A Tribute to Rosey Grier: A Modern Renaissance Man

Rosey Grier is a real man's man, one who played professional football and was so him and his friends were dubbed the "Fearsome Foursome."

Rosey Grier's retirement from football (due to a broken Achilles tendon) wasn't spent hawking hearty soups or playing golf, he resumed his beastliness by acting as a bodyguard for his friend Robert Kennedy; on the night he was assassinated he was guarding RK's wife, and when he heard the gunshot Grier broke the assassin's arm simply by jamming his finger behind the trigger. He later said that he "grabbed the man's legs and dragged him onto a table. There was a guy angrily twisting the killer's legs and other angry faces coming towards him, as though they were going to tear him to pieces. I fought them off. I would not allow more violence." A man with morals!

Rosey isn't afraid to embrace his love of macrame and needlepoint, even though on the cover of his book, Rosey Grier's "Needlepoint for Men" he looks like a dog who has just been caught taking a shit in the kitchen. (Thanks to Nydia for pointing out that he is making a needlepoint of his face.)

And when he wasn't fighting off assassins or making doilies, he found time to star in some films, most prominently, The Thing with Two Heads (1972, Lee Frost). Granted, it seems like most of his lines in the film are simply saying Shut Up to the white bigot he's duct-taped to. Unfortunately I'm in a country that does not have copyright ownership of what seems to be an absolute classic of blaxploitation cinema, so I'll have to make do with the trailer. For those living in areas where Netflix exists, it IS available as part of a two-disc set on two-headed films.

Let me know how it is!

100,000 Hiroshimas

Last week was the 64th anniversary of the nuclear bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Fortunately I was not alive to witness the gruesomely instantaneous destruction of these two cities, but I am living in a similar time where the United States continues to aggressively assert it's imperialistic and nuclear ambitions under the benevolent guise of "humanitarian intervention." In an article to the Nation entitled "The Torture Memos and Historical Amnesia," Noam Chomsky gives us a not-so-gentle reminder of how frighteningly little the United States has progressed, beginning with a historical curio known as the Great Seal created by the Massachusetts Bay Colony in 1629:

Look at him all forlorn and indigenous-like wearing leaves as clothes, asking, no, pleading for Great Britain to "come over and help us." How can you not go over there and save them from themselves and their "pagan fate"? This seal should be stitched on every American flag and it's history explained in every history class because it is with this image that the very idea of America and humanitarian intervention blossomed. John Quincy Adams later stated "that hapless race of native Americans, which we are exterminating with such merciless and perfidious cruelty...among the heinous sins of this nation, for which I believe God will one day bring [it] to judgment."

Fast forward to 64 years ago to go over that death count one more time, lest we forget what it means to have your world change in an instant by a massive fireball pealing from the sky. The United States did try to cover it's ass by dropping leaflets from the sky before totally annihilating the cities, with ludicrous suggestions such as "petition the Emperor to end the war."

In Hiroshima, 70,000 - 80,000 people were killed instantly, with another 70,000 seriously injured.

Three days later in Nagasaki, which had a population of 286,000 people at the time, 74,000 people were killed instantly and 75,ooo were seriously injured.

And let's not forget the hundreds of thousands that would later succumb to the effects of serious radiation and burns. According to Tadatoshi Akiba, who was later elected mayor of Hiroshima and became an outspoken supporter of nuclear disarmament, found that "by 1950, another 200,000 people had died as a result of the Hiroshima bomb, and 140,000 more were dead in Nagasaki."

In those 6 decades United States nuclear policy has remained virtually the same: the United States and co. (Israel) can have nuclear weapons, but if any other country attempts to build up stockpiles they're considered a serious global threat. Here's a fun factoid Frida Berrigan recently pointed out in an article for the Nation, "Bruce Blair, president of the World Security Institute and a former launch-control officer in charge of Minutemen Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles armed with 170, 300, and 335 kiloton warheads, said that within twelve minutes, the United States and Russia could launch the equivalent of 100,000 Hiroshimas." Feel safe yet?

And it is with this introduction I'd like to bring Santiago Álvarez Román into the fold, Cuba's most prominent and outspoken documentary filmmaker who inspired young renegades like Godard with his nervous montage and underlying belief, like Vertov, that in order to accurately portray revolutionary ideas on the silver screen it is necessary to revolutionize the cinema. He once quipped that his style was fueled by "his hatred for imperialism" and that the revolution turned him into a filmmaker.

And it's true. For the first forty years of his life Álvarez did not make a single film, instead washing dishes in Brooklyn and working in a mine near Philly before returning to Cuba and accepting a position as a music librarian. He quickly become an active figure in the Communist party, and later co-founded the Instituto del Arte y Industria Cinematograficos (ICAIC). It wasn't until the age of 40 that he started amalgamating newsreel footage, music, and old photos into dramatic documentaries calling for change. During the last 40 years of his life he ended up making close to 600 films, many of them classics of cinematography and referred to as the precursor to the modern video clip.

Álvarez's films are closely linked to the active presence of journalism; he saw himself as a cinematographic journalist, reacting to important news events such as the civil rights movement in the United States (Now, 1965) or the Vietnam War (Hanoi, Martes 13) with high-tension documentaries that heavily relied on soundtrack and setting to reel in the viewer.

In honor of the 64th anniversary of the nuclear attacks on Nagasaki and Hiroshima, I am uploading Santiago Álvarez's Hanoi, Martes 13 as a sort of antidote to America's case of serious historical amnesia. Americans live in (and have been) a world where they forget their atrocities just as soon as they are committed. It is only through the exhumation of historical documents, photographs, and newsreel footage that we can get closer to the truth and hopefully learn not to repeat the same American mistake again.


Filmed in Hanoi on December 13, 1966, this documentary records the lives of people in the Vietnam capital and surrounding countryside at the height of U.S. bombing. Their daily activities are presented in a collage of images: building irrigation ditches, planting rice, fishing, weaving ... life continued despite the shower of U.S. bombs. During these air raids, the people formed armed self-defense units so efficient that the life of the nation was not interrupted.
- Third World Newsreel

Might I add the awesome segue from a children's story narrated over images of Vietnamese traditional artwork to suggestions of Truman's birth with up close shots of cowboys pulling a newborn calf out of a cow (at about 2:10).

Hanoi, Martes 13, Part 1:

Part 2:

Information for this article was also taken from Frida Berrigan's article, "For the Sixty-Fourth Time No Nuclear War."

Patron Saint Festival in Yamasa

Located in the poorest province of the Dominican Republic is a town called Yamasa, known for it's patron saint festival in honor of St. Anton. Los Hermanos Guillen, Taino artisans who are also brothers and own an organic cacao farm, have been actively creating their own tradition by amalgamating various aspects of traditional Dominican culture. They are committed to rehashing the D.R.'s indigenous roots which is certainly commendable, but the festival gave me the impression of a 1950's National Geographic reporter's wet dream.

After the presentation of the saints (a procession begins from the church carrying a statue of St. Anton), the festival takes on the vibe of an extended family's BBQ. Teenagers ladle out mamajuana and passion fruit juice while an elder sat in a rocking chair and rolls cigars for everyone - all for free.

And then the cacophony begins. Vans begin to arrive loaded with photographers, journalists, TV crew, exchange students, tourists, etc. to catch a glimpse of the native culture. Anything that can be labeled as Dominican folk is assigned a patch of grass; within 10 feet of each other you can hear pri pri, gaga, perico ripiao, salves, and congos. For some reason a group of people came dressed up in Carnaval oufits and performed a demonstration.

A disingenuous menagerie of indigenous Dominican culture? Hmm. Although things didn't really go together, I'm down with the brothers' efforts in preserving Dominican roots.