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ALIENS IN AMERICA!

 

ALIENS IN AMERICA!

j. SNODGRASS

March 2017

AMERICAN PIE

There’s an old joke about a space-alien who beamed down into a seedy motel and demanded that a couple there show him how Earthlings reproduce. The couple protested at first, but finally agreed to do what they were there to do anyway, and when they were done the woman said “and that’s how we make babies.” The alien looked puzzled: “So? Where is it?” “Oh, now it takes another nine months to gestate.” “Nine months?” the alien asked, “So why was he in such a hurry?”

We’re hearing a lot right now about the dangers of “Aliens” in America, but North America has already seen plenty of “Alien Invasions.” But before we get to space-creatures and refugees, it makes a certain sense to begin with an immigrant who’s done so well here that most of us think of it as a native and couldn’t image America without it. I’m not saying “it” because I consider immigrants inhuman, but because the immigrant I’m talking about is the apple. Our modern apple was originally a native of Kazakhstan, an on-again-off-again section of Russia, and from there it spread by traders on the old Silk Road through Asia and Europe, where it swapped pollen with some native trees, sowing its wild…apples… The Chinese learned to select desirable traits by grafting trees together, and traded this knowledge to the Romans, who cultivated twenty-three types of apple on plantations throughout Europe.

The apple got a bad reputation because of the whole “Garden of Eden” thing, but actually the Bible never names the forbidden fruit. It does clearly say that Adam and Eve were standing under a fig-tree when the crime went down, and it’s only Christian logic that deduced the anonymous fruit under the fig-tree must have been an apple (the misunderstanding comes from Latin, “Malus,” apple, resembling “Malum,” bad, giving us the phrase “bad apple”). Which doesn’t mean apples didn’t have certain pagan associations – in English legend, King Arthur’s magic sword Excalibur comes from Avalon, literally “the island of apple trees.”

The English brought their grafted apple trees to America, but ran into a problem – the immigrant trees, like the immigrant settlers, did not do well on this new soil. The apple-tree, like the English colonist, would have to adapt to this new world, go a little bit wild and native, becoming something distinctly American. We’ve all heard the story of Johnny Appleseed, wandering around planting apple nurseries (from seeds – it sounds like a great coincidence, but actually “Appleseed” was not his last name). But we can forget that when you eat an apple, you can’t grow that same tree from one of the seeds inside – actually the five seeds in an apple will grow five different trees, and the odds of any of them producing fruit like the apple you ate are astronomically small. There’s an expression, “the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” but actually, every seed in every apple will grow a different tree, diversity is the apple’s reproductive strategy. So why was Johnny Appleseed canoeing around young America planting random trees totally unlikely to produce edible fruit? Because early Americans didn’t eat apples – they drank them, in the form of alcoholic cider and applejack whiskey (remember, the only way to keep apple-juice from turning to alcohol is refrigeration, which was still a hundred years away). Michael Pollan writes that we’ve mythologized Johnny Appleseed as an American Saint Francis, but really he was closer to the Greek god of wine, Dionysus.

Although the apple is immigrant, there is also something distinctly American about it: European and Asian trees could not grow here, offspring of lofty aristocrat breeds withered and disappeared, but random nameless seeds could mingle in these American soils and climates, persevering, experimenting, and one day, maybe a generation or two down the line – Jackpot! Spawning a tree of apples that could be picked and eaten – some of these random-chance winners are the celebrities of the fruit world: MacIntosh, Jonathan, Golden Delicious, and they’ve since been grafted and cloned all over the country (and in some cases, clones have been exported to grow in Europe and Asia as well). This humble immigrant, working hard, adapting, succeeding and spawning massive franchises is so American that we use the apple as a standard of patriotic comparison, saying something is “American as Apple Pie.”

But now I should really shut up about the apple being an immigrant – I’m afraid Donald Christ is going to uproot the trees, deport the orchards back to Kazakhstan, where they’ll immediately be executed for acting too Westernized. “You were once proud bitter Russian, now you are sweet, round American.” “No please – I’m still red! Don’t shoot!”

SPACEMEN?

Can you imagine if aliens came to Earth now and said “Take me to your leader”? “No, your English is not so good – what you meant to say was ‘Me take your leader.’ Go on – take him. Please!” How embarrassing for our species. If they came I’d be tempted to say “Um, I’m a chimpanzee, I voted for Bobo. Not my president.” (It’s all you hear today when you walk past the zoo, all those animals in their different languages chirping and roaring “Not My President” over and over). Full of immigrants, the zoo, all the super-stars, the Lions, Elephants, Zebras, Hippos, Apes, all African and mostly Muslim. They come to America as refugees and immediately find themselves in concentration camps. “Um hey – I was a certified nurse in my herd of Zebras, do my credits transfer here? You don’t speak zebra? Alright um, could you send someone who does? I’ll just be waiting…in this cage.”

I never have been much interested in space-aliens. I believe that other forms of life exist on other planets because there’s an infinity-to-one chance they do, and a one-to-infinity chance they don’t. But our whole idea of aliens coming down and inspiring the Egyptians, Mayans and Babylonians sounds to me like a flimsy excuse to blame someone else for the great fascist Empires in history. But I still enjoy alien movies – when I was a child I loved Star Wars. Then it was time to grow up and admit that Star Trek is cooler.

Our cultural entertainment representations of alien life teach us interesting things about ourselves. We generally expect aliens to be basically human in shape because it’s cheaper for special-effects, and we can’t imagine that anything else could represent a fully-formed intelligent being – we even use the word “spaceman,” as if any extraterrestrial life must still be essentially human (the most common exception is when we see aliens in insect-form, representing the next in line to inherit the earth – exo-skeletal telepathic insectoid aliens are the most frightening to us). But even in insect form, your average space-alien stands upright, between five and seven feet tall. If there is life on other planets, who’s to say it’s not microscopic to us? Or that we and the Earth wouldn’t be microscopic to it? And why would it come looking for us? We imagine aliens on a cultural and technological trajectory parallel to ours, maybe ahead or behind us but on the same basic path – why? And if there is life on a billion other planets, was it also created by our American God and did white Jesus die for its sins?

Were ancient Egypt, Babylon and Mexico visited by high-tech aliens? I don’t know or care. But I do know the American continent was visited by high-tech alien zombies called Columbus and Cortez and John Winthrop and William Bradford. They arrived from a dying Old World in fantastical ships with futuristic weapons and microscopic alien germs that decimated the Native population. A swarm of zombie-Christians, controlled by insectoid queens like Isabella and Elizabeth, “You will be assimilated, resistance is futile.” I read recently that Native Americans suffer from “post-Apocalyptic Stress Disorder.” It’s what comes from being corralled in third-world nations called Reservations. Naturally it’s our nightmare that the same thing will happen to us, whether from the Middle East or from Mars.

In 1938, Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster, both sons of Jewish immigrants, created a fictional immigrant icon. They gave him a name hearkening back to Nietzsche‘s ideal man, the worldly hero who would rescue humanity from otherworldly Christianity and its lust for destruction. This concept and character had the German name of Ubermensch, loosely translated into English as Superman. A refugee whose parents sent him in a tiny ship from a dying planet (recalling the old Hebrew story of Moses in the basket). And arriving on Earth he performed two incredible feats: one, he saved the world a zillion times as a flamboyant flying superhero. But his other spectacular act was even more impressive: he put on a shirt and tie, got a job and paid his taxes as the bland, forgettable American citizen Clark Kent, the perfect legal alien.

This was the great immigrant story – he didn’t come to change America into his homeland, even though he had great powers and some people wanted him to be a god, he did not use his abilities to undermine or destroy or replace truth, justice and the American way. He became an icon of truth, justice and the American way. Yes, he also became a sort of fashion-icon, and sometimes children will tie a bed-sheet around their necks and jump off the furniture (dangerous!). But even after eighty years of Superman you don’t see that many people on the sidewalk wearing their underwear outside of their pants. Superman is so American that we can forget he’s a space-alien – and a secretly Jewish alien! He remains a testament to the Jewish immigrant’s dream: to not get harassed and killed, and if that works out, get a steady job and help people when you can.

Superman is a fictional character (although most of us know more about Superman than we do about the person living next door, even if we’ve never opened a comic book). There are countless other immigrants and refugees who have lived a similar story, including the alien in my life, my Mom. With her parents, she crawled under a barbed-wire fence to escape from Soviet Hungary in 1956, at the age of eleven, and passed through Ellis Island into America. She quickly learned the English language, went to school and college and seminary, married a soldier and then a minister (and later, a former Intelligence Agent). She spent most of her career as a social-worker, assisting displaced home-makers to enter the workforce, and her four adult children are two lawyers (one of them a veteran), a minister, and a college teacher. Now she is a grandmother – I married the daughter of a Jamaican immigrant, my sister married a man from India, and our combined five children are strong and adorable as only mixed-race kids can be.

My mother is not a terrorist (except insofar as all mothers are terrorists to their young). And neither she nor any of her offspring has ever spent one day on welfare – we have not been a burden on the system or the taxpayer. We work hard like immigrants do. And we pay taxes so that obese diabetic inbred hicks can sit around cashing welfare checks, watching reality TV, swilling Mountain Dew, talking trash about mongrel races, and voting for fascists. And when I hear about refugees from Syria, Somalia and Mexico, I think, that’s my mother, she wants to work hard and raise children in America, tomorrow’s doctors, lawyers, ministers, teachers, soldiers and social-workers. And to be the parents of a new crop of beautiful mixed-race babies.

BACK TO THE APPLE

Fascist captain of automotive industry Henry Ford wanted America to be a melting pot – being a steel-man he imagined a forge in which metals melt, “impurities” burn away and steel is homogenized. But America is more like a stew of international spices, a genetic jambalaya. And we humans aren’t the only ones doing it. We don’t necessarily think of trees as sexual beings but they are, and apple-trees are particularly sleazy and promiscuous, you could even say…seedy (terrible role-models for our children, terrible). A commune of apple-trees, which, by the way, is a nudist colony for half of each year, they’re not just standing around with their balls and blossoms hanging out, they’re actually having apple-sex. What we politely call an “orchard” is really an orgy. At the risk of saying something crude, and really it’s not inappropriate because it’s a biological fact: an apple is a tree’s testicle. You wish you hadn’t heard it, but you know it’s true.

Prohibition laws targeted apple orchards, wild ghettos of sexual abandon, known to produce sour spitters good for nothing but the distillery. Orchards were targeted for their use in producing alcohol, but the result was also the neutering of the American apple. In the last hundred years, American apple-growers have forbidden promiscuity and (gasp) mixed marriage of the natural apple, insisting instead on cloning a few sweet breeds, the famous MacIntosh, Delicious, Granny Smith, etc. This is why you can buy the same six apples anywhere in America, but it’s very hard to find any of the untold thousands of other varieties. Most of today’s American apple-trees are direct clones cut from six or seven original trees (which were, themselves, once mutants).

Unfortunately our squeamish insistence that all American apples be good Christians, virgin-born and consubstantial (yes it’s a word – look it up) has created some unforeseen side-effects. Today, America’s apples are as inbred as Trump voters (a majority of American apples actually voted Republican. Because they don’t know that they’re children of immigrants. And now he’s gutting the EPA, which is the only medicare trees get, they’re starting to use words like “im-peared,” and “im-peach” – that’s apple humor, nobody thinks it’s funny but they don’t give a fig). Genocidal purges of apple diversity and massive cloning of a few types are causing the American apple-tree to become more vulnerable to evolving fungus and bacteria, insects and viruses – modern American apples require more pesticide than any other commercially grown food. An apple a day used to keep the doctor away…now it will give you cancer.

The fate of the apple is uncertain. Our experiment in weeding out apple diversity to promote genetic uniformity bears an eery similarity to Ireland’s reliance on a single breed of potato in the early 1800s. If we refuse to allow the apple to enact its own survival strategy of reproductive freedom, we may well see an apple-famine in our lifetime. And if we deny the mixing, merging, melding of human immigrants that has made America successful, we will summon a genetic and intellectual and cultural famine – inbred Americans are far more susceptible to parasites called “Republicans,” and highly contagious viruses like ignorance and bigotry.

What makes America strong and healthy is the same thing that brings strength and health in the plant world: diversity. We nevr were meant to be a stagnant indoor pool, but a flowing river fed by many streams. If America ever was great, it was because of reckless and exuberant experimentation. And that is the only way we can “make America great again.” Some of us might want to support diversity because it’s philosophically “right” or because it’s “nice” or “friendly” – that’s fine, I’m proud of that, but I’m just too selfish to do it. I support diversity for selfish reasons – because it’s viable, because it’s healthy, because it works. I support diversity because it’s good for my children, I want them to benefit from the best of every culture, every genetic strength and immunity, every flavor of food and art and literature and philosophy. Diversity isn’t just “nice” and “good,” it’s also an essential part of our survival, like putting different colors on your dinner-plate. If history and biology teach us anything, we thrive from diversity and wither without it. Also – eat an apple every now and then.

SOURCES

Michael Pollan – The Botany of Desire

And a bunch of other stuff.

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