Our banner week on Occupy the Microphone!

Occupy the Microphone is on every day, LIVE AT FIVE! In the upstate, you can hear us at 105.7 FM and/or 910 AM, or you can listen to the livestream HERE. You can also download the show at our website, at Spreaker or at Talk Shoe. We are also circulated by the Black Talk Radio Network.



We got a lot of hits on our Memorial Day show, which featured a half hour of excellent antiwar music, followed by a half hour of interviews with veterans who are now peace activists and veteran-advocates, including Wade Hampton Fulmer (of Veterans for Peace), and Kevin Alexander Gray.



Thursday's show highlighted the Detroit Police Special Response Team's murder of 7-year-old Aiyana Stanley-Jones in May 2010, during a home invasion, which was being filmed for A&E network's reality show, "The First 48". The jury was seated this week in the trial of Officer Joseph Weekley, who has been charged with the murder.
(This is an ongoing, harrowing tale that we will undoubtedly be revisiting many times.)

Victim-advocate Amelia Pena talked about domestic violence issues with co-host Double A (both in photo above).



Friday's show featured local activists Eric Wood and Traci Young Fant. (above, co-host Gregg Jocoy with Eric Wood, Traci Young Fant and Double A.)

Traci discussed several upcoming local events, including OUT OF BONDAGE, which will be held at the Empowerment Zone, 775 Woodruff Rd, Greenville, SC, this Saturday, June 8th at 6pm.

Amelia Pena (mentioned above) will be one of the speakers, along with Winn Freeman, former addict and founder of Wisdom In Living Life Ministry. Also sharing their stories and testimonies will be Torah Speech, Sharon Totherow, Tabatha Duck, Laura Calhoun, Taurice Bussey and Maurice Walker, with a special musical performance by Jeff Redmond.



This free, life-changing community event is dedicated to the memory of Natasha Kerns and Kacy Roberson. For further information, call Traci at 864-235-3592.



Also coming up is the 2nd Annual Multicultural Festival, which will be at McAlister Square in Greenville. (also the home of WOLI studios, where we broadcast Occupy the Microphone). Another free event scheduled for Thursday, June 27th at 3pm. Volunteers, vendors, sponsors and displays are still needed. Sponsorship packets start at $25, while vendor-tables run for $45.

Again, if you are interested, get in touch with Traci, the human dynamo, 864-235-3592. (Traci, it was such a pleasure to have you on the show!)

Tune in tomorrow!

Occupy Easter (and similar sentiments)

Gregg Jocoy, intrepid producer of the fabulous Daisy Deadhead Show, expresses himself. (Photo from last week's Occupation.)





It has been 22 years since I missed any part of the Paschal Triduum. I did not want to write about this fact, until I was certain I could do it. And I wasn't at all sure; I don't mind telling you it is exactly like breaking an addiction. I have tried before and failed.

This year, success. In fact, roaring success, and I have been rewarded with more insights than I readily know what to do with. I will try to record some of these here. Wisdom means nothing if it isn't shared.

~*~

This year is the first year I did not attend Maundy Thursday Mass, Tenebrae (and/or Veneration of the Cross) or the Easter Vigil. It's a very strange sensation, a lot like losing your watch.

I wore a watch for years, and then quit after I got my wrist tattoo. It was jarring at first, then I realized I could estimate the time very well without it, at least within 5-10 minutes.

Going without my annual springtime ritual was daunting. It is so deeply ingrained in my psyche that I thought I might forget who I am. Again, jarring at first, and then I realized (emotionally, not just intellectually) I have entered a faith tradition that maintains the 'unchanging self' is an illusion. There is no reason to chastise myself for impermanence (anicca), and in fact, it is a natural phenomenon we should carefully observe, expect and welcome, as we welcome the seasons.

I have passed through the season of Catholicism.

And when you say it like that, it isn't nearly as scary.

~*~

We had a General Assembly today, Easter Sunday, which made it Occupy Easter. Writing that on a local Facebook page ("Occupy Easter!") got two local dudes all fired up and fuming at me, for reasons I am not sure I understand. Either they believe you should not demonstrate on a Christian holiday, or they believe you should... not quite sure what they were getting at. Apparently putting the two words together, Occupy and Easter, is what upset them so much. I couldn't figure out if they were religious or not, and maybe they couldn't either.

Yes, folks, things are getting mighty weird out there.

As I said on my radio show last week, it appears open racist war has been declared on African-Americans, specifically. The George Zimmerman apologists have streamed out of the woodwork, eagerly congratulating Zimmerman for shooting an unarmed black boy. They are serious too. A 68-year-old black veteran in New York, Kenneth Chamberlain, was shot in his home, apparently because they believed it wasn't really his home. A well-known and respected conservative columnist, John Derbyshire, was fired from the National Review because of a ravingly-racist column he wrote, filled with "talking points" that he shares with his children about how you shouldn't associate with too many blacks, go to heavily-black events, and "before voting for a black politician, scrutinize his/her character much more carefully than you would a white." (Yes, I'm afraid it's all like that.)

In addition, the comments on this column were one long, horrific, endless litany of compliments for Derbyshire; the racists safely hidden behind their cute, made-up, untraceable, anonymous screen names like "Paul Ryan" and "HamletsGhost" (I couldn't hold back and added my two cents, of course).

What's going on?

As I believed during the ascent of the misguided Tea Party, I think the fact of a black president has caused them to become thoroughly discombobulated. I can't think of any other reason they have completely flipped their cookies.

I remember my husband replaying one Tea Party clip over and over on YouTube, a woman at a Town Meeting angrily proclaiming she "wanted her country back"--which made us wonder what she was talking about. Does she think she owns the whole country, all by herself? And where did she get an idea like that? Did somebody sell it? (Actually yes, Goldman Sachs did, but that doesn't seem to be what she was referring to.) She was a birther, and announced Obama was born in Kenya, her voice shaking with emotion.

Similarly, one of the angry (white male conservative) commenters who loved the column by racist Derbyshire, features a photo of Detroit in the 50s on the masthead of his blog. He captions the photo: I WANT THAT DETROIT BACK.

And this is the crux of it, isn't it? He wants to go back to the days when blacks were in their place, and they weren't rubbing elbows with the likes of him. One wonders if Mr Rightwing Blogger actually lives in modern-day Detroit? I'll bet he doesn't. He left Detroit willingly, waves of white flight at his back, and then shows tremendous fury that the city no longer belongs to him. And whose fault is that? Why did you leave, in that case?

Derbyshire counsels his children to avoid the multicultural and multiracial public square, to avoid the places and events that have "too many" blacks. And if they do, won't this make his kids even angrier... as Mr Rightwing Blogger is? As the birther-lady was? They have been taught that the blacks are TAKING OVER; the psychology of white flight is that whites and blacks cannot possibly co-exist in the same place. It's very territorial at base--the concept is that the place belongs to THEM or to US, and at some point, critical mass means it's theirs, and the whites run away in droves.

And they nurse the illusion that they have been banished, when in actuality, they have banished themselves.

They blame the blacks for the results of their own racism, as Mr Rightwing Blogger fusses that he wants his "old Detroit" back. Well, where did it go? Answer: white people like him left Detroit for whoever remained, for whoever came after. And then, they can blame the people who stayed, rather than themselves, for their own cowardice. (As I have written before, I have seen this over and over again.) As I read the comments on the Derbyshire piece, filled with taunts to the white liberals, that they should "go for a walk in a multiracial neighborhood"--I was flabbergasted. Do they consider blacks to be WILD ANIMALS, is that it? Because it sure does sound that way.

I comforted myself after reading this racist insanity, by going for a walk in my heavily-black, multiracial neighborhood. I was not accosted a single time.

~*~

My radio show Saturday featured my usual Tea Party-caller and sometime-commenter, who was also the subject of a discussion today, as we Occupied Easter. He is stuck on birth control (uppity women wanting to control their own lives, is a very sore subject with these people) and told me if I wanted government to buy birth control, then I can't complain when government ____ (fill in the blank). I asked him what was the difference between the dreaded Obamacare and Social Security or Medicare? Or government funds paying for Emergency Room treatment in public hospitals?

He replied, finally and truthfully, that he wanted to end all Social Security. Yes, finally, after months of goading, I got him to admit it.

Ending Social Security is basically advocating the mass deaths of sick, old and disabled people. Teabaggers who think this way intend to put disabled people down like dogs, since of course, that will be the actual result of this dogma put into practice. (After all, it was before.)

But we have a modest proposal.

If these conservatives want to renounce Social Security, they should be allowed to do so. (No, they don't get any refunds, just as us anti-war people don't get refunds on our war taxes and us vegetarians don't get refunds on meat-inspection taxes and so forth... sorry about that!) If they publicly announce that Social Security should be ended, we need to present them with an affidavit or some other legal waiver, and get them to sign on the dotted line. (I guess this would necessitate a new law or something, but hey, I am all for it.) This handy-dandy affidavit, which every liberal and card-carrying member of MoveOn shall have on their person at all times (needless to say), will immediately allow the gum-flapping teabagger in question to waive their rights to all future government aid: police, EMS, Social Security, Medicaid, Medicare, libraries, public schools, water fountains, parks, national monuments, The Smithsonian, etc.

And to enforce this new law, they would have a chip implanted and wear something like a Medic-Alert bracelet, which says: Do Not Resuscitate. If found on road half-dead, leave behind, do not call 911. (We should be able to easily devise a chip that helpfully BEEPS LOUDLY every time they enter public establishments, just like the library books that beep when they haven't been properly checked out.) Think of the huge amounts of money this would save, as the conservatives actually practice what they preach and stop being hypocritical liars! As of course, they will eagerly sign these documents IN DROVES.

I think this is a great idea. Who's with me?

Now, at first, the rise of deaths (leading to far less Republican voters, a pleasant short-term side effect) will alarm everyone, and finally, somebody will cry and squeal as they lay dying (quickly going viral on YouTube) that they are SORRREEEE SORRREEEE SORRREEEEEEEEEEEEE they signed the waiver and tearfully beg, whilst bleeding to death, to be taken to an Emergency Room after an accident. It will probably be some attractive white sorority girl, and it will make the news on all the cable channels for weeks on end. Fox News will plead that this innocent girl could not possibly have known the implications of what she was signing, and didn't intend to waive her ER privileges. She only meant the black people! She didn't know she would ever need an ER! (((sobs))) What a terrible misunderstanding!

And the law will be repealed, and that will be that.

But until then? Sounds like a lot of fun, and I say, introduce the waiver for them to sign IMMEDIATELY! The chip may take a little longer, but if you can implant nervous poodles with a chip to guarantee their way back to their frantic owners, we can certainly implant Tea Partiers with a chip to keep them out of OUR public hospitals and parks. Won't that be GREAT?

After a few dozen of them drop dead, they will get a clue and shut up. Or maybe not!

This means there will be a lot more STUFF for the rest of us.

I admit, I do feel sorry for the disabled children of the Tea Partiers, brainwashed to refuse life-saving medical care. But like they say, in every omelet you break a few eggs, etc. I am sure my Tea Party-caller will understand. And I am sure he will heartily agree about the signing the waiver!

Unless he is another Tea Party hypocrite, of course... and you don't think THAT could be true, do you?

(giggles)

~*~

Hope you all had a happy Easter. Here is DEAD AIR's official Easter song, which of course, I still love. The idea of rebirth and transformation is a recurring theme in all faith traditions.

It always makes me happy.

After the Goldrush - Prelude

Volkswagen sucks

Volkswagen is using Ted Nugent's misogynist "Stranglehold" in a commercial. The major controversy online seems to be why the Motor City Madman (as he is known), would endorse a German car, which is some major Detroit heresy. Nobody cares about the woman-killing in the song.

This isn't the first time the song has been used in ads (the instrumental parts of the song are great), but it IS the first time the lyrics, "I got you in a stranglehold, babbehhhh!" have been included.

It makes me furious enough never to buy a VW for as long as I live, and yes, I AM poor and I WAS considering it, so your loss, Volkswagen!!!

Time for some pertinent questions to all the 'men's rights' folks (anti-feminists, mostly) I have currently been arguing with online:

When is the last time a woman's song about strangling a man was in a TV commercial? For a major world corporation?

Further, when did any woman even RECORD one?

Has a woman ever strangled a man in the history of the WORLD, who wasn't safely drugged or ASLEEP? (The song is obviously about the sheer delight of violent struggle; if she was asleep, he never would have written it, too boring.)

If a woman did indeed write and record such a song, would it be a big million-selling heavy-metal album? Would the woman who recorded it be accepted as a rich Republican donor in good standing (as Nugent is) and given a steady gig at the Washington Times (as Nugent is), or would she be considered a major loony-tune man-killer?

Totally laughable, isn't it?

There simply isn't any equivalent, and that is why I use the word PATRIARCHY: because we live in one.

~*~

Blogger is currently all screwed up and has been for about a month now. It will not allow me (and lots of other bloggers) to update the blog-links list. So if you think your blog belongs on it, and it's not, you are probably right.

Blogs I have tried to add to my illustrious list:

Cheap Signals (Hi Gretchen!)

Shuffle (Carolina's indie music scene)

The Good Men Project (sometimes I can post there, and sometimes I can't, for mysterious reasons)

ClarenceGrad72 (Hi Becky!)

Consider this a consolation prize for not being able to update my link list.

~*~

A little fun on the website titled your past life diagnosis. Here is mine:

I don't know how you feel about it, but you were male in your last earthly incarnation. You were born somewhere in the territory of modern USA South-West around the year 800. Your profession was that of a map maker, astrologer, astronomer.

Your brief psychological profile in your past life:

Timid, constrained, quiet person. You had creative talents, which waited until this life to be liberated. Sometimes your environment considered you strange.

The lesson that your last past life brought to your present incarnation:

Your main task is to make the world more beautiful. Physical and spiritual deserts are just waiting for your touch. Keep smiling!

Do you remember now?

Well, okay, that is a random computer program and relatively dopey... but... do you remember my Groundhog Day post here and how I described feeling unaccountably drawn to Chaco Canyon? That would be the place and time-frame described above, the time of the Anasazi, and now I am a bit spooked. (I love maps AND astrology.)

Probably just a coincidence, she muttered, reaching for her Tarot.

On the importance of demonstrations (or not)

After demonstrating against the Republican National Convention in Detroit (1980), I also joined the Yippies in demonstrating against the Democratic National Convention in New York City the following month. It was very different. In Detroit, our every move was clocked. As I said in my piece on that convention, unmarked cars containing unmarked law enforcement followed us everywhere. Not only were we harassed, there were carefully-targeted arrests of leaders. But in New York? Nobody cared. Nobody thought we were worth following. The multiple demonstrations got all swallowed up by the general cacophony of the city. At peak hours, there might be several protests going on simultaneously, separated by saw-horses in strange configurations arranged to allow continuous traffic-flow outside Madison Square Garden. I recall Irish Nationalists demonstrating alongside PONY (Prostitutes of New York), replaced later by some unnamed Cold War hawks demanding the head of Jimmy Carter.

We didn't necessarily have a grudge against Carter, as we did against Ronald Reagan. But the Yippie tradition (since the banner year of 1968) was to demonstrate against both parties.

The big event was the anti-nuclear die-in, blocking the delegates' entrance, which was even covered in Newsweek. This was the only time I remember New Yorkers just off the subways, actually stopping and looking confused for a few minutes. I remember a couple of them blinking for a second: WHAT ARE THESE PEOPLE DOING, LAYING IN THE STREET? Some of the activists sported radiation-burn makeup, which did give one pause, as they moaned, gurgled, groaned and got into the whole street-theater of the event. (One activist spoke from the podium: "If you people at the curb aren't into dying, you know, laying on the ground and everything, you could just stumble around and throw up, if you'd like.")

I don't remember any other event bringing New York to anything remotely like a standstill. I made note of the fact that if you think your convention will be trouble, take it to New York. The DNC, still smarting from major riots in 1968 and 1972, took their party to New York in both 1976 and 1980, and managed to neutralize the rowdy opposition of street-demonstrations, quite admirably. As I passed out leaflets during the die-in (I wasn't going to LAY ON THE NASTY CONCRETE), several New Yorkers asked me what was going on. Oh yeah, the convention. Shrug. New Yorkers aren't impressed by much.

Left: The Yippie flag.


That night, we stayed at the Chelsea, with countless radicals crammed into a room and sleeping all over the floor. The first room we entered had the words NANCY SPUNGEN SLEPT HERE scrawled on the back of the door in red paint. Ha ha. "I'm not sleeping in this room!" one guy hyperventilated, "Is this the SAME ROOM??!" and he sufficiently spooked us into going to another room. (We never did find out if it was the same room.)

It was hot, stuffy and uncomfortable. I didn't enjoy it. I questioned if any of this was doing any good. In Detroit, the constant harassment by law enforcement made us feel like we were engaging in some important revolutionary act. New York? Forget it. We were just part of the circus.

Signe Waller, widow of Jim Waller of the Greensboro 5, managed to get inside the convention during Carter's acceptance speech and explode a firecracker, getting herself hustled off the convention floor forthwith. There were periodic busts outside for disorderly conduct and resisting arrest... and that was it. I did not attend another national political convention's counter-demonstration after that.

I have seen precious little coverage of any demonstrations in Denver. Are activists saving their ire for John McCain and the Republican National Convention in Minneapolis? One can only hope. Or are demonstrations simply not the happening thing these days? Why do you think that is? Certainly, we didn't have blogs and the internets to broadcast our POVs in those days. Climbing up on the proverbial soapbox, starting a picket line or writing commentary in alternative newspapers were our only outlets.

Demonstrations were focal points then, and now they seem almost like mere formalities.

Cross-posted at Feministe.

I wish someone would phone

Left: Ronald Reagan accepts the nomination of his party, Detroit, 1980. Photo from HowStuffWorks.

Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away, I sat with a bunch of scruffy anarchists in a bleak motel room waiting for a phone call, any phone call. No cell phones then. This was the summer of 1980 in Detroit, Michigan, during the Republican convention that nominated Ronald Reagan. I don't remember the name or location of the motel, but it was cheap and seedy, one of those that rented by the hour.

I peeped out the door, and there was an unmarked car with some sort of unmarked law enforcement inside. They looked bored and always seemed to be eating sandwiches. Whenever we opened the door, they looked up and started talking about us. Sometimes, they'd even wave.

Local? Federal? Oh, Jesus Christ. They scared me to death.

"It's an intimidation tactic," announced Froggy, one of my co-activists. Is it my imagination he went out to talk to them, Abbie Hoffman style? "What are you guys doing? Having a good day?"

At this apocalyptic juncture, numerous counter-demonstrators whose full, legal names we realized we didn't even know (and thus, couldn't bail out) had been arrested in front of the Renaissance Center for demonstrating overnight. The rest of us had the good fortune to be asleep in cars or on the Yippie bus that had traveled from New York City. Our fearless leaders were gone and we were in a panic. We had no money and no dope, as in the infamous Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers comic. How were we going to pay for the motel? Did those unmarked cops know about all of this? Should we ask them if they know? They might know more than we do. Go ask them! No, you go ask! I'm not talking to cops! Many rounds of rock, paper, scissors ensued, to determine who should talk to the cops. In the end, no one did.

We felt like ants after you pour hot water on the anthill, scurrying about, not knowing what to do. Law enforcement had effectively poured hot water on us. We joked that it was just like the David Bowie song, Panic in Detroit:

The only survivor of the National People's Gang
Panic in Detroit
I asked for an autograph
He wanted to stay home
I wish someone would phone

After many rounds of arguing, fussing with the ancient TV that contained no news, smoking the last of the reefer and eating the last of the Cheetos, we all slept. About a dozen people, total, and significant overflow onto the floor, even someone sleeping in the bathtub.

About 4am, a knock. Several of us jolted awake immediately. Staring at each other wide-eyed in the dark, it was decided that *I* should answer the door. Daisy will answer it. It was decided I looked "the most innocent"--one of the other activists proclaimed I looked like Samantha on Bewitched and consequently, they would never arrest me, just because. (And you know, they never did.)

Channeling Samantha (who I remembered was always covering up for some wild shit when she answered the door, too), I opened the door. A Republican with a short buzzcut was standing there, wearing a shirt with one of those trademark GOP Elephants on it. The shirt bore the Detroit Chamber of Commerce slogan for the convention: Detroit loves a Good Party!

I stiffened; who is this asshole?

He grinned at me.

It was STEVE CONLIFF! FEARLESS LEADER! He was passing for a Republican! I screamed.

He shushed me and ducked inside. I was thrilled he was not in jail, but shocked at the transformation and his short hair; it was as extreme and as shocking as if Jerry Garcia had suddenly shaved his head. (Simultaneously, I thought, what a great disguise, even I didn't recognize him.)

He pulled up a chair and began rolling a joint as two other people woke up, clambering off the floor. One glared at him. Someone whined, as if on cue, "Where the hell is Conliff? I thought it would be CONLIFF!" They sneered at the Republican, "Who is THAT???!!!"

"Yeah!" he said, lighting the joint, "Where IS Conliff, anyway?" It was his sweet grin that gave him away. Someone turned on the lights. "Oh my God!" said one woman, "What have you DONE?!" and started to cry.

"Screaming, crying, Jesus Christ!" he puffed, satisfied. "As long as you didn't recognize me!" He grinned again.

A very young yippie marveled at the transformation, "That is fucking amazing, man!"

It was. Why had he done it? Because he wanted to go onto the convention floor, hang out with delegates at Hotel Pontchartrain, drink at the local discos; he wanted to infiltrate. And he had done that.

Left: The Yippie flag.


And for the next few hours, Steve Conliff regaled us with his stories of the day. He had eaten lunch and dinner with hip Republicans, the kind who wore T-shirts instead of suits, snorted ultra-pricey coke and partied. He had shared scotch-and-water with them in local bars, and listened carefully. And he told us: They are tired of Jimmy Carter, tired of global "appeasement." They hate minorities. They hate women getting abortions and deciding they can leave husbands any time they want to. They think we are a bunch of queers. (Back then, "queer" was still fightin words, and he paused to apologize to the gay male hippie-couple in the room, then still sprawled on the floor. They both shrugged simultaneously, one still gaping at Conliff's hair, or lack of it.)

They are taking over, he announced. Ronald Reagan is the next president.

Somebody grunted from the corner, but Carter is an INCUMBENT!

Gerald Ford was an incumbent too, Conliff reminded them.

Gerald Ford wasn't ELECTED! argued the voice from the corner.

Gerald Ford didn't have to deal with Iranian hostages! Conliff snapped. "These Republicans intend to take over the fucking world. They don't care how long it takes them. Carter is just a blip, a detour, a pause in their program. They are in it for the long goddamned haul!"

At the time, this all sounded incredible, like believing Dr Strangelove was real.

"They want control of the whole Middle East," he said. "They don't care how long it takes them to get it. They are determined, more determined than we are. They WILL get it."

And the room was quiet. President Ronald Reagan?! Is that really going to happen? THIS BAD ACTOR IS GOING TO BE PRESIDENT?!?! Conliff's Republican infiltration had left him unshaken in his convictions and utterly certain: Yes, Reagan.

And then he added: Two terms.

"He'll die first, he's old," snorted the skeptic in the corner, the eternal optimist.

"Then they will prop his ass up like on that old Star Trek episode, and make it look like he is still talking!" Everyone laughed, but it was that uneasy, weird, scared, nervous laughter. Conliff's certainty was frightening, as well as depressing. Was he right? If so, what were we doing here? We were making no difference at all.

~*~

He laughed at accidental sirens
that broke the evening gloom
The police had warned of repercussions
They followed none too soon
A trickle of strangers were all that were left alive
Panic in Detroit
I asked for an autograph
He wanted to stay home
I wish someone would phone

My political mentor, Steve Conliff, was virtually always right in his political prognostications. And so, when he first explained to me what strategic voting was, I followed his advice.

Always vote for the most liberal Republican in the primary, to draw the GOP to the left, he said. In the general election, vote your conscience. I have taken his advice ever since. The man who told us the future, sitting in a bleak motel room, deserved to be listened to, his philosophy followed. He was right, after all.

And I never forgot that he was right.

And so, right-wing fruitcake or not, I will vote for the libertarian antiwar candidate, Ron Paul, in the South Carolina GOP primary on Saturday. I won't cut my hair or buy elephant shirts; I'm sure I'll be relatively easy to spot at the polls. They will look at me and know.

But if there is any other way we can stop them from taking over the Middle East, I am listening. I'm open to suggestions, as I was that night in Detroit, so long ago.