v for vendetta

Good evening, New Hampshire.

Allow me first to apologize for this interruption. I do, like many of you, appreciate the comforts of the everyday routine, the security of the familiar, the tranquility of repetition. I enjoy them as much as any bloke. But in the spirit of commemoration whereby those important events of the past, usually associated with someone’s death or the end of some awful, bloody struggle, a celebration with a nice holiday, I thought we could take some time out of our daily lives to sit down and have a little chat. There are of course those who do not want us to speak. I expect even now orders are being shouted into telephones and men with guns will soon be on their way. Why? Because while the truncheon may be used in lieu of conversation, words will always retain their power. Words offer the means to meaning, and for those who will listen, the enunciation of truth. And the truth is, there is something terribly wrong with this country, isn’t there? Cruelty and injustice, intolerance and oppression, and where once you had the freedom to object, to think and speak as you saw fit, you now have censors and systems of surveillance coercing your conformity and soliciting your submission. How did this happen? Who’s to blame? Well certainly there are those who are more responsible than others, and they will be held accountable. But again, truth be told, if you’re looking for the guilty, you need only look into a mirror. I know why you did it. I know you were afraid! Who wouldn’t be? War, terror, disease, there were a myriad of problems which conspired to induce us to silently acquiesce as our elected representatives moved swiftly to expand their power in grossly unconstitutional ways in the immediate aftermath of Sept. 11, 2001. The 11th of September burns forever in our memory, but the 26th of October, the day the USA PATRIOT Act was signed into law, is sadly forgotten. It is left to us to remind the world that fairness, justice and freedom are more than words… they are perspectives. So if you’ve seen nothing, if the crimes of this government remain unknown to you, then I would suggest that you allow the 26th of October to pass unmarked. But if you see what I see, if you feel as I feel, and if you would seek as I seek, then I ask you to stand beside me two months from today, at noon, on the steps of the New Hampshire state capitol, and together we shall give them a 26th of October that shall never, ever be forgot.

license to kill

The setting: the most exclusive nightspot in southern New Hampshire

The protagonist: a strikingly suave, sophisticated, svelte (uh, ok, “festively plump”) brunette, impeccably coiffed.  She catches the eye of the bartender, who immediately ignores all the other Hooters customers (what were you expecting in southern New Hampshire, Elaine’s?!) to take her order.  “I haven’t seen you here before” he purrs.  “What’s your name?”  “Jones.  Friday Jones”.  “Ah… and what’ll you have, Ms. Jones?” he smirks.  “A virgin mary, dear boy… shaken, not stirred” says the elegant stranger, with just the merest trace of a certain indefinable-but-definitely-not-Bostonian accent.

A few minutes later, the room falls silent as Hans Franz himself, the notorious European drug/diamond/slave smuggler and purveyor of a wide variety of high-end consumer goods, all illegal, enters the room.  As our plucky hero nibbles on the green bean floating in her nonintoxicating beverage, Franz sidles up beside her and places the cold, hard barrel of a gun against her fleshy ribcabe.  “Franz, my old nemesis!  Do you expect me to come quietly?”  “No, Miss Jones… I expect you to DIE!!!”  Without missing a beat, Jones fluidly pulls a Walther PPK from God-knows-where beneath her slinky black dress and presses the barrel to Franz’ temple.  An off-duty police officer dining nearby nearly chokes on his 5-wing Flappertizer and immediately interjects himself into the fray.  “You gotta permit for that thing, missy?” he bellows, wiping BBQ sauce off his face with his sleeve.  “Why, yes, officer… yes, I do” Jones replies, coolly presenting her State of New Hampshire Pistol/Revolver License.

For reasons too complex for my little brain to comprehend, it’s legal to *openly* carry a firearm in New Hampshire, but if you want to *conceal* one, you need a license from your town police department.  Perhaps it’s considered unsporting to sneak up on the bad guys?  They, of course, are easily identified by their bright yellow-and-black-striped bad guys uniforms that they wear when on duty to mug, rape, rob, kill and otherwise ruin an otherwise perfectly good day. 

To add to the farcical situation, licenses expire on one’s birthday.  Note to bad guys: keep an eye out for the birthday boy/girl in the bar, and wait until after midnight to accost them.  That way, if they do happen to have a concealed weapon on their person or in their car, it’ll be illegal and your lawyer will be able to serve them to you for breakfast!  [insert evil genius laugh hear]

Anyway, watch out, bad guys, cuz the Chief of Police says it’s OK for me to defend myself.  Booyah!

the bourne resolution

[note: the following blog entry contains major spoilerage for the three "Bourne" films]

I saw the movie “The Bourne Identity” several years ago and was surprised by how good it was.  Not your typical action film.  So when I heard that the third Bourne movie was coming out this weekend, I went on a full-blown Matt Damon bender and watched all three films consecutively over the past few days.  I not only continue to think that they’re a cut above the typical action movie, but the three taken together cover some themes that are surprisingly relevant for libertarians.

In the first film, “The Bourne Identity”, a young man discovers he has total amnesia; he can’t remember who he is or what the HELL he was doing floating in the Mediterranean Sea with two bulletholes in his back.  As he attempts to rediscover his own identity, he turns out to have all sorts of talents, including speaking multiple languages and killing people with his bare hands.  By the end of the film, he has figured out enough to know that he is a trained assassin for the U.S. government, and they don’t take kindly to letters of resignation.  Mayhem ensues. He goes off the grid, eventually reconnecting with the young German woman who befriended him and helped him discover at least part of who he is.

The second movie picks up where the first movie ends.  “Bourne” (his codename as an assassin) and his girlfriend Marie (the one he met in the first movie) are trying to live off the radar somewhere on the beach in India.  But Bourne’s dark past catches up with him, and Marie is tragically caught in the crossfire.  He still doesn’t remember who he is, but now he’s *really* pissed about it.  Mayhem ensues.  The CIA director who’s hunting him down, erroneously believing he has assassinated two people in Germany, comes to realize that Bourne is merely a pawn who has been framed by various shadowy entities, one of whom works for the CIA.

The third movie picks up right where the second one ended.  Although Bourne has been exonerated of the killings in Munich, he is no longer content to remain in hiding.  He wants to find out who he really is, once and for all.  He begins retracing his steps (and as he was quite the cosmopolitan globe-trotter, he steps in some pretty interesting locations through the course of the three movies, including France, Spain, Great Britain, Morocco, Greece, Russia and Manhattan), trying to jog his memory.  Mayhem, not too surprisingly, ensues.

On a superficial level, these movies can be enjoyed for the calibre of their actors (including Chris Cooper, Joan Allen, Albert Finney, David Straithairn, the alluring Franke Potente, and Boston’s finest, Matt Damon); the exotic locales; the interesting high-tech gadgets; the hair-raising car chases; and plenty of good old-fashioned violence.  Bourne is America’s answer to James Bond.  I also find it comical how every single government employee is portrayed as the most incredible tightass.  The only person who so much as cracks a smile is Marie, the non-American, non-government-employee free spirit with whom Bourne falls in love.  Everything about her screams non-conformity: her rainbow-colored hair, her tattoos, her fashion choices, her nomadic lifestyle… and yet she is far more in touch with the world and with herself than the amnesiac and rigid Bourne, who takes self-denial to a medical extreme. 

On a deeper level, there’s a powerful idea running through the three films.  In the first, Bourne slowly learns who and what he is: a trained assassin.  And he’s not entirely comfortable with that realization.  In the second, he tries to make amends by tracking down and apologizing to the young daughter of two of his victims.  And in the third, he brings it all home by realizing that just remembering who he is isn’t enough.  And saying “I’m sorry” doesn’t raise the dead.  What it really comes down to is that he CHOSE to become an assassin.  Nobody held a gun to his head and made him do it.  He chose over and over to kill people he didn’t know, simply because somebody higher up in the bureaucratic food chain told him to.  But he can still choose.  The choice has always been his. Marie understood this; her final words, in response to Bourne whining about how he has “no choice” but to run from the bad guys, are “Yes, you do.” By the end of the third film he has not only chosen to stop killing people, he’s given another assassin a serious headache by making *him* question his career choice as well. 

The overriding message of all three films, to me, is about free will.  The U.S. government isn’t portrayed as a monolithic evil entity; it’s made up of people.  Some of those people choose to do evil things, and to rationalize it to themselves in various ways.  Others choose not to do those things, and even put themselves at risk trying to stop them.  Some of them have little American flags on their desks; some of them refer to themselves as “patriots”.  Does that make it OK when they calmly order the execution of businessmen, journalists, even their own coworkers? Well, free will dictates that each of us must decide that for ourselves.  Bourne decides, and if Marie had survived to see it, she would be pleased.   When the terrified Russian cop who corners him says “Please don’t shoot me”, Bourne eyes him for several seconds, then says, in Russian (just how many languages DOES that man speak?!), “My argument is not with you” and lets him go without so much as a Bondian pistol-whip to the head. In fact, he repeatedly chooses not to finish people off out of anger, or vengeance; he does as much as is necessary to survive/escape, and leaves it at that.  He reigns in his lethal talents and uses them purely for self-defense.  The U.S. government could use more men like Jason Bourne.