Relief Operation Quotes

If you live in the dark a long time and the sun comes out, you do not cross into it whistling. There's an initial uprush of relief at first, then-for me, anyway- a profound dislocation. My old assumptions about how the world works are buried, yet my new ones aren't yet operational.There's been a death of sorts, but without a few days in hell, no resurrection is possible.

Whenever a soldier needed an escape, the antidote to anxiety, relief from boredom, a bit of laughter, inspiration, or hope, he cracked open a book and drank in the words that would transport him elsewhere.

What a relief, I thought, to free oneself from the heterosexual prison. Straightness : the predictable container in which all possible outcomes seemed already etched into stone—happiness, unhappiness, complacency, strife—a life in which we were all operating inside of a story already told, even as we sought to live an authentic existence.

Dane discarded his speargun with visible relief. As a paladin of the Church of God Kraken, he had few options. Like many groups devoid of real power and realpolitik, the church was actually constrained by its aesthetics. Its operatives could not have guns, simply, because guns were not squiddy enough. It was a common moan. Drunk new soldiers of the Cathedral of the Bees might whine: “It’s not that I don’t think sting-tipped blowpipes aren’t cool, it’s just…” “I’ve gotten rally good with the steam-cudgel,” a disaffected Pistonpunk might ask her elders “but wouldn’t it be useful to…?” Oh for a carbine, devout assassins pined.

wanted an operation, not the boy-making kind, but a lever in the flesh, one I could permanently switch to off. I longed for immunity, distance, relief—not the end of all sex, but the end of the need, and more than the flesh, the end of the need for love

Ignacio climbed into his lap and examined his face. It was a relief to be in a child’s world, where kindness was the standard operating mode, where clarity was the order of the day, and adult posturing kept its distance. Hearings

Beveridgefn20 is a good thing though – that’s all right, so long as people don’t start relaxing with a sigh of relief. (I’ve just been reading Bev. – a fine piece of work – thorough and equitable – and it will be a good fight, trying to get it put into operation – doomed to failure I surmise, but instructive.)

It does not require much thinking to know that, under the operation of the brute law of force, the modern world is pressed down with the weight of misery and affliction, in spite of the vast system of organized Government and mechanical contrivances to make man happy. There seems to be no relief, unless we revert to the law of Love

Surely the extraordinary success of artificial intelligence is attributable to the fact that it frees us from real intelligence, that by hypertrophying thought as an operational process it frees us from thought's ambiguity and from the insoluble puzzle of its relationship to the world. Surely the success of all these technologies is a result of the way in which they make it impossible even to raise the timeless question of liberty. What a relief! Thanks to the machinery of the virtual, all your problems are over! You are no longer either subject or object, no longer either free or alienated - and no longer either one or the other: you are the same, and enraptured by the commutations of that sameness. We have left the hell of other people for the ecstasy of the same, the purgatory of otherness for the artificial paradises of identity. Some might call this an even worse servitude, but Telecomputer Man, having no will of his own, knows nothing of serfdom. Alienation of man by man is a thing of the past: now man is plunged into homeostasis by machines.

during the start-up of the first reactor at the Balakovo plant in Russia, a relief valve burst, and superheated steam at 300 degrees centigrade escaped into the annular compartments surrounding the reactor well. Fourteen men were boiled alive. Both incidents were concealed, and word reached the operators at other stations only through the atomshchiki rumor mill and hints in Pravda.

But there was one occasion when we went down to a village to set up our feeding kitchens and I noticed there was another relief operation there that had the same American supplies that we had who were doing something quite different. They were organizing food-for-work programs so that the people in the village would actually work and be paid in food. And the work they were doing were things that would help the whole village…..building a road or a school…..building a dam to catch the water when the rains came again…..building tube wells to tap deep into the aquifer. So the villagers were given the dignity of work at the same time they were providing something for the infrastructure of the village. I said: “That’s really smart. Who are these people?” Gandhians. They were members of the Sarvodaya Movement….the Gandhian Movement. And I said: “That’s what I want to do.

Thus throughout the 1990s, the Palestinian negotiators at Madrid and elsewhere operated under imposed rules restricting discussion to the terms of their ongoing colonization and occupation. The prospect of future relief from this interim phase was dangled before them by the sponsors of the Madrid conference, but Palestinians in the Occupied Territories are still living in that temporary interim state over a quarter of a century later.

Freud had been the first to point out that these [driving forces in neurosis] were compulsive drives. He regarded these drives as instinctual in nature, aimed at satisfaction and intolerant of frustration. Consequently he believed that they were not confined to neuroses per se but operated in all human beings. If, however, neuroses were an outgrowth of disturbed human relationships, this postulation could not possibly be valid. The concepts I arrived at on this score were, briefly, these. Compulsive drives are specifically neurotic; they are born of feelings of isolation, helplessness, fear and hostility, and represent ways of coping with the world despite these feelings; they aim primarily not at satisfaction but at safety; their compulsive character is due to the anxiety lurking behind them. Two of these drives—neurotic cravings for affection and for power—stood out at first in clear relief

By a similar operation, the write-up of Wholesome Fresh moved me almost to tears. Supposedly open 24 hours, Wholesome Fresh offers pretty much everything your heart desires. Hearty sandwiches. Hot dishes. Sushi. Chocolate Sauce. Paprika. Napkins. There it was, finally on display: the gap between the idea that Wholesome Fresh promulgated about itself, in a naïve or sinister way, and what it felt like to actually be there. What a relief to see it articulated!

Not only in antiquity but in our own times also laws have been passed...to secure good conditions for workers; so it is right that the art of medicine should contribute its portion for the benefit and relief of those for whom the law has shown such foresight...[We] ought to show peculiar zeal...in taking precautions for their safety. I for one have done all that lay in my power, and have not thought it beneath me to step into workshops of the meaner sort now and again and study the obscure operations of mechanical arts.

Two separate and distinct forces were operating in Los Angeles. One was a hardened criminal element incapable of restraint by appeals to reason or discipline. This was a small number in contrast to the large number involved. The larger group of participants were not criminal elements. I was certain that the majority of the more than four thousand persons arrested in Los Angeles were being arrested for the first time. They were the disorganized, the frustrated, and the oppressed. Their looting was a form of social protest. Forgotten by society, taunted by the affluence around them, but effectively barred from its reach, they were acting out hostilities as a method of relief and to focus attention.

I knew the way these guys operated; I'd seen it over and over again. They had a need to manipulate and dominate their prey. They wanted to be able to decide whether or not their victim should live or die, or how the victim should die. They'd keep me alive as long as my body would hold out, reviving me when I passed out or was close to death, always inflicting as much pain and suffering as possible. Some of them could go on for days like that. They wanted to show me they were in total control, that I was completely at their mercy. The more I cried out, the more I begged for relief, the more I would fuel and energize their dark fantasies. If I would plead for my life or regress or call out for my mommy or daddy, that would really get them off.

Though it was a relief to no longer experience a rebellion at the sight of my own face, moving through the world in my Before body had grooved my brain, and operating as if that weren't so--as if those grooves had instead been worn by thousands of wet towel snaps and gay jokes--felt as dissonant as looking in the mirror had once been. There was no language to describe my whole self that didn't put me in danger. I passed in that I allowed others to believe I had sprung, fully formed, into the man that stood before them. Passing is, after all, a social phenomenon. I did not 'pass' when I looked at myself, but I passed when others prescribed to me a boyhood I'd never had. I passed as the man others saw, and I did not dissuade them of their vision of me. I was, like everyone, passing as my most coherent translation. It was a blanket of familiarity that I put over myself, and it kept me safe.

The members of the board were very sage, deep, philosophical men; and when they came to turn their attention to the workhouse, they found out at once, what ordinary folk would never have discovered - the poor people like it! It was a regular place of public entertainment for the poorer classes; a tavern where there was nothing to pay; a public breakfast, dinner, tea, and supper all year round; a brick and mortar elysium where it was all play and no work. "Oho!" said the board, looking very knowing; "we are the fellows to set this to rights; we'll stop it all in no time." So, they established the rule, that all poor people should have the alternative (for they would compel nobody, not they) of being starved by a gradual process in the house, or a quick one out of it. With this view, they contracted with the waterworks to lay on an unlimited supply of water; and with a corn-factor to supply periodically small quantities of oatmeal; and issued three meals of thin gruel per day, with an onion twice a week, and half a roll on Sundays. They made a great many other wise and humane regulations, having reference to the ladies, which it is not necessary to repeat; undertook to divorce poor married people, in consequence of the great expense of a suit in Doctor's Commons; and, instead of compelling a man to support his family, as they had theretofore done, took his family away from him, and made him a bachelor! There is no saying how many applicants for relief under these two heads, might have started up in all classes of society, if it had not been coupled with the workhouse; but the board were long-headed men, and had provided for this difficulty. The relief was inseparable from the workhouse and the gruel; and that frightened people. For the first six months after Oliver Twist was removed, the system was in full operation. It was rather expensive at first, in consequence to the increase in the undertaker's bill, and the necessity of taking in the clothes of all the paupers, which fluttered loosely on their wasted, shrunken forms, after a week or two's gruel.

My world had stopped, but the outside one kept going. On Saturday, one week after the murder, Bubba had a basketball game. He wanted to go. I wanted him to go, too. And if he went, I was going, too. Even though I hadn’t been out of the house except to go to the funeral home. A friend picked Bubba up early so he could get there for the pregame warm-up. When it came time to leave to watch the game, I decided to run rather than drive. It was five minutes by car, and I thought it wouldn’t take long to trot over. I was wrong about that. Four or five of the men at the house accompanied me, including my brother-in-law Jeff, who had just gone through an operation and was still recovering. I’m sure his rehab plan didn’t include running alongside a half-crazy woman, but he did anyway, without a complaint or even a “Hey, slow down.” We got to the church gym just in time for the game. I felt such pure joy watching Bubba play. It was one of the very few times that whole month that I was able to completely forget my grief and feel fully myself. They were fleeting moments, but they loom large now in my memory, little islands of relief in a sea of dread. We all walked home. The men tossed a ball back and forth with Bubba. They couldn’t replace Chris, but they provided an enormous, unstated reassurance to Bubba that he would never be alone.

In the meantime Chancellor Schleicher went about—with an optimism that was myopic, to say the least—trying to establish a stable government. On December 15 he made a fireside broadcast to the nation begging his listeners to forget that he was a general and assuring them that he was a supporter “neither of capitalism nor of socialism” and that to him “concepts such as private economy or planned economy have lost their terrors.” His principal task, he said, was to provide work for the unemployed and get the country back on its economic feet. There would be no tax increase, no more wage cuts. In fact, he was canceling the last cut in wages and relief which Papen had made. Furthermore, he was ending the agricultural quotas which Papen had established for the benefit of the large landowners and instead was launching a scheme to take 800,000 acres from the bankrupt Junker estates in the East and give them to 25,000 peasant families. Also prices of such essentials as coal and meat would be kept down by rigid control. This was a bid for the support of the very masses which he had hitherto opposed or disregarded, and Schleicher followed it up with conversations with the trade unions, to whose leaders he gave the impression that he envisaged a future in which organized labor and the Army would be twin pillars of the nation. But labor was not to be taken in by a man whom it profoundly mistrusted, and it declined its co-operation. The industrialists and the big landowners, on the other hand, rose up in arms against the new Chancellor’s program, which they clamored was nothing less than Bolshevism. The businessmen were aghast at Schleicher’s sudden friendliness to the unions. The owners of large estates were infuriated at his reduction of agricultural protection and livid at the prospect of his breaking up the bankrupt estates in the East. On

The last time I saw Collin was in 1917, at the foot of Mort-Homme. Before the great slaughter, Collin’d been an avid angler. On that day, he was standing at the hole, watching maggots swarm among blow flies on two boys that we couldn’t retrieve for burial without putting our own lives at risk. And there, at the loop hole, he thought of his bamboo rods, his flies and the new reel he hadn’t even tried out yet. Collin was imaging himself on the riverbank, wine cooling in the current his stash of worms in a little metal box and a maggot on his hook, writhing like… Holy shit. Were the corpses getting to him? Collin. The poor guy didn’t even have time to sort out his thoughts. In that split second, he was turned into a slab of bloody meat. A white hot hook drilled right through him and churned through his guts, which spilled out of a hole in his belly. He was cleared out of the first aid station. The major did triage. Stomach wounds weren’t worth the trouble. There were all going to die anyway, and besides, he wasn’t equipped to deal with them. Behind the aid station, next to a pile of wood crosses, there was a heap of body parts and shapeless, oozing human debris laid out on stretchers, stirred only be passing rats and clusters of large white maggots. But on their last run, the stretcher bearers carried him out after all… Old Collin was still alive. From the aid station to the ambulance and from the ambulance to the hospital, all he could remember was his fall into that pit, with maggots swarming over the open wound he had become from head to toe… Come to think of it, where was his head? And what about his feet? In the ambulance, the bumps were so awful and the pain so intense that it would have been a relief to pass out. But he didn’t. He was still alive, writhing on his hook. They carved up old Collin good. They fixed him as best they could, but his hands and legs were gone. So much for fishing. Later, they pinned a medal on him, right there in that putrid recovery room. And later still, they explained to him about gangrene and bandages packed with larvae that feed on death tissue. He owed them his life. From one amputation and operation to the next – thirty-eight in all – the docs finally got him “back on his feet”. But by then, the war was long over.

In heeding the summons to help Soviet Russia, he laid down two conditions: that American relief personnel be allowed to operate independently, and that U.S. citizens in Soviet prisons be released. Lenin cursed Hoover and acceded. In a monumental triumph of philanthropy and organization, Hoover mustered more than $60 million worth of foreign food support, primarily in the form of corn, wheat seeds, condensed milk, and sugar, much of it donated by the United States Congress, some of it paid for by the Soviet regime with scarce hard currency and gold (melted down from confiscated church objects and other valuables). Employing 300 field agents who engaged up to 100,000 Soviet helpers at 19,000 field kitchens, the ARA at its height fed nearly 11 million people daily.180 Gorky wrote to Hoover that “your help will enter history as a unique, gigantic achievement, worthy of the greatest glory, which will long remain in the memory of millions of Russians . . . whom you have saved from death.

this information without sharing it with me? This is all new information to me. I feel sandbagged.” To his relief and slight embarrassment, I pointed out that it was his own information. We had merely given it some analytical horsepower, in the spirit of broadened collaboration. After that, he became more trustful of the CNC, and a number of his senior leaders became major supporters of the center. Beyond this new trust and cooperation among federal agencies, the other new and innovative component of the linear strategy was the way we started dealing with our liaison partners in foreign intelligence agencies. Brian Bramson, a veteran CIA operations officer and Latin America hand, led the way here—and has never been fully recognized for this achievement. Traditionally, we tried to give liaison partners as little support and intelligence as we could get away with to stay in the game. We did not want to develop their skills to the point where they could jeopardize our other unilateral operations if they turned against us. I understood this reluctance, having seen trusted liaison partners become criminal liabilities. Nevertheless, when it came to attacking drug cartels at the CNC in the early 1990s, we made a decision to truly build up liaison capabilities and share with the locals even high-end resources—everything that could be used to damage the narcotic-trafficking networks. Our strategy was to use our liaison partners as a genuine force multiplier. Combining their on-the-ground knowledge, language abilities, and existing networks with our skills, training, and equipment, we went from minimal bilateral liaison to enhanced multilateral liaison. “The kind of information we were looking for had to be gathered in-country by our good liaison contacts that we trusted … liaison relationships were key,” Brian Bramson said.5 Soon we were building powerful and effective

Later, as they sat at one another’s elbows, eating dinner at the employee house where they lived, Roan detected a subtle sense of happiness around Shiloh. Again, nothing obvious, but his operator’s senses told him that. “You said you were writing a chapter? On your latest book? The one that’s due to your editor’s desk?” “Yes.” She shrugged. “I woke up this morning WANTING to write for the first time since coming here.” She met his gray gaze, seeing interest in them. Roan, she was discovering, missed nothing. He listened to her without ever interrupting her flow of thought. “First time.” “Is this a good thing?” he wondered, adding more spoonfuls of whipped potatoes onto his plate. “Sure is,” she sighed, giving him a look of relief. “I’ve had writer’s block for the last six months. I just haven’t felt the driving passion to write.” She added some green beans onto her plate. “Ever since the stalker came into my life, my writing has turned off.” “Kind of expected?” “I suppose,” Shiloh muttered. “It’s hurt me in so many ways, seen and unseen.” “It’s what we in the military call psy ops or psychological warfare.

He then found Perazzoli, who happily offered assistance. What a relief, he thought. Unfortunately Perazzoli didn’t seem to know how to work a personal computer. DOS seemed as foreign to him as Greek. Shannon’s hopes of building NT were dashed. Out of pity, he showed Perazzoli one of the simplest DOS operations—how to copy a file. It was like breathing life into a clay figure. Perazzoli suddenly ripped through a combination of commands that resulted in a completed build of NT. Then he explained to Shannon what he had done. Perazzoli’s directions made sense. Shannon left thinking that Perazzoli “must be like Einstein. He can’t answer a phone but can code like crazy.” Shannon

I nodded. It made a certain amount of sense. Deborah had recently been stabbed, and had come so close to death from blood loss that the difference was a matter of a few seconds in the ambulance. And certainly Chutsky, her boyfriend, would know about that—he had been some kind of intelligence operative before being disabled, and his body was a raised-relief road map of scar tissue.

Why don’t I just stop training juniors? I said to myself as I angrily turned the pedals. Why don’t I just do all the operating myself? Why should I have to carry the burden of deciding whether they can operate or not when the fucking management and politicians dictate their training? I’ve got to see the patients every day on the ward anyway as the juniors are so inexperienced now – on the few occasions when they’re actually in the hospital, that is. Yes, I shall no longer train anybody, I thought with a sudden sense of relief. It’s not safe. There are so many consultants now that having to come in occasionally at night wouldn’t be a great hardship . . . The country’s massively in debt financially, why not have a massive debt of medical experience as well? Let’s have a whole new generation of ignorant doctors in the future. Fuck the future, let it look after itself, it’s not my responsibility. Fuck the management, and fuck the government and fuck the pathetic politicians and their fiddled expenses and fuck the fucking civil servants in the fucking Department of Health. Fuck everybody.

What we propose here, and oppose to the search for the essence, is not the return to the immediate, the coincidence, the effective fusion with the existent, the search for an original integrity, for a secret lost and to be rediscovered, which would nullify our questions and even reprehend our language. If coincidence is lost, this is no accident; if Being is hidden, this is itself a characteristic of Being, and no disclosure will make us comprehend it. A lost immediate, arduous to restore, will, if we do restore it, bear within itself the sediment of the critical procedures through which we will have found it anew; it will therefore not be the immediate. If it is to be the immediate, if it is to retain no trace of the operations through which we approach it, if it is Being itself, this means that there is no route from us to it and that it is inaccessible by principle...The truth of the matter is that the experience of a coincidence can be, as Bergson often says, only a "partial coincidence." But what is a coincidence that is only partial? It is a coincidence always past or always future, an experience that remembers an impossible past, anticipates an impossible future, that emerges from Being or that will incorporate itself into Being, that "is of it" but is not it, and therefore is not a coincidence, a real fusion, as of two positive terms or two elements of an alloyage, but an overlaying, as of a hollow and a relief which remain distinct. Coming after the world, after nature, after life, after thought, and finding them constituted before it, philosophy indeed questions this antecedent being and questions itself concerning its own relationship with it. It is a return upon itself and upon all things but not a return to an immediate—which recedes in the measure that philosophy wishes to approach it and fuse into it. The immediate is at the horizon and must be thought as such; it is only by remaining at a distance that it remains itself. There is an experience of the visible thing as pre-existing my vision, but this experience is not a fusion, a coincidence: because my eyes which see, my hands which touch, can also be seen and touched, because, therefore, in this sense they see and touch the visible, the tangible, from within, because our flesh lines and even envelops all the visible and tangible things with which nevertheless it is surrounded, the world and I are within one another, and there is no anteriority of the percipere to the percipi, there is simultaneity or even retardation...When I find again the actual world such as it is, under my hands, under my eyes, up against my body, I find much more than an object: a Being of which my vision is a part, a visibility older than my operations or my acts. But this does not mean that there was a fusion or coinciding of me with it: on the contrary, this occurs because a sort of dehiscence opens my body in two, and because between my body looked at and my body looking, my body touched and my body touching, there is overlapping or encroachment, so that we must say that the things pass into us as well as we into the things.

The more we try to disassociate from our shame, relying solely on our own reasoning and will power in an attempt to get some emotional relief, the stronger the hold shame has over us. Our shame-based behaviour will find ways to reveal itself if we remain in denial about our pain. Shame can be very subtle and often operates at a subconscious level of awareness. However, when we accept we are carrying unresolved shame, we can heal and make peace with ourselves.

Reading Bernard Fall began my journey towards an understanding of what America could do in the world and what it could not do, based not on some lofty ideal of history, but on knowledge and empathy of the human terrain itself, about places and people as they actually were. “It is all about collecting information and insights from the field, so that we don’t operate with one eye closed. It is about searching out that vital insight about a place that any journalist or relief worker has, but which wonks and highbrow policymakers often don’t.

Recent U.S. foreign policy has done more than simply allow these dangerous forces to multiply and to gain control of an increasingly unstable Middle East. It has also actively compounded the problem through the disastrous Iran nuclear deal, formally known as the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action.53 The JCPOA, announced in 2015, came about after years of negotiations between Iran and the United States, the United Kingdom, France, Russia, China, and Germany, the so-called P5+1.54 President Obama entered office wanting to negotiate with Iran, making clear he was willing to do whatever it took. As soon as the Obama administration sent senior advisor Valerie Jarrett to negotiate through back channels, Iran knew how desperate the Obama administration was. The Iranians sensed this desperation, which allowed them to get everything they wanted while giving up virtually nothing in return. The deal completely capitulates to Iran, providing very broad relief from existing sanctions in coming years as well as the ability to recover billions of dollars’ worth of hard currency presently frozen abroad in foreign banks.55 Frozen Iranian assets based in the United States, including oil, petrochemical, and investment companies, will also be lifted.56 Estimates suggest that loosening sanctions will provide Iran up to $150 billion in assets currently tied up.57 That’s billions to terrorists around the world who hate America. That’s billions to President Assad in Syria to kill his own citizens and use chemical weapons on children. That’s billions to Hamas to launch rockets toward innocent Israeli civilians. That’s billions to Hezbollah. That’s billions in payments to Russia for weapons that violate international sanctions, money that Russia can, in violation of international law, use to attack its neighbors. What has Iran promised the United States and the world in return? Iran has agreed to relax its uranium enrichment efforts and repurpose some of its nuclear facilities for peaceful operations.58 Yet there is considerable fear that Iran will leverage the removal of trade restrictions and the $150 billion it is receiving to build nuclear weapons and to support terrorism worldwide.

The ride is nearly at an end, the operator is helping the people below us off and then it’s our turn, and Travis breathes a huge sigh of relief. “It wasn’t that bad was it?” I tease him. He looks over my face before grinning. “It could have been worse.” “Oh really?” I ask. The Ferris Wheel starts again, but the operator must have pressed the wrong key because our seat suddenly drops a foot down before smoothly coming to a stop in front of him. Travis is plastered all over me: his legs stretched across the floor, his left arm across my chest, and he has the most adorable, panicked look on his face. And I can’t help it, I throw my head back and laugh. It was a foot. He dropped a foot when he was five feet off the ground to begin with, and he now looks like a cat when you try and throw it in the bath. And he gave me a hard time about the spiders. “Smile!” I hear someone yell and see a bright flash. “I was worried about you,” Travis says, fighting the grin on his face. “My hero,” I say, putting my hand on his chest before standing up and getting off of the ride.

All human activity is subject to habitualization. Any action that is repeated frequently becomes cast into a pattern, which can then be reproduced with an economy of effort and which, ipso facto, is apprehended by its performer as that pattern. Habitualization further implies that the action in question may be performed again in the future in the same manner and with the same economical effort. This is true of non-social as well as of social activity. Even the solitary individual on the proverbial desert island habitualizes his activity. When he wakes up in the morning and resumes his attempts to construct a canoe out of matchsticks, he may mumble to himself, “There I go again,” as he starts on step one of an operating procedure consisting of, say, ten steps. In other words, even solitary man has at least the company of his operating procedures. Habitualized actions, of course, retain their meaningful character for the individual although the meanings involved become embedded as routines in his general stock of knowledge, taken for granted by him and at hand for his projects into the future.17 Habitualization carries with it the important psychological gain that choices are narrowed. While in theory there may be a hundred ways to go about the project of building a canoe out of matchsticks, habitualization narrows these down to one. This frees the individual from the burden of “all those decisions,” providing a psychological relief that has its basis in man’s undirected instinctual structure. Habitualization provides the direction and the specialization of activity that is lacking in man’s biological equipment, thus relieving the accumulation of tensions that result from undirected drives.18 And by providing a stable background in which human activity may proceed with a minimum of decision-making most of the time, it frees energy for such decisions as may be necessary on certain occasions. In other words, the background of habitualized activity opens up a foreground for deliberation and innovation.19In terms of the meanings bestowed by man upon his activity, habitualization makes it unnecessary for each situation to be defined anew, step by step.20 A large variety of situations may be subsumed under its predefinitions. The activity to be undertaken in these situations can then be anticipated. Even alternatives of conduct can be assigned standard weights. These

My Dearest Bev, For the last week we have been waiting for an attack, and last night it came in full force. Honey, I was never so scared in my life. We got hit by 12 mortars and rockets, and some even hit our ammo dumps, which really hurt the battery. A mortar landed about 30 feet from me and I was lucky enough to have my head down, but the sergeant next to me didn’t, and we think he lost an eye. We got three men seriously hurt and four others shaken up by the blast. This was my first real look at war, and it sure was an ugly sight. I helped carry some of the wounded away, and boy, I sure hope I don’t have to do that again. It was an experience you can never explain in a million words. The noise from shooting is enough to drive a person crazy. Even after the attack last night, we had to stay up and wait for a ground attack which, lucky for us, never came. We expect to catch a lot of hell through May because it seems that the VC are really putting a big push on. Bev, I was so surprised last night to see that the men here were willing to risk their own lives to save a buddy’s. It really makes you have faith in people again, but I hope I don’t have to go through what we did last night in a long time (like never!) I take your picture out quite often and just look at it, because it’s such a relief from this pitiful place to see such a beautiful being. I am thinking of you always. All my love, Al Allen Paul was a sergeant with Company D, 2nd Battalion, 5th Cavalry, 1st Cavalry Division (Airmobile). His unit operated in Both I and III Corps during his tour, April 1968 to April 1969. He is now information coordinator for Indiana Technical College, Richmond, Indiana.

The former head of this operation, Gary Wendt, who is credited with much of the enormous success of GEFS, used his personal agenda as a simple but inordinately powerful tool for growing the business into ever new entrepreneurial arenas. Over the years, he used his personal agenda to make it unequivocally clear that he expected entrepreneurial business growth from every member of management. At every major meeting, the topic of business development was on the agenda (usually in the number one spot). In every annual review, managers were asked to demonstrate the revenues they had created from businesses that did not exist five years before. From division heads to newly hired analysts, everyone was held accountable for some set of activities having to do with creating entrepreneurial revenue and profit streams. In short, no one who worked in the organization could avoid the unremitting focus on new business development. You need to make sure that you are similarly consistent, predictable, and focused, and that you sustain this emphasis over a long period. Pressure applied only once is soon forgotten, and alternating pressure (as in flavor-of-the-month management) will cause people to be confused, disillusioned, or angry. Wendt’s consistent, visible, and predictable attention to business development created a pressure in GEFS for entrepreneurial business growth that took it from the $300 million installment loan portfolio we looked at in chapter 6 to a financial services behemoth with $250 billion in assets under management when he left in 1998. Examples of Wendt’s single-minded determination to drive growth through entrepreneurial transformation at GEFS are numerous. Years ago, for instance, he was asked whether his agenda would change if someone rushed in and told him that the computer room was on fire (implying that his business could be completely destroyed). Wendt replied that he employed firefighters to handle such emergencies. As the leader, his most important job was to keep people focused on business development. Since business development is an uncomfortable and unpredictable process, Wendt knew that if he allowed it to appear to be a low priority for him, all those working for him would heave a sigh of relief and go back to business as usual, with new businesses struggling to find a place on the priority list. In fact, as he remarked, even if he did try to get involved in putting out the fire, he would probably only interfere with the efforts of the highly competent people employed to do so.

Marilyn also said she felt as if she was just “going through the motions” of having a life. Except for when she was at the club playing tennis or at work in the operating room, she usually felt numb. A few years earlier she’d found that she could relieve her numbness by scratching herself with a razor blade, but she had become frightened when she found that she was cutting herself more and more deeply, and more and more often, to get relief. She had tried alcohol, too, but that reminded her of her dad and his out-of-control drinking, which made her feel disgusted with herself. So, instead, she played tennis fanatically, whenever she could. That made her feel alive. When I asked her about her past, Marilyn said she guessed that she “must have had” a happy childhood, but she could remember very little from before age twelve.

Such crises make it plain that capitalism - counter to widespread belief - is not a religion. Every religion operates with both debt (guilt) and relief (pardon). But capitalism only works with debt and default. It offers no possibility for atonement, which would free the debtor from liability.

That the New Deal should have been bigger, sooner, is a conclusion of long standing: John Maynard Keynes told Roosevelt he needed to approximately double the rate of “direct stimulus to production deliberately applied by the administration” in 1934, at a time when Roosevelt had reduced such expenditures in response to political pressure just like the kind that later came from Grassley or King.29 Roosevelt soon moved in the direction that Keynes suggested, getting the so-called big bill—amounting to nearly $5 billion—from Congress and allowing him to create the WPA to employ Americans nationwide under the direction of Harry Hopkins. But a few years afterward, once recovery seemed well under way, Roosevelt again cut relief spending—again in response to political pressure. For many economists—including Keynes—that premature reduction in fiscal stimulus was the cause of the 1937‒1938 recession.30 Only after making that fiscally cautious error did the Roosevelt administration adopt a deliberately Keynesian budget. Soon afterward, mobilization for war began.31 In 1941 Hopkins took a new job, directing Lend-Lease operations; Congress approved nearly $50 billion for the program—an order of magnitude more than the “big bill” that created the WPA.32 So when Grassley says the war ended the Depression, he is not stating an argument against the New Deal: he is stating an argument for a bigger New Deal, an argument that New Dealer Harry Hopkins at WPA should have had a budget more like World War II–era Harry Hopkins at Lend-Lease.33

Nevertheless, international missions have an addictive quality. There’s something magical about them. Maybe it’s the dopamine rushes we get from being needed and appreciated. Or the sense of purpose and belonging that we feel. Or the basic honesty of the work itself. We might witness horrific scenes, but on our return we miss the sense of purpose and camaraderie that went with it. For some, returning to mission work is the only way to experience that feeling again.

One of Ross’s biggest gripes was the way I operated in meetings, something that had always driven the team crazy, too. He called out my bad habits: I was notoriously impatient, prone to distraction, and a fidgety nail-biter. I also talked over people and dismissed underdeveloped ideas that deserved more conversation. Ross said, “You can’t put all of your attention on the content in meetings. You have to reserve at least 10 percent of it to observe what’s happening in the room, to watch the body language and pick up on how people are truly feeling.” It was a radical notion for me, the idea that I was responsible for reading the room. And I wasn’t even sure why it was important, until Linda sharpened Ross’s point: “Everything you do is a clue for other people about how it is and isn’t okay to behave,” she said. “When you yawn during a presentation, or miss a deadline, or interrupt a speaker, you’re telling everyone that that behavior is acceptable.” Until then, I’d been oblivious to how I was being perceived. So, to prove the point, Ross made me stand on a conference room table during a staff meeting and look down at everyone while we had a conversation. It felt ridiculous, totally uncomfortable, but it taught me about the CEO’s megaphone effect. “You know when you say things like ‘Hey, we should go and do this,’ but you don’t really mean it? In fact, you’ve given it no more than five seconds of thought?” Ross said. “Someone is going to go run and waste time doing that thing you didn’t even want them to do, because you’re the guy with the megaphone. You’re standing on top of the table.” Other times, I’d explode into the office on a Friday morning and announce, “I want to wrap every water tower in New York in a charity: water banner,” and I’d expect everyone to leap into action. Ross had a shorthand for my impulsive ideas. He’d say, “Scott. Squirrel”—as in “Don’t be like a dog chasing after every squirrel you see.” Sometimes I’d fight back and say, “No, this is not a squirrel. Doing this one thing is the whole point.” But most of the time, I’d back off, and my team would breathe a huge sigh of relief.

Dostoievsky says somewhere that if in the last moment before being executed, a man, however brave, were given the alternative of spending the rest of his days on the top of a bare rock with only enough space to sit on it, he would choose it with relief. There is indeed a Kafkaesque horror attached to an execution, which goes beyond the mere fear of death or pain or indignity. It is connected not with the brutality but with the macabre, cold-blooded politeness of the ceremony, in which the person whose neck is going to be broken is supposed to collaborate in a nice, sensible manner, as if it were a matter of a minor surgical operation. It is symbolized in the ceremonial handshake with the executioner; it is present in the delinquent’s knowledge that in the embarrassed stares of the officials he is already mirrored as a dead man with a blue face and ruptured vertebrae; and that what for him is the final, violent termination of life is for them merely an unpleasant duty, followed by a sigh of relief and a plate of bacon and eggs.

There may also be a paranoid response in the AVP, a sense of imminent harm by a family member, which sets up protection devices. The AVP thus controls situations, even though there is only a short-term gain. In the long term, this produces more hurt and anger for the people involved. The avoidant, however, has a sense of relief in that they can relax a bit. They have done the “right” action, or they have kept tensions at a given level once again. They do not want the blowup from tension. This is too difficult, as more may be released than their system can handle. Also, there may be an illusory sense of closeness, and of success. These scenarios also keep boredom at bay. It is a type of delusion they create and operate under. They do this to justify their behavior. This delusion is very difficult for family members to penetrate with rational thought.

For the first time she started understanding the appeal the Daemon must hold to a broad cross-section of people. It was a chance to start over. Daemon operatives had said it provided medical care. Retirement. Debt relief. No wonder. It was essentially a tax on corporations—one the corporate attorneys couldn’t dodge by moving their headquarters to Bermuda.

The preponderance of an altruistic way of valuing is the result of a consciousness of the fact that one is botched and bungled. Upon examination, this point of view turns out to be: "I am not worth much," simply a psychological valuation; more plainly still: it is the feeling of impotence, of the lack of the great self-asserting impulses of power (in muscles, nerves, and ganglia). This valuation gets translated, according to the particular culture of these classes, into a moral or religious principle (the pre-eminence of religious or moral precepts is always a sign of low culture): it tries to justify itself in spheres whence, as far as it is concerned, the notion "value" hails. The interpretation by means of which the Christian sinner tries to understand himself, is an attempt at justifying his lack of power and of self-confidence: he prefers to feel himself a sinner rather than feel bad for nothing: it is in itself a symptom of decay when interpretations of this sort are used at all. In some cases the bungled and the botched do not look for the reason of their unfortunate condition in their own guilt (as the Christian does), but in society: when, however, the Socialist, the Anarchist, and the Nihilist are conscious that their existence is something for which some one must be guilty, they are very closely related to the Christian, who also believes that he can more easily endure his ill ease and his wretched constitution when he has found some one whom he can hold responsible for it. The instinct of revenge and resentment appears in both cases here as a means of enduring life, as a self-preservative measure, as is also the favour shown to altruistic theory and practice. The hatred of egoism, whether it be one's own (as in the case of the Christian), or another's (as in the case of the Socialists), thus appears as a valuation reached under the predominance of revenge; and also as an act of prudence on the part of the preservative instinct of the suffering, in the form of an increase in their feelings of co-operation and unity. ... At bottom, as I have already suggested, the discharge of resentment which takes place in the act of judging, rejecting, and punishing egoism (one's own or that of others) is still a self-preservative measure on the part of the bungled and the botched. In short: the cult of altruism is merely a particular form of egoism, which regularly appears under certain definite physiological circumstances. When the Socialist, with righteous indignation, cries for "justice," "rights," "equal rights," it only shows that he is oppressed by his inadequate culture, and is unable to understand why he suffers: he also finds pleasure in crying; if he were more at ease he would take jolly good care not to cry in that way: in that case he would seek his pleasure elsewhere. The same holds good of the Christian: he curses, condemns, and slanders the "world" and does not even except himself. But that is no reason for taking him seriously. In both cases we are in the presence of invalids who feel better for crying, and who find relief in slander.

The entire death squad Operation 40, a strict secret team founded by George Bush, Richard Nixon and Allen Dulles initially formed to eliminate Fidel Castro, was present at Dallas’ Dealey Plaza on November 22, 1963.[87] Members of this death squad are also responsible for killing Che Guevara, Salvador Allende (President of Chile), Jaime Roldós (President of Ecuador) and Omar Torrijos (President of Panama). Later on, this death squad was also responsible for Operation Phoenix, the greatest murder scheme in Vietnam. Kennedy’s death was welcomed with relief by the FBI and CIA. Both organizations have always been an instrument of the global elite.

A great deal of this distress never found its way into official statistics. In this context “Operation Swallow,” Father Edward Swanstrom of the U.S. Catholic Church’s War Relief Services remarked, had been “as callous a bit of human engineering as the post-war west can boast.

Such cases were neither unusual nor accidental. According to an estimate by Monsignor Edward Swanstrom, who spearheaded the U.S. National Catholic Welfare Conference’s relief effort in Europe after the war, between 160,000 and 180,000 of the children who became separated from their parents in the course of the transfer operation had not been reunited with them by 1950.2 Many of these separations, as he pointed out, were the inevitable consequences of “snap” expulsions, as exemplified by the story of “a young boy who had walked to a nearby town to go to the store, and before he returned his whole family was forcibly loaded on to a truck and taken to a detention camp for expulsion.

if any—the Russian operation had.” Clapper’s answer was less than satisfying for the president-elect, but it seemed to bring a sigh of relief from his team, whose main concern seemed to be ensuring that no part of the report suggested that any factor other than the candidate’s own strategic vision and charisma had accounted for his triumph. Comey later marveled at their myopic focus.

As the IDPs poured into KP, other provinces were already shutting their borders to them. These proud tribals had sacrificed their homes for the peace and prosperity of the nation, and no one wanted to help rehouse them. At the start of the operation, no one had even arranged drinking water for these displaced people. I tweeted about it and Nestle immediately responded by delivering thirty-eight tons of water to the main relief camp in Bannu Sports Complex, which they would then continue to do every week. But hardly anyone else was doing anything. No one cared.

Imran had joined the army when he was a little over seventeen and had died in operations in Swat within his first three months of active duty. The father’s drooping, sorrowful figure walking back and forth to his son’s grave and sitting by it for long periods is a common sight in the village. The social studies teacher in the government school in Palwal, a young man, reflected on the grief of Imran’s father: “I have noticed him; he has taken it to heart. He has not thought about it from the other angle [of shahadat]. If he thinks from this angle, that shahadat has its own position, reputation, then he might have got some relief. He is not thinking from this angle; he is only thinking from one angle: that his son is no more.” The schoolteacher suggests that Imran’s father finds it difficult to follow the path that will allow him to move on and come to terms with his son’s unexpected and violent death. It is a story of grief that refuses to follow script, despite instruction. This and other similar stories are expressed even as the parallel script of shahadat remains intact, flowing along unhindered and unchecked, like the tears. 195/378

In some cultures, pain is a hardship to be overcome. In others, pain is a natural part of life, something that everyone experiences and that doesn’t need to be feared and defeated. Understanding how different cultures perceive pain helps us better treat our patients.

I do feel we have a certain obligation to not lie to ourselves and a responsibility to figure out the truth, no matter where that might take us. If we’re content with living in ignorance, we’re doing ourselves a disservice.

We Americans tend to see death as an enemy to fight at all costs. But what exactly are we fighting? The people in developing countries don’t cherish their loved ones any less. They celebrate the person’s death in the same way they celebrated their life.

There’s gratification in abstaining from the easy choice. Instant gratification can bring more suffering than pleasure. If I do the hard thing, the next time I face a similar situation it’s not that hard anymore.

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