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Jennie Abbott
Robin Brooks
Contributing Editors
Simona Assenova
Amanda Kabak
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by Chi Zaberga
Capitalism is not a new religion, and it is perhaps the largest. At this time of year
more than ever, we can see that everyone is a part of that church. Local highways
fill with cars headed for Mecca--the shopping malls--and cashiers collect offerings at the
check-out counter. Everything is for sale: goods, services, even souls. Being Capitalists
is stressful, so we need a spiritual outlet. People need somewhere to turn, and, often,
someone to blame; God or bad luck, we find a scapegoat. Capitalism is also the religion of
self-promotion (watch Bill Gates as he tries to stay at the top of the Fortune 500 Richest
People in the World list), an inherent skepticism of traditional Eastern and Western
religions that preach sacrifice and meaning beyond its monetary value.
The Capitalist crusades could be symbolized by McDonalds, which has spread the dominant
culture of the United States around the world. Perhaps McDonalds' outreach is, like
missionaries, an effort to better the lives of people in other countries; more likely it's
because those overseas "restaurants" bring in half of McDonalds' revenue.
Taking and making business overseas can be very profitable for companies such as Nike
or McDonalds. Nike takes work to developing countries and pays amounts that seem piteously
small to our standards. But then, as tourists, Americans see how inexpensive it is to buy
food and trinkets in those countries. Perhaps foreign factory workers do benefit from
"offshore" production just as mill girls benefited from their tenure in the
factories of Lowell, Mass., a century ago. Agricultural areas can no longer sustain the
families, so now people flock to crowded cities and, once in the city, they need to work
to survive; they are desperate. The big companies are teaching these oppressed workers the
religion of Capitalism: when they earn their small pay they will then buy into the system
of consumption, our communion. The religion of Capitalism permeates their own religion.
In the United States, many people seek to give credit to or lay blame upon a higher
power for the otherwise inexplicable events in their lives. Yearning for spiritual
guidance and development, quite a following has turned to Deepak Chopra--for reassurance,
for alternative suggestions and for encouraging optimism. Newsweek quoted Chopra:
"When your actions are motivated by love... the surplus energy you gather and enjoy
can be channeled to create anything that you want, including unlimited wealth."
People choose to tithe their riches to their retirement plans rather than to charities.
The disciples of Capitalism worship on Wall Street, and everyone prays for more money
because they think the one with the most will sit at the right hand of the Lord.
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by Amanda Kabak
The day of the wedding dawned hard and bright. The temperature hovered around zero,
but, thankfully, there was no wind. It was going to be one of those frigid yet sunny days
where even the heartiest of folks would complain bitterly about forgetting to pack their
sunglasses. The setting was peaceful and still, the quiet settled over the land like a
thick blanket. The few people who were about held their noses to the air and, shaking
their heads, predicted a storm.
But in all, it was the perfect February day--if there were such a thing. Most everyone
considered February's only redeeming quality to be that it never lasted longer than 29
days. It was never the first month to come to mind when one thought of planning a wedding,
especially one that signified the end of a terrifically long engagement and that fell
nowhere near Valentine's Day.
But no one dared criticize even the smallest aspect of the affair. So people carried on
as planned despite the cold snap that had enveloped the land in the week before the big
day. People who had at first approved of the romantic setting were reduced to grumbling
along with the rest of the workers when cars wouldn't start and all the supplies--food,
decorations, entertainment--had to be brought in by sled to the remote villa. It was all
terribly inconvenient, but the optimists of the bunch consoled themselves with the thought
that this was to be the grandest event of the century--all of history, perhaps--and that
all of their hard work would be appreciated a hundred-fold because of it.
Oh, and it was to be a grand event, indeed. Everything had been planned to perfection.
A team of the most skilled calligraphers had drawn up the invitations and place cards, all
printed on the most lovely cream-colored recycled paper. The principal players of all the
major symphony orchestras (all conspicuously noted for their feeling of the tempo of a
piece) were brought together in one ensemble and had been practicing for weeks for this
very affair. Flora and fauna were flown in from around the world, all with their special
instructions for care. They were placed around the villa in aesthetically strategic
locations and entrusted to the bride-to-be for their nourishment and other needs, for she
had a way with such things. The food was rumored by some taste-testers to be exquisite, a
vast array of vegetarian fare that would make just about anyone's mouth water in
anticipation.
Despite the adverse weather, everything had been going as planned. The high color on
everyone's cheeks was only due in part to the cold; everyone was flushed with anticipation
and excitement. However, during the last day of preparations, several people had to be
treated for snow blindness, hypothermia, and frost bite--mostly due to the odd sensation
of time not being constant. For example, half of the workers hanging up the very last of
the festive lights and wreaths about the soffits and doors of the villa had the feeling of
almost no time passing even when they'd been up on their ladders and scaffolds for hours,
while the other half felt that they'd been working a full day already when it had been a
single hour at most.
Everyone realized that the groom was nervous and anxious, so these incidents of
exposure were taken with good cheer and a shrug of the shoulders. However, everyone tried
not to think about what this meant in terms of the bride's mood.
As the hour of the ceremony drew near, guests and workers, alike, could be seen pausing
at windows as they were passing to watch the slow progression of one very large charcoal
gray cloud from the horizon toward the hill on which the villa sat. The smell of snow grew
strong outside, and people were thankful that everything that was necessary for the
wedding had already arrived. The weather could mean anything or nothing, they all thought,
but nobody could shake the feeling that it didn't bode well.
It was as everyone was filing into the sanctuary that time stopped and the soon-to-be
Mister and Missus had their biggest argument yet.
I know because I was there. You see, I was the designated maid for the forth and fifth
floors--the very floors where the Mister and Missus, respectively, were staying. I was
supposed to be downstairs with the rest of the workers, but I heard voices, and, I admit,
curiosity got the best of me.
I snuck back down the hall to the Missus' room and the voices. The door to her suite
was hanging wide open, so I stepped inside and peeked around the corner. In the middle of
the sitting room, on a carpet of emerald green grass, the Mister and Missus were standing
not two feet apart, all dressed up in their finery, having quite a row. The Missus'
companions were cowered in the corner, and even the flowers had shrunk down and hidden
their faces as well as they could. Through the window, I could see that the storm had
arrived quite suddenly with gusty wind and thick swirling snow.
Only after I took in the scene did I start to hear what the two of them were saying.
"... and this display of yours," he said, his arm sweeping out impatiently
toward the window, "is utterly childish. Have you no control? How do you think this
reflects on me?"
"You you you. Everything just has to be about you, doesn't it? Okay. Fine. Let's
talk about you. Letting those men freeze to death was incredibly responsible, don't you
think?"
"Well excuse me for being excited about my wedding day. Besides, they didn't die,
and if it weren't so damn frigid out, they would have been perfectly fine."
"It's February. It's supposed to be cold."
"Not this cold. Besides, we could have had it last May like I wanted."
"I wasn't ready."
"Okay, fine, let's not get into this." He took a deep breath and started in
again. "Just because ..."
It was then that I looked out the window again. If I hadn't already been rooted to the
spot, what I saw would have kept me there whether I wanted to stay or not. The snow flakes
that had just been whizzing about outside were now hanging suspended in mid-air. I looked
at my watch and saw the second hand ticking along as usual, but when I stuck my wrist out
into the hall, time stopped. Oh boy, the Mister was getting upset now.
"... your dress."
"What about my dress? You said ages ago that you liked this style."
"When it was made of silk, not snow and ice."
"I thought it was fitting of a February wedding. You're making every little
gesture of mine into some grand form of passive aggressive protest."
"Well isn't it? I've gone along with everything because I love you, and I want to
marry you more than I've ever wanted anything. It was obvious that you had doubts about
this in the beginning, but you agreed. I didn't think you'd agree if you weren't
sure."
"But all the hype ..." she said, trailing off and looking down at her ice
slippers.
I had to agree with her there. The talk about their love affair was nothing compared to
what had been going on since their engagement. And every time anyone even hinted that the
Mister and Missus were getting close to setting a date for the wedding, the whispers
turned into full-blown shouts, and people poked around looking for a quote or something
from one of the love birds. It would have been too much for me; I couldn't imagine what
those two felt, what with all the important work they had to do, too. My heart went out to
the Missus. I could understand, but, then again, things could calm down once they actually
tied the knot. You never knew.
During just the short time I tidied up for them, I'd found out that they were caring
absolutely beyond belief. And caring even though people cursed them out all the time for
just doing their jobs. They were also genuinely in love, which thrilled me to
death--seeing as I was such a romantic. I watched them, hanging on their every word.
"It's just hype." The Mister reached out and took the Missus by the arms,
melting part of her dress.
"Careful."
"Oh, the hell with the dress, and the hell with the hype. Who cares what people
say? We both know how to ignore them and keep on doing what's right. Besides, who cares if
they think this will make the most powerful merger of forces ever. It doesn't have to be
like that. It doesn't have to be about power, it can be about love and passion. Now tell
me, do you love me?"
"Of course I love you. You make me, all of us, all of everything, possible. It's
just ... sometimes you make me crazy."
"You make me crazy, too," he said in a voice that made even me blush. I
watched as the Missus' dress started to melt in earnest.
"That's not what I mean, Tim. If it weren't for you, nothing would die--but
nothing would live, either. Before I even met you I banged my head against you more times
than I could remember, and sometimes it's been even harder since, knowing what I do about
you." She took a deep breath that strained what was left of her dress. My heart ached
for her. She looked away from him and said in a rush, "If I marry you, I'm afraid
I'll try to take advantage of you."
"Take advantage- What do you mean?" He reached up and pulled her face around
to see. If they didn't get married, I didn't know what I was going to do with myself. True
love lost. Not to mention all that food.
"To prolong perfection," she said, turning away again. The flowers swiveled
to her, and the animals crept from the corner to gather about her and chatter.
"Don't be like this." He took her hand. "What do you mean?"
When she looked at him, even across the room, I could see the tears in her eyes.
"So many times I've created something divinely beautiful, but its perfection always
fades and dies because you keep marching time along like some stupid soldier in some
stupid army."
"But, honey, Nat, it isn't about that. It's about you and me, not what we create,
not what we do. Love me for who I am, as I love you for who you are--for your scruples and
your worries. Can't you see beyond appearances and titles?"
In answer, she looked at him for a long time then flew into his arms and kissed him,
her dress dripping off her. I all but ran into the hall, getting frozen right outside the
doorway.
When time started again, I stumbled down the hall right in front of the Mister and
Missus, not daring to turn around. Outside, the sun was shining, birds were chirping, and
it had to be seventy degrees if it was one. There were only a few small piles of snow to
show for the Missus' outburst.
I shook my head, thinking that if the rest of their marriage was going to be as
emotional as their wedding night, the world would never be the same.
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by Simona Assenova
Would I have imagined a year ago that my life would change so dramatically? Probably
not. As a regular student in Bulgaria, I had few dreams about my future accomplishments in
the context of the communist system in which I lived. But when my mother was granted a
Knight Fellowship at Stanford University, I knew that I was to face another life, and,
moreover, that I was to spend a year in the country that was the symbol of democracy
throughout the world.
Having grown up in Bulgaria, the Soviet Union's closest satellite, I had never seen
democracy in action. Although after the communist collapse in 1989 Bulgaria claimed to
have joined the world's democratic nations, few things changed during the eight ensuing
years. People still face the communist practice of corruption and robbery and these have
plunged the country into a major economic crisis.
On the 5th of August this year, my family and I boarded a plane that was to carry us to
America. After ten hours of an exhausting journey, we finally saw the lights of New York
City. I was pressed so close to the little window that I nearly crushed my nose against
the glass. But all that mattered was the land underneath which represented my new life. I
stared at the colorful lights gleaming in a smile to me from below when I heard the
captain announce that the plane would land in a few minutes at Kennedy Airport. He
congratulated us that we had made it through a terrible storm and were about to land
without further delay.
It seemed as if America was saying "welcome" to us, and the following moments
have remained as vivid pictures in my mind: the customs, the streets outside the airport,
the taxi ride to our hotel in Manhattan, and our crash into bed from exhaustion. I was so
exhausted and yet I could not help staring at the surroundings. Everything was so new and
exciting: the roads were full of traffic, huge cars rushing along them, the lighted
buildings, the skyscrapers which made my neck stiff. The feeling that I was dreaming
haunted me all the time. I had seen all of this in the movies, but I did not believe that
the movies actually reflected reality.
However, the new surroundings proved to be less astonishing than the American people
themselves. I had never in my life seen so many smiling and relaxed people who behaved so
freely and naturally. None of them cared if anybody was watching them while they displayed
their affection toward their relatives and friends. Nobody paid any attention whether
anyone else was listening to them. There were old people embracing each other with happy
smiles, little babies sitting on the ground at the airport while their parents were
greeting the newcomers. All of them looked like a big happy family.
To me, their behavior seemed so unusual. The tension and constant anxiety that I was
accustomed to seeing in the expressions of Bulgarian people was missing. I stood among
them while waiting to get my family's luggage and somehow felt uncomfortable and
miserable. I realized that this was the way my people should have lived -- free from fear,
free to express their emotions and viewpoints, free to live their lives the way they
wanted to.
I remembered how rarely we were given the opportunity to choose and to act in
accordance with our wishes and beliefs. I recalled my mother telling me that she was
unable to study journalism because only the children of prominent communist leaders had
access to jobs in the mass media. I remembered being beaten by my 8 and 9 year old
classmates because of my parents' support for the democratic opposition. One of my
classmates turned out to be a spy who reported to the school authorities anyone who in any
way opposed the Communist Party. I recognized the degree of damage which the political
regime, that had lasted for more than 45 years, had done to my people and to me in
particular. It had made us fear and hide our true emotions in order to survive and
function in the conditions in which we lived.
A flood of thoughts rushed through my head while I watched the diversity of ethnicities
and races in America. In my country diversity was simply not tolerated. I knew it would
not be easy to adjust to the new environment, to the language, and to the different
people. But I looked forward to the challenge. My country had made me strong. I preserved
my beliefs and individuality in a harsh system which sought to destroy them from an early
age. I felt happy about the fact that I no longer needed to suffer because I was
different, and that I would not be forced to believe or express the opposite of my true
feelings. And my family was there with me and for me -- the people who taught me to rely
on myself, to be tolerant of people's differences, and to be open to the world. They were
standing next to me on the threshold of my new life.
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by Mick Stbag
The United States is well-known as a Melting Pot--a place where people from all over
the world can immigrate and become "Americans." American is a very ambiguous
term--it usually refers to a person of mixed Western-European heritage and rarely means a
person is Native American. Four generations away from my ancestors who migrated here,
people still inquire as to what mixed breeds I am. I've gotten quite good at rattling off
the list: English, Irish, Scots, Welsh (thanks to the genealogy research of my
grandmother--who could trace back some family to the Mayflower), German and Italian. I am
still seen as all these different ethnicities, yet I am a nameless amalgam, not one or
another, I am American.
In a melting pot, various metals are melted down and eventually merge into a new
element, at the expense of no longer being the original metals. In fruit salad, various
fruits--oranges, bananas, apples, kiwis, mangos, cherries--are mixed together, yet do not
combine, they stay separate, each with a distinct taste and texture. No identity has been
lost, diversity is maintained, but at the cost of rigidity and exclusion.
Gradually the United States is becoming a melting pot rather than a soup pot. Over the
generations and as taboos are weakened, more and more people cross race, religious, ethnic
and class barriers to create a new life from a mixture of traditions. If this were a fruit
salad, religious, class, and racial groups would keep more separate than they already are,
and we would limit our learning about other cultures by immersing ourselves more deeply in
our own.
One morning I heard an opinion on NPR of a man who resents the absence of traditional
Christmas music in the children's programs in public and private schools. Instead, the
children sing Hanukah and Kwanza songs in an effort by the teachers not to offend anyone.
The man resents this Affirmative Action in holiday songs. He laments the sacrifice of one
traditional culture for others: Kwanza, a holiday invented in the '60s and Chanukah, a
relatively unimportant Jewish holiday that happens to coincide with the popular
celebration of Christmas, one of the two most important Christian holidays.
As if diversity were unimportant the rest of the year, it suddenly hits some people
during the holiday season that we're losing religion as it all combines into one
amorphous, vague, and over-ritualistic holiday rather than activities with spiritual and
historical value and meaning. Which customs should be passed down? Is there value in the
amalgamation?
I believe that children need to be presented with a variety of possibilities because
what to practice and when is a personal decision. Just as the American industrial
revolution was built on the steel industry, the true United States race, ethnicity,
religion, and culture is based on a unique amalgam of its diverse parts.
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