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A round peg in a world of square holes...

Tuesday, February 27, 2007

La buena teta, en la mano te quepa. Y si la mano no cubre, no es teta, que es ubre.

(Loosely translated: "It's a good tit, if in your hand it will fit. And if in hand doesn't fit, then it's udder, not tit.")

       I'm probably going to catch flak for this post, but then again, that has never been known to stop me, so here goes.

       [S]ince the fashion industry is run by a bunch of homosexual men, they want all the women to look like thin young men to cater to THEIR personal tastes.

       Unfortunately, this preference has become part of popular culture, since young women idolise the catwalk and clothes models, and the clear message it sends is, "BE THIN OR ELSE YOU ARE UGLY"
... even at the expense of your health and your natural beauty. 'Coz women are supposed to have boobs and a bum, and this doesn't really suit the personal preferences of the fashion world.
       (Jus P)

       A movie came out a while ago, "Real Women Have Curves". Even if you've never seen it, the title basically says it all. But where does that leave the skinny girls? They are somehow lesser women, and thereby lesser people, simply because they were not given fuller figures, for better or for worse. You always hear men in the media discussing the fact that they prefer women who have more "meat" (for lack of a better term). This, of course, is a matter of personal opinion, but no one ever quotes a man saying that he prefers a skinny woman; that might be deemed offensive.

       There's a war on thin women going on, and it's entirely unfair. It's easy for people to make fun of these girls, calling them anorexic, skin and bones, and all the rest of it. No one calls bigger women fat anymore, because that's offensive. And it is -- but so are those other terms. Skinny girls are dehumanized in our culture; they aren't even considered to have feelings, apparently. (Most) thin girls can't help their figure any more than (most) larger girls can help theirs. It's really disgraceful that only large women get to be happy with their bodies; skinny women have to gain weight if they want to be normal.

       In ads and promos for "real beauty" and the like, one will find that it's only more curvy women who are represented in this: you can't see the ribcage of a single one. Look if you disbelieve me, it's sadly true.

       In a world of self esteem uber alis, one would think that everyone would get equal treatment in the boosting of it. Not so, apparently. It's not rare at all to hear someone telling a thin girl, "I can see your ribs, that's disgusting! Gain some weight!" No one EVER says, "Hey, your fat rolls are pretty nasty, you should go on a diet!" Neither of those things are kind or funny. And yet, people seem to think that the former is both those things.
       (quince girl)

       It seems that way because guys, believe it or not, are insecure when it comes to "bigger" women.It seems that way because guys, believe it or not, are insecure when it comes to "bigger" women.

       On behalf of the skinnies in this world, here's a retaliatory strike against the fatties:

No, Roxxi, guys do not want to deal with "bigger" women not because they are insecure. They do not want to deal with "bigger" women because they do not want to deal with the problems that come along with "bigger" women (such as, for example, the prevalence of monkey butt). You want to talk to me about insecurity versus self-confidence? Go engage in a solo night dive where, using a compass, you exit one bay, go against the current, and enter another, all in the open South China Sea. Do that. Come back. Go solo caving. Come back. Go solo night mountain biking through mountain lion territory. Come back, then we will talk about insecurity versus self-confidence.

       A model suffering from anorexia dies. That's tragic, yes, but what proportion of the populace are anorexic? Yes, anorexia and bulimia are serious eating disorders, and tragically, people do die from it every year. But their numbers are miniscule compared to the hordes of people dying from obesity-related diseases. Where are the attacks on the — for the lack of a better word — fatties? We coin euphemisms like, "a little meat on the bones," and "plus-sized," for the 1.3 billion people clearly indulging in the sins of gluttony and sloth, while zooming in on the few million (at best) who starve themselves or eat too little. Why the selective fixation? Why the — dare I say? — psychological projection?

       30 percent of American adults 20 years of age or older — more than 60 million people — are obese. According to the World Health Organization, more than 1 billion people in the world are overweight. At least 300 million are considered clinically obese. (Source)

       The number of obese people in the world outnumber those who are starving:

While 800 million still go to bed hungry every night, another 1.3 billion have a body mass index that makes them either overweight or obese, says Barry Popkin, of the Department of Nutrition and Economics at the University of North Carolina.

That's unconscionable; that there are people stuffing themselves silly while others starve or are stunted from malnutrition.

       For an equivalent number of miles travelled, an obese family or driver consumes more gas than a skinny family or driver. Where is the outrage?

       Fat people drive up airfares for the rest of us:

The Independent Financial Review reported today that fat travellers are costing airlines millions of dollars in extra fuel bills. [ . . . ] A survey of passengers in New Zealand had shown that the average passenger weight had gone from 89 kilograms to 93 kilograms — adding an extra 1.564 tonnes to a full Boeing 747.

       If you are dating a fat chick, you should have her double up on her serving of birth control pills.

       If birth control measures fail, hang on, there's more bad news in for you: Obesity Increases Risks in Pregnancy.

       Why the uproar over a handful of anorexic models? Compare that with the percentage of obese people — which is increasing every year. Check out what Dr. Westby Fisher, a cardiologist, has to say:

I just returned from southern Illinois after attending my wife's 30th high school reunion. We stayed a night at the Drury Inn in Springfield, IL. You know, one of those places with the free breakfast buffet available in the morning. The accommodations were average, but the people seemed to come for the free breakfast included in the room rate. Certainly if you have a bunch of kids, this seems like a good idea.

So the next morning we came downstairs for breakfast. It was remarkable how many people there were obese. Not just a little overweight. I mean obese. It was striking. And the place was packed to capacity. Tons of people (I mean that literally) having their breakfasts of biscuits and gravy, sweet rolls, cereal, french toast, orange juice, coffee, eggs and sausage, before heading out for the day. I wondered if others noticed the same phenomenon. Now I'm no anorexic, but for me to be one of the skinniest guys there was striking — the average body mass index there seemed to exceed the national deficit.

And after returning home, I noticed this article in USA Today about if doctors should tell kids they're "obese." In the interest of political correctness it seems doctors are being encouraged to avoid telling kids they're "obese." Instead, I guess they want is to use the less offensive words "a bit overweight."

Now, having kids of my own, I can certainly sympathize with those who want to be judicious in their criticism of a child's weight, but there's one thing I am certain: kids detect B.S. better than anybody.

       In Sun and Steel, Yukio Mishima wrote that obesity is a sign of spiritual sloth. Check out the Obesity Map of USA, created by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC), below:

Click the image for more information.

During the past 20 years there has been a dramatic increase in obesity in the United States. In 1985 only a few states were participating in the CDC's Behavioral Risk Factor Surveillance System (BRFSS) and providing obesity data. In 1991, four states had obesity prevalence rates of 15–19 percent and no states had rates at or above 20 percent.

In 1995, obesity prevalence in each of the 50 states was less than 20 percent. In 2000, 28 states had obesity prevalence rates less than 20 percent.

In 2005, only 4 states had obesity prevalence rates less than 20 percent, while 17 states had prevalence rates equal to or greater than 25 percent, with 3 of those having prevalences equal to or greater than 30 percent (Louisiana, Mississippi, and West Virginia).

       Some fat people protest that the Body Mass Index (BMI) measurement is inaccurate as one can be an athlete and still have a high BMI. True, bodybuilders, weight lifters and sprinters may have high BMIs, but take a look at an obese individual and compare his or her body shape and lifestyle with a bodybuilder's. What is the difference? While latter's is sculpted muscle, the former contains enough oil reserves to last humanity through the next millennia. Another clue, if you spend more time shoveling food into your mouth than lifting weights, you do not qualify under the exception-to-the-BMI-rule that petains to bodybuilders. Stop chewing for a moment. Think. Capish?

       More data: a recent survey revealed that almost a third of French people were overweight and 12.4 per cent were obese, while around 5 per cent were underweight.

       And what the hell is "plus-sized"?

       I don't hear about skinny women creating the euphemism, "minus-sized." If you are fat, you are fat. If I want to watch curves, I will attend a baseball game featuring a star pitcher. If you require talcum powder or moisturizer to alleviate chaffing merely from walking waddling around, those are not curves, that's blubber.

       Napoleon Dynamite's favorite animal, the liger, is "plus-sized."
You are not "plus-sized."

       Also, all these protests about how "I'm big-boned," is bullshit. Anyone remember the line from South Park?

"You are not big-boned! Dinosaurs and Woolly Mammoths are big-boned! STOP EATING!"

       I also wish to point out that there are a significant number of men out there who are not so — how shall I put it? — partial to large mammaries as many women suppose us, men, to be. I am not attracted to large breasts not because I am a closet homosexual or have a fascination towards young boys. Personally, if I have a fixation towards large breasts, I will work in a dairy farm. I don't. So, lay off the slim and lithe, fatties. Go chew on your cud, Daisy. Better yet, stop eating so much and go trot a couple of laps around the pasture.

       Here's a "plus-sized" individual, Mary Ray, who claims to be fit:

       "My husband, Tom, and I go for long hikes in the woods, and some of those hikes have been challenging for me–not too challenging, but just enough. Two years ago we visited Yosemite National Park, and we hiked part-way up to the top of Vernal Fall. It was a demanding hike, and pretty much every body was huffing and puffing. We made it up to the bridge that’s just shy of halfway to the top."

       Well, I did some research on Vernal Fall. Vernal Fall is a THREE MILE HIKE! Which means fatty Mary and her fat husband Tom hiked a whole ONE AND A HALF MILES before they were "huffing and puffing." Oh yes Mary... you are really fit.

       A nice burlesque here:

       Fat people projected their glandular angst at a fitness center in San Fransisco earlier this week after reading a billboard with a picture of an alien saying, "When they come, they will eat the fat ones first." Twenty five people took it personally and got off their frosting stained couches to take a bus down to the fitness center and picket. They held up pro-fat person signs and chanted "Eat me!" until all the talk about eating made them hungry and they left for ice cream.
       One of the angry overweighters was Maralyn Wann, nearly famous author of the book, "Fat! So?" who threatened on public radio to sit on anyone who stereotyped fat people. [ . . . ]
       The nonremorseful manager of the fitness center said, "Oh no. It looks like we lost the tubbies' business. Guess no one's going to have a heart attack on the Stair Master this week." He then smacked an overweight protestor in the head and ran. He repeated this until the fat guy passed out from exhaustion.

Tell me what you do with the food you eat, and I'll tell you what you are. Some turn their food into fat and manure, some into work and good humor, and others, I'm told, into God.  (Zorba the Greek, Nikos Kazantzakis)

       Now, I am not saying that "skinny-flabby" individuals such as...

...Paris Hilton are models of health (though she might give more than a few guys nose bleeds). But there are people who are skinny, fit, and healthy.

5 feet 5 inches (165 cm). 113 lb. (51 kg).

The gorgeous Shalane Flanagan, 25.

Shalane with her killer abs.

Running to a new record.

Another shot of the endurance athlete.

On January 27, at the 2007 Reebok Boston Indoor Games, Shalane Flanagan set a new American record of running 3000 meters (1.875 miles) in 8 minutes 33.25 seconds. Gee, where are the "fit and healthy" plus-sized women fatties? Can they even run waddle 3000 meters under 16 minutes?

       Check out Cate Blanchett at the 2007 Oscars. She doesn't have any love handles or huge mammaries. Yet, can anyone deny her femininity?

"But, but, they're both so petite! I'm tall and broad!"
All right...

Meet Maria Yuryevna Sharapova. 6 feet 2 inches (188 cm). 130 lb. (59 kg).

Looking very good in a bikini.

"But, but, I have old injuries and/or illness!"

Meet Niki Gudex, 29.

In 1997, Niki broke her back while practicing back flips on a snowboard in Sweden. After that, she switched from professional snowboarding to mountain biking.

Within a few years, Niki ranked Number One in the Australian National Cross Country (XC) Mountain Biking Championships. In 2003, she became the Australian National Series Cross Country (XC) Champion.

And Number Two in the Australian Downhill (DH) Mountain Biking Championships.

In 2001, Niki was the Australian National Series Downhill (DH) Champion.

The stunning Niki Gudex.

       As for the plus-sized fatties...

Anyone want to take a guess how many tons of lead diving weights are needed to achieve neutral buoyancy here? Expect sea levels to rise worldwide.

Passenger at Heathrow Airport.

Nota bene: Lard-asses unhappy with this post are welcome to attempt to sit on me — "You know, stereotypes like fat people being able to cause injury with their enormous mass. "— but be forewarned, you have to catch me first and I'm not going to stop for you if when you suffer a heart attack pursuing me. Neither am I trained in the sub-speciality of CPR for Fat People.


Saturday, February 24, 2007

Obey! II

Part I can be found here.

From page H2 of The Straits Times The Shitty Times, Saturday, 24 February 2007.

This is a long-term effort that will require mindset changes in our homes, workplaces, and society at large, on the value of family life and parenthood. But I am confident that we will get there, through the combined and sustained effort of parents, employers, the media, the Government, and all Singaporeans.
(Mr Lim Hng Kiang, Chairman of the Steering Group on Population, and Minister for Trade and Industry)

"To be continued," are there words more frightening?

New Vocabulary



Bonus links

Have You Ever Tried to Sell a Diamond?

Why breed?

Friday, February 23, 2007

"No" to being a hangar queen

Human Organ Transplant Act (HOTA)

The Human Organ Transplant Act 1987 allows for the kidneys to be removed in the event of death due to accidents for the purpose of transplantation.

All non-Muslim Singapore Citizens and Permanent Residents between the ages of 21 and 60 years are included under HOTA. They will have priority in receiving a cadaveric organ if they need one. However, they can also opt out of HOTA if they do not wish to donate their organs when they die.

On 6 January 2004, the Human Organ Transplant (Amendment) Bill was passed by Parliament to allow more Singaporeans to benefit from cadaveric organs. The amendments to HOTA were:

a. To extend HOTA beyond kidney to also include liver, heart and cornea
b. To extend HOTA beyond deaths due to accidents to all causes of death; and
c. To extend HOTA beyond cadaveric donation to also regulate living donor organ transplantation.

The revised HOTA takes effect on 1 July 2004. It is estimated that about 60-80 patients with organ failure will benefit from the additional organs each year.

FAQs here

Should we not consider relying solely on an opt-in system only, as this would respect the rights of the people?

It has consistently been shown in Singapore and other countries that relying on an opt-in system will not be sufficient to make a significant impact in meeting the needs of organ failure patients. As such MOH will continue to have both the opt-out system (HOTA) and an opt-in system (MTERA) for purposes (education and research) and organs not covered under HOTA.

Nice dodge. I don't see the question about the rights of the people being respected. In an interesting parallel, it is also part of the Nazi doctrinaire belief of the "mass man" that the primacy of the state over the rights of the individual is held sacrosanct. It is rightly so that citizens should worry when the state exercises the coercive power of its machinery to facilitate the removal of organs from an individual despite objection from the next-of-kin.

From 1973 to 1986, we conducted intensive public education campaigns, reaching religious groups, community and grassroots organisations, and educational institutions. The campaign was aimed at helping Singaporeans understand that kidney donation is acceptable and crucial to saving thousands of lives.

We did not stop there and continued with our advocacy campaign. Our efforts resulted in the passing of the Human Organ Transplant Act (HOTA), 1987, by the Parliament of Singapore. This Act presumes that non-Muslim Singaporeans and Permanent Residents between 21 and 60 (age-wise), who die in accident, have pledged to donate their kidneys upon death, unless they opt-out in their lifetime. (National Kidney Foundation (NKF))

       And we all know what a paragon of virtue the old NKF is...

       Dr. Huang Shoou Chyuan penned some thoughts about the recent brain death case at Singapore General Hospital.

       In November 1941, after viewing the Nazi propaganda film on euthanasia Ich klage an! (I accuse!), by Wolfgang Liebeneiner, Father Alfred Delp commented,

       even if all a person's organs are gone and he can no longer express himself as a human being, he still is human and there still remains a constant call toward an inner nobility and a call to love and sacrificial strength for those who live around him. If you deprive people of the ability to nurse and heal their sick, you make human beings into egotistical predators who are interested only in their own pleasant life.
(Bleistein, Roman.  Begegnung mit Alfred Delp.  Frankfurt: Verlag Josef Knecht, 1994.  23.)

       Consider two excerpts from a book review written by Ian Hacking, Whose body is it?, on Strange Harvest: Organ Transplants, Denatured Bodies and the Transformed Self, a book authored by Lesley A. Sharp, Professor of Anthropology at Barnard College and Associate Professor of Anthropology and Sociomedical Sciences at Columbia University:

       In November, when I was reading this book, I came across a letter in the Toronto Star written in response to a bland editorial against presumed consent for organ donation.

       "I resist anyway the idea that we are all a collection of usable parts, and that someone unknown to us can decide how to take us apart and redistribute us. It’s a mechanistic rather than a humanistic view . . . It is not like putting a new element in an old stove.

                                         [ . . . ]

Those who donate are usually young, healthy people who have died suddenly and unexpectedly," the mother of the four-year-old donor wrote in her letter to the Toronto Star. "The tragedy of their deaths gets overlooked in the way the debate is framed by those . . . who seem to think we are all mechanical collections of interchangeable body parts." She continues by saying, "we had two days to get used to the idea that he was dying, and to trust the hospital staff who told us so. [And to be sure that] the time of death is not being advanced because other people are waiting for the usable parts."

       On the "new" classification of death: "brain death," "as opposed to the traditional "heart death" — which often renders organs non-viable:

       How dead is brain-dead? Few of us think about the flesh and blood on the ventilator, the chest going up and down in regular breaths, the heart pumping the blood around and keeping many of the organs working and thus reusable. What seems to have disturbed Sharp most was the fact that brain-dead donors are anaesthetised before the organs are extracted. Brain-dead, and hence incapable of feeling pain: why do they need anaesthesia? There appears to be a serious amount of denial here. When Sharp first started asking that question, three organ procurement staff, two neurologists and two internists told her that she was misinformed; another physician told her to ask an anaesthetist, since he did not want to talk about it.

When she did get answers, they were various. Anaesthetists can monitor and control blood pressure by the use of various drugs; these can relax muscles so that operating is easier, and also help to prevent the abdomen collapsing at a critical moment. So the anaesthetist’s drugs make the cadaver more tractable. But, Sharp reveals, there is a lot more going on. A brain-dead body will move in a lifelike way when nerves are pinched or cut. The body, warm and looking healthy enough where it has not been injured, may seem to shrug or kick or even signal. This is very disturbing to some of the staff attending the operation. These effects are reduced almost to nothing when the cadaver is anaesthetised. And some of the people involved reflect, perhaps, that if, despite all the tests, the person is not quite dead, then at least he will be spared pain in the moments before the heart stops. All this despite the official conviction that brain-death implies no possibility of feeling pain – "pain is a cortical phenomenon."

       Is the anesthesia for the benefit of the brain dead patient/donor (who should not, the harvesters assure us, feel any pain), or for the surgeons, so that the body doesn't twitch and move when they are removing perfectly viable organs from a still-living body?

       This question reminds me of historical practice hundreds of years ago in New England: when an individual is suspected as a witch, he or she is placed in a barrel lined with long, sharp nails on the inside. The barrel is then rolled down a high hill. At the bottom of the hill, the barrel is re-opened. If the individual is alive, he or she is confirmed as a witch and burnt at the stake. If he or she is dead, the suspect is declared innocent and given a proper Christian burial. This method of examination was often used by the governing authorities on troublesome individuals or political opponents. Whether the individual is a witch is irrelevant as, in the case of either outcome, he or she is out of the picture.

       The same can be said for the utilitarians, it doesn't matter what the anesthesia is for, so long as they get their organs.

       Individuals wishing to opt-out will need to make a trip to the nearest polyclinic or government hospital to obtain a booklet. Alternatively, they may choose to download a PDF form from the Ministry of Health website.

       "Presumed consent" (i.e. "opt-out") is a policy I have strong reservations about. (As a bonus, consider Tan An Qi's use of the phrase in another area.) This is not the only opt-out policy implemented (not by a long shot); there are also the Dependent Protection Scheme (DPS), Medishield, Eldershield, et cetera. All employed individuals of Chinese ethnicity are also automatically included in the Chinese Development Assistance Council (CDAC) donation scheme where SGD$1 is deducted from their monthly paycheck. It also operates on the "opt-out" method, but throws additional obstacles in the way of those objecting. Those wishing to opt-out are not only required to obtain a form on their own initiative, but the form must bear the stamp and signature of their employer. Now, that would necessitate justifying to your employer why you refuse to donate a paltry sum of SGD$1 a month from your paycheck to an association directing the development of the Chinese community. If your employer is a Chinese chauvinist, good luck. And since it is a small sum, most people let it go. Apathy wins again.

       There also appears to be no centralized registry or website where all the opt-out schemes are listed. Instead, the onus is on the concerned individual to hunt down all the opt-out schemes he or she is automatically enrolled in and fulfill all the procedures in order to opt-out.

       To put it in another way, the opt-out scheme can be said to be symptomatic of a populace accustomed to being mollycoddled from cradle to grave. Create a little inconvenience, put a little obstacle in their way, and the sheeple will trot in the direction the authorities desire.

       Personally, I will sooner donate money to the DNRC than anything that has to do with a demographic notorious for being crass, materialistic, Machiavellian, environmentally destructive, racially chauvinistic, and merrily and remorselessly eating countless species to extinction.

       Oh, yes, happy Chinese New Year.

2 weeks later

Potential organ donor was wrongly declared brain-dead.

Man's heart revives just as doctors were preparing to remove his organs for transplant.

Monday, February 19, 2007

Pro tui nominis gloria misericorditer liberemur

The experience we are all passing through must surely at least produce one thing — a passionate love of God and desire for his glory. As far as I am concerned, I find I have to approach him in a new and quite personal way. I must remove all the barriers that still stand between him and me. I must break down all the hidden reserve that keeps me from him.

(Alfred Delp, Tegel Prison, Berlin, December 31, 1944)

On February 2, 1945, Father Alfred Delp, S.J., a widely admired pastor, youth leader, and intellectual, was executed by the Nazis in Plötzensee Prison in Berlin. During the six months before his execution, the shackled priest painfully wrote a stream of deeply moving letters, meditations, and prayers which were smuggled out to friends and family members. These writings reveal a man profoundly changed in the crucible of suffering — a once-arrogant, impatient priest transformed into a herald of hope and grace. With Bound Hands tells the absorbing story of Alfred Delp — a Jesuit hero who found redemption as he plumbed the depths of evil.

       The epigraph reads:

                     . . . unless a grain of wheat falls into
              the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain;
                     but if it dies, it bears much fruit.

                                   (John 12:24)

       This is a post that has long been put off. Reading this book has been a trial of sorts: it strains the emotions and queries the limits of faith; and more disturbingly, it leaves one bewildered by its portrayal of divine grace. Should one — however pious — ever consider the role of a martyr an act of grace? What is grace?
       With Bound Hands: A Jesuit in Nazi Germany consists of three main parts:

  1. a survey of the life of one Jesuit priest, Father Alfred Delp (1907 - 1945): from the unlikely circumstances of his birth; growing up and confirmed a Protestant; his departure from the Lutheran church at thirteen after an altercation with the pastor; his confirmation as a Catholic at the church across the street nine days later; the subsequent discovery of his calling as a priest; and the journey of his religious vocation;
  2. the trial of Father Delp for high treason on January 9 and 10, 1945, before the People's Court of Germany's Third Reich;
  3. and the letters, meditations, and prayers written by the handcuffed priest in his cell.

       To be a Jesuit priest in Germany in the late 1930s was no inconsequential matter. In March 1937, Pope Pius XI had issued the encyclical Mit brennender Sorge (With Burning Concern) on the Church and the German Reich, which decried the abrogation of civil rights and the suffering of innocent people, especially the deliberate infliction of hardship based on race. The encyclical, written in German rather than the usual Latin, was clandestinely printed in Germany and hand-delivered to Catholic churches throughout the country on the night of March 13. It was read from the pulpits the following day, Passion Sunday, before the Nazis even knew of its existence. [ . . . T]he encyclical caused a furor among the Nazi leadership. By the end of the day, nearly all copies had been confiscated, and the twelve companies that had printed the document were immediately closed down. Partly in retaliation for this subterfuge, the Nazis began to plan a campaign against all Christian churches, determining to infiltrate their systems at every level. Within the Catholic Church, the Jesuits were considered particularly dangerous.  (26-7)

       Stories regularly reached Valkenburg of the upheavals taking place in Germany: the Nuremberg Laws legitimized the harassment of Jews; many Catholic organizations were dissolved and the Catholic youth movements were outlawed, a direct violation of the 1933 concordat with the Vatican[, which, in return for the Roman Catholic Church agreeing to separate religion from politics, Roman Catholics in Nazi-controlled territories were granted freedom of practice to the Roman Catholic Church]. Priests throughout Germany were monitored for anti-Nazi sentiments in their preaching. Those whose sermons were considered dangerous to the regime were taken into custody.
       Jesuits were already suspect. A family's standing was lowered in the eyes of the Nazis when a son entered the Society of Jesus, and eventually it became illegal for the Jesuits to accept any new candidates at all. [ . . . ] Two other Jesuits were arrested and jailed for preaching against the theories of Alfred Rosenberg, whose writings formed the basis of Nazi ideology. The new arbitrariness of the law — that arguing on the basis of fact no longer mattered — caused disquiet.  (92)

       Several other Jesuits throughout Germany were removed from their posts because of their preaching. The popular Mario von Galli was said to have warned the Nazi spies in his Stuttgart congregation to pay close attention to particular points in his sermons. Later, when von Galli was told by a Nazi official that he would be banished to Switzerland for life, he allegedly gave the cocky reply, "Whose life?"  (29)

       One of Father Delp's beliefs resonated deeply within me: the reduction of human beings to chess pieces, mere pawns meant to further society's agenda, robs them of their dignity, and ultimately decays into a horrific, mechanical process of state-sanctioned barbarism worse than the chaotic carnage of a Hobbesian world. Consider the distinction between livestock in abattoirs and animals in the jungle; in the latter, one may be prey; in the former, one is meat. Delp harbored a "disillusionment with the two types of socialism... encountered, far-left Bolshevism and far-right Nazism. In both ideologies, all individuality was subsumed into a collective mass, and human beings became mere machines" (48-9).

       Throughout the flag-flying victories and into the period when defeat seemed probable and he became aware of the atrocities committed in the name of the German people, Delp continued to develop some of the ideas he had been thinking about for the previous few years. He had become the resident expert on the "social question," especially as outlined in the Quadragesimo Anno. He continued to work on theories to counteract the Nazi teaching of "mass man" with its doctrinaire belief in the primacy of the state over the rights of the individual.  (33)

       Horrific and out of this world the Nazi doctrine may seem today, they are not. In fact, they are right here — operating right now:

If, in the event of effective crime prevention, a few innocent people are punished or a few guilty ones are over-punished, that would be a price worth paying.

(Andy Ho, commenting on Singapore government's judicial hanging of a convicted Australian drug trafficker)

But I digress. There will be plenty of opportunities to bash the inept, the cruel, the greedy, the sycophants, the Machiavellian, the morally bankrupt, the ethically corrupt, the apathetic and the clueless, on this sunny-tropical-island-fool's-paradise in other posts.

       Towards the end of 1940, in an all-out bid to rid Germany of Jesuits, the Gestapo had set up a file with the names of all German Jesuits, and the following year, Hitler gave a personal order to have Jesuits declared unfit for war service and expelled from the armed forces.  (41)

       Despite the increased danger, following his convictions and belief in social justice, for a short time in 1941, Father Delp "became known as 'an address' for fleeing Jews on the underground route to the safety of Switzerland" (38). He made it clear where he stood on matters of resistance: "Whoever doesn't have the courage to make history," he wrote, "is doomed to become its object. We have to take action" (48). Shortly after, at the behest of his superior, Augustine Rösch, Delp joined a group of intellectuals focused on a Germany after the war, a fateful decision that would end up costing him his life. Thirty-four-year-old Count Helmuth James von Moltke, great-great-grand-nephew of Helmuth von Moltke, a Prussian military hero; trained in law with a special interest in politics and economics; harboring a deep mistrust of flag-waving nationalism and a strong believer in democracy;

       became convinced that the Nazi victory could not possibly last, and an idea began to unfold: start now to plan for the rebuilding of Germany after that inevitable end; establish a new constitution that will never again allow a totalitarian dictatorship to develop. As he saw it, society needed a rebirth, with small communities in which people could participate rather than be alienated. He also began to see a need for a transnational authority because he believed the overly nationalistic sense that had been displayed in Germany would ultimately destroy humanity.
       Aware of his relative inexperience, he sought out people who thought along similar lines, with expertise in industry, economics, and politics. [ . . . ] Eventually, when the loosely formed group was discovered, the Nazis named them the Kreisau Circle (in German, Kreisauer Kreis), but among themselves they were known simply as the "friends."  (44-5)

       It was this group of forward-thinking activists — lawyers, scholars, theologians, chaplains and pastors, Lutherans and Catholics, aristocrats and labor leaders — that Father Delp joined. Before long, the group discovered, much to their anguish and frustration, "that the German Catholic bishops were, as a collective body, paralyzed in opposing the Nazi system" (46):

       All along, the three Kreisau Jesuits — Rösch, König, and Delp — had been prodding the bishops to publicly condemn Nazi policies. Moltke still kept in touch with Preysing in Berlin, who, he noted, had become worn down with anxiety over the bishops' inability to make strong collective statements. Indeed, the bishops had debated heatedly during their August 1942 conference about whether to make a public condemnation of the Nazi treatment of the Jews. Adolph Bertram, the eighty-three-year-old chair of the conference and the cardinal archbishop of Breslau, wanted absolute proof of the death camps. Bertram had vivid personal memories of Bismarck's Kulturkampf, and more than anything he wanted to underscore Catholic loyalty to the Fatherland by accommodating the state in matters that did not directly affect the Church.
       By now, however, the Nazi persecution of the Catholic Church, begun in near stealth, had moved into full force: religious houses were closed, churches confiscated, priests incarcerated by the hundreds in the Dachau concentration camp. Speak out on behalf of Catholicism, the bishops decided. Continue resisting in clandestine ways. Beyond that, keep silent. Deeply frustrated, Preysing predicted that he and his fellow bishops would be harshly judged in the future for their collective failure to speak out in forceful terms against Nazi barbarities.  (54)

       In the years after his death, Alfred Delp's classmates from his early years in the Society of Jesus were to remember him as an enfant terrible. He was a maverick, and at times, a Jesuit superior's headache.  (xv)

Indeed, before his incarceration, Delp was a haughty, overbearing, and even proud, priest little given to patience. Though he had a strong sense of social justice and compassion for the poor, he gave those who disagreed with him no quarter, fellow peers were no exception. It was a regular occurrence in the seminary for Delp to argue violently in class, resulting in subsequent chastisement by his superiors, apologizing contritely, only to repeat the whole process again in the next class. He also indulged in his predilection towards fine cigars, procuring them even in times of want during the war.
       However, all these changed when an attempt was made on Hitler's life on July 20, 1944. In the flurry of exhaustive investigations that followed, the Kreisau Circle was discovered. The Gestapo moved in swiftly and most of the members were swiftly apprehended. Father Delp was arrested on July 28, 1944. Within the walls of Tegel Prison, the priest endured an unrelenting battery of tortures: the passive: bright lights shining in his eyes at all hours; a meagre diet of bread and water; and sleep deprivation; the verbal, conducted by three officers: the first hurling abuse and obscenities; the second, speaking in a soothing, obsequious voice; and the third, appealing to the prisoner's patriotism and honor; and last, but by no means the least, the physical: heavy clubs, spiked leather straps, and whips, all applied with such unrestrained ferocity that the handcuffed prisoner fell forward, face and head crashing upon the floor, until naked flesh was pummeled and flayed into broken, bloody pulp (75-6).

       October 1, [1944], Delp said his first Mass in his cell. The Eucharist thus became a lifeline for others in the prison through a method used perhaps by imprisoned priests everywhere: with his bound wrists, he knocked on his wall to the left and the right when Mass was beginning, and the others in turn knocked on their walls, and so on until the entire block of prison cells became alive with the great offering, the cosmic prayer of thanksgiving. Here, religious differences vanished. And gathered into the prayer, in the dank and putrid prison cell, came all the misery and the horror, the evil and the despair of all suffering humanity. For Delp and for his chained comrades, the Mass was not only a momentary consolation, a means of hanging on until the next day, but a meeting place of the world's sinfulness and the purifying presence of God.  (80)

       Four months later, whispering in the prison courtyard (nicknamed the "kindergarten of death"), Delp asked a Protestant prisoner whether they were still having a church service. "Of course," he replied, "I'd rather hope myself to death than perish in unbelief" (121). The Nazis had made an offer to Father Delp: to regain his freedom, he only had to agree to leave the Society of Jesus. He demurred.
       While in prison, with the aid of the prison chaplian, Peter Buchholz, Father Delp maintain a tenuous link with the outside world through letters smuggled out in laundry baskets to two members of his congregation at the parish of St. Georg, in the Bogenhausen district of Munich: Marianne Hapig and Marianne Pünder. Hands shackled together, in a dank and unheated cell, the priest would write, hope, despair, plead, meditate, and pray.

To M. December 29, 1944

       Far more than a civilization or a rich heritage was lost when the universal order went the way of medieval and ancient civilization. Western humanity today is spiritually homeless, naked, and exposed. The moment we start to be anything beyond "one of the masses" we become terribly aware of that isolation which has always encompassed the great. We realize our homelessness and exposure. So we set to work to build ourselves some sort of house and shelter. Our ancestors, those among them who were really great, could have left us a legacy much more helpful for our progress. We can only account for the contorted thought of people like Paracelsus or Böhme on the grounds that life's insufferable loneliness and lack of design forced them to build a shelter for themselves. And although it is such a self-willed and distorted and angular structure, it still has the marks of painstaking care and trouble and in that must command our respect. Goethe had rather more success; his instinct was surer and it led him to guess at some of nature's more important designs. Moreover, he had a good — though not in all respects dependable — master whose ideas he copied to a very large extent.
       Every now and then someone comes along and tries to impose his own plan on the rest of the world, either because he knows he has stumbled on a universal need or because he thinks he has and overestimates his own infallibility. Such people will never lack followers since there are so many who long for a well-founded communal home to which they can feel they "belong." Time after time in the end they come to realize that the shelter offered is not all it purports to be — it cannot keep out the wind and the weather. And time and time again the deluded seekers conclude they have been taken in by a mountebank who probably had no intention of deliberately deceiving them but was nevertheless a charlatan misleading himself and others. . . .

       At the risk of being flippant (an English professor totally flipped when I quoted "The Eagles" in a paper in my freshmen year, so there you go), the lyrics from a song by The Eagles seem especially apt here:

              We are like sheep without a shepherd
              We don't know how to be alone
              So we wander 'round this desert
              And wind up following the wrong gods home
              But the flock cries out for another
              And they keep answering that bell
              And one more starry-eyed messiah
              Meets a violent farewell

       For months, Delp prepared with his counsel to defend against the charges, despite the news being less than encouraging:

To M., January 3, 1945

       To add to all the rest, I have just learned that the presiding judge is anti-Catholic and a priest-hater; yet another reason for leaving everything confidently in God's hands. It always comes back to this — only he can handle this situation.

       His worst fears were confirmed on the day of the trial:

       The small courtroom was located on the second floor. Inside, a long table for the court officials stood at the top of the room. Directly in front of it was a smaller table, before which the defendants were to stand as their turns came. A large Nazi flag hung on the wall facing the assembly, in the center of which a small hole had been made for filming to take place. There were also hidden cameras elsewhere in the room.
       The defendants filed in, each flanked by two guards. They sat in four rows facing the front of the room. Delp sitting in the last row. Behind the defendants, assorted Nazi Party members crowded into five rows of chairs. A side door opened, and three officials marched into the room dressed in red robes: the prosecutor, the court clerk, and the president of the People's Court, Judge Roland Freisler. They walked to the long table; Freisler, a fifty-two-year-old man with a thick fringe of black hair surrounding a bald pate, took center seat.
       The disquieting rumors that Delp had heard about Roland Freisler — that he was a priest-hater, that he never changed his mind once the trial began — were true. And there was more. Even within Nazi circles, Freisler had gained a notorious reputation for pitiless and vicious judgments. As a young soldier in World War I, he had been captured by the Russians and had returned to Germany as a member of the Communist Party. After becoming a lawyer, Freisler switched his political allegiance to National Socialism and began his move up through the Nazi ranks. It was said that he had his eye on the post of Minister of Justice. When he was passed over for this position and appointed to the People's Court, he decided to make an indelible impression on Hitler, who was particularly interested in seeing the filmed trials of those associated with the July 20 attack on his life. Freisler's judicial style was to act as both judge and prosecutor and to humiliate the defendants by yelling insults at them. For the trials after July 20 he had outdone himself. Suspenders, belts, and neckties had been removed from the defendants, and they were forced to hold on to their trousers to keep them from falling down. Military stripes had been torn from the jackets of army officers. Freisler shrieked so loudly that at one point a sound engineer warned him that he was wrecking the microphones. When he worked himself into a froth, the blood rose to his face and spread up to his bald head. Not for nothing was the judge nicknamed "Red Roland."

       Delp was the first defendant to be called up. He walked to the small table, accompanied by his police guards, who sat down behind him while he stood directly in front of Freisler. The judge began by asking questions in a normal tone of voice that may have momentarily fooled some of the defendants into thinking that he was presiding over a regular court of justice. [ . . . ] What did he know of the meetings at Kreisau? What was discussed at those meetings? The Kreisau meetings concerned a future society and yet not one National Socialist was present? Instead there were clergymen and people who later plotted the attempt on the Führer's life? Freisler's voice had begun to rise, his face redden. What did such meetings prove? And the future society they were planning — all this was in the event of a possible defeat? Defeat? Such talk amounted to high treason! Freisler now spat out his words, launching into a general tirade: Catholic priests assented to tyrannicide, bishops had fathered illegitimate children, Jesuits provoked an anti-German attitude. In his defense statement, Delp had claimed to have been absent from a meeting that had taken place at his house; this fact was thrown at him as a "typically Jesuitical" action: "By that very absence you have shown yourself that you knew exactly that high treason was afoot and that you would have liked to keep the tonsured little head, the consecrated holy man, out of it. Meanwhile he may have gone to church to pray that the conspiracy should succeed in a way pleasing to God."
       Delp stood calm and self-possessed and spoke in a low, even voice, an effort that he later admitted took every ounce of self-control. The chaplain Harald Poelchau later pieced together an approximate recall of one of the exchanges between Delp and Freisler:

FREISLER: You miserable creep, you clerical nobody — who dares to want the life of our beloved Führer taken . . . a rat — that should be stamped on and crushed. . . . Now tell us, what brought you as a priest to abandon the pulpit and get mixed up in German politics with a subversive like Count Moltke and a troublemaker like the Protestant Gerstenmaier. Come on, answer!

DELP: I can preach forever, and with whatever skill I have I can work with people and keep setting them straight. But as long as people have to live in a way that is inhuman and lacking in dignity, that's as long as the average person will succumb to circumstances and will neither pray nor think. A fundamental change in the conditions of life is needed. . . .

FREISLER: Do you mean that the state has to be changed so that you can begin to change conditions that keep people away from the church?

DELP: Yes, that's what I mean. . . .

       But the judge seemed no longer interested. He had made his case against Delp in a volley of personal abuse, and when it came to the main charge against him, Freisler simply waved it away.
       Although stung and angered by Freisler's bias against him, Delp may have well have been confused by the realization that the indictment he thought would hang him was passed over with hardly a comment. The grilling he had prepared for and fretted over for weeks thus ended in an anticlimax. [ . . . ] At five o'clock the court was dismissed and the accused were driven back to prison. As Delp mulled over the day's proceedings in his cell, the matter became clear to him: his trial had little to do with the purported reason for his arrest, his supposed involvement with the plot on Hitler's life, about which he had been largely ignorant. He had been on trial and would probably be condemned because of the way of life and the Christian principles to which he had dedicated himself.  (160-4)

       Back in his cell, awaiting the likely sentence of death, both hands cuffed, Father Delp wrote.

To Marianne Hapig and Marianne Pünder, January 11, 1945

Good people,

       Well, so now I'm going down the other road. Whatever God wills. Let it be all done and given over into his freedom and goodness.
       May God reward you for all your kindness and love. That was no court of law, but rather an orgy of hate. . . .

To M., after January 11, 1945

       From the moment he [Judge Roland Freisler] started it was all over. I strongly advise my brothers in the Society to keep away from these trials where one is not a human being but an object. And all under an inflated rigmarole of legal terms and phrases. Just before this I had been reading Plato, who said that the greatest injustice is that performed in the name of justice. [ . . . ]
       What fools we were when we tried to make preparation for this trial — it had nothing whatever to do with facts or truth. This was not a court of justice but a function. An unmistakable echo and nothing else. [ . . . ]
       What is God's purpose in all this? Is it a further lesson with regard to complete freedom and absolute surrender? Does he want us to drain the chalice to the dregs and are these hours of waiting preparation for an extraordinary Advent? Or is he testing our faith?
       What should I do to remain loyal — go on hoping despite the hopelessness of it all? Or should I relax? Ought I to resign myself to the inevitable and is it cowardice not to do this and to go on hoping? Should I simply stand still, free and ready to take whatever God sends? [ . . . ]
       I don't know. Logically, there is no hope at all. The atmosphere here, so far as I am concerned, is so hostile that an appeal has not the slightest chance of succeeding. So is it madness to hope — or conceit, or cowardice, or grace? Often I just sit before God looking at him questioningly.
       But one thing is gradually becoming clear — I must surrender myself completely. This is seedtime, not harvest. God sows the seed and some time or the other he will do the reaping. The one thing I must do is to make sure the seed falls on fertile ground. And I must arm myself against the pain and depression that sometimes almost defeat me. If this is the way God has chosen — and everything indicates that it is — then I must willingly and without rancor make it my way. May others at some future time find it possible to have a better and happier life because we died in this hour of trial.
       I ask my friends not to mourn, but to pray for me and help me as long as I have need of help. And to be quite clear in their own minds that I was sacrificed, not conquered. It never occurred to me that my life would end like this. I had spread my sails to the wind and set my course for a great voyage, flags flying, ready to brave every storm that blew. But could it be they were false flags or my course wrongly set or the ship a pirate and its cargo contraband. I don't know. And I will not sink to cheap jibes at the world in order to raise my spirits. To be quite honest I don't want to die, particularly now that I feel I could do more important work and deliver a new message about values I have only just discovered and understood. But it has turned out otherwise. God keep me in his providence and give me strength to meet what is before me. [ . . . ]
       Do not give up, ever. Never cease to cherish the people in your hearts — the poor forsaken and betrayed people who are so helpless. For in spite of their outward display and loud self-assurance, deep down they are lonely and frightened. If through one life there is a little more love and kindness, a little more light and truth in the world, then life will not have been in vain.
       Not must I forget those to whom I owe so much. May those I have hurt forgive me — I am sorry for having injured them. May those to whom I have been untrue forgive me — I am sorry for having failed them. May those to whom I have been proud and overbearing forgive me — I repent my arrogance. And may those to whom I have been unloving forgive me — I repent my hardness. Oh yes — long hours spent in this cell with fettered wrists and my body and spirit tormented must have broken down a great deal that was hard in me. Much that was unworthy and worthless has been committed to the flames.
       So farewell. My offense is that I believed in Germany and her eventual emergence from this dark hour of error and distress, that I refused to accept that accumulation of arrogance, pride, and force that is the Nazi way of life, and that I did this as a Christian and a Jesuit. These are the values for which I am here now on the brink, waiting for the thrust that will send me over. Germany will be reborn, once this time has passed, in a new form based on reality with Christ and his Church recognized again as being the answer to the secret yearning of this earth and its people, with the Society of Jesus the home of proven men — men who today are hated because they are misunderstood in their voluntary dedication or feared as a reproach in the prevailing state of pathetic, immeasurable human bondage. These are the thoughts with which I go to my death.
       And so to conclude, I will do what I so often did with my fettered hands and what I will gladly do again and again as long as I have a breath left — I will give my blessing. I will bless this land and the people; I will bless the Church and pray that her fountains may flow again fresher and more freely; I will bless all those who have believed in me and trusted me, all those I have wronged and all those who have been good to me — often too good.
       God be with you and protect you. Help my poor old parents through the days of trial and keep them in your thoughts. God help you all.
       I will honestly and patiently await God's will. I will trust him till they come to fetch me. I will do my best to ensure that this blessing, too, shall not find me broken and in despair.

To the Kreuser family, after January 21, 1945

I know from experience, friends, that today existence takes more than strength, and we've been affected and we're exhausted, and yet still there remains the mandatory call of love. So let's fail in anything except the thing that makes us human beings: adoration and love. Adoration and love: that's what it takes to be human. Thanks for all your loyalty and kindness and concern. There's an inner space where there's no evening and no farewell.
       May God protect you. Good-bye.


       On the afternoon of Friday, February 2, [1945,] the feast of Purification and a traditional day for Jesuits to make their vows. [Peter] Buchholz[, the prison chaplain,] was told that Delp would soon be executed. The chaplain went to cell 317. Inside, Delp, weakened from fear, struggled against despair, and a six-month preparation for death, still wondered if there might be hope of being saved from the rope. Could the Russian troops not get to Berlin in the next few minutes? Could world history not run faster? Buchholz had no answer. Delp's gaunt face then lit up with the playful smile of a child. "In half an hour," he said, "I'll know more than you do."
       The execution building was a short distance away. Walking upright, shoulders squared and wearing the wooden shoes given to those about to be executed, Delp was led to the door of the building at about three o'clock in the afternoon. Inside, the building is one cavernous room with a cement floor. A black curtain had been pulled across the width of the room. The execution formula was read out: "You have been sentenced by the People's Court to death by hanging. Executioner, do your duty." The black curtain was pulled away, and ahead, at the top of the chamber, in front of two rounded windows, eight meat hooks hung from the ceiling. Delp was stripped to the waist, and led towards one of them. The executioner, as likely as not fortified with brandy, placed a rope around his neck and hoisted him up. His prison pants were yanked off and his naked body struggled and twitched, then slackened, and then became still. The executioner made his routine pronouncement: "The sentence has been carried out." Elsewhere in the prison, the form on which he had signed over his clothes was pulled from a pile and the date stamped in: 2 Feb. 1945.
       "For the glory of your name may we be mercifully set free."
       The bodies of the condemned prisoners of Plötzensee were customarily burned; orders had been given after July 20 that the ashes of those implicated in the assassination plot be strewn over sewage waste. No record exists of exactly what happened to Delp's cremated remains, and it is presumed that they were disposed of in the same way as the ashes of the others.
       Later, a pair of broken eyeglasses, a rosary, and a copy of The Imitation of Christ were found in cell 317.  (xiv-v; 207-8)


       And so as life goes on, what have they come to mean, these deaths? Where was God, it is asked, when millions died in concentration camps? And, we might similarly ask, where was God when this group of upright people dreamed of a splendid renewal of humanity and planned for a just society in which human dignity would be respected and the things of God would be central? Where was God when it all came crashing down, their dreams and plans, and they landed in damp cells, their souls in anguish, their hands in chains, and, in the end, the remains of their bodies mingled with sewage waste?  (217)

       The consolation of Father Delp being hailed as a martyr leaves me cold. His fate being lionized romanticized as a seed sown for a later, fruitful harvest in future troubles, disturbs, me. If that was the purpose of his life, then the only difference between the Nazi ideology Delp dissects and denounces, of the primacy of the state over the individual and the reduction of the individual to a mere cog, void of human dignity, is that the reins holding him are directed by the divine.
       My mind cannot fathom how a loving, benevolent God would so callously sacrifice a brilliant light so selflessly and zealously given to him. Here was an exceptionally intelligent man in the prime of his life, who dedicated the rest of his life to serving God and doing good works, and yet, for the last six months of his earthly existence, he was starved, mentally tortured, and regularly beaten within an inch of his life; and, at the end, hoping against hope — "Could the Russian troops not get to Berlin in the next few minutes? Could world history not run faster?" — executed by strangulation. Cremated, his ashes were strewn over sewage. All these to eradicate intellectual haughtiness and instill humility in the priest? Is this grace?
       At its conclusion, With Bound Hands portrays Father Delp's

       suffering [as] the doorway to God, his prison cell and bound hands the pathway to freedom. He has awakened to the realization that something infinitely greater is going on than his personal experience indicates. In that realization he surrenders to the mercy of God.  (220)

And that "no one — not the saint, not the villain — escapes. But in the end, where one surrenders, there is grace" (221).

What is the nature of this "grace"?
Hoping against hope, and only to find hope shattered is not grace.
Hoping against futile hope is Sibyl in an Eliotian nightmare.
As anyone familiar with the turmoil of an unsettled heart knows, that is not grace — it is mental and emotional torture.

What is grace?

In an encyclical, Pius XI wrote,

"Grace," in a wide sense, may stand for any of the Creator's gifts to His creature; but in its Christian designation, it means all the supernatural tokens of God's love; God's intervention which raises man to that intimate communion of life with Himself, called by the Gospel "adoption of the children of God."

Is the "gift" of martyrdom, grace? Can it? If grace is meant by Father Alfred Delp being judged more kindly than the Nazis are today, well, then it has also been said that history is written by the victors. Martyrdom, in this case, is a coin given to counterfeit.

What is grace?
What is faith?

But there is no answer.

Will the fires of indignation over Father Alfred Delp's fate serve to refine faith to a stronger mettle?

One can only hope. And hope, as I understand it, is a facet of grace.

Perhaps then, it is in possibility where the divine rests in grace.

Whoever saves a single soul, it is as if he had saved the whole world (Talmud).

Sunday, February 18, 2007

Acrophobia III

Believe it or not, people actually pay to do this.

Here, tourists are climbing up the 7088 ft (2160 m) South Peak of Huashan, located 75 miles east of Xi'an, in the Shaanxi province of China.

"Wait a minute, that doesn't look too bad. The final 900 ft (274 m) of the trail to the top of Half Dome in Yosemite is steeper," you say. Ah, but wait. It gets better.

Those aren't benches. That's the walkway.

The narrow pass, which is the plank road, is built along the cliff leading to the East Peak. The road is no more than 0.3 meters (about 1 foot) wide and runs above a very deep gorge. The stout hearted can travel this road by hanging on to a chain that is attached to the face of the cliff.

Yep, "cliff."

One of the Taoist shrines on top of Huashan.

Brass locks are used to join the rusty chain links together, as well as secure them to the anchor points. (Notice the twisted shackles of one lock? Brrr...)

Guardrails? What guardrails?

The wrong way to rig up a safety harness. Never use the upper half of a full-body harness by itself. This lady faces a slow, agonizing death by asphyxiation if she were to slip and fall.

If you make it, there's an outhouse at the top to clean your pants. (Just remember not to lean back.)

The tourist brochure reads:

Mt. Huashan, which is famous for its egregious cliffs, mainly consists of five peaks which look like five petals of a flower. [ . . . ] South Peak, with an altitude of 2,160.5 meters (about 7,088.3 ft), is always considered to be the head of the peaks. Climbing to the top of the South Peak may greatly satisfy every climber.

At the beginning, I was chuckling to myself, thinking that the use of "egregious" an act of malapropism. Now, I'm not sure anymore :-P

Saturday, February 17, 2007

French Anti-Tank Missile

A 'live' firing of an ERYX anti-tank missile by the Canadian army. The ERYX is jointly manufactured by France and Canada. The personnel in the video are French Canadian.

Wednesday, February 14, 2007

Acrophobia II

That's it, I had enough, I can't stand anymore pubs for at least a month or lets say a week", after spending the last 6 days in an RV camper together with the current Downhill World Cup Champion Steve Peat and Irish photographer Victor Lucas.

Our mission was to hit some of Irelands best biking spots, while visiting as many pubs as possible along the way...
(Hans Rey)

Click on any image or here for more.

Tuesday, February 13, 2007


'Might as well take a break from the exposure. Thanks, dear :-)

10 Firsts

1. First best friend: Kai, aka Mr. E., aka first mountain bike cycling buddy, aka partner-in-crime, aka fellow coconut harvester, aka fellow pyromaniac, aka Ultima brother-in-arms, aka incinerator of Pong Pong seeds, aka Death-bringer-to-ants, aka Destroyer-of-fungi, aka fireball-in-sewer conjurer, aka molotov cocktail alchemist, et cetera. Still is.

2. First car: A Toyota Supra Turbo that earned me too many speeding tickets (and had me handcuffed once, but I am getting ahead of myself here); gained me favored status with the local HKS, Greddy, Spearco, Redline Oil, TRD distributors; and made me pull into gas stations way more often than I wanted to.

3. First love: a really wild chick who ultimately broke up with me over her best friend, whom she encouraged me to get it on with. Go figure.

4. First vacation: Some pond in Malaysia where I learned that Water Lily leaves do not support the weight of a human child and nearly drowned (details buried in an older post if you can find it).

5. First job: waiter, then bartender at a pub along Orchard Road, where I experienced all the nightlife I need for a lifetime. E.g. ever had an oily fellow slip you a fifty to switch his date's order of a Coke to a double Bacardi Coke?

6. First piercing: Voluntarily, never. Yes, if you count the time I involuntarily shot an arrow — made from a bamboo chopstick — through my left hand from a homemade crossbow. I never experienced such quick service at the A&E before. (Shut up, bro.)

7. First concert: Eric Clapton 1991 Journeyman Tour. Still wear the T-shirt occasionally.

8. First record/CD bought: A-ha's "Hunting High and Low." (Anyone remember "Take on Me" and "The Sun Always Shines on TV"?)

9. First real love: Joanne, Mitchell, Ivy, Cloe (all my bikes).

10. First screen name: Souprata, the dreaded ops who automatically bans anyone from AOL (or drives a Honda) whenever he comes on.

7 Have You Ever

1. Dated one of your best friends: Yes.
2. Been arrested: Yes, for being clocked at 126 mph (201 km/h) outside Moffett Field, Mountain View, CA (see entry above on being handcuffed).
3. Fallen in love at first sight: Yes.
4. Been in a TV program: Nope. Been in the papers, yes. Twice (once for cycling, once for scuba diving).
5. Had your heart broken: Yes.
6. Said you love someone without meaning it: Nope.
7. Made a prank phone call: Hell, yeah! Still do.

3 Choices

1. Black or white? The question is absurd. Black, of course. Everything fades to black in the end.
2. Winter or summer? Winter. Nothing like biking or driving with the targa off in winter (and hot spiced cider thereafter).
3. Chocolate or chips? Chocolate. Dark Chocolate. Godiva Dark Chocolate Ice -cream.

2 Things to do Before you Die

1. Own and dive a closed-circuit rebreather past 100 m (328 ft).
2. BASE jump.



Barely clinging to the east side of the Bolivian Andes is Yungas Road, deemed by the Inter-American Development Bank (IADB) as the most dangerous road on Earth. IADB's criteria is simple: deaths per mile.

       Yungas Road runs between La Paz and Rurrenabaque. La Paz is at 11,800 feet above sea level, the road goes down to Coroico at 3,000 feet above sea level. The road peaks at 15,400 feet above sea level at La Cumbre.

       In an average year, about 26 vehicles (one per week) drive off the single-lane road, resulting in fatalities between 100 to 200 per year. In Bolivia's worst single road accident, bus driver Carlos Pizarroso drove off the edge in July 1983, dooming himself and more than 100 passengers.

       On this road, many believe that wearing seat belts is foolish. "If you go over the edge," one truck driver said, "jumping out of your door or window is sometimes your only chance." Before setting out, truckers pour libations of beer onto the ground to pacify Pachamama, the earth deity, and feed the stray dogs, supposedly the souls of dead drivers petitioning for safe passage. Their petitions are not always heard.

       In recent years, this deadly road has become an attraction for mountain bikers seeking a taste of a downhill to remember. The road (with ice and snow!) begins at chilly La Cumbre at 15,400 feet (4700 m) in the mountains near La Paz and plunges down 11,800 feet of vertical to 3,600 feet in Coroico, a small village on the edge of the Yungas Jungle at the Amazon basin. Bikers ride through bitter cold, dry mountain air, then through the clouds, rain storms, dense fog, steamy humidity, and finally, warm dry air at the bottom — all in 40 miles (64 km). Martin Li signed up for one such ride and wrote about it.

       Since 2003, more than 7 mountain bikers have plummeted to their deaths for reasons such as failing to negotiate the road's 200+ turns, being bumped off the edge by passing vehicles, or even in a moment of absent mindedness, stepping back off the cliff to make way for passing traffic.

       Bolivia is right-hand drive, like most of the rest of the Western Hemisphere, EXCEPT on this road. Downhill traffic is shifted to the left side of this road, because it is necessary to have the driver closest to the edge of the road, so that he can see if his tires are still on the road.

This driver of this car went a little too far to the left. It is not clear if he opened the door and stepped off into the abyss.

Yungas Road is typically 12 feet wide (i.e. one lane). But there are wide spots every several hundred meters to allow passing. Downhill traffic is expected to yield to uphill traffic. The problem is that when vehicles going in opposite directions meet in between the wide areas, the downhill vehicle must back up to the nearest wide point.

Unfortunately, many vehicles drive off the edge of the precipice during the process of backing up.

This bus driver did the opposite.

Meanwhile, uphill traffic face the danger of scraping against the inside rock face. People traveling in the back of open trucks sometimes literally lose their heads due to a lack of vigilance.

Tales of Yungueña's hazards abound:

The bus I'm riding in slides to a stop.  The driver asks us not to move.  We realize that the front right wheel of the vehicle is hanging over the edge of a fathomless drop.  We vacate through the driver's emergency door and fifteen of us help to pull the bus backwards onto the road again.

A woman gets out of her car to relieve herself and steps into thin air.  Her body had to be recovered by rockclimbers.

With a macabre twist of humor, these crucifixes, each a memory to the poor souls who have gone over the edge, are called "Bolivian 'Caution' Signs."

El Balcon, "The Balcony," the most fearsome precipice on the entire route, with an almost vertical drop of 3280 ft (1000 m) off the edge.

Another shot of El Balcon.

That's mighty close to stand to the edge of a 3280 ft (1000 m) cliff, IMHO.

The rest of the pics:

Rallying, anyone?
BYOP (Bring Your Own Pillow Parachute).