Lola Milford

My name created a kind of confusion in her.
‘A name in Sanskrit?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you speak Sanskrit?’
‘No.’
‘Then?’
‘Malayalam language is influenced by Sanskrit.’
‘Even then, can there be a name that could mean ‘the king of lotuses’?
‘King of Lotus?’ I felt embarrassed. I replied. ‘We worship Lotus.’
She looked shy. When I encouraged her, she asked me how lotus became
an object of worship.
‘I don’t know.’
‘What did O’Brien say?’
‘I don’t know.’
She looked shy even more.
‘What do the petals of lotus signify?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What do the seeds of lotus signify?’
I was beginning to feel irritated. The conversation between us was starting
to feel like an interview to me. Feeling a little bored, I replied. ‘I don’t
know.’
‘I’m going.’
There was a mischievous smile stuck in her eyes. She left. In my four
months of American life, it was the first time that I saw an American
woman shy. (A shy American girl was only a figment of imagination for
me. That might also have been the reason why I was infatuated with Lola.)
A page from the diary…
…Seems like I have fallen in love with Lola Milford, who studies literature.
Let it be. A girl like Lola…
… beautiful…
… adorable …
Intelligent… knows how to speak…
Why did you touch my leg with your leg in the restaurant today, under the
table?
Then, why did you…
Anyway, I am not reading anything these days. This girl has made me crazy.
I’d like to meet her now. Now, in this night, in this night itself…
She had cropped her hair short and kept it spread on her forehead, like
Audrey Hepburn. I asked her, ‘Is Audrey Hepburn your favorite actor?’
‘No. Shirley McClain…’
I thought of Shirley’s eyes. Their soul was innocence.
I said. ‘Lola’s eyes are just like Shirley’s.’
‘Flattery’
‘No’
‘Yes’
‘No. No. The most beautiful I have seen. The most innocent…’ I said, ‘…is
you.’ She suddenly downed her head. Then, grabbed my hand. I noticed
that her eyes were misty.
‘I…’ She struggled to say something.
‘Tell me.’ I said. ‘What is it?’
She pressed my hand without saying anything.
Lake of the Clouds lay covered in darkness in front of us. Snow had
started falling on the water. A motor boat was seen passing through the
distance.
Lola murmured, ‘I… I…’
Her lips started trembling and her hand that held my hand started
perspiring. Whatever it was, I knew that she was never going to complete
saying it. I also knew what she was struggling to say.
Michigan…
The night before returning to Ohio, I kissed her while standing on top of
St. Croix River. Silence had stagnated around us. While walking towards
the car, holding my waist, she murmured, ‘I’m a virgin. Keep that in
mind.’

There was a black mole on Lola’s neck. She was sad about it. One of her
teeth, the fourth one from middle on the top, was artificial. Girls from
Southwest America are much more beautiful than the rest of the country;
they also have superior imagination. Lola has both in abundance.
Whenever she used to talk about Texas, her birthplace, she used to slip
into poetry.
The cold breeze from Corpus Christi Bay…
The wide park on the banks of San Antonio River…
Come… Come to Texas once…
She used to write poems; never published any.
‘Why don’t you publish?’ I asked.
‘Because, I don’t want to be a second rated writer.’ She said. She was
proud of American literature. She used to go mad while talking about
Mark Twain. She believed Mark Twain to be the greatest novelist in the
world. Once when talking about it she invited me.
‘Let’s go to Missouri next Sunday.’
‘Okay.’
Missouri…
At Hannibal, we stood under the giant statue of Mark Twain. The river
that he immortalized flowed in front of us.
Lola talked about American literature, passionately.
Christmas!
I used the Christmas vacation to visit Las Vegas. Lola also was with me.
She appeared to be very sad. She hated Las Vegas. I asked. ‘What is it?’
She told me about her father for the first time.
He made money after coming to Ohio from Texas for business. He wasted
all his wealth in Reno and Las Vegas, playing Roulette. After losing
everything, he became a vagabond and was sentenced by a court for
murder. I heard about John Milford for the first time. His wife was a
prostitute; a low class one at that, who made infrequent appearances in
TV and movie screens. When Lola started growing up, John took her to
Ohio. Lola never saw her mother after that.
When we crossed the Reno Arch, Lola leaned on my shoulder.
‘It was here that my father destroyed himself.’ She wept. She drank
uncontrollably, that day. Her childish cheeks and face turned red in the
heat of liquor. She abused the State of Nevada, in an inebriated tongue.
‘Is there a city like this in India?’
‘No.’ I said, proudly.
‘Then, I also want to come to India.’
In that evening, when she became completely sober… when we were
riding two hired female horses through the shades, she asked;
‘Can I come to India, too?’
I did not say anything.
‘Can we marry?’ I asked. ‘I’m a Hindu. I don’t know if a Hindu is free to
marry a Christian here.’
‘Then, can’t you convert to our religion?’
I smiled. I felt a stupid belief that converting to another religion for a girl
would pave the way for slavery. We stopped when we reached the banks
of Lake Tahoe. She said to me suddenly.
‘We could stay here.’
I felt indifferent. Seeing that, she asked. ‘Do you have to take American
citizenship if you have to stay here permanently?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Do I have to take Indian citizenship if I want to come and stay in India?’
‘I don’t know.’
My indifference agitated her. She abused both countries; Indian
citizenship and American citizenship, India and America, Christian and
Hindu, Hindu and Christian… for some time, she behaved like a
madwoman.
I described my circumstances to her while sitting in a hotel in the capital
of Arizona. I would never be able to marry my Lola. You shouldn’t despair.
‘No. I won’t.’ She said. I noticed her voice weakening.
I said about my situation in detail. The family that is depended on me…
the poverty of my country… the poverty in my household… (If it wasn’t for
this scholarship, I wouldn’t have been able to come here!) Someone like
her, who was born and brought up in the U.S, could never be happy there.
There are no big cities and beaches like here. There’s only poverty there...
It seemed she did not understand.
In front of us, below us, tall buildings of Phoenix lay scattered. The
orchestra sang about something in a hurry. She looked at me bewildered.
‘Poverty?’
She came to my room the day Marilyn Monroe died.
‘Our biggest star was a fool.’ She was sad. ‘Anyway, it is better that these
kind of asses die.’
That day we talked about suicide and the reasons for that, elaborately. She
believed anybody who committed suicide to be a fool. Whoever they may
be, whatever the reason may be.
I said in the middle, ‘When one gets sad beyond a limit, sometime…’
She became silent, suddenly. After a minute, she asked. ‘How many days
are left for you to go back?’
‘Three months.’ I said. I have thought several times later, about why she
asked me that question at that particular time.
Lola said to me a week before I returned, ‘This one week is mine. I will
spend it the way I want. You should obey me.’
I agreed.
‘How are we going to spend this one week?’
When asked, she replied without thinking, ‘This one week is our
honeymoon. In Southern California.’
She said that as if it was an easy thing. She had a lot of money, as an aunt
of her had given it through a will.
Southern California… the famous Hollywood; wide streets with Orange
trees; Rose bowl Stadium… In a house that was on one of the cliffs that
stuck out to the ocean, in La Jolla…
She had said the truth. Lola Milford was a virgin, till then.
Mother had written to me earlier: They want to have the wedding as soon
as you come back.
My future wife, who grew up with me, wrote: ‘I want to see you.’
Through that white night
We two sat on your window sill.
The poems of Zhivago.
‘Imagine that a child of yours is inside me.’
‘Then…’
‘I will give birth to him. Right?’
‘Yes. Then…?’
‘He’ll grow up with me.’
‘Yes.’
‘Um. He will grow up like you. When he becomes like what you are now, I
might be very old then, I will kill him.’
I felt sad. But I asked her, playfully. ‘Then, why don’t you kill me, now?’
‘I don’t think I can do it.’ She said. She wept with her face pressed against
earth.

‘Shouldn’t have happened. All these…’
A wind started blowing from the valley which had millions of Azalea
flowers. Her hair started dancing, caught in that wind. I put my hand on
her shoulder. She jumped up and rubbed her eyes.
After looking at me closely for a minute, in a new state of excitement, she
said while kissing my fingers, ‘Forgive me.’
Southern California is the land of sand dunes. There always is a hot wind
permeating in the atmosphere.
Giant Joshua trees stood in thirty feet height, carrying heavy bunches of
fruit. Whenever wind blew, the branches shook and danced. Flowers fell
in single and a group.
I captured Lola in the camera, in the background of a bunch of flowers.
She posed, smiling beautifully.
After taking the photo, she murmured as if to nobody:
‘It seems I too will do that stupidity.’
‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘The stupidity that Marilyn did.’
The bells in Santa Barbara Mission tolled in a sad tune. The twilight flew
low. The doors of the ancient church closed silently. A bell toll from
another church from somewhere reached us, draining through the mist.
In the darkness, lying on my lap, Lola asked.
‘Isn’t that my way?’
I said. ‘Don’t talk stupid. You should see me off, happily.’
She did not say anything.
I felt sad.
A lot of faces that I saw, in the San Gabriel Mission and the St. Charles
Boromio that stood facing the Carmel Bay, entered my mind.
The brides and grooms of eternity!
‘You should never do it.’ I said. ‘It’s a kind of cruelty.’
The long black robes that were moving in the distance melted into the
dim light of the valley. Fog covered the Orange treetops. I wiped her wet
cheeks. The last day.
Lola pretended to be highly energetic. But, I knew that was just a mask.
We wandered through the streets until it became too late in the night.
She kissed me whenever we reached the dark spots in the streets.
Nightclubs were becoming louder. We were not talking to each other. I
feared that Lola’s facade would cease to exist anytime and that she would
break into sobs.
It happened in a turn. We saw three youngsters taking a girl, who was
only wearing a bikini, into darkness. That girl was drunk. She kept
abusing someone, in an unclear voice.
They disappeared in the darkness. After sometimes, someone sang in a
raspy voice.
‘Golden memories, and silver Tears…’
Lola said, ‘Let’s go.’

We walked again. She was struggling to say something. After we walked a
lot, she asked.
‘That stupid girl was trying to forget something by drinking and
fornicating, right?’
Her voice had the shade of tears. I stopped her and looked into her eyes.
They were filled.
‘Let’s walk back.’ I said. We walked towards the hotel. The doors closed.
We were alone.
It was too late in the night. We could see the morning coming closer.
I sat on the bed. Lola sat on the floor, near my feet. She kissed my hands
gently, occasionally. Some other times, she looked at her face, silently.
It was hard for me to believe that she was an American, in those minutes.
We parted ways in the morning. There was going to be no chance of
anything like meeting again.
You consider that I am dead and I will consider that you are dead. Farewell
to the lips that kissed.

(Translated by Manu S Kurup from P. Padmarajan’s Malayalam short story ‘Lola’ published
in the year 1965.)

തൂവാനത്തുമ്പികൾ

ഞാൻ ഓർക്കും ഓരോ മുഖം കാണുമ്പോഴും ഓർക്കും.'....'മുഖങ്ങളുടെ എണ്ണം അങ്ങനെ കൂടിക്കൊണ്ടിരിക്കുകയല്ലേ അങ്ങനെ കൂടി കൂടി ഒടുവിൽ ഇതങ്ങ് മറക്കും....മറക്കുമായിരിക്കും അല്ലേ .??.. പിന്നെ മറക്കാതെ !!..പക്ഷേ എനിക്ക് മറക്കേണ്ട...

Gone with the wind

I was at top of a silent hill... The silence make it so peaceful... I was looking towards the sun that was hiding into the blue.... Light invites the darkness before it hides.., i couldn't see anything., i couldn't hear anything... All I can feel is someone is touching my whole body... Its like a smooth breeze.... Just like a small little girl... She touched me with her gentle arms, I was listening to her rhythmic voice, she is singing.., her lovely voice...., i fell into a ocean of beauty,,, I went deep in that sea searching to see something i don't know but something i expect to see.... Something pulls me back... I am at top of hill,... I can hear something ,... I listened carefully, it doesn't have rhythm!, its broken.... She is crying she lost her rhythm, someone took it away from her... I was stunned.... paralyzed.... Knowing i couldn't help her..... She lost it forever.

Bhopal Gas Tragedy.... a look back

union carbide factory (present)

Journalist Rajkumar Keswani shot into fame in the aftermath of the Bhopal gas tragedy in 1984. His passionate stories in 1982, warning of the disaster waiting to happen were ignored. Keswani was so convinced about the threat the pesticide plant of UCIL posed to Bhopal that he wrote to the then chief minster Arjun Singh, all the members of the Legislative Assembly of Madhya Pradesh and even petitioned to the Supreme Court and yet nothing moved. Keswani's was a solitary voice that was ignored. The Bhopal gas tragedy struck six months after Keswani wrote his last article.

Speaking to CNN-IBN's Rupashree Nanda, Keswani revists some defining moments of the world's worst industrial disaster:
Why did the Bhopal gas tragedy happen:
It happened because of the greed of corporates like Union Carbide to make money, it happened because we live in such a corrupt system where the government works hand in hand with big corporate houses and helps them to violate the laws. Had they followed all the safety systems provided by the law as required, this would not have happened. Why is not a question, why was it allowed to happen is the question? Our political bosses in the country are more concerned about their own well being than of people. They can sell people. Human lives have no value. They are more concerned about themselves, their families and their party.

Warnings that were ignored: 

warren anderson(passed away)

In 1978, there was a fire in the Union Carbide plant and it was in the Naphthol store. At that time people had no idea. A large crowd had gathered and even I was one of those in the crowd. This company was better identified with the torch cells, Eveready batteries, not with the kind of chemicals they were using and not with the kind of products like sevin and temic. It was known to people dealing with agriculture but not to the common man. The UCIL had a great reputation in Bhopal because it was the only multinational operating here and, those who were working with Carbide (UCIL) were treated with utter respect. Hence, there was little scope for doubt about Union Carbide. There was a question. The sky was covered by dark cloud. There was a bad smell. In 1981, a friend, Mohammad Ashraf who was working with Union Carbide got exposed to Phosgene and died. That was the alarm (for me) from where I started working on it. It was tough because I had no science background. I found 2 persons who were fired - Bashirullah and Shankar Malvia. They helped me to get a foothold there. With all manuals and confidential reports, it was nine months before I could write my first piece in 1982. After going through all information, one basic fact stuck with me was that Phosgene and MIC were heavier than air and something which is heavier would come down and settle down. When I found that such huge quantity is being stored and there were three tanks, then I wrote my first piece saying, "Bachayiye huzoor, is sheher ko bachayiye" (Sir save the city), giving all the details I had.
But when I did that, it went unheeded. There was no response from government. As an afterthought, I feel that people could not believe it because there has been no precedence of this kind. Even my circulation was very limited. It did not have an impact. I wrote another article with an alarming and sensational headline, "Bhopal sitting on top of volcano". I attempted another time because lives of people were at stake. I was angry with myself. I had seen from inside that all safety norms had been bypassed. Even pipelines were not in very good shape. That was dangerous. I did my second piece on October 1 and on October 5 there was a small leak inside the plant. Methyl IsoCyanate (MIC) did leak. That was controlled within limits. But it did impact nearby population and people had to escape to save lives. But, because it was contained so quickly, police did not register a case, there were no complaints. If at all it was investigated, it was investigated by the factories inspector. It was not a big deal, it was not even reported in the local media properly. So I did my third piece on October 8 and I narrated the story of what happened that night. I said this is an indication of things to come - I wrote a headline, "Na samjhoge to mit hi jaoge" (If you don't understand, then you will be wiped out). Everyone would try and convince me that what you say will never happen. You are wrong. We know better that you. The factory inspector suggested if I had any problems with Carbide (UCIL) I could talk. I wrote a letter to the then chief minister Arjun Singh to constitute a committee and to save the city. I went to members of state assembly and I persuaded them to raise it in assembly and it was raised. The concerned minister informed the house that he had visited the factory, (and assured the house that) there will be water curtains that will contain the gas leak if it happened. When some members insisted why not shift the factory? Someone said it was not a piece of stone! Then I sent a petition to the Supreme Court in 1982 itself and just got an acknowledgement. I left Bhopal for a year.
When I returned, once again I started working on same story. After six months, I did a longer piece for Jansatta on the June 16, 1984. The Editor Mr Prabhas Joshi gave it a great display. That was just six months before the disaster. Even after that when nothing happened, I felt that this is the most that I could have done. Before I could think of anything else, came the illfated December.
When Warren Anderson visited Bhopal:
When Warren Anderson arrived and was arrested, he was taken to the Union Carbide guest house at Shamla hills. A large number of journalists had reached and I was one of those. There was a huge wall and no one was allowed into the guest house where Anderson was. I climbed the wall to look into the Carbide guest house. I was just trying to look inside, I think it was Mark Fineman from Philadelphia Inquirer who said, "Rajkumar come down, come down. Anderson is already gone, I just spoke to American embassy and they have organized it." Anderson was received by the district magistrate and the superintendent of police at the airport, and midway he was politely informed that he was arrested. He started shouting, he was taken not to the police station not to the court but to his guest house. From there he made a call to the American Embassy. The American Embassy got into action and someone (name not clear) at the Ministry of External Affairs was contacted, then the Home Ministry, then the PMO. Rajiv Gandhi was then campaigning in Harda for elections and Arjun Singh was with him. Arjun Singh left instruction with local administration and was gone. When Rajiv Gandhi returned, Arjun Singh got instructions to release from the PMO because there was lot of pressure from the American embassy. Hence they provided him a state aircraft and he was sent back to Delhi the very same evening. When Anderson reached New York, he held a press conference and he said, "I was treated with utmost courtesy and respect, they were very nice to me, I have no complaints, it was done for my safety!"
Listen, the PMO cannot act on his own without the PM's consent. Because, in absence of the PM, they did not pass on any instructions. Only after Rajiv Gandhi reached Delhi, the instructions passed.
Justice Kochar Commission yet to submit report, Anderson dead:
In 1985, a commission was appointed which was headed by Justice NK Singh. It had been working for a year but once the state government found out that it was going to nail their guilt they abandoned it midway. Again, after a long gap, another commission was set up. But the cases are already decided, the main accused are dead. When Anderson died, people were saying one accused has died. Call me a cynic, nobody is going to be punished now. Mr K who was representing the victims has died, Justice Deb who passed an interim order died, KB Rai Choudhury died, thousands of victims have died, lawyers, judges and even Keshub Mahindra is an old man. By the time the case comes to a conclusion and a call is made from this court, there will be no answer because everybody would be dead. I am sure they will all die a natural death. Our legal system is such that you can make it go merry go round. Puri saluted Anderson while he was leaving!
Collective failure:
It is not A, B or C who has failed. We have failed collectively. Judiciary if it cannot decide a case involving half a million lives, what do you say about this? What do you say about CBI which could not properly investigate and represent? What do you say of political bosses who helped Carbide get away? They asked for $3.3 billion and accepted $470 million! Look at the medical fraternity. In those areas the quacks have become rich because real doctors never attended to the victims. Even properly qualified doctors had no clue. Everyone over here has flourished and prospered except the gas victims.
We simply fail to learn. Just one example - 25 years after this disaster, in 2010, I was working on a documentary for ESPN on playgrounds around Union Carbide where children play. They get diseases and no one is bothered. Had you learn t any lessons, this would not have happened. They entered into a settlement with a figure of 3000 deaths when by their own admission, they had acknowledged 15,000. Now there is a case is pending in front of the Supreme Court that looks for more compensation because the money that was actually meant for 3000 death cases and 1.5 lakh injury case - was actually distributed among 15,000 death cases and half a million people. Learning is not in our culture. We just talk of learning, but we don't learn.

Legalize Cannabis In India

Cannabis Plant

What two American states, Washington and Colorado, have decided to do - legalize recreational use of marijuana - was the norm in India until 1985. All cannabis derivatives - marijuana (grass or ganja), hashish (charas) and bhang - were legally sold in this country. As a matter of fact, most state governments had their own retail shops to sell these drugs. India has known, consumed and celebrated ganja, charas and bhang for millennia.

Their consumption was never regarded as socially deviant behaviour any more than drinking alcohol was. If there was any bias against ganja or charas, it was that these were often viewed as the poor man's intoxicant by the upper classes. But come Holi, these prejudices would melt away as rich and poor savoured the joyous high of bhang. Even now, despite a legal ban, recreational use of these drugs is widespread in India.

A rolled joint

Keeping marijuana legal was actually an enlightened view. It is now medically proven that marijuana is less harmful than alcohol. In fact, the good weed has medical uses (as many as 19 US states have legalized marijuana for medical purposes). However, moderation is the key. While excessive and sustained consumption of alcohol can cause severe liver damage leading to death, excessive use of marijuana too can cause some damage, mainly to our sensory abilities. In moderation, marijuana is a gentle mood-altering relaxant.
So, if there is a rational policy towards intoxicants and we allow the sale and consumption of liquor, there is no good reason to not similarly allow sale and consumption of marijuana, hashish and bhang. For years, India has held this position. For 25 years since 1961, it has withstood American pressure to keep marijuana legal. Which brings us to the story of why it was banned in India.

Since 1961, the US has been campaigning for a global law against all drugs, both hard and soft. Given that ganja, charas and bhang were a way of life in India, we opposed the drastic measure. But by the early '80s, American society was grappling with some drug problems and opinion had grown against the "excesses" of the hippie generation. In 1985, the Rajiv Gandhi government buckled under the pressure and enacted a law called the Narcotic Drugs & Psychotropic Substances (NDPS) Act.

It was a poor law that clubbed marijuana, hashish and bhang with hard drugs like smack, heroin, cocaine and crack, and banned them all. The minimum punishment for violation of the NDPS Act was 10 years of jail (it has since been relaxed and the crackdown on marijuana has eased somewhat). What happened as a result of this law was that almost overnight the entire trade shifted from peddling grass or charas to smack or worse. This was because while the risk was the same, profits from the hard-killer drugs were ten times higher.

And suddenly, there was a drugs problem in India. In cities like Delhi, for instance, smack addiction grew. The addicts were mostly poor people - those who had earlier smoked grass were now 'chasing' smack. Newspapers reported cases of men selling off all household goods to get money for a fix. What is significant is that instances of deviant behaviour were rare when marijuana, hashish and bhang were legal. The poorly thought-out NDPS Act had actually created a drugs problem where there was none.

Twenty seven years later, now that some American states have "shown the way", it is time to revisit the ban. When ganja, charas and bhang don't have obvious medical negatives and don't lead to addiction or violent behaviour (which alcohol may be accused of doing), why then should it not be legal as it was in India for centuries? Especially, when there is no social or cultural rejection of them. On the contrary, it is a way of life in our country.
Poorly thought-out laws lead to corruption and the harassment of ordinary people. It also tells on the health of the nation. Instead, the NDPS Act should be amended and soft drugs such as ganja, charas and bhang should be made legal.

What is cannabis?

Drug produced from the Cannabis sativa (commonly known as hemp) or Cannabis indica and ruderalis Common names - bhang, hasish, hash, marijuana, charas, ganja. Also referred to as pot, grass, weed, hash. Has nearly 200 other names, marijuana one of them Plant related to nettles and hops, believed to have originated in India (Central & south Asia) Grows wild in many parts of the world The weed has been around for more than 5,000 yrs Key ingredient in cannabis is tetrahydrocannabino (THC). Cannabidiol another active component Amount of THC determines drug's strength The two components affect certain brain regions causing relaxation, introspective state, lowering of worry, hunger and finally sleep Effect lasts 2-3 hrs if smoked or up to 24 hrs if ingested (as in bhang) Derivatives of plant used for both medicinal and recreational purposes Third most consumed recreational drug after alcohol and tobacco Non-toxic in reasonable amounts; very low addiction rate Hemp - one of the oldest known rope making material obtained from the stems of Cannabis plants

Medical uses

Chemicals (collectively called cannabinoids) activate receptors in body Affect central nervous system and immune system Can control nausea and vomiting Affect appetite Control cancer symptoms Pain, anxiety and muscle spasticity Can reduce chemotherapy side effects

Findings on its use in treating 10 conditions

Migraine | Multiple Sclerosis | Asthma | Stroke | Parkinson's disease| Alzheimer's disease | Alcoholism| Insomnia | Glaucoma | OCD

Its forms

Flowers, buds and leaves contain the active substances Herbal (dried plant material) | Resin (from buds) | Powder and oil

Effects & uses

Most widely used for its relaxing properties Usually rolled into cigarettes as a joint, can be smoked in a pipe, brewed as tea mixed with food Acts as mild sedative, leaving most feeling relaxed, chilled out or just sleepy Has mild hallucinogenic effects Makes some more animated Reduces inhibitions Can reduce nausea

Why legalize it

*Pot causes dependence but doesn't kill
*It cannot lead to a fatal overdose as you need to consume 1500 pounds in 15 minutes for it to be fatal
*Caffeine is supposed to be just as addictive as marijuana
*But authorities bunch marijuana with the likes of heroin and cocaine
*Growing body of research on medical benefits and safety of marijuana
*Public opinion wants marijuana decriminalized
*Advocates of medical marijuana say patients suffering from host of diseases such as AIDS, cancer, depression, Alzheimer's can't get benefit of marijuana because it's illegal

By Tyler Durden, Fight Club

Man, I see in Fight Club the strongest and smartest men who've ever lived. I see all this potential, and I see it squandered. God damn it, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables – slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need. We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our great war is a spiritual war. Our great depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars, but we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off.

THE SOCIALIST HERO

Ernesto "Che" Guevara  June 14,^[1] 1928 – October 9, 1967), commonly known as el Che or simply Che, was an Argentine Marxist revolutionary, physician, author, guerrilla leader, diplomat, and military theorist. A major figure of the Cuban Revolution, his stylized visage has become a ubiquitous countercultural symbol of rebellion and global insignia in popular culture.^[8]
As a young medical student, Guevara traveled throughout South America and was radicalized by the poverty, hunger, and disease he witnessed.^[9] His burgeoning desire to help overturn what he saw as the capitalist exploitation of Latin America by the United States prompted his involvement in Guatemala's social reforms under President Jacobo Árbenz, whose eventual CIA-assisted overthrow at the behest of the United Fruit Company solidified Guevara's political ideology.^[9] Later, in Mexico City, he met Raúl and Fidel Castro, joined their 26th of July Movement, and sailed to Cuba aboard the yacht, Granma, with the intention of overthrowing U.S.-backed Cuban dictator Fulgencio Batista.^[10] Guevara soon rose to prominence among the insurgents, was promoted to second-in-command, and played a pivotal role in the victorious two-year guerrilla campaign that deposed the Batista regime.^[11]
Following the Cuban Revolution, Guevara performed a number of key roles in the new government. These included reviewing the appeals and firing squads for those convicted as war criminals during the revolutionary tribunals,^[12] instituting agrarian land reform as minister of industries, helping spearhead a successful nationwide literacy campaign, serving as both national bank president and instructional director for Cuba's armed forces, and traversing the globe as a diplomat on behalf of Cuban socialism. Such positions also allowed him to play a central role in training the militia forces who repelled the Bay of Pigs Invasion^[13] and bringing the Soviet nuclear-armed ballistic missiles to Cuba which precipitated the 1962 Cuban Missile Crisis.^[14] Additionally, he was a prolific writer and diarist, composing a seminal manual on guerrilla warfare, along with a best-selling memoir about his youthful continental motorcycle journey. His experiences and studying of Marxism–Leninism led him to posit that the Third World's underdevelopment and dependence was an intrinsic result of imperialism, neocolonialism, and monopoly capitalism, with the only remedy being proletarian internationalism and world revolution.^[15][16] Guevara left Cuba in 1965 to foment revolution abroad, first unsuccessfully in Congo-Kinshasa and later in Bolivia, where he was captured by CIA-assisted Bolivian forces and summarily executed.^[17]

Guevara remains both a revered and reviled historical figure, polarized in the collective imagination in a multitude of biographies, memoirs, essays, documentaries, songs, and films. As a result of his perceived martyrdom, poetic invocations for class struggle, and desire to create the consciousness of a "new man" driven by moral rather than material incentives, he has evolved into a quintessential icon of various leftist-inspired movements. Time magazine named him one of the 100 most influential people of the 20th century,^[18] while an Alberto Korda photograph of him, titled Guerrillero Heroico (shown), was cited by the Maryland Institute College of Art as "the most famous photograph in the world".^[19]