Tag Archives: American Indians

Compared to Mexicans, American Indians don’t like stoop labor

Hi readers.

I’ve noticed American Indians prefer doctoring, or motel owning jobs over stoop labor, mowing grass, carpentry and other grunt jobs preferred by Mexicans.  My VA physician is an American Indian, and so’s my cardiologist.  Both of whom speak English at 7-9 on an understandability scale of 10.  Better than the clerk down at Walmart.

This got me wondering about Indians ‘back home’ where they came from and whether everyone in India is a doctor or motel owner.  I figured the Indian film industry would be a good start.  So I searched “India” on Netflix.  One of the [quaint word] films recently released by the Indians is EXPRESS TO CHENNAI.


Fun, interesting film.  WEST SIDE STORY, THE GODFATHER,  and NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC all wadded up into the same excellent movie.  Those Indians made me consider how much better off Hollywood would be if they just handed moviemaking over to the Indians, the way we’ve done with inventiveness, patent applications, doctoring, motel owning etc etc etc.

It’s a movie about the Indian mafia, about love and romance, about tourism, and it’s done in song and dance part of the time.  Freaking great movie.

I wouldn’t mind staying in a motel or getting a doctor working on my vitals if he comes from the country where EXPRESS TO CHENNAI was made.  Or his parents or grandparents came from there.

Unless they were poor, or huddled masses.  I’ve got no use having a Mexican doctor working on me. 


EL INFIERNO’s the best Mexican movie I’ve seen lately and I don’t care anything about having the people who made that one doing my cutting and pasting bodily.

Old Jules

The Zen of politics – Romantic vs Classic forms

Hi readers. Thanks for the visit.

Probably some of you have noticed as I have that things in Washington D.C. aren’t always as they appear to be.

Moving the White House and Congress to Disneyland – A serious proposal

The reasons for this reach deeply into the psyche of the people who call themselves Americans. They’re entrenched in the idealized construct of the US Constitution and the romantic, dehumanized cardboard cutouts of the ‘founding fathers’, US presidents, generals, politicians and jurists. By definition their motives were pure, their decisions and actions were entirely driven by the desire to protect the rights of the future citizenry.

A classical view of all this would note a few contradictions inside the fog of idealism. The supposed ability of the judiciary, for instance, to shed the skin of partisanship and self-interest once sworn into office. The fact a substantial portion of the humanity born inside the borders, the ‘Indians’, were not to be included in the census, not to be taxed. In fact, were not citizens at all when it came to the protected rights of citizenship. The only protections the US Constitution provided them were treaty obligations approved by the US Congress. Even the 14th Amendment to the Constitution in 1868 pretended the tribes governed themselves and the US Government had no jurisdiction over them. Excluded for automatic citizenship even those who gave up tribal affiliations.

Keeping the options open, those realists. Kept them open until 1924, by which time the protection of any rights they might have had as citizens couldn’t do them a hell of a lot of good.

Not to say impartial or non-partisan Supreme Court jurists, or what happened to the rights of American Indians has anything to do with anything except reality.

The reality. Washington D.C. is inhabited by human beings looking out for their own best interests. They’ve pared the environment down so it’s contained in a two-party system to protect itself from intruders, outsiders, invaders. They’re all singing from the same songbook inside the conch shell where the only sound you hear is their ocean.

Whining about taxes, rights protected by Constitutional amendments, undeclared wars and candidates for National elected offices who aren’t blessed with chins can’t penetrate the walls of the conch shell.

The reality is that if any of that can be changed it can’t happen in a capsule of romantic form anchored to a past that never existed, celluloid people canonized in myth and a piece of paper with less substance than a US dollar.

Playing nicknack tallywack inside Washington’s two-party system only results in them throwing the dog a bone. But the dogs do love it.

That’s reality.

Old Jules