What is to be done: Reflections on the Mother Emanuel shooting

At left: the victims of white supremacist Dylann Roof, all members of the Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church (known as "Mother Emanuel") in Charleston, South Carolina.


Left to right, from top: Sharonda Coleman-Singleton, Reverend Clementa Pinckney, Tywanza Sanders, Daniel Simmons, Ethel Lance, Cynthia Hurd, Susie Jackson, Reverend Depayne Middleton-Doctor, Myra Thompson.









When the shooting in Charleston happened (June 17), I nearly had a nervous breakdown.

All the work we have done towards racial reconciliation here in the South, all the dialogue, all the reaching-out, making alliances, supporting one another and going the final yard... POOF--I felt it all go right up in smoke, the smoke of gunpowder, the permanence of death. Holy God... REVEREND PINCKNEY???? I thought I would faint right there on the spot. No, I thought, panicked, please, NO, not Reverend Pinckney. I had to go on the radio and report this horror, and what possible words could there be? On the air, my voice quavered, and I said as simply as I could, this was exactly like a hard, sharp blow. On the head.

My co-hosts, looking stricken, just nodded silently along with me, encouraging me to go on. I was speaking for them too.

And I asked, how can white activists talk about this and not make it "about us"? Because its not about us.

One of my co-hosts, the amazing Double-A, disagreed. Of course this is about us. A self-identified white supremacist shot these people and we are white. We must always make it clear that this person does not speak for us, that this person is a dangerous renegade. He is the proverbial LONE GUNMAN.

Yes, okay. That is true... but of course, we do not want to claim him as one of us. And we don't have to, that is one of the main privileges of whiteness, isn't it? White sociopaths are... sociopaths first. Black sociopaths are... black first. Black criminals represent their race, while white criminals are just anomalies, outliers, sicko-crackpots safely apart from the rest of us... surely they do not represent the entire white race.

Do they?

Some black children will be afraid of us now. They are already afraid; they do not stop to ask, are all whites dangerous? They already know the answer to that by what they have seen. They act accordingly. They will avoid us, cross to the other side of the street when a group of us approach. They are looking at the record, they see what is right in front of them.

I wept passing the local historic black church close to my home, Reedy River Baptist, when I saw the marquee out front advertising Wednesday night Bible Study. YOU HAVE RUINED THIS FOR US, YOU MISERABLE FUCK DYLANN ROOF... At this point, I would no sooner walk in there for Bible study than I would go to Mars. A white person was welcomed for Bible study, and he drew his gun. On the air, I recalled the warmth and kindness of folks when I first moved South over 28 years ago, didn't know the neighborhoods and ended up at an all-black AA meeting. I was welcomed as one of their own, although they did wryly ask where I was from. Their kindness hit me hard, because I knew in the reverse situation, the black person in an all-white AA meeting would not be welcomed warmly, but probably just ignored or possibly chatted with on a superficial level (and *I* would be the one to do that). I was ashamed of what I knew then, and now.

The next time one of us strays in, or deliberately goes in, what will be the response? If it is suspicious and/or hostile, can we blame them? Maybe the response SHOULD be suspicious and/or hostile.

Even as I wept after the news of the shootings, the arraignment of Dylann Roof nearly drove me under. All that incredible, unbounded forgiveness reminded me of why I flunked out of Christianity so spectacularly. I have a hard time with forgiveness. (Irish Alzheimer's: you forget everything but the grudges.) Their incredible examples of humanity and decency made me sob with recognition, this is what we were taught: SHOW MERCY. I would have had none, and that made me cry even harder. Perhaps my own privilege is the reason I am unable to show mercy? My white arrogance somehow tells me the wrongs committed against me are of paramount importance... I can't let them go.

I decided the next time I needed to forgive, I would remember the words of these family members, forgiving Dylann Roof. I will remember and I will take them as my model, the spiritual heights that mere humans are capable of reaching when they dedicate themselves to the very highest principles, these truths we hold to be self-evident.

They felt sorry for him. He wasn't right, he was tormented and lonely... and they saw this. So did I, but... no sympathy.

I decided I wanted to be like them.

And so, the event changed me. This is why it has been so difficult to write about. As a white resident and political activist of South Carolina, the actions of Dylann Roof pierced my soul, and the forgiveness of the people he wronged set that same soul on fire. DO YOU SEE WHAT YOU MUST DO?--my inner self asked me, the voice I have always attributed to the Blessed Mother, whom I love. DO YOU SEE NOW?

Yes.

~*~

How to write about these things and be respectful? Specifically: How not to excoriate the opportunistic Southern politicians who suddenly came out of the woodwork to claim... I dunno, something. They came fast and furious, babbling and talking about prayer. Finally, Governor Haley decides the confederate flag must be taken down from the South Carolina State House, after defending it nonstop for two terms. Liberals threw spitballs, but she emerged looking good; she was all ready for her close-up, Mr DeMille! It was hard not to get mad all over again, as our very conservative, nonwhite governor decided to be nonwhite for the networks, and make a name for herself at long last. CABINET POSITION, she was whispering to herself... along with THIS IS MY SECOND TERM, THE RACIST LOONIES CAN'T VOTE ME OUT.

And so, Governor Haley signed the order and I waited around for hell to freeze over solid. She also attended every funeral, wearing her pricey, trademark designer duds. She even hugged Al Sharpton forgodsake. Luckily, cameras were around constantly to catch her dabbing at her eyes.

Believe me, this was hard to take.

Senator Lindsey Graham distinguished himself during the proceedings, talking not to the Masses but straight to South Carolina conservatives (his base) when given two minutes on any network: Please you guys, this is not the time to protect the flag... I understand how you feel, BUT THIS IS NOT THE TIME. Etc. He sounded like a kindergarten teacher trying to soothe an ill-behaved child who had locked himself in the utility closet with a rifle. Maybe that IS who he was talking to. The whites who feel wronged, left behind, their folkways and customs made fun of in international media, the southern whites who have felt the mass contempt of the world, sitting in their trailer parks, daily shit on by the rich. Angry, because its one more thing "they" are telling the poor whites they must leave behind, one more thing the liberals on the coasts have decided they can't have. Their resentment percolates, and in some times and in some places it is so pronounced, you can feel it.

And I watched confederate flags unfurl in the week the flag was removed. Many in the rural areas are still waving. One guy in a pickup was driving all over Woodruff Road with a stars-and-bars the size of Saskatchewan. But I looked around, and I saw other drivers pointing at him. Some shaking their heads in open disapproval. Its one thing to wave your flag before the NASCAR race, but another to wave it after someone has shot nine people to death, waving it in selfie after selfie. That wasn't cool, and even conservative SC citizens could clearly see that.

Progress of a sort. I wondered, does blood have to be shed before there is PROGRESS? Must we have martyrs before there is any damn PROGRESS???

More tears, more inability to write.

As you can see, it has taken me months.

~*~

Our Confederate Memorial Day state holiday remains untouched, as I reminded the kids on tumblr. In addition to South Carolina, there are official "Confederate Memorial Days" in Texas, Tennessee, Florida, Mississippi, North Carolina, Alabama, Kentucky, Georgia and Louisiana. (Virginia and Arkansas appear to have escaped this fate somehow, and good for them.) What are we going to do about that, anything?

Certainly, eradicating Confederate Memorial Day just doesn't have the ready-made media optics of taking down a flag, so maybe nobody cares? Except of course for the state workers insulted by the holiday. Do they count?

I say, lets get rid of it. And all those statues of John C. Calhoun? Calhoun Street, where Mother Emanuel is? Wade Hampton Boulevard, within spitting distance of me, also the name of a local high school? The entire South is named after slave-owners and confederate heroes. We have our work cut out for us.

As an American, I always believed the Germans went way too far, outlawing nazis, naziism and nazi paraphernalia for good. You know, free speech and alla that blahdeblah First Amendment bullshit I was raised with. But see, NOW they don't have to deal with this--they don't have towns, streets, boulevards and schools named after dead nazis, and that is the reason why. I stand humbled, and I officially apologize to the German people. You saw what needed to be done, and in your shame, you did it. Good for you.

Our turn now.

The Execution of George Stinney, 1944

We did a radio show about George Stinney's execution back in November, and it seems the story is at last going viral.

George Stinney was executed by the state of South Carolina at the age of... 14. He is the youngest person ever executed by the USA.

And they found him guilty in 10 minutes. His family was not permitted to attend his trial. (yes, you read that right)

From Huffington Post:

COLUMBIA, S.C. (AP) — Supporters of a 14-year-old black boy executed in 1944 for killing two white girls are asking a South Carolina judge to take the unheard-of move of granting him a new trial in hopes he will be cleared of the charges.

George Stinney was convicted on a shaky confession in a segregated society that wanted revenge for the beating deaths of two girls, ages 11 and 7, according to the lawsuit filed last month on Stinney's behalf in Clarendon County.

The request for a new trial has an uphill climb. The judge may refuse to hear it at all, since the punishment was already carried out. Also, South Carolina has strict rules for introducing new evidence after a trial is complete, requiring the information to have been impossible to discover before the trial and likely to change the results, said Kenneth Gaines, a professor at the University of South Carolina's law school.

Arguments for a retrial were finally heard on Feb. 21st. Several radio shows besides ours spotlighted the case, as did CNN. Various local news reports have said today that these hearings have so far been "inconclusive"--so still more hearings seem to be on the schedule. (About what? Is there any question that this verdict should be overturned?)

Many have wondered: what good will this do? George is gone and won't be brought back. But clearing his name is very important to his family, especially his sister Aimee Ruffner.

And a 14-year-old? Should never be executed. Never.

Unaccountably, there are still those diehards who believe the execution was just.

I will be reporting on this as it unfolds. Let's hope South Carolina does the right thing, for once.

The Lynching of Willie Earle

NOTE: I originally posted this in February of 2011, when the memorial was placed. It has now been 67 years; the memorial is now a mainstay of Greenville County Civil Rights/genealogical tourism.



65 years ago, the last lynching in South Carolina took place about 10-15 miles from where I live. And last year, after a very long 64 years, a memorial was finally erected on the rural back road where it happened.

[Caution: disturbing and violent content]


On February 16, 1947, Thomas Watson Brown, a white cab driver, picked up a black man on Markley Street in Greenville, South Carolina. Brown was later found half-dead, his taxi driven off the road in rural Pickens County. He had been beaten, robbed, and stabbed three times.

The Pickens County sheriff reported that muddy footprints at the crime scene led to the house of Willie Earle, about a mile away, where officers reportedly found cash, a blood-covered knife and bloody clothing. (Many of these facts have always been in dispute, but this is what was presented at trial.) Willie Earle, age 24, wasn't at his residence; he was in another cab, driven by a man who would later become one of the 31 defendants.

Earle was arrested and put in the Pickens County second-floor lock-up.

The news of Brown's stabbing traveled like wildfire, as did the news of Willie Earle's arrest. The nexus of unrest was the Yellow Cab office on West Court Street, where Greenville's taxi drivers had congregated in an angry pack, and started passing around a bottle of whiskey.

The Greenville News, recently granted access to some of the trial records and police reports, offers some chilling accounts:

The attitudes of the time are reflected in the casual manner in which one of the defendants, Hubert Carter, explained in his statement to police how he joined the mob.

The 33-year-old driver and father of four called for a ride home from the Cleveland Street taxi stand at 1 a.m. on the 17th, according to the Greenville Police Department file. He was picked up by another defendant, Paul Griggs, who "asked me if I wanted to go with the others to get the Negro being held for stabbing Mr. Brown.

"I told him I'd go along with the crowd," Carter said in his statement.

And so, in a tableau reminiscent of the famous scene in To Kill A Mockingbird (and perhaps it was an inspiration for it), the taxis all lined up in the early morning hours and drove in formation out to the Pickens County jail, maybe 20 miles away. It was February 17th.

I have often re-imagined the striking sight of the line of yellow cabs driving down the old rural road I have traveled down so many times myself. Did other people see them? They must have. Did the onlookers know where they were going? Did they tell their wives or girlfriends first?

And there was, sadly, no Atticus Finch to stand by the door. Instead, there was a jailer named Gilstrap, who suddenly had two shotguns pointed in his face. He didn't argue.

The mob took Willie Earle from the jail.

A call to Greenville's black funeral home, notified authorities of where the body was.

Thomas Brown died six hours later.

~*~

The first lynching since 1912, the murder of Willie Earle became big news. The trial was biggest lynching trial the state had ever seen. Most lynchings had never even been investigated, while this one had then-Governor Strom Thurmond threatening to put the perpetrators away (yes, you read that right). Time magazine sent reporters, and The New Yorker sent no less than Dame Rebecca West to cover the event.

From Time magazine:

Somebody "pulled the Negro out of the car by his belt." The drivers ''hit him several times with their fists and knocked him to the ground." One of the drivers pulled out a knife. "Before you kill him," he said, "I want to put the same scars on him that he put on Brown." Said Jessie Lee Sammons: "I could hear the tearing of clothing and flesh."

Then the drivers "beat the side of his head with a shotgun." Said Marvin H. Flemming's statement: "I could hear some licks like they were pounding on him with the butt end of a gun. I heard the Negro say, 'Lord, you done killed me.' " Finally, said Charlie Covington, he heard Roosevelt Carlos Hurd Sr., a Blue Bird cab driver, cry out: "Give me the gun and let's get this over with." Just then, "a tall, slender boy with bushy hair hit the Negro in the mouth and knocked him down. The Negro started to get up when Mr. Hurd took the shotgun. He shot the Negro in the head. He unloaded the gun and called for more shells. . . . Mr. Hurd shot the Negro two more times." The tissue of Willie Earle's brain was left hanging on the bushes. The lynchers went back to Greenville and drank coffee.

Of course, it was an all-white jury. Of course, they offered no defense at all. And of course, they were acquitted.

Of the acquittal, Dame Rebecca West wrote:

There could be no more pathetic scene than these taxi-drivers and their wives, the deprived children of difficult history, who were rejoicing at a salvation that was actually a deliverance to danger. For an hour or two, the trial had built up in them that sense of law which is as necessary to man as bread and water and a roof. They had known killing for what it is: a hideousness that begets hideousness. They had seen that the most generous impulse, not subjected to the law, may engender a shameful deed. For indeed they were sick at heart when what had happened at the slaughter-pen was described in open court. But they had been saved from the electric chair and from prison by men who had conducted their defense without taking a minute off to state or imply that even if a man is a murderer one must not murder him and that murder is foul. These people had been plunged back into chaos.

Chaos is the word. Chaos was the state of race relations in the south until the Civil Rights movement, when the chaos was at last addressed.

Next week, after many long decades, the spot where Willie Earle was murdered will be officially and historically marked. Future generations will not be like me, driving by a rural place in the road without knowing whose blood was shed there. We will see, and we will know.

Tessie Robinson, Willie's mama, died 8 years ago. I am so sad she will never see the memorial to her son.

For black people, a memorial and a reminder of what they already know and do not have to be told. For us white people, a souvenir of our savagery, and the cover-up of that savagery. Which is why the memorial has taken 64 years.

Rest in Peace, Willie Earle.

Reflections on Jack Ruby

Depending upon who you read, Jack Ruby was a petty strip-club gangster or an important mobster-friend of Sam Giancana.







NOTE: I first wrote this in 2009 and have re-posted it every November since then. Since this is the 50th anniversary of the assassination, it seems even more pertinent and poignant.

Please limit comments to current post. Thanks.



~*~


It was November 24, 1963.

I remember that I was sitting on a footstool, my nose approximately 8 inches from my family's black-and-white TV set. If I got too close, I couldn't see anything, but I was intent on getting just as close as I could. I wanted to see it all.

It was Sunday morning, and I remember well the hubbub of the adults in the kitchen. I was the only one in the small dining room that served as our TV room. I heard the TV-news announcer say that Lee Oswald was going to be transferred in an armored vehicle. I didn't know what an armored vehicle was, but it sounded awesome. And yet... that little guy? As a six-year-old, I was surprised that such a skinny little guy could be the villain of the hour. I had expected the president's assassin to look something like Brutus, the dastardly evil man of the Popeye cartoons... or at least, he should bear some resemblance to Lex Luthor. This skinny, slight, soft-spoken fellow who calmly denied being near Dealey Plaza? Well, he was just spooky, that's all. They kept calling him a Marxist and a communist, words I didn't yet understand but knew meant that he was a bad person. (I would say the word "communist" in 1963 had the similar gravitas of the word "terrorist" in 2009.) I was enthralled by the constant TV-coverage, the switching back and forth from Dallas to Washington... to our new president, Lyndon Johnson and then back to the basement of Dallas city jail. It was as dazzling as space travel.

Middle-American culture had changed utterly and completely in only two days.

For one thing, the TV had not always been on before. You turned on the TV to watch something, and when it was over, you turned it off. Sometimes you left it on, but usually not. Among the working classes, it was not unusual for some families not to own a TV at all. There were often anti-TV holdouts in these families; cantankerous, old-school types who thought TV was all rubbish and probably unchristian. But after this weekend? This archaic viewpoint was consigned to the dustbin of history. Back in my first-grade class, I would hear about parents who had rushed out to buy a TV at long last. They simply could not bear to be left out.

The TV had been turned on, and stayed on. It was on when I got home from school, dismissed early due to the tragedy, and it was on throughout the funeral. And it stayed on forever after.

And the TV was on as they transferred Lee Oswald to the armored vehicle, or attempted to. There was much talk about security because tensions were running extremely high; there was palpable fury throughout the city of Dallas. When police had forcibly taken Oswald from the theater where they had discovered him, hostile mobs surrounded the police car, and it was said he might have been torn to pieces if the crowd had been able to get their hands on him.

Listening to all this, I was riveted. I remember peering intently as they brought him out, my nose almost right on the screen: There he is!

And then, the inevitable disappointment: such a nonthreatening little dude he was.

I peered and peered and then... bang. Oswald was down.

What?

It was so quick. If not for the firecracker-noise of the gun, I would never have known.

"They shot him!" I shouted, "They shot Oswald! They shot him!"

The adults stampeded as one entity, from the kitchen to the small dining room where I was. My mother, grandparents, some other relatives I have since forgotten... possibly my cousin Charlene.

"I SAW it!" I was shouting, "I SAW IT!"

SSSSSSSssssssshhhhhhhh! Everyone was shushing me. Had I really seen that? The adults' eyes were collectively popping. I felt pretty important for being the one to see it.

"He must be really mad about the president, huh?" I asked.

Nobody answered. They kept shushing me, as obviously-shaken news-announcers talked about what they had just witnessed.

And then, the adults were all looking at each other, that way adults did when they were thinking things that they would not share with children.

Finally, my grandfather said, in what I have come to call his Christian Science Wisdom voice: "Well, that really stinks."

My mother's eyes were wide, wide, wide.

My grandfather shook his head and said "Stinks!" again, rather emphatically. My mother nodded gravely back at him.

I didn't know what he meant then.

The TV-announcers were saying his name: Jack Ruby. The man's name was Jack Ruby.

~*~

Like millions of Americans that day, I saw a murder on live television. Because the murder was widely perceived as an act of justice, nobody worried about the ill effects on all of us children who saw it. And later, many years and decades later, when we began to doubt that what we saw was justice and instead wondered if it had been the silencing of a co-conspirator... nobody worried about the erosion of our morality and the consequential development of our cynicism.

But I trace it all back to that day, the day in the basement of the Dallas city jail.

They ask us, do you remember where you were when John F. Kennedy was assassinated? But I always ask, instead: What did you think when his accused murderer was pronounced dead? Because the silencing began then, the questions asked that will forever remain unanswered. (As Norman Mailer once explained the existence of the angry kids of the 60s: They hated the authority because the authority had lied.)

My grandfather was right. It certainly did stink. And the stench covered everything.

The lies of the powerful were uncovered and exposed before us, that morning in the basement of the Dallas city jail.

Some of us never forgot.

"Dexter"-type murders have upstate SC riveted!

At left: Jeremy Lee and Christine Moody, of Lockhart, SC, charged with two counts of murder each. Photo from THE STATE.






The victim was a registered sex offender and his wife. Apparently, these two had a list of sex offenders they were working from, DEATH WISH/DEXTER style. Clint Eastwood, call your office!

Maybe we shouldn't be celebrating vigilante behavior in films, comics or (as in the recent case of George Zimmerman) real life. Maybe the wrong people are getting the wrong message?

From Go Upstate:

Investigation into Jonesville double homicide 'wide open'

Sheriff says more charges could be filed Friday
By Jenny Arnold

Even though two people are in jail, the investigation into a double homicide in Jonesville is still “wide open,” Sheriff David Taylor said Thursday.

Jeremy Lee Moody, 30, and his wife, Christine Moody, 36, both of 213 S. 1st St., Lockhart, were arrested early Wednesday and charged by the Union County Sheriff's Office with two counts each of murder in the deaths of Charles Marvin Parker, 59, and Gretchen Dawn Parker, 51.

Jeremy Moody has told investigators he targeted Charles Parker because Parker was a registered sex offender. Jeremy Moody had “no beef” with Gretchen Parker, but she was home at the time and was a “casualty of war,” Taylor said.

Authorities think the Parkers were killed inside their home sometime Sunday, with their bodies being discovered after a concerned resident called 911 after he couldn't get the Parkers to the door Monday night. Both Parkers had been shot and stabbed.

The sheriff's office plans to bring additional charges against Jeremy Moody and Christine Moody, likely Friday, Taylor said.

Authorities said Jeremy Moody may have seen himself as a vigilante, and told investigators that he had written down the name of another sex offender he had planned to kill on Wednesday. About 3:45 a.m., he and his wife were arrested at the home of his parents in Lockhart, before he could carry out the third killing, according to the sheriff's office.

Investigators are working to determine whether the Moodys are affiliated with any white supremacy or other hate groups. Jeremy Moody has a prominent “skinhead” tattoo on the front of his neck, along with the words “white power” tattooed on the top of his bald head. He also has an eagle and swastika and “Made in America” tattoos.

Jeremy Moody also has told investigators that he is involved in other crimes, including homicides. Officers are following those leads, although Taylor has said that Moody could be bragging. He wouldn't comment on whether there were any specific cases investigators were checking out.

“We're still going wide open, as much as we were yesterday,” Taylor said. “We're following up on the information he's given us, getting evidence ready to send to SLED and trying to identify her tattoos, what they mean and what groups they may be associated with.”

Taylor said Christine Moody’s Facebook page seems to link the couple to a white supremacy group called Crew 41, based in Nebraska. Jeremy Moody has a Facebook page under the name Jeremy Mengele, but there are few posts. He posted that he keeps getting banned from the social network.

On her Facebook page, Christine also uses the last name Mengele, the last name of German physician Josef Mengele, known for his inhumane medical experiments on twins and other prisoners at the Auschwitz concentration camp during World War II. The page also contains code numbers for words and phrases associated with the skinhead subculture. Christine Moody makes posts in which she is trying to recruit new members for Crew 41 and uses racial slurs.

Christine Moody identifies herself as a “skin byrd,” or female skinhead. In one post, she states, “The census bureau for the first time in U.S. History have declared that this year, more White people died than were born. The extinction of the White race is upon us. This is undoubtably one of the saddest posts I have ever made.”

Taylor said Christine Moody appears to be trying to recruit new members for Crew 41.

“This is the first time I’ve seen this group,” Taylor said. “We’re doing more research on it. We’ve been in contact with the FBI about it.”

Also on her Facebook page, Christine Moody claims to have cancer.

“We have been told she has cancer,” Taylor said. “Our medical staff has followed up on that.”

Even scarier: I am fairly certain I have run into these two before, back when I used to work at Greenville Mall. (They are, you know, kinda easy to remember.)

We will be talking about these two colorful characters today on our illustrious radio show, so tune in, live at five. (LIVESTREAM HERE)

In addition, another vigilante wacko, Michael Dunn, has murdered another black teenage male (Jordan Davis) in Florida, and is claiming (wait for it!) STAND YOUR GROUND laws, as his defense. We will be discussing that also.

The word for today is CARTE BLANCHE, boys and girls.

Usage in sentence: Since the Zimmerman verdict, the racists now believe they have CARTE BLANCHE.

Florida rules that stalking and killing a black child is legal

If people don't believe racism is alive and well, I tell them to go to Twitter. They have these handy things called hashtags: #. And you can follow it yourself. It's on full display there every single day and night.

Today, racists are crowing and happy with themselves. So don't tell me this hasn't strengthened and emboldened them. I can read for myself. Last night, after the announcement of the verdict in George Zimmerman's trial, they were gloating and joking that nationwide, "blacks and white liberals are furious"--and they were enjoying the HELL out of it. So before you say my headline is over the top, go over there and read, and then get back to me.

Trayvon Martin's murder has been ruled justified. And he was an innocent boy doing ABSOLUTELY NOTHING WRONG.

Let's review.

A grown man (with an ongoing wannabe-cop fixation) followed an unarmed kid talking to a girl on the phone; jumped out of his car and stalked him (directly against 911 advice, even though he blatantly lied and told the 911 operator he was abiding by their advice) and then pointedly picked a fight with him, at night. The boy thinks he's a freak or pervert and says something like that to his friend on the phone. The white man's first words to him are "What are you doing?" instead of "Hey, I'm 'Neighborhood Watch,' what's up?" and there is a fight, in which the kid feels he is being attacked by a pervert, and fights back. Zimmerman, who deliberately broke 'Neighborhood Watch' rules by being armed and stalking a suspect, shot him in cold blood.

If the races were reversed? It is impossible to imagine, isn't it? Would a black man stalk and shoot a white kid without being arrested immediately and pleading out right away?

There wouldn't even have been any trial.

As Tavis Smiley commented this morning on TV: Under existing "Stand Your Ground" laws, it is understood that George Zimmerman could legally "stand his ground"--but Trayvon was not permitted to stand HIS ground and fight back. His act of fighting back against a strange attacker, was seen as proof that he was dangerous and deserved to die.

And so, there has now been a trial. A bad one. A trial with no African-Americans on the jury. Let me ask you, if the above reverse-race scenario occurred, would the jury trying the black man (if he didn't plead out, which he would have) be all black?

Again, it's a laughable reversal, isn't it?

It would never be permitted to happen.

Travesty does not cover it. This is a seriously racist country, and some places (like here and Florida) are obviously far worse than others. And plenty of racists defend Zimmerman's stalking-behavior and murder. (Right-wing commentator-queen Ann Coulter promptly tweeted "Halleluyah!" after the verdict was announced. )

It is open season on black males in the South. Well, let me amend that... the recent award-winning film FRUITVALE STATION, about the murder of Oscar Grant in Oakland, reminds us that it isn't just the South. Certainly, I saw comments on Twitter from as far away as the UK, saying rah-rah George Zimmerman.

I remember asking one frenetic Twitterer why they thought Trayvon seemed so "suspicious"; he looks like any one of the random regular kids in my neighborhood. I walk at night around here and I pass them all the time. They have their late-night candy in their hands, just as Trayvon did. They are polite and say hi to me, nodding amiably; I have never been afraid. One of the Twitterers said WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!? HE LOOKED SUSPICIOUS, HE LOOKED DANGEROUS!

No, he didn't. Only if you believe all black kids are intrinsically scary, could you claim such an outrageous thing.

It was due to the torrent of racist tweets that I knew what the trial's outcome would be, and said so, repeatedly, on our radio show. Local activist Traci Fant went to Sanford, Florida during the trial and called our show, making the same prediction. We knew that Zimmerman would be set free. He speaks for too many people; he is their hero.

The sacrifice of Trayvon Martin appears necessary to sustain the heart of racist America, since we now have a black president. The racists couldn't get rid of Obama, so this is their consolation prize. That's the only thing I can figure out.

I am deeply ashamed of our country and court system today.

~*~

Comments welcome, as always, but PRO-ZIMMERMAN COMMENTS WILL BE DEALT WITH VERY HARSHLY. As far as I am concerned, if you are pro-Zimmerman, you are a racist and I will be addressing you that way.

If you are pro-Zimmerman and somehow believe (i.e. lying to yourself) you are "not racist", you will hereby convince me that the race-reversal I offered above, could actually happen and the outcome would be exactly the same. There will be no other pro-Zimmerman discussion allowed here. NONE.

Take it to Twitter. They wallow in it over there.

Friday update (after the red velvet cake)

Today's Multicultural Festival was fabulous. Red velvet cake! Imani dancers! A special shout-out and copious compliments to Traci Fant for her hard work and terrific organizational skills.

It was especially fun because it was at McAlister Square, which is also the location of the WOLI radio studios, where we broadcast Occupy the Microphone. Today's show is up, as well as yesterday's, wherein we discussed various events in the ongoing trial of George Zimmerman for the murder of Trayvon Martin. We discussed the racist trashing of young Rachel Jeantel (prosecution witness) at length, on both shows. (NOTE: I will be writing about the Zimmerman trial at length after the verdict, as I will also be writing about the Jodi Arias trial after her sentencing.)

And speaking of trials, my deepest apologies for omitting a link to Gregg's great interview with Alexa O'Brien, one of very few reporters covering the trial of Wikileaks whistleblower Bradley Manning. Extensive daily coverage of Bradley Manning's trial is available at her website.

Today, we wondered why some trials get daily televised coverage, and yet Manning's has been virtually ignored by the mainstream media. One might even come to the conclusion that the government and media don't want us to hear the details.

Ya think?

~*~

OTHER RANDOM STUFF you might find interesting:

[] Paula Cooper, who made big news as a teenager sentenced to death row, was released from prison on June 17th. She was only 16 when she was sentenced to death for the grisly killing of 78-year-old Bible teacher Ruth Pelke, and in 1986 was the youngest death row inmate in the USA.

The Gary, Indiana, murder was quite famous throughout the Midwest, and often cited by various pundits of the day as proof that the world was going to hell in a handbasket. Cooper stabbed Pelke 33 times, and with three of her friends, took off with Pelke's car and a whopping $10. Due to her age and (lack of) social status, there was an international outcry over her death sentence, including an intervention from none other than Pope John Paul II. Her death sentence was set aside in 1988, and it has since been found unconstitutional to execute inmates under 18.

[] Me and a horror-movie actor get in a Twitter argument after the announcement of the Supreme Court's DOMA ruling. Meanwhile, Mike Huckabee tweets "Jesus wept" and gets a torrential (and sometimes hilarious) response.

[] Charlotte, a local progressive, crafts strategies for electing Democrats/liberals here in South Carolina--and by extension, other conservative southern states. Contains an excellent analysis of the political psychology of the South, by a Greenville County native (and one of our regular radio show listeners).

[] I wrote about the documentary "Project Nim" over on Facebook.

[] Obama's War on Journalism (Salon) and Seven Myths about Edward Snowden, NSA whistleblower (The Nation)

[] Sweet three-year-old Jameson Kessler is eager to save his baby sister's life with his bone marrow; he calls himself "Marrow Man"... yes, we all want to be superheroes, don't we?

And little Jameson will become a superhero for real. :)

~*~

Your official DEAD FROM CUTENESS video for this month features adorable Jumbo Pillow (he is only 6-months-old but looks older since he is, well, JUMBO PILLOW) meeting his new housemate Cooper. OMG!!! ((((faints from the cute))))



PS: This is called "Friday update" because I will not be online tomorrow, and this will have to do until after the weekend.

Reflections on Jack Ruby

Depending upon who you read, Jack Ruby was a petty strip-club gangster or an important mobster-friend of Sam Giancana.







NOTE: I first wrote this in 2009 and have re-posted it every November since then.

Please limit comments to current post. Thanks.


~*~


It was November 24, 1963.

I remember that I was sitting on a footstool, my nose approximately 8 inches from my family's black-and-white TV set. If I got too close, I couldn't see anything, but I was intent on getting just as close as I could. I wanted to see it all.

It was Sunday morning, and I remember well the hubbub of the adults in the kitchen. I was the only one in the small dining room that served as our TV room. I heard the TV-news announcer say that Lee Oswald was going to be transferred in an armored vehicle. I didn't know what an armored vehicle was, but it sounded awesome. And yet... that little guy? As a six-year-old, I was surprised that such a skinny little guy could be the villain of the hour. I had expected the president's assassin to look something like Brutus, the dastardly evil man of the Popeye cartoons... or at least, he should bear some resemblance to Lex Luthor. This skinny, slight, soft-spoken fellow who calmly denied being near Dealey Plaza? Well, he was just spooky, that's all. They kept calling him a Marxist and a communist, words I didn't yet understand but knew meant that he was a bad person. (I would say the word "communist" in 1963 had the similar gravitas of the word "terrorist" in 2009.) I was enthralled by the constant TV-coverage, the switching back and forth from Dallas to Washington... to our new president, Lyndon Johnson and then back to the basement of Dallas city jail. It was as dazzling as space travel.

Middle-American culture had changed utterly and completely in only two days.

For one thing, the TV had not always been on before. You turned on the TV to watch something, and when it was over, you turned it off. Sometimes you left it on, but usually not. Among the working classes, it was not unusual for some families not to own a TV at all. There were often anti-TV holdouts in these families; cantankerous, old-school types who thought TV was all rubbish and probably unchristian. But after this weekend? This archaic viewpoint was consigned to the dustbin of history. Back in my first-grade class, I would hear about parents who had rushed out to buy a TV at long last. They simply could not bear to be left out.

The TV had been turned on, and stayed on. It was on when I got home from school, dismissed early due to the tragedy, and it was on throughout the funeral. And it stayed on forever after.

And the TV was on as they transferred Lee Oswald to the armored vehicle, or attempted to. There was much talk about security because tensions were running extremely high; there was palpable fury throughout the city of Dallas. When police had forcibly taken Oswald from the theater where they had discovered him, hostile mobs surrounded the police car, and it was said he might have been torn to pieces if the crowd had been able to get their hands on him.

Listening to all this, I was riveted. I remember peering intently as they brought him out, my nose almost right on the screen: There he is!

And then, the inevitable disappointment: such a nonthreatening little dude he was.

I peered and peered and then... bang. Oswald was down.

What?

It was so quick. If not for the firecracker-noise of the gun, I would never have known.

"They shot him!" I shouted, "They shot Oswald! They shot him!"

The adults stampeded as one entity, from the kitchen to the small dining room where I was. My mother, grandparents, some other relatives I have since forgotten... possibly my cousin Charlene.

"I SAW it!" I was shouting, "I SAW IT!"

SSSSSSSssssssshhhhhhhh! Everyone was shushing me. Had I really seen that? The adults' eyes were collectively popping. I felt pretty important for being the one to see it.

"He must be really mad about the president, huh?" I asked.

Nobody answered. They kept shushing me, as obviously-shaken news-announcers talked about what they had just witnessed.

And then, the adults were all looking at each other, that way adults did when they were thinking things that they would not share with children.

Finally, my grandfather said, in what I have come to call his Christian Science Wisdom voice: "Well, that really stinks."

My mother's eyes were wide, wide, wide.

My grandfather shook his head and said "Stinks!" again, rather emphatically. My mother nodded gravely back at him.

I didn't know what he meant then.

The TV-announcers were saying his name: Jack Ruby. The man's name was Jack Ruby.

~*~

Like millions of Americans that day, I saw a murder on live television. Because the murder was widely perceived as an act of justice, nobody worried about the ill effects on all of us children who saw it. And later, many years and decades later, when we began to doubt that what we saw was justice and instead wondered if it had been the silencing of a co-conspirator... nobody worried about the erosion of our morality and the consequential development of our cynicism.

But I trace it all back to that day, the day in the basement of the Dallas city jail.

They ask us, do you remember where you were when John F. Kennedy was assassinated? But I always ask, instead: What did you think when his accused murderer was pronounced dead? Because the silencing began then, the questions asked that will forever remain unanswered. (As Norman Mailer once explained the existence of the angry kids of the 60s: They hated the authority because the authority had lied.)

My grandfather was right. It certainly did stink. And the stench covered everything.

The lies of the powerful were uncovered and exposed before us, that morning in the basement of the Dallas city jail.

Some of us never forgot.

Sam Cooke: Having a Party

I am currently watching the wonderful American Masters documentary titled Sam Cooke: Crossing Over (2010).

So much history is still unrecorded about pioneering black artists who "crossed over" into mainstream, radio pop-hit stardom. Cooke was one of the very first, achieving his first hit on the pop charts in 1957, still a very racially-incendiary time. Black artists on the mainstream charts then sounded like Johnny Mathis and Nat King Cole, not like Cooke's bluesy "You Send Me."

When Cooke performed at the Georgia State Fair, police were called in to maintain order because large integrated gatherings routinely attracted attention from racist groups like the kkk. The film clips of enthusiastic, racially-mixed southern audiences, standing up to scream and greet him, suddenly take on new significance when you keep in mind, they likely had to argue with their families for the right to be there.

The party was an act of affirmation.

Cooke's experiences made an emotional impact on him. In 1963, he joined Aretha Franklin in refusing to play for segregated audiences. When he played the Copacabana, the slicked-up patrons had never heard actual R & B before, and hardly knew what to think; they expected Sammy Davis Jr. Variety magazine wrote that Cooke "wasn't ready" for the Copa, when it's obvious it was the Copa audience that wasn't ready for him.

In late 1964, a woman named Bertha Franklin shot Sam Cooke, and nobody has ever been sure why. There is a great deal of controversy over the 'official' account of his death, which changed several times.

He had just become strongly politicized and was playing a greater role in the Civil Rights movement. Singer Etta James and others, wrote that the circumstances of his death were highly suspicious. An understatement.

When I heard "Having a Party"--I almost started to cry, it's just so beautiful.

Old movie trailers

... from movies you've never seen. Unfortunately, I didn't find certain ones I was looking for. However, finding some of these was worth the whole expedition, and you are in for a real treat.

And I regret to say the various uploaded trailers for "It's Alive" (1975 version) are not nearly as funny as I remember.

~*~

A forgotten movie of the 70s, almost qualifies as cinéma vérité. The two leads seem not to be "acting" at all.

I suppose it also matters that these are my favorite actors. :)

Scarecrow (1973)



~*~

This is an old-school trailer for one of the best B-movies of all time.

The movie had a famous fake-out ending, which catapulted director Jonathan Demme to the top. (He later went on to fame and fortune as director of "Silence of the Lambs.") And B-movie queen Barbara Steele takes center stage, which makes us wonder how this proper British lady ended up as warden of a nasty American women's prison.

The right woman for the job!

Caged Heat (1974) (caution: nudity, NSFW, sexism, violence, etc)



~*~

Brian DePalma's horror movie about conjoined twins, which simply defies rational description. Margot Kidder was stunningly beautiful!

Sisters (1973)



~*~

Rosemary's Baby and The Exorcist go to the drive-in, starring Juliet Mills, who played Nanny in "Nanny and the Professor." (really) This trailer was shown for weeks on late-night TV, and was very popular with 70s potheads.

Beyond the Door (1974)



~*~

In this movie, a nice middle-class white couple go broke and decide to go into robbery to make ends meet. (Why don't they make heartwarming family tales like this any more?)

Jane was heavily into her JANE FONDA'S WORKOUT phase, and she looks mah-velous!

Fun With Dick and Jane (1977)



~*~

I guess you didn't know that the infamous Gates of Hell have to be guarded? And how exactly would one audition for THAT job?

Well, it probably won't surprise you to learn that you get DRAFTED for the position, and you have no say in it at all. (screams)

The Sentinel (1977)



~*~

Before Terry O'Quinn got mega-famous on LOST, he was a very believable serial killer.

The Stepfather (1987)



~*~

O'Quinn reprised his bang-up role in the rather cheesy and predictable Stepfather 2. This movie came out the same year John List was arrested. It is widely assumed the first movie was inspired by John List, but in fact, List was still at large in 1987. By 1989, the "List story" had entered the national consciousness and you can clearly see the influence of List on the narrative.

Stepfather 2 (1989)

The Lynching of Willie Earle

65 years ago, the last lynching in South Carolina took place about 10-15 miles from where I live. And last year, after a very long 64 years, a memorial was finally erected on the rural back road where it happened. I originally posted this in February of 2011, when the memorial was placed.

[Caution: disturbing and violent content]

On February 16, 1947, Thomas Watson Brown, a white cab driver, picked up a black man on Markley Street in Greenville, South Carolina. Brown was later found half-dead, his taxi driven off the road in rural Pickens County. He had been beaten, robbed, and stabbed three times.

The Pickens County sheriff reported that muddy footprints at the crime scene led to the house of Willie Earle, about a mile away, where officers reportedly found cash, a blood-covered knife and bloody clothing. (Many of these facts have always been in dispute, but this is what was presented at trial.) Willie Earle, age 24, wasn't at his residence; he was in another cab, driven by a man who would later become one of the 31 defendants.

Earle was arrested and put in the Pickens County second-floor lock-up.

The news of Brown's stabbing traveled like wildfire, as did the news of Willie Earle's arrest. The nexus of unrest was the Yellow Cab office on West Court Street, where Greenville's taxi drivers had congregated in an angry pack, and started passing around a bottle of whiskey.

The Greenville News, recently granted access to some of the trial records and police reports, offers some chilling accounts:

The attitudes of the time are reflected in the casual manner in which one of the defendants, Hubert Carter, explained in his statement to police how he joined the mob.

The 33-year-old driver and father of four called for a ride home from the Cleveland Street taxi stand at 1 a.m. on the 17th, according to the Greenville Police Department file. He was picked up by another defendant, Paul Griggs, who "asked me if I wanted to go with the others to get the Negro being held for stabbing Mr. Brown.

"I told him I'd go along with the crowd," Carter said in his statement.

And so, in a tableau reminiscent of the famous scene in To Kill A Mockingbird (and perhaps it was an inspiration for it), the taxis all lined up in the early morning hours and drove in formation out to the Pickens County jail, maybe 20 miles away. It was February 17th.

I have often re-imagined the striking sight of the line of yellow cabs driving down the old rural road I have traveled down so many times myself. Did other people see them? They must have. Did the onlookers know where they were going? Did they tell their wives or girlfriends first?

And there was, sadly, no Atticus Finch to stand by the door. Instead, there was a jailer named Gilstrap, who suddenly had two shotguns pointed in his face. He didn't argue.

The mob took Willie Earle from the jail.

A call to Greenville's black funeral home, notified authorities of where the body was.

Thomas Brown died six hours later.

~*~

The first lynching since 1912, the murder of Willie Earle became big news. The trial was biggest lynching trial the state had ever seen. Most lynchings had never even been investigated, while this one had then-Governor Strom Thurmond threatening to put the perpetrators away (yes, you read that right). Time magazine sent reporters, and The New Yorker sent no less than Dame Rebecca West to cover the event.

From Time magazine:

Somebody "pulled the Negro out of the car by his belt." The drivers ''hit him several times with their fists and knocked him to the ground." One of the drivers pulled out a knife. "Before you kill him," he said, "I want to put the same scars on him that he put on Brown." Said Jessie Lee Sammons: "I could hear the tearing of clothing and flesh."

Then the drivers "beat the side of his head with a shotgun." Said Marvin H. Flemming's statement: "I could hear some licks like they were pounding on him with the butt end of a gun. I heard the Negro say, 'Lord, you done killed me.' " Finally, said Charlie Covington, he heard Roosevelt Carlos Hurd Sr., a Blue Bird cab driver, cry out: "Give me the gun and let's get this over with." Just then, "a tall, slender boy with bushy hair hit the Negro in the mouth and knocked him down. The Negro started to get up when Mr. Hurd took the shotgun. He shot the Negro in the head. He unloaded the gun and called for more shells. . . . Mr. Hurd shot the Negro two more times." The tissue of Willie Earle's brain was left hanging on the bushes. The lynchers went back to Greenville and drank coffee.

Of course, it was an all-white jury. Of course, they offered no defense at all. And of course, they were acquitted.

Of the acquittal, Dame Rebecca West wrote:

There could be no more pathetic scene than these taxi-drivers and their wives, the deprived children of difficult history, who were rejoicing at a salvation that was actually a deliverance to danger. For an hour or two, the trial had built up in them that sense of law which is as necessary to man as bread and water and a roof. They had known killing for what it is: a hideousness that begets hideousness. They had seen that the most generous impulse, not subjected to the law, may engender a shameful deed. For indeed they were sick at heart when what had happened at the slaughter-pen was described in open court. But they had been saved from the electric chair and from prison by men who had conducted their defense without taking a minute off to state or imply that even if a man is a murderer one must not murder him and that murder is foul. These people had been plunged back into chaos.

Chaos is the word. Chaos was the state of race relations in the south until the Civil Rights movement, when the chaos was at last addressed.

Next week, after many long decades, the spot where Willie Earle was murdered will be officially and historically marked. Future generations will not be like me, driving by a rural place in the road without knowing whose blood was shed there. We will see, and we will know.

Tessie Robinson, Willie's mama, died 8 years ago. I am so sad she will never see the memorial to her son.

For black people, a memorial and a reminder of what they already know and do not have to be told. For us white people, a souvenir of our savagery, and the cover-up of that savagery. Which is why the memorial has taken 64 years.

Rest in Peace, Willie Earle.

Bring Joe-Bob back to the Drive-In, and other horrifying updates

Joe-Bob Goes to The Drive-In was the name of Joe Bob Briggs' old B-movie column in the Dallas Morning Herald. These reviews were compiled into a very entertaining book by the same name. The book's sequel was titled, of course, Joe-Bob goes back to the drive-in (introduction by Wayne Newton). Both books are totally indispensable and absolutely necessary for any serious trash-culture fan!

Joe-Bob Briggs was really John Bloom, and with his TEXAS MONTHLY writing partner, Jim Atkinson, wrote a very good true-crime account of one woman killing another with an axe. I sure never forgot THAT one! (Aside: An Amazon reader informs us that this woman, Candy Montgomery, is now a nurse in Atlanta... remind me never to go to the hospital in Georgia, for any reason.) He hosted his own TV show for awhile: Joe-Bob's Drive-In Theater. This was one of the great treasures of the 90s, my friends. You may also recall Joe-Bob as the host of the more mainstream 90s cable-show MonsterVision, which brought us some far-out B-movie classics, such as the inimitable Basket Case.

Joe-Bob has been in a few movies himself, and was even in the mini-series of THE STAND, playing a character named Deputy Joe-Bob Brentwood (attesting to Stephen King's excellent B-movie sensibilities). He was also in Martin Scorcese's Casino, one of my favorite movies, where you may remember him getting fired by Robert DeNiro and hollering in protest, "This is not the way to treat people!" (I remember thinking, is that Joe-Bob Briggs he is firing????) Unfortunately, his scenes were deleted from Texas Chainsaw Massacre II, which I am sure upset him terribly.

My question: WHERE is the contemporary Joe-Bob? Why are we Joe-Bobless? It doesn't seem fair that we have no trash-movie impresario on regular TV these days. (Note: I'm sure one of the millions of satellite channels has this kind of programming, but I refer to mass-market TV.) I grew up with horror movies hosted by the incomparable Ghoulardi of Cleveland, and I love that kinda stuff.

Come back, Joe-Bob!!! And no offense, but you can leave your politics back in Texas. Nonetheless, if I have to put up with Libertarian jabber to get some decent B-movies, I am willing to do that.

~*~

Some more stuff:

:: Conspiracy theories! As an ex-Yippie, I eat em for breakfast. (I also figured this would go well with Joe-Bob.) Bin Laden Death Deemed Murder of CIA Case Officer as 9/11 Coverup:

President George W. Bush knew Osama bin Laden was a CIA agent and in no way ever involved in 9/11. He knew bin Laden personally from family visits and knew bin Laden had been to the White House while living in the US under the cover name of “Tim Osmon.”

This has been verified by CIA officials.

It has? Well, color me surprised.

I definitely need to hear more about this one.

:: Monica runs a video from Ellen DeGeneres, calling out the "One Million Moms" (actually only 40,000) who have targeted her as a gay spokesperson for JC Penneys. (I also thought homophobes go well with horror movies, so that is the reason the link goes here.)

:: And finally, from Politico: The political transformation of Barack Obama, which has most assuredly been horrifying.

Add your own, play along at home.

Take me back to the place where I first saw the light

Since the dreaded Super Bowl is over, its time to get your political seriousness back on!

For the record, I have never seen so many Tweets over somebody giving the middle-finger on live TV; there were probably more Tweets about that than about the entire war in Afghanistan.

~*~

I once told the story on this blog (or touched on it briefly), of the time I was shaken very hard by a bigshot leftist.

If you are up-to-date on your true-crime scandals, you have likely heard of the death of Yeardley Love, University of Virginia lacrosse player, who was shaken so hard by her ex-boyfriend/defendant, that her head hit the wall. (First-degree murder?) The trial of the accused, George Huguely, starts today.

As the young feminists say, this story has triggered and upset me, as I consider the fact that the only unpleasant repercussions I had from my shaking episode was a terrible headache, neck and shoulder pain. It could have been far worse, I realize now.

And what were the repercussions for the important lefty honcho who shook me in front of 5 witnesses? Nothing. Not a goddamn thing. I now realize I could have had him arrested for assault, but who thought of such things in those days? Cops were widely regarded as "the enemy". It would never have occurred to me, and so it didn't.

The fact that men "shake" women, as you would discipline a naughty child, is something that has greatly bothered me ever since. It's one of those things that simply doesn't happen in reverse: women do not "shake some sense" into grown men, or at least, I never heard of anyone doing that, never read about it, never seen it in movies or on television. As I increase my participation on various blogs that deal with men's gender issues, I am highly skeptical when they tell us men are raped and harmed by women, just as often as women are raped and harmed by men (some even claim MORE often). Although I am sympathetic to the male dilemma (as I have tagged it), we just don't hear about male lacrosse players shaken so hard by their girlfriends, that their heads hit the wall and they die. (Such a story almost sounds laughable, doesn't it?)

And how exactly would one prove that a male was raped by a female, unless some object was used? Vaginal bruising and tearing are one form of evidence for rape of women, but is there an equivalent for males?

I am open-minded enough to listen, but I remain skeptical that gender-violence goes both ways as often as the Men's Rights contingent insists that it does.

Where are the dead male lacrosse players?

Further, I think many women could tell a story similar to mine--random violence (or threats of violence) from men (not necessarily domestic violence).

Can most men tell similar stories about women?

I don't know any who can.

~*~

Chris Hedges, whom I usually respect, has written a rather hysterical piece titled, THE CANCER OF OCCUPY. (Cancer? Really? Somebody has not read Illness as Metaphor by Susan Sontag, and has not learned of the inappropriateness of the term.) Hedges' piece reads exactly the way so many alarmist anti-war movement screeds once did, back in the day--particularly concerning the Yippies: THE ANARCHISTS ARE INVADING, AIYEEEEE!

First, like the poor, the anarchists we always have with us. Deal.

Second, the Malcolm X/Martin Luther King dichotomy stands. The radicals make the liberals look reasonable. You're welcome, Chris! Take the position of the reasonable liberal and SHUT UP. The radicals are helping us. Only scared liberals afraid of not staying in charge, could fail to see it this way. Hedges announces:

Because Black Bloc anarchists do not believe in organization, indeed oppose all organized movements, they ensure their own powerlessness.

Is 'Anonymous' powerless? Like, when they brought down PayPal? Bullshit. They have power that can't be quantified, can't be controlled, and that is what the Hedges-types (whom I usually respect, as I said) do not understand.

Occupy is about the 99% and unfortunately, the 99% (includes even Republicans) are not going to agree on What Is To Be Done. Further, everybody in the 99% seems to have an opinion, even people who haven't actually spent lots of time Occupying. Although Hedges distinguished himself by getting arrested in front of Goldman Sachs, Occupier John Penley comments on Facebook:

I am tired of these intellectuals getting more fame and money writing about and attempting to direct the movement. By the way Chris... The Zapatistas wear masks and carry guns. I have spent a lot of time in Chiapas and much of the material aid and physical support for the Zapatistas came from black bloc types and I am sure they would not be happy about Hedges speaking for them like I am not sure why he feels he can speak from his high profile position so much about what the Occupy movement should or is doing.

The so-called "split" in Occupy, between pacifists and direct-actions protesters, mirrors every other political group I have ever been involved in. This is an old split, it is PRIMAL. Some people always want to chant and pray and sit, and some people always want to throw rocks. There are always ill-mannered punks who invade the porn store and trash it (I helped do this once, after solemnly promising I would not join the breakaway-faction that ran in to trash the mafia-owned business that specialized in violent "beaver loops") ... and some want to inflict even more damage and/or openly confront (and fight with) police.

What they do, you do not have to do.

What they do, is NOT ABOUT you, unless you choose (as I did, during the aforementioned 'Take Back the Night' march/demonstration) to jump ship and join the anarchists. The nice N.O.W. ladies did not approve of us young ruffians running in there and ripping up rape-pin-ups, and that is exactly why we didn't tell them what we were planning to do. They had a march-permit and were terribly well-behaved--and could therefore honestly claim to law enforcement that they had no clue a bunch of punk-rock-witches would suddenly break away and run inside the porn store, shrieking like Furies (that's what we were going for, anyway). As a result, we protected the march from possible arrests, AND we managed to inflict the damage.

But you know, you should not PLAY at rabble-rousing. If you give a bang-up speech saying 'women take back the night!'--do not be surprised when someone actually does.

When you say "We are the 99%--hoo ha!"--do not be surprised when the actual 99% shows up. Like, ALL of them; bikers, ex-cons, angry veterans, etc... and they may not have your peacenik, lets-get-in-a-circle-and-chant-OM values. Are you ready for that?

If not, Occupy is not for you. Because it really is about the 99%, that isn't just empty propaganda. Be prepared when the 99% really does show up... and they are, like the rest of us, extremely pissed off.

They may not show their anger in the nicey-nice way that you have come to expect.

~*~

If you missed my non-interview of Noam Chomsky, it is here.

Also recommended: 29 days on Drugs – Day 2: The President’s Pot Problem. The best analysis I have read, of why Obama seems so terrified to discuss freeing the weed.

Mentioned in the post is The New Jim Crow, by Michelle Alexander, a book about the drug war (and its focus on minorities), which I will certainly be reading and discussing on my radio show.

~*~

Caution: bluegrass ahead! This lovely, traditional old song is apparently now in the public domain; author unknown. The first line of the song is today's blog post title. (What would I do without WPCI?)

Take me back to the Sweet Sunny South - Jerry Garcia and David Grisman

Reflections on Jack Ruby

Depending upon who you read, Jack Ruby was a petty strip-club gangster or an important mobster-friend of Sam Giancana.







NOTE: I first wrote this in 2009, and re-posted it last year at this time.

I am posting it again, since it accurately captures my nostalgic feelings/memories at the end of every November.

Please limit comments to current post. Thanks.


~*~


It was November 24, 1963.

I remember that I was sitting on a footstool, my nose approximately 8 inches from my family's black-and-white TV set. If I got too close, I couldn't see anything, but I was intent on getting just as close as I could. I wanted to see it all.

It was Sunday morning, and I remember well the hubbub of the adults in the kitchen. I was the only one in the small dining room that served as our TV room. I heard the TV-news announcer say that Lee Oswald was going to be transferred in an armored vehicle. I didn't know what an armored vehicle was, but it sounded awesome. And yet... that little guy? As a six-year-old, I was surprised that such a skinny little guy could be the villain of the hour. I had expected the president's assassin to look something like Brutus, the dastardly evil man of the Popeye cartoons... or at least, he should bear some resemblance to Lex Luthor. This skinny, slight, soft-spoken fellow who calmly denied being near Dealey Plaza? Well, he was just spooky, that's all. They kept calling him a Marxist and a communist, words I didn't yet understand but knew meant that he was a bad person. (I would say the word "communist" in 1963 had the similar gravitas of the word "terrorist" in 2009.) I was enthralled by the constant TV-coverage, the switching back and forth from Dallas to Washington... to our new president, Lyndon Johnson and then back to the basement of Dallas city jail. It was as dazzling as space travel.

Middle-American culture had changed utterly and completely in only two days.

For one thing, the TV had not always been on before. You turned on the TV to watch something, and when it was over, you turned it off. Sometimes you left it on, but usually not. Among the working classes, it was not unusual for some families not to own a TV at all. There were often anti-TV holdouts in these families; cantankerous, old-school types who thought TV was all rubbish and probably unchristian. But after this weekend? This archaic viewpoint was consigned to the dustbin of history. Back in my first-grade class, I would hear about parents who had rushed out to buy a TV at long last. They simply could not bear to be left out.

The TV had been turned on, and stayed on. It was on when I got home from school, dismissed early due to the tragedy, and it was on throughout the funeral. And it stayed on forever after.

And the TV was on as they transferred Lee Oswald to the armored vehicle, or attempted to. There was much talk about security because tensions were running extremely high; there was palpable fury throughout the city of Dallas. When police had forcibly taken Oswald from the theater where they had discovered him, hostile mobs surrounded the police car, and it was said he might have been torn to pieces if the crowd had been able to get their hands on him.

Listening to all this, I was riveted. I remember peering intently as they brought him out, my nose almost right on the screen: There he is!

And then, the inevitable disappointment: such a nonthreatening little dude he was.

I peered and peered and then... bang. Oswald was down.

What?

It was so quick. If not for the firecracker-noise of the gun, I would never have known.

"They shot him!" I shouted, "They shot Oswald! They shot him!"

The adults stampeded as one entity, from the kitchen to the small dining room where I was. My mother, grandparents, some other relatives I have since forgotten... possibly my cousin Charlene.

"I SAW it!" I was shouting, "I SAW IT!"

SSSSSSSssssssshhhhhhhh! Everyone was shushing me. Had I really seen that? The adults' eyes were collectively popping. I felt pretty important for being the one to see it.

"He must be really mad about the president, huh?" I asked.

Nobody answered. They kept shushing me, as obviously-shaken news-announcers talked about what they had just witnessed.

And then, the adults were all looking at each other, that way adults did when they were thinking things that they would not share with children.

Finally, my grandfather said, in what I have come to call his Christian Science Wisdom voice: "Well, that really stinks."

My mother's eyes were wide, wide, wide.

My grandfather shook his head and said "Stinks!" again, rather emphatically. My mother nodded gravely back at him.

I didn't know what he meant then.

The TV-announcers were saying his name: Jack Ruby. The man's name was Jack Ruby.

~*~

Like millions of Americans that day, I saw a murder on live television. Because the murder was widely perceived as an act of justice, nobody worried about the ill effects on all of us children who saw it. And later, many years and decades later, when we began to doubt that what we saw was justice and instead wondered if it had been the silencing of a co-conspirator... nobody worried about the erosion of our morality and the consequential development of our cynicism.

But I trace it all back to that day, the day in the basement of the Dallas city jail.

They ask us, do you remember where you were when John F. Kennedy was assassinated? But I always ask, instead: What did you think when his accused murderer was pronounced dead? Because the silencing began then, the questions asked that will forever remain unanswered. (As Norman Mailer once explained the existence of the angry kids of the 60s: They hated the authority because the authority had lied.)

My grandfather was right. It certainly did stink. And the stench covered everything.

The lies of the powerful were uncovered and exposed before us, that morning in the basement of the Dallas city jail.

Some of us never forgot.