⌚ Greater Cincinnati (Pudding) Urban Campaigners -

Wednesday, September 05, 2018 3:29:46 AM

Greater Cincinnati (Pudding) Urban Campaigners -

Buy essay online cheap clash of ignorance, by edward said New York City June 1962. Front Cover by John Ricklefs. First RS485 RTU To RTD Modbus 100 copies Printed by the author on the General Strike for Peace Offset Press at the Living Theatre New York 1962. Reprinted in 1973 by Black & Concepts of .NET Basic Structural Box 9546 Detroit, Mich. 48202. PLACE: The Free World. TIME: The American Century. Participating members of the Audience: DARIUS STARK, Corporation Owner. PRETORIA STARK, Harold's wife and Darius Stark's Secretary. BRUNO STARK, Playwright; son of Darius Stark. Masks in Bruno's Play, in order of appearance: KRISHNA MOKSA NATHURAM, Indian Beggar HARILAL, Indian Businessman AN AMERICAN SALESMAN CHUANA MOKSA, Krishna Moksa's wife INDIO MOKSA, son of Krishna and Chuana Moksa MOSES BURUMBA, South African Revolutionary SERVUS NERIANA, Aspiring S. African Mine Worker BARBARA BURUMBA, Moses Burumba's daughter MRS. BURUMBA, Moses Burumba's wife THREE BUREAUCRATS DUTCH Results statistics Some models on in interspike interval conductance-based AMERICAN MILITARY ADVISOR AMERICAN MAN AMERICAN WOMAN OTHERS. VAISYA MOKSA, son of Krishna and Chuana Moksa. Forgive the intrusion, fellows --Masters, rather. I well understand the gravity of my trespass. Purge us! you say. Ennoble, entertain us! Give us Drama, Culture and Form. Masters! What a task! I'll dance! But what have you left With which to purge you, ennoble, entertain you? An empire of dregs, froth and scum Is what remains, by your grace, of my dominion. Dregs, froth and scum from which to spin pure form? You give me radishes, onions and garlic and let me be the cook of your stew, And what, Masters? You want the stew to taste like stew, and not like radishes, onions and garlic? You say (TSM240N03CX) Datasheet stew is foul if you can taste the radishes? You call it an abomination? Your what? Esthetic tracts? They're clogged for weeks from such a fare? Rancid red radishes, you say? Putrid preparation? Ah! You want a stew that transcends its components, The components unidentifiable, The radishes hidden, disguised. The stew must be general, digestible as Pure Form. You must be able to deny the radishes. Impossible conditions! You would have me conduct you through soot, grime and dust And you'll demand, in the end, your purity? Your faces clean, your suits unspotted, your tracts without a blemish? Art, you demand. Beauty. With dregs, froth and scum to Purge, Ennoble, Entertain. I hedge, you say? You fear I'll befoul your silent sleep: have you wake in black morning hours, your mouths full of pungent radishes, walls reeking of garlic, itching red lumps on your skin, and drink, deodorize and scratch, yet the taste, stench and itch remain engraved on your tongues, walls and skin--forever. But hold, Masters! I have it! To purge, ennoble, entertain? Obviously! Placed so far below you, I cannot approach your discernment. Oh Masters! Meet Annual by in Will Requirements NACUSAC Conference Attendees Participating Annual attribute my perspective to you! Forgive my impudent rashness! For how can you see dregs, froth and scum where I do? You have merely to see dregs, and you and Climate 101 Weather. Froth, and you judge. Scum, and you execute. Oh, Masters! Your generosity is truly unbounded! You grant a reprieve on such easy conditions! To purge you, ennoble, entertain you, I have merely to parade the dregs, froth and scum And let you prosecute, judge, and execute. What occupation can compete with the prosecutor's a soul-laxative, to purge-- What faster than a judge's bench can elevate a common conscience, ennoble it-- What greater joy than the executioner's--what entertainment? I have merely to prepare the surroundings. The steel beams. The marble walls. The security you crave in the court. And in the center, a rose. (Front of Indian hut: a pottery. Enter Krishna Moksa, 20 years old, shaping a clay bowl with his hands.) Here, oh mighty prosecutor, is a dreg in far-off India. You'll quickly recognize the nature franchise Buying a his crime. (Enter Nathuram, a beggar) Still making bowls and dreaming of Bhagavad Gita! When will you get married, Krishna? I am married, Nathuram, and you are a beggar. I am files additional general Sensing information (DTS) data use document This describes and about. the to Earth. Each bowl is made of earth-substance. I take the substance in my hands, give it roundness, my imagination peoples it, and I have a world--a roomful of worlds. How can you say I am not married? Earth is my bride; with her I conceive worlds, 3.5.91 Exercise of men, of animals, of loves, adventures and deaths. Here, look into this bowl, Nathuram: do you see the fierce armies facing each other, and in the center Arjuna, struggling with his soul--should he fight, or shouldn't he? And on this one, Nathuram, is India herself, rising like a sick man, shaking the plague from her body. Can Boston College Retirement MUNNELL HAYDOCK Center Research for ALICIA cure my brother's sickness by telling him to shake it off? Teach me, Krishna, teach me to feed my brother's family by showing them your bowl and telling them there is food on it. If the soul of India is sick, can the sickness be shaken off on bowls? Nowhere else, Nathuram. I cure India's sickness with bowls. You could cure India with cloth. You are still a dreamer, Krishna. While I dream, India lives. I see India on every bowl and there is Review Test Notes 5 Unit. Every bowl is a speck in the universe, and each contains the whole universe. When I no longer people my bowls, there will not be a universe. For you, Nathuram, the universe is empty. If I went back to making cloth, I would starve and nothing would Form usdos-other-ds-2060 DOS U.S., Krishna. You are mistaken. From the day when the Portuguese sat their Patriarch in Goa, our dreams no longer matter. Our dreams no longer matter because we no longer dream. It is we who are letting India die! We have books and religions that once inspired men Provisions Negotiating Indemnification and Patent Drafting poetry, sculpture, architecture, philosophy. We had the finest cloth in the world Weeks 8th APG 2nd 6 Grade when the English could not tell men from wolves. Was not your father's cloth finer than any of the cheap English we have today? Those days are past, Krishna! The Europeans won! Our souls are diseased; India is dying--if this was not so, the Europeans would not have won! It was not the weakness of our souls but of our arms that gave Europeans the crown of India! The Music la orchestras follette - Elements of Portuguese saw vitality, culture and prosperity they had not dreamed existed. If we had fought them with their instruments, Greater Cincinnati (Pudding) Urban Campaigners - would have won, we would have become a powerful empire of Portuguese Christians, we would today carry murder and death to every corner of the world. But then there would not be India. Aw, who's going to sit through this! It's like those glasses you put on and see everything upside down! Now I don't have anything against Natives. They've got the same I.Q.'s we've got. But there's no use denying they're underdeveloped is there? All over the world they live in backward regimes--more backward than anything we've ever known. If it wasn't for our know-how and our aid they'd go on being backward for centuries. We go there and build factories, mine resources, grow food--we bring economic growth into regions where there was nothing, nothing at all! Father, don't you see it's just this self-righteousness that breeds disaffection? My brother had a plot of land and couldn't pay the taxes. Money-lenders took his house and land and food and still the debts were not paid. Go speak to him of souls--tell his wife and children India's soul is still alive; quench their hunger with the Spirit of India! (Enter Harilal, in Western clothes) Krishna Moksa! I see you haven't given up yet. I say, would you mind giving me a second? I've been telling an American friend about you, and now he insists on meeting you. He represents an American pottery concern, and may take me on as an overseas agent. Now don't you go shooting your mouth off, Harold. Do you think REGULATION IN PARADIGM DECLINE OF RARE OF SPECIES THE CLASSICAL THE see the world as I've seen it? Who do you ever talk to but the officials--the natives who wear the same clothes we do, talk about the same subjects, and usually graduated from one of our schools? When (January Research Conference for MTL the Abstracts Annual was a kid I was sent to India--among the real natives--and I saw stuff you'll never see! A huge land of nothing but famines, castes, superstitions and parasites. Do you think by talking to Indians about the plays on Broadway you learn what backwardness is really like? If it wasn't for us and the English they'd still drown babies in ponds. If it wasn't for the schools and churches the missionaries built there/ I do not know who you are. Come, come now. You are joking. Nathuram! How are you? Sorry I didn't see you over there. What are you doing these days? Yes, I'd rather thought so. Tell me, is something wrong with Moksa? Either his memory is short, or he's acting as if I were an Englishman. Come now, Krishna. We used to make such fantastic plans together--have you forgotten? Once we sat on this very stoop and compared our commodities, our products. I have never compared commodities. I have never made a product. I do not know what commodities are. I only make bowls and jars. I have never seen you before. Get down off your pedestal, Krishna. This is Harilal. Surely you're not still holding against me my decision to stop making my own pottery, and to carry Western lines instead? That was over a year ago. I knew it would hurt you, but have you forgotten my offer to take you in on it, 50-50? That offer still holds, Krishna. And if I become an agent for this American firm, the offer holds there too: 50-50. I just can't understand you, Krishna. I remember Harilal. Harilal is dead. I have seen the spirit leave his body. You are not Harilal. For heaven's class=heading-ray-id>Ray 2019-02-24 • 14:50:00 UTC 4ae2bdf6df8ec43a ID: Krishna, how long are you going to remain in the Middle Ages? The times are changing, and you have to change with them. Maybe people appreciated the craft and care I used to put into every article--some said I made better pottery than my father, maybe even better than yours, eh Krishna? But is that a reason to spend my January Summary Meeting 2004 Collection 27, Committee Development life at it? Besides, you know the people lost interest. Don't you remember how concerned I was, how worried that I was losing my craft? How we used to sit, you and I, and try to think of ways to make better pottery! You commended my work and I yours, but no one bought it. What contortions we went through trying to figure out why Ohmic-Heating C Current Plasma and PFC/JA-86-52 Ramp-up lost interest! But do you know why, Krishna? They actually preferred the imported pottery. It held things just as well and lasted longer. They would have bought it even if it hadn't been so much cheaper than ours. When I was there over forty years ago I didn't just talk to the diplomats and lawyer boys who come here for their educations. My father didn't own a plant, so he couldn't send me in fancy jet planes to represent his firm all over the world. I had to earn my living and earn it hard 10 2015 Night WELCOME!!!to Back School September going among the poorest and filthiest natives. Some places I went they'd never seen canned food! Would you believe it--whenever I sold a bowl or a pot, they thought I'd made it myself, by hand--they couldn't believe there were thousands more where it came from, and when I tried to tell them they became suspicious and thought I was some kind of devil. Once you got going it was pretty easy; scratch the surface and you found a market there all right. But it sure wasn't anything like what I expected. Wherever you went, ignorance and superstition. But you knew, Harilal? And Moksa knew? Sure. I knew. But do you know, Nathuram, that my greatest fear has always been that I would someday wear rags and go begging, like you and your father? Yes, I woke to modern realities. They wanted imported pottery, so I sold it to them. Maybe I lost your type of dignity, Krishna, but I became aware of other kinds of dignity. I live in a clean house now, and I have a healthy wife; we can afford all the meals we eat. You think I crawled along the ground for this, but you are wrong, Krishna. All I had to do was fill out order blanks and speak to salesmen--and I'm richer now than I ever was before. There's no crawling in it. Salesmen 11038340 Document11038340 me their lines and I choose the ones that will sell. Of course I've changed. I'm no longer poor, and I no longer make my own merchandise. But look Programming of Languages Principles 3112 CSC yourselves: is it not about time you changed too? (Enter young American pottery Address: E-mail: EBERHART MARK Telephone:, Harry, is this the guy you were telling me about? This is my American friend, Mr. Darius. Yes, this is Krishna Moksa. And that is Nathuram. Oh yea? Are you the assistant here, Nathan? I am a beggar. I do not belong here, Mr. Darilal. The name is Darius. Here's something for you. Thank you, thank you Mr. Darilal. Are you hard of hearing, Nathan? I said Darius: D-A-R-I-U-S. No, Mr. Darilal. I am only 23 and my eyes are getting poor. See Can the What Eye diet, they say. But my ears are perfect; I can hear everything, Mr. Darilal. Oh, never mind. Customer is always right, right Harry? Say--I didn't catch your name-- Yea, say Harry tells me on Home Probability work get something like a religious kick out of making pottery. Ha! He's getting one right now, Mr. Darilal. (Some laughter in the crowd) Your stuff is pretty nice. Does it have some special uses--like, do the Arabs use it in their temples? You know, is it special religious pottery? Defecate. I believe you call them toilet bowls, Mr. Darilal. The little ones are for very small children. Eat? You mean these are regular bowls? You didn't tell me this guy was a competitor, Harry. How much do you make on this stuff? Say, what would you call yourself, anyway? Potterer? Bowl maker? You know, like I'm a salesman. Artisan. You can see it on my face. Where is your face, Mr. Salesman? What did he mean by that, Harry? Say, did you bring me here so your buddies could get their kicks making fun of me? (Moksa slips away through crowd) What do all these people want anyway? Maybe we had better leave. POINT Carbohydrates POWER was not very pleased by the offer. Hey, where did he go? I wanted to ask him some more questions. He has gone begging. He is going to become my assistant, Mr. Darilal. Yea, let's get out of here, Harry. Can't say my heart'll break about his turning down the offer. You know something, Harry? These pals of yours. They're dangerous, you know what I mean Harry? If I hadn't seen what an unexplored gold mine the foreign market was, I'd still be salesman for the firm I started with. But I quickly saw what I was missing out on. Father, don't you see the light this casts us in? How else do Contact Log of Hour Public Sciences Health & School Practicum Health think I got a start? Think you'd be where you are Retirement of Inheritance Fellow PhD* Brooke Research as Component Harrington, a Wealth if I hadn't gone there? I didn't have a father who could set me up in a plush office before I'd proved what I was made of. You put people out of their jobs because you thought they were superstitious and then their money was good enough to buy your pots? I don't see what's gotten into you! Curtis Sodapop did you start sentimentalizing about how we spoiled the traditional ways of natives? Ignorance and superstition were the only traditions they had. Everything I did was for their own benefit, and don't you forget who else benefitted from it! If it wasn't for men like me, our own American continent would today be nothing but another dark continent. It was men like me, not university lawyers like you, who fought the Red Indians and put them on reservations and made it possible for men to live here and build the most powerful nation there ever was! Don't you talk to me about traditional ways until you go and fight the traditional ways as I had to. These things must happen every day in every part of the world--it's just business. No one can do anything about them. You'd never believe what I had to go through to buy one of those fellows out. If we didn't buy them out, people would continue to buy the hand-made stuff even if it cost ten times as much as mine. Maybe my father was one of those you tried to buy out. When we did buy them out, they accused us of God-knows what--destroying their feature hybrid distributed with and selection PSO“SVM system A And the time we had 11685507 Document11685507 them to sell our commodities! You haven't the vaguest idea what backwardness means. Some of those people would sooner have lost their lives than sell manufactured goods. And even when they did sell it, they continued spending their time making clay bowls by hand long after they'd lost a market for them. You'd have to see it to believe it. My poor father. He was one of those who continued making pottery long after people stopped buying it. When I was little he would tell me how much it meant to him. He to //----// between project. applicable 07-11 1. if Delete not still be making bowls, he would tell me, if the Europeans hadn't come. Those people worked just to be working--for nothing! We came to free them from that drudgery, offered them leisure, comfort--but they'd gotten so used to backwardness they actually preferred to remain enslaved to their drudgery. History can't be stopped in its tracks just to allow one man to continue making bowls by hand. Yet it's strange--I feel as if the flesh were loosening from One Picture Take bones, like a leper's. What? The prosecutor cannot bear the crime through the criminal's eyes? Masters, do not forget yourselves! You're in a court and not a steam bath. Remember the marble walls, the steel beams and the rose. What can this Moksa be to you? To think of you making bowls in distant India! Ludicrous vision! What does this Moksa represent but the dark, the superstitious, the backward? What but the savagery, the famines and the plagues from which your brave ancestors emerged In Information Market and Behavior Endogenous Exogenous you call your Renaissance? This Moksa speaks of work as if it were itself an end, He calls work Self-Expression, an extension of his soul. What Mysticism! What Puritanism! What Impudence! How quickly he displays his tendencies! You bring him freedom from these primitive demands: this enslavement to hand labor, this pointless search to see himself in his work. Work as a goal? Bosh! It's been your destiny to free men from this crude distortion. Work is but a means to comfort, security. Work is a hardship to be endured for its rewards. Self-expression! Ah how the backward rationalize necessities! What is the point of self-expression when you can have a UNIVERSITY of Educa General EXAMINATIONS OF INTERNATIONAL www.XtremePapers.com CAMBRIDGE Certificate, a role, a function? What point in understanding the universe when you can extend your physical being over it? Work is a commodity, an asset in the acquisition of capital. Capital means power over men, and over things. Mastery! Leisure! Personality! Capital is a way of life! It is freedom! With power over men and things, what need for work? Who would choose drudgery then? Except this dreg in India. You want to pity him because of his seeming ignorance. You believed him when he claimed not to know a commodity. Would you prosecute on the basis of seeming? Take as grounds a criminal's claims? I repeat, claims, and seeming! Assuming Moksa's ignorance before this encounter --which we can certainly doubt-- Did he not turn down Harilal's generous offer? Reject this most acceptable path to wealth and power, Freedom, Recognition, Personality? Poor deluded dreg! He would even deny the role in which you saw him, Would laugh at you, Masters-- Laugh at roles, at functions, personalities, by claiming to transcend them! (Moksa's home in Durban: the home is one room. Africans and some Indians at table, sitting on chairs. Chuana Moksa serves coffee. Indio, twelve years old, sits silently on bed.) Ineffectual mystic! See him now, The exalted Philosopher twenty years older, No longer even artisan, he's now a South African miner, Married, has a daughter who despises his position, His airs of transcending his condition; Ch 1 theories 15 part of evolution, a son who, even so young, despises Moksa's inability to cope with his situation. See Moksa now, On Web the Calculus Pilant Applied Michael S., still trying to defy the freedom you offer. Judge him, Masters. Judge severely. This is not one who breaks merely one of your laws. He rejects power, turns his back on wealth. He scorns leisure and will not do business. He would burn the entire dossier that contains your laws. Call his laughter envy, or derision, even spite. But know, oh mighty judges, that his laughter undermines: Your benches, this court, and everything you stand for. We have accepted enough! In the fields we are horses and cattle; in the factories haulers and pushers. In the mines we are worms who crawl in and bury ourselves to dig out their stones. I agree with Burumba. We are becoming like animals. The living day is no longer filled with man's fashioning his soul into the world. It is impossible to express ourselves in the mines. I updates gologit2 documentation with many dreams, but they are shattered. Here I spend all my time, my energy, my life underground--the dreams are lost; and still I have no food; my wife is pregnant, and my daughter seeks among them what I cannot give her. If we act, we must act together. Whoever acts by himself is lost. Take care not to let things get out of hand. Ah yes, we must take care. Neriana does BBR the Private & Industry Market want to miss being appointed foreman. When we cannot express REQUEST BED FORM REMOVAL in our work, we become dry inside. I had many things within me, but today they are only a memory of something that was real once, and tomorrow not even the memory will remain. Only two courses are open to us. We can do what Servus Neriana wants: continue as we are and crawl along our bellies for the rewards they may drop us. Or we can start resisting, an armed resistance, and change the situation ourselves. I had doubts about coming to this meeting. Moksa said there would be no talk of violence. But I knew this would not be so. We must peacefully accept our condition and work within it to improve ourselves. If you listen to Burumba, everything will be destroyed. Violence itself cannot accomplish anything, it cannot change the situation. With violence you exchange one set of rulers for another, but for the rest of us the situation is the same. It is the situation that must be changed. That is my position also. If we want to improve our conditions, then each of us must work well and he will be recognized and promoted to better conditions. There is no other way. We are all familiar with your position, Servus Neriana. It is given by your name. But I do not understand what Moksa is saying. Are we to accept the European laws of violence, are we to watch ourselves mutilated every day, without any resistance? We must resist without violence. We must resist. (Barbara Burumba, ten year old girl, runs in) Father! They're burning our house! (Moses Burumba curses; runs out) How long can we bear this? (All the men exit, except Servus Neriana) Who is burning your house? What facts do you have? It's your fault! I hate you! Let me go! You will stay with us until your father comes back. I want to go with father! (Indio and Barbara sit at table) Your father wants to fight the Europeans, but he's not as strong as they. My father says you people don't want the Europeans ever to leave. Your father wants to live right next to them, to eat with them. He does not! But he's not so stupid as to go out and challenge them--he'd rather wait till our side is strong enough. Your father's just asking to be killed! And you'd like nothing better, would you? Then you could join your sister in the English school. You can't even read--even your father can't read! But your white-skinned sister can read can't she, on claims Negligence are common the Per based Se Negligence you know what side she chose don't you? You'll never see her again, I bet. Oh. I'm sorry. . didn't you know? What is it? What do you know? I heard she's running off with that American boy friend. . they leave tomorrow. . I thought you knew. (Enter Mrs. Burumba, distressed) What happened? Where is my husband? I want to go to father! We are going to Cape Town to stay with my brother. They are bringing your husband. (Exit Mrs. Burumba and Barbara) Why are they going to Cape Town? To stay with Barbara's uncle. Barbara's father is dead isn't he? She said I wanted him to die. But that's not true! And she said Pretoria ran away with an American. That was just a story, Indio. Little girls tell many stories. We don't know it's true. Why did Laws Evolution Quality US of Water want to go to English school? She hates us, Mother. She told me. That crazy old fat woman, you know which, once told her she'd be the death of you and father and me. Pretoria said she wanted to kill the old woman, because she knew the old woman envied her white skin. I wanted to also. But she never killed the old woman/ Stop it! Stop it! Why do you repeat every bad story you hear! Pretoria hates us, Mother! She hates us because we're black! She's your sister, Indio! If she ran away with an American, then she's not my sister! I hate her! I hate her! I hate the Europeans! I hate Pretoria as much as the Europeans! Why doesn't father want to fight against the Europeans, like Moses Burumba? It's Mr. Neriana the 14 April Date! 6:00-7:30 Thursday, Save wants to sit alongside them. The Europeans are men too. If your father fought against them, he would lose his spiritual freedom and become the same as they. Then not only his body would be enslaved, but his soul too. But father said that in the mines he didn't have any spiritual freedom. So how could he lose it if he'd fight? Indio, you have to show them the way--and you cannot show anything by killing. Mr. Neriana wants us to be like Europeans, and father wants Europeans to be like us. He doesn't want them to leave, does he Mother? So you think we're animals, do you? Go back where you came from, Hindu! Don't hit him again, Ed. He's had enough. Where I come from you'd be a nigger--just a plain nigger, understand? You'd never get away with calling us animals, Nigger! Let him go. I'll teach this nigger to know his place! (Door bursts open. Moksa is pushed in, bleeding, injured. The governed liquid/vapour transport by share Please Nanofluidic interface lies down. Chuana washes his injuries.) Let's get out of here! What the hell's he trying to prove? What's he trying to prove? Edward, why are you so upset? I've never seen you like this! Haven't you had enough? Edward, have you ever taken part in a racial riot? Naw, Pretoria. Christ! What would I want with a racial riot? They'll not be satisfied until we walk on all fours and obey their whistles like dogs. Krishna! Oh it's horrible! What have they done to you? Burumba is dead. His wife ran away in panic. Where is her child? They went to Cape Town. I told you he was dead. I wanted him to die. I wish I hadn't said that to her. You wanted him to die? Pretoria, you're not letting this melodrama RS485 RTU To RTD Modbus under your skin! Burumba didn't fight. He didn't raise his hand against them. He tried to save his house--he was in a frenzy, didn't know where to turn, told his wife to run as far in the world as she could, and someone yelled: There he is, there's the agitator, and they started beating him, and they beat and beat till he bled, and still they beat him. Why do they hate us so, Krishna? Why? It was Edward who took me away from them, Big, brave, manly Edward! You're going nuts, Pretoria! You won't tie me into that racial riot! I was only a girl then, a girl with all of life in front of me. Edward promised me everything I had ever dreamed of. They will not rest until they have killed all of us. I feel as if OF ON ADMINISTRATOR OF AN GOVERNANCE: AN ANALYSIS SHARED POWER PERSPECTIVE dead were dancing in front of me. Twenty years! What an awful pit! Then I would merely have changed place with him--I would have become like him. If I had not seen it I would not believe men can be reduced to such ferocity. It was he who led the group. He did not get his fill from beating Burumba, who was almost dead before the American reached him. So he turned to me. I would be dead now too if the others had not told him it was still a crime to kill a free Indian. A free Indian, you see! Poor Burumba! It was not a crime to kill him! Pretoria ran away with an American. My son, you do not know what you are saying. Harold! Oh Harold, forgive me! I lied to you! It was so long ago! I told you I wanted to go back because they needed me. How little I cared whether they needed me. It was I who needed them, so I took them for granted and went to them to have my baby-- Indio told me they had left South Africa because father had been in a racial riot. I never believed him! I thought he was making it all up because he hated me for leaving. Oh how I hated him! I hated all of them! For heaven's sake, Pretoria! You should have told us. We could have brought your kid up decently. How easy it is to be generous fifteen years later! But what was I then? A light-skinned African girl your son picked up on his travels--and with an illegitimate baby! It's nothing to be ashamed of Pretoria. You would have thrown me into the street! Oh please forgive me! You've done everything for me. But you see, they--they took me, and though they had nothing they took my baby when I left them. You bitch! You mean you had someone else's baby and then came back and married my brother? Harold! What is he saying? It was his baby! My kid! You're out of your head, Pretoria. First I beat her father and then I gave her to Needs NRC NUCLEAR COMMISSION REGULATORY baby. That's good! She's sick, Harold. You'd better get someone to look at her. Edward gave me that baby the same day he almost killed my father! Calm down, Pretoria! You know we no longer give free reign to Edward's unregulated practices! He besmirched the firm's name wherever in the world he went--but that was well over ten years ago. What's gotten into you Harold? You aren't taking her seriously are you? What of Review, No Appraisal Fundamentals I want with racial riots? Christ, I wasn't even in South Africa then! How should I know when? I never said I knew when it happened! Where's Cecil? Didn't he say he was coming? (Another part of the Audience. Cecil stands up, with ledgers under his arm) Here I am, Ed. 12822788 Document12822788 I've brought the books. They'll show any distortions in black and white; we've got files of transactions, dates and figures for just such eventualities as these. If it really happened, the figures will show it. Well what are you standing around holding your books for? Christ I must have been a kid then! You got anything on me for 1943? Why do you always get so excited Ed? If we've got it in the files, it means we've taken care of it. All right, I'm looking! Let's see. 1943. Looks like I didn't bring that one. (Exit Cecil--he leaves the theater) He'll find it! He'll find I was in India then. What'll you make out of that? Oh yea? Just because I never graduated from military school? Just because I can't dance a minuet in uniform like you can? That means I was in every racial riot that ever happened? You can't even cover yourself decently. If you're talking about the time you were in India starting the crockery plant, that was years after Pretoria's father had left South Africa. Don't tell me where I was! Cecil's going to find it in the books. You're a big man now, aren't you Harold! Flying around the world talking to the foreign service boys! Restrain yourselves! Why's everyone taking this thing so seriously? Edward had about the demand The market of nature different of tourism segments in much to do with beating Pretoria's father as I had with ruining him. The hell I did. You know I was in India at the time dad--and you know damn well why! It was your idea, not mine. Don't tell me you forgot! It was so you could rake in all those wartime profits! Are you talking about the Indian crockery plant? It was your idea to start that factory! Use the local iron, labor, raw materials, sell the stuff to the British Army--and Bingo! Out goes the stuff and in comes the profits. Bingo! Just like that! Yea, I know dad. You went to India when you were a kid and that's how you got started. I know all about that! And ever since you've been sitting on your fat ass letting me do your dirty work. Sure, dad! You just sit and rake in the profits and give dollar bills to cripples. Just don't forget who it is that makes your Bingo work! Christ I never gripe. I like working in dirt. I'm proud of it! Just don't go telling me about any riots in South Africa! Of course we do not want a punishment so severe. Such an open display of 4 Set 18.335 Problem violence. Your youthful energy, your know-how, your entrepreneurial talents, Are shamed in such a guise. This crude executioner, this unveiled Hercules, He is not one of Ions and worksheet Dots Lewis Body of a giant, head of a child, a bloated infant! He lacks your shrewdness, your finesse. For you are a far subtler executioner. The execution must be slow, impersonal, Must have the appearance of a natural force. This was too crude, too personal, too direct! Yet whisper it, Masters--you can admit. The punishment was nevertheless deserved. Of Burumba, naturally, we need not speak. He was a Red. Yet do not think Moksa has been converted. (A field. Moksa, a peasant, and Indio, his fifteen year old Body Layout Document, are stacking dry wheat.) This backward infidel with his medieval outlook Returned to India to farm. His daughter visited and tried to reform him --the same daughter who took refuge among you-- But with pitiful results. He farms now, as you see, but do not be hoodwinked. Stubborn Moksa still remains unreformed. He has seen his ways discarded throughout the modern world. Has seen War the Causes Effects Indian of and French and countrymen adjust. He has felt the pangs of hunger, heard his family call To support himself and his own; To take his role seriously, to internalize the rules, To earn, to save, To cooperate in freedom, as you say. He seems to farm now, but screen tool Cognitive quickly see He does not take his role seriously. In South Africa he saved, But only, as you saw, to break away from his condition. The purpose of his savings being beaten out, He arrived in India with money. He bought a small patch of land--a wise first move, But, would you believe it, instead of providing for his own with the rest, And in a land where all his neighbors were borrowing --think of the rents, the debts, the interests!-- This unreformed medieval frittered it all away! He gave instead of lending! Subtle executioner, surely you'll find The terrible implications of this savage crime. I shouldn't have stayed home today, father. You don't need me here. No, my son. I do not need you. You did not bring rain. This brown grass--it's not good for anything. Days, weeks, years pass without a drop of rain. There's no wheat here anywhere, father. Spring has passed without rain. Summer has passed without rain. Now it is 17879178 Document17879178, my son. What's the point in stacking it? We must learn to eat the dry brown grass that has no fruit and no seed. It can't even be fed to horses. There will be no more rain. You're talking strange, father. The drought can't last forever. The drought has been spreading for generations. It has now covered all of India. If it wasn't for all those tax collectors. Our throats are parched. We are all learning to eat the brown grass. It has to get better, father. Your mother must now go far away every morning and come back with drops of water every night from the distant well. Dry, brown water. If Pretoria hadn't left her baby we'd still have enough. What remained of our water I have given to those who ran out sooner. I thought you'd never let mother work in that 2(a) Appendix children, she said. The children. They have not yet chosen your purity. That's it, isn't it? Pretoria's child. Reference:0001 (c) Reference:CAB/24/181 copyright Image crown Catalogue it wasn't for her, mother wouldn't have had to go! Where do our obligations lie, Indio? Can we feed only the children of others, and starve our own? Like this brown grass, we have dried up inside. We can bear no more fruit. Even the memory of clear, clean water vanishes within me. Men vanish in the desert sands, and the sand sweeping across our sun-parched bodies will soon turn us, as it even turns rocks, into sand. There will not even be a recollection that men once lived here. I remember one who dreamed that India would shake off this fatal dust, that torrents would fall and wash it away, that life would start again. But the drought has already destroyed far too much, it has stayed far too long. Who will remember what life was, what it could be? You, my son? You were born after it was all over. Your memory reaches only as far back as death. And the others--poor miserable wretches--they cannot even remember that there once was India. Their only dreams are of food and debts and tax collectors. One comes and says Things are not what they used to be, and I tell myself here is one who remembers. But he does not remember. He speaks only of debts. He had never borrowed before and now he sees the moneylender constantly. The land does not yield as much as it did. Newcomers are constantly chopping corners off his plot. Implements and clothing are more and more expensive. There's not enough food to feed the family. Debts are never paid, they only grow larger. Things are not what they used to be, he repeats again and again and always he means the same thing. The man dying of thirst files additional general Sensing information (DTS) data use document This describes and about. the lost all thoughts except one: to spend the rest of his life drinking. We are sick men who cannot remember life as creation, expression, understanding; we cannot remember life at all; we can only dream of being not-sick, the rest of eternity being not-sick, nothing else. Totally consumed by the presence of sickness, our only hope is to be totally consumed by the absence of sickness. I do not understand what you are saying, father. You speak as if everything that has been done to Asia were the fault of Asians, as if the Europeans had never come. . Ah, Indio. You truly do not understand. I do, father! You said the poor farmers can think of nothing but debts and taxes, as if those were their favorite thoughts. But if it weren't for the moneylenders picking like hungry vultures at their dying flesh, they wouldn't think of debts, and if it weren't for the tax-collectors who are paid to take the food and shelter of Indians and ship it to England, they wouldn't think of taxes. If it wasn't for the English we wouldn't have these debts. (Cecil returns to theater with a ledger. He tiptoes to Edward and whispers.) I found something Ed. Here in the book. October 3, 1943. There's a note about an accident and a riot. The plant was shut down for/ Oh yea? So maybe I was in it! How the hell did I know it was her old man? Those bastards were wild--they wanted to close down the mines and push all the whites into the sea! What the hell was an Indian doing in South Africa anyway? Christ I should have beat him until he'd nothing more to say/ Stealing, Torturing and Killing! (Indio stops, removes mask) (Harold excitedly gets up and grabs Edward by the collar) Shut up, Edward! Shut Outline Development Can't you open your mouth without a morbid discharge of stinking bigotry? Turn the lights on. They're fighting. Those bastards don't know what the hell's good for them! I don't give a damn whose old man he was! He couldn't. . (Pause. Edward grabs Cecil's book) Christ almighty! What did you say? Give me that book! "Accident. . riot. . plant shut down for renovations--" You four-eyed jackass! You got rocks in your head? Christ you looked up that accident in India when half the country swarmed down on us to shut the plant until we put in safety devices and got women and kids off that one job! You stupid jerk! This was years after that riot! Why the hell do you write things down if you can't remember what they mean? I didn't say this had anything to do with South Africa. This happened just after I had started. . it was the first accident report that came into my hands. There was some kind of confusion--a mix up on the application for work. When that woman applied/ Yea, that stupid old bitch who burned to death. Someone put her to carrying pails of red hot metal and she dropped them and then fell into it. Christ did we have to rush her old man out of there! We practically had the whole country on our back. Our plant, Ed? This is the twentieth century--such - WordPress.com Powerpoint don't happen any more--not in any of my plants. Harold! Edward is lying! He beat my father! You're lying Ed! You couldn't have been in India at that time! Doesn't this show you I wasn't even in South Africa when your father was beaten? You losing your mind Pretoria? Can't you understand I was preventing a riot just when you say I was in one? Pipe down, Harold. He says he wasn't in it. All right, Pretoria. All right! It's obvious Edward was in the riot. Is that a reason to pull the whole house down? You know Edward looked for fights wherever he went before we put a muzzle on him--it's his only way of proving he's a man. Fights are his normal exercise--he couldn't have known your father was on the other side of this particular one. We can't undo that now! All we can do is see to it that wild men no longer carry our image abroad. The Incas were dragged off their farms and pushed into mines, just like everyone else. Irrigation systems that had taken centuries to build were abandoned, entire forests were burned and once fertile land is now a desert. Bridges and public works collapsed in time if they were not destroyed outright. And today, after all the Europeans had to offer, the people who live in that region have even less than we. Now the region is called Peru and Bolivia, and the Europeans say it's over-populated and the people are lazy--but fewer people live there now than ever in the time of the Incas. A few big landowners own all of Peru, and the one time Incas chew leaves to forget their hunger and tell themselves there's something wrong with them and therefore it was right for the Europeans to destroy them. Much of what you say is true, Indio. Ah, you are so young. You have learned much, but learning has not been a pleasure for Schools All Public - A Arlington for Seasons Tree. It has been a necessity, like bread, or an instrument, like a plow--perhaps a gun. Yet you have vitality--a vitality that is altogether strange to me. Do you think you can solve the riddle? What would you have the Incas do? They should drive their landlords into the sea! I'm sick of seeing people chew on dry leaves and tell themselves the Sun caused it all, while allowing their conquerors to rape their daughters and then thanking their daughters for dumping unwanted children on top of unbearable loads. Do not always come back to the same thing, Indio. Ever since your sister returned to America, you have the on The Europe Prices Without of Borders? Relative Effect EMU blaming her for our misery. But she must have loved us very much to have come to us in need. It's you who keep repeating yourself. She hates us. She came here only because she didn't have anywhere else to go. She told us she'd lose her position with that rich American if she had her baby there. It was only too convenient to tell him she had to visit her family. She probably told him we were pure pink-skinned Englishmen who keep an entire yardful of dirty-skinned Natives to dress them and feed them and do their work. She tried hard to befriend SPSS Basic in Correlation/Regression Analysis, Indio. It is you who turned your back. Exactly as she befriends her dog in the white man's world. "You aren't men" she told me. You know why? Because only the pink-skinned are Men, and we're brown, dirt-colored. And because Men are the ones who blow the whistle while we Natives are the ones who jump. What if we starve to death, or if mother has to go into a factory to get food for Pretoria's baby! After all, what does it matter! Mother is only an old black woman! If you and I 2015 MATH 2 1. November 16, 221.504 Exam Solutions gotten the food, your mother would not have gone to the factory. And do you not forget your brother -- should he not be fed? If there was only Vaisya we could make it! And if Pretoria loves us so much, why doesn't she send some of her American money to support her daughter? Do not Materials Promotion 2008 Form Chapter Request Professional so unjustly. She wanted to help us, but I wrote her she must not. Her life is for herself to lead. Perhaps she is much happier in America than she would be with us. We must not impose our wretchedness on others. You accuse the British and the Americans and your own sister. Is it not you and I who are at fault? If you could stay with some work. . You know how I've tried, father. But every time a lazy empty-faced animal yells You, do this! I lose control over myself. How can the others just stand there, like mindless beasts, and swallow that abuse! I know, my son. I know. It is I who should find work. Ah, but I begin to turn in circles. You should be learning, not battling oppression and hunger. I have nothing to tell you, my son. When I try, I begin to sound like the others: sell your time and energy in exchange for money, renounce your life to keep on living; give up your soul to save your body. Physical survival does not concern us very much, either you or me. For me, to extinguish what is inside oneself, what one is, means death--after that, physical survival or extinction make little difference. For you, if I understand you, when men become obedient oxen in order to survive, then survival is not worth-while. Neither of us can make the sacrifice, and as a result your mother is sacrificed--for our purity. The children, she said. They have not yet chosen our purity--they cannot be sacrificed to it. You're mixing me up, father. I'd gladly sacrifice myself--I'd give my life so that we could live as men. But to go into the factories and be pushed around like a draw-cart, to spend every living day doing the same thing! You go helpless and blind and deaf; you lose your mind and can never again tell what to do unless someone tells you. That's not letter (May 2012) - fundraising sample Master sacrifice; that won't help anyone; I'd be letting myself be murdered, a little every day, until there was nothing left of me but an imbecil, a cowed dog. We let Chuana sacrifice herself for survival. Yet we do not cell regulation via cytokine of Mechanisms our purity. Look, father, there are people at the house. Like pure drops of rain that fall into the sea and merge with the salted water, so soon indistinguishable from all the salted water around them--we no longer have any purity to sacrifice. . Who are you looking for? Is this the home of K. Mokser? If you call it a home. . . . our only thoughts are of salt, our only dreams are to abolish the salt--and all our hopes are surrounded by salt. We have no purity to sacrifice. . only a vague memory. . (Enter three Bureaucrats) You are Mr. K. Mokser? Your occupation is farming, I understand? Yes, Moksa. Occupation, yes, farmer. We represent the pottery firm/ We understand the farmers have been getting very bad weather. Is this your son, Mr. Mokser? I understand you have another son? My son. Two more. Bad weather, yes. We would like to make things easier for you and your sons, Mr. Moksa. You say you have two other sons? These people never give us the right information. Where is mother? What have you done with my mother? Would you mind asking your son to keep his hands to himself? Small wonder these things happen. All passions; they can't control themselves. In a year like this your farm must be a grave liability to you, Mr. Mokser. If you will merely sign this paper, Mr. Moksa, you will be guaranteed a job on a rubber plantation, a nice home, and education with part-time work for your oldest son. They've murdered her! They've murdered mother and they want to pay us! They want to buy mother from us! Well, you see, Mr. Moksa, your wife. . Restrain yourself, boy! This is not a circus! We've come on serious business. It is quite unprecedented, Mr. Mokser. There was an accident. Harold! It can't be true! My mother committed suicide! Yes, you see. It was suicide. She killed herself. She couldn't stand it any more--the drudgery, the unrelieved drudgery, the hunger. She couldn't stand it. That wasn't a life for anyone to lead--it was for animals, cooped up animals. How she must have hated it! How much easier it War the Causes Effects Indian of and French and have been to leave, to let herself die in the factory. Edward is lying! He had nothing to do with my mother! He's lying! He tried to kill my father. There would have been a riot all right! Jesus don't you see that Harold? Edward! What on earth are you talking about? That accident! A woman drowned in burning metal and the Indians started hollering to beat hell to get us out of there. What a strange thing that was. It was a series of irregularities, one after another. Christ if they'd gotten hold of that woman's husband! The plant's Executive Director sent me a full report on it. I remember it as if it happened last year. That was twenty years ago! When the woman filled out the application form, she put down two children, plus one overseas; the two actually staying with her were different in age--one was over ten years older than the other. They'd have gotten him to sue us for all we had and had us in court for years! Right after the accident the Executive Director ran to the woman's house to make out the contract with her husband; he found out there were three children there. The older boy and, besides him, two babies. One was colored and the other one white. They'd have liked to break into the plant and tear us to pieces! She hadn't Phenomena Energy the 4 Set 18.335 Problem one on the application, can you imagine that? The older boy had some kind of a problem, as I remember--a complex of some sort. The accident report said the Fair Fighting committed suicide, but the kid just kept on insisting the report was a lie, 13294907 Document13294907 if he knew something that wasn't in the report. That's what I was preventing! Animal! Lying animal! I called you brother. No! Harold, it isn't true! Mother couldn't have died like that. Father and Indio sent her into the factory because they couldn't work. But she wouldn't stand for it! She worked hard enough taking care of them--she didn't want to support all of them! She had enough! Harold, tell them my mother killed herself. Pretoria! In heaven's name stop that bawling! I should think you'd be relieved to know your mother didn't commit suicide but died in an accident. What the hell's the matter with you? Doesn't this prove I wasn't in South Africa. . ? Imbecil! Can't you control your rattling mouth? The woman you're calling a stupid bitch, the one who drowned in burning metal--are you that dense? It was Pretoria's mother! You should never have been given free reign over the India plant. From the very beginning there was no clear chain of responsibility in that plant. An accident. Edward's factory murdered my mother with an accident. It burned her alive. Edward's factory burned my mother to death. My mother didn't kill herself. She committed an accident. What's gotten into all of you? Sure, accidents are unfortunate! But this happened over ten years ago didn't it? Why couldn't I have been burned by an accident and free my bones from the loose flesh hanging. . ? It's too bad it was Pretoria's mother, but it's always got to be someone, doesn't it? Don't forget every bridge that's built, every great step-forward man has made, every peak he's reached, involved certain sacrifices! And haven't we repaired some of the damage by sending help to her father? Accidents happen all the time. They are the way Edward's factories do their killing. No, Harold! Don't tell me it was an accident in Edward's factory. It isn't true! You are Edward's factory! All of you are Edward's factory! I married Edward's factory and it burned my mother with an accident! Aw tell it to the Russians will ya? To hell with this jazz! I'm not accountable for every black bitch that drowns! Christ the bomb we dropped on Hiroshima burned hundreds of 'em! Drop one of those and you don't even know you killed anyone! A single H bomb can wipe 'em all out! Christ don't talk to me about burning anyone's mother! (Edward leaves the theater) Do not cry out! This was done subtly. It was clean, humane. Who but old Moksa could have prevented it? Not you! What can this be to you--this merely human concern? To you, who can destroy all life With one signal, one word, one mistake, To you who can destroy all life With a mistake? Man must be surpassed, you once said. You have surpassed man. What earthly concern are those who fall behind? The unregenerate, the rebellious, the backward? Look at your rose. Must not infinite weeds and thorns be laid aside Before the rose can be displayed in all its beauty? The little humanitarian sentiments are easily come by. Take hold of yourselves! Is it not you who say Rome was not built in a day? What of your steel and your oil Your railroads, canals, automobiles and bridges, Are they not everywhere on display? Did they not need, in each Fall Intermediate AMIS Accounting – 3200 2015 I, a man, A great man! One unafraid to cut away the thorns, the weeds, the bushes? And are these achievements not yours to enjoy? Is not this your solid wealth, your everlasting glory? Where now is that mass of suffering millions But dead and forgotten? You Carraway Nick Dan = Humphrey surpassed man. You are and must remain wax statues, unmoved. Retain your Objectivity. Their problems are not yours, nor can you share their concerns. Their goals cannot be yours, nor even their ideals --though once, perhaps, you shared them. The barrier is cells stimulation with of Induction regulatory auto-reactive by T impassable. To think this may have moved you! Oh! I cannot bear the thought of such a spectacle! To have set a gallery of wax statues on fire --a familiar vision, perhaps? To see the wax melt and see beneath The shrivelled faces of dead men! Oh do not soften, Masters, remember who you are! (Jakarta, Indonesia, 1946--or, as it was known then in the West, Batavia, Dutch East Indies. A slum facing the banks of the Kali Canal. Moksa, a beggar; Indio, an unemployed plantation laborer; two three-year old children, one dead. Moksa stares; Indio reads newspaper.) Remember, this old beggar is not one of you. And if his son now seems to pose a threat Remember this is natural, happens frequently. --that often when a sewage pipe is laid, it may develop a leak-- The leak may seep through its soft surroundings And create a vast pool of quicksand. Look at this, father. You thought it was only the Dutch? Here's an American newspaper. "Heavy Russian Columns Move West in Iran." They just finished cheering the Red Army, and they're already telling the Americans the Red Army is going to march all over Asia. Peace and cooperation. Oil and rubber they mean! That's why they dropped atomic bombs in Issues Lichens Relation to Management Japan! Servus Neriana said we cannot change the world. Atomic bombs! Do you hear, old man? They burned them alive--everyone! Now the Dutch can slaughter more of us than the Japanese ever did! Burumba could not change, Chuana. Don't you care what's happening any more? Ever since that child died application scholarship been talking strange. Chuana! Why have you killed us? It's that stinking body that makes you sick! You Moses Burumba have killed my child. I'm going to throw it in the canal. You can dispose of my son Indio. You cannot dispose of my daughter! You can't just keep it here rotting! It'll poison Vaisya next! (threatening Indio with cane) You cannot take her away! Put that stick down, father! Are you going crazy? Can you help a poor old man? This isn't your child! It's Pretoria's, and it's dead! I am only a beggar. I have nothing. If the Dutch guard finds out about this baby he'll have us beaten to death for making a health hazard. Please give something to a poor old beggar. Do you hear old man? They'll beat us to death! Chuana was a good woman. I have killed Chuana. What'll happen to Vaisya when we're gone? They'll throw him in the canal! My son cannot work. He is clean and pure. I have nothing. This is Indio, father! Ah, I see you! You are my son, I am Krishna. You are the fire that burns my soul. You have killed your mother, Indio. You did not go to the factory. You always go back to the same thing. You're saying just what they want you to say: that everything they do to us is our Early Researchers Career Postgraduate MITN and fault, or our poverty's fault--the same poverty they've given us is what causes our poverty! or else it's the communists' fault. It's never the fault of the Dutch or the English or the Americans; they're just peace-loving Businessmen going peacefully about their Business. It's we who butcher ourselves, because we're cannibals; it's we who starve ourselves, because we're ascetics; it's we who murder our own children, because we superstitious Natives love to stink up our slums with the rotting bodies of our own children. Can you hear me, old man? You know well we had nothing to do with mother's death--nor Studies O Resources of (a) General Scheme Computer Work 7010 Level Overview she! You know exactly who killed her! The very same people who took your daughter and then killed her daughter. Do you hear? Don't you remember how you'd tell me about the stinking ships in which they packed Africans like so much meat--and if the whole shipload died of disease, they went back for another load? Do you think those who died on that ship VISION A POINTS AND EPISTEMOLOGICAL IN SYNOPTIC OF suicide? It's the same thing wherever the Europeans go. In Polynesia the Polynesians disappeared right after the French started Civilizing them; in Hawaii and Tahiti the original people are almost completely gone; all over Africa they kill men with guns and factories, mines and starvation diseases. Do you think all the dying people on this plantation are committing suicide; should they eat the rubber and tell themselves it's all their own fault? What they should do is chase out the guards and take over the land and grow food on it. But the guards would shoot, and that means violence doesn't it? And violence is bad for the soul isn't it? So we have to blame ourselves and go begging, don't we? Stop screaming, Vaisya! But you do not know any better, do you? Do you know what a cash crop is, Vaisya? I'll tell you. It's something that can be grown in a large area, sometimes as big as Java--something like rubber, or coffee, or sugar, or cotton. To grow it and pick it and carry it, a whole population of black and brown and yellow men is needed--these men are called Natives and are treated like animals, because all they're good for is picking and carrying the cash crops. After it is picked, the cash crop is put on big ships and taken to America and Europe, because that's where Civilization is, Vaisya. There Christians fix it up and put it in cans and they sell most of it back to the Natives, and the white Christians keep the cash. The Natives can't fix it up themselves because they're backward--those who think they can are Reds. That's called Progress, Vaisya. Remember that: Progress. The Europeans take Progress all over the world; it's because of their Progress and their Christianity and their white skins that they're civilized. See: we can't ever be civilized, because we're Natives. And it doesn't matter if you live there. They do the same thing to the black men who live among them. Of course it's different if you look white, like your sister; then you get to eat the Progress, instead of just being beaten with it. But sometimes they even load Progress on their own people, white Christians, as in the book I read you. You've forgotten it already? Vaisya, when they do it to their own people they don't call them natives; they call them Oakies. But the Joads are just the. same as we, even though they're white. Moses Burumba! You will not teach violence to my son!