Those of us living in Paradise are a long, long way from the turmoil in Chicago, Portland, and Los Angeles, but we do have television sets and newspapers and while all of us are alarmed at the indiscriminate violence being unleashed by the Cluck administration, some are frightened enough to be rethinking their involvement in resistance movements. The realities of being involved in protest against lawless regimes are becoming more real. The more successful these movements become, the more they will be targeted. It is not to be expected that thugs with power will relinquish or restrain that power with good grace.
Having already been schooled in Nonviolent Protest 101 (civil rights movement) and Nonviolent Protest 102 (anti-Viet Nam-war protests), I have been aware since the beginning that there were risks, so while I can’t claim to be unconcerned, I am not at all surprised. The next large national demonstration (No Kings 2) is only six days away, on October 18, and the members of our small-town chapter of Indivisible will be out there doing our thing. Indivisible, of course, is not the only group involved in this movement, it is one part of a large and growing network of organizations who share a repulsion at what the Cluck gang is doing, and who come together to work at limiting the damage they can do.
We have been very much encouraged by the neutrality and professionalism of our local police department. The presence of their black and white cruisers seems to cool the ardor of the occupants of the flagged-up pickup trucks who roar past shouting obscenities and extending middle fingers.
Thus far there have been no episodes of direct confrontation, no scuffling or punches traded. Our plan is always to keep that number at zero if possible. Those of us who are involved in the planning of the demonstrations are getting quite a lot of training in the de-escalation of threats and in what we can do to stay safe.
On a lighter side, one of the aims of our local leadership is to gently discourage the carrying of signs prominently displaying the “F” word. Of course there is no censorship, but guidance is definitely provided.
But if you come to Paradise on the 18th and want to carry a banner that says Eff The Effing Fascists you will be warmly welcomed. Your presence is more important than the precise language you choose to express yourself.
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This week Robin and I re-watched the movie Ghandi. What an excellent and inspiring story, revealing what change a single determined man or woman might achieve if their motives and objectives were clear. The film won seven Oscars in 1983, and deserved every one of them.
It’s available for viewing on Prime for the princely sum of 354 rupees.
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One of the sure signs of impending cold weather is the death of the marigolds. At 33 degrees Fahrenheit they are fine, at 32 they all die. Back during the several-year-period between my divorce and meeting Robin, my friend (who will remain unnamed to protect his exemplary reputation) and I would celebrate the changing of the seasons by gathering all those dead flowers after that first hard frost, open several bottles of Pilsner Urquell, and sit around a ceremonial campfire in my backyard. I think we were trying to work out what it all means … you know … meaning of life and that sort of stuff.
It wasn’t Burning Man by any means, but the Burning of the Marigolds was a short-lived tradition that did not survive the two of us going off and starting new marriages and new lives.
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The calling out of the National Guard is not a new thing at all. What is new is that this time it isn’t needed at all, but is instead part of a traveling roadshow being staged by the present regime. There are hazards in calling up the Guard, and especially when they are armed. These are not combat-ready, steel-nerved and battle-hardened troops. They are younger servicemen and women, weekend warriors and summer soldiers from down the street.
One fine day in May of 1970 a group of such National Guardsmen faced a large group of protesters at a rally at Kent State University, in Kent, Ohio. Some of these protesters threw stones at the Guardsmen. Things went very wrong and suddenly there were four dead students, victims of rifle fire of frightened young men in uniform. Nine other students were also wounded in the volley.
Within a very short time, this next song was on the charts.
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Yesterday being a dreary day, with clouds and damp and all, we betook ourselves to the town of Delta, a 20 mile drive from home. Our aim was to find a new spot to eat lunch, and voila! – there it was, the Taqueria Master. The food was good enough to merit a return visit on another day. I had my first chorizo taco and it was tasty.
One of the menu items was a taco where the meat source was labeled “cabeza.” That gave me pause, and I asked myself: “On this day, the 10th of October in the year of our lord 2025 do you really want to find out what goes into a cabeza taco?” And my answer to myself was “No.”
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This cartoon came across my computer/desk this week, and for me it is one of those haunting images that I cannot shake. I don’t know exactly what its author meant to tell us, and a search for that person’s identity ended when I ran into only Arabic language resources. But what I see is a father returning to a ruined city in Gaza where the ghosts of his children play.
The children’s names below appear on a list of victims of Israel’s offensive in Gaza, maintained by health authorities in the territory. As of the end of July it ran to 60,199 names, of whom 18,457 were under 18s. Far from comprehensive, the list does not include the thousands still buried under the rubble of destroyed buildings, as well as the war’s many indirect victims.
If one child is killed during a military offensive it is a tragedy, the euphemism “collateral damage” is often applied to such deaths. But on this scale … it is a crime that goes beyond anything that can be so categorized. Hamas bears responsibility for the ugliness and horrific violence of October 7 two years ago. But the Israeli government, its leadership, and its army committed this crime against humanity. You do not kill this many children unless you make no distinction between combatants and civilians. I believe that the briefest glance at the article in The Guardian from which the above quote was taken will sicken most readers, as it did me.
The murderers on both sides should be exposed and brought to judgment. We must speak for the silenced children.
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Little Home In The Valley 