Student Letters to the Editor Re: Jonathan Swift's "A Modest Proposal"

This semester I'm having my students write a fictional Letter to the Editor in 1729, in response to Jonathan Swift's satirical "A Modest Proposal." Below are some of the choice excerpts:

•  "I vehemently protest the notion that you would eat young ones. As an alternative, I suggest that you sell the young ones to America instead. I implore you to sell your infant children to America so that we may eat them."
•  "It seems rather unfair to me that women of my age, past childbearing that is, will in no way benefit from this...Clearly, this Jonathan Swift did not think this through in a lady's perspective."
•  "Obviously my first concern, as I am sure many would agree, is the sanitation of the herd...We could make sure they are eating clean diets, and not eating rats and the like in their fits of hunger to feed their little dumplings."
•  "Creamy baby bisque, stuffed grape leaves with thinly sliced charred Irish leg of babe..."
•   "I would like to start a small business. It would be called, 'Made of humans, by humans, for humans!'"
•  "I propose that we choose these breeders carefully. Seek out the plumpest stud to breed with the plumpest dam."
•  "I believe that eating our own kind is sacred, it will give us all the power of our ancestors." (I wrote next to this one, "Wow, even for an essay on eating children, that took a dark turn!")
•  "Mr. Swift, We at the Board of Trade have closely scrutinized your proposal and have found it to satisfactory to the monetary needs of the British crown."
•  "Murdering and eating children is something that would land us all in hell. Now on the other hand, killing and eating the parents that failed to provide food for these children is a different story. Also, from my own personal experience, the meat of a full grown man is quite delicious...The females are not as enjoyable. I think it is because of their promiscuity."
• "Eatin little babbys makes no bloody sense. Little babbys have never had the chance to drink a pint of the dark stuff, or get bolloxed off their arses. They are so small and do very little in the way of filling my belly...If you eat all the wee ones, then who in the bloody hell will grow the spuds and serve the pints at pubs? Cop on Mister Swift. You know that the rich dopes won't get their hands dirty. They do nothing but act the maggot while we bogtrotters do all the heavy lifting...We must eat the ole wan's and fella's. They are all banjaxed and doing nothing but drawing the dole...They do nothing but smoke their fags and fill their nappys. The old shites should end their lives with a bloody purpouse. They should help fell the bellies of us snappers....Eating babbys is downright thick. If you think you can stand against the youth of Ireland you're one queer hawk. I hope you will join me and Ireland's finest boyos in spreading the grand idea of eating old wankers."
•  "The Pope has requested you republish the essay under the more accurate title, An Awesome Proposal...As you may not know, the Pope's favorite part of traveling is sampling the infant flesh of different nationalities. The Pope possesses a God-given palate and can discern the homeland of a baby's flesh with a single whiff; he refers to his immaculate sense of taste as his 'favorite Pope power.'"
•  Greatest anachronism: "It would be far better...to bring them safely in the land of the free, the United States of America." Modest Proposal was written in 1729.
•  "A law should be instituted limiting the amount of offspring a person is allowed to have based upon their means...Violators of the law shall be sold to noblemen and women as slaves." (I like that this one manages to be utterly horrifying yet still not nearly as horrifying as Swift!)
• "I am man of Formosa. I have long live here. Whole life. Hear white man often say people of Formosa barbarians stupid no-civilized. White man take power without ask. White man take power then misuse power. White man takes power and starve people take power from. White man let women and young starve."
•  "Is it not the duty of the high to make and utilize the capabilities of the low?...You do not feel pity for the cow, or sow, being led to the butcher, because in your heart you know that its purpose in life is being fulfilled...So why then would it be such an awful idea to entertain, to take agricultural logic to these purposeless plagues on society?"
•  "Greetings from Sector 11; I am Kronton, ruler of the Snicker Galaxy!"
•  "I am very aware the eye is a rather dull but very nutritious omelet substitute."
•  "A proposed eight schilling profit was suggested by Swift; but with my product selection, I can offer it at a mere five schillings." (Capitalism at its finest!)
•  "Some will come to oppose this proposition...To those, I suggest you take note: For every piece of product sold, three quarters of a schilling will be donated to better the health and food of the struggling Irish nation!" (That's about as biting a commentary on corporate philanthropy as I've read yet!) 

 And a host of other great student essays that I'm not even sure are printable.
 In summation: I think Jonathan Swift would be proud! Or horrified. Probably both.

Against Speed Reading

You can speed-read War and Peace or the unabridged Les Miserables, I suppose--just as I'm sure you could spead-eat a fillet mignon or rib-eye steak, but why would you want to?  What of savoring the subtle and surprising flavors, letting each bite settle a moment on your tongue while you lean back and roll up your eyes in gratitude?  True, there are certain foods you have to eat quickly, cause the only way you can choke it down is if you don't taste it first--but that's no argument for the food's quality. 

Same with reading: occasionally folks will recommend me a book "that's really easy!"  and is something that "you could probably read in an afternoon real fast!"  But if a book's chief selling point is that it can be read real fast, I'm afraid that doesn't really recommend it.  A book must be capable of being read slowly, delectably, or not at all.

Low album primer

Low's new album The Invisible Way is currently streaming on NPR in anticipation of its March 19th release date.  The Invisible Way is probably, hands down, Low's tightest, most focused, controlled, and efficient record yet.  It features their trademark melancholy ("Plastic Cup"), euphoria ("So Blue"), and of course an even mix of both ("Just Make It Stop," which has a line that probably best expresses Low's artistic ethos: "Now I'm looking up from a ten-foot hole/see nothing but blue sky, shining on my soul").  It's also their most piano-heavy and Mimi Parker focused.

Despite the fact that minimalism is Low's main distinction, each of their records has its own personality. For the curious, here's a basic run-down of each Low albums:

• I Could Live In Hope (1994).  In a word: Monochromatic.  The black-and-white of their first video is indicative of the record as a whole, wherein Low had established its minimalist ethos, but had yet to stray from its strict, austere formula. Hence, all the songs here start to sound the same after awhile; fine songs for sure, but still interchangeable.  The album finishes with perhaps the saddest cover of "You Are My Sunshine" ever.  But, the album does open with the gorgeous "Words," which was happily the true harbinger of their music to come. Highlights: "Words," "Sea," "Sunshine."                                                                                                           
  
  
                                                                          
• Long Division (1995). In a word: Distinct.  Low grows from being a mere Grunge reactionary to a distinct musical entity unto itself.  Their opener "Violence" (violence being a theme they would return to repeatedly throughout their career) features Low already mapping out the possibilities for joy and euphoria present within minimalism and melancholy.  The album likewise features Low not just embracing the silence between notes, but now staking out their own space within it.  Highlights: "Violence," "Shame," "Caroline," "Throw Out The Line."                 
  
• Transmission (EP) (1996).  In a word: Referential.  Low wears its influences on its sleeve with a slowcore cover of Joy Division's "Transmission," one that calls more explicit attention to Ian Curtis's menacing lyrics, and hints at the source of Low's own combo of dread and joy.  Long Division's "Caroline" is reworked into a minor key as "Caroline 2."  The closing untitled "hidden" track provides the quiet background drone that appears to cut out just at the start of "Anon" on their 3rd full-length.  Highlights: "Transmission," "Caroline 2."
  
• The Curtain Hits The Cast (1996).  In a word: Epic.  This is Low's first big "statement" album.  The Biblical-heaviness of the title "Anon" opens the album; the near-10-minute centerpiece "Laugh" pushes their slow-burn, minimalist, silence-embracing formula to the max; and then explodes that formula with the 14-minute, reverb-heavy opus "Do You Know How To Waltz?"  Alongside Trust, Curtain is considered one of Low's "dark" albums, even though the minor college-radio-hit "Over the Ocean" is among their most uplifting numbers.  This record is a long, deep-sea dive into the darkness that finishes with the reminder, "don't be afraid of the dark."  Highlights: "Over the Ocean," "Laugh," "Same," "Do You Know How To Waltz?"
  
• Songs For A Dead Pilot (EP) (1997).  In a word: Experimental.  Opener "Will The Night" (which would appear in more straight-forward form on Secret Name) sounds as though it was recorded at the end of a tunnel.  "Condescend" alone is worth the price of admission, and introduces strings to Low's sound for the first time.  Third track "Born on the Wire" pushes their minimalism to its final and logical extreme--it is an ultra-slow 11-minute number, the last half of which is just a single, haunting, unresolved guitar chord played slower...and slower...and slower.  This is music for a snowstorm.  Not for the casual fan, but rather a deep reward to the committed one.  Highlights: "Will The Night," "Condescend," "Born on the Wires."
  
• Secret Name (1999).  In a word: Religious.  And not just because the album title, "Weight of Water," and "Missouri" contain explicit references to Low's LDS faith (or at least, as explicit as Low ever can be); no, the understated beauty of the music itself is a religious experience.  Low has pushed through the darkness, and while they haven't come through unscathed, they have still found the light, apparently.  Not just strings, but piano is integrated in for the first time.  This is perhaps the perfect album by which to introduce new listeners .  Highlights: "Starfire," "Two-Step," "Weight of Water," "Missouri," "Soon," "Immune," "Lion/Lamb." 
  
• Christmas (EP) (1999).  In a word: Sincere.  Even more so than Secret Name, Low here wears their faith openly.  They pull off the miraculous feet of being happy without being sappy, religious without being maudlin, merry without being ironic.  The EP contains perhaps the only acceptable cover of "Little Drummer Boy" extant.  "Just Like Christmas" is now an Indie-rock Holiday mainstay.  Highlights: "Just Like Christmas," "Long Way Around The Sea," "If You Were Born Today (Song For The Baby Jesus)." 
  
• Things We Lost In The Fire (2001).  In a word: Orchestral.  The strings hinted at in earlier albums comes to full fruition here.  This is music for getting older ("July" bemoans the never-ending passage of time; "In Metal" is the most devastating song for new mothers ever).  In my personal opinion, the first half of the album, while fine, is a little underwhelming--right up until "July." From there to the end, it's just one gut-wrenching masterpiece after another.  Highlights: "July," "Laser Beam," "Whore," "Kind of Girl," "Like a Forest," "Closer," "In Metal." 
  
• In The Fishtank 7 (EP) (2001).  In a word: Lullaby-ish.  Low joins forces with the instrumental-string group Dirty Three, as part of an ongoing record series wherein various artists record impromptu sessions in an Amsterdam fishtank.  The two groups bring out the best of each other.  Southern Baptist-esque "Lordy" hints at the amplification to come.  There's a Neil Young cover.  Highlights: "I Hear...Goodnight," "Down By The River," "When I Called Upon Your Seed," "Lordy."
  
• Trust (2002).  In a word: Funereal.  This is the other "dark" album of Low's oeuvre, consisting of such long and languid death marches as "(That's How You Sing) Amazing Grace," "Candy Girl," "The Lamb" (which really does sound like a crucifixion), and "John Prine." However, the record is also interspersed by much more sprightly fair like "La La La Song" and "Point of Disgust"--as well Low's first forays into amplifiers and rock, "Canada" and "Last Snowstorm of the Year."  It's depressed music that gets you through your depression, not around it.  Highlights: "Canada," "The Lamb, "Last Snowstorm of the Year," "La La La Song," "Point of Disgust," "Little Argument With Myself," "Shots and Ladders."
  
• A Lifetime of Temporary Relief (Boxset) (2004).  In a word: Everything.  A 3-disc set (plus a DVD) of demos, B-sides, rare-singles, live tracks and covers from the previous decade, presented in rough chronological order. Disc 1 does start off slow, but then rewards your patience with true gems it would be a tragedy to miss. Revealingly, their sense of humor shines through in places.  Though it may be heresy to say so, I actually prefer their version of "Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me."  By the liner note's own admission, they threw on everything and let the listener decide for one's self what's worth keeping; thankfully, most of it.  Highlights: "Tired," "Prisoner," "Venus," "Joan of Arc," "Words" [Misfits style live], "Back Home Again," "Don't Carry It All," "Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me."
  
• The Great Destroyer (2005).  In a word: Loud.  The amplifier experiments of Trust become the rule on The Great Destroyer.  The simmering violence that had always silently threatened just below the surface of their minimalism, is here released in its full rage at last.  This was my first Low album, and what hooked me on them.  "Silver Rider" alone justifies the record's existence.  (Robert Plant later covered "Silver Rider" and "Monkey" for a solo album.)  And lest you think Low had lost its slowcore way, along comes the quiet "Death of a Salesman" to haunt your dreams.  Time, by the way, is the Great Destroyer.  Highlights: "Monkey," "California," "Silver Rider," "Cue The Strings," "Step," "When I Go Deaf," "Broadway (So Many People)," "Death of a Salesman."
  
• Drums and Guns (2007).  In a word: Ethereal.  Low's foray into Electronica.  Their response to the Iraq War.  The atmospheric music communicates more a mood than a message.  Alan Sparhawk had decided to continue his Great Destroyer hard-rock experiments with his side-project Retribution Gospel Choir instead of Low; nevertheless three RGC songs, "Breaker," "Hatchet," and "Take Your Time," make their way onto Drums and Guns in remixed form.  I can't help but wonder if the "Violence" from Long Division's start is referenced by this album's closing line, "Maybe it's your violent past." Their shortest record until The Invisible Way.  Highlights: "Sandinista," "Hatchet," "Your Poison," "In Silence," "Murderer," "Violent Past."
  
• C'mon (2011).  In a word: Triumphant.  Low splits the difference between the moody minimalism of their earlier work and the wild distortion of their latter, with such slow-burn build-up jams as "$20," "Majesty/Magic," and the ecstatic "Nothing But Heart."  They marry together happy melodies and sadder lyrics on the opener and closer "Try To Sleep" and "Something's Turning Over." C'mon is a record of contrasts, one I believe could've provided the perfect capstone and closing statement of their career; fortunately, The Invisible Way keeps their 20-year winning streak alive.  Highlights: "You See Everything," "Witches," "$20," "Nothing But Heart," "Something's Turning Over."

Serendipitously, The Invisible Way comes out just in time for me to present a paper on Low at the Association for Mormon Letters at Utah Valley University, the same night Low passes through Provo on tour!  Rarely has being so Low felt so high.

Dear BYUI Scholarship Fund...

Thank you yet again for your latest form letter, offering me your full support and assistance in helping me navigate all of my philanthropic options!  I'll admit my intelligence was a little insulted by your presumption that I couldn't figure out how to donate money all by myself--granted, that's probably true, but we're being generous today, right?  So I'll assume the best of you as you do of me.

I see you've adjusted your fundraising campaign to exploit highlight certain high-need students who are supposedly directly benefited from these dollars donated.  Now, I'd be a scoundrel with a heart of stone if I didn't admit to being moved by the stories of these students' plights.  They in fact remind me of one such a needful student, one who applied for financial aid at BYUI in his moment of need.

Twas me, in fact!  It was the summer of '07, and my senior year at Rexburg!  I was about to become the school's first ever intern in Mexico.  The good man at the Internship office helpfully informed me of a small, 1K grant I easily qualified for, one specifically for interns; given the exchange rate down south, that 1K would've helped pay my way through my entire unpaid internship.  I wasn't exactly rollin' in the dough myself (working in Idaho, the slave-wage state, did my bank account no favors), so I followed his counsel and cheerfully applied. 

I was rejected; something about me being over the limit of credit hours.  Now, I'd just been through the same process the semester previous (seems all the pre-reqs I took at my junior college back home rendered me almost dangerously overqualified when I transferred to Rexburg, go figure!)  But, I had appealed, explaining in a letter that I only needed these last 3 required classes to graduate, and I was swiftly approved to finish my final semester, no sweat.  I assumed this latest grant rejection would entail a similar formality.

I didn't even begrudge the rule forbidding students from staying on after X-number of credits.  After all, so many other students wanted the blessing of attending a Church school, and this was an easy way to make sure students didn't get too comfortable in ol' Rexburg (as though, between the crammed housing and the cold, there was any danger of that there!).  This rule kept the classroom seats free and the price-gouged, monopolized housing open for other students that wanted to be herded through as fast as possible. 

Now, back to that grant: Understanding the "spirit of the law," I happily detailed in the appeals letter how, since my internship was in Mexico, I would be taking up neither classroom seats nor housing openings; therefore, the objection that I was over my credit limit (which again, I must emphasize, was not a result of me dithering my time, but because my hometown community college apparently had higher scholastic rigor than Rexburg) did not disqualify me from the grant.  I outlined my meager financial situation, how blessed and honored I was to be the school's first ever intern in Mexico, and how much this mere 1K grant would help me south of the border.  I graciously thanked them for their time.

I was rejected again.  "You're over your credit limit," came the broken record response.

By now, even the Internship director was angry, and he promised to "fight" for me...but just something about the way he said it, the fact that BYUI Financial Aid was some sort of Kafka-esque, implacable bureaucracy that needed fighting, told me he wouldn't win.

And he didn't.  I went to Mexico anyways.  I had a wonderful time.  I really built up my CV.  I went broke.  2 weeks after I got home, sitting penniless in my Dad's house, I got a call from BYUI, asking me if I'd be willing to "support President Clarke's vision" of joining other alumni in donating to some scholarship for financially needy students. I couldn't help but laugh at the irony.  Their timing wasn't exactly exceptional.

I replied, without guile or exaggeration, "I'm gonna level with you, I have no money."  The poor caller laughed understandingly, then asked if I'd at least pledge to donate some minimum amount in the future; to make him hang up, I said sure, maybe.  (I knew the person to yell at wasn't the poor slave-waged student on the line with me).  I changed my phone number shortly thereafter.

Now, don't you worry about me, BYUI!  I scraped by as a substitute teacher, moved out again, then went and sold my soul installing security systems that summer (which is a very shady industry unworthy of your vaunted honor code, and the fact that so many desperate students in Rexburg see it as their only financial salvation in Idaho is a horrible situation in need of rectifying), then returned to Grad School.  I turned out fine.  You might even argue (like a dead-beat parent might) that leaving me out in the cold like that forced upon me self-reliance and financial responsibility and so forth.  That may be all well and good, but please don't expect me to open my wallet to you when, the one and only time I ever called upon you for any sort of aid, you closed yours to me.

For every few months or so since December '07, I get yet another letter from BYUI, following up on that phone-pledge, calling upon me for a donation.  And every few months, I read it, laugh, and throw it in the recycling bin.  You of course aren't unique BYUI, every college has its alumni foundations trying to hit up its grads.  But you are unique in claiming to represent a religion that values helping the needy, feeding the hungry, caring for the poor (I'll leave alone for now the hypocrisy that Rexburg has a law that expels the homeless from its borders), worthy principles that I can't claim to have had much experience with up there.

And who knows, maybe you've changed Rexburg, maybe you no longer stick it to students like you stuck it to me; maybe I was just an outlier, a random, isolated, unfortunate case, one that isn't typical of your normal philanthropic efforts; maybe the high-risk students you highlight in your brochures really are helped by this alumni-funded scholarship; maybe your fund really does abide by the Christ-like principles of United Order, bearing one another's burdens, and charity; maybe I'm being just a little harsh.

Maybe.

But you'll forgive me if I'm still wary, and donate my money elsewhere.  Caveat Donator.  Please quit mailing me things.

Sincerely Everything.

*Addendum: Recently, worried that I might have been unduly harsh, I let myself get talked into applying for an online adjunct position at BYUI while in grad school--I easily qualified I was told (that familiar old story), particularly given my teaching experience and such.  So I filled out all the necessary applications, worked my way through the 2-week (!) online evaluation course and phone interview...only to not even get that pittance of a job offer either, with no explanation or reasons why.  You've wasted my time for the last time Rexburg.

The Older I Get, the Younger I Am

You know, I actually like Ben Folds Five's recent come-back album, "The Sound of the Life of the Mind," and not even for the nostalgia value ("Reinhold Meisner" is unassailable in my opinion). Rather, it's for songs like "Michael Praytor, Thirty Years Later," about friends that randomly drift back into your life every five years or so, without rhyme or reason.

Hearing that song causes me to reflect upon all the good people I've been close to throughout my life, so many of whom are now just people I once knew.  In fact, the process by which certain friends remained close and others didn't has felt like utterly random; I could not have guessed in, say, 2005, whom of my friends I would still be close to today, and which I wouldn't. 

Why do some satellites pass by again, while others disappear?  What is it that causes some friendships to last, while others don't?  Are most relationships purely situational--that is, no matter how honest the friendship, are we only friends with certain people because we work with them or go to school with them, and hence the friendship ends once one or both move on?  What causes some close relationships to transcend situation, while others don't?  These are questions that only resonate with me more as I get older.

It recently struck me that, without even meaning to, the average age of the artists I've been getting into lately has gotten older as I have.

Andrew Bird, Sufjan Stevens, LCD Soundsystem, Iron & Wine, Arcade Fire, TV on the Radio, Animal Collective, Ben Folds, Low--these are all artists in their late-20s or well into their 30s, ones who sing about how "It's been a long, long time" and "Now That I'm Older" (Stevens, "The Age of Adz"); or how "I want a daughter while I'm still young," implying that he soon won't be (Arcade Fire, "The Suburbs"); or how "I Was a Lover" but am not anymore (TV on the Radio); or about catching up with an old friend, of whom "someone told me you're still pretty" (Iron & Wine, "Trapeze Swinger"); or about sons and daughters growing up (Ben Folds, "Still Fighting It" and "Gracie"); or about the all-too-rapid passage of time, and to "get out while you're young" (Low, "July" and "Something's Turning Over"); of how "you spent the first five years trying to get with the plan/and the next five years just trying to be with your friends again," thinking in blocks of years as only 30-something adults can (LCD Soundsystem, "All My Friends"); or how "still my lover won't return to me," and how he slurs together "Souverian" and "so very young/were we..." (Andrew Bird, "Souverian"). 

Contrast that against the music I was into in my early-20s: Jimmy Eat World singing about the emotional trauma of turning "23;" Weezer, Rocket Summer, and All-American Rejects singing about the first throes of young love; the White Stripes scouring all older musical identities to find one of their own (what teenager hasn't had their blessed Classic Rock phase?); early U2, late-period Beach Boys, and Queen all singing about breaking free; Nirvana and Rage Against the Machine enraged about the forces that won't let us; and a full host of other artists singing about young adults navigating the passions of post-adolescence and early adulthood, trying to leave behind childhood and find one's way in this new, wondrous yet overwhelming world. 

And contrast that with the (full, embarrassing disclosure) Green Day, Sublime, Third Eye Blind, Everclear, and Blink-182 I loved as a far-too-self-serious and inexperienced teenager.  (Though, in my defense, I loved Queen and the Beatles with all my heart and soul in High School--and still do).

Yet as deeply and keenly as I remember those passionate stages of my life, they are different from the passions I feel now.

Now, it's not even that I dislike these artists from my college years now, or have even quit listening to them--it's just that they don't resonate with me near as powerfully as they once did. I very belatedly got into the Pixies, and while I enjoy them, I also feel a twinge of regret of not having gotten into them in college, when I suspect they would have moved me far more deeply.  (Same goes for The Who's "Tommy" and "Quadrophenia").


Certainly some music we age into: I remember being bored by U2 in middle-school but loving them in High School; I mostly tolerated my mother's classical music as a teenager, but nowadays I listen to Debussy and Mozart with near-religious devotion.

Nor is it that my new favorite music is all stodgier or slower or sadder--no, the sheer level of experimentation, energy, musicianship, and joie de vivre of some of these older folks is higher than anything I listened to as a kid--or even experienced as a kid.  In fact, I'm prepared to say that the older I am, the younger I get.  I take myself far less seriously, see the world far more brightly, feel more deeply, think more thoroughly, and get out and enjoy myself more, than I ever did as a child.

I've simply been wondering lately what music will continue to resonate with me as I get older.  I will also confess to seeking recommendations; those of you in my age bracket, what music have you been getting into?

Star Trek: Deep Space Nine as a Post-9/11 show, Pre-9/11

So my latest Netflix binge, which I just finished with my roommates, was Star Trek: Deep Space, a show I hadn't watched since the '90s.  But here's the thing though: it doesn't feel like a '90s show!  Certain shows are just a product of their time you know; X-Files, the TGIF line-up, Friends, these shows are utter time-capsules from the '90s, and have aged rather hilariously and sadly.  DS9, however, I've come to realize, was far ahead of its time.  In many ways, it was a post-9/11 show pre-9/11!  Consider:

• The show features men and women having to compromise their ideals in the face of existential threats--in classic episodes like "In The Pale Moonlight," "Inter Arma Silent Leges," "Extreme Measures," or even "Broken Link," the characters argue about whether it is worth selling out one's principles to save civilization, or if civilization is even worth saving if they sell out their principles.  In other words, DS9 was discussing the ethical ramifications of Gitmo, the PATRIOT ACT, "Advanced Interrogation," and Drone strikes nearly a decade before any of those actually existed.
• The tone of the show is very post-9/11--a creeping dread and darkness pervades this show in a manner that is very common in TV dramas nowadays (Breaking Bad, The Sopranos, etc), but was jarringly incongruous with the sunnier shows of the '90s, back when we were far more sure of ourselves. 
• Serialization--most TV shows nowadays are very serialized, in a manner that was uncommon during the status-quo-happy '90s, back when we assumed America would always remain on top.  The serialized DS9 was built for the Netflix age, a solid decade before Netflix existed.
• The law of unintended consequences is on constant display on this show--throughout the series, characters try to do the right thing, yet sometimes doing the right thing inadvertently results in something worse farther down the line.  It's as though DS9 anticipated the deep irony of how the "freedom fighters" we trained against the Russians in the '80s, would become our sworn enemies in the aughts; or how the "liberating" invasion of Iraq would undermine America more thoroughly than any terrorist attack ever could.  Speaking of which...
• Terrorism--throughout DS9, one man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter, and the lines of which is which, and which should really have our sympathy, are never clear.
• Religious fanaticism--between the Bajorans and the Founders, religious faith on DS9 is treated not with the glib dismissal of TNG or TOS, but as a serious and real influence upon how people behave, both for good and evil.
• Questioning American Exceptionalism--the Federation is the idealized U.S.-stand-in within the Star Trek universe; at least, it was until DS9, wherein the characters often have to face the fact that their Federation can sometimes be colonizing, hypocritical, short-sighted, sanctimonious, self-satisfied, and far less benevolent than it thinks it is.  Just as in America post-9/11, it took a protracted war to get us to consider how we're not as good or powerful as we think we are.
• The horror of war--war is never portrayed as glorious or patriotic in DS9, but as an inglorious slog, a destructive, degrading, messy, scarring, oppressive tedium to be suffered through even in the best of circumstances, a lesson that America would re-learn throughout Iraq and Afghanistan.
• After all the horror, things are still pretty good--the Federation does win the war end of DS9.  And the Federation is also, for all its revealed faults, still a far more ideal and utopic place to live in than any society now extant.  The characters are all decent folks after all, just trying to do the best they can, given the circumstances.  Have you seen the meme "First World Problems?"  For everything clearly wrong with America today, it is still one of the safest, freest places on Earth.  There are still as many decent people today as there ever were, anywhere.

And the brilliance of this show is, if it had aired in the aughts, then it would've been either hailed or dismissed as some Battlestar Gallactica-esque reflection of our deepest seated post-9/11 anxieties.  But it's a '90s show; unlike most derivative sci-fi, DS9 wasn't reflecting the times, it was looking ahead!  Star Trek: DS9 anticipated our current situation!  You know what this means, don't you: 9/11 didn't change the world, it only revealed it.  The fault-lines that shake us today were already present in the '90s, we just weren't paying attention.  The '90s were not so sunny as we remember, the creeping dread only erupted on 9/11, not formed.  Star Trek: DS9 was a post-9/11 show in a pre-9/11 world, showing us not as we are, but where we were going.