Everybody knows

We are told that the economy is in recovery. Things are getting better. Facts and figures bolster the argument: Lower unemployment figures. Higher GDP numbers. Affordable health care for all.

I look at my personal world and it doesn’t reconcile with the narrative.

Is it just me?

I expand the circle and take at those around me.

They don’t seem to be doing so well either.

Local oil companies, (the majors, anyway, which aren’t the majors that come to mind), continue to operate, but everyone knows the current price of crude does not come anywhere near the cost of exploration and exploitation.

The large outfits lay off a portion of the help and speak of hedged oil prices that allow them to continue for six more months.

The little guys did not hedge their oil. So, they lay everybody off, aside from perhaps a skeleton crew to keep remaining assets from being stolen. The service companies don’t get paid.

Hotels, recently booked two years in advance, sport vacancies, and even more soon-to-be-new hotels have yet to open their doors.

The truck that sold tacos to passing oil field trucks quit coming.

Pickup truck salesmen watch nervously through shiny glass windows for non-existent buyers, worrying about bills at home, knowing their only income is derived from commissions; the trucks don’t sell.

Farmers plant crops, hoping government subsidy programs bridge the widening gap between production costs and the current price of grain, knowing that without this assistance, they lose money for their efforts.

Bankers watch accounts dwindle as clients pilfer retirement reserves to pay bills; the day arrives when the retirement account is retired and those bills go unpaid.

Then it’s, I can’t pay you because he didn’t pay me, only he tells the same story about another.

A scene from the movie, Cinderella Man, comes to mind: The Depression era boxer Jim Braddock, (played by Russell Crowe), arrives at an upscale apartment of a believed-to-be wealthy associate, looking for a loan, only to discover a cold, empty home, devoid of furniture, sold to maintain the appearance of wealth.

Cattle are high. But many places no longer have cows, which were sold during the droughts. Truth be known, just about everyone raising cattle has a day job to support the habit, and it has been this way for the last 40 years.

Today’s beef prices are necessary to break even, not to make a profit, just to pay expenses.

There’s no way in hell this endeavor justifies the supposed value of the land those cattle are raised on.

Meanwhile, meat has become inaccessible for many consumers due to current prices.

A few years back, I received a windfall.

I distrust and dislike banks and lending institutions.

So, rather than place money in a bank account, which would then be lent out to others, others not of my choosing, I decided to lend money to friends and associates I thought had viable enterprises in need of funding.

The recipients covered a wide array, from farmers and ranchers, here and abroad, to musicians and even a start-up insurance salesmen. There was a flower salesman and even a medical marijuana guy in a state where such is legal.

One guy trained race horses.

My wife opened a business, built from scratch from raw land.

We restored an old store from ruins.

Bought a small irrigated farm in West Texas.

And, bought way too many fine Thoroughbred horses.

None of the people I loaned money to were able to pay me back. All are decent, hard-working people; all made honest efforts, yet none could repay their loan, aside from one of minimal value and he sold a house his grandfather gave him before dying to do so.

Most of these people continue to work, vigorously. Some have a few remaining assets; most don’t.

Those assets could not be sold for a fraction of the money it cost to buy them.

I can’t throw a rock at anyone, because my personal situation is similar.

While I don’t owe money to any institution, I have borrowed money and goods from my father and have been unable to repay him.

Both of us are in essence, broke. Not yet insolvent, but broke. We got no cash. Or maybe we are insolvent and don’t yet know it.

What happens when the value of assets becomes zero?

Nearly all the horses I bought were acquired at pennies on the dollar from their previous value, some of which arrived from other failing operations—high scale operations.

To this day I receive calls from yet others, offering to sell me horses, good horses, cheap.

And there’s no shortage of decent mares to be had for free.

I decline.

I'm already overstocked.

For those that advise selling the horses I own to fix my own situation, I ask: To whom?

It’s not like there are people lined up at my door with money waiting to buy a horse.

Aside from that, they’re worth more than money to me.

They’re living creatures. They know me. They trust me.

They’re magnificent.

They cost money to maintain.

I’ve made mistakes for lack of money I needed to provide proper care.

Recently I fed hay we grew containing Klein grass, good for cattle, but potentially dangerous to a horse. Times past, I got away with this.

This year, I lost three foals. I suspect Klein grass was the culprit.

We had the hay and I didn’t have money to buy something better without allowing some other obligation to go unmet.

In river bottoms, the shit encroaches from places upstream, whether you plant it or not.

Try explaining this to an anxious mare watching over a foal that won’t get up to eat because it died.

And if I sell the horses to someone else that can’t care for them (whether they realize it or not), or send them to slaughter, then where do the people in my employ that care for these animals go?

These are tough times.

To any and all that owe me money:

Your debt is forgiven.

Circumstances beyond your control created your demise.

I know you tried. I've been watching. Struggling alongside you.

Lord, have mercy.

Tell the truth

Spring has arrived. We’ve had rain, now the sun shines, the air warms and plant life explodes. Hormones flow, mating cries abound: cocks and cats and dogs and bulls and stallions joust for dominance, the chance to plant their seed instead of the rest.

After some six months of indecision, I am back to work, right or wrong. Life goes on, despite us.

I open a link to an article about my dear friend Chuck Bowden, only to discover a picture of him, staring at the fields from the front porch of my house.

Lord, I miss the man. His courage, intelligence, conviction.

Another comes to mind. Michael Ruppert. Similar in many ways, yet different. Also gone.

Both were cock-sure. Dismissive. Bordering on arrogant, yet keenly aware of the victims in this world.

Had to be, to stand and deliver the messages they had, for any self doubt would have left them paralyzed and ineffectual like the rest of us.

They never met, but they would have disagreed. Perhaps violently.

Chuck once proclaimed, “but I’m no truther,” when I proferred some 9-11 conspiracy he didn’t like.

Michael Ruppert wrote the book on 9-11 conspiracy. It was his life’s greatest work.

I once told Ruppert, “I don’t know what happened on that day…” only to be cut off mid-sentence with, “Well, I do. I know exactly what the fuck happened and who was responsible...”

Both wrestled and fought and dug and scratched and kicked and clawed and bled for truth. They lived for truth and would cut you down in a New York second when your argument failed the litmus test.

I wonder if they’ve met on the other side.

Do they now see what was hidden? Do they now know the truth? Are they now friends?

Meanwhile, I’m stuck in this dark, murky place without my mentors, feeling directionless.

One thing I can say. I am so tired of bull shit politicians, lying ass preachers, false prophets, coddled intellectual wimps, and these goddamned modern day aberrations known as journalists.

Give me Chuck Bowden. Michael Ruppert. Warts and all. I want fire and ice.

If you can’t tell the truth to the best of your ability, shut the fuck up and go home.

Those that can sing, sing! Those that can write, write! Those that are warriors, sharpen your swords and clean your rifles! Gird you loins!

It’s getting late in the game and there’s no more time for fucking bull shit.

Ethos: documentary film, narrated by Woody Harrelson

An hour long, but worth the time:

Desperate times

The Aftermath, part 2: none dare call it conspiracy

While enduring multiple screenings of Bernardo Ruiz’s Kingdom of Shadows, my mind began to wander. I’d seen the film a couple of times before the festival and knew well what was to come. So now, I was better able to analyze and digest the material—to reconcile what I saw with other pieces from my past—things I have heard and seen over the years related to Mexico and the dope business.

I also met Alfredo Corchado at the festival. He gave me a signed copy of Midnight in Mexico, his well-written personal odyssey describing the life of a reporter trying to get to the bottom of this mess. I’ve now read the book.

One sentence synopsis: When you do the job of reporting crime in Mexico well, you quickly become part of the story.

There are things “they” don’t want you to know.

But let’s not let the pot call the kettle black.

When describing U.S. involvement in the international dope game accurately, you may also find yourself part of the story.

I’d say, ask Gary Webb, or Michael Ruppert. But they’re both dead of self-inflicted gunshot wounds to the head.

Few dare rise to this level.

In 2010, my friend Oscar Cabello gave me the inside scoop. It went something like this:

The Sinaloa cartel cut a deal with Mexican authorities, desiring to restore some sense of order to the dope business—a return to the era when cartels acknowledged and respected territories, the dope was sold to U.S. citizens, and the money found its way back to Mexico. Politicians got paid, but the poor also benefited as the money trickled down through the economy (unlike in the US, it actually worked under the Mexican model). Mexicans, as a rule, did not consume the product.

Unlike modern manifestations like the Zetas, drug organizations of that era did not inflict cuotas on legitimate businesses, nor did they participate in smuggling aliens or prey upon those migrating to the United States. They didn’t steal money from migrants sending money home to their families either. 

And they didn’t sell to the locals.

They sold dope to willing customers in the US and brought the money home.

Under the plan, elements of the Mexican government would join forces with commandos and sicarios provided by the narcos to eliminate undesirables like the Zetas.

Domestic dealers would also be targeted, in typical mano duro fashion. Selling dope in Mexico, even relatively small amounts warranted a death sentence—no arrest, trial, judge or jury; a simple execution in the streets for all to see.

Even drug rehab clinics were targeted.

The message: do drugs and die in a hail of bullets.

As if the Zetas weren’t bad enough on their own, members of this spawned-in-hell confederation staged events which were then blamed on the Zetas.

Prisoners were taken from prison cells, armed and sent out to commit mass murders, only to be back in their cells by sun-up.

Media was complicit: these acts were blamed on Zetas.

And here is where it gets nasty.

I think there were Americans in very high places, at least aware of this plan, if not actively participating in it.

Of course, from my simple station in life, I cannot prove this.

For what it’s worth, the plan failed.

Kingdom of Shadows--the aftermath

I spent the last three days watching Bernardo Ruiz’s Kingdom of Shadows at the SXSW movie festival in Austin. I appear in the film, along with a nun from Monterrey, Mexico and an agent from the Department of Homeland Security in El Paso.

After screenings, we took questions from the audience, but sessions were too short to adequately address issues related to the subject matter of the film—the effect of drugs and drug prohibition on our societies.

When watching or listening to works prepared for public consumption, I am always struck by how little time producers have to make their point. Many hours of footage must be reduced into tiny glimpses of complex subjects worthy of extensive and detailed treatment. Pieces are cut and cobbled together, often losing context of surrounding conversation that doesn’t make the final cut.

Over time, I have grown leery of participating in such endeavors for fear that my words might be used in a way that misrepresents my convictions or distorts accounts from my past. In the case of this documentary, Bernardo was a trustworthy caretaker and nothing rises to that level, but there was so much more that ended up on the cutting room floor. So much more….

You know, the stuff you can’t say on TV. The stuff that makes policy makers and pundits squirm in their seats. 

I highly recommend watching the film. Bear in mind, however, this film is not and should not be just about me.

But it does give me the floor for a time and I feel compelled to expound—to answer a few of those unasked questions.

As a rule, works such as this point out corruption in foreign lands while failing to address rampant corruption in our own country.

To be sure, a country like Mexico earned its reputation, as have many other third world countries.

And, within working ranks of governmental agencies of the United States, the policy of taking mordida for favors is much less prevalent.

In the United States, the bulk of corruption is encountered at a higher level, a level beyond the reach of most agents tasked with the job of preventing drugs from entering this country, a level of even greater effect, unfortunately, on the availability of illegal drugs worldwide.

Cops and or journalists that follow leads to those uppermost levels and encounter this illegal activity are ordered to cease and desist, all in the name of national security.

End of story.

Not quite, motherfuckers.

While I was in the business, I personally witnessed a DC-6, piloted by Michael Palmer of Vortex Aviation (Florida), land a plane with 20,000 pounds of Colombian marijuana near San Miguel, Coahuila, Mexico. I was told but did not see that there were also 500 kilos of coca base on that plane.

Later, I would learn that Palmer had first delivered weapons to Contras in Central America in the same plane before continuing on to Colombia to secure the load of drugs.

Palmer later testified before a Senate subcommittee headed by john kerry about these activities.

When Gary Webb, subject of the movie, Kill the Messenger, tried to report on this and other related incidents, he was branded a sensationalist and a liar and hounded out of the media by none other than venerable establishments like the New York Times and the Los Angeles Times.

When Celerino Castillo, an agent of the DEA tried to report related illegal activity in his region of Central America, including the landing of military planes loaded with drugs headed to the United States, and refueling at American military bases, he was ordered to stand down, then demoted and later hounded out of the agency for compiling evidence of these crimes. In the end Celerino was framed on a ridiculous minor weapons violation and sent to federal prison.

During the war on Afghanistan, the United States government hired Afghan drug lords to lead the fight against the Taliban. This is not speculation, but instead, fact.

The Taliban, being religious fundamentalists, had all but eradicated heroin production during the period of their rule. To be sure, Taliban are not the kind of people I want for neighbors, certainly not ruling any country in which I have to live (think extreme right wing authoritarian Christian fundamentalists multiplied by two and a half).

After defeating the Taliban, heroin production in Afghanistan increased by some 900%.

I’ve seen pictures of American soldiers wandering through the poppy fields.

Here’s the story from Mexico: That was then; this is now. We have a new government. The days of corruption are over.

Here’s the story from the United States. That was then; this is now. We have a new government. The days of corruption are over.

And it’s puro bull shit.

Many people ask about legalization of drugs.

Here’s my take:

I think marijuana should be legalized.

I don’t want to promote indiscriminate use of the stuff, but what you do with your body is not my choice to make.

I do think marijuana is a powerful medicinal herb, and like many other powerful medicines, carries with it the potential for abuse.

In light of the way we tolerate the use of alcohol and tobacco, in my view, far more harmful substances, I think it’s criminal the way we persecute and prosecute those that choose to smoke marijuana.

I've read there are over two million people locked up in this country. About half of these are incarcerated for non-violent drug related crime. Half of the drug cases are for marijuana.

Meaning in my off the cuff calculation, that some 500,000 now sit in our prisons for marijuana.

Many more are on parole or probation for the same.

Vacate their sentences.

You just reduced prison population by 25%.

These people also have families affected by our policy. No good comes from this.

I also think we should allow the legal use of coca leaf and other mild herbal extracts and elixirs with controls similar to those now exercised over the use of alcohol and tobacco.

I know I’d a hell-of-a-lot rather share the highway with someone that has had a cup of coca tea or a coca infused soda drink than I would with someone that has downed a couple of shots of whiskey or tequila.

Herbs and dilute extractions containing ephedra, (a precursor to methamphetamine), like ginseng root, should also be legalized. While they can be dangerous, and should not fall into the hands of children, it’s a hell of a lot safer than meth.

Even raw opium in dilute solution is a fairly safe substance.

I do not advocate legalization of hard drugs, unless prescribed and administered by a licensed professional.

These drugs are extreme distillates and too dangerous.

They carry the very real possibility of accidental overdose and death for any that use them.

I believe these legal alternatives would devastate the business of illegal drug salesmen, and greatly reduce the importation of drugs into this country.

But it’s no magic bullet.

New problems will arise, new ways to abuse the system.

I view drug addiction as a symptom of societal ills. There comes a point when the drug becomes the ill, but addiction does not occur in a vacuum.

Nor does the business of producing and selling these substances.

It will require a lot more time and space than I have and the voices of many others to address the larger problems that create this condition.

Issues like excessive world debt, poverty, inequitable distribution of resources, overpopulation of the planet, environmental damage and many others cause mental and spiritual illness and fuel migrations of people.

Drug addiction did not create these problems; it is a result of them, a symptom of a greater disease.

PS. Watch Bernardo's movie when you can. It's well worth your time.

James Howard Kunstler's yearly review and forecast

James Howard Kunstler's yearly review and forecast always makes for interesting reading. While not always accurate in the details, he maintains a firm grasp on the condition of this world and is a hell of a writer as well.

Read it here.