Bully: A Novel

This is the pitch for "Bully: A Novel" that has made it through the first stage of Amazon Breakthrough Novel Contest.

Ninety percent of the population wants him for president. There is only one problem. The ninety-percent is poor, and the ten percent wealthy wants him eliminated. They have good reason. Papa Aristide spits fire against the upper class. But, the poor mass is watching hard. Nothing could stop Papa Aristide from reaching the presidency; except of course, if the Haitian elites could botch or steal the election. They cannot do it by themselves. They seek help from their habitual collaborator – Washington.  The Republican Administration is fighting a major recession, but President Djorl feels that it is the duty of the Police of the world to shut up this foul mouth Priest that has been bedeviling capitalism.

They failed to prevent him from winning the election. But, few months into his term, Washington and the bourgeoisie overthrow him. Papa Aristide cries foul and would not stop until he is restored. It becomes an international crisis as the world of democracy scrambles to deal with the ouster of a legitimate government in this plain 21^st century. Yet, President Djorl and the ousted president agree on one thing –an embargo on Haiti. To Papa Aristide, it would push the bourgeoisie to return the country to legitimate governance. To President Djorl, it would starve the poor people and force them to abandon their Papa Aristide. The poor mass eats dust. Washington feeds the bourgeoisie through illegality in collaboration with the neighboring Dominican Republic.

Then, President Djorl loses power to Liberal Young Zipper. The new president works out a shoddy deal that brings Papa Aristide back as president. The Haitian opposition becomes irate. The Djorl’s dynasty unleashes its most treacherous CIA Buddy Ghouls to unmake the Haitian president a second time. Haiti recognizes one of its most turbulent moments.

 

 

 

 

The Way Our Society Goes These Days

In the age of cellular phones, Facebook, Twitter, and all, is it too easy to neglect the human being the maker of it all? There was a time when transferring messages between distant places was highly inconvenient. A letter could take months, even years to reach its destination. With the advent of technology and faster traveling, distant communication is drastically ameliorated. Now, we have the wireless. Google is out there mapping every inch of our planet. Nothing is too far or too isolated. Just pick up a cell phone. In few seconds one is talking to another at the end of the world. We should infer thus that men have so much progressed that they have consolidated their environment into a one-world-community.

Is it so?

Our astonishingly progressive technological advancement may have caused us to neglect certain social responsibilities and norms. We are stuck on our computers, cell phones, and tablets; and, we are paying less attention to our kind. A certain article reads, “Alabama Woman, 78, Lived With Dead Husband for Weeks…” What happened? The old woman suffers Alzheimer. Her husband died in his bed. She was left alone in the home with two dogs until the police finally checked on them four weeks later “at the request of relatives.” What may we infer? These two senior citizens were obviously forgotten within the quagmire of our world of electronic. Nobody checked on them during the one month that the husband was lying there dead in his bed and the wife suffering the stench.

This is no surprise. People are no longer so busy with people around them. It is a virtual world. We are chatting with whom? We don’t know. Perhaps we are keeping communication with an alien way out in Siberia. Who lives next door to us? We don’t know! And, we keep our eyes transfixed into our portables. We walk; we sit; we lie down with our machines. We don’t pay much attention to people. We talk less; we salute less; we see less.

Where were the children? Where were the grandchildren? Where the social services? And, where were the neighbors? They must have all been busy with their latest technologies or something like that. That’s the way our modern society goes. Our friends on Facebook are keeping us busy. We don’t know the neighbors who sleep in the apartment next door. And, this is big city. People should not care about one another’s business anyway.

One of the neighbors of the old couple that had known them for decades lamented, “To think that all of us live right here, this close, and none of us knew anything about this.” This neighbor must be feeling really bad. She is very likely advanced in age too and probably not so much hooked up into our wireless craze. Still, she must have her television. She was not so connected with her neighbor to take a little time to check on them. It is a virtual world. Also, the police discovered the two dogs died of starvation in the home as well. 

By E.C. GRANMOUN
E.C. Granmoun is the author of "The Social Worker" ebook on amazon.com
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Where Do You Find The Heart To Hurt A Child?

Children are little precious beings that come along to replenish and maintain our society. And, just like “God made man in his image,” our children are reflections of ourselves. In general, when a child is born the parents are happy and often other people as well. One just has to look at the little newborn lying there innocently, smiling, crying, and staring blankly; and one must feel a certain urge to pick a child up and cuddle him. Modern societies have applied certain measures to control the flow of birth and to appropriately care for children among us. We shower our children with love. They develop and interact with us. We protect them and bring them happiness. We arrive to share very special bonding. And, when we become old and unable to care for ourselves, they take charge of us.

Where does anyone find the courage to hurt a child to death? The little three-year-old boy carries a broad smile on his face with his two hands inside his front pockets. He wears a nice clean sweatshirt, jeans, and a necklace that appears to hold some type of heart-like pendant. By simply looking at this picture on the Miami Herald, no one could imagine that the little boy had been living a traumatized life. However, on Tuesday January 21^st 2014 this child was found dead. He was murdered by his own mother. Why did she do it? How could she even stand torturing her own child until he expired? Most of us may not even be capable to apply minor punishment to a child; we would never imagine torturing and not to mention killing one.

Yet, this remains a common affair around us. Among destitute parents, children are going hungry; children are lacking medical care; and, children are being ultimately abused. As the newspaper reported, “…behind the brilliant smile was a life of torment and pain.” The boy “was burn by his mom with a lighter when he urinated on the floor. He was beaten with an aluminum broom handle when he soiled himself. He was hurled across a room and hit a table.” That was too much. He died. The irony is everything appeared fine on the surface. The reporter wrote, “…the picture of a healthy, carefree boy, grinning broadly…” was on the mother’s Facebook page.

Yet, deep within we would dive into the mystery of poverty and instability that is ravaging our less fortunate communities. This mother was young, poor, uneducated, and very likely single. She had three prior reports with DCF, the child welfare system. She worked as a security guard. And, the father of her three children was not present at the time of the murder. One could understand therefore how unstable her home environment must have been. The media and the police have ultimately condemned her action. She greatly deserves that. For, it is so horrendous to imagine a mother or any other human being torturing a little child to death. However, we still have a big question as to the role of our society in this lamentable circumstance.

We don’t even have to touch the child welfare system. We know already that it has often done a poor job. So many children have died under DCF’s watch we would not expect it to save a particular one. Society likewise must accept the blame with this mother. She is poor and unstable. When those individuals are locked up inside the inner cities shutting off from the prosperity of our society as it is, they are bound to failure. We have witnessed so many cases similar to this; so many little precious beings have been abused; so many families are neglected by society.

By E.C. GRANMOUN
E.C. Granmoun is the author of "The Social Worker" ebook on amazon.com
Join E.C. Granmoun on Facebook and Twitter  

Too Poor For Obama Care

Floridians who do not earn $11,490 annually as individuals or $23,550 for families of four are not eligible for Obama Care. They are too poor. What do they get? Nothing. The Affordable Care Act has remained an incomprehensible affair to the majority of the very poor Americans and other inhabitants in this country. Many think that it is free health coverage for them. How do you explain to them that they are too poor to qualify? “Juanity Mainster, a Miami counselor who helps consumers sign up for health insurance, says it is heartbreaking…”

This is not what President Obama had in mind. What happens? In fact, this was not even Obama’s idea. Liberals had always been envisioning an America where everybody has health coverage. And, the Clinton administration, particularly Mrs. Clinton, fought vigorously on that. It is no surprise that President Obama made it a priority for him, having himself very likely been without insurance during his low moments. This had to be genuine for him. This had to be real. But, in Washington what you see may not be what you get. The Affordable Health Care that was supposed to help the poor has turned totally against them.

They are too poor for the aid. This is sarcastic. Usually, governmental aids are deemed to the poorest citizens. What happens with Obama Care? The rich people have turned it against the Obama Administration. President Obama’s initial intention was for everybody to have coverage. Those who could afford it would purchase it, and the poor would be covered under government subsidies. Everybody would be covered. The rich Republicans in Washington and their powerful lobbyists said no, no. They mocked that they passed a watered –down version. The rich would get it, and the poor get nothing. Worst again, many would have to pay a penalty for having not been able to buy the insurance.

You have to explain, and explain that they are too poor. You have to explain that the insurance is not free. And, you have to explain to many of those poor that they are going to pay a penalty for not carrying coverage. Many still do not understand. They curse President Obama. You would as well if you were to be so confused. Something that was initiated to alleviate the suffering of the poor has at the end brought greater plight to them. How could they understand it? They take it that Obama has betrayed them.

The way to understand it in Florida, poor Floridians fall under the Republicans’ axe. If you make $11490 for one individual and $23,550 for four, you are mandated to buy insurance. You are still poor, but you are left with no choice; or, you would be penalized. On the other hand, if you make less within those brackets you cannot buy coverage. You must live without it. Mainster estimates that "only 30 percent" of her applicants in Miami have signed up. What the too-poor Floridian could do is moving to one of those states where there is a Democratic governor. In such states, when you are too poor, you would fall under Medicaid. Our Honorable Governor Scott here does not like his poor citizens to be healthy. He does not expend the Medicaid coverage as the Fed would wish.  

By E.C. GRANMOUN
E.C. Granmoun is the author of "The Social Worker" ebook on amazon.com
Join E.C. Granmoun on Facebook and Twitter

A Smile To Survive By

In the beginning there was Adam; then, there was Eve. They procreated, and there was a family. There were more families and possibly small villages where most people knew each other. Then, there were big villages and cities where most people did not know each other. Yet, people were very likely nice, generous, and took care of one another. Today, there are those mega cities that hold millions of individuals. Most people do not know their next door neighbors.

Some people think I laugh too much. Some people say laughter is the best medicine. I recall. I was on an airplane with my friend. We were returning from vacation, and we were laughing and having a good time. The other passenger sitting by the window next to us was an older gentleman dressed in tie and suit and appeared serious. We thought he was a preacher. We ordered beer. He asked for red wine. When we were up in the air about half way in flight, he said, “Guys you know you all are going to live very long. For, I have to admit that you are some very happy fellows.” Now, for those who think that I laugh too much, if it is going to help me to live long and happy, let it be. But, that’s not the point I want to make.

If you want to laugh and be happy and live long like me, more power to you. But, what I really want from you is a nice smile. When we are taking pictures we say, “Cheer!” We say, “Smile!” Why? We do not want to look unhappy in our photos. I don’t even go so far to ask you to laugh. I know already where there is a smile the laughter is not far off. Again, I don’t ask for the laugh because I don’t want you to come out like me, like a dupe who is laughing too much. I ask for the smile because the smile gives both you and everybody on your path a better day. In our mega city lives today, we go about almost not seeing each other. Before we had the phones with Facebook and Twitter and all to keep us busy, we used to walk with our heads straight ahead or downward to not see the other person’s face. Now it is less awkward. We are busy on our smart phones.

One of my friends once told me that nobody would want to mug me since I always appear so friendly. I don’t know if what he said is true. But, I know I have never been mugged before even though I am living in rough Miami; and, I have been close to some well compromised instances. Perhaps I am lucky! Yet, I ask for the smile because it helps you and others to live. In rough Miami, it appears as if people do not care for one another. I do my thing; you do your thing. And worse, it feels as if everybody is armed on the street. It sounds pretty hostile! Isn’t it? I can assure you. A smile could break a lot of tension.

Once you start carrying a smile on your face and spreading it around, people would begin to return the favor to you. This would render everybody’s life easier. One cause of confrontation I have been observing in Miami is people cutting in front of others and stealing parking spaces. Many times, I have witnessed those incidences resulting in big shouting matches. Why does that happen? It happens because those individuals hold no predetermination to be nice in the first place. Would you imagine a person with a nice smile on his face doing something like that? I don’t think so. You don’t smile to somebody and wish to go ahead and hurt that person! In fact, your smile may even deter the offender from acting so badly.

People feel good or better when people smile to them. To the least, if the person had the intention to insult or mug you, he may say, “Forget it. Let me find a more unfriendly target.” It is still wrong. But, as far as you are concerned, you have done your homework. You smiled.

By E.C. GRANMOUN

E.C. Granmoun is the author of "The Social Worker" ebook on amazon.com
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It Is An Economic Decision

A tall African American male stood along the corner of the Omni Station where the Metro Mover and the Metro buses pick up and drop off their loads in downtown Miami. This is an area of extreme mobility with locals and tourists alike. The man stood there under the humid mid-afternoon Florida sun waving to stop every cab passing by. All kept going.

One cabbie finally struck the brakes and came to a sudden halt after almost passing him by as well. The man exhausted by the heat, hurried up, and dropped his long self right into the back seat, sitting in an awkward manner with his upper body on the passenger side and his feet behind the driver. “Man thank you for stopping,” he said. “I have been here for, it must be one hour, and every cab just zoomed right passed me.” The driver laughed. “No man, it’s not funny,” the guy protested. “These ‘mud’ would not pick up a brother. This is not funny at all. And, they are Haitians too.”

“I don’t say it is funny my friend. It is a fact that most of the drivers do not pick up black people,” the cabbie clarified.  He was well familiar with that. Among all the taxi drivers he knew, only one of them was ready to pick up a black passenger anywhere, anytime, and under any condition. He himself would pick up a black person only under fair conditions when he felt that his safety was not threatened. Most other drivers had expressed openly to him, “My taxi is not for black people.”

People would be quick to say that taxi drivers in Miami are racist. But, in reality it cannot be racism. The majority of the drivers are black. They should not have any problem picking up their own kind. Then, what is the problem? It is a financial conflict. In general, the taxi driver sets his standard for passengers based on the amount of liability he feels ready to incur. Plainly stated, taxi drivers pick up people whom they presume are going to pay and would not rob them. The above taxi driver explained to his new passenger, “It is not a matter of Black and White or American and Haitian. It is the fact that the taxi drivers are usually cheated by black passengers. They may not pay you; they may rob; they may even murder you. It is not only Black Americans either; it could be Haitian, Jamaican, and whoever. It is really a matter of the poverty among us. We are shut out of the economy; we are eating dust; and we have turned against one another.”  

The passenger admitted. “I know where you’re coming from, men. I was born and raised in Over-Town. I worked my way out by managing to get myself a job in a hotel watching the naked women lying in the sands on South Beach. I have a Russian girlfriend and an apartment right over the ocean lines too. I must tell you though. My family feels that I have given up on my people. When you picked me up, I was just returning from visiting my mother. I always cannot wait to get out of there. Too much misery, man!” 

At the end, it is an economic decision. The tourists, the white people, they have money. Most of them are ready to make use of the taxi service and pay for it. Even the black tourists on the beach and other black professionals pay most of the times. They may not want to give a tip, but they would pay. However, the driver has no way to distinguish between the ‘good Black’ and the dangerous ones - except on rare occasions. Therefore, the majority of the drivers say, “No Black.” Instead of taking a chance with some Blacks to end up not getting paid, robbed, or even killed; they simply leave their Negro kin stranded.

By E.C. GRANMOUN
E.C. Granmoun is the author of "The Social Worker" ebook on amazon.com
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My Ghetto Life Is Killing Me

I crave for the days when as children we used to line up to fight. Yes, I mean “fight!” And, it was real rivalry. One group did not like another; one group challenged another. We got together and matched up one versus the other. Yet, we had to be fair. Usually there were leaders, older guys who chose who fought whom. And, the two contenders had to be about equal in size and strength. We would hold each other, punch each other, kick each other, and not much damage to be expected. Even when there were melees, it remained fair. This was then in villages on the countryside.

My ghetto life is killing me. There was this news a few weeks ago about this thirteen-year-old boy “grazed in the head by bullet.” According to the details, the teenage boy was walking along with a friend about 7:30 in the evening when some guys approached in a car and opened fire. Luckily the kid did not die. I have read so many headlines of young men murdered in the greater Miami metropolis all the times that we could consider this good news. He did not die.

I imagine that something is very wrong with my ghetto life. Where is a child fighting another without expecting to be killed? Where is a young man or a young woman going out and sitting in the park without expecting to be mugged? Where is an elderly person in his apartment without expecting some criminal breaking in and brutalizing him? Oh, I know. This nice life is left in the suburbs with more well-to-do people. It is left in the countryside with people, well, with people not so different and poor.

In the ghettoes, it is Black killing Black. Maybe it is minorities killing minorities! Who cares? It is poor people killing poor people. My friend got into an accident deep inside the ghetto once; and, the other driver had no insurance. My first reaction was why he had to go there at all. I mean. Our general approach is the abandonment of our poorer brothers inside the ghettoes. We don’t like them. We don’t want to be with them. We don’t want to be caught in their lines of fire. I don’t think that is far wrong. Who want to be shot? The problem is. How have we ended up with this ghetto life in the first place? It is by this very same abandonment. The more well-to-do people have abandoned the poor ones in the inner cities. And through ignorance, necessity, and the instinct to survive, our young people especially our young men have become violent destroyers of themselves and their environments.

In my village life was simple and rather nice. As kids we fought each other without causing major damages to ourselves and others. We never even once imagined the word killing. As young men and young women, we played, we walked, we held hands, and later we formed families. Most people there were far poorer than people in our cities today. But we had one core value. The young individuals did not feel abandoned and left alone to fend for themselves. Our parents and extended families were always there to lead us; our lives were monitored as if with a scope; and we were instructed to live for a better future. We were severely exhorted and even got spanked when we stepped out of line.

In my ghetto life, I am my own men. It was mentioned that the injured young man above knew his assailant. Why would somebody want to just waste a kid like that? We don’t know. But, in the ghetto we are our own men. We have no parents; or, they are powerless vis-à-vis our “ghetto lives”. We have to struggle to survive on our own, defending ourselves and our turfs. We therefore must possess the ultimate societal defensive weapon – the fire Arm. When the government intervenes, it usually means the end of us. They shoot us. They imprison us. Any which way, we are dead.

By E.C. GRANMOUN
E.C. Granmoun is the author of "The Social Worker" ebook on amazon.com
Join E.C. Granmoun on Facebook and Twitter