When Tereak (no longer the "Abu" of his kin and townspeople in Malaysia, he had used his full name to register at school) first stepped onto the fences, well-manicured campus of Pamatau Preparatory Academy, he felt he had been transported to another planet. There were no dirt road and every walkway, path and drive was paved. There were well-placed tables in designated areas for the students to study or just converse and they were surrounded by the varied and lush vegetation of the "Pearl of the Pacific". The students were well-dressed, though casual, and most of the younger students, though in clean clothes, went barefoot. It looked almost as if the young people of his village had been magically transported to his new school, bathed, dressed in finery and told to walk about. Strangely, after completing the arduous required placement testing and administrative paperwork, Tereak felt comfortably at home. Most of the students were white but there was a healthy mixture of Asians, much like the ones he had grown up with, and a smattering of blacks. He was anxious to make the acquaintances of those who looked more like him and it was not that difficult with the laid-back environment of PPA. His first class class of the day was to check in at home room and the room of 20 or so students fortuitously had 4 black students among the whites, Asians and islanders. After observing them for a day, he determined that he would strike up a conversation with whoever he could find the next day. << MORE >>

The mullah embraced his young charge with a sense of pride and fulfillment he had never felt before. As he walked Abu to the door, he fought back not tears of sadness but tears of pride. He would not fall prey to the sentiment of the woman and the weak. No further words were to be spoken between the two. The old man walked Abu to the taxi waiting outside his hut. Abu’s mother and his half-sister were already in the back seat and his meager belongings were packed and ready for the flight. As Abu turned to open the door, he turned back to the only man that existed in the tiny universe that was his old life. The young boy and the elder locked eyes and exchanged a thousand words with a glance. Just as quickly, Abu bounded into the car, closed the door and the car slowly accelerated down the dirt road. The mullah closed the door to his hut and, alone for the first time in years, rolled out his own prayer mat. His words to Allah were not the specific, rote words of the Salah but a special prayer just between a man and his Deity. He prayed for 20 minutes. His knees ached as he rose and replaced the mat and tidied up the hut. He read the Qu’ran for the remainder of the day, undisturbed. That night, the old man slept more soundly than he could ever remember and dreams were of battle and ultimate victory. << MORE >>

The next morning, Abu was awakened by his mother at their usual time for lessons. Since she had to leave for work by 6:00 and Abu was required to be at the village madrasah by 7:00, they always woke together at 4:00 in the early dawn to work on Abu’s English. He was proficient, already, in Arabic and Malay. It was up to his mother to make sure he would master English. She was a patient teacher and, fully aware that her son’s future life - and mission - would be in America, she took great pains to hone his pronunciation of the complicated language to a fine edge. She was not without prior experience either as she, for a time, taught English to prospective immigrants at the American embassy. Lessons done and breakfast shared, the two members of the little family went their separate ways. His mother gave him a loving hug as she sent him off toward the madrasah and watched for a few seconds as he was joined by the other children headed off to their Islamic education. She smiled to herself at his tiny form, growing smaller step by step, and felt proud that her son was becoming such a mature and responsible young boy. "We’re sure not in Kansas anymore but it’s not too damned bad for what we have been through!" she thought to herself. << MORE >>

The gathering of men, resplendent in the robes of the highest leaders of Islam, was not seen by the townspeople of the secluded country that cradled the old Mullah’s village. Nothing but a monumental calling - a clarion trumpet that rang in their hearts as loud as their local muezzin’s call to prayer from their mosques - could bring these leaders of millions in their own nations to this insignificant hovel. But come they did, these rocks of Islam. They came to the shabby little town on foot or on horseback so as not to arouse the attention of those sleeping soundly after a long day’s work. But the men were deadly serious in their purpose and it showed in every aspect of their deportment. They spoke nothing to each other but merely mouthed the traditional Islamic greeting - "Assalamu alaikum" - as they met with their eyes. The chief security precaution was stealth and silence. There was much to discuss and the wandering ear of an uninvited onlooker would mean disaster to their purpose.<< MORE >>

As the day of secrets came to a close, marked by the decline of the shadows on the walls of the Mullah’s hut, Abu knew it would was time to make ready to leave his beloved teacher. As it was nearing sunset, it was time for the pair’s 4th daily prayer to the Mecca and Medina. The rugs were unrolled with care and the prayer, uttered by Abu with even more assurance each time, were lead by Grandfather. Afterwards, not a word was spoken between the two as they replaced the rugs and cleaned the little room for the evening. Abu knew that, every evening, the most important men in the village and even beyond would visit the Mullah home and he took great care to make it as presentable as it could be for the honor of his teacher. He and his teacher never spoke of what was discussed at these meetings but Abu was sure they were of serious matters. His Grandfather was the leader of the region - both within Islam but also as a law-giver and civil authority. Abu felt a great sense of pride that he was the one who was allowed to spend his days with the great man. He knew it was an honor, even for the most important of men, to have just a few minutes with the Mullah and he, a mere child, was allowed to spend the whole day with him. << MORE >>

The room that the young child entered was familiar to him. He had been there almost every day of his two years in Malaysia. His mother, an American from the Midwest, had abandoned her country to work among the ancient ruins of the old country. She believed that the boy, the product of a mixed union, would be subject to less prejudice and stigma in the ancient, predominantly Islamic (the religion of the boy’s Kenyan father) than in her own homeland. The child’s father, who abandoned both mother and son months after his birth, was back in Africa. The mother. prideful of her independent streak, saw less problems for her muwallad (Arabic for "mixed ancestry") in the Far East than in "Jim Crow America." - her words to those who would listen. << MORE >>

Since I, apparently, have ranted until the well has run almost dry and now am approaching some 400,000 words of blather and cant on this blog, I have decided to start the new decade off with something fresh and different. Yes, Virginia, your intrepid writer is attacking fiction. What I hope to do over the next year is post 20-25 chapters of a fiction book on this site. The postings, depending on the muse, will be one chapter every 10-14 days. And, best of all, it will be free. Not in the “public domain,” mind you with permission to reprint elsewhere, but copyrighted and under the usual protections of your federal and international copyright agreements. I do this as an attempt to expand my writing skills stimulate dialogue and, perhaps, my readership. The book is about politics, intrigue, religion, terrorism, sinister plots and what might have been or, more, what might actually be. I’ll leave it at that for now. As the usual disclaimer, all resemblance to any people, living or deceased, is strictly coincidental. All of the characters are simply creations of a warped mind (mine) and have no relationship to current events, except incidentally. I hope you enjoy the experiment. I look forward to your comments and criticisms with equal anticipation. Just don’t passively read - in the words of the current youth, “holler back” and let me know what you think, good, bad and ugly. The first installment will follow shortly. Thanks for reading along. Cheers and HAPPY NEW YEAR, Ron<< MORE >>

"The notion that everybody ought to be happy, and equally happy with all the rest, is the fine flower of philosophy  which has been winning popularity for two hundred years. All the pretty demands of natural rights, liberty, equality, etc., are only stepping-stones toward this philosophy, which is really what is wanted. All through history some have had good fortune and some ill-fortune. For some, the ills of life have taken all the joy and strength out of existence, while the fortunate have always been there to show how glorious life might be and to furnish dreams of bliss to tantalize those who have failed and suffered. So, men have constructed  in philosophy theories of universal felicity. They tell us that everyone has a natural right to be happy, to be comfortable, to have health, to succeed, to have knowledge, family, political power, and all the best of the things which anybody can have ... The, they say that we all ought to be equal. That proposition abolishes luck ... The unlucky will pull down the lucky. That is all that equality can ever mean." ("Reply to a Socialist," Collier's Magazine, 1904)

If there chicanery here? Is this high sophistry? I am lately convinced this passage, though ancient, rings, at some decible level, as truth. We all suffer but to varying degrees. And, whether one calls it "luck" or "talent" or "Divine Intervention", equality of situation is a myth. Further, it is a myth that is the root of much mischief. I, for one, am content where I repose. Human compassion brings me to pity those less fortunate but does not compel me to devise grand schemes (which never fulfill their promise) to eliminate what has always been part of human existence. To whit: the Holy Grail of equality can only be composed of equality of opportunity, never a guarantee that it shall be achieved for everyone.

But, then, that is just an opinion of one man. Well, make that two men. The other, Herbert Spencer, has long ceased to walk among the living.

As to a national health insurance system in America, I say this: Firstly. now is not the time as we have neither the money nor the prospects of obtaining it to justify an adventure such as this would entail. Secondly, if we did have the money, I would argue that the experience of other nations has proven that national health systems are money pits and, with the track record of the U.S. Government, we would reestablish a multi-trillion dollar deficit with this program, alone, within a decade. Thirdly, if we had the money, it could be spent more wisely by a privately-administered insurance industry which based premiums on income and, at the very least, covered every child (who was a citizen of the nation) through 12 years old. Finally, I refute the premise of a national health care system on its face. It is not the place of a democratic government to provide for every invented "right of man". Rights must be balanced by duties and we have given too little emphasis to the other side of that equation for far too long. Without the duties incumbent of a responsible citizenry - to educate oneself to be a productive member of society, honor the obligation of parenting a child and, in general, limitation of the animal appetites of our populace, we can have (and do not deserve) any new "rights". In point of fact, we are already losing what were once the very rights guaranteed by the Constitution because of irresponsible government and an equally unfettered nation of clueless, immoral and thoroughly feckless people.. The "right" to a national health system? Not now. Perhaps, not ever. << MORE >>

There are those today who speak the very same words of the false philosophers of 18th Century France: They say to us that "Americans have rights that have yet to be granted: The right to free and equal health care. The right to a ‘living wage’ and full employment. They have the right to cross our borders, unfettered, and become equal beneficiaries of all our labors, collectively. Americans have the right to be housed,. fed and otherwise provided for even if they have chosen not to avail themselves of a free education and acquire the skills necessary to be gainfully employed." Et cetera, ad infinitum. And ad nauseam. It is this abstract philosophizing that threatens to undermine the 220 year compact we have had with our government. This sort of insensate abstraction of "the rights of man" obscures the hard work that allows a people to grant rights in the first place, namely, duties. Without the other half of the equation, the social contract is turned on its head and, with this disjunction, becomes null and void. The artificial declaration of "rights" without the burden of duties to balance society can only lead to discontent, anarchy and, finally, despotism.<< MORE >>