Category Archives: Rants

An Open Letter to Senator Barbara Boxer

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Boxer speaks at an event.

Boxer speaks at an event. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I have just sent the following email to Senator Barbara Boxer:

Dear Senator Boxer:

I recently listened, via podcast, to your speech at the Commonwealth Club. I agree with and am grateful for your point of view on what’s happening in our country, and your policy ideas for repairing some of it, like raising the minimum wage for everyone and addressing climate change on a tangible level. However, I’m sorry to say that some of your perspective is myopic and limited.

When you say those who “play by the rules” ought to reap the rewards of the “American Dream” you…discount me and every other artist in this country. I am a writer, and I’m speaking as well for painters, sculptors, musicians, actors, and everyone else who commits themselves to bring truth and beauty into the world. We are consistently told we do not “play by the rules” because we don’t buckle down and go to work for some corporation or other. Similarly, when you say those who “work hard,” you omit the disabled population who cannot “work hard” at most of the jobs available in our culture. When you say government must step in when “the middle class is in trouble” you omit the poorest of the poor.

In fact, Senator, by your choice of language you are dismissing everybody whose personality or disposition doesn’t fit into the capitalist mold. Some of us just can’t make it in the usual 9-5 routine—and we pay for it, believe me, we pay for it.

I am the mother of a disabled son who is now nearly 50. Between raising him myself (and a daughter) through brain surgeries and seizures, while still trying to write (not to mention being one of, as Erica Jong calls us, the “whiplash generation” of women who had the game switched on us midway), I have had a checkered work history that’s left me with a paltry amount of Social Security and nothing else to support me now that I’m 68 and getting older every day. My son is poor, I am poor, and I’m told it is my fault for not playing by the rules. You should know, however, that I have worked extremely hard in my life by necessity, and it continues. Compared to my still-married friends who’ve retired to Florida or Costa Rica, my life in East Oakland is deprived. I am not complaining: I’m glad I didn’t spend my entire life in some office (as it is I had to spend too much time in them). But I do want you to know that I and millions of us who don’t fit the American Dream mold deserve a decent life just as much as the middle class corporate workers, who I readily admit have also struggled without reward or justice because of what’s become of this country.

Despite my criticism of your language and what it might reflect, I still thank you for holding down the liberal fort in Congress.

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Inhuman Conditions

Solitary confinement

Solitary confinement (Photo credit: Chris.Gray

What people do to one another in this world is so distressing I can hardly stand it. To name just a few items aired in this morning’s news reports:

• Big celebration today as an ex-Panther was released from prison. Good news, right? Except his release came after two decades in solitary confinement. I can’t bear to hear these stories about people in solitary for so long, and it seems like recently they’re all coming to light. Why wasn’t I aware of this, if it’s been going on for 20 and 30 years? And I only just learned they throw children into the hole also! Do the powers-that-be really believe that a kid who spends any amount of time all alone in a cell is going to come out improved? Or unharmed, ready to live a full and responsible life? WTF is wrong with these people?!

drone

• Old news but they were talking about it again this morning on Democracy Now: One of Obama‘s drones attacked a group of Yemenis on their way to a wedding, killing something like a dozen people, turning what was to be a joyous day into one of grief. Apparently they believed some big terrorist was “hiding” among the wedding party, but survivors say they never heard of the guy. Even if they had—it seems we no longer believe in or practice the judicial system to which this country was once strongly devoted. No more innocent until proven guilty. And that includes YOU : Uncle Sam is also gunning down his own via the drone method. Our, ahem, liberal president looooves those drones: so neat and clean. Thus, no more messy, complicated trials. It’s just Kill Baby Kill!

cop

• Another kid was killed by a cop because he had the misfortune to be holding something in his hand. Must be a gun! This happened on the kid’s turf, in his own living room—cops came around looking for the dad who violated parole, and  burst in on a teenager playing electronic games. Startled, he raised his hand with the game’s remote in it, and one of the cops blew the kid away. Oh well, shit happens. Shit happens a lot lately.

pesticide sign

• Atrazine, a pesticide used on corn, is turning little boys into girls, apparently flooding their bodies with estrogen so they develop not only secondary sex characteristics but primary ones as well, like ovaries and the whole reproductive she-bang. The company using this stuff claims it’s harmless, and has fired the whistleblower, who’s now getting death threats—but he’s still talking. Good for him!

I know, I know: I haven’t included names, dates, links, or other details to back up any of the above, or direct readers that might want to follow up on these news items; but if I wait until I can do the research and put all my ducks in a row I won’t get to it for a long time, if ever. Besides, I really need to rant.

I might not have done research, but I did manage to fire off a few protest letters to governors and other authorities in the interest of ending solitary torture, since I can’t even think about this without feeling sick. I wonder if I have an extra empathic gene or something. Considering what goes on in this world, someone’s gotta have it.

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This American Justice

heartstitchesbrokenFor their Valentines Day program, This American Life on NPR broadcast a cluster of love stories in their usual format: people tell true life experiences, most with an odd angle or surprise ending. Some spoke of unrequited love, others about unusual breakups, and some even lived happily ever—after leaping over obstacles. One of the stories knocked me out, but not in the way you’d expect or want to be knocked out on Valentines Day. No, this story didn’t fill my heart with love unending, or give me hope and inspiration for the human race. It didn’t even make me cry. This story absolutely enraged me.

It was told by Justin, a high school senior who fell, hard, for a new girl in his school. She arrived mid-term and immediately caught all the boys’ attention with her mature (his word) good looks.  She was in two of his classes, and when he worked up enough courage to talk to her and even flirt a little, she did not discourage him.

There was something about Naomi , however, that we in the audience knew, but the hapless Justin did not: she was an undercover narc. That’s right, those clever slimy creeps at the DEA (Drug Enforcement Administration) came up with a scheme whereby a bevy of young, recently graduated cops fan out to schools all over the country—that is, to those states in which marijuana is still illegal—posing as students. I’d even hazard a cynical guess that they purposely chose those states with the most draconian drug laws in which to lay their evil traps. This incident occurred in Florida, where marijuana is classified as a

English: U.S. states are shown in green where ...

U.S. states in green where non-medical marihuana has been decriminalized at the state level. Note that marijuana of any kind is still criminalized under U.S. federal law throughout the entire U.S. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Schedule I controlled substance, meaning it has high potential for abuse and “no currently accepted medical use,” according to state statute (Fl. § 893.03). Florida also criminalizes marijuana trafficking, and possession or sales of drug paraphernalia, with a range of penalties, going up to 30 years in prison. (Fl. Stat. Ann. § 893.13.)

This American Life regularly runs long stories, but this one seemed even longer than most. Maybe that’s because I knew what was coming and my heart began cracking long before Justin’s did. He courted her for months while she strung him along, keeping him in suspense about attending the prom with him. This kid was going to graduate in a few months. He planned to enlist in the U.S. Air Force. He had good grades. He had good friends. He did not regularly do drugs. Yes, he’d occasionally used pot; who by his age has not? In California he’d be toking a doobie after lunch on the lawn across from Berkeley High. Not in Florida: in Florida the kid watched his ass—that is, until a pretty girl with a heart made of razor blades sank her claws in him.

While he anxiously awaited her decision on the prom, she casually asked him if he had any weed. He did not, but if she wanted some, he said, he’d try to get it for her. So removed was this kid from drug culture that it took him a couple of weeks and a

Cannabis whole lot of nerve to make a connection, and even more nerve to pass the stuff along to his beloved. When she handed him $25 he, like any teenage boy in love, refused to take it. He was showing off, giving her a present, trying to look like a big shot. Lest we forget, it was Naomi who’d put him in this position.

Ah, but in the state of Florida if you give someone less than 20 grams of marijuana without being paid, it’s only a first degree misdemeanor. For that the punishment is a puny year or less in jail—but selling the stuff can get you as many as 30. Naomi had to make Justin take payment. They went back and forth about it, she insisting, he refusing. Naomi, with more on the line than Justin, was the more persistent, and in exasperation he finally took the cash. Deed accomplished. Criminal apprehended. Another dealer off the street.

Justin got a three year sentence. No high school graduation. No Air Force: the US military excludes “felons.” And Justin’s reaction? With his life in ruins, his future shattered, his dreams all trashed, you’d think he’d be furious at the bitch. But is he? He is not. This poor creature is heartbroken, plain and simple. He responds as he might if she’d left him for another guy. That is the full extent of his emotions—at least as far as the program’s narrative takes us.

And Narc Naomi? No regrets, she says. Well bully for her. And bully for the U.S. of A. and their war on drugs.

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Kids for Cash

This morning, February 4th,  I learned on Democracy Now of a horrifying and cruel scam perpetrated by judges in Philadelphia. President Judge Mark Ciavarella and Senior Judge Michael Conahan, took money from the builder of two for-profit juvenile prisons, in return for which they imposed harsh sentences on juveniles to increase the number of inmates in the detention centers. After years of investigations and trials, Ciavarella was sentenced on August 11, 2011 to 28 years in federal prison; on September 23, 2011, Conahan was sentenced to 17-and-a-half years.

In my opinion, these guys deserve to be burned alive at the stake.

Kids for Cash, a documentary about the scandal, will premiere in movie theaters this month. To find out all the gory details, including how the lives of hundreds of kids and their families were destroyed by these judges’ actions, click on any of the links here.

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Why Do We Die?

tantrumWhy must we die?!? Okay, I get it that living forever isn’t such a fabulous idea— but why such pitifully short lives? I mean, I’m just getting going! This morning I heard a radio program on “smart urbanization” that I found totally stimulating; I’d love to look into this and be part of creating future living situations that work. I have lots of ideas that mesh with the experts’, at least from what I heard. This happens a lot: I hear something new and interesting and feel a strong urge to get involved. But do I have time to develop a career in smart urbanization or any other field? Doubtful. Even if I live another 20 years (also doubtful, especially if I keep puffing on toxic tobacco sticks), I’d have to give up or at least cut back on writing, not to mention doing all my favorite essentials like puttering around the house, doing crossword puzzles, and watching rented movies.

Even if I didn’t want to try out some new kind of work or even play, dammit! I’m just beginning to learn how to do the one thing on which I’ve maintained a steady focus. I’m only just learning how to write halfway decent fiction, to create characters who sound and act believable, and to invent situations for them that might interest readers. My non-fiction too keeps improving, but I didn’t have quite as far to go in that department. I had, still have, an enormous amount to learn in the genre I prize above all others, i.e., novel writing, but it is happening, and at a quicker pace than when I was young and distracted. What they say about improving with age is absolutely true—but we benefit from our growing wisdom for such a brief period, I question its value. Besides which, nobody wants you when you’re old and gray, as the song goes, even in the field of literature, where the powers-that-be want youngsters they can trot out in front of the cameras. And don’t get me started on the new forms of publication and how I can promote my ebooks by branding myself. That shit makes me want to throw up.

I did not intend to go off on a personal rave about my own career or lack of same, but all roads seem to lead to regret. My intention was to rant in general against this stupid idiotic pathetic system called Life. Who created or  invented it? You people who believe in a Creator, don’t you think he or she is pathetically incompetent? Talk about lousy planning! Nothing about our brief lives makes sense. We’re born, we get a few carefree years to play and learn one or two things—that is if we’re lucky enough to have a decent set of parents who don’t beat or otherwise abuse us, and we’re not born with some illness or disability, nor into abject poverty or war; then we struggle through whatever educational system is available, again if we’re lucky; and meanwhile we’re utterly confused, trying to figure out how to navigate such minefields as romantic love, sex, friendship, and something meaningful to do with our time; we work like dogs trying to go forward but too frequently we’re like Alice and the Queen, running as fast as we can just to stay in place–and this is, again, the best case scenario. Then we start to lose things like beauty and hearing and friends, and soon we go feeble and sick—even if we’re lucky enough to have only minor ailments, they’re a pain in the ass; and then poof, it’s all over.  A real idiot, that Creator. Or evolution. Or whatever or whoever.  I gave up trying to figure that part out a long time ago. Now I just want to know: WHY? WHY DIE? AND WHY SO SOON?

 

career-path

 

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