Unfortunately, the audio of the video was removed for some silly, and - considering the popularity of the video - unwise reason. Maybe if you play both videos simultaneously, you'll recreate the sense of breathtaking ___(adequate noun here)___ that the original video and audio had together. Here is the music that had to be removed in order to keep the above video on YouTube:
Students helping stir things up at Marshall University in West Virginia
Jamie Oliver, spurred by the statistics of obesity and death in Huntington, VA inspires a flash mob as part of his campaign to bring the knowledge and capability of healthy eating to everyone. The food revolution started in Huntington.
And everyone involved in putting this together is genius.
The first event I went to in DC was The Pigeon Game, a Taiwan to the World documentary hosted in the Elliott School of International Affairs at George Washington University.
I got excited because I used to race pigeons and I plan to go to Taiwan. I will have to find some of these people.
I was a little disappointed with the documentary mostly because they make it sound like pigeon racing is some kind of strange, exotic, and foreign interest that is strangely particular to Taiwan. I keep perceiving the narration as casting the information with a kind of strange eccentricity that doesn't necessary take the subject seriously. It seems to present the information in a way that makes it seem like a curious sideshow novelty, and that doesn't sit well with me.
But, I did learn a few things about how pigeon racing is expected to go in Taiwan. For example, it seems like Taiwan only has a young bird (entrants are less than 1 year old) racing season. I am assuming this because the narrator says pigeons can only race for one season, and the birds in the documentary seem to be all young birds. The United States and many other countries, on the other hand, have an old bird season for adult pigeons as well.
The documentary described many more precautions against cheating than I'd seen before ... the pigeon racing scene seems like a pretty hazardous place.
Also, because Taiwan is an island, in order to get enough distance, race starting points are typically on the open ocean. The pigeons are 'shipped' to the starting point and released over the water.
Excitingly, the school I will probably study at in Taiwan is in the same city as a port where the pigeon races depart from.
After The Pigeon Game, there was a documentary on the Chestnut Tiger milkweed butterfly, suspected to occasionally and surprisingly migrate between Taiwan and Japan. But I didn't stay for the whole thing.
My first stop was the Lincoln Memorial and reflecting pool, but all those pictures are mental images. I did go back later to see the tourists and to take this picture which perfectly complimented a recent meme-discussion that my brother and I had been having about the historical awesomeness of Abraham Lincoln.
Abraham Lincoln, the man. If you aren't familiar with how the internet is remembering Abe as THE MAN, then do your research. If only historical figures could know what they would mean to future generations...
The following pictures were taken after I returned from New York, so this is a little anachronistic, to overuse the word. The first day I wandered around here, it was much much less rainy.
If you want more of the 'classic' pictures of these monuments, there are plenty on the internet. You can check out the following Wikipedia pages on the Lincoln Memorial and Washington Monument. There are also plen-ty of other people who have posted pictures of these exact objects. My interest trends towards the pictures that are meaningful to me, or that I know I won't find (or will have a hard time finding) elsewhere.
I liked the peaceful space behind the Lincoln Memorial:
That's enough. I need some of these for my posts on returning to DC after NYC.
While in Washington DC, I stayed in the George Washington University dorms. This is the only thing I took a picture of during my first stay (I later went to NYC and CT, then back again). I was trying to do more living than recording (though recording turned out to be difficult anyway).
Mostly, I was shown around their portion of the city by friends I stayed with at George Washington University. The city was described as a 'quiet city', which seems accurate. The streets are named by number or by letter in a well-ordered fashion, and are populated by joggers. You'd think I would have at least taken pictures of one of the many statues of George Washington around me, but nooooo. Actually, I had in mind to use a lot of stock photos for this post. I saw a lot of cool stuff, but nothing that no one's taken pictures of before, and lots that I wasn't sure if I could take pictures of, like the The interiors of the White House, Capitol, and State Department ! ah ha ha ha.
It was a beautiful St. Patty's day morning (in the United States) when I set off. This adventure took 5 years of frequent flying, 2 years of vague considerations, 2 months of magically impulsive decisions, and $10 to get off the ground. I consider myself again fit for travel, and since I hope to be taking much longer journeys in the not-too-distant future, best to test my solo wings again on something unfamiliar, but not foreign. East Coast, here I come. I am test-driving myself. Today, Portland is easy to leave because I am on an exciting adventure into the future, and I know I'll come back.
I'd never been excited about visiting the East Coast before. But, over the years, I have built up some connections there. An old roommate, a random acquaintance-turned-friend, a former teacher, friends-moved-east, ... and if I wait too much longer, I figure they'll start dispersing again, so now was the time to see the world(s) my friends have come to call their own.
I grew up a short drive from the Great Lakes (we could sometimes see Michigan across the water). I'd been out east just twice before - to go to a summer camp in New York. And no, I did not see much of New York besides the summer camp. My Dad spent quite a bit of time commuting to Connecticut while I was growing up. He began when I was part-way through grade school and continued until I was part-way through undergrad. I remember some of our family trips being taken with his frequent flier miles. This is my first trip using my own frequent flier miles. I'd never paid the east coast much mind before. I went west, crossing the Mississippi to set up near the Willamette. After years of mildly shunning the east coast and going farther and farther west - first to college and next, I hope, to study abroad - I'm headed for my father's preferred coast.
It occurred to me (I'm writing this now, though I probably didn't actually think of this until I reached New York City) that although I claim that the stereotypical teenage forms of protest - reacting oppositely to the advice of authority figures - never made much sense to me growing up ( I was lucky in that most of the people offering their wisdom were qualified to give it ), my earlier aversions to the east cost and to large cities may have been some rare vague manifestation of such protest against my father's high opinions of it. I had made it a habit to think uncomfortably of the east coast and to associate it with similarly uncomfortable-feeling large cities.
This time, I have in mind to befriend the cities I meet, and to learn from them.
Well, here we go -
* i am writing after returning to Portland - this entire adventure took place in ~ two weeks of March *
The Fine Grind on 39th has recently become LYRIK. I was attracted by the stylishly drawn words and image of a small floating monster. Also, I needed to get out of the house and go somewhere else to work. I'd never been to the place while it was still the Fine Grind, so I can't compare, but I was pleased with what I found on my adventure today!
There's a great assortment of weird and art on the inside, complete with lots of counter/table space and windows a-plenty so that even the gray daylight of January Portland provided pleasant natural lighting. Lots of little notices and cards for the taking to alert people to art shows and craft nights.
baked goods: fresh ones for $2, day-olds for $1. This large walnut/cranberry scone gave me something to munch on for a good while.
hot chocolate:
I test hot chocolate everywhere I get a chance, and I was sad that my hot chocolate here tasted very much like chocolate syrup. *Edit: I found out that they use Ghirardeli chocolate sauces. If you like Ghirardeli chocolate sauce, then this is great news. However, I am somewhat particular about what makes good hot chocolate good, and I guess this is not on the list. It has a weird sweetness, I think. They used to use Monin flavors for chocolate, but people seemed to prefer seeing Ghirardeli. They still use Monin flavors for other things though. I am going to have to find an excuse to get the irish cream flavor in something.
Good news though - I have been becoming more agreeable to the taste of coffee. So maybe next time I'll have to try a mocha nutmeg whatever whatever.
bagel sandwich:
Oh, this was great. The breakfast sandwich menu is both extensive and easily adaptable. I got a toasted everything bagel with cheddar cheese lathered on and a beautiful fried egg right in the middle, plus the extra tomato slice I asked for. Warm toasty cheesy egg bagel goodness, with tomato. Yes, it was a pretty standard breakfast bagel sandwich, but it was a very solidly well-done standard breakfast bagel sandwich!
I know what I'm getting next time I'm there for lunch. There's a sandwich with my name on it!
I've never really done the coffee shop thing, but with it's endearingly border-insane artsy-ness, Lyrik is such a Portland coffeeshop. I will miss places like this whenever I get around to going elsewhere.
I have decided that the city of Portland is not unlike a small, cuddly monster, as far as city personalities go.
La dee da, walking towards the bus stop to go to class one day, and...
.. What's this? I'd heard the talk in years past, but, are they really doing it?
Yes. It seems that after all the talk and little 'Save 39th' signs stuck in peoples' yards, 39th Avenue is actually being renamed! Unfortunately, I didn't have my good camera on me, and it wasn't very convenient to try to get a picture of both the Cesar E Chavez sign and the 39th sign. I think that '39th' is probably even too blurry to show up in these pictures... but it was a small historic moment, and I was there. I tried climbing onto the walk-signal buttons, but when they asked me to get off, I resorted instead to requesting that they tip the sign on their truck so that I could take a picture of with both signs at the same time.
They amiably complied, but pointed out that the two signs will remain side by side for a minimum of 5 years as part of the name-changing process.
So, why are we changing the name of 39th Avenue, which has developed its own very-39th Portland personality and is beloved by residents and small storefronts bearing those familiar numbers?
I have no idea.
I assume that it probably has something to do with honoring members of our society who are not white, but to me, it looks more like a bandwagon.
I feel that if a community is going to rename a road in honor of some distinguished member of society, ... then that should be done gladly and willfully by those people. I have noted a marked lack of gladness and willfulness about this road name change. My first thought is that this seems counterproductive for the purpose of honoring the individual for which the road is being renamed, and my second thought is, .. Really, Portland? I know it's cool to think that Cesar E Chavez was a neat dude, and probably in the distant future, the road will be as uncontroversial as MLK Blvd, but I suspect that Portland is not really honoring him, but rather earning PC points.
In that case, if we had to rename a road to show our enthusiasm for diversity, I would've much rather chosen one of Portland's own. There are plenty of non-white people who helped build the city that is Portland today. I would have liked to honor one of them, ... but not by changing 39th.
Since my own opinion lacks information, Here are some relevant articles:
I think that the general image that our society has of an abuse being committed by a willfully harmful person against another small and weak individual is unfortunate and misleading.
It is misleading because there are many situations which are not so clear-cut. And, it is unfortunate because, like most lies, it makes the truth harder to see. It seems that many times, especially situations where the abuse is not physical, the abuser and the victim do not see each other as fitting the stereotypical roles and therefore do not recognize that the situation really has an abusive dynamic.
The stereotypical model makes it difficult for victims of more subtle psychological or emotional abuse to realize that they are in an abusive situation. They may not see their abuser as an intentionally destructive person, and they probably don't see themselves as the vulnerable and helpless victim. Neither image does justice to the complexity of the many kinds of people that find themselves in either role. Neither image is useful for determining whether a person qualifies as an abuser or as a victim.
It seems probable that part of the reason people do not recognize when they are in this picture is because they might not see the other person as being in the picture either, or might not want to admit it. For example, if a woman consistently suffers because of the improper manner with which her husband is treating her, she might still believe that he loves her and is not intending to harm her (and she may be right, but that doesn't make it ok). This belief conflicts with the usual image of the abuser as being obviously and willfully destructive, so she may not think she is being abused.
Further, even if she suspects she is being abused, she may not want to admit it because of the connotations or associations of being cast into the images of abuser and abusee. If she thinks of herself as a victim, that might also carry connotations of being weak, passive, and helpless, and she may not want to see herself this way (and she might be right). Or possibly more compelling, if she begins to think of her husband as an abuser, this can carry the connotation that he intends to harm her, and she may not want to accuse him of this. This is not necessarily foolish protectiveness - she may be right. It may very well be that he does not intend to harm her, but that his ability to interact with other people is just so poor and underdeveloped that in trying to satisfy his own psychological needs, he inflicts unnecessary pain upon others.
(In the above example, I used the image of a woman responding to the abuse of a man. The genders in the example could be reversed, identical, or neutral without changing the idea. Perhaps it would even make a stronger point to consider that the situation where a female abuses a male is not as easily recognizable to society as the image I chose to present.)
I think that in order for people to more easily recognize when they are in an abusive situations and to more easily point out when someone else is in an abusive situation, we need to (as a society) reduce the social stigma and taboo around being either a victim or an abuser. This may make it easier for people to realize and seek help because they will recognize the nature of the real situation before it reaches an extreme. They will not be afraid or deterred by the stigma of being either helpless or uncaring.
It's also true that there probably are situations so terrible that they fit and deserve the extreme depictions. But, I expect most cases are more subtle and are probably just the case of someone who, in their inability to express themselves functionally, harms others. These kinds of power dynamics exist in all sorts of human relationships, and I think that abuse of any kind of power is something that we as a human society should open up more for discussion and introspection.
We as people need to be alert to responsible ways of interacting with our fellow humans. We will make mistakes sometimes, but we must be open to realizing, atoning for, and learning from our mistakes.
It seems that too often, unhealthy and dysfunctional power imbalances are allowed to escalate and perpetuate (and perhaps even become expected or 'normal') because they are not extreme enough for people to recognize and discourage. I think that because people cannot really believe that their situation is as bad as the accepted model (and it might not be, but it is still unhealthy), they do not see that their situation also counts as abuse and believe that there is just something wrong with the way they see or understand things.
These people begin to believe that they are crazy for sensing that what is happening around them is not right. They are not crazy.
It is possible that they have just been misled by the popular image of what abuse is 'supposed' to look like.
"Kimjongilia: The Flower of Kim Jong-Il" is a documentary, based primarily on interviews with some who escaped to South Korea, primarily between 1996 and 2006. Largely through the narratives of interviewees, but with occasional historical asides (brief synopsis of the Kim family's rise to power and the creation of North Korea) or cultural asides (various North Korean propagandas used to brainwash the society) to establish some context, the film describes the repressive political atmosphere in North Korea, and its heavy tolls on both human life and the human condition.
The producer was available for a few questions afterward. ( I was caught off-guard and didn't immediately have many good questions, but ) she did say that the person who filmed it was inspired to make the film after meeting a man in South Korea who had escaped from North Korea in 1992 and was one of the first to expose the fact that North Korea uses concentration camps extensively to purge (up to the third generation) anyone who could be considered a political dissident (Listening to South Korean radio could be, and was, considered such a crime).
When she met this man and heard his story, she decided to make a film so that others would know. She writes more about her production of the film here: http://www.kimjongiliathemovie.com/learnmore.html
"For sixty years, North Koreans have been governed by a totalitarian regime that controls all information entering and leaving the country. A cult of personality surrounds its two recent leaders: first, Kim Il Sung, and now his son, Kim Jong Il. For Kim Jong Il’s 46th birthday, a hybrid red begonia named kimjongilia was created, symbolizing wisdom, love, justice, and peace. The film draws its name from the rarefied flower and reveals the extraordinary stories told by survivors of North Korea’s vast prison camps, of devastating famine, and of every kind of repression."
The documentary is composed of interviews with some who have escaped North Korea, interspersed with information about North Korea's history and development of its leaders and present state.
The interviewees, having made it to South Korea, can speak in ways that no one living in North Korea is able to, and their voices are strong. Many of them speak of their story in a calm, controlled, and concise manner - underscoring the extent to which they must have been forced to adapt in order to survive and come to some reasonable terms with the atrocities they suffered.
One was an officer in the military, one was completely stripped of her family, one was sold into sexual slavery while searching for her sister, one was carried comatose on the backs of his brothers over the border, some suffered for unknown reasons in concentration camps, and one was born there, knowing nothing else until a newcomer brought stories of hope from an outside world.
Several escaped by bribing border guards to buy a pass to get near the boarder between North Korea and China. As one woman said, "If you didn't buy the pass, you got caught. If you got caught, you were shot to death." Crossing directly from North Korea to South Korea is nigh-impossible due to the DMZ that lies between, unless one is willing to go by sea.
The citizens of North Korea are subject to a complete program of brainwashing. They are isolated from the rest of the world and prevented from learning the deplorable state of their own condition. The reigning Kim is viewed as a deity.
As one man says in the film, comparing the way many Christians say grace to God before meals, "... we said grace to Kim Il-Sung." And adds, of the opinion formed in his mind of Kim Il-Sung, ".. we thought he didn't even pee."
One woman recalled her reactions to Kim Il-Sung's death in 1994 while she was still living in North Korea, subject to North Korean propaganda, "When Kim Il-Sung died, I thought the world was ending ... what would we do?" It was unthinkable that not only could the Great Leader and Father Kim Il-Sung be mortal, but that he might actually die and cease to rule North Korea.
A woman who danced as a youth in North Korea recalled how, while starving, she and her troupe were led to sing songs with lyrics like 'how shall we spread this bountiful rice?'. "Even now I don't understand," she says.
"I thought of the Great Leader as a father," said one man, of his realization of the true nature of conditions in North Korea: "So how could he let us live like this?"
Since leaving those oppressive conditions, the escapees have further recognized what was really going on and how they were being deceived, but the previously quoted man adds, "If I were still there, I would still worship him", presumably more as a matter of consequence than a matter of choice.
A woman identified as Ms. Kim asks, "How could anyone praise Kim Jong-Il? ... I am filled with hatred for North Korea. They killed my family. How can I live without tears? He left me alone ... cursed Kim Jong-Il." Ms. Kim was arrested because her best friend had become Kim Jong-Il's lover and she knew 'too much' about the lives of important men (she met others who had been arrested for crimes such as spreading a newspaper picture of the Leader on the floor, and for listening to South Korean radio). Her mother and father starved to death in a camp. She lost one son to drowning, one to being shot while trying to cross the border, and one to being tortured until his lungs filled with blood. He is still alive, but hospitalized and cannot breathe on his own. She gave up her daughter for adoption to save her from the stigma of being associated with a family that was imprisoned, so that her daughter would have a chance to marry one day. After 35 years, she doesn't know what her husband was arrested for or if he is alive. If I remember right, she escaped by selling everything she owned in order to bribe the guards to let her pass.
One man interviewed was taken with his family to a concentration camp at the age of 9 years old. Someone in his family had been considered to have committed a political crime, and North Korean practice is to purge 3 generations. He screamed so much that the guards let him bring his pet fish with him. For a time, he dried bugs to feed his fish, but when the concentration camp work began he said, "I had no time to cry. We worked so hard and I was so cold. You don't care about your pet fish when you are dying." He was eventually inspired to escape after reading The Count of Monte Cristo, one of the smuggled books circulating among prisoners. He swore that he, too, would take revenge.
The coal mining was the worst. The best job was tending the official beehives. The North Korean economy actually depends partly on the large quantity of labor demanded from prisoners. The camps manufacture military uniforms, bricks, and leather shoes. Some of North Korea's exports, notably doilies to Poland, paper flowers to France, and bras to Russia, are crafted by forced camp labor.
One young man was born in camp, never knowing why his parents were there. He describes how at camp, school was simple. They taught you how to dig coal and how to transport it. Korean reading and writing, as well as addition and subtraction were also taught. At roll call, they recited the camp rules, the first of which was "Any prisoner who does not complete his assignment will be presumed to have an attitude ... and will be executed by firing squad immediately." The other rules begin with things like hiding food, not obeying diligently, trying to escape or failing to report an escape attempt, ... all ending with immediate execution.
This young man was inspired to escape by a newcomer to camp who told of his former, outside life. "The best stories were about eating," said the young man. After hearing such stories, life in camp became unbearable. Together, he and his new friend tried to escape through the fences around the camp near the mountains. The young man made it, squeezing through the fence and descending on the other side of the mountain, but his friend never made it, and he realizes that probably his friend was electrocuted by trying to pass through the fence first.
One interviewee comments: It is a disgrace to the human race that such camps exist.
Not all the interviewees were arrested or escaped from camps. One concert pianist, a man whose story proves he truly lived to play the piano, learned of his country's oppression after traveling to study in Russia and then being reported for playing a piece by a French composer after returning to North Korea. This restriction over his ability to play was intolerable, so he bribed the border guards for an escape to China. Before making it to South Korea, he was captured and tortured by Chinese police. Hung upside-down, he tucked his fingers into his armpits, thinking only that he must not let them harm his hands.
In North Korea, an artist is an instrument of the Party, the film explains, children of the upper class - those loyal to Kim Jong-Il - are the only ones admitted to conservatory. Family background (loyalty to the Party) is everything. One woman explained that although she was a singer, her voice was unacceptable in North Korea because it sounded like the voice of a South Korean pop singer, a capitalist.
Although in the 1950's, North Korea proclaimed the great Worker's Paradise, in the 1980's, there were food shortages which became widespread in the 1990's. After the Great Famine in 1994, the biggest problem for the state in 1995 was how to take care of the corpses. A system was imposed by which circulating military trucks arrived to be loaded with, and haul away, the dead.
One boy from a rural area describes how his family went to the mountain forests to collect roots. They ate grass and bark. One day, while foraging, he was soaked by the rain and became ill. Having no money for food or medicine, at first they laid him aside and waited for him to die. He entered a coma. When he awoke weeks later, he was in a room with an old woman who informed him that he was in China. His brothers and sister had carried him on their backs over the mountains and across the border. But, their parents remained in North Korea and there were penalties in China for harboring North Koreans. His oldest brother felt responsibility to care for the family and would make trips back and forth to bring his parents food. One one of these trips, he was captured. He turned himself in, hoping to receive a lighter sentence. He was publicly executed.
"The fact that they killed a guy like him," says his surviving youngest brother, "It's really hard to deal with." The youngest brother still feels guilty, as if his brother's death is somehow his fault for his sickness causing their first crossing to China.
The military also suffered from food shortages. The State provided them only with salt and rice, and they were left to supply everything else themselves. Further, even though the officers gave orders every day, it was impossible to get work done even if one wanted to because of missing supplies. One officer escaped after brooding for 10 years over how his 'so-called country' had become so tragic and horrific. He took his family by boat through a thick fog, dodging government ships (which actually had no fuel) until he saw the trees on the mountains and knew they had made it to South Korea.
The documentary shows briefly the efforts of some groups to locate escaped North Koreans in China and assist in smuggling them to safety in South Korea. Neither China nor Mongolia are safe for refugees.
Considering the godlike status of Kim Jong Il, there is speculation that North Korea will be wash into chaos at his eventual death. For 20 years the entire NK population has stopped working, says a man in the film of the effects on North Korea's industry and economy. If that becomes 30, then I think it will be over.
Others state: If foreign countries stop aiding Kim Jong Il, North Koreans will end it with their bare hands. Of this, I am certain.
and, If the person who created such a place isn't a criminal, I don't know who is.
However, despite the cruelties they suffered at the hands of their nations leaders, many North Korean refugees separate the hand of power from the land of their home.
"If [ Kim Jong Il's regime ] collapsed today, I'd be in North Korea tomorrow."
The film closes showing the hope that North Korean refugees maintain for their own lives and for the future of their family, friends, and home in Korea.
Ms. Kim speaks again at the end, I am grateful for South Korea and the world and peace - for the people who love peace and freedom - since I have tasted freedom, I have to return to save my North Korean people
I wonder if anyone's listening to our pleas? North Koreans can't speak
(Sundance Institute Documentary Film Program) (one of 10 films chosen by the IDA to be considered for an academy award) Kimjongilia.pdf
The message left by the Documentary is that the world has to save North Korea My own brief thoughts on this is that (although some actions must take place on the diplomatic level) on a more basic level, it is the people of the world - not the countries - and not the United States - who must be aware of and consider the kind of work this will take, on behalf of their fellow people.
( images used are downloadable from the film's website ) ( only phrases shown in quotation marks are direct quotes. Others are paraphrased. )
As I walked home this morning, my footsteps were overtaken by the scuttling of escaped leaves and spiraling seedpods riding the lip of the wind along the street.
I think my squirrel-mind has been anticipating - storing-up, and hoarding - comforts and securities, sensing both an end of summer and a dread of winter-coming.
But, perhaps out of a sense of enough stability, I remember to pick my head up. It will all be ok.
I have been seeing: events and people colored with a familiarity that leads me forward.
I pick my head up, remembering that this scent of air is the apprentice September preparing the trees for that artist October. That memory brings the life from my feet into my neck, and I look up to observe the entire ritual.
Do you feel it in the wind? Do you smell that? It is change. The Change brings death. These are exciting times. The leaves scurry along the ground.
Last week, I realized with dread that sense of end-of-summer, and the heaviness of the impending, long darkness of winter. It was not until a few long moments later that I remembered that between winter and summer comes fall.
Fall, and the brilliant golds, scarlets, oranges of fading emerald leaves - and the sky is colored with the same bone-drying winds that crisped the apples.
It is a time for opening of doors and windows. Secured indoors, I cannot feel the breeze or smell the wind, and feel an curious apprehension that I will not notice the piper passing by, but will be trapped by continuing to go about my business. No, that must not happen. Throw open the doors and windows.
In the moving air, can you taste that?
These are exciting times: it is a far-off death. It moves through the house and cleans the air. It is a salt to draw out the flavor of living. In the company of September and approach of October, in the anxious tugging of the breeze by leaves the color of tea, summer departs and I am reminded of a vivid obligation to live.
"Doctor, without your wounds, where would your power be? It is your melancholy that makes your low voice tremble into the hearts of men and women. The very angels themselves cannot persuade the wretched and laundering children of this earth as can one human being broken on the wheels of living. In love’s service only wounded soldiers can serve ..."
- Thorton Wilder, The Angel That Troubled the Waters
