“Send her back! Send her back! Send her back!” ~ Latest crowd chant at a Trump rally

Baron Von Fancy Billboard in the Bowery, NYC

“Sleep not in peace:
There are a thousand waters to be spanned;
there are a thousand mountains to be crossed;
there are a thousand crosses to be borne.” ~ Rafael Zulueta da Costa, from “Like the Molave”

Saturday evening, sunny and hot, 93 degrees (feels like 98).

I’ve been pondering this post for a few days. Finally, I decided that the best way to write it was just to write it. I’ve been saving this Camus quote from a 1948 play for a bit, and it seems fitting; the more things and times change, the more they stay the same:

“Every time I hear a political speech or I read those of our leaders, I am horrified at having, for years, heard nothing which sounded human. It is always the same words telling the same lies. And the fact that men accept this, that the people’s anger has not destroyed these hollow clowns, strikes me as proof that men attribute no importance to the way they are governed; that they gamble – yes, gamble – with a whole part of their life and their so called ‘vital interests.” ~ Albert Camus, from State of Siege (L’État de siège)

I was born in Norfolk, Virginia to a Filipino father who became an American citizen by fighting for the U.S. during WWII, and a mother from a small town in North Carolina. At the time in which they were married, there was still a law on the books in Virginia that made their marriage illegal. They got married in Elizabeth City, NC. I have light olive skin, but when I was young, I used to tan like crazy, and could get quite dark.

I tell you all of this for one specific reason: I have been told to go back to where I come from. Truthfully, that’s not the worst racist thing aimed at me or to which I was subjected. In fact, the first time that I heard the N-word was in Norfolk when someone called me one. I went home and asked my mother what it meant.

I have been asked what I am. If I have replied, “an American,” I have been asked what kind? I have been asked if the rumor is true that Oriental women have vaginas that are built differently. I have been told in apparent praise that Filipinos are good workers in the kitchen (as Navy stewards). I once heard someone say that my father was good looking for a Filipino. I was asked by my school mates in grade school why my eyes looked the way that they did. My father, who spoke with an accent, was told to speak English; his vernacular was more eloquent and proper than most people I have known, including many of those born here. People have openly stared at me when I’ve had my three children together as my daughter is fair, and my sons are quite olive, more brown in the summer, and I’ve been asked in front of them if they have different fathers. They don’t.

When I was young, I longed for long blond hair and blue eyes. I did not get them, obviously, and I am oh so grateful. I am made of fairly strong stuff, directly as a result of the kinds of things that I used to routinely hear, face, and experience. To be half-Filipino with a very proper British accent in the south before segregation? Now that’s different. I was the darkest thing in my school. Oh how I hated it then. Now? It makes me laugh.

Ignorance makes me laugh. Dumpf makes me laugh, that is when he’s not making me grab my head in pain from screaming at the television. I don’t write about politics often here as a deliberate decision. I will probably ramp up closer to the election, but right now I’m trying to hold on to my sanity. So I eschew the pontificating. For now, that is.

But I had to write just a few words in response to this past week’s latest Dumpster fire. Go back to where you came from hits at the very heart of anyone who is first or second or even third generation, but seriously, it should hit at anyone who calls themselves American. None of us came from here, not really. Only the Native Americans came from here. The rest of us? Immigrants. Willing and unwilling. Pilgrims. Slaves. Indentured servants. Whatever, whoever, however. We all come from immigrant stock.

I have no plans to go back to where I came from, at least not immediately. I mean, I came from Norfolk, so there’s that . . . But I have to ask you, those of you out there who still think 45 is the guy for you, that he represents real Americans, whatever that means—how is it that you really don’t see him as the sexually perverse, pussy-grabbing, serially-unfaithful, draft-dodging, tax-evading, child-abusing, racist crook that he is? I’m not asking you to vote for a Democrat. That’s not what this is about. I’m just asking you to look within and ask yourselves if this man truly represents your America, land of the free, home of the brave, we “huddled masses yearning to breathe free” . . .

That’s all. Just that.


It was really hard to pick the right song. I finally settled on Chicano Batman’s bilingual version of “This Land is Your Land” (I know that it’s a Johnny Walker commercial; doesn’t matter, it’s the point).



I Was In A Hurry

Yesterday I lost a country.
I was in a hurry,
and didn’t notice when it fell from me
like a broken branch from a forgetful tree.
Please, if anyone passes by
and stumbles across it,
perhaps in a suitcase
open to the sky,
or engraved on a rock
like a gaping wound,
or wrapped
in the blankets of emigrants,
or canceled
like a losing lottery ticket,
or helplessly forgotten
in Purgatory,
or rushing forward without a goal
like the questions of children,
or rising with the smoke of war,
or rolling in a helmet on the sand,
or stolen in Ali Baba’s jar,
or disguised in the uniform of a policeman
who stirred up the prisoners
and fled,
or squatting in the mind of a woman
who tries to smile,
or scattered
like the dreams
of new immigrants in America.
If anyone stumbles across it,
return it to me, please.
Please return it, sir.
Please return it, madam.
It is my country. . .
I was in a hurry
when I lost it yesterday.I Was In A Hurry

Yesterday I lost a country.
I was in a hurry,
and didn’t notice when it fell from me
like a broken branch from a forgetful tree.
Please, if anyone passes by
and stumbles across it,
perhaps in a suitcase
open to the sky,
or engraved on a rock
like a gaping wound,
or wrapped
in the blankets of emigrants,
or canceled
like a losing lottery ticket,
or helplessly forgotten
in Purgatory,
or rushing forward without a goal
like the questions of children,
or rising with the smoke of war,
or rolling in a helmet on the sand,
or stolen in Ali Baba’s jar,
or disguised in the uniform of a policeman
who stirred up the prisoners
and fled,
or squatting in the mind of a woman
who tries to smile,
or scattered
like the dreams
of new immigrants in America.
If anyone stumbles across it,
return it to me, please.
Please return it, sir.
Please return it, madam.
It is my country. . .
I was in a hurry
when I lost it yesterday.

~ Dunya Mikhail (Trans, Elizabeth Winslow) (found on Poetry Foundation)

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“Politics is the art of looking for trouble, finding it everywhere, diagnosing it incorrectly, and applying the wrong remedies.” ~ Groucho Marx

Mark Twain

“Everything is changing. People are taking their comedians seriously and the politicians as a joke.” ~ Will Rogers

Thursday afternoon. Mostly cloudy and cold, 38 degrees.

The snow from recent days made me remember something funny in politics, and there just hasn’t been much humor in politics for the past few years. Plus I’ve been so intense the last few days that I thought that you, dear reader, and I could use a break, hence, Throwback Thursday. Enjoy.


On Sunday, February 15, 2015, Jeff Jackson, a young Democratic NC State senator, was the only senator in the general assembly because of snow. Obviously a man with a sense of humor, Jackson passed sweeping legislation while he had the run of the floor. If only . . .


Music by Midnight Oil, “Beds are Burning” (late 80’s protest song by former Australian band)


Of History and Hope

We have memorized America,
how it was born and who we have been and where.
In ceremonies and silence we say the words,
telling the stories, singing the old songs.
We like the places they take us. Mostly we do.
The great and all the anonymous dead are there.
We know the sound of all the sounds we brought.
The rich taste of it is on our tongues.
But where are we going to be, and why, and who?
The disenfranchised dead want to know.
We mean to be the people we meant to be,
to keep on going where we meant to go.

But how do we fashion the future? Who can say how
except in the minds of those who will call it Now?
The children. The children. And how does our garden grow?
With waving hands—oh, rarely in a row—
and flowering faces. And brambles, that we can no longer allow.

Who were many people coming together
cannot become one people falling apart.
Who dreamed for every child an even chance
cannot let luck alone turn doorknobs or not.
Whose law was never so much of the hand as the head
cannot let chaos make its way to the heart.
Who have seen learning struggle from teacher to child
cannot let ignorance spread itself like rot.
We know what we have done and what we have said,
and how we have grown, degree by slow degree,
believing ourselves toward all we have tried to become—
just and compassionate, equal, able, and free.

All this in the hands of children, eyes already set
on a land we never can visit—it isn’t there yet—
but looking through their eyes, we can see
what our long gift to them may come to be.
If we can truly remember, they will not forget.

~ Miller Williams (1930-2015), President Clinton’s Inaugural Poet, 1997

Argh……..

Just an FYI, I’ve just added this site to Bloglovin‘, so if you already use that site, you can read me there . . .

. . . except, you cannot read me there yet because I keep getting error messages. I’ve emailed support. I’ll update when this one is working.


Music by Marvin Gaye, “What’s Going On?” (on a bit of a protest song bend, plus the apt title)

“We are going to make sure that every vote is counted – because in a civilized nation, the machinery of democracy should work everywhere for everyone.” ~ Stacey Abrams, Georgia Gubernatorial Candidate (D)

historic female firsts 2018
(From left to right) Rashida Tlaib, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, Sharice Davids, Ilhan Omar and Ayanna Pressley (Getty)

“Kemp’s actions during the election were textbook voter suppression . . . [they] were strategic, careless and aimed at silencing the voting power of communities of color in the state.” ~ Derrick Johnson, NAACP President

I love that Brian Kemp declared himself the victor in a race that is almost certain to go to a runoff. I guess we all need to dream (nice way of saying that he’s deluded). At least he finally resigned his Georgia Secretary of State position, something he should have done before he started his suppression tactics.

Anyway, as of today, votes are still being tallied in many races, including that bastion of questionable close races: Florida. Of course we can count on 45 to make another stupid Twitter comment about it: “Law Enforcement is looking into another big corruption scandal having to do with Election Fraud in #Broward and Palm Beach.”

Republican Senatorial candidate Gov. Rick Scott started yelling fraud as soon as the margin began to close between him and Florida’s incumbent Democrat Bill Nelson. David Becker, a former Justice Department voting-rights lawyer, commented that “these counties haven’t even finished counting ballots. This is all about winning and nothing about fraud, but it comes at the cost of delegitimizing our own democracy.”

Nevertheless, Democratic gains as of today are 30 seats in the House, with about 12 races still too close to call. This year’s midterms were significant for so many reasons, not the least of which was the incredibly diverse slate of candidates. According to an article in Market Watch, “At least 244 lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender candidates ran for office on all levels of government this year, including 21 candidates for Congress and four for governor.”

More importantly, with a record number of women voting, running, and winning, this race saw an historic number of firsts for women: first Muslims, youngest, first Latinas, first women of color, first Native Americans. In January, women will comprise 22 percent on Congressional makeup (up from 20 percent); still not enough, but definitely better than before. This article lists details.

More later. Peace.


Music by Janelle Monáe, “Q.U.E.E.N., featuring Erykah Badu (sorry, accidentally put the John Lennon song here first)

 

 

 

The 116th Congress will be one of the most diverse in the country’s history

Woman dressed as suffragette
A woman dressed as a suffragette casts her ballot for the midterm elections at the Polk County Election Office on October 8, 2018 in Des Moines, Iowa by Scott Olson | Getty Images

We did it! As of the end of last night, the Democrats had retaken the House of Representatives in spite of all of the questionable tactics used to interfere with our Constitutional right to vote. Don’t even get me started. The two big governor’s races in Florida and Georgia are questionable even though Andrew Gillum conceded, but I’m really hoping that the candidates in those two races pull ahead. It looks like there are quite a few races in which the margins make the results too close to call, but for now, there’s a whole lot of wait and see.


Music by John Lennon, “Gimme Some Truth”