I really, really, do not want to write this post. I have been procrastinating like mad all while my gut rips itself apart. Even as I type I feel another anxiety attack coming on because as much as I talk the talk about being willing to offend those you care about/for, walking the walk is sometimes hard, especially when you know what you have to say is going to stir up a monster shit storm all directed at you and probably lose you a few friends in the process. If I am going to be true to myself, and the intent of this blog, I have to do it. Continue reading
“Don’t read the comments.” I think about that advice, advice I mentioned the other day. It is good advice. I know there are so many voices that care about the oppressed, but sometimes the oppressors drown them out. Please don’t think that means we don’t know you are there, and please don’t join the other side by calling us ungrateful. We are grateful, sometimes though, the climbing is hard. Continue reading
Ray mows the “lawn” first thing in the morning. Yes, he puts the word in scare quotes even as he thinks of it. A few square yards around the trailer he and Missy have lived in the last thirty years hardly qualifies as a lawn, but it still needs taking care of. Not everyone on the lot does it, most don’t, but he figures that is there choice. Some of the others complain, but not him. He takes care of his spot, the one that hasn’t changed since Ellie, their eldest, was born. It may not be much but it is their castle. Continue reading
I got into an argument last week in the comments of a friend’s FB post. I know, I know, I have been told, don’t read the comments, but I did. The post in question featured a picture of this (strictly FB) friend posing with Dan Savage. Mr. Savage, as you may know, is an occasionally polemic lGbt activist and media personality. He has, in the past, been guilty of making biphobic, transphobic, and sexist remarks. He has since apologized for his past behavior and, for the most has done an impressive, and seemingly sincere, 180 on these issues. That said he stumbled a bit in the past year in regards to his treatment of a trans* minor at a discussion in Chicago. Continue reading
A few months ago I encouraged my fellow Working Families Party Members to get behind Howie Hawkins for Governor. To my knowledge no one from the Hawkins campaign actively sought the Working Families endorsement. I was not at the convention so I have no idea whether or not anyone was stumping for him, if I had been there I would have, because I think he has the right mix of ideas and recognition to have truly made a viable third party run for governor if he had both major progressive parties in New York behind him. Instead the little-known Fordham professor Zephyr Teachout was the name bandied about the convention as the alternative to “Prince” Andrew Cuomo.
Time to roll out an old complaint. This is going to sound horribly arrogant, in no small part because it is, at least a little, but I sometimes wonder if humanity in general and Americans in particular are mature enough for democracy. When push comes to shove I do not actually believe that. Maturity really is not a prerequisite for self determination, at least absolute maturity is not. That is a good thing too, because Americans are really immature about their politics. Going back to my oft used comparison, Americans treat politics like a football game, rooting for their team even when it is clear when their team is not rooting for them. So long as their guys are winning they don’t care what they are doing and when they are losing anything the other guys do is wrong. Continue reading
So yeah, I’d like to see non-violent, civil disobedience as the tool of choice for change. I have read enough history to know I do not want to be in the crosshairs of some wannabee Robespierre when the revolution comes. That said I have tell you it is irksome how many of my fellow White Americans suddenly are in love with the philosophies of King and Gandhi now that their Black neighbors are rightfully standing up in protest and some of the protesters are louder and scarier (because, gee, aren’t angry, unarmed black people so scary?) Not that there is a lot of violence on the ground anywhere but you know what, if there was, I am pretty sure White Americans could not handle five days of being treated like animals without giving in to the urge to say “OK, I guess I am,” much less five centuries. Where were all these calls to sing Kumbaya after 9/11? No, White America is in love with MLK, not because the nobility of his message, but because it gets us off the hook and somehow puts the people already bloodied on it. Continue reading