More DuSable pics below the fold Continue Reading…
Come for the race relations were great until President Obama, and the all-the-women-are-lying. Stay for the bonus Soros quotes.
There is one consolation: The average age of the voters expressing unfortunate views.Younger people will create a better America.
Sundayâ€™sÂ Washington Post includedÂ a front-page story, â€œFear, hope, and deportations,â€ which merits a careful and sympathetic read from liberals, conservatives, and journalists trying to understand what is happening in America Â today.
Reporters Mary Jordan and Kevin Sullivan profile a 59-year-old Texas woman named Tamara Estes. She was born into some affluence, raised in â€œa grand home with a built-in pool.â€ But her mom died when she was four. Her dad died when she was nineteen. She married young, and by age 26 she was divorced with two kids. She has since traveled a sad path of downward economic mobility, never going to college, taking a succession of dead-end jobs. She now works as a school bus driver in Valley View, Texas, with an annual income of $24,000. â€œWith four days left to payday, she has $118.72 in her checking account.â€
She is a die-hard Trump supporter. SheÂ seethes at undocumented immigrants and their children in her own community. It’s pitiful to hear her. President Trump brings out the worst in his own neediest supporters before he betrays them.
Ms. Estes is also uninsured. Yet she supports a president and a party thatÂ specifically propose to putÂ coverage out of reach for low-income near-retirees like herself. She so perfectly fits a certain political-demographic story that her biographic details might have been perfected at the MIT Media Lab or Huffington Post. As with most things, though, it’s a bit more complicated. I looked up what’s available toÂ her under ACA, and it’s hardly surprising that she doesn’t feel particularly grateful for it.
I wrote about her story at healthinsurance.org. There’s a little snippet below.
Tamara Estes is not the worldâ€™s most appealing or most perfect person. She should take fewer puffs on bigoted and deceptive right-wing radio. She shouldnâ€™t blame immigrants for her lifeâ€™s disappointments and problems. Harming immigrants will do nothing to help her. As a friend noted on email, it wouldnâ€™t hurt her to learn a little Spanish, too. If nothing else, she might learn a few kinds words for the kids she transports. She might be less lonely and isolated if she got to know her immigrant neighbors, who seem like lovely people.
But I canâ€™t hate her. In violence prevention, we like to say: â€œHurt people hurt people.â€ Thatâ€™s true in politics, too. Tamara Estes is hurting, and sheâ€™s lashing out at her own neighbors. Thatâ€™s ugly to see.
But she still needs help. She didnâ€™t get enough from the ACA. Sheâ€™ll get a lot less from President Trump, but we supporters of expanded coverage have given her too little reason to really know that. Whatever happens in the current knife-fight over health reform. We face a daunting moral and political challenge to fix that, to go in precisely the opposite direction Republicans are determined to go.
My friend Jeremy Paretsky – whose sermon on the knowledge of God was posted here some time ago – is now the Sub-Prior (administrator) of a small Dominican Order house in New York. Â A man who works for him – a legal permanent resident of the United States, the father of two natural-born U.S. citizens – just had a deeply troubling experience with Donald Trump’s “unshackled” ICE. He was stopped for no reason other than his appearance, treated rudely, manhandled, held for interrogation for 90 minutes, and finally released without any apology or explanation other than that the stop was “routine”: which implies that it could be repeated at any time.
In the movies of my childhood, the cold-faced men demanding “Your papers, please” had German or Russian accents. Â I preferred it that way.
This event makes me think that whatever the shackles were, they need to be put back in place. Â Fr. Paretsky’s letter to Sen. Gillibrand follows. Â I can provide his contact information to any journalist or lawyer who would like to follow up.
The good news is that Sen. Gillibrand has offered to help. The bad news is that the victim of this outrage – I repeat, a legal permanent resident of this country, who has been accused of no wrongdoing of any kind – is too afraid to allow his name to be used. Â In the United States of America.
Footnote Do you routinely carry documents proving that you’re a U.S. citizen? Neither do I.
On February 19, 1942, Franklin Roosevelt reached the moral low point of his presidency, signing Executive Order 9066. This authorized the internment of Japanese Americans in flagrant violation of the Constitution and our best national values.
Public hysteria to expel or deport Japanese-Americans rested on racial paranoia and resentment partly rooted in the competitive success of Japanese Americans in California and other western states. Yeah, Jewish readers would find much of the popular discourse–not to mention various sundry details regarding neighbors’ theft of property belonging to interned families–rather chilling in its familiarity. An amazing exhibit at the Japanese American national museum details much of this history. It is worth a visit.
President Trump is the most comprehensively unworthy man to occupy the Oval Office in modern American history. Yet far better men perpetrated worse injustices than we have seen thus far in the Trump administration. As Keith rightly notes in the first comment below, Earl Warren and many others supported the Japanese internment. Most other Americans acquiesced with their silence. Hopefully, our society and basic institutions learned from these experiences and failures, and will step up to resist contemporary injustices.
Dorothea Lange’s censored pictures of the Japanese-American internment, available through the Library of Congress, provide a heartbreaking reminder. For more information, check out Linda Gordon’sÂ Impounded Dorothea Lange & the Censored Images of Japanese American Internment.Â
Protest march, sponsored by the Jewish Voices for Peace and the Muslim Education Center. Morton Grove, Illinois.
My wife and I did GOTV in Las Vegas on Monday and Tuesday. Half an hour before the Nevada polls closed on Tuesday night we were knocking on doors when I suddenly noticed a red laser pointer on my chest. I looked around, then saw it move to my wife. (For those of you who donâ€™t know, laser-sighting mechanisms are used on firearms.) We were being sent a message. We crossed the street and the red dot kept reappearing. I looked back and saw someone standing in the shadows of a cracked open door aiming the laser pointer (attached to who knows what). We called an Uber and left.
I continue to be shaken by this, but I also know that it is an exceptional moment in my life. At no point did I feel like I was without recourse. I had the money to call someone to get me out of there, and I know that if I had called the cops, I would be believed. Iâ€™m white. (My wife is brown, but, in these kinds of situations, for reasons that are both sad and distressingly normalized, I am the designated spokesperson for our family.) I know that my voice counts. When I talk to officials, my opinion isnâ€™t automatically viewed with suspicion, or qualifiers, or modifiers. I have full citizenship and freedomâ€”by which I mean, as Nina Simone described in the excellent documentary What Happened, Miss Simone?, that I am free because I am (generally) not afraid.
Flash back about 15 years. I was hanging â€œremember to voteâ€ literature on peopleâ€™s doors early one morning in Echo Park, a neighborhood in Los Angeles. A friend of mine was running for city council; his father, at the time, was District Attorney. I saw a black-and-white police car speeding towards me on the wrong side of the road. They pulled up on the sidewalk in front of me, jumped out, and yelled â€œStop!â€ I looked around, wondering who was in so much trouble. Then they drew their weapons and yelled â€œStop!â€ again, at which point I realized I was the one in trouble. I was cuffed as one officer, weapon drawn, yelled â€œWhat are you doing?â€ I said, â€œHanding out flyers for Eric Garcetti.â€ He yelled the same question again; I gave the same answer. He was so convinced that I was doing something wrong that it took a while for the data to sink in with him and his partner, even though my story checked out at every point: all the campaign lit in my bag, the button I was wearing, the lack of contraband. In the meantime I had to deal with passersby in cars and on foot staring at me, the man in cuffs, being interrogated by the cops.
This, too, shook me, but it was also, as I knew even then, a one-off event. I didnâ€™t have anything to hide. I even knew the DA. I thought that when the cops were coming, they werenâ€™t coming for me. This is because Iâ€™m so white that when I see the cops, I think, instinctively, that they are there to protect me. That when you call them, you will be believed. That good things will happen once they get there. I actually feel like the experience of being stopped wrongly has given me some insights that most white people donâ€™t haveâ€”what it is like to be telling the truth but to be powerless (at least initially) to make someone believe you. To be hassled and shamed. To have someone point a gun at you. Even though I am an insider, it scared the hell out of me. I have no idea what it would feel like to be an outsider, to have that happen and not â€œknow peopleâ€ who would help me. To have that be more than just one story, but, instead, just a part of lifeâ€”not even that noteworthy. My telling this story as an unusual event is itself part of the privilege of being white.
This is not the republic of my imagination.
–Charles Dickens, letter to William Macready, from Baltimore (1842)
This is a great political commercial: Unironic, straightforward, unadorned by the stupid music or juvenile slow-motion perp shots we see in many negative ads. There’s no need for any of that given what’s at stake for millions of people.
Please vote–not for people like me or my relatively privileged colleagues who write for samefacts, but for many others who have so much to lose if we all let down our guard when faced with a grifting demagogue who might become president. This one really matters.
All three kindof rock. I like Al Jolson’s the best. But Johnny Mathis is pretty great, too. Plus Mathis has the best acting. Best to all my friends and families for an easy and reflective holiday. I always find the caffeine deprivation the most difficult part.