Duck Creek Shit Storm

Karli and I pulled up to Duck Creek and drove through what seemed to be a pretty average “car camping” site. There were small, treed areas separated by thirty or so meters scattered among both sides of the road that were already about half full of various RV’s and pickups. Based on the recommendation of our friends who had camped here prior, we kept pushing through the valley of the weekenders. After about a mile, we hooked a turn and we were in one of the most stunning landscapes I have ever seen.

This valley looked like something out of a painting. We had finally achieved our much needed vacation from the city of Denver.

We drove down the road for what felt like hours, just taking in all this mountain range had to offer. We said very little on this portion of the drive because the scenery was simply awe inspiring. We finally found a perfect little secluded spot, miles and miles down the road.

This was it. I parked the car. We let the dogs out and we set up camp. This felt perfect. The woman I love. Our dogs, Sturgill and Hank. Cold beer. Food cooked over a fire. I felt like I was living out a country song. Hell, I felt like Zac Brown was just whispering sweet, soft little nothings into my ear as I rode on the shoulders of Garth Brooks. Yeah, it was that kind of trip.  

For two days and one night, this was absolute paradise. The second night was… uh, more chaotic.

Camping out of the back of a Subaru Crosstrek with two grown ass people, and two medium dogs is very tight but doable. We had the backseats folded down and had fit a decent sized air mattress in the back. The dogs were supposed to sleep at our feet, but they basically just did whatever they fucking wanted to because they are dogs that were being forced to sleep in a car. The first night went ok. A little uncomfortable, but we figured it was manageable.

The second night came, we piled into the back of the car, and we all fell asleep. I was asleep for three and a half seconds before the dogs started stomping me out like I was being initiated into a fucking gang. I finally got them to settle and laid my head down once more. Insert the most jarring panting noises I have ever heard. They were panting so hard, they were shaking the car. I could not sleep and I was getting very upset. I let the dogs outside, hoping they just needed to pee or poop. I was partially right. They both peed and got back in the car. I fell back asleep.

I woke to even worse panting, a really strange noise, and utter darkness. I thought it came from outside. “Oh, fuck! Is that moose we saw yesterday out there?” I asked myself. I groggily came to, and my head began to fill with questions, “Was there an animal outside? Is that why the boys were acting so crazy and denying me of my precious sleep? What time is it?” All of these questions were cut short by the intrusion of a smell. “Is that a fart?” I think to myself. And then it hits me. That was the sound I heard. And that was no fart… that was a shart.

“That’s shit! That’s fucking shit!” I start to repeat with increasing levels of volume every time I say it. Karli wakes up as I am chanting, “That’s shit. That’s fucking shit.” As she begins to put the confusing pieces of me yelling and trying to get the dogs out of the car together, she begins to ask me what in the hell I’m talking about. “Sturgill shit somewhere in the car!” As the dome lights in the car finally turn on, I realize that the “somewhere” that Sturgill shit was, in fact, right next to my head.

At this point, I get Hank out of the car and Sturgill quickly follows. Sturgill is a long, tall dog that resembles much more of a horse than a K9. As his body sneaks past me, he manages to brush my face with his exceptionally long tail. Normally, this would be of no issue. But due to the explosive diarrhea that he had just expelled from his bowels and onto our bed, this was a huge problem. 

My tone now shifts from that of confusion and frustration, to unfiltered rage and fury “There is shit on my face! There is shit on my goddamn face!” I begin another chant, as if stating my misfortunes will somehow resolve them. I scramble out of the car still screaming about the smear of dog poo on my face. Not a ton of shit, mind you. But any amount on your face is warrant for an emotional reaction. I am so upset that I scare Hank and he just runs away. I don’t blame him, that’s the correct response when you are a thirty-eight pound labradoodle who doesn’t understand English but are smart enough to understand that your brother just shit on your Dad’s face and Dad is now throwing poop covered items out of the car while informing your brother that he will spend the rest of his days in these woods. It is also worth noting, I looked criminally insane during this portion. The smell was so awful that I was gagging, dry heaving, and still yelling obscenities at my dog. All the while, Karli is laughing hysterically, and I don’t blame her. That’s the correct response when you are a nurse and shit is a normality. When you look over and your boyfriend is behaving as though he just contracted Ebola and smoked meth simultaneously, you laugh.

Hank finally returns and we load up everything into our 2021 toilet on wheels and begin our drive home… with the windows down, of course.

Karli had to drive at first because there was so much stuff jammed into the back of the vehicle that I couldn’t fit in the drivers seat. We got on the narrow, two-lane, mountain highway in the middle of the night and two semi-trucks and trailers zoomed past us and shook the Crosstrek violently. You know, like a small car with all of its windows down would shake when being passed at an opposing seventy-five miles per hour. “Nope. You have to drive.” Karli says to me.  

We pull over to the side of the highway and rearrange the car, again. I’m nearing the end of my patience with this escapade and I am just fucking ready to be home.

I’m driving down the highway, the steering wheel is only inches from my chest, all the windows were down, and to say I was upset would be a gross understatement. I looked at my dog and once again told him I should have left him in the woods. I obviously did not mean this. Sturgill is my horse dog, my sweet boy, my dog. But in this moment, I was being downright mean to him. Karli informed me that saying horrible things like that was not funny. I wasn’t trying to be funny. I was trying to be hurtful because I was angry. There was, after all, dog shit on my face. But as we hurdled down the road surrounded only by the sounds of the headwind of the highway that drowned out the already low sound of the radio, my mind began to wander. The cold air that was bellowing through the open car windows was the only thing keeping me awake. Well, that and the overpowering stench of dog shit that smelled strangely reminiscent of Cheerios. The smell was so pungent I couldn’t keep my mind off of Sturgill.  

I began to feel lower than low. As I should have. I said some off the wall shit to him when I was angry. It’s times like those where I really hope our dogs can’t understand us. But even if he couldn’t verbally express anything to me, his face spoke volumes. I could tell that he was hurt. He was afraid and uncomfortable because he knew that his Dad was furious with him. I looked at that sad face of his and I thought of that same boyish face that would light up when I came home. That same face that would look up at me with complete and total trust. That same, sweet face that kept me company throughout pandemic lockdowns and some of the hardest chapters of my life. I was flooded with all of the countless joys that dog has brought to my life.

I look back at him and I earnestly apologized. He seemed to accept my gesture. 

We continued down the road as the wind blasted us and the dogs. Karli looks at me and smiles, as if to remind me that everything is going to be ok, and that we will laugh about this someday. I smile in return because I know she is right. I look in the rear view mirror and I see Hank, just sitting there looking justifiably confused and cold. I look for Sturgill and I notice that he is squatting and is facing the rear window. He is once again, shitting the car. I take a deep breath in to process the situation. In retrospect, that was poorly timed inhale. I look over at Karli and simply say “He’s pooping again.” “Oh, wow. That’s really unfortunate.” She responds. We both focus back on the road and realize there is nothing we can do about any of this right now. It was relieving. We both just dug into our reality and realized that we had a unfortunately pungent drive ahead of us, but we were going to make it.

Sometimes life is an oasis in the mountains. Sometimes life is a Subaru filled with watery dog shit. It is the reaction to either scenario that dictates the overall energy of your life.

Strive to move with grace and eloquence through all aspects of life and reciprocate love to those who give theirs to you. Even if they shit on your face. 

Dedicated to my little family:

Karli, Hank, and Sturgill aka “The New Amber Turd”

 

 

Karli holding Sturgill while Hank ignores the camera. 

 

Anatomy of A Reality

Buried deep in the vast and uncompromising woods of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan is the story of one of America’s most unique murder trials. The relatively quiet and calm landscape of the Upper Peninsula, more commonly referred to by its residences as the “UP” was the stage for a story that would prove to be monumental in terms of its real life decision and its Hollywood depiction.

The film noir classic Anatomy of A Murder is a legendary piece of American cinema and has cemented itself in the canon of outstanding courtroom dramas for good reason. Since the film’s release in 1959, it has continually captivated audiences for decades. The movie weaves the tale of one man’s perceived justification for committing first degree murder and his attorney’s struggle to convince a jury to find merit in that argument. The film tackles the dichotomous situation presented by one man’s crime of passion. The dichotomy exceeded simply convincing a jury but convincing a jury comprised of the members of close knit and very unique community who were determining the fate of an outsider. This enthralling film follows the courtroom proceedings that follow the gruesome events that unfolded at the Big Bay Inn in Big Bay, Michigan.

On July 31, 1952, A Lieutenant in the US Army, Coleman Peterson shot and killed a man, former Michigan State Police officer Mike Chenoweth for allegedly raping and beating his wife, Charlotte Peterson. According to The News-Palladium, Benton Harbor, Michigan “Peterson’s wife went to the tavern last night to purchase beer to take back to the trailer camp, and Chenoweth offered to drive her home. On the way, she said, Chenoweth assaulted and raped her. In tears, she told her husband, who picked up his gun and went to the tavern. There he fired several shots at Chenoweth , striking him in the stomach, chest and right arm. There were a dozen a more patrons in the tavern at the time of the shooting, which occurred about 12:30 a.m.” (News Palladium, 1952) By August 7 of the same year the trial had begun and concluded with a verdict of not guilty for Lt. Peterson on the grounds of temporary insanity a mere six days later. The events that unfolded in the 25^th District Court (Michigan Courts, 2022) in Marquette County were the foundational groundwork for a story that was destined turn to gold on the silver screen.

Anatomy of A Murder and its depiction of the People of Michigan v. Coleman Peterson trial sets itself apart from many other factually based court room dramas due to the films deeply inherent roots in the truth of the matter. The film does not open with the typical “based on a true story” frame that have become a contemporary symbol of validity for most true crime dramas. But the absence of this cinematic commonplace does not cause the story to deviate too far from the truth. The movie was filmed in its entity in Marquette County, where the real trial occurred. The film is based on a book by the same name by an author named Robert Travers. However, a little research will prove that Robert Travers was a pseudonym. (Tribune, 1970) The author’s actual name was John Voelker. John Voelker was the defense attorney for The People of Michigan v. Peterson in 1952. Voelker’s identity was not the only name changed in his book. Every important person in the trial was given a new name and the filmmakers followed suit. In the film LT. Peterson is referred to as Lt.  Manion, Charlotte Peterson is portrayed as Laura Manion, Judge Charles O. Arch  was portrayed as Judge Weaver and the prosecuting attorney was given the name Claude Dancer. John Voelker is referred to as Paul Biegler. Voelker wrote this book in a semi-fictional fashion in attempt to tell the complicated story that envelopes this murder and consequential trial without possibly implicating any of the people involved. He had to be particularly careful with his depiction of this case because he had a seat on the Michigan State Supreme Court at the time his book was published. In fact, he was still on the Michigan State Supreme Court until the book had become a solidified hit. “Now assured of an adequate income, Voelker resigned from the Michigan Supreme Court in January 1960 to devote his time to fishing and writing.” (NMU, 2008) As this article expands on the various layers of this murder trial, it will begin to bring to light the realities of the crime that inspired Anatomy of a Murder while also highlighting the discrepancies that the film makers may have portrayed in the name of a dramatic effect. However, sandwiched between the truth in recounting of this story and the Hollywood flare that made it a hit, there is a very American lesson to be learned.

 From left to right: John Voelker, Lt. Peterson, (seated) Charlotte Peterson (NMU, 2008)

            The details and evidence of the murder were piling up in favor of the prosecution before the trial had even begun. But the most adversarial force Voelker was up against was a battle with the aforementioned tightly knit community that the deceased (Chenoweth) was a part of for his entire life. Chenoweth was a true Yooper.

Yooper: an endearing and self-proclaimed title that the residences of the UP wear with a badge of honor. The Yoopers are a unique group of Americans belonging to a portion of Michigan that is often forgotten by outsiders.

(Hannity, Nov. 19, 2020)
 

 But this sense of exclusion from the outside world has stretched over generations and given birth to an unparalleled sense of community that is exclusive to the Upper Peninsula. They care for one another in a manner that is dedicated and true because they have the resources to do so. The population in the UP is still small to this day and was significantly less in 1952. The upper Peninsula is a collection of various small towns that thrive in different ways from either mining or exporting iron ore or the logging industry. As if the arduous labor involved in mining and logging were not enough, the winter months are hard, treacherous, and long in the UP. There is a  communal sense of suffering among those that soldier through these blistering winters.  Facing some of nature’s harshest elements can really create cohesion that is unparalleled. This peculiar element of closely bound community was very important in the real trial and the depictions in the film. Far be it from anyone to associate them with the lower state of Michigan, they are a community and culture all their own.

The judge in this case was a lower statesman. He was called up to oversee the proceedings because the original judge, Judge Maitland had “an illness” (NMU, 2008) He recognized that his presence might cause some uneasiness with a jury and courtroom comprised largely of Yoopers. In the Judge’s opening statement he addressed his reason for travelling from up state to be a preside over the case and assured the all in attendance that his main objective was to find the truth above all else. In the film, Judge Weaver adds an element of comedic relief in his statement. “ One judge is quite like another. The only differences may be in the state of their digestions or their proclivities for sleeping on the bench. For myself, I can digest pig iron. And while I might appear to doze occasionally, you will find that I am easily awakened, particularly if shaken gently by a good lawyer with a nice point of law.” (Time-Life Multimedia, 1959) Judge Arch was portrayed as honest and integral throughout the film.  

            The defense had an out of town judge with the appearance of being less biased in their favor. Next, they had to ensure that the jury did not feel biased toward Lt. Peterson. After all, he was basically a stranger that had been placed in their community by the Army and were unfamiliar with his character. However, the Lieutenant’s service to his country seemed to have an impact on his appearance at the trial. The defense would not only mention LT. Peterson’s combat service in Korea, but the Lieutenant appeared at trial in his dress service uniform every day. He never appears in civilian attire in the film or over the period of the actual trial.  The only photograph of the Lieutenant in civilian attire was taken sometime shortly after his arrest.

 Pictured Above: LT. Coleman Peterson after being arrested for the shooting of Mike Chenoweth

           Voelker was crafting an excellent defense built on his clients proud military service and an out of town judge that was willing to maintain order in a seemingly chaotic courtroom. The courtroom was depicted as having hysterical outbursts in the film. One of which was over the use of the word “panties” which in the film is responded with laughter from those in attendance. But an interview that was conducted in 2008  with one of the jurors on the case. Shows that this famous scene had a little bit of hyperbole added by the camera. “The colorful person was John Voelker.” NMU, 2008) Max Mueller recalls after being asked about the courtroom hysterics. He said he remembered the courtroom to be relatively calm except when Voelker and Dancer would argue.

However, it does seem that Mrs. Peterson’s panties were in fact a piece of evidence. Apart from her actual underwear being retrieved and used as evidence. The film depicts behavior in the courtroom that would deemed as grossly inappropriate according to today’s standards. In the line of questions regarding Mrs. Peterson’s alleged rape, one question was in reference to what she was wearing that night. These questions stood without objection partially because it was the 1950’s and partially because Mrs. Peterson had a colorful reputation with men and alcohol. Especially, when her husband was absent. According to the Chicago Tribune “The reason that Lt. Peterson had shot Chenoweth that night was because Mrs. Peterson, who had been drinking and partying all evening at the tavern, came home with a black-eye. She told her husband that Mike Chenoweth raped her. It was later established in the court records that Peterson had a jealous streak. One night, outside the tavern, he struck his wife. Witnesses testified he accused her of flirting with one of the men stationed with him at the U.S. Anti-Aircraft Range near Big Bay.” (Chicago Tribune, 1970) 

            Voelker had a difficult situation on his hands as the Peterson’s dirty laundry was being aired out in front of the jury. Voelker and Lt. Peterson decided to plead that the murder was committed under a state of temporary insanity. Lt. Peterson plead that he did not remember the killing in any capacity.

            The lieutenant recalled the events of July 31, 1952, as such in the film:   

Lt. Manion: “My next coherent recollection is back in the trailer.

Paul Biegler: "Can you illustrate for us, Lieutenant, what position the deceased assumed when he turned around?"

The Lieutenant's words came in breathless spurts,

Lt. Manion: "As I say, he turned.. To the best of my recollection he turned to his right...

his left hand on the bar... I cannot recall seeing his right arm."

Paul Biegler: “You say his left hand on the bar or arm and hand?"

Lt. Manion: "His left forearm. He kind of leaned."

Paul Biegler: "State whether or not you remember driving back to the trailer."

Lt. Manion: "No, sir; I don’t-"

Paul Biegler: “What happened when you got back to the trailer?"

Lt. Manion: "I guess I came to.”  (Time-Life Multimedia, 1959)

According to the researchers at Northern Michigan University, the copy of Voelker’s testimony from the character dialogue between Lt. Manion and Paul Biegler does resemble his actual testimony given during the trial. “The lieutenant's testimony closely follows that of the actual trial, although it is condensed in places.” (NMU, 2008)

            Upon hearing everything the defense and prosecution had prepared and delivered, the jury returned with a decision of not guilty, on the reason of temporary insanity. That is not just the storybook ending that Lt. Manion received in Anatomy of A Murder but the real decision in The People of Michigan v. Coleman Peterson.

 The jury from the People v. Peterson trial (NMU, 1952)  

The unfolding of events behind the camera were not that much different than the reality that unfolded in the Marquette County courtroom. There were certainly many elements of Anatomy of a Murder that were accentuated for dramatic effect. But when it comes to watching courtroom deliberations, sometimes a little dramatic effect is needed. Despite any exaggerations of the truth used to create the film, the indisputable fact that a complete outsider murdered a Yooper in the UP, in front of a crowd of Yooper witnesses, then tried by Yoopers was ultimately found innocent is truly incredible. Despite overwhelming evidence that was not in the favor of the defendant. A jury comprised of close knit community members, people that were able to feel the ripple of the murder in their everyday lives, decided in the favor of Lt. Peterson. Lest it be forgotten that Voelker was also a Yooper, being born and raised in Ishpeming, Michigan. All of those factors in conjunction with one another, and he was still able to use all of his local charm and convince the jury that one of their own was not only capable of raping Charlotte Peterson but had done so beyond the shadow of a doubt. Therefore, deserving of his death at the hands of her temporarily deranged husband. Voelker’s work as an attorney was as equally stupendous as James Stewart’s on screen portrayal of him. Many things can be misconstrued through the lens of a camera as its directors attempt to simulate real court room proceedings, but what it cannot distort is the empirical need to hire an outstanding attorney when trapped in the grips of the law.

 

 

The Caring Conundrum  

By: Javan Bair

The human experience. Each one is an individual set of circumstances and trials that has cinematic potential. The pain, the pleasure, the love, the hate, everything is wrapped into this one experience, and it can be so fucking rad if you are willing to let everything life has just wash over you. The interactions we have with each other is the most important and necessary part of being a human. The care and compassion that we are able to share with one another is one the most beautiful parts of this existence. The feeling of providing an act or a service to a person, or a group of people that positively affects them is ultimately fulfilling. But creating impactful and positive change in the lives of others is no simple task. It requires work and dedication. But those requirements do not necessarily align with our contemporary culture of instant gratification. And in the name of immediacy and pleasure, we have taken the most lovely and virtuous of all human values and turned into a cheap plastic commodity.

The world we create around us can be ugly and unforgiving. The constant sea of worry and trouble can drag you under with ease. As we strive to create a positive experience on this planet, we are subjected to the constant plight of all mankind as media conglomerates, more often than not, exploit these tribulations as they push out constant droves of content. 

It is difficult to hide the ugliness of the world when it is being projected on high definition screens everywhere you look. Every single day there is a new cause that needs the immediate support of all of humanity. And if you are not ready to take to the streets for this cause, then you are automatically guilty of supporting the opposition, whatever that may entail. But this cause will soon dissipate after making great noise but little crafting little to no change. The picket signs will soon fill dumpsters as new ones are needed to support the next week’s cause. This cycle is slowly chipping away at our abilities to truly care.

Amidst all of this noise, there seems to be two available methods of coping. Apathy is a simple and effective tool for those that want to ignore the world. But empathy is the only effective tool for creating change. But one cannot feel empathy, real empathy toward everything. There is simply too much happening around us to care earnestly for every cause. Associated with nearly every cause, there is both nobility and fraudulence pushing it forward. Those that are seeking change or resolution and those whose identity is encapsulated by leeching off these causes.

I’ll say it again. You cannot care for everything. And when you try to, you become disingenuous and self-righteous, which is even worse than doing nothing at all. There is only so much time allotted during the day for being outwardly commendable.

How are you supposed to care about everything when everything is a mess? Gasoline is $5.00 a gallon. No one can afford to purchase a home in this housing market. Roe V. Wade was dismantled in a sweeping and regressive motion before our eyes. The January 6^th Committee is starting to unveil just how deep the veins of corruption actually run in our government. There is a shortage of baby formula. Mass shootings seem to be rising with the temperatures.  US service members are dying at an alarming rate right here in the US. Police are still killing unarmed citizens. There is vicious war being fought in the Ukraine. And that is just the homepage to your chosen news website. All of that, and you are supposed to wave the flag of each cause all at once, just so you can give the appearance of someone who gives a shit. This is not what caring looks like. This is nothing more than lace curtain virtue signaling. In other words, you’re a fucking fraud and everyone sees through it.

A guide to engaging in contemporary discourse: “How do you not know about insert this week’s hot button topic here?! Do you even care about insert marginalized or victimized group here?!” That is our modern day approach to spreading awareness. We belittle and bemoan those that are unaware. We chastise and guilt the fuck out of one another into caring. 

“Do you even care?” Do you? Because, if you haven’t noticed, we still haven’t fixed the old problems. Just because the media presents you with a new problem, it does not automatically have to become one of your own. Even Jesus was only nailed to one cross (and people still won’t shut up about that guy). You shouldn’t feel the need to virtue signal yourself to a new cause every single week and act like you can support the weight of yet another issue.   

“No War in Ukraine” “Our Bodies, Our Choice” “Black Lives Matter” “No Justice, No Peace” The signs that cover the window of my neighbor’s apartment. At face value, the posters look nice.  These are all causes that any rational person should be able to get behind. But I must wonder of the sincerity. Are my neighbors actually progressive godheads that spend all of their time advocating for each cause the world has to offer or is this simply a way if covering the bases of contemporary caring? Saying to the outside world that walks by their window, “Don’t forget about me. I care too! Look! Look at how much I care!” I have no fear in admitting that it could be cynical to view their posters in this light, but a dash of cynicism is necessary for sifting through bullshit. And we are surrounded by bullshit. However, they could also just be trying to block out the sunlight and spread awareness at the same time. That’s just two birds with one stone. I can dig that kind of ingenuity.

The world is a mess because it houses a species that is a mess. A bunch of humans that crave attention and inclusivity at nearly any cost.

We have virtue signaled ourselves into a corner. It is inherently noble to care about the plight of others. Empathy is one of the portions of our human experience that make this journey so beautiful. The act of devoting oneself to a greater cause is fulfillment that we all seek. But you cannot be the savior to all, no one has that kind of capacity.  Find the things in this life that you are passionate about and pursue them tirelessly. Work unremittingly for the changes you wish to manifest. But do so with heart and sincerity. Anything less is not worth doing at all. Anything less is just an insult to the true capabilities of humans. We can care so deeply for one another if we simply allow our rationale to dictate where our humanitarian efforts should be placed. We have never heard such a constant outcry for change and civility, yet we scream from plastic hearts as we hang on to a mere semblance of real empathy. Be sincere or be nothing at all.  

 

The Second String Debate Team

Modernity has brought forth technological advancements that still seem like the work of science fiction, even as we live in their midst. Despite these marvelous inventions and advancements that we have proven capable of creating, humans continue to prove that we are somehow incapable using new technology for anything other than promoting our own innate need for tribalism.  

Our tribes no longer resemble that of our ancestors. Our predecessors lived in tribes that were rooted in communal interests, well-being, and love for one another. As we have developed as a species and expanded outside of the parameters of traditional human life, we have abandoned the beneficial parts of tribalism. Such as, devotion to the preservation and betterment of one another and an understood need for unity, in order to prevent collapse. Comfort, technology, and complacency have replaced these values with misguided devotions that are designed to simply preserve rather than flourish our ways of living. We are still tribal beings. That portion of us is deeply imbedded in our DNA. However, we have regressed from our original humanitarian notions. And we have successfully divided ourselves into one of two polarizing options of tribes. The right or the left. And for the most part, we have defended our tribes from the safety and comfort of our digital pantheon. The internet.

The internet is a toxic and vile cesspool of opinions and assholes. Millions of people, screaming out for attention and validation in the name of their chosen tribe. An endless supply of millennial ideologies colliding against one another for no other reason than to make noise. The internet is a place of polarizing opinions and skewed facts. A wasteland of worldviews that are being pressed, squeezed, crammed, and manipulated in order to fit the specific views of either the right or the left. The internet is the safe haven for everyone’s confirmation bias.

But the internet is also very dichotomous. The same aforementioned cesspool also hosts a collection of brilliant people, literature, photographs, films, philosophies, history and so much more. It can be a place used to perpetuate intellect, knowledge, and wisdom if you’re willing to get a little uncomfortable. One cannot look at all of the world’s information and still see the problems we face as solvable by adherence and allegiance to either the right or the left.

However, we here at this publication are also digital attention sluts. And we are ready to make some noise of our own. And we make no qualms about this. Honesty and self-awareness are the principle factors that we use to curate and distribute information to anyone willing to digest our material. The difference between us and many others is where our tribal notions reside. We exist on the outskirts off the right and the left. We like to live right in between the two bubbles of thought that encapsulate the mass ideologies and influence the world around us. Aside from observing, we do the only other thing we can from our position. We highlight the absurdity.

We converse with one another. We share ideas without the restriction of political bias and a distaste for the practices of either side. And we laugh at the state off the world because that is all we can do for now. This is not another blog or podcast being fueled a collection of opinionated people trying to persuade the thinking of others in the name of anyone else’s beliefs. Or even worse, we are not trying to save the world from behind a keyboard. Frankly, that just seems arduous and time consuming. We do our very best to avoid the self-indulged, self-righteous indignations that only cause cringe reactions, at all costs. 

So, if you are sick and tired of the way the world looks, may we offer you a solution. Try stepping away from the mainstream and observe the world with us for a bit. Step away from the varsity players on the left and the right and see if you like the way things look over here, as a part of The Second String Debate Team. 

“If I wasn’t bald, I would pull my fucking hair out.” I think to myself as I sit idly in this breakroom while I listen to all of my co-workers debate the current and calamitous unfolding of geo politics. Everyone is suddenly THE subject matter expert on an event that has yet to have even lasted a full twenty four hour period. Everyone is suddenly a diplomat ready to dissolve the world of its various and complex issues. Armed only with the regurgitations of headlines they read earlier in the day.

Blaming Biden. Blaming Trump. Blaming Putin. The arguments ensue as we make rash judgements based off the content being carefully curated into the palms of our hands.  

The direct blame for today’s events lie on Putin. He has ordered the acts of war that are unfolding in the Ukraine. The subsequent set of events that led up to this are now in the control of historians and should be the lesser concern of journalists.

The purpose and practice of journalism is to inform the public of the events happening now. Not provide theoretical explanations to the countless “could have been” situations.  

The events happening now:

+On Early Thursday morning Vladimir Putin enacted a “special military operation” against Ukraine. Thus beginning a war between Russia and Ukraine.

·         +“Ukraine’s Health Minister Oleh Lyashko said 57 people had been killed and 169 wounded.”  (AL JAZEERA AND NEWS AGENCIES, 2022)

·        +“Ukraine’s military said it had destroyed four Russian tanks on a road near the eastern city of Kharkiv, killed 50 troops near a town in the Luhansk region and downed six Russian warplanes elsewhere in the east.” (AL JAZEERA AND NEWS AGENCIES, 2022) 

·       +The Biden administration has imposed trade and banking sanctions on Russia in order for Russia’s economy to “bear the consequences” (Pres. Biden, 2022) of Putin’s actions.

·        + Days prior to Russia’s attack on Ukraine, President Biden mobilized US troops to Germany.  “About 6,000 U.S. forces have already been sent to Germany, Poland and Romania.” (Hennigan, TIME, 2022)  

·        + At this time there have been no directives or orders given to US troops to engage in this conflict.

In short, the world is once again falling into the throes of war and violence. The outcome of these events will certainly be profound and will echo through the halls of world history. But now we are forced to watch, observe, learn, and adapt to the ramifications of this event. Opinions (including my own)  in reference to these events are useless because this event is still in its infancy.

Discourse is wonderful. But pretending you know more than you do while conversing with others in the name of being hip with contemporary news is the language of fools. Don’t be a fool. Be informed.  

Sources:

https://time.com/6150266/troop-movements-ukraine-russia/ 

https://www.npr.org/2022/02/24/1082776912/biden-russia-ukraine-invasion-live 

https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2022/2/24/russia-ukraine-invasion-casualties-death-toll 

https://www.nytimes.com/2022/02/24/world/europe/why-russia-attacked-ukraine.html