and, if only she were five years older and he forty years younger, he would offer his hand as well.

 

“I might consider putting your company’s name on my sail,” Cecilia told him. “Think about it. It might be worth a couple more cents off.” We walked away, and when I looked back the smiling owner gave me a thumbs-up.

 

I helped Cecilia carry the fabric to her apartment. On the way she told me she’d already hired several people from her housing project to help her, at minimum wages, and expected them to work with all their might. “Lean and mean,” she said, “that’s how you win.”

 

“But remember what they did with the money Ninoh gave them,” I cautioned her. “They won’t work for peanuts.”

 

“And why not?” she replied. “It’ll be their own hard-earned money, not some easy come, easy go handout.”

 

When we arrived at the Project, we saw that the abandoned eight-story building off the Plaza had become a hive of activity. A small army of workers was sweeping and scrubbing and painting outside, and building something inside. Excited neighborhood kids darted all over the place; curious adults strolled by and craned their necks. In one of the windows I spotted Ninoh, obviously the queen bee. She signaled me to join her and disappeared. I left the fabric in Cecilia’s apartment and rushed back to find out what was going on.

 

“I blew it yesterday,” Ninoh admitted. “Those people had no idea what to do with so much money. They went crazy, and it’s my fault, not theirs.”

“Well, what now?”

 

“Now we do it differently, very differently.” She was very pleased with herself. “I invited the poorest people to the Plaza, to hear what I’m going to offer them. We’d better head down there.”

 

Soon the Plaza was teeming with curious islanders. Ninoh stood on Bip and Bop’s bench, looked around happily, and addressed the crowd. “I bought this building, and we’re preparing it for new tenants. We’ll move in everyone who is sick or poor or jobless and can’t feed themselves or their families. Do you want to live in nice apartments with good furniture? Do you want someone to provide everything you need, so you can be free to do what you’ve always wanted—to learn new things, create, achieve? To do everything you’ve always dreamed about but couldn’t because you had to fight the misfortunes that life dealt you? Do you want me to take care of you?” The crowd went berserk—laughing, crying, shouting, hugging.

 

Several trucks arrived and the drivers began unloading furniture and appliances and moving them into the building. Now the crowd was dancing and singing. They were as happy as elephants.

 

Cecilia was busy building her sail. Three women whom she hired to help her were busy as well. The blueprint was spread on the table of larger room in Cecilia’s apartment and they were cutting and sewing the fabric we brought from the store. “This is my mom,” Cecilia introduced one of the women, and then exclaimed, “Mom, what are you doing? I told you, double stitches. I won’t accept any hack work.”

 

Then Cecilia led me into the room she called her headquarters. “I have a problem,” she told me. “There’s a guy I want to hire to race for us, but he’s very expensive. I’m afraid I’ll have to spend half my money on him, and that could force me to compromise on the quality of the materials.”

 

“Hire someone else,” I suggested, “someone less expensive.” And for the second time that day I received Cecilia’s “look.”

 

“I want the best,” she insisted, “only the best.”

 

“A few hours ago you were haggling over two cents, and now you want to spend half your money on a racer,” I protested. “Where’s the logic in that?”

 

“Look at it this way,” she said patiently. “If I have a very good racer, I have a better chance of winning. People will notice the new sail and be impressed, if we win, everybody will want one. Got it?”

 

“No,” I said. “They’ll say that a famous sail racer won again. They won’t notice the sail, they’ll notice him. But if a new person with no experience wins—or better yet, someone known to be a bad sailor—then your sail wins, too. Got it?”

 

“Hmmm. You’re right.” After a pause she added, “You’re hired.”

 

“What?! Wait a second; I have no idea how to operate this thing. Find someone who . . .”

 

“You and only you,” Cecilia said firmly. “First, you don’t know the first thing about sails, which means you haven’t developed any bad habits. Second, you’re strong and athletic, and that’s important. And third, you have motivation. Imagine the look on Eric’s face when you, of all people, defeat him. The greatest sail racing champion in the Empire, humiliated in front of all the Smarts. I’ll bet you’d enjoy that.”

I would, I thought, so why not give it a try? Ninoh’s busy spreading money around, and I have nothing better to do . . . “I’ll do it,” I said aloud, and then added, “For free.”

 

“Agreed,” Cecilia said quickly, and we shook hands. So now I’m a sail racer, I though. I’ll have plenty of stories to tell when I get back home . . . and for the second time since I came to the Thousand Islands Empire, I missed my family.

 

“The Smarts know that you have no idea how to operate the sail,” Cecilia was saying. “They’ll laugh themselves silly and make a big show of it, and

 

I’m sure Eric couldn’t resist the challenge. No one will expect you to win. And then—boom!—you show them your behind. This is great!” She giggled excitedly.

 

“But I may not win, I mean, I probably won’t,” I protested. “I’m not a racer, Cecilia. I’ve never ever operated a flying sail.” I repeated again, “I may not win this race.”

 

“But you will,” Cecilia replied calmly. “You have no other choice.”

 

I spent the rest of the day, the evening and part of the night with Cecilia on the beach. She taught me the basics of aeronautics, then the basics of sail manipulation, and then the basics of her design. I thought Hugh knew everything about kites, sails and wind direction! He didn’t know zilch about any of the subjects that Cecilia said “every first-grader should know.”

 

She was the most demanding instructor I ever had. I wanted to quit a hundred times, and endured training hell because I couldn’t quit on a twelve-year-old girl and get her “look” again. And this was only the first day, which she called “theory.” Then we started my “practice” sessions—and suddenly theory was “small potatoes,” as she said.

 

“You see,” she told me repeatedly, “the biggest problem for an ordinary fixed sail is the turn, especially the u-turn. My sail, on the other hand, is built from several moving parts and one moment you use one part that drives you forward, but if you momentarily turn it off and simultaneously turn on another part that faces another direction, the sail will take you in the new direction. Do you understand now how it works?”

 

It’s a long way from understanding to doing, which I learned very quickly. But after each session Cecilia adjusted and modified the sail, each time making it easier and more fun to operate.

 

We visited the peninsula where a triangular racecourse had been marked by buoys. Racers would sail from the starting point to the first marker, make a sharp turn and head for the second buoy, make another sharp turn around it, and finish the race where they started. Whoever turned fastest and lost the least time and distance had the best chance of winning. No pressure! My skills improved and my confidence increased with each practice session, but I still couldn’t make the u-turn—an integral part of Cecilia’s strategy and a critical feature of her invention.

Little Cecilia was quite a taskmaster.  I only saw Ninoh on my breaks; she was also very busy and seemed very happy. She called her building

Communa and proudly described the first-floor cafeteria that was free to all residents, the gymnasium in the basement, and especially the fact that the tenants had all participated in electing a board of directors: president, treasurer and secretary. She explained that the tenants would clean the building, take care of the elderly residents, and organize child care themselves. They’d be so grateful for their rent-free furnished apartments, and free utilities and food and recreation and entertainment, that they’d gladly give their time and attention to those worse off than themselves. “The people in my building are helping each other,” Ninoh told me proudly, “and that’s the best thing ever happened to them—and to me.”

She organized an office in the lobby so every tenant could have free access to her. Something always needed to be resolved, and Ninoh was good at that. For the first time since Fish Island I felt that Ninoh might have found her niche. Her life needed purpose, and she was desperately needed here. She was very different now from the cocky girl who had pretended to be a boy.

 

One day Cecilia decided on a trial run at the racecourse, and Ninoh came along to see how I was doing. I was very happy to show off—until the Smarts showed up, with Eric as usual at the head of the pack. I was making the first turn on the racecourse and wasn’t very successful. The Smarts easily caught up with me, and passed me one by one as I attempted the second turn. I don’t know who got more laughs—me or the sail—but they came up with plenty of names and insults. Ninoh was hopping around like mad and cursing. Cecilia stood there in calm silence, observing intently.

 

“Good!” she said when the Smarts had left. “Now they know you’re not a threat and they’ll spread the word. When you finish first, it’ll be like a bomb going off. ‘If he’s so bad,’ people will say, ‘how did he win?’ And everybody will want my sail! Now we need to practice really hard, Nik. We’ll do several runs today, and again this evening, until you can see the course with your eyes closed. And then we’ll practice some more.”

 

When we got back to the Project it was well past midnight. “How’s my Communa doing?” Ninoh wondered. “You know, this was the first time I’ve been gone so long without telling anyone where I went.”

 

As we drew near we saw two men dragging something big and heavy out of a first-floor window; one stood at the window and the other on the pavement. Shocked, we recognized the TV Ninoh had purchased for the tenants’ game room. Then we recognized Bip and Bop. When they saw us they dropped the TV and tried to escape. Ninoh easily caught Bip; Bop came back but kept a safe distance.

 

“Why?” Ninoh demanded furiously. “Why are you stealing from everyone in the building, including yourselves? I bought that TV for you, you morons!”

 

“Well,” Bip drawled, “since it kinda doesn’t belongs to anyone, we figured we could take it and trade it for some booze. But we were gonna replace it the minute we made some dough, right, Bop?” Bop acknowledged his pal’s statement from the shadows.

 

“Let’s go,” Ninoh snarled, yanking Bip to his feet. “I need to tell our board of directors what happened so they can decide what to do with you.”

 

Cecilia left us to return to her work, and Bip, Bop, Ninoh and I entered the building. The lobby was dimly lit; we looked up and saw that most of the light bulbs were missing, and nearly tripped over the garbage that seemed to be everywhere. The walls were covered with graffiti, including words that were not in any dictionary. The cafeteria was a disaster and reeked of vomit and spoiled food. In the gym a group of noisy teenagers was playing cards amid what remained of the vandalized equipment. Communa now looked exactly like the rest of the Project. The board of directors and the money Ninoh gave them were nowhere to be found.

 

We let Bip and Bop go and they ran off, probably to see if there were any TVs left. “I hate people,” Ninoh spat, and I knew exactly how she felt.

Then Cecilia came to mind; I couldn’t hate her.

 

“We’ll leave after the race,” I decided. “We can’t just abandon Cecilia, Ni.” She nodded and heaved a sigh. “Besides,” I continued, “we still have most of the treasure, and we’ll have to decide what to do with it.”

 

“Check,” Ninoh agreed. “I can live with that. Until the end of the race then—but not a minute more.”

 

We rented a hotel suite in the heart of the island’s main city. Ninoh didn’t want to talk about Communa or the Project, and Cecilia didn’t volunteer any information when we met for our training sessions. She was so absorbed in the creation of her sail that she probably hadn’t noticed anything else.

 

We’d meet at an isolated beach not far from our hotel and I’d work on my sailing skills. Cecilia soon discovered that Ninoh was no less demanding a trainer than she was. They had a discussion and after that Cecilia only attended the morning sessions and the “dry runs” on the racecourse. I was improving steadily, but my turns were still bad.

 

At last the day of the race arrived. Hundreds of people lined the shore, cheering their favorite racers amid the profusion of pennants, music, boats, vendors offering ice cream and hot dogs, and children running and shrieking happily. It was a beautiful day, with light winds and bright sunshine.

 

More than thirty racers were lining up at the start, boards on the sand, sails in their hands. It was clear that the Smarts and especially Eric were the crowd’s favorites.

 

Cecilia and her staff came ashore and brought me the sail and the board. From the looks we got I knew the rumor had spread: a complete stranger who knew nothing about sailing and a pre-teen girl from the Project were not only racing but also introducing a new sail of their own design. We were the official laughingstock of the island.

 

“Unfurl the sails!” the judge shouted. “Let ’em fly!”

 

Thirty sales hit the air. Some opened and caught the wind immediately, some fell back. As my sail slowly rose and opened, “Looking for Hugh” appeared in huge letters. I was very touched by Cecilia and Ninoh’s surprise gift, but had no time for emotion.

 

“On your mark . . . get set . . . GO!” yelled the judge, and thirty boards hit the water. Eric was the first to move out, his sail full of wind.

 

I wasn’t last, because two competitors didn’t move at all; I was in the last three. My sail was slow to catch air, slow off the line, and slow to speed up. Or maybe it was me; compared to real pros, I didn’t know what I was doing. But in about a minute my sail billowed and I quickly passed the guy ahead of me. Then two more, then another and another. By some miracle I reached the first turn behind only six or seven racers. And I missed it.

 

It was probably the longest turn in the history of sail racing. I fell into last place with no chance of winning. It was so humiliating that I wanted to quit, but one thought about Cecilia and I was back on track. And again her sail was working miracles. I overtook one contestant, another, a third and fourth. I suddenly understood how to make the board fly in the air and change direction while airborne. I gained another yard on the lead group. Then another yard . . . they were making the second turn, and I noticed that their sails were ridiculously outdated . . . and there was nothing else in the world except me and velocity. I flew around the buoy, ahead of everyone except Eric. He was a formidable opponent, but he had been outmaneuvered and outsmarted by a little girl. He didn’t know it yet, but he already lost.

 

Later Ninoh told me that our last run resembled a very eager schoolboy trying to best his master. The amazing part was that it wasn’t me but Eric who was the schoolboy, and his best wasn’t good enough. I came in first and the crowd went silent—and an instant later they were on their feet, cheering and shouting and waving madly. People were running toward me as I came ashore and pointed to Cecilia. Both of us were carried by cheering fans to the judge, who handed me the trophy. Without a moment of hesitation I handed it to Cecilia. 

Ninoh and I left the crowds on the beach and went back to hotel. She wanted to leave the island immediately, but I was famous now and wanted to enjoy my celebrity. I spent the next couple of days signing autographs and showing off. Ninoh told me that fame has positive aspects, but “girls looking at you with stupid round eyes” is a negative one. I decided not to argue, although personally I think that any time girls look at you, it can’t be negative.

 

Two days later I had a visitor. A gentleman in his forties came to our hotel and said he wanted to talk to me. “I saw on your sail that you’re looking for Hugh,” he said. “Are you talking about a little guy with bright eyes who flew here on a kite?”

 

“Yes,” I gasped, not believing my ears. “Where did you see him?”

 

“I had gone to Shark Island on business,” he explained, “and was boarding my boat to leave when out of nowhere this boy fell into the water right in front of my boat. He wasn’t a good swimmer, so I helped him out and gave him dry clothes. He said he’d been very sick back home, but after swimming in the waters and breathing the air of the Thousand Islands Empire, he was completely cured. He mentioned another boy who would follow him; Nik, I think he said. I gave him a loaf of bread and we parted.”

 

“Shark Island, right? You did say Shark Island?” I insisted, and he nodded. I grabbed his hand and shook it, thanking him, until he gently disengaged himself and hurried off.

 

Now I knew where to look for Hugh, where I’d find my best friend. “We’re leaving right now,” I told Ninoh, “unless you want to stay here, of course.”

 

“Stay and not meet Hugh?” Ninoh said, and laughed. “I’m with you two hundred per cent.” We were ready to go in an instant and went to say goodbye to Cecilia, whom we hadn’t seen since the race.

 

As we neared the Project we couldn’t believe our eyes. The street leading to the plaza was undergoing major renovations. One building was already occupied by a bank, another by a department store. Other buildings were being cleaned scraped and painted. The Plaza itself had changed as well; in the center stood Cecilia’s sail, cast in bronze and mounted on a huge metal pole. It couldn’t have weighed less than five tons. The building once occupied by Communa had been converted into the “Cecilia’s Sails, Incorporated” headquarters and Cecilia herself was standing in front of it watching the huge letters of her company’s name being mounted on the roof. She was happy to see us. “I want you to know that your investment grew,” she said cheerfully, “I think by about ten thousand per cent.” Then we saw something that left us speechless: Bip and Bop were actually working as painters on one side of the building. They waved at us happily. “How did you ever get those two to work?” I asked in disbelief.

 

“How much you are you paying them?”

 

“I pay everyone minimum wage,” Cecilia replied, “and very large bonuses to people who work really well. What is and what is not acceptable is clearly explained to them, and if they don’t work well, they get fired. They know that; I’ve fired several people already. My employees are given two choices: work really well or get fired. Some say it’s not fair, but I’m in the business of building the best and most affordable sail in the world, not in the business of charity.”

 

“After you left,” she continued happily, “representatives of two major boat manufacturers approached me with similar offers to buy my sail. I told them both no, and that their competitors are interested in my sail as well. Now all the major companies are here, opening new offices. We have the best sail and we’re selling it to anyone who wants to buy. If you don’t buy from us, you won’t be competitive with the market. So now they have two choices: buy from us or be out of business very soon. On every boat, board, ski, whatever they put my sail on, they have to print ‘Powered by Cecilia’s Sail.’ It was their choice and all of them chose to work with me. I needed a lot of help and hired local people. I know them, they know me. They know that if they work well, I’ll always be there for them.

 

“Then two banks approached us offering loans, and I told them I’ll use whichever bank opens an office here first. Both are on the street already. Things are moving along fast. Thanks to you, this area will no longer be the worst in town. It was a very fortunate that I met you. I’m quite sure the

 

Project will soon become very fashionable place to be. I’m opening a retail outlet to sell boats and boards with my sail. There’s a jewelry store that’ll be opening near us, and a couple of designers are raving about the lofts here. I’m planning to make a flying kite, like you told me your friend Hugh designed. I loved your story. Would you like to stay and help me? After all, you’re the major shareholders in this corporation. You’re the only investors who believed in me.”

 

It was her world and her project. We hugged each other, promised to come back, and went to our raft. On the raft we saw a package with a note attached to it: To my true friends, from Cecilia.

 

We opened the package and found the sail I’d used to win the race, and immediately mounted it on our raft. As Ninoh lashed down the iron trunk and the remaining treasure, I opened the sail and let it fly. Next stop: Shark Island.

 

Hugh made it. He’s here! I couldn’t think about anything except seeing him again.

 


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