Skin in the Game
3/27/06
Cindy Sheehan, so eloquently cloaked in her maternal mantel, spoke today on Air America with Al Franken about our policy of war in Iraq. He was remarking about how he could not possibly understand what it is like to loose a child as she did, especially as he had no "skin in the game." She countered that of course he did. Not only had he taken risks to entertain troops there, but she believed we all have skin in the game, "those kids are all our kids." I thought about that term, what it means or at least conjurs up in my mind. The idea of describing someone being invested in something, by having their skin involved, their actual bodies as opposed to their minds. I think of cutting and tatoos and piercings in cultures as a means to decorate but also communicate one' s individuality or one's need to fit in. Skin as canvas on which to hang a sign. The aquiring of a tan which says "hey, I have the leisure time and money to either travel to sunny climes or hang out in a tanning booth." The make-up applied to the skin, "hey I have the rosy blush of a teenager, the sultry eyes of a gypsy, the red lips of a concubine." The covering of skin, from the extreme of chadors to the button up oxford shirt. The uncovering of flesh with pubic hair revealing hip hugging jeans and see-through shirts. Chemical peels and face lifts. Our skin as container for all the life within. Our largest organ.
So, to put our "skin in the game," is to really put our selves in, not just a toe or an idle commentary, but our whole vulnerable, sensing, sensual selves. So as to feel, not just know, the game we're playing, whatever it is. My brain may say, "well, of course, my kids are no different from any other and should be registered for the draft along side every one else," but my skin crawls at the thought. No, it runs. All the way to the Canadian or Mexican border. I may reveal a half-truth, or tell an outright lie and not bat an eye, but the skin on the back of my neck will burn. The touch of a loved one's skin can calm me in a nano-second.
If our politicians had to put the skin of their children into the war game, how quiet would the front become. If our leaders were discriminated against because of their skin color, would they play the "race card" differently? If we could touch the skin of our enemies and feel the pulse beneath it, the muscles tensing, the sweat just glowing, could we then so easily cut it down in the name of some policy mandate? Skin, tender, tough, dark, light, soft, scented, smooth, wrinkled, hirsute or bald; it is our flag of universal citizenship. Wave it proudly, not in surrender but in victorious conquest over the unfeeling.
Cindy Sheehan, so eloquently cloaked in her maternal mantel, spoke today on Air America with Al Franken about our policy of war in Iraq. He was remarking about how he could not possibly understand what it is like to loose a child as she did, especially as he had no "skin in the game." She countered that of course he did. Not only had he taken risks to entertain troops there, but she believed we all have skin in the game, "those kids are all our kids." I thought about that term, what it means or at least conjurs up in my mind. The idea of describing someone being invested in something, by having their skin involved, their actual bodies as opposed to their minds. I think of cutting and tatoos and piercings in cultures as a means to decorate but also communicate one' s individuality or one's need to fit in. Skin as canvas on which to hang a sign. The aquiring of a tan which says "hey, I have the leisure time and money to either travel to sunny climes or hang out in a tanning booth." The make-up applied to the skin, "hey I have the rosy blush of a teenager, the sultry eyes of a gypsy, the red lips of a concubine." The covering of skin, from the extreme of chadors to the button up oxford shirt. The uncovering of flesh with pubic hair revealing hip hugging jeans and see-through shirts. Chemical peels and face lifts. Our skin as container for all the life within. Our largest organ.
So, to put our "skin in the game," is to really put our selves in, not just a toe or an idle commentary, but our whole vulnerable, sensing, sensual selves. So as to feel, not just know, the game we're playing, whatever it is. My brain may say, "well, of course, my kids are no different from any other and should be registered for the draft along side every one else," but my skin crawls at the thought. No, it runs. All the way to the Canadian or Mexican border. I may reveal a half-truth, or tell an outright lie and not bat an eye, but the skin on the back of my neck will burn. The touch of a loved one's skin can calm me in a nano-second.
If our politicians had to put the skin of their children into the war game, how quiet would the front become. If our leaders were discriminated against because of their skin color, would they play the "race card" differently? If we could touch the skin of our enemies and feel the pulse beneath it, the muscles tensing, the sweat just glowing, could we then so easily cut it down in the name of some policy mandate? Skin, tender, tough, dark, light, soft, scented, smooth, wrinkled, hirsute or bald; it is our flag of universal citizenship. Wave it proudly, not in surrender but in victorious conquest over the unfeeling.
posted by Barbery at 12:51 PM
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