Tuesday, June 30, 2020
Oops!
Not sure why, but my last post about Hurricane Katrina was only partially published. Not sure why. I'll try to figure it out....
Monday, June 29, 2020
Remembering Hurricane Katrina, and My Brush With Greatness
In 2005, a devastating hurricane hit the gulf coast of the United States. Life as we knew it stood still as those of us unaffected by the devastation watched it on TV. A levee in New Orleans breached, and the ocean came in, flooding many neighborhoods. Houses flooded, causing people trapped by the rising waters to go up higher and higher in their homes just so they wouldn't drown. MANY didn't make it, and the TV coverage was horrific. Helicopters, boats, people wading on foot through the floodwaters--all in an effort to save people up to their necks in putrid water.
Poor New Orleans didn't know where to put the refugees, so they were sent to the Superdome however they could get there. Power was out. There was no air conditioning. It was hot and humid. Water/food was scarce. People came with only the clothes on their backs. There were no beds....only hundreds of people trying to survive, and within just a couple of days, things got ugly.
At the time, I was the Indiana Coordinator for an international radio network known as SATERN. (Salvation Army Team Emergency Radio Network). I was friends with the National Director of SATERN and was on board to do whatever I could to help the rescue/recovery efforts. Because The Salvation Army and SATERN had people on the ground and on the airwaves to help connect people worried about their loved ones, and because I took over as Net Control a couple of times, my name and contact information was published as a header, with others, on the top of the front page on The Indianapolis Star. Shortly thereafter, I had two local TV stations in my radio shack taking pictures and asking questions. I was also getting phone calls from people frantic to know how loved ones in New Orleans were doing, since they hadn't been able to contact them.
One such phone call came from a man named Kelly, representative of the Indianapolis Colts. The Colt's star quarterback, Peyton Manning, had property in New Orleans. Mr. Kelly emphasized that Mr. Manning had not asked about the property, but he (Kelly) was hoping to surprise him (Manning) with news that his property was high and dry, if it was. He asked if I could help. I sat on that for a number of hours. I was the Net Control at the time. I could have put the inquiry out on the network to see if any operator in the N.O. area could advise, but because amateur radio is a public outlet for anyone who can access the radio frequencies, I was fully aware that this might not be something that we needed to broadcast. People were dying. It would appear to be pandering to celebrity to ask anyone in the affected area if someone's personal property was safe. Then, too, I felt that my own judgment would be criticized for even thinking that the inquiry was worthy. Thus, I called Mr. Kelly back and told him that I wouldn't put his inquiry on the air, even though I wanted to, because it wouldn't make either Mr. Manning or me look good. He agreed. Whew! Dodged a bullet there!
A few days later, after many reports of lawlessness in N.O. and contamination by the flood waters that people had been in, Katrina "refugees" were being put on planes and shipped out to cities around the country that would take them. I didn't know it at the time, but most of them had no clue where they were being sent. Indianapolis accepted a plane load, and The Salvation Army Eagle Creek Corps (church) was assigned to receive and shelter them. They were being flown in to a closed international terminal to be processed. SATERN was asked to provide communications. I had someone stationed at the corps, someone on the bus that would take them to the corps from the airport, and at the airport (me). It was a big deal!
The first thing I did was ask permission of a repeater association in Indy to use their repeater for our radio traffic. Permission granted. I wasn't asking for all traffic to be shut down for regulars on the repeater--just that they yield to priority communications when they happened. They did. What I realized only later was that the whole local radio world was listening to us!
The Disaster Director for TSA (The Salvation Army) had tried to think of everything. The first thing he asked of me was to confirm how many children were on the plane. I could confirm that there were none. No children. God bless him, he had ice cream planned for them!, if there were. Not everything was under his control, however, and I was somewhat horrified by the things that weren't.
*The refugees--99% African American-- sat on the plane quite awhile after their arrival before people in hazmat suits went in to the plane to bring them out, a couple at a time, as if they were aliens from another planet. They came with nothing but the clothes on their backs, having been in those same clothes for days.
*After deplaning, the folks were taken directly to a decontamination tent on the tarmac. They were hosed down and put in hazmat suits and allowed to go into the terminal building.
*Inside the terminal, they were triaged by health officials. Some were sent directly to the hospital. The rest were destined for the TSA shelter but had to wait for the bus to take them all at once.
*Inside the terminal were tables and tables of t-shirts, comfy sweatpants, shoes--all coming from TSA Thrift Stores. There were also tables of snacks: apples, bananas, oranges, and chips...and, of course water bottles everywhere.
*Everyone was grateful to be out of the mess in N. O....except one. She was an attractive 20-something woman who got on the evacuation plane thinking she was headed for Texas where she had family. When she found out she was in Indianapolis, she got unruly and frantic, saying she would WALK to Texas if she had to. At issue was the fact that she was deaf. She could read lips some but not enough to understand her own circumstances. It took TSA an hour or two to find an interpreter to come to help out, but they did. The last I heard, this young woman was referred to a college for the deaf in DC to help her become a lawyer.
*When it finally came time to load the bus to go to the TSA shelter, I followed. There was a police officer on site, just to keep things safe. As he, next to me, watched the folks get off the bus, he said, "I see no trouble-makers here." Nope. Just old folks needing a place to be. There were so many rumors of lawlessness in N.O. that everyone expected the worst. I have no idea how most of those dear people managed over the weeks and months after their "rescue" from the Astrodome so many years ago. I only know that, inside that shelter, they had a safe place to sleep, food, and nurses to look after them.
Know what? No matter what efforts I gave to that endeavor, **I** was the one who received the blessing. I worked to help people whose homes had been flooded and had nowhere to go. I could assist, but then I could go home to my safe little house-on-a-slab. It changed me forever.
Poor New Orleans didn't know where to put the refugees, so they were sent to the Superdome however they could get there. Power was out. There was no air conditioning. It was hot and humid. Water/food was scarce. People came with only the clothes on their backs. There were no beds....only hundreds of people trying to survive, and within just a couple of days, things got ugly.
At the time, I was the Indiana Coordinator for an international radio network known as SATERN. (Salvation Army Team Emergency Radio Network). I was friends with the National Director of SATERN and was on board to do whatever I could to help the rescue/recovery efforts. Because The Salvation Army and SATERN had people on the ground and on the airwaves to help connect people worried about their loved ones, and because I took over as Net Control a couple of times, my name and contact information was published as a header, with others, on the top of the front page on The Indianapolis Star. Shortly thereafter, I had two local TV stations in my radio shack taking pictures and asking questions. I was also getting phone calls from people frantic to know how loved ones in New Orleans were doing, since they hadn't been able to contact them.
One such phone call came from a man named Kelly, representative of the Indianapolis Colts. The Colt's star quarterback, Peyton Manning, had property in New Orleans. Mr. Kelly emphasized that Mr. Manning had not asked about the property, but he (Kelly) was hoping to surprise him (Manning) with news that his property was high and dry, if it was. He asked if I could help. I sat on that for a number of hours. I was the Net Control at the time. I could have put the inquiry out on the network to see if any operator in the N.O. area could advise, but because amateur radio is a public outlet for anyone who can access the radio frequencies, I was fully aware that this might not be something that we needed to broadcast. People were dying. It would appear to be pandering to celebrity to ask anyone in the affected area if someone's personal property was safe. Then, too, I felt that my own judgment would be criticized for even thinking that the inquiry was worthy. Thus, I called Mr. Kelly back and told him that I wouldn't put his inquiry on the air, even though I wanted to, because it wouldn't make either Mr. Manning or me look good. He agreed. Whew! Dodged a bullet there!
A few days later, after many reports of lawlessness in N.O. and contamination by the flood waters that people had been in, Katrina "refugees" were being put on planes and shipped out to cities around the country that would take them. I didn't know it at the time, but most of them had no clue where they were being sent. Indianapolis accepted a plane load, and The Salvation Army Eagle Creek Corps (church) was assigned to receive and shelter them. They were being flown in to a closed international terminal to be processed. SATERN was asked to provide communications. I had someone stationed at the corps, someone on the bus that would take them to the corps from the airport, and at the airport (me). It was a big deal!
The first thing I did was ask permission of a repeater association in Indy to use their repeater for our radio traffic. Permission granted. I wasn't asking for all traffic to be shut down for regulars on the repeater--just that they yield to priority communications when they happened. They did. What I realized only later was that the whole local radio world was listening to us!
The Disaster Director for TSA (The Salvation Army) had tried to think of everything. The first thing he asked of me was to confirm how many children were on the plane. I could confirm that there were none. No children. God bless him, he had ice cream planned for them!, if there were. Not everything was under his control, however, and I was somewhat horrified by the things that weren't.
*The refugees--99% African American-- sat on the plane quite awhile after their arrival before people in hazmat suits went in to the plane to bring them out, a couple at a time, as if they were aliens from another planet. They came with nothing but the clothes on their backs, having been in those same clothes for days.
*After deplaning, the folks were taken directly to a decontamination tent on the tarmac. They were hosed down and put in hazmat suits and allowed to go into the terminal building.
*Inside the terminal, they were triaged by health officials. Some were sent directly to the hospital. The rest were destined for the TSA shelter but had to wait for the bus to take them all at once.
*Inside the terminal were tables and tables of t-shirts, comfy sweatpants, shoes--all coming from TSA Thrift Stores. There were also tables of snacks: apples, bananas, oranges, and chips...and, of course water bottles everywhere.
*Everyone was grateful to be out of the mess in N. O....except one. She was an attractive 20-something woman who got on the evacuation plane thinking she was headed for Texas where she had family. When she found out she was in Indianapolis, she got unruly and frantic, saying she would WALK to Texas if she had to. At issue was the fact that she was deaf. She could read lips some but not enough to understand her own circumstances. It took TSA an hour or two to find an interpreter to come to help out, but they did. The last I heard, this young woman was referred to a college for the deaf in DC to help her become a lawyer.
*When it finally came time to load the bus to go to the TSA shelter, I followed. There was a police officer on site, just to keep things safe. As he, next to me, watched the folks get off the bus, he said, "I see no trouble-makers here." Nope. Just old folks needing a place to be. There were so many rumors of lawlessness in N.O. that everyone expected the worst. I have no idea how most of those dear people managed over the weeks and months after their "rescue" from the Astrodome so many years ago. I only know that, inside that shelter, they had a safe place to sleep, food, and nurses to look after them.
Know what? No matter what efforts I gave to that endeavor, **I** was the one who received the blessing. I worked to help people whose homes had been flooded and had nowhere to go. I could assist, but then I could go home to my safe little house-on-a-slab. It changed me forever.
When Worlds Collide--Breonna Taylor
There are two sides to every story. Sometimes, it helps to recognize both sides before coming to a judgment. Here is my take on the killing of Breonna Taylor.
Ms. Taylor was killed in a no-knock drug raid warrant in her apartment late at night. She was asleep in bed when police broke in. Her boyfriend, who was also in bed with her, thought it was a home invasion because police didn't identify themselves, so he shot one of the intruders in the leg. The police fired 22 rounds into the bedroom, hitting Ms. Taylor eight times. The boyfriend was arrested for shooting an officer of the law. (Charges were later dropped but could be reinstated.)
Breonna Taylor and her boyfriend are both black. She had no police record at all. She was an Emergency Medical Technician (EMT) for Louisville, KY. Can't attest to her boyfriend because I haven't researched that far yet. In any case, she was a public servant--certainly not a drug dealer. Apparently, the person the police were hoping to capture didn't live there and, in fact, was already in police custody at the time. They had the wrong information. In summary, there was no cause for a warrant of any kind on that location. Of course, the world has gone nuts about the whole thing, accusing police of racist motivation.
What do we know?
1. Ms. Taylor and BF were asleep in their apartment.
2. Police had a no-knock warrant to invade the apartment looking for some drug dealer who was, supposedly unbeknownst to them, already in custody. The no-knock warrant gives police the legal right to break into a home, unannounced, using the element of surprise to capture a suspect before he/she has a chance to escape. These are usually done in the middle of the night, breaking down a door, and using extreme force to capture a suspect. Sometimes, it works. Sometimes, it doesn't. I am now aware of at least TWO people--both black women--who were killed because people on the inside of the residence didn't understand that the people nosing around outside in the dark, or breaking into their homes, were police.
3. The released police report about the incident involving Breonna stated that there was no evidence of forcible entry, when--in fact--police broke the door down with a battering ram. (It also reported that there were no injuries, when a policeman was shot in the leg, and Breonna was killed.
Huh??)
4. The BF had every right to shoot at the intruders, according to US law. Of course, the police say that they announced themselves. The BF says otherwise. Don't know about you, but if I were sound asleep, I might not hear someone unexpected announcing their presence in my house in the middle of the night. Was the BF wrong in shooting at what he thought were home invaders? His firearm was legal.
*Going back to the beginning, SOMEONE tipped the police off that there was a drug dealer at that address. Who was that person? What intelligence gave "probable cause"?
*The police got a no-knock warrant to capture the drug dealer.
*Did the police go to the right residence? Did they respond to the residence provided to them? Or had they made a mistake?
*Did they announce their presence or not? They say they did. The person asleep in the house says they didn't. He says he believed he was a victim to home invasion. He shot, and the police fired back 22 times, hitting Breonna eight times.
*Do police lie? Yes...they most certainly do. I know this from first-hand experience.
*Do perpetrators lie? Also yes, but what reason would the BF have to lie about what happened? He called 911 looking for help for Breonna. Guilty people generally don't do that The dude that the police were after was already in custody, and neither of the victims of the home invasion had any police record.
*Who shot first? My best guess is that the BF did. (Haven't researched it.) He was confronted with armed people who broke into their apartment unannounced in the middle of the night. This is the United States. Stand your ground. Second Amendment. Your home is your castle...blah, blah.
*Are the police involved murderers? I'm thinking that the courts will say no. Since the no-knock warrant is legal, my guess is that the courts will say that they were acting within the law. In fact, these police are still on the payroll, pending investigation, but Breonna Taylor is no less dead. That enrages the American community, including me. Was it a racist attack? Who knows? I'm pretty sure that racism played a part. Sooo many questions.
*The law needs to change. Considering that people are allowed to defend their homes with firearms in the case of unlawful invasions, and considering that the law supports police invasions, someone is going to die. Sometimes more than one. Thankfully, Louisville (and perhaps other municipalities) have very recently revoked the no-knock warrants except in the case of actual physical danger..not just to catch drug dealers. It's now called Breonna's Law. But it's not over. I'm afraid that there is lots more to come because the courts, who have not yet arrested the officers who participated in this no-knock raid haven't been arrested or fired. What they did was supposedly legal. What they didn't do was account for error. And now, one innocent person is dead, another injured, and a third traumatized for life.
Was it worth it? The whole no-knock warrant issue is overkill for trying to catch a drug dealer. Rapist, kidnapper, murderer, sex trafficker, yes. Drug dealer? No. There is too large a margin for error, and the case of Breonna Taylor proves that.
How current is your information, officers, and what is the source of it?
Are you at the right address? Have you identified yourselves as police as you break down a door?
Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.
Ms. Taylor was killed in a no-knock drug raid warrant in her apartment late at night. She was asleep in bed when police broke in. Her boyfriend, who was also in bed with her, thought it was a home invasion because police didn't identify themselves, so he shot one of the intruders in the leg. The police fired 22 rounds into the bedroom, hitting Ms. Taylor eight times. The boyfriend was arrested for shooting an officer of the law. (Charges were later dropped but could be reinstated.)
Breonna Taylor and her boyfriend are both black. She had no police record at all. She was an Emergency Medical Technician (EMT) for Louisville, KY. Can't attest to her boyfriend because I haven't researched that far yet. In any case, she was a public servant--certainly not a drug dealer. Apparently, the person the police were hoping to capture didn't live there and, in fact, was already in police custody at the time. They had the wrong information. In summary, there was no cause for a warrant of any kind on that location. Of course, the world has gone nuts about the whole thing, accusing police of racist motivation.
What do we know?
1. Ms. Taylor and BF were asleep in their apartment.
2. Police had a no-knock warrant to invade the apartment looking for some drug dealer who was, supposedly unbeknownst to them, already in custody. The no-knock warrant gives police the legal right to break into a home, unannounced, using the element of surprise to capture a suspect before he/she has a chance to escape. These are usually done in the middle of the night, breaking down a door, and using extreme force to capture a suspect. Sometimes, it works. Sometimes, it doesn't. I am now aware of at least TWO people--both black women--who were killed because people on the inside of the residence didn't understand that the people nosing around outside in the dark, or breaking into their homes, were police.
3. The released police report about the incident involving Breonna stated that there was no evidence of forcible entry, when--in fact--police broke the door down with a battering ram. (It also reported that there were no injuries, when a policeman was shot in the leg, and Breonna was killed.
Huh??)
4. The BF had every right to shoot at the intruders, according to US law. Of course, the police say that they announced themselves. The BF says otherwise. Don't know about you, but if I were sound asleep, I might not hear someone unexpected announcing their presence in my house in the middle of the night. Was the BF wrong in shooting at what he thought were home invaders? His firearm was legal.
*Going back to the beginning, SOMEONE tipped the police off that there was a drug dealer at that address. Who was that person? What intelligence gave "probable cause"?
*The police got a no-knock warrant to capture the drug dealer.
*Did the police go to the right residence? Did they respond to the residence provided to them? Or had they made a mistake?
*Did they announce their presence or not? They say they did. The person asleep in the house says they didn't. He says he believed he was a victim to home invasion. He shot, and the police fired back 22 times, hitting Breonna eight times.
*Do police lie? Yes...they most certainly do. I know this from first-hand experience.
*Do perpetrators lie? Also yes, but what reason would the BF have to lie about what happened? He called 911 looking for help for Breonna. Guilty people generally don't do that The dude that the police were after was already in custody, and neither of the victims of the home invasion had any police record.
*Who shot first? My best guess is that the BF did. (Haven't researched it.) He was confronted with armed people who broke into their apartment unannounced in the middle of the night. This is the United States. Stand your ground. Second Amendment. Your home is your castle...blah, blah.
*Are the police involved murderers? I'm thinking that the courts will say no. Since the no-knock warrant is legal, my guess is that the courts will say that they were acting within the law. In fact, these police are still on the payroll, pending investigation, but Breonna Taylor is no less dead. That enrages the American community, including me. Was it a racist attack? Who knows? I'm pretty sure that racism played a part. Sooo many questions.
*The law needs to change. Considering that people are allowed to defend their homes with firearms in the case of unlawful invasions, and considering that the law supports police invasions, someone is going to die. Sometimes more than one. Thankfully, Louisville (and perhaps other municipalities) have very recently revoked the no-knock warrants except in the case of actual physical danger..not just to catch drug dealers. It's now called Breonna's Law. But it's not over. I'm afraid that there is lots more to come because the courts, who have not yet arrested the officers who participated in this no-knock raid haven't been arrested or fired. What they did was supposedly legal. What they didn't do was account for error. And now, one innocent person is dead, another injured, and a third traumatized for life.
Was it worth it? The whole no-knock warrant issue is overkill for trying to catch a drug dealer. Rapist, kidnapper, murderer, sex trafficker, yes. Drug dealer? No. There is too large a margin for error, and the case of Breonna Taylor proves that.
How current is your information, officers, and what is the source of it?
Are you at the right address? Have you identified yourselves as police as you break down a door?
Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.
Friday, June 19, 2020
Gade's General Store
My grandparents owned a 160-acre farm about five miles southwest of Streator, Illinois. Corn country. Corn and soy bean fields all around.
To get to the farm from Streator, you would head south on route 18 until it intersects with route 17 (what my grandmother always called the "hard road"), and turn right at the four corners.
In my youth, the four corners was the intersection at routes 18 and 17, complete with a four-way stop. On one of those corners was a gas station that also had a small lunch counter and sold ice cream cones. Although I don't think the place had an official name, it was always and forever known far and wide as the Four Corners. I think there were farmers who were "regulars" at the Four Corners. It was a gathering place, of sorts, out in the middle of nowhere.
After turning right (west) onto route 17, you had to go under what we called a viaduct but was actually a train track. Just a bit past that was another unmarked intersection. If you turned right onto the rock road there, you would be on the east side of my grandparents' property. If you turned left, you were headed into a place called Ancona, IL. I call it a "place" because it wasn't really a town. There was a railroad track, a grain elevator, a tiny church, and a small cluster of houses. Ancona isn't even on all Illinois road maps. It just is.
It's gone now, but just barely into Ancona, standing all by itself, there was a small general store. It was run by the Carpenter brothers and was, in every sense of the stereotype, typical of the general store of pioneer days, complete with the false front, open wooden porch, two rows of glass-covered counters that ran the length of the store, with shelving behind. Watch any movie of pioneer times and you will see that general store!
As I said, the Carpenter brothers owned it. I think the brothers' names were Gerald and Rolly (Raleigh). Gerald was called Gade, and he was the one who mostly ran the store, so we knew it as "Gade's store". This was not a place where you could find much by way of perishables--certainly not a stock-up store--but good for recipe emergencies. It was less than two miles down the road from our farm, and every time my grandmother would send my grandfather to go pick up a couple of items, I begged to go along. And he always took me. He was such a softy for his grandchildren, I knew I could probably talk him out of a candy bar or a bottle of pop. (In retrospect, I'm 100% sure that he knew that's what I'd do, and he was always up for it.)
Popo (our name for our grandfather) drove to the store with a small list, but when we got there, the list had been augmented by my grandmother who had already called the store to add things. The canned goods were all dusty. (They didn't have expirations dates in those days, but I'd be willing to bet that most of them, had they been processed with expiration dates, would have long expired before they were actually sold!) Of course, I would be drooling over the candies in the glass cases, and I would usually get some of it.
But out on the porch of the store, there was a chest-style pop dispenser. The pop was in glass bottles. If you put your dime in, you could pick a bottle and pull it through a metal track that suspended the bottles by the neck, to have it for your very own. On hot summer days before air conditioning, the Nehi pop that came out of that cooler was just what the doctor ordered. Nehi grape and Nehi orange. My favorite was grape. God, I loved that stuff!
Somewhere along the way, the Carpenter brothers died and the old store was torn down.
Still, it is part of my childhood, and I will never forget that little taste of the prairie.
To get to the farm from Streator, you would head south on route 18 until it intersects with route 17 (what my grandmother always called the "hard road"), and turn right at the four corners.
In my youth, the four corners was the intersection at routes 18 and 17, complete with a four-way stop. On one of those corners was a gas station that also had a small lunch counter and sold ice cream cones. Although I don't think the place had an official name, it was always and forever known far and wide as the Four Corners. I think there were farmers who were "regulars" at the Four Corners. It was a gathering place, of sorts, out in the middle of nowhere.
After turning right (west) onto route 17, you had to go under what we called a viaduct but was actually a train track. Just a bit past that was another unmarked intersection. If you turned right onto the rock road there, you would be on the east side of my grandparents' property. If you turned left, you were headed into a place called Ancona, IL. I call it a "place" because it wasn't really a town. There was a railroad track, a grain elevator, a tiny church, and a small cluster of houses. Ancona isn't even on all Illinois road maps. It just is.
It's gone now, but just barely into Ancona, standing all by itself, there was a small general store. It was run by the Carpenter brothers and was, in every sense of the stereotype, typical of the general store of pioneer days, complete with the false front, open wooden porch, two rows of glass-covered counters that ran the length of the store, with shelving behind. Watch any movie of pioneer times and you will see that general store!
As I said, the Carpenter brothers owned it. I think the brothers' names were Gerald and Rolly (Raleigh). Gerald was called Gade, and he was the one who mostly ran the store, so we knew it as "Gade's store". This was not a place where you could find much by way of perishables--certainly not a stock-up store--but good for recipe emergencies. It was less than two miles down the road from our farm, and every time my grandmother would send my grandfather to go pick up a couple of items, I begged to go along. And he always took me. He was such a softy for his grandchildren, I knew I could probably talk him out of a candy bar or a bottle of pop. (In retrospect, I'm 100% sure that he knew that's what I'd do, and he was always up for it.)
Popo (our name for our grandfather) drove to the store with a small list, but when we got there, the list had been augmented by my grandmother who had already called the store to add things. The canned goods were all dusty. (They didn't have expirations dates in those days, but I'd be willing to bet that most of them, had they been processed with expiration dates, would have long expired before they were actually sold!) Of course, I would be drooling over the candies in the glass cases, and I would usually get some of it.
But out on the porch of the store, there was a chest-style pop dispenser. The pop was in glass bottles. If you put your dime in, you could pick a bottle and pull it through a metal track that suspended the bottles by the neck, to have it for your very own. On hot summer days before air conditioning, the Nehi pop that came out of that cooler was just what the doctor ordered. Nehi grape and Nehi orange. My favorite was grape. God, I loved that stuff!
Somewhere along the way, the Carpenter brothers died and the old store was torn down.
Still, it is part of my childhood, and I will never forget that little taste of the prairie.
Sunday, June 7, 2020
Assuaging Our Guilt?
Where do I start? How can I telescope an entire lifetime of the American Experience in one lowly blog post? Even more to the point, why do I want to?
A.D. 2020, so far, may go down in history as the year without a break. The year without fun. The year of fear. We have grown so accustomed to the status quo that, when something happens to mess that up, we get...well...uncivilized.
I'm going somewhere with this, so please bear with me.
I was in high school from 1961-1965, and in college in IL from 1965-1969.
If you know anything at all about those times in history, you know that a lot was going on during my formative years: the Cold War with Russia; the Bay of Pigs invasion; the Cuban missile crisis; the Civil Rights Movement; the Vietnam conflict; political assassinations including the President; anti-war protests everywhere; race riots; the military draft lotteries; hippies; free love; the drug generation (overshadowed later); father/son conflicts in homes. Just to name a few. What I'm trying to say is that nothing that is going on in the 2020 world is new, including the pandemic. The point is that almost an entire generation has passed since we, as a nation, last dealt with the issues, so it all seems emergent in the moment.
When soldiers came back from Vietnam, either at the end of term of service or the end of the conflict, there were no parades to welcome them home. I think many vets felt neglected. Some were spat on as baby-killers. They had trouble transitioning back into civilian life because no one understood or supported sending American men--many of whom were draftees and had no choice-- to die in the jungles to save a small country in Southeast Asia from Communism. (My own military father who served in WWII and Korea called Vietnam vets "crybabies" because he was of the generation that believed you did what you did not for the thanks you would get, but for the security of your own home and family without expecting anything in return. But that's another post.)
Although it took awhile, America collectively saw the error of its ways. Now, any veteran--in or out of uniform--is a hero. "Thank you for your service" has become the mantra du jour. Many military folk, like my father, made the service their career, but I venture to say that just as many enlisted for a 2-3-year stint for the benefits, then went home. And many enlist (like my own brother) because they've screwed up in life and really didn't have any other respectable way out of the mess they created. I don't want to paint veterans with a broad brush because I know better, but some of the people we are thanking for the rest of their lives for their two years of service are some of the nastiest sons of bitches on the planet; yet it's good Public Relations for places to honor veterans with discounts, free drinks, free food, etc. OoRah! I'm not taking away the honor that our veterans deserve; only saying that the pendulum swings both ways.
First responders have also now become the recipients of our undying gratitude, which they always should have had. But let's get real for a moment, shouldn't every workaday person be hailed for what they do to keep us connected? Teachers in American public education have taken a bad rap over the last 30 years. Now suddenly they are heroes because parents have had to teach their own kids at home due to the pandemic. Every single American signs up to do what they do by way of employment. You aren't a hero for doing your job. Even people who do something heroic that isn't in their job description will declare that they only did what any person should do. Yes!
But I digress. Shift gears here, to my college days during the MLK years of peaceful demonstrations for civil rights, often turned violent when police responded with tear gas, dogs, fire hoses, beatings, and arrests. When the public focus was on the mistreatment of people of color (POC), suddenly it was the popular thing for white students to have a black friend on campus. It's happening now, too. Right where you live. People are trying to sympathize with rhetoric, just as I am with this blog post. As much as you want to prove that you aren't racist by reaching out to black businesses and black families, you don't get it. If you are white, you are already a racist, no matter how well you treat POC or how much you identify with your black brothers and sisters, because you are part of the majority race around which our whole system of life is based. You were born white, in the same way your neighbors were born black. Neither they nor you can help that. The question now becomes how to change the system of racial inequality due to the accident of birth.
Adopting a Negro (the actual term for the black race that even MLK used, so don't hate me) is tokenism. "I have a black friend, so you can't call me racist!" Yeah, I can. You surely know how your black brothers and sisters are being treated. What are you doing about it?
I was raised in a white world, in white neighborhoods through no fault of my own, but I have come to know discrimination when I see it. I'm pretty sure black folk won't get free drinks or meals just because they're black, like the veterans do. I'm pretty sure they know that the attention they are getting right now is momentary. It's happened before. I'm also 100% sure that the POC among us don't want to be your special "project" to give them the rights that they should already have, by law. If you have to ask what "they" want, look to your own values. What do YOU want? God don't make no junk! I'm pretty sure that POC would love just to be able to live their lives, as white people do, without fear of being profiled, followed, pulled over, detained, or killed.
The dialogue goes beyond racial discrimination.
How hard do we have to work to accept our brothers and sisters of the LGBTQ community?
How far into the Scriptures do you think you need to dig to find "Love your neighbor as you love yourself"? "Feed my sheep"? "Treat others as you want to be treated?" "He who is without sin cast the first stone?"
Obviously, I'm not a POC. There are no POC around me, but I'll be damned if I will be silent while anyone is suffering for reasons out of their control.
(Signed) Just another bleeding-heart liberal "snowflake" who believes that America has failed in its promises.
A.D. 2020, so far, may go down in history as the year without a break. The year without fun. The year of fear. We have grown so accustomed to the status quo that, when something happens to mess that up, we get...well...uncivilized.
I'm going somewhere with this, so please bear with me.
I was in high school from 1961-1965, and in college in IL from 1965-1969.
If you know anything at all about those times in history, you know that a lot was going on during my formative years: the Cold War with Russia; the Bay of Pigs invasion; the Cuban missile crisis; the Civil Rights Movement; the Vietnam conflict; political assassinations including the President; anti-war protests everywhere; race riots; the military draft lotteries; hippies; free love; the drug generation (overshadowed later); father/son conflicts in homes. Just to name a few. What I'm trying to say is that nothing that is going on in the 2020 world is new, including the pandemic. The point is that almost an entire generation has passed since we, as a nation, last dealt with the issues, so it all seems emergent in the moment.
When soldiers came back from Vietnam, either at the end of term of service or the end of the conflict, there were no parades to welcome them home. I think many vets felt neglected. Some were spat on as baby-killers. They had trouble transitioning back into civilian life because no one understood or supported sending American men--many of whom were draftees and had no choice-- to die in the jungles to save a small country in Southeast Asia from Communism. (My own military father who served in WWII and Korea called Vietnam vets "crybabies" because he was of the generation that believed you did what you did not for the thanks you would get, but for the security of your own home and family without expecting anything in return. But that's another post.)
Although it took awhile, America collectively saw the error of its ways. Now, any veteran--in or out of uniform--is a hero. "Thank you for your service" has become the mantra du jour. Many military folk, like my father, made the service their career, but I venture to say that just as many enlisted for a 2-3-year stint for the benefits, then went home. And many enlist (like my own brother) because they've screwed up in life and really didn't have any other respectable way out of the mess they created. I don't want to paint veterans with a broad brush because I know better, but some of the people we are thanking for the rest of their lives for their two years of service are some of the nastiest sons of bitches on the planet; yet it's good Public Relations for places to honor veterans with discounts, free drinks, free food, etc. OoRah! I'm not taking away the honor that our veterans deserve; only saying that the pendulum swings both ways.
First responders have also now become the recipients of our undying gratitude, which they always should have had. But let's get real for a moment, shouldn't every workaday person be hailed for what they do to keep us connected? Teachers in American public education have taken a bad rap over the last 30 years. Now suddenly they are heroes because parents have had to teach their own kids at home due to the pandemic. Every single American signs up to do what they do by way of employment. You aren't a hero for doing your job. Even people who do something heroic that isn't in their job description will declare that they only did what any person should do. Yes!
But I digress. Shift gears here, to my college days during the MLK years of peaceful demonstrations for civil rights, often turned violent when police responded with tear gas, dogs, fire hoses, beatings, and arrests. When the public focus was on the mistreatment of people of color (POC), suddenly it was the popular thing for white students to have a black friend on campus. It's happening now, too. Right where you live. People are trying to sympathize with rhetoric, just as I am with this blog post. As much as you want to prove that you aren't racist by reaching out to black businesses and black families, you don't get it. If you are white, you are already a racist, no matter how well you treat POC or how much you identify with your black brothers and sisters, because you are part of the majority race around which our whole system of life is based. You were born white, in the same way your neighbors were born black. Neither they nor you can help that. The question now becomes how to change the system of racial inequality due to the accident of birth.
Adopting a Negro (the actual term for the black race that even MLK used, so don't hate me) is tokenism. "I have a black friend, so you can't call me racist!" Yeah, I can. You surely know how your black brothers and sisters are being treated. What are you doing about it?
I was raised in a white world, in white neighborhoods through no fault of my own, but I have come to know discrimination when I see it. I'm pretty sure black folk won't get free drinks or meals just because they're black, like the veterans do. I'm pretty sure they know that the attention they are getting right now is momentary. It's happened before. I'm also 100% sure that the POC among us don't want to be your special "project" to give them the rights that they should already have, by law. If you have to ask what "they" want, look to your own values. What do YOU want? God don't make no junk! I'm pretty sure that POC would love just to be able to live their lives, as white people do, without fear of being profiled, followed, pulled over, detained, or killed.
The dialogue goes beyond racial discrimination.
How hard do we have to work to accept our brothers and sisters of the LGBTQ community?
How far into the Scriptures do you think you need to dig to find "Love your neighbor as you love yourself"? "Feed my sheep"? "Treat others as you want to be treated?" "He who is without sin cast the first stone?"
Obviously, I'm not a POC. There are no POC around me, but I'll be damned if I will be silent while anyone is suffering for reasons out of their control.
(Signed) Just another bleeding-heart liberal "snowflake" who believes that America has failed in its promises.
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