Posts Tagged 'politics'

WHY DID YOU VOTE FOR HILLARY CLINTON—INSTEAD OF BERNIE SANDERS—IN THE 2016 DEMOCRATIC PRIMARIES?

‘Why didn’t you report this sooner?’ is a valid question.

And the #WhyIDidntReport answers are valid answers.

But perhaps most valid of all are these questions:

If Hillary Clinton were President of the United States—instead of Donald Trump—would you have reported this yet?

Why did you vote for Hillary Clinton—instead of Bernie Sanders—in the 2016 Democratic primaries?

HISTORY, CIVICS, AND PERSONAL RESPONSIBILITY PENSACOLA’S FIVE-FLAGS DISPLAYS

HISTORY, CIVICS, AND PERSONAL RESPONSIBILITY PART 1

HISTORY, CIVICS, AND PERSONAL RESPONSIBILITY PART 2

HISTORY, CIVICS, AND PERSONAL RESPONSIBILITY PART 3

THEY ARE NOTHING TO BE AFRAID OF

When I was a little boy, I was afraid of cats.

I was terrified of cats, actually.

Domestic cats.

We had no cats, as pets—only dogs.

And whenever I saw a cat—anywhere near me—I got back inside, fast.  

Whenever I saw a cat, anywhere near me, I got into my safe space—and stayed there.

Mr. Sutton, over a block away from our house, had cats.

And even though our backyard was fenced, I would sit on our back porch, rather than even venture into our fenced backyard—because I was so terrified of those cats over a block away.

My mother would urge me to get off that back porch, and enjoy the backyard—but I wouldn’t budge, because I was so terrified of neighbors’ cats.

There was a National Geographic article about cats.

In that article, there was a photograph of a Siamese cat, standing up, grabbing a fish someone had offered it—and because it was a close-up photograph, that cat appeared to be the size of a man or woman.

I had a nightmare about that cat.  I dreamed there was a man-or-woman-sized Siamese cat walking upright down the hall, saying, “Ring around the collar, ring around the collar!” and coming to get me.

One night, I thought I saw a cat in the hall—even though we had no cats.  And to this day, I’m not sure if that cat was real or not.

Cats scared the hell out of me—I truly thought they were the most terrifying things in the world.

My mother said that a cat jumped on my back when I was an infant—and that’s why I was so terrified of cats.  I can’t remember this incident—but it had to have happened, because it’s the only thing that explains my fear of cats.

One night, I saw a cat outside in the dark—and ran back inside the house, my safe space, of course.

But my sister, Cathy, who had taught me how to ride a bicycle without training wheels—got rid of my fear right there.

She picked up the cat, and brought it inside the house.  And she showed me that the cat was nothing to be afraid of, and urged me to pet the cat.  

And I petted the cat, as Cathy held it—and discovered that it was nothing to fear at all.  I discovered that it was just like a dog—and was pretty and soft and warm and friendly, just like a dog—and that it liked to be petted, and made a pleasant, purring sound.

Once my sister, Cathy, urged me not to run from a cat—but to learn something about it, and to gain some understanding of it—I was completely cured of my fear of cats.

And I have never been afraid of cats—at all—since that moment.

You hate Confederate flags and monuments, because you are afraid of them.

And you are afraid of Confederate flags and monuments, because you have learned nothing about them, and have gained no understanding of them.

But rather than face your fear of Confederate flags and monuments—and allow yourself to learn about them, and gain some understanding of them—you demand that politicians remove them from your sight.

And the gutless and immoral Republican and Democratic politicians remove them from your sight—and you remain terrified of all Confederate flags and monuments.

The gutless and immoral neocon and liberal politicians remove them from your sight—and you remain terrified of all Confederate flags and monuments.

But this time, I’m asking you not to run from Confederate flags and monuments.

I’m asking you not to retreat to your safe spaces—where you’re never really safe, because the only thing you have to fear truly is fear itself.

I get rid of your fear right now.

I show you the Confederate flags and monuments—in this space.  And I show you that Confederate flags and monuments are nothing to be afraid of, and urge you to look at the flags and monuments.

I urge you not to let politicians censor your Confederate flags and monuments anymore—but to learn something about them, and to gain some understanding of them—so you’ll be completely cured of your fear of Confederate flags and monuments.

Look at these flags and monuments.  Look at them, and think about what they really meant, in the time that they were created.  Since June 22, 2015, this blog has been filled with background information on Confederate flags and monuments—not misinformation, like that spread by neocon and liberal politicians, like Nimrata Randhawa Haley and Mitch Landrieu—but real, researched, truthful information that will give you a good place to start in your discovery of the true history of Confederate flags and monuments.

Your fear of Confederate flags and monuments is as irrational as my fear of cats was—and you can rid yourself of that irrational fear right now, if you truly make an effort to do so.

Are you ready?

You see, they are nothing to be afraid of—only something to be discovered, understood, and even appreciated.

RESPECT AND APPRECIATE, GENERATION Y

BLACK LIVES MATTER, Generation Y?

During the Great Depression, Marian Anderson was prohibited from singing at Constitution Hall, in Washington, D.C., by the Daughters of the American Revolution—because she was colored.  First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt resigned from the DAR—then arranged for Marian Anderson to sing in front of the Lincoln Memorial, instead.

 

BLACK LIVES MATTER, Generation Y?

In 1940, Hattie McDaniel was a Best Supporting Actress Academy Award nominee for her role as “Mammy” in the 1939 production of “Gone with the Wind”.

Colored people were prohibited from entering the Los Angeles hotel where the awards ceremony was held, but the hotel made an exception for Hattie McDaniel.  It allowed her to attend the ceremony—though she had to sit at a table across the room from the tables where the whites sat.  Hattie McDaniel graciously accepted the Best Supporting Actress Academy Award however, stating that she hoped to be a credit to her race.

 

BLACK LIVES MATTER, Generation Y?

The majority of abolitionists in the 19th century were whites who simply didn’t want blacks around—enslaved or free.

In all Northern states, blacks were segregated from whites—and some, like Indiana, kept blacks out entirely.

 

BLACK LIVES MATTER, Generation Y?

My Grandma Mayo, who was raised in Ohio, encountered some uppity Southern women once—the kind of Southern women who gave all Southern women a bad name.  

They asked her a question about a train’s schedule, and she replied, “That colored lady said…”

“We don’t call a colored woman a ‘lady,'” they interrupted.

 

BLACK LIVES MATTER, Generation Y?

My Grandma Mayo also told me of a restaurant in New York that didn’t take kindly to recent desegregation laws.

The waitress served the black man and his wife—but in the rudest, noisiest manner.

She slammed their plates onto the table, and abruptly walked away.

 

BLACK LIVES MATTER, Generation Y?

My German friend, Mr. Vogel, wanted to register to vote in Alabama, after moving there from Wisconsin.

He was told he’d have to pay a poll tax to register to vote.

“Why?” he asked.

“To keep the niggers down,” was the reply.

Mr. Vogel refused to pay a poll tax for a reason like that—he waited until poll taxes were prohibited, before he registered to vote in Alabama.

 

You can put those BLACK LIVES MATTER signs down, Generation Y.  And you can show some appreciation for the fact that you’ve never truly suffered a day in your privileged lives.  And you can show some respect for your ancestors—and your elders—who have.

 

ME TOO, Generation Y?

My Grandma Mayo’s Aunt Pearl told of her mother—an orphan in Ohio.

At one point, Aunt Pearl’s mother, Lizzie, was staying with a woman who had three sons.  This woman’s three sons bullied Lizzie, a great deal—verbally and emotionally.

But whenever Lizzie reported this abuse to their mother, their mother accused Lizzie of lying—and sided with her sons, without ever even questioning them.

Eventually, Lizzie was adopted by a more understanding and loving foster mother.

 

ME TOO, Generation Y?

My Grandma Mayo was actually born in Nashville.

But her father died, not long after she was born.  

Her sixteen-year-old mother, Nonnie, had to take her newborn daughter all the way back home to Akron, Ohio—because she didn’t have the means to raise her by herself.

 

ME TOO, Generation Y?

Nonnie and Pearl had a sister named Polly.

I have a photograph of my Great-Great Aunt Polly that was taken shortly before she died—she was a beautiful young woman.

Polly died in childbirth—at age eighteen.

Needless to say, her husband was heartbroken.

 

ME TOO, Generation Y?

My Grandma Mayo was “pro-choice”, and I didn’t agree with her on that point.

But her opinion was completely understandable.

Louise—a beautiful cousin of her husband’s—got pregnant, out of wedlock.

In those days, an unwed woman who got pregnant was often treated like trash—while the man who impregnated her was often treated with impunity.

As was so often the case, in those days, the father of Louise’s unborn child disappeared—and Louise was faced with the stigma every abandoned, unwed mother faced.

Louise panicked, and attempted to abort the child.

She and her unborn child died in the attempt.

 

ME TOO, Generation Y?

During the War between the Confederate States and the United States—and especially during the “Reconstruction”, a brutal occupation in which the people of the vanquished Confederate States were denied their constitutional rights for twelve years—Southern women, black and white, were brutally raped by Union troops and Union League terrorists, on a constant basis.

 

ME TOO, Generation Y?

On March 25, 1911, 145 young women—mostly teenaged immigrants who didn’t speak English—burned to death at the Triangle Shirtwaist Company factory in New York City.

Women died in Northern factories often—this was just one of the worst of such tragedies.

In fact, the majority of factory workers in Northern U.S. cities were orphans and unwed women, in those days.

And the factory owners and managers—most of them Jewish men—couldn’t care less.

 

You can put those ME TOO signs down, Generation Y.  And you can show some appreciation for the fact that you’ve never truly suffered a day in your privileged lives.  And you can show some respect for your ancestors—and your elders—who have.

NOT A GOOD BET, IS IT?

Christians are at their worst on Sundays, and on Christian holidays.

At least in the United States, Christians are at their worst on Sundays, and during the Christmas holidays (Thanksgiving Day through New Year’s Day), and over Easter weekend (Good Friday through Easter Sunday).

It is on Sundays, and on Christian holidays, that Christians most belligerently refuse to follow Christ, in word or deed.

It is futile to ask Christians for any help on Sundays—they would rather let you die than help you.

It is futile to ask Christians for any help on Christian holidays—they will gladly let you die, rather than help you.

I am hungry right now—in fact, I am starving.

Because Christians will let me starve to death, rather than lift a finger to help me over Easter weekend.

Christians will let anyone starve to death, rather than lift a finger to help anyone over Easter weekend.

The reason is simple—Christians take their salvation for granted.

Christians believe that as long as they believe in Jesus Christ, as the Incarnation of God on earth, sacrificed on the Cross for the sins of humanity, they will go to Heaven when they die—no matter how sinful they are toward their fellow human beings.

This is how Christians justified the Crusades, the Inquisition, colonialism, and every other sin they committed yesterday.

And this is how Christians justify Zionism, this global war on Muslims, and every other sin they commit today.

Christians believe that as long as they believe in Jesus Christ, as the Incarnation of God on earth, sacrificed on the Cross for the sins of humanity, they will go to Heaven when they die—no matter how sinful they are toward their fellow human beings.

And they bet their eternity on this.

Not a good bet, is it?

WE ARE PUT ON THIS EARTH TO THINK—ALL OF US

Last year, I encountered a young lady on the political left who refused to hear the truth about slavery in the United States, because she was afraid to think.

Today, I encountered an old gentleman on the political right who refused to hear the truth about the Modern State of Israel, because he was afraid to think.

This “Trump Derangement Syndrome” seems to be working both ways—those who so vehemently support President Trump are as afraid to think as those who so vehemently oppose him.

The reason ignorance is bliss is that ignorance requires no effort.

And the reason feeling is bliss is that feeling requires no effort.

Thinking requires effort—and we human beings have a natural aversion toward anything that requires effort.

But we are put on this earth to think—all of us.

WHEN IS DR. KING’S DREAM GOING TO BE REALIZED?

“I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.”

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Tomorrow is International Women’s Day—and this month is Women’s History Month.

Last month was Black History Month.

What do you think Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., would think of special days and months set aside for people, based solely on race and sex?

In this Digital Age, people are judged by race and sex more than ever.

Affirmative action is government-sanctioned judgement of people, based solely on race and sex.

And International Women’s Day, Women’s History Month, and Black History Month is corporate-sanctioned and society-sanctioned judgement of people, based solely on race and sex.

When are people going to be judged not by race or sex, but by content of character?

When is Dr. King’s dream going to be realized?


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