A patient in a large hospital room
with many beds complains to the doctor
about the constant noise other patients are making,
which is driving him crazy.

The doctor replies that nothing can be done,
one cannot forbid the patients from expressing
their despair,
since they all know they are dying.

The first patient responds:
“Why don’t you then put them in a separate room
for those who are dying?”

The doctor replies calmly and glibly:
“But this is a room for those who are dying.”

Interrogating the Real by Slavoj Zizek, p. 13, (London: Continuum International Publishing Group, 2005)

A few days ago I obtained a book of Zizek’s Jokes. The slim paperback is a compilation of jokes culled from the many books authored by Slavoj Zizek, a widely recognized European intellectual. I like this one especially and wanted to use the joke for a blog entry. This morning, a flash of insight came to me, and now I understand the appeal of this joke.

The vignette is a gem-like exposition of our situation in so many ways here in America. We are surrounded by enduring and dangerous problems, which we are clearly not able to begin to solve. I mean the cascading effect of global warming, the floods occurring on the West coast which are a consequence of atmospheric rivers of moisture streaming from a warming Pacific ocean. The wild fires too, burn great swaths, acres of dry brush, including homes and sometimes small towns.

No detail is needed concerning the immigrants from Central America, and from the failed state of Argentina who find ways to cross our southern border. They run to escape hunger, and the inevitable diseases which are certain to take their children. Exacerbating this alarming circumstance, governors of red state Texas, and Florida initiate programs to bus these desperate people to blue state cities in order to overwhelm the capacity of these places to integrate the immigrants into jobs and housing. The “other” beset by misfortune serve as weapons in the political divide which currently paralyzes the management of our society.

Last night I participated in a small group discussion. Our topic was the gun violence, the deaths and maiming consequent to the easy availability of weapons in our country. There are many measures of response which seemed reasonable to all of us participating in this discussion. Notwithstanding we all understood that little if anything is feasible because of the complexity of the matter. The sanctity of capital, palpable racism, the equivalence of money and political clout, and minds deeply conformed to  regional culture — all add up.

Nothing will change. In our cul de sac, the throw-weight of circumstance will run its course.

What do we want? Do we want to end this post on a dark note? Of course not! This tune by Simon & Garfunkel is apt. My Little Town released in 1975.

My Little Town

By Simon & Garfunkel

In my little town
I grew up believing
God keeps his eye on us all
And He used to lean upon me
As I pledged allegiance to the wall
Lord, I recall
My little town
Coming home after school
Flying my bike past the gates
Of the factories
My mom doing the laundry
Hanging our shirts
In the dirty breeze

And after it rains
There’s a rainbow
And all of the colors are black
It’s not that the colors aren’t there
It’s just imagination they lack
Everything’s the same
Back in my little town

Nothing but the dead and dying
Back in my little town
Nothing but the dead and dying
Back in my little town

In my little town
I never meant nothin’
I was just my father’s son
Saving my money
Dreaming of glory
Twitching like a finger
On the trigger of a gun
Leaving nothing but the dead and dying
Back in my little town

Nothing but the dead and dying
Back in my little town
Nothing but the dead and dying
Back in my little town