I am torn. I don’t know which way to turn, what to blog about.

I am resolving the dilemma by giving myself permission to not blog about the thing foremost on my mind — the Military Commissions Bill, more colloquially known as the Detainee and Torture Bill. I have done what I can in regard to that bastard piece of legislation — I have written my senators begging them to do whatever they could to stop it. I have even written Barack Obama, urging him to exert some of that moral leadership he is so renowned for.

And really, what can I say? I have previously said what I believe about torture. My feelings about the destruction of habeas corpus that this bill promises run just as deep. Others out there in the blogosphere — Digby is a good place to start — provide more than enough words to make up for any lack of mine.

Because I have no words. I face what my nation has become, what we are doing, and I have only tears.

Posted in Blogging, Justice | Leave a comment

Have you registered?

I think this fall’s election is going to be crucial to the future of our Republic. I think we’re in a constitutional crisis, and I think we need to take action. And the first, most important action is to vote, and to urge our friends and neighbors to do so.

But before you can vote you have to be registered. Are you? Are your friends? What about the best man at your wedding, who just moved to Chicago? Or your younger sister, who just turned eighteen and who is afraid about her boyfriend who is shipping out to Iraq? Or your mom, who’s stuck in the Medicare donut hole but hasn’t voted since the Nixon administration?

It’s late in the day, but there is still time. Today (September 22) is two weeks before the earliest registration deadline (October 6, Tennessee). That’s enough time for people to register, especially given that most states have registration materials online. And there is always the National Voter Registration Application, which can be accessed using GoVote.org and which is accepted by every state except New Hampshire and Wyoming. (GoVote also says “North Dakota,” but that is since North Dakota has no registration at all.)

Here is a list of voter registration deadlines for all fifty states and the District of Columbia. There are also links to downloadable online registration forms, locations where you can get registration forms, and residency requirements for individual states. The dates link back to the official state election calendars (except in Massachusetts and Utah, neither of which I could find). Quite a number of states have deadlines of “30 days before the election,” which this year falls on the Sunday before Columbus Day. In Mississippi, this means that the deadline is October 7, the previous Saturday, whereas in Texas the deadline is October 10.

We have to get the word out. Even if this were just any other election, it would still be important.

Because democracy is not a spectator sport.

[forms] = links where the state voter registration applications can be found
[residency] = links where information about length of residency for voting eligibility can be found. If there is no notation, then, as far as I can find out there is not requirement other than “be a resident of…. x”
[locations] = links to lists of locations where registration forms can be obtained, or where people can register, depending upon the state.

The information will be at the links, although sometimes you may need to scroll a bit to find it. It will be there. There are quite a number of state webmasters who should be taken out and shot. Just sayin’.

When I have noticed unusual requirements — a couple of states require you to register if you’ve gone more than four years without voting — I’ve noted them. There may be other states that require reregistration if you haven’t voted in a long time, but I didn’t see them. If you see any errors, please let me know so I can correct them right away. I did my best with this, but errors can occasionally happen.

ETA: One last note: after you have mailed in your registration, you should be receiving a registration card in the mail. If you don’t get one in two weeks, you would want to call your county election official about the status of your registration.

Alabama: October 27 [pdf] [forms]

Alaska: October 8 [locations, residency] [forms]

Arkansas: October 8 [pdf] [forms][residency]

Arizona: October 9 [forms [pdf]] [online registration]

California: October 23 [pdf] [forms]

Colorado: October 10 [pdf] [forms] [residency]

Connecticut: October 24, for hand-delivered and mailed registrations; October 31 for registrations in the registrar’s office. [forms]

D.C. : October 10 [pdf] [forms, locations] [online registration]

Delaware: October 14 [forms] [locations]

Florida : October 10 [forms, locations]

Georgia: October 10 [forms, locations]

Hawaii: October 9 [forms, locations]

Idaho: October 13, for pre-registration. Election day registration is also available. [locations at prior link] [forms [pdf]][residency] Note: Idaho requires you to re-register if you have not voted in a primary or general election in the past four years.

Illinois: October 10, except for “grace period registration” [pdf] which closes October 24. During the grace period, people must register at their local election office, but they must vote absentee. [residency at prior pdf link, no online state form]

Indiana: October 10 [pdf] [residency at prior link] [forms]

Iowa: October 28 [pdf] [forms] [locations]

Kansas: October 23 [forms [pdf]]

Kentucky: October 10 [forms, locations, residency]

Louisiana: October 9 [forms, locations]

Maine: October 17, if registering by mail. You can register up to and on election day in person at your city hall or town office. [locations at prior link]

Maryland: October 17 [pdf] [forms]

Massachusetts: October 18 (from Boston Globe, the state’s website simly says “ten days”) [no forms online, although you can request one to be mailed to you]

Michigan: October 10 [pdf] [forms[pdf]]

Minnesota: October 17 for regular registration [forms] or you can register on election day. [residency]

Mississippi: October 7 [pdf][form [pdf]] [residency, locations]

Missouri: October 11 [locations]

Montana: October 10 for regular registration. [forms [pdf]] Late registration — up to and including on election day — is available at local election offices. [residency, locations]

Nebraska: October 20 [pdf], last day for mail-in registrations or for registrations to be dropped of by third persons; October 27, last day to register in person at the county clerk’s/election commisioner’s office. [forms [pdf]] [locations]

Nevada: October 7, if registering by mail, October 17, if in person. Contact the County Clerk/ Registrar of voters. [No online state forms, can use Federal Voter Registration Application pdf][residency at prior link]

New Hampshire: October 28 [pdf] for regular registration with town clerks, or on election day. You can only register by mail if you are prevented from registering in person by military service, disability, religious beliefs, or temporary absence.

New Jersey: October 17 [pdf]. [residency, locations][forms]

New Mexico: October 10. [pdf]

New York: October 13 [pdf]. If newly discharged from the military, or newly naturalized, after October 13, then can register in person up until October 27. [forms, locations, residency]

North Carolina: October 13 [pdf]. [residency] [locations]

North Dakota: no registration requirements. [residency]

Ohio: October 10. [residency] [locations]

Oklahoma: October 13. [forms] [locations] Note: county election boards may cancel registrations if the voter has not voted in more than four years.

Oregon: October 17. [forms] [locations]

Pennsylvania: October 10 [pdf]. [residency] [forms][ locations]

Rhode Island: October 7 [residency] [forms][locations]

South Carolina: October 7 [pdf] [forms [pdf] — must be sent to County Registrars of Voters]

South Dakota: October 23 [forms, locations]

Tennessee: October 6 0r 7, depending upon the county election commission’s office hours, or October 8 postmark. [forms, county election commission offices] [locations]

Texas: October 10 [forms] [Note: If you moved without updating your registration, you will be placed on a “suspense list” in the county you are registered in. If you then go two federal elections without voting, you will need to reregister before voting again.]

Utah: The 30th day before the election for mail-in registrations. I cannot find an election calendar anywhere on the website. In addition, you can register at a “satellite registration site” (no, they don’t define those, either) or the County Clerk’s office on the 15th and 18th day before the election. [previous link includes residency requirements] [forms [pdf]]

Vermont: October 30, by noon. Mail-in registrations and registrations at locations other than town or city clerk’s offices have to be received or postmarked before this date. [forms] Note: First time Vermont voters have to take the “Voter’s Oath,” which means that at the very least your application must be notarized. Or you can register at a town clerk’s office [locations of town clerks] or have it signed by a justice of the peace.

Virginia: October 10. [forms] [locations]

Washington: October 7 [pdf], except for in-person registration at the County Auditor‘s office, October 23 [forms][residency][locations]

West Virginia: October 17. [forms] [locations]

Wisconsin: October 18 by mail, November 6, in person at municipal clerk’s office, or on election day at the polling place. [Forms, plus requirements, at prior link]

Wyoming: October 9. Registration at polls allowed. [forms, also requirements: form must be signed by a notary or a registered agent; locations: Wyoming does not have a “motor-voter” law; the places you can register are office of the town clerk or county clerk where you reside, by mail, or at the polls on election day] If you did not vote in the 2004 general election, you must reregister.


Posted in Politics | Tagged | Leave a comment

Ahoy there, matey!

This here be September 19, also known round these parts as “Talk Like A Pirate Day.”

We be lucky enough to know the Pirate Guys WebWench, Pat Kight, online, and to have actually met her; and a beauty she be, too. ‘Tis a wonderful thing, Talk Like a Pirate Day. We lubbers of the world be needin’ more silly holidays.

Helps keeps my mind off the real pirates that be out there.

Arrr.

Posted in The World | Leave a comment

Sometimes, if you procrastinate, things get done without you. Or you decide that since other people have already done them better than you why reinvent the wheel?

I have been trying to find a way to write about torture, and the latest attempt by the Administration to define it out of existence. I always am stopped by the fact that this is America we’re talking about, an American president is doing this, weren’t we supposed to be one of the good guys? Didn’t we used to point to torture as evidence of despotism? How the hell did we get here? So I haven’t actually gotten around to posting on torture.

Over at Making Light Teresa Nielsen-Hayden and Jim MacDonald have this one covered. Like all Making Light posts, there is much substance in the comments as well as in the posts themselves. (Making Light has the best signal to noise ratio of just about any blog around.) And Terry Karney, both in the comments to the Making Light posts and over at Better than Salt Money, brings his perspective as a professional in the field to bear (and performing the valuable public service of watching the Bush press conference so we didn’t have to).

I also wanted to write about how the goal of terrorism is not to kill people but to terrify them, and how the Administration is helping the terrorists win. Fred over at Slacktivist took care of that one. Cool. And Dave Neiwert at Orcinus has a fascinating post about the symbiotic relationship between George W. Bush and Osama bin Laden.

Okay, then. I could write about these things, but as I said, why reinvent the wheel when these people have engineered a car?

Posted in nothing special | Leave a comment

I have not written here about 9/11. My experiences were pretty much the same as many others across the country who did not have loved ones in harm’s way. Unlike Katrina, where I had definite emotional ties to the places involved, there is not a sense of personal loss, although I certainly know people who lost loved ones and I feel for them.

It’s not my story to tell. It is, however, Keith Olbermann’s.

You really need to read Olbermann’s words to the President on 9/11.

Olbermann has become a voice crying out in the wilderness, an Old Testament prophet calling king to account. I wish we had more like him.

Posted in nothing special | Leave a comment

Twenty Statements. Plus One.

Over at Of Course, I Could Be Wrong, MadPriest has been letting slip a little more information about himself. I thought I would do likewise.*

Things you should know about me:

I like okra. Even boiled.

I think the Rolling Stones are vastly overrated.

Andrew Lloyd Weber, likewise.

I memorized “The Walrus and The Carpenter” when I was twelve. I can still remember most of it.

I read mostly nonfiction. Of the fiction I do read, I read mysteries, with a preference for those with historical settings. I do not read science fiction, except for Connie Willis.

I have a thing for men with Southern accents.

I was once on Jeopardy! opposite Ken Jennings. I lost. I don’t watch Jeopardy! anymore.

I bake the best damn brownies you’ve ever tasted. No, they don’t have hashish in them.

I sing. Incessantly. Whenever I am not in public. My car is not considered “public,” nor is my house. My kids have to put up with a great deal.

I like show tunes. I like to sing show tunes. I mostly like to sing showtunes sung by male characters, even though I am a soprano.

I can’t stop watching crime procedurals such as Law & Order and CSI, even though I think they warp the public’s perceptions of the criminal justice system in often dangerous ways.

I think Hugh Laurie is the sexiest man on television, and Eric Clapton the sexiest man in rock ‘n’ roll. Even if he is sixty.

When I was very young, I wanted to grow up to be a linebacker for da’ Bears. I was heartbroken when I discovered that this was not in fact a viable career path for me.

I can keep a baseball scorecard, more or less.

I love almost all sports that do not involve motorized vehicles. Notable exceptions are soccer and ice hockey. And even then I can be induced to watch them under the right circumstances.

I used to live in Atlanta. Since that time, I refuse to live any place that is more than ninety minutes from the ocean.

I was born in New Orleans. This explains my tendency towards melodrama. It’s in the water.

I have been to a dozen countries on four continents. Fourteen if you count Gibraltar** and Austria, both of which we drove through mainly to say we drove through them.

I have driven in Paris. And Madrid. And Amsterdam. And on the backroads of Normandy, the German autobahn, and the roads from the Costa de la Luz to the hill country north of Seville.

When I first registered to vote as an eighteen-year-old, I registered Republican so I could vote against all the incumbent Republican school board members. Politics is local. I changed to Democratic in 1980 and have never looked back.

I make no pretensions to sophistication, although I do tend towards cynicism.

Anything else you want to know? You can now email me through my profile.


*He was being serious. I of course am being silly.

**ETA: Sarah H. has refreshed my memory about Gilbraltar, since she was one of the intrepid party wandering around Southern Spain that evening. Yes, we did get out of the car in Gilbraltar, twice. Once was to stand around in the dark at a place with signs indicating that it was the end of Europe, but since it was completely dark, it was pretty darn hard to tell. It was cold, it was windy, it was unremarkable. The second time, which I had completely forgotten, was to eat dinner at McDonald’s. In any case, we were there primarily to say we had been there, since it was after dark and since we didn’t have enough time to spend to actually look at much of Gilbraltar. (I do remember some lovely houses, though.) Still doesn’t count in my book.

Posted in Who I am | Tagged , | 2 Comments

Strike up the band!

To every thing there is a season,
and a time to every purpose under the heaven.
Eccl. 3:1

Spring, fighting off winter’s rain and chills, brings baseball season.

Fall, basking in the loveliest weather of the year, brings marching band season.

Baseball season I view as a detached bystander; the sight of the diamond brings back no cherished memories of days in the sun. All I see when I look at the lovely red of the infield is how much of a pain it’s going to be to get those white uniform pants clean. (They wear the pants for two hours and you have to wash the damn things in hot water with bleach to have any chance of getting the red out. Not to mention the grass stains.)

Band season, though, is something else. I love watching marching bands. I love the color and the spectacle. I love the glint of lights off the brasses, the shimmer of brilliant cloth in the flags, the sharp artillery of snare-drum fire.

I appreciate how hard it is to put on a really top-quality show; my high school band did so itself. My eldest son is part of an award-winning marching band. It is a joy to watch them, not just as they perform, but as they develop, to see the progress they make over a season.

And it’s amazing how much ancient memories insert themselves back into your brain. I played saxophone in my high school marching band and my pulse quickens every time I hear a drum cadence. Not out of excitement, but out of some vaguely remembered sense of mild panic.

It doesn’t help that I am somewhat intimidated by the band director. It took me a while to figure out why I found her intimidating, since other people didn’t. I finally realized that she is the very image of the trumpet section leader and co-captain when I was a sophomore whose job (performed with terrorizing gusto) it was to whip everyone into line. I was so unnerved by the realization that I went and checked her bio to make sure that she had, in fact, grown up half a continent away from me. She still makes me a bit nervous, but I’m getting better.

Then there is the other band director. He is quiet, reserved, mellow. All of which masks the fact that the man is a freaking genius. He wrote the music that they are performing for their field show this year, and it is sublime: full of power and delicacy and richness, the last two being attributes not often found on the marching field.

My son is a drummer. In my day, the drummers were always cooler than anyone else. I’m not sure if that’s still the case — he won’t say; I think it would be considered uncool to talk about how cool you are. Last year he was in the pit, or the alternative percussion section. It seems to me that the pit people march — or don’t march, really — to the beat of their own drummer. At one competition last year, one of the bands dressed their pit in clown outfits, and my son was outraged: “That’s just cruel. Pit never gets any respect anyway, but to dress them up as clowns is just mean.”

I actually volunteer with the band. I am helping to iron uniforms. I signed up to chaperone a bus to a competition. And I signed up to do hair.

I did it last year. And I have no idea why I am doing it again, except… I want to help. I want to be at the competition. I want to be useful. Otherwise, trying to put the kids’ hair up so it is off their collar and under their hat is a royal pain.

And it is not the girls who are the headache. It’s the boys, including my own, who is steadfastly refusing to cut his not-quite-shoulder length ‘do for marching band season even though it is going to be really annoying to deal with. I even tried to convince him that it would be better for the health of his hair in the long run — fewer split ends. No luck.

One of the joys of having been in band is you can tell band horror stories to your kid, the band equivalent of “when I was your age I walked fifteen miles through the snow to go to school…” In my case it was “when I was your age, we wore black wool uniforms under the hot Florida sun, and they told us it was better to pass out than move in formation because you didn’t get docked points if you actually collapsed.” That, and his father (who had been a clarinet player in Georgia) and I were harrumphing that they just didn’t mark time like they used to in the old days. These youngsters today, they just shuffle their feet, not really mark time with their instep hitting their knee! Ah, the hours — probably just minutes but God didn’t it seem like hours — marching in place for disciplinary reasons. Hey, maybe running laps is a better sytem after all.

The band is just starting to pull things together, flags are being sewn, routines being learned. We have a good ways to go before the end of the season.

This promises to be fun.

Posted in Family, Kids in all their glory | 2 Comments

The only thing we have to fear.

There is no escaping the fact.

We have become a nation of fearful men and women.

A year ago, armed deputies stood on the bridge to Gretna, Louisiana, and fired shots over scared, shivering refugees seeking food and shelter from the desolation of post-Katrina New Orleans. Then, when the refugees retreated to the overpasses on the freeways, they were driven off again.

A great outcry has arisen about the almost unimaginably overt racism of this act: New Orleans, and the crowd of refugees, was predominately black; Gretna is predominately white. Yes, racism was behind the deputies’ actions. But the driving force was fear: fear of chaos, fear of disorder. Fear of illusory mobs rampaging through the streets as they were erroneously reported to be rampaging through the streets of New Orleans.

It was a fearful act. It was a heinous act. It was a criminal act.

It was not an isolated act.

Fear has driven us as a nation to accept a president who openly flouts the law, and declares himself to be acting in the name of security. Fear has led us to countenance torture, in theory and in deed, both directly (Abu Ghraib — and that there are people who are willing to excuse that war crime is truly shocking) and indirectly (extraordinary rendition, by which we subcontract our torture). Fear has led us to look the other way as individuals, no, citizens are kept locked up for years with minimal due process.

Fear has led to more and more mandatory sentencing laws, including the three-strikes laws — which substitute bright line rules for judgment and justice, with sometimes arbitrary results. Fear has led us to look over our shoulder, even as year after year the violent crime rate in America has dropped. And in Ohio, fear has led to the passage of a law which flies in the face of not just the Constitution but centuries of Anglo-American jurisprudence.

The Ohio legislature passed a bill which would create a civil sex offender registry for offenders who have never been charged with a crime. The bill also created a twelve-year statute of limitations for childhood sexual abuse victims to bring civil actions against their abusers, but when the statute runs out, the victims can bring a declaratory judgment against an alleged abuser. If found by “clear and convincing evidence” to have committed the acts, the individual would be placed on a sex-offender registry and subject to all the recording and residence requirements of a criminally convicted sex-offender.

No criminal charges. No jury trial. A trial by a judge, with a lesser standard of proof than “beyond a reasonable doubt.” And occurring more than twelve years after the alleged abuse, when it becomes harder to defend yourself. And in the end, a life disrupted, possibly ruined: sex offenders cannot work in certain jobs (and often lose other jobs), and cannot live in certain areas. After six years, the registeree can petition to be removed from the register if they can prove by “clear and convincing evidence” that they have not abused any other children. How is one to prove a negative, however?

This is fear speaking. People are willing to throw away rights for a segment of the population that they are sure they will never be in to achieve a small illusory margin of safety for themselves and their children. Ignoring the fact, of course, that most abuse of children comes from family members. And that sex offenders as a whole have a low incidence of recidivism.

All of these have the same root: I must protect my own. I must make sure that myself, my family, my tribe are all okay, and to hell with everyone else. Fear makes us dissolve the bonds that hold us, one to another.

It makes some of us stand on the bridge to Gretna, guns in our hands; it makes some of us defend the president simply because he promises he can make us safer, regardless the cost of that safety; it makes us willing to sell our Constitutional birthright for a mess of pottage wrapped up in pretty words.

It makes some of us unwilling to listen to the concerns of our fellow citizens because we are fearful and resentful towards them. It makes some of us hesitant to speak out, for fear our words will be used against us.

It destroys our country as it eats at our souls. Fear drives us apart, one from another, with disastrous consequences; it makes us less safe. The more money spent chasing phantoms, on programs to cure problems that don’t exist or which don’t create the threat they are made out to, the less money is available to spend on things that really can make us safer, our lives longer and healthier, such as clean air and water, or better and more food inspection.

In the words of Franklin Delano Roosevelt: “let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself—nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance.”

Amen. But unless we realize that, we may just frighten ourselves to death.

A tip of the hat to Better Than Salt Money for the heads-up on the Ohio legislation.

Posted in Justice, Social Issues, The World | Leave a comment

New looks for fall! A more serious color scheme for a more serious time.

I am going back to using a dark background, but blue instead of black, and with light grey font, and with all the font changed to Georgia from Trebuchet. The new Beta-Blogger template editor makes things like updating the look of your blog easy, but it still wasn’t enough: I still ended up mucking around in the HTML code to get rid of annoying bits of the template I didn’t like. (Which is one significant advantage Blogger has over Live Journal: in Blogger you only have to know a little HTML — or be able to figure out what you want to do — whereas in LJ you have to either work in their style system which is a pain or you have to know quite a bit of HTML to make real changes.)

It looks rather nautical to me. It remains to be seen how long before it induces eye strain (the reason I changed it in the first place) and change it again.

Posted in Blogging | Leave a comment

Truth to power: Keith Olbermann answers Donald Rumsfeld

On his show of August 30, 2006, Olbermann said:

The man who sees absolutes, where all other men see nuances and shades of meaning, is either a prophet, or a quack.

Donald H. Rumsfeld is not a prophet.

Mr. Rumsfeld’s remarkable speech to the American Legion yesterday demands the deep analysis—and the sober contemplation—of every American.

For it did not merely serve to impugn the morality or intelligence — indeed, the loyalty — of the majority of Americans who oppose the transient occupants of the highest offices in the land. Worse, still, it credits those same transient occupants — our employees — with a total omniscience; a total omniscience which neither common sense, nor this administration’s track record at home or abroad, suggests they deserve.

Dissent and disagreement with government is the life’s blood of human freedom; and not merely because it is the first roadblock against the kind of tyranny the men Mr. Rumsfeld likes to think of as “his” troops still fight, this very evening, in Iraq.

It is also essential. Because just every once in awhile it is right and the power to which it speaks, is wrong.

In a small irony, however, Mr. Rumsfeld’s speechwriter was adroit in invoking the memory of the appeasement of the Nazis. For in their time, there was another government faced with true peril—with a growing evil—powerful and remorseless.

That government, like Mr. Rumsfeld’s, had a monopoly on all the facts. It, too, had the “secret information.” It alone had the true picture of the threat. It too dismissed and insulted its critics in terms like Mr. Rumsfeld’s — questioning their intellect and their morality.

That government was England’s, in the 1930’s.

It knew Hitler posed no true threat to Europe, let alone England.

It knew Germany was not re-arming, in violation of all treaties and accords.

It knew that the hard evidence it received, which contradicted its own policies, its own conclusions — its own omniscience — needed to be dismissed.

The English government of Neville Chamberlain already knew the truth.

Most relevant of all — it “knew” that its staunchest critics needed to be marginalized and isolated. In fact, it portrayed the foremost of them as a blood-thirsty war-monger who was, if not truly senile, at best morally or intellectually confused.

That critic’s name was Winston Churchill.

Sadly, we have no Winston Churchills evident among us this evening. We have only Donald Rumsfelds, demonizing disagreement, the way Neville Chamberlain demonized Winston Churchill.

History — and 163 million pounds of Luftwaffe bombs over England — have taught us that all Mr. Chamberlain had was his certainty — and his own confusion. A confusion that suggested that the office can not only make the man, but that the office can also make the facts.

Thus, did Mr. Rumsfeld make an apt historical analogy.

Excepting the fact, that he has the battery plugged in backwards.

His government, absolute — and exclusive — in its knowledge, is not the modern version of the one which stood up to the Nazis.

It is the modern version of the government of Neville Chamberlain.

But back to today’s Omniscient ones.

That, about which Mr. Rumsfeld is confused is simply this: This is a Democracy. Still. Sometimes just barely.

And, as such, all voices count — not just his.

Had he or his president perhaps proven any of their prior claims of omniscience — about Osama Bin Laden’s plans five years ago, about Saddam Hussein’s weapons four years ago, about Hurricane Katrina’s impact one year ago — we all might be able to swallow hard, and accept their “omniscience” as a bearable, even useful recipe, of fact, plus ego.

But, to date, this government has proved little besides its own arrogance, and its own hubris.

Mr. Rumsfeld is also personally confused, morally or intellectually, about his own standing in this matter. From Iraq to Katrina, to the entire “Fog of Fear” which continues to envelop this nation, he, Mr. Bush, Mr. Cheney, and their cronies have — inadvertently or intentionally — profited and benefited, both personally, and politically.

And yet he can stand up, in public, and question the morality and the intellect of those of us who dare ask just for the receipt for the Emporer’s New Clothes?

In what country was Mr. Rumsfeld raised? As a child, of whose heroism did he read? On what side of the battle for freedom did he dream one day to fight? With what country has he confused the United States of America?

The confusion we — as its citizens— must now address, is stark and forbidding.

But variations of it have faced our forefathers, when men like Nixon and McCarthy and Curtis LeMay have darkened our skies and obscured our flag. Note — with hope in your heart — that those earlier Americans always found their way to the light, and we can, too.

The confusion is about whether this Secretary of Defense, and this administration, are in fact now accomplishing what they claim the terrorists seek: The destruction of our freedoms, the very ones for which the same veterans Mr. Rumsfeld addressed yesterday in Salt Lake City, so valiantly fought.

And about Mr. Rumsfeld’s other main assertion, that this country faces a “new type of fascism.”

As he was correct to remind us how a government that knew everything could get everything wrong, so too was he right when he said that — though probably not in the way he thought he meant it.

This country faces a new type of fascism – indeed.

Although I presumptuously use his sign-off each night, in feeble tribute, I have utterly no claim to the words of the exemplary journalist Edward R. Murrow.

But never in the trial of a thousand years of writing could I come close to matching how he phrased a warning to an earlier generation of us, at a time when other politicians thought they (and they alone) knew everything, and branded those who disagreed: “confused” or “immoral.”

Thus, forgive me, for reading Murrow, in full:

“We must not confuse dissent with disloyalty,” he said, in 1954. “We must remember always that accusation is not proof, and that conviction depends upon evidence and due process of law.

“We will not walk in fear, one of another. We will not be driven by fear into an age of unreason, if we dig deep in our history and our doctrine, and remember that we are not descended from fearful men, not from men who feared to write, to speak, to associate, and to defend causes that were for the moment unpopular.”

And so good night, and good luck.

Yeah. What he said.

transcript via Atrios and Better than Salt Money

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One year later.

There is a crime here that goes beyond denunciation. There is a sorrow here that weeping cannot symbolize. There is a failure here that topples all our success …. and in the eyes of the people there is the failure; and in the eyes of the hungry there is a growing wrath. In the souls of the people the grapes of wrath are filling and growing heavy, growing heavy for the vintage.

John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath, Chapter 25.

That pretty much says it all about how we’ve handled relief for the victims of Hurricane Katrina.

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A Debt We Owe.

On August 26, 1920, the Nineteenth Amendment was certified as having been ratified, and signed into law.

Three years earlier, in October, 1917, Alice Paul was sentenced to seven months in the D.C. Jail for obstructing traffic on sidewalks. She and other suffragists had been picketing the White House, protesting for the right to vote, which they had started to do in January. Other women had been arrested on similar charges, starting in June and July. Some were sent along with Paul to the D.C. Jail. Many were sent to the dreaded Occoquan Workhouse for Women in Virginia.

Once in jail, Paul and the other inmates were subject to horrific conditions. The suffragists were quite isolated — it was even difficult for the women’s lawyers to get in to see them (sound familiar?). That the women claimed to be political prisoners made their jailers treat them with even more brutal contempt. The near-starvation diet weakened them to the point of collapse.

The women began a hunger strike. As is usually the case, all that a hunger strike results in is the force-feeding of the inmates. (See also Guantanamo Bay, although it appears that at least at first the force-feeding of inmates at Gitmo may have been more humane than the treatment meted out to the suffragists.)

When she still refused to end her hunger strike, Paul was threatened with a being moved into the jail’s psyciatric ward, and then on to St. Elizabeth’s Hospital, the government’s insane asylum (a truly frightening prospect). When Paul still refused to start eating, she was moved to a tiny cell in the jail’s psychiatric ward, where she was kept even though the resident “alienist” (i.e., shrink) said she was not insane. In the psychiatric ward, Paul was subject to sleep-deprivation: a bright light was shone in her face every hour at night. (Torture isn’t a new concept in America, unfortunately.)

On the night of November 14, 1917, warden W.H. Whittaker of Occoquan decided to make an example of the suffragists, and sent guards through the prison beating and brutalizing the women. Lucy Burns, who in June had the distinction of being the first suffragist arrested (when she got three days in jail — she was subsequently arrested for longer sentences), was handcuffed to the bars of her cell all night, with her arms above her head. Dora Lewis was thrown into an iron bed so hard she passed out; her cellmate Alice Cosu believed her dead and had a heart attack.

A few days after the “Night of Terror,” many of the women appeared the Alexandria, Virginia courtroom for the U.S. Court of Appeals. The women bore the marks of their recent experiences on them, a fact which was heavily reported in the press. Some of the women were so weak that they could barely stand. The judge ordered the immediate transfer of the women in Occoquan to the Washington Jail pending review of their case. Three days later, the women were released — no explanations, no apologies.

Not at all surprisingly, the Court of Appeals later overturned their convictions.

Women continue to protest in front of the White House and Congress through 1918. They continued to be arrested, and undergo hunger strikes. Public opinion started shifting, and the 1918 mid-term elections resulted in a pro-sufferage Congress and the passage of the 19th Amendment.

You might want to mention this little-known episode in American history the next time someone says that it’s “too much trouble” to vote, or “the candidates are alike, why bother?” The memory of Alice Paul and the women of the Occoquan Workhouse deserves it.

Posted in Feminism, History, Justice | 4 Comments

Little known heroes of American history, #37592

On August 18, 1920, the Tennessee legislature engaged in a fierce debate over the Anthony Amendment, which would give women the right to vote. Thirty-five other states had ratified the amendment, and if Tennessee followed suit, it would be enshrined in the Constitution as the Nineteenth Amendment.

Two votes ended in ties. On the third vote, the youngest member of the Tennessee House, 24-year-old Harry Burn, changed his vote — thus ensuring ratification. Burn later admitted that he had changed his vote because he had received a telegram from his mother, telling him “Don’t forget to be a good boy,” and “Hurrah and vote for suffrage! ”

For his vote, angry suffrage opponents chased Burn around the room. He fled onto a third floor ledge to escape, and managed to hide in the Capitol attic until things died down.

Thanks, Harry. And you too, Mrs. Burn.

Posted in Feminism, History | 2 Comments

Holiday cheer.

Several years ago, Staples ran television back-to-school ads with the Andy Williams Christmas hit “It’s The Most Wonderful Time of The Year” showing a dad cavorting down the aisles of the store, followed by a couple of sullen pre-teens.

My husband and I thought the ads were hysterical. My kids, rather predictably, did not.

This week they returned to school (except for the NLDB*, who is still recovering from surgery). Which means my schedule goes nuts. Especially once the NLDB returns to school and has early morning band practice every morning and late afternoon band practice twice a week, and with the other kids’ appointments and activities.

Part of me is contemplating the mommy wars and what we do to each other as women and why some stay-at-home-mothers look down on employed mothers (and why don’t they look down on employed fathers?), and why some employed mothers sneer at stay-at-home mothers (and does this mean that they feel justified in sneering at paid nannies, since they fulfill similar functions?). And how the media feeds the flames. And how the mommy wars are in nobody’s best interest except big business, because as long as it can be categorized as a “women’s issue” they don’t have to deal with wholesale changes to the workplace to make it less hostile to all parents and families.

Except that’s old news. Furthermore, I’m way too tired. I’ve spent this week in the elusive search for ….. school supplies.

Don’t laugh.

I usually do not wait until the night before to get supplies, but we had other issues to deal with (see NLDB, above, and surgery). Usually, I shop in advance, and am able to get to the office supply store before the rush and get everything the schools require us to have. Not this time. Big mistake. Trying to find school supplies the evening before school started was like trying to find that perfect gift at 6 p.m. on Christmas Eve.**

Each year, the lists from the elementary school seem to get more complicated. And it’s not just that my kid is getting older: looking at the list for younger grades, those look more complicated, too. Some of this is a function of reduced school spending which has parents buying supplies that were once bought by the school (such as rolls of paper towels and kleenex). (And Post-It notes: second graders use those?) But it is also more demands on the part of the school about the supplies the parents buy for use by their children.

Now they specify brands. Crayons and colored pencils have to be Crayola (“no Rose-Art, please!”). Magic Rub erasers. Fiskar scissors. Scotch tape. Avery glue sticks. Mead binders and notebooks. Mead composition books.

They specify number, too. Which would be fine, except sometimes the number they specify is either hard to find, or confusing. Apparently, Crayola fine-line markers come in an 8-pack. Funny, none of the stores I was at had them. I sent a 10-pack. Similarly, most places had either 8 or 24 box of crayons, not 16. And I did not send Fiskar scissors, and went generic for erasers and glue sticks. To hell with it.

What I cannot understand is how this insistence on brand-name loyalty advances any legitimate educational purpose. The only purposes I can think of are: a) the school is getting a kickback from Crayola, Avery, etc., b) the PTA makes enough money off of selling pre-orders of school supply bundles that they try to make it as difficult as possible to buy the things on your own, or c) if kids didn’t have exactly the same supplies, it would interfere with classroom instruction.

Is it that the kids tease those whose supplies don’t make the grade? Or is it that the schools are worried about kids whose parents bought them more, perhaps with a crayon arms race developing? This is not a poor school, and I’m pretty sure provides supplies for kids who need them, so I don’t know that it is that.

You know what? This strikes me as a golden teaching opportunity. Maybe instead of insisting everyone has exactly the same markers, we can teach them the virtues of perspective and minding your own business, and worrying more about what you are going to draw with your crayons than how many Jason has. And maybe Jason can learn that having more shades of blue is less important than how you use your imagination.

Of course, what do I know? I’m no teacher. I’m simply a really cranky, middle-aged woman who has had to rifle through one too many bins of Crayola Brand colored pencils, and run out for a calculator because the NLDB lost the TI-83X graphing calculator I bought him last year, and he needed to keep up with the work he’s missing in school. (No, I didn’t buy him another graphing calculator. We’re in negotiation about whether he is going to pay to replace it, and if so, what portion.)

Hey, next week the real fun starts… Homework!

I think I need to go to sleep. Wake me when Christmas rolls around.

*Not so Little Drummer Boy. He’s 5’11”. Or would be, IF HE DIDN’T SLOUCH ALL THE TIME (are you listening, kid?)

** The Office Depot near where I live even had “extended back-to-school hours.”

 

Posted in Kids in all their glory, My life and times | Tagged | 2 Comments

We write letters….

Dear Sirs,

Peter Ligeti (Letters, August 21) says: “I wonder how federal Judge Anna Diggs Taylor and all members of the ACLU will feel when the next major terrorist act hits the United States. Judge Taylor obviously has not learned from the very recent British example….”

Mr. Ligeti has failed to learn that law enforcement can conduct a successful covert operation without trampling on people’s rights. No one, including Judge Taylor, has ever insisted the Administration not be allowed to conduct wiretaps, only that they follow the law and the Constitution and get warrants before doing so. The British were able to uncover a terrorist plot through standard police work, including obtaining all the necessary warrants; does Mr. Ligeti feel that American law enforcement isn’t capable of doing likewise?

Sincerely….

[Note: My original letter was much more eloquent and barbed — and twice the submission limit. Oh, well.]

 

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