Tuesday, November 28, 2017
It was one kind of world when, every now and then, some strikingly stupid thing would happen and be worth commenting on from out here in the bleachers of far far right field. I could usually think of something to say once a month that wasn't just a rewording of what someone else might have said in front of their teevee. But this new world, which is still unfolding, still probably in its infancy, well "prozet," as Warren Oates said in an obviously ironic tone from the table just below the General Mapache's. The other day, probably Friday last, Libby was reading that LaVar Burton had received a volley of hate on the Twitter from Trump people who thought he was LaVar Ball. That's almost as good as the endless stories of men who end up shooting themselves in church whilst attempting to show off their new 9mm to their buddies or their buddies' wives. (I always thought the crack about the gene pool being improved by each gun stupidity wasn't so bad, but that was before next week's new massacre.)
Trump's response to the massacre of over 300 worshiping Muslims in Egypt is a call for further banning of Muslims. Genius. But the President trumps himself (so to speak, if you're playing the poker game where the normal low hand is the winner). Yesterday was the Pocahontas thing, garnished with layers of further irony. The whole event occurs under the gaze of Andy Jackson. The President patronizes Mr. MacDonald with a pat on the shoulder after delivering the Pocahontas line as thought it's some sort of shared joke. Those Navajoes fought in all the Pacific island campaigns, and in Korea. And an honor which they might have otherwise taken home and framed becomes instead merely another sick joke, Trump's forever festering hatred of anyone who for any reason doesn't treat him like the Emperor he imagines he is. Trump only respects the people he fears. Everyone else he patronizes, or insults.
I was proud of Mr. LaVar Ball. Ball also thinks he's a kind of Emperor, he's just playing in the world of sports promotion, and he can't pretend that his son is better than LeBron or Stef Curry. But thank you Mr. Ball, for not becoming a toady to Trump. If I had your email I'd send you a little note. Put up a big thank you to Xi Jinping, President of China. A few decades back another little Emperor, Ross Perot, had some of his employees arrested in Iran. He didn't like it. He devised a plan and, with some able assistance, got them out. Or more accurately, broke them out. Whatever you thought of Mr. Perot as a presidential candidate, he had some gumption.
Emperor Trump did not rescue the three UCLA basketball players from China. At best, Mr. Trump asked his counterpart and much more capable Chinese leader, Xi Jinping, to please let the boys go. For whatever reason, Xi Jinping agreed to let them go, and so they went. It's even possible that Mr. Trump and Mr. Xi Jinping performed a little kabuki for our amusement. But Mr. Trump did not rescue the ballers from China. He didn't have the keys.
You should see the scurrilous notes LaVar Burton received from the imbecile 33.5%. (You'll have to look them up yourself.) Mr. Trump's minions include the folks who, responding to the 9/11 attack, shot Sikhs who were working in 7-11's because they thought they were Muslims. They likely include the guy up on NC49 between here and Burlington, who's put up a gigantic Confederate flag on a gigantic flag pole in the middle of a vacant field in front of his house. They surely include the sad Alabama voters who are going to vote for Roy Moore because his opponent, Mr. "soft-on-crime" Jones, got two Klansmen convicted of killing the four little girls in the Birmingham Church Bombing of 1963, at long long last. That's a good Alabama citizen for you, finally wiping up some of the bloodstains. You'd think some of the preachers supporting Moore would actually give Mr. Jones a little credit. And maybe some do--just not the ones in the news.
Finally some thanksgiving. Last Monday one of the little copper connectors that comprise our little plumbing system here on the ranch failed. I used Quest pipe when I ran the water decades ago. It was a wonderful improvement on plumbing, which before required a torch, copper fittings, and so forth. All you needed was this special crimping tool, which I borrowed from a friend. But it turned out after a few years in the field that the Quest system often failed, and that was particularly bad news if your pipes were in the wall, or under the house. So a fitting finally failed here. I was freaking out and talking about hiring a plumber. Libby (here's the thanksgiving) thought she could make the repair. She did some reading about the new replacement for Quest, which is called PEX and has it's own similar fittings, either crimp-rings or a new deal called "shark bite" push-to-fit. They're made it looks like of brass, not copper. They have a similar crimping tool. Libby set in to crimp and push to fit yesterday, after amassing the needed bits at Lowes. It took a long day, and the idea of having running water--even hot running water no less--had after a week become a big-rock candy mountain for us. Now and again I'd help--just looking mostly, but once actually keeping a pipe in place with my shoulder. Libby's perseverance has amortized over the years, while I've found my store of that commodity to be seriously dwindling. I argued several times for the plumber, but I also felt like it would be a damn good thing for Libby to have the opportunity to learn the way of PEX, if she was interested in that course of study, which she was. So I stifled my self-pity, which was a wholesome exercise, and not nearly so difficult as actually trying to figure out each new connection, and how the blamed push-to-fit gizmos really work. It turned out in the end that to fix that one broken Quest fitting--admittedly a 3-way connection--required some nine new connections. This is surely yet another of the fundamentals of plumbing. You cut one pipe and you have to put in two splices. I can't explain it here--but it's true, a kind of string theory.
We're on the way home now. We'll probably replace all the old copper connectors and get rid of a lot of the Quest pipe. I'd rather get ahead of the next break, if you know what I mean. Something to do on a winter day. And thank you again, both LaVars.
And Felice Navidad to Puerto Rico, in solidarity. We hope your water returns, and your electricity! A week was bad enough, and you have been two months and counting.
The next bomb may be the destruction of net neutrality. No one knows what will happen, but the big businesses who will be given full Republican "Liberty" may well make the internet of people like me, just ordinary folks who think they have something to say, and who think "to google" is just a part of life, a thing of the past. It's happened before. I worked for a year with some old masons who had started their working life in a time of trade unions in North Carolina, and who fondly recalled great wages, good benefits, full employment. NC went "right to work" back in the late '50s, long long ago. These old hands all complained bitterly of the vanishing of the good times. And they all voted Republican, and held deeply racist views concerning the ability of working men of other races to even do the job they excelled at. My boss used to say, "A N****r can't even push a wheelbarrow." For a while there was a black masonry team right across the road from us, building the same sort of building we were building. Trump all the way! Just wave that ole Stars and Bars. After a while I decided to get out and free-lance on my own, which was a pretty good choice as it's turned out.
Wednesday, November 15, 2017
Ever since Ronald Reagan decided that the abortion issue was a perfect wedge to drive into the heart of the American electorate, heartland American churches have been Republican to the core. The fact that women have always had the leverage of their bodies used against them has been entirely ignored by the American Right. Indeed, for the Southern Baptists it's just a “natural fact.” The fact that abortion is something one can do “at home” is ignored too. In a world where abortion is illegal, a woman, and particularly a young woman, is at the mercy of the company she keeps or happens to find herself with. “You're a young child. I'm the District Attorney. Who's going to believe you.” It's always the girl who gets pregnant. And to add another layer of icing on this cake, the guy can always buy her an abortion, even if abortion is illegal, if the guy has some coin. What's a nice trip to Switzerland worth these days? Or a trip to a doctor in the next town who deals with these problems. Think of the kids and their futures. He was going to law school in Tuscaloosa.
Roe V. Wade put the beginning of the end to this. Not just the illegality of abortion, but probably much more important, the leverage men have over women. In some ways Roe V. Wade is a profoundly important plank in the scaffold of democracy which the United States has been building long-term, since a founding mired in slavery and property rights and a racist colonialism that ignored the folks that already lived here from the very get-go down on Roanoke Island, NC. This is the long arc of history Martin Luther King, Jr. was talking about on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial one steamy August afternoon in 1963. It happened, that fine speech, I'll always be proud I was there.
Roe V. Wade obviously has galled Roy Moore, Jr. The reasons for his interest in very young women are probably a psychological mystery, but as he said to the girl he allegedly tried to rape behind her place of work in 1978, “you're a child.” You have no power. Relax and enjoy it. My guess is, Mrs. Nelson probably had never even heard of Roe V. Wade at that point, and even today is “agin” it, since she and her husband voted, as she testifies, for Trump.
Mr. Moore has been obsessed with Roe V. Wade, most likely because his antenna is finely tuned to the wedge issue. Note the carefully crafted images in the photo above. Through the years, as he managed to gain more and more political power in Alabama, he wrapped himself in the trappings of religion and argued in speeches and his own court rulings that the laws of God as he interpreted them superseded United States law and the Supreme Court. He was abetted in this distortion of American law by Ronald Reagan, who took a Presidential stand against Roe V. Wade in the early 1980s. Moore was also abetted by the various white, fundamentalist cult preachers who themselves saw opposition to Roe as a good horse to ride financially speaking. In Alabama, as in many other places, a great many voters think removing Roe V. Wade is the Silver Chalice, the sole criterion of how to vote. A man who managed to convict two racist murderers in the Birmingham church bombing is reviled by Moore supporters because he supports choice. It is the bright red line. It is trumped, apparently, by absolutely nothing. Among these voters, Mr. Moore still wins. (And there is the plain fact that Mr. Jones put the Klan in jail, so he's obviously a “race traitor.”)
So it should be at least understood that what Mr. Moore and his cult fundamentalist proponents want is an end to women's equality in America. It angers these people, enrages them. The bargain they want to make is, “we'll protect you, just be quiet, lie back, enjoy it.” There are other bargains that can be discussed later. For now, the passenger door is locked.
Mr. Moore is adept at this old logic, the logic of the plantation. Brandishing his little silver pistol the other day was symbolism. So was riding in on his horse, with his cowboy hat and black leather vest. He was MacArthur, walking through the water to the beach. I have returned, an exiled Patriarch, to my kingdom. It was as fine a ceremony as the procession to Westminster, with golden coach and bejeweled orb. But we should be able to see through this ceremony. Roe V. Wade confers power on American women. Even women who have not yet read about Roe V. Wade, who are just coming into their own lives and working a part-time job after school at some steak house in Gadsden, where their job involves learning how to tend to and please more well-off men who can pay the tab and tip if the service is perfect enough to suit their tastes. The waitress is the apprenticeship to the fundamentalist marriage, if you just play your cards right. Mr. Moore hated Roe V. Wade back then, and he hates it now. It takes away a power he believes is his, because some Old Testament God conferred it to him via Adam. Eve in those olden days was the sinner, the bringer of not life but pain and death. She was to be Adam's servant. She was literally “made” from him, and for him.
As Mr. Moore says to Sean Hannity, “I didn't date young women, but if I did, I asked their mothers first.” It's a culture you can still find here and there, in places like Saudi Arabia and Afganistan and Albania. Mr. Moore's behavior is not aberrant. It is of a piece. Roe V. Wade conflicts, for Mr. Moore, with the Old Testament laws. Mr. Moore is deposed by Roe V. Wade. And this deep conflict drives much of current Republicanism, particularly the part grounded in white fundamentalism. Perhaps Mr. Moore's basic “problem” is merely that he took the old ways a little too literally. If you look at it from Mrs. Nelson's point of view I mean. She had to carry his problem in her heart, for 40 some years. Today, Mr. Moore whines about his “reputation.” It's a reputation he stole. And that's also in the Bible somewheres, maybe even on the stone monument Moore paid for and even carved his copyright into.
Friday, November 10, 2017
The band I used to play in did a lot of work in Alabama. For all I know, nobody who came to hear us ever voted for George Wallace or Judge Roy Moore. It's a hell of a thing to be stuck in a state that never votes the way you think. It's a little better here in NC. Yes, we inflicted Jesse Helms on our country and the world, but we also elected some decent Democratic politicians, including our current Governor, who beat out a remarkable jerk swimming against the Trump tide of last year. The Virginia elections just past this week also offer some optimism to those of us who keep trying to remain sane, in the face of the authoritarian tide. This Roy Moore thing though. Dayammmm as they say. I would have thought that just brandishing his little silver pistol at his acceptance speech would have raised certain questions among the faithful. But the blinders just keep getting sewed tighter I guess.
This is not a new problem.
For further reading, see http://driftglass.blogspot.com/2017/11/remember-bush-plan-for-iraq.html
Just because Mr. Trump can't remember what he said in the last paragraph doesn't mean we can't keep a larger focus.
Sunday, October 29, 2017
I think it was probably mid-'50s when I learned that flying the American flag upside down was a code for trouble, nation in distress. Boy scouts lore again. We also learned to march in close formation, and to savor Army surplus gear. The Army had a more practical canteen than the Scouts model, which operated more like a purse on a long strap. I had an Army canteen on camping trips to the mountains, and to the piney woods around Fort Bragg. But I also had a dad who often said I should "read between the lines," and so when he accompanied me to movies like Flying Leathernecks and Sabre Jet, the exciting air battles were tempered in my ten-year-old brain. Good thing I still think. I still managed to shoot a neighbor kid in the ankle with a .22 one Sunday afternoon when I was supposed to be at the movies--this was when I was older, probably 8th Grade. But I at least had the rifle pointed at the ground like my Dad always taught me when I accidentally discharged it, and the kid, Ed Marr was his name, went on to serve with honor in the 82nd Airborne, which meant that he could land a jump ok. He healed up in other words, and didn't decide to kill me!
But we learned a lot more than President Trump learned apparently, and thank god we didn't learn enough about living a cunning life to turn into what Trump also seems to be. There's certainly no question but that Trump learned, very long ago, that one need not ever "tell the truth." I always knew pretty well when I was lying. So did the rest of Troop 3 I think. Maybe we didn't really understand, in a way that involves real empathy, what those bullet holes that appeared in the airman's leg during the dogfight in Leathernecks actually meant. But we knew something. Maybe enough to start seeing through Vietnam, although I'll certainly give plenty of credit to Martin Luther King, Jr., who came some after the Boy Scouts in my education.
Anyways, it's pretty easy to see through Trump's phony patriotism, even when Pence articulates it in his masterful stylings of reprehence. Newt couldn't do it better, even with his new Vatican connections. And that gets us to General Kelly. USMC, Retired. Man of the Empty Barrel. With Trump there is always a kind of blur that must be contended with. Trump lives in masterful inarticulation. Kelly, the other day, was clear as ice, strolling amongst the tombstones and savoring the fact that, as he said, "I put many of them there." You'd think the only worthy soldiers in Kelly's army are the deceased. If you didn't know one of them personal, why you don't even deserve to sit with the adults and talk realities, even if those so-called realities include an utterly spurious rendition of an event Congresswoman Wilson attended which turns out (thank god) to be preserved on tape.
None of this is a surprise. General Kelly helped build his deportation force before switching jobs. Here's what some of them are doing, in Laredo, TX.
Border Agents Proudly Detain Just-Hospitalized Child Who Has Cerebral Palsy
Look at her. That's the face of evil right there. [photo of smiling ten-year-old girl with withered arm] That is the face of a future rapist or drug mule or murdering member of the MS-13 gang that has us all huddled in our houses, curtains closed in fear. Where will she strike? Whose job will she steal? Yeah, when you look at the grinning girl in a Moana t-shirt, you are seeing the insidious reality of the illegal immigration problem in the United States. And God help us if we don't treat her like the criminal she is.
Or, maybe, you could see little Rosamaria Hernandez, who was brought to the United States 10 years ago, when she was a 3-month old baby. Her parents wanted to get her more help for the cerebral palsy she has, and this week she was on her way to a hospital, from Laredo, Texas, to Corpus Christi, in an ambulance so she could get an emergency gall bladder operation.
The ambulance had to cross an immigration checkpoint, which led to Border Patrol agents discovering Rosamaria's status as an undocumented immigrant. They allowed her to get the surgery, accompanying the ambulance to the hospital, but they were stationed outside her room to take her away when she was well enough to be moved. The surgery was on Tuesday. On Wednesday, the Border Patrol took her into custody and brought her to a detention facility in San Antonio to await deportation.
We're talking about a 10 year-old developmentally disabled girl with cerebral palsy who has lived all but 3 months of her life in the United States and who asked her mother over video chat, "Mom, where are you?" after she was being taken away. Oh, and she's got a grandfather who is a permanent U.S. resident and a cousin who is a citizen. If you can read those facts and not feel even a wince of empathy, you are a fucking monster who deserves this Trump-coated shit world we're damned to exist in. Hell, you probably love wallowing around in it.
I wonder how the Border Patrol agents felt doing this. I wonder if they were proud of how they were discharging their duties. I wonder if they went home after work and told their partners or spouses or other family how they were responsible for making sure that a little girl was taken away from her parents. I wonder if they thought for even a moment that they could have been using their time perhaps going after those drug mules. Or maybe stopping some human trafficking. I wonder if they thought it was really worth it, that it had been a good day. I suppose they could claim they were just doing their jobs, except that immigration enforcement standards say they shouldn't be targeting hospitals (let alone kids in hospitals).
And then I saw this: [photo of smiling uniformed Border Patrol agent]
That's one of the agents smiling as Rosamaria's bed rolled by. And I both had a moment of sympathy - here was a man who was obviously smiling to comfort a little girl going through a frightening situation - and more than a few moments of rage. Because that smiling son of a bitch is there to make sure that little girl's life is turned upside down and that damage is done to her that she may never recover from.
I hope smiling fuckface up there wakes up in the middle of the night, wondering if the anxiety that's pounding his chest is a heart attack, as he realizes that his life was devoted to hurting children. And I hope he'll tell his supervisors that it's bullshit and can't he go after real criminals. And I hope his supervisors will tell people at the Department of Homeland Security that it's bullsh--
Nah. Who am I kidding? He's fuckin' proud of what he did. And so are all of the idiot hordes who voted for this.
This is who we're saluting when we stand for the flag and then anthem today at all the sporting events, including some that will get hours of national attention later on in the evening, in Houston, TX, just up the road a bit from those streets of Laredo. It's of course not all we're saluting. It's of course always a mixed bag, this patriotism, unless and until some black day that's not quite here when the whole body of undoubtedly courageous young Americans who Kelly worships as the one percent, the true Americans, is so stained by his own hard corps of enforcers that the nice distinctions can no longer be made. It certainly has come to that in other places and other times.
We really ought to thank our stars for the handful of NFL players who are kneeling. Today I hope they're saving a place for that little girl who went to the hospital and is now in military custody and on her way, apparently, to a deportation to a place she's never known, and without her loving mother. This is General Kelly's logic, as it was the logic of General Sherman, and of Harry Truman. When you grow up--if you've learned enough--you can often see the tragic flaws before they are visible to those who embody them. All you can do, sometimes, is fly the flag upside down.
General Mattis, meanwhile, said that we're not the Peace Corps in Niger, we have guns. That didn't seem to me like some sort of consolation.