Apparatchiks
3 April 2006
Corpus Christi, Texas
¿Is the import of words any surprise?
That thoughts shape minds,—and minds shape deeds seems clear,
To most humans except those safely hid;
Or, should I say safely ensconced up high,
In your citadels of white ivory,—
Tenure not touched by life’s realities;
You do apologize for Stalin’s ills,
You’ll write a moral thesis for Nazis,
Obtuse, abstruse and obscurantist writ,
You’ll pawn off as profundity quite deep,
Though you cannot explain in language plain,
Your deconstruction of reality;
So when you argue against government,
It’s not against cannibal Idi’s reign,
Or to declaim the killing fields’ bone graves,—
You see the Taliban as just a tribe,
Or Rwandan genocide as white’s fault,
And only find blame in Western man’s ways;
Harems and eunuchs in Islamic life,
Are just peculiarities so quaint,
An evil empire filled with mullah’s hate,
Enslaving women to a menial role,
Lives on and you can’t raise a single voice,
Just make apologies for its death throes;
It’s not for you to praise peculiar traits,
Like individual liberty and speech,—
You loved the Soviet’s order so neat,
Cuban cigars and vodka with caviar,—
The life of intellectuals is so hard,
You can’t take time to recognize what’s right;
Or how the English singular will,
Destroyed millennial institution’s reign,
That haunted every civilization,—
Oh yes, slavery ended from the West,
And still in Africa it continues,
To say nothing of traffic in women;
But faults that all societies have felt,
And only Western life has grappled with,
Are vapidly admired in other realms,
And Hitler was just another great man,
That Heidegger and Derrida can praise,
For philosophy has no other aim;
You claim it’s all a story anyway,
And that your babble can capture life’s sway,
That myths can substitute for reason straight,
And visions can supplant all science says,—
So go and find your witchdoctor to heal
The ills that every mortal must soon feel;
And deconstruct yourselves out of a job,—
¿Can’t you at least do this necessity?
¿For if you truly believe there’s no truth,—
What purpose has a university?
It’s funny that Derrida laughed at you,
Having long since abandoned his methods;
But that impenetrable shield you wield,
Of words that hold no meaning or import,
Will not protect you from the Taliban,
Or from another book-burning madman,
And when the ghettos you’ve incited burn,
And you in safety watch with joy and glee;
Remember that civilization frail,
Can collapse with Tsunami suddenness,—
And you are ill prepared to hunt and fish,
And no one will take you for a shaman,
And paper books burn too quick for night’s fire,
And you’ve no calluses for work or life.
© Copyright 2005 Manuel Fajar (FictionPress ID:426079).
