United States

Hearing women

Capitol Policewoman

Caroline Edwards

Testified

Bearing her Trauma

Divulging the truth:

On January 6th,

Slipping 

In people’s blood

“I was catching people

As they fell.”

“It was carnage.

It was chaos.”

“…I would find myself

in the  middle

Of a battle.”

Fulton County Georgia

Election workers

Mother and daughter

Testified

Of threats and abuse.

Shaye Moss recalled

Her living nightmare

“All because 

Of lies

For me doing my job.”

“A lot of them

 Were racist,

A lot of them 

Were 

Just Hateful.”

“Be glad 

it’s 2020

And not 

1920,”

Shaye recounted.

Shaye’s mother,

“Lady”Ruby Freeman,

A proud 

American citizen

Who

Stood up

“To help Fulton County

Run An Election

In the middle

Of the pandemic.”

“Do you know 

How it feels 

To have the President

Of the United States

Target you?”

“But he

Targeted me—

Lady Ruby…

A proud American citizen…”

Ms. Cassidy Hutchinson

Mark Meadows’ 

Assistant

Overheard and witnessed

The callous and crazy.

The 25 year old

Aid

Repeated what she heard

The POTUS 

Say:

“I don’t effing care

That they have weapons. 

They’re not here

To hurt me.”

“Take the

 Effing

Mags

Away.”

“Let my people in.”

“I’m the effing

President.

Take me up

To the Capitol

 Now.”

“Sir,

We have to go

Back

To the West Wing.”

Said the Secret Service

Driver 

of the

Beast.

“Ketchup

Dripping

Down

The wall.”

When Meadows was asked

About 

“Hang Mike Pence”

Mark said to Pat (Cipollone the lawyer):

“You heard him

Pat.

He thinks

Mike deserves it.”

To which Pat 

Responded:

“This is 

Effing 

Crazy.

We need

 To be 

Doing 

Something 

More.”

“Mr. Meadows

Did seek 

That pardon.

Yes, Ma’am.”

June 2022

A miscarriage

Has occurred.

Actually, an

Abortion.

Fifty years in the making

Seeking to criminalize

Those most

Desperate.

Overturned

But not over,

The tide will turn

Toward Justices

Corrupt

From Dark Money

And desperate for

Supremacy.

Rights for

Individuals

Who can’t get

Pregnant.

Now

The law sanctions

Open Carry

To full term.

I’m expecting

Violence

In response to

“Pro Lifers”

Who care

Nothing

For those already

Born.

Except

For the right

To bear arms

Anywhere.

I hemorrhaged

Tears

And could barely

Breathe.

This is an

Assault

On women and girls’

Rights.

I will not dwell

In the cruelty

Pain

And contractions.

We will

Heal

And create

Anew.

Mourning Sickness

Today I feel gutted.

I was already gutted by the mass shooting at the Tops supermarket in Buffalo, and the next day, as though re-gutted, the mass shooting at the elementary school in Uvalde, Texas. As unbearably horrific as that mass shooting was, the cover up is even more grotesque to me. Anyone could understand the fear police might have when encountering a deranged shooter with an automatic weapon. Hesitation might occur. Hyper-caution to avoid children…ok. Then why the lies and covering up the story? I am not sure I have the stomach for the answer.

I felt gutted yesterday watching The January 6th Hearings and listening to members of Trump’s DOJ recount 45’s intense and insane pressure to install Jeffrey Clark in the final weeks of his presidency. This, after hearings in which witness after witness relayed Trump’s efforts to overaturn a legitimate democratic election that he lost. Election workers were abused; their lives endangered. VP Mike Pence’s life was in danger. The sickness of Trump’s pathetic cleaving to power and the sad, angry, delusional devotees who are empowered to serve him leave me distraught. When I am not angry and fearful (of so many angry, fearful people with serious gun power), I am profoundly sad that so many people have succumbed to such a gross excuse for a human being and for perpetuating cruelty and selfishness.

Yesterday, upon hearing the news of the Supreme Court’s ruling allowing open carry–because….you know….individual rights/liberties–I was at once terrified and broken. I believe there is now such a tension between the hyper-individualsts who embrace a particular definition of macho and those who are actually more driven to protect the lives of the already born, that the menacing and threatening that seems empowering will only cause if not a conventional civil war, then a serious threat to everyone.

And this morning, with the news of the Supreme Court overturning Roe v wade, I am actually sick to my stomach. I am in mourning. Democracy, which I certainly took for granted in the once USA, is on life support. I am mourning American life that had promise.

I was briefly uplifted by the seemingly ordinary people who became heroic to me: during Trump’s 2 impeachments; during the worst days (and throughout) the COVID19 pandemic; Zalensky; some Republicans who have been Trump loyalists in his administration; unceremonious election workers; Capitol police officers, all of whom bravely stood up to endure under duress and bear testimony to truth. There is still truth. There is still decency. Perhaps too little too late, but some people have been moved. I have learned of goodness and decency during such trials, when so much crazy and serious danger has been thrust upon us and relentlessly spewing through media over the last 6 years.

But whatever solace I felt was amidst the mourning for the beauty that was the promise of life here in the USA, even in this very dangerous 21st century. I am grieving not so much for the world in which I grew up, but for the willingness that we had to continue to improve; to no longer stand for what was, even if we endured it.

I have had queasiness every day for years now, but hoping it would subside when this period finally settled down. Today’s overturning of Roe v wade was not surprising, but it is nonetheless chilling. It is nauseating. And the waves keep coming.

I am mourning the loss of separation between church (all religion) and state; of the recognition of the dignity of all living beings who have been born; of the danger of guns; of peaceful elections and transitions of power; of a healthy climate–political, social, economic,natural.

But after the mourning one must get on with the business of living and creating a healthy life. I don’t see how the current conditions are sustainable. The sickness that has pervaded too much of the American culture and now American deomcratic institutions and democracy itself, from the base to the Supreme Court, is deadly. But succumbing to mourning is deadly too.

Righters Block

I haven’t said much here in quite some time. It’s not that there isn’t anything left to say. It’s just been a horrendous case of Righters Block.

Righters kvetch about freedom while blocking access. The righters block loves walls and barricades, obstructing processes and others. Righters tear down that wall of Democracy that is the foundation of freedom. It’s a party of destruction that is punishing all that’s left.

Disruption is their right, while blocking safety for the rest. Facts remain on the side of what’s left, exposing truth and lies that righters tell. It’s insanity. Crazy like Fox, anything goes because they have rights, no matter how wrong.

We live in an era of storytelling. Maybe we always did. Now, everyone is a storyteller. It’s even encouraged and platformed. Meanwhile, righters block evidence as having any meaning, and ideate strategies to the contrary.

Righters claim populism and patriotism and nationalism and supremacy, redefining and insinuating with hopes of defeating. Righters block responsibility feeling entitled to anything and accountable for nothing.

There is no contest when suffering righters block. Being left alone to anguish and expose reality, those seeking to conserve Democracy have been flailing. Institutions have been weakened by righters block, but are not yet left for dead.

Too many weapons of mass destruction fired off by boys who are proud and keepers of an oath, automatically arming themselves for….?

I have no idea.

….Other than the notion that power trumps and powers Trump. Left to their own devices, righters block. This is the unbearably sad, scary, true story of our time.

Dis Appearance

“I just don’t think she has a presidential look and you need a presidential look.”

 
One way or (and) another, Donald Trump dissed Hillary Clinton’s appearance. Of course he’s not the first or last to dis HRC’s appearance, but he used it as a disqualifier for the presidency of the United States.

Whether he was being sexist (he was), or just a jerk (he was), we often talk about looking presidential, as opposed to a presidential look. “Looking presidential” implies that a person exhibits certain qualities with a demeanor of distinction: authoritative (not authoritarian); intelligent (not ignorant); well informed (by reputable resources and critical thinking); diplomatic (not wheeling and dealing); cordial; articulate…

Other qualities such as charisma may be highly regarded, but ultimately seriousness is preferable for a job that demands gravitas and clear thinking. Strength is another quality that is difficult to define, but purposeful beyond self would be respected. Oh, and then there’s respectable…. I guess there are varying definitions of looking respectable, but presenting (not exclaiming) oneself as decent, reasonable, of substance…these seem to comprise an expression of respectability.

It’s amazing how much we disregard, disqualify, disrespect, distrust, dishonor, and even just dis people based on appearance. We assume a tremendous amount based on appearance. Even those who prefer to minimize an appearance of effort in their appearance, are conveying something through their appearance, namely: I’m not shallow; I’m interested in more than my appearance. Likewise, we often assume that those who have sartorial interests or accessorize are making a different sort of statement, and that those interested in presenting themselves more materially are therefore shallow and/or materialistic. Beware— sometimes appearances can be deceiving!

As we are all always concerned about looking good (whatever that may mean)—of a certain type or status—even if that means modest—we are always aware of when others look bad. Looking good or bad goes way beyond our physical appearance. It’s what we do and how we are. We use external appearances too often as assessments of character—that which really defines whether or not we look good.

And yet, everyone has a look. We can change our look through hair, clothing, glasses, etc., and we tend to think of this as expressing our selves and/or our position. Some of us, however, only know how to look one way. Our look hasn’t changed, but have we?

So what about that presidential look? What does that even mean? Looking presidential is more significant than a presidential look, although a presidential look should reflect the qualities that have one look presidential. A presidential look (or any look) is one’s superficial (external) appearance. Looking presidential is one’s demeanor.

Trump does not look presidential; nor does he have a presidential (modest and distinguished) look. Why would he dis appearance? Because it’s the lowest common denominator. It’s broad enough to include the most base of his base, who have difficulty with race and gender (as they are understood first by appearance). Because if anyone is shallow, it’s Trump. And those Trumpeters want simplistic, caustic, anti-, because they regard their blowhard as strong.

Why dis appearance? Because it immediately attracts the disgruntled.

To me, that doesn’t look very good.

Philly Cheese Stake

This week has been pretty sunny in Philadelphia. I have watched many conventions, but have never been so moved over and over and over each night. Speaker after speaker shared stories that continue to inspire and remind us of possibility, and of what policy can really do for individuals.

The Dems seem to have embraced a traditional kind of American patriotism this week. Like Mohamed Ali’s refrain, “I’m the GREATEST”, Dems embraced American exceptionalism and repeatedly declared how great America already is. This used to be the province of the Republicans, wrapping themselves in the flag (or sticking themselves with flag pins), while any critique was denounced as unpatriotic.. You’re either with us or against us. It was a simplistic patriotism.

The Dems’ patriotism, on full display this week in Philadelphia, included critique and dissent, but mostly a plethora of joy and celebration for the myriad ways one can more fully realize one’s potential, and even transform challenges and tragedies, as long as we find ways to support one another politically. The testimonies of those whose lives were made better because of actual policies, were remarkable. So much courage and brilliance was on display. It was colorful in every way. It was thrilling and amazing. I have never seen or heard anything like it.

Battles that I have witnessed (and some I have participated in) for civil rights for women, African Americans, immigrants, disabled, LGBTQ, first responders, veterans, and more were shared and celebrated. It was impossible not to notice the multi-ness at the Democratic convention. That was a powerful image of America. Sure, there was also plenty of cheese. Maybe I’m just getting old, but I ate it all up.

I think we wanted some cheese. There has been too much acridity in our politics for much too long. Dems seemed to realize what a toll that has taken, and made a concerted effort to feel good; to serve up some comfort food. And they did.

It was an easy contrast to the fear and hate on display at the Republican convention. There were so many outstanding speeches thus far at the Democratic convention, that each day’s ranking of who gave the best speech  became silly. (Ok…The Obamas). But despite the displays of intrepidness, decency, knowledge, experience, compassion, and rhetorical skills, the celebration of our American greatness also seemed threatened. And not by external threats.

What’s at stake in this election is now being called Trumpism. President Obama gave the perfect coda to his political career last night. Having endured the suggestions and attacks from Palin and others that Obama was somehow not American, or against America, and having endured the “Birtherism” that Trump inflamed early on in the Obama presidency, Mr. Obama somehow outdid himself as he outlined the ways in which Trump and his “philosophy” (mostly  attitude) is antithetical to American ideals and to America itself. Obama brilliantly articulated his own American essence and patriotism, while eviscerating Trumpism as unpatriotic. Obama cast Trump (and Trumpism) as un-American! Take that!

Many have found displays of patriotism cheesy. It’s so easy to be cynical. What’s at stake was never better articulated than it was last night, which is saying quite a bit, given Obama’s rhetorical genius.
It is possible to acknowledge the greatness of America and take pride in achievements while still acknowledging that so much more needs to be accomplished in the economy, jobs, healthcare, education, policing, racial issues, veterans’ issues, equal pay, low income communities, restoring the middle class, gun violence and safety, infrastructure, getting big money out of politics, homeland security, cyber-security, environmental safeguards and energy strategies, innovation, international issues, and more.

Tonight will be the last night of the convention, and I anticipate a healthy portion of Philly Cheese Stake. It may be cheesy, but it is necessary to remind ourselves of our better angels, and to have those wings expand. Trumpism, at the very least, divides and contracts. It leaves us bitter and weaker, and worse. Too much is at stake.

Taking Our Pulse

It’s been an intense time.

Most of us are neither cavalier nor warrior, yet find ourselves oscillating between the two, even if only in our beliefs.

We have been inundated with commentaries and reactions, hoping for a new way to parse the constant barrage of anxiety provoking events—political and societal. The intensity of our politics and divisions only seems to get interrupted by terrorist attacks at home and abroad, when we aren’t mourning cultural icons whom we have worshipped and found ourselves grieving as though we lost a family member (along with our youth).

The anxiety and grief are difficult enough, but the incessant barrage of audio and video clips, articles, tweets, and responses heighten our anxieties and negative emotions and leave us enervated.

The issues that seem so acute and immediate, and the seemingly always extreme rhetoric, may continue to demand attention, but also seem to be repetitive and unable to be reasonably resolved. It feels like unending noise—often overwhelming, and too often threatening to our sensibilities, yet commanding visceral responses while we crave rational and critical thought. It feels like adrenaline overload; like living near a war zone, except we know our situation is not quite that grave, nor are our political fights matters of imminent life and death, despite the fear mongering.

We may be deeply divided politically and economically, as well as ideologically in many ways, but we seem to be united in states of anxiety and fear, and strangely enough, united in states of exasperation and a sense of insufficiency.

After seemingly endless violent attacks at home—whether by homegrown terrorists, and/or hate, or by individuals so detached and driven toward violence with the easy accessibility of guns and endless rounds of ammunition, we have seen and are reeling from the confluence of factors that seem to generate increasingly frequent episodes of gun violence— especially the intentional killing of innocent folks.

Last week’s massacre during Latin Night at the LGBT club Pulse in Orlando felt at once like a familiar spasm, and also like a new or more unendurable convulsion. It was like a grand mal—even more horrific than we had previously seen.

The typical response to such horror and terror—the moment of silence and prayer—was disrupted with cries of despair and demands for change through action (legislation). The silence wasn’t doing anything. United in a state of grief, Pulse became ours. Whether we knew anyone at the club or not, we knew that those affected by the massacre were our extended kin.

With all the commentary and reactions, and the overwhelming noise, it is easy to want to disconnect. But Taking our Pulse reveals that we are indeed united in our state of grief and despair, recognizing that hate and terror come from internal as well as external arteries. Our vital signs are a bit iffy, but after our Pulse was taken last week, we may now be ready for more moderate exercise.

It is too soon to know if our heart rate is still resting, or if a subtle shift has occurred since our Pulse was taken. Using well established protocols and procedures, there is a palpable response and a bit of resuscitation of character and strength to restore our health. We may not be able to avert all attacks, but if Taking our Pulse will cause us to respond more thoughtfully and courageously to make it at least as cumbersome to get guns, especially assault weapons and ammunition, as it is to get an abortion, or vote, or as regulated as buying Sudafed, then we will at least have honored those who were senselessly slain. And we may even be stronger and healthier going forward.

Sweatin’ to the Oldies

Bernie Sanders is 74; Donald Trump is 69; Hillary Rodham Clinton is 68. I wish I had a fraction of their energy, and I am significantly younger, although no youngster myself. But I’m really sweating this election.

Besides their ages, this election cycle is fraught with a “Back to the Future” sense of direction for our country. The Trump and Sanders campaigns have motivated followers to get excited about undoing. The Clinton Campaign has been rather uninspiring, but has been attempting to veer left, while remaining centered on the importance of strengthening our institutions, rather than upending them.

The Trump and Sanders campaigns feel unconventional, not just because no one initially expected either one to go to the Conventions, but because they have aroused the energy of anger and outsider status, ironically of mostly white males, who seem to relish the “outsider” candidate who says what they are thinking, and maintains a steady sense of chutzpah.

And HRC….she maintains that her entire life has been chutzpah; the boldness to work hard and achieve in various leadership positions, and get knocked down over and over, and keep pushing forward. The media has not captured inspiring snippets of her. Mostly, she’s talked about in the media as being disliked and around forever, which has become a serious negative in this cycle.

Her quality of being guarded tends to fuel suspicion, and of course, she’s had a history of cozying up to the rich and powerful, and then having a private e-mail server as Secretary of State. None of which is unique to her, or illegal; just not okay either. These issues that continue to plague her feed the narrative of the Clinton Chutzpah (as opposed to her own lifetime of experience and service)— not the audacity of hope or of dismantling the status quo, but of getting away with what they can at the time.

Both Hilary and Bill Clinton have great intellects, yet do stupid stuff all the time. Both Hillary and Bill Clinton can be shrewd and competent, and create long lasting alliances across demographics and across the world, yet still manage to generate ire at home. Hillary Clinton, unlike Bill, does not seem to enjoy the political campaigning, but she has created an amazing resume that has her in most ways uniquely and historically qualified to become POTUS.

But in 2016, experience is the enemy. It’s a narrative of what is wrong with US, and although 3 candidates who occupy all the air time are all Senior Citizens, this country seems to be suffering from Senioritis. Enough with the plodding along and policy that can be worked on by those with different ideas.

In fact, the parties themselves are in disarray. Will we end up with the party of the affected and the party of the disaffected? It’s getting to be more perspiration than inspiration. Being inspired by being disaffected and angry is a dangerous path.

So is the only way that these old timers can inspire is to invoke old stories and old grievances? Somehow, it’s been a sweat inducing exercise thus far.

Outthink Disruption

I recently saw a Facebook ad for IBM Analytics with the slogan “Outthink Disruption”. What a perfect tagline for our current culture of politics, and our culture and our politics. Forget distractions; we live in the age of disruptions, as though that’s a good thing.

Those who seek to disrupt feel that they are not served by the status quo. Disruption may be effective and even appropriate. Altering or even destroying the structure of something may be important to contributing to or saving lives. Or, such a disturbance may merely interrupt or cause more problems.

When I saw the tagline “Outthink Disruption”, Donald Trump had just become the presumptive nominee of the GOP (a nostalgic name for what is not very related to the modern Republican Party). Certainly Trump has been a Disruption, and he encourages his Trumpeters to Disrupt.
One could say that Bernie Sanders is also advocating Disruption, although without the mishugas, obnoxiousness,low brow-ness, narcissism, insults, hate, misogyny, racism, jingoism, xenophobia, or winking at violence.

The momentum for Disruption is palpable, but we have been living through 8 years of thoughtless disruption that has yielded frustration left and right. Disruption can’t be the goal. We have to Outthink Disruption. Progress occurs incrementally, and often through compromise—something that our culture  (or politics) doesn’t embrace. We expect instantaneous results—disruption—and we tout our way of life as the ultimate because we can do whatever we want in an instant.

Except we can’t. Not without ramifications.

As a culture, we have become hateful—not only of those we fear might seek to destroy us, but hateful of ourselves, and we are destroying ourselves. The vitriol that occurs during Primary season, and through the general election, seems to heighten each cycle. I’m not sure if we are really more hateful than ever, or that hate has a YUUUUUUUGE platform. Everyone yells and posts and overexposes and then stays within one’s own social and anti-social media bubble, condensing the ire and agreement.

I’ve heard all sorts of statistics, (which I take with a grain of salt), about how much hate there is for Trump and for Hillary. HATE. Hate is very powerful. It envelops and distorts. It is irrational. It is toxic. I hate hate. I have certainly felt hate. The fire of hate fuels the ego’s sense of what is right. But I don’t want to hate people. It’s actually too easy. I hate intolerance. I hate plenty of ideas and ways of being. Hate can lead to dangerous disruption—not merely shaking things up or tweaking the status quo.

We have to Outthink Disruption, which means examining our love of hate (and our uncomfortableness with thinking outside our comfort zones).

When I saw the tagline “Outthink Disruption” for IBM analytics, I thought it was a clever, albeit almost 20 year late, response to Apple’s “Think Different” campaign. “Think Different” was actually a response to IBM’s motto “Think”. And here we are in 2016….

Can we Outthink Disruption?

The Man Who Sold the World

Michael Stipe:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hF2ed7ouU3o

Nirvana: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fregObNcHC8

Lulu: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RV8ywV7KwSI

David Bowie:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HSH–SJKVQQ

 

 
Over the last 24 hours, I have been inundated with videos of Trump and Stipe, with headlines about the most incredible audio from these men.

Trump managed to suggest that women who get abortions should be punished, and when the backlash was immediate and fierce, he backtracked and suggested that doctors who perform abortions should be punished, not the women who undergo the procedure.

Even abortion foes reacted strongly against Trump’s comment. John Kasich tweeted: “Of course women shouldn’t be punished for having an abortion.” This from a staunch opponent of abortions. Really? Since when have women who are pro-choice, much less suffered through an abortion, not been punished? Granted, the punishment is not prison or a fine, but the endless shaming and aggression against those who are pro-choice has always trumped (pun intended) compassion or concern or even curiosity about alternatives.

Whether Trump’s latest belch will affect his polling remains to be seen. After all, he’s the man who sold the world. He says what some think. He’s a zillionaire, so he must be the most capable and smartest in the world. He wrote The Art of the Deal. He’s bought and sold so much, you won’t believe how much. He’s the man who sold the world.
As all the media, social and anti-social, were broadcasting and posting Trump’s comments—about punishing women or physicians, the media was also sharing a rebroadcast (you-tube) of Michael Stipe, former frontman for R.E.M., singing a haunting cover of “The Man Who Sold the World”, by David Bowie. He performed it on The Tonight Show the other night, in advance of his “Music of David Bowie” tribute concert. His haunting rendition hardly conjures The Donald, but captures the personal searching for ourselves that Bowie’s version, and Nirvana’s unplugged version, also evoke. Yet, Stipe puts his own stamp on it, as did Bowie and Nirvana (Kurt Cobain, especially).

Art speaks truth to the human experience, and individuals find their specific identifications with a work of art. The style of Bowie’s 1970 song, and Nirvana’s 1995 Unplugged cover, and Michael Stipe’s 2016 rendition are each artist specific, yet the song seems timeless.

Demagoguery and hate are also timeless. There are always those who would sell the world for power. I couldn’t help but consider this song that was being posted everywhere yesterday in the context of the events of the day—namely, Donald Trump’s latest. The interesting thing about “The Man Who Sold the World” is that it is both the demagogue and us.

If the original intent of the song was to meet and “shake hands” with our “other” (lesser) selves, its meaning extends to a societal level. We not only have tremendous economical, social, religious, educational, cultural differences among us in the U.S., but we somehow have to shake hands and meet. We can’t merely sell the world and think we will continue to be successful.

I know that the man who sells the world, i.e. Donald Trump, is far from the guy Michael Stipe, Kurt Cobain, or David Bowie were evoking, but there is something quite amazing about The Man Who Sold the World. It is fitting that Stipe’s affecting rendition was being played everywhere the same day that Trump’s “punishing” comments were everywhere.

We passed upon the stair,
We spoke of was and when,
Although I wasn’t there,
He said I was his friend,
Which came as some surprise.
I spoke into his eyes,
“I thought you died alone
A long long time ago.”

“Oh no, not me,
I never lost control
You’re face to face
With the man who sold the world.”

I laughed and shook his hand
And made my way back home,
I searched for form and land,
For years and years I roamed.
I gazed a gazley stare
At all the millions here:
“We must have died alone,
A long long time ago.”

“Who knows? Not me,
We never lost control.
You’re face to face
With the man who sold the world.”

“Who knows? Not me,
We never lost control.
You’re face to face
With the man who sold the world. —David Bowie, first released in the US, Nov.1970

 

 
I just discovered Lulu (To Sir With Love)’s version of the song from 1974. Perhaps this version, albeit 1974 pop, is the most appropriate version. Women still feel face to face with The Man Who Sold the World. Of course, the more versions, the more we each recognize The Man Who Sold the World. We’re face to face with him.