Bearing Witness to the Times: The March of the Oligarchs

"Donald Trump is under investigation for ties to Russia.What happens now?"

(Headline from The Guardian)

"Meet the Russian Oligarch who paid Trump's former campaign manager to help Putin"

(Headline from Quartz)

The March of the Oligarchs

When I was a child

I was momentarily confused

The first time my older brother

Brought out his chess set.

The game board

Was exactly like the one we used for checkers,

But the rules were entirely different.
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Growing up during the Cold War,

We thought the threat

Was coming to an end

When the Berlin Wall fell

And the Soviet Bloc collapsed.

We were giddy

With thoughts of freedom –

Oppression had been lifted;

The “Communist Threat” was fading.

That giddy moment of freedom

Was soon seized by corporations.

They flew under the banner

Of free enterprise,

Thereby flying under the radar

That scans for

Enemies of the state.

Global corporations

Have become the prime movers,

Making governments inconsequential.

Seen as good for the country,

Essential for the economy,

Creator of jobs,

Granter of benefits,

And source of political spending,

Big companies hold Congress hostage.

Legislation may soon bear no more weight

Than nice ideas

Voiced by well-meaning folks

In a Sunday School class.

In today's political arena
The playing field is familiar.

The game board looks the same.

But the rules have changed.

                                               ~ CK

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Flynn was paid over $30K for speech
by Russian TV

Manafort worked for Russian billionaire
to advance Putin's interests

"Steve Bannon vows daily fight for 'deconstruction of the administrative state' "
(Headline from The Washington Post)

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From my introductory post:

The best thing that poets can do is to bear witness to the times – articulate what is happening in the moment; speak to the real life experiences of your people.  I am setting myself a goal to write a poem each week that reflects what I see and experience in the life of our nation... if I can write one poem a week there will be some chronicle of our sacred/tested/doubtful union.

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Hong Kong Memories

The name "Hong Kong," translated from the Cantonese, Heung Gong, means "fragrant harbor." We expatriates who lived there found that to be a bit amusing. There were definitely many aromas, especially in Kowloon City where I lived, but that combination of automobile exhaust, yesterday's garbage, restaurant cooking, and open markets was not what we typically referred to as "fragrant." I am assuming that in the old days before it was so populated, local vegetation along with natural beauty gave rise to the name.

Hong Kong was indeed a fascinating and diverse place to live. It had a long history of taking in refugees. Many had flooded in from mainland China in the wake of political turmoil. In the 1980s, there was a large refugee camp in Kowloon for Vietnamese refugees awaiting resettlement in various countries. In addition to the majority Cantonese (southern China) population, there were also other Chinese groups such as Hakka, Swatow, and Szechuan as well as a large community of "boat people" whose homes were in boats on the harbor, and whose families had traditionally earned a living by fishing. 

At the time I was there, Hong Kong was still a British Crown Colony, so there were many British expatriates there as well as other European business people. Being such a vital place for business, there were also Japanese, Koreans, Indonesians, people from India as well as Americans there involved in various business ventures. There were also significant Filipino and Southeast Asian populations living there. I saw an amazing hodge podge of old tradition and new industry; Asian culture with European and American influences.

Before I left Hong Kong, I wrote a poem for one of my Chinese friends who was a school teacher. She herself was about to embark upon a journey to England for further study. In the poem, I tried to express my sentiments about the place I was leaving behind.

  

Fragrant Harbor

A fragrance to heaven goes up each day

            as incense burns in temples.

A fragrance to world endures in time

with the gathering of spirited and lively people.

A fragrance to business and trade is sure,

            and it disperses throughout the land.

A fragrance to the East,

A fragrance to the West;

A fragrance to all who have come.

How many have sensed the sweetness of this place,

For whatever reason they journey –

To escape, to be caught;

To be lost, to be found.

The motives are many, the result is one.

I number among those

Who have caught the scent

Of this busy, crowded, unique place.

And something in me shall hope to smell again

The fragrance of these shores.

Charles Kinnaird                               6/83         

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