Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts

Saturday, December 8, 2007

Haikus for Guantanamo

What a week! The U.S. Supreme Court has been hearing arguments about the detainees at Gitmo. There are two ways that the Supreme Court could go:

1) Decide that it's up to the Pentagon to decide the fate of the prisoners--who stays there and for how long. (Sounds like a plot of the next Arundhati Roy novel, no?)

2) Label the detainees as U.S. prisoners, thereby according them the right to trial by jury.

Paging Dr. Geneva Convention? Code Blue!

I'm reminded of Michel Foucault's arguments that categories are created frequently by those in power for the express purpose of maintaining their power and hegemony. Nowhere is this more evident than in arguments over the designations "enemy combatant" and "U.S. prisoner."

Who knew there would be worse options than "U.S. prisoner"? (Okay, to be fair, "Stupid English Schoolteacher in Sudan" might just be worse than "U.S. prisoner." I don't know.) No doubt, it's better to be a "U.S. prisoner" than an "enemy combatant"--or is it?

While we're all fighting so hard to have the detainees gain "prisoner" status, aren't we losing sight of the realities of the U.S. prison system? Are the detainees-turned-prisoners really going to get "justice" or "fair trial"? Perhaps it's simply the hope and the access that U.S. prisonerhood offers over enemy combatantship that makes the first option so much more appealing. But let's not forget that the U.S. justice system has its own major shortcomings. Just ask African American men. Sad to say, Guantanamo's detainees are probably more likely to get out alive as enemy combatants than if they were tried by our hypernational, jingoistic juries. In fact, if they are designated U.S. prisoners, we might as well just take them out back and shoot them Ceauşescu style, rather than going through the farce of a trial. But, oh wait, no, we're "humane" here.

There's a recent book, Poems from Guantanamo: The Detainees Speak, filled with, predictably, poems from Guantanamo. Strangely, these poems were translated by legal translators provided by the government, and no one is able to see the actual Arabic or Pashto versions because the original languages are Threats to National Security. Oy. Your guess on the function of this book of poetry is as good as mine.

But since my original language isn't a threat to your national security, here is my three-haiku cycle for Guantanamo.

Of course I want the
detainees to have a fair
shot at freedom. Of

Course I want them to

have the opportunity

to get out of Guan--


tanamo--and quick--
ly. I'm just not convinced that's

possible any time soon.

Friday, December 7, 2007

Entertainment Extra: Chubby Chasers of the World Unite

Tonight, I found myself watching MTV's Return to Fat Camp. Now, I present you a poem that I've written in response.

Logan cried because her hair clips had lice
and then ate McDonald's BBQ sauce on her ice
cream. Dan wouldn't avoid the temptation to moan
and called his parents so much they took away his cell phone.
Sam weighed only 144 pounds
but, my, was that spare tire round.
Formerly obese Camp director, Tony Sparber,
is the world's most creepiest chubby chaser.
He might find himself immortalized forever and ever
when he's forced, as a sex offender, to register.
From what I could see (take it from me),
the kids at Fat Camp could use a little more therapy.