Out of the Cave and Swatting at Gnats

Thought for the day:  A hibernating snail is not necessarily dead. [Messaod Mohammed]

[image courtesy of Morguefile]

[YAWN] It's time to drag my weary bones (Snap! Crackle! Pop!) out of the editing cave long enough to write a new post.

Nope, still not done with the editing, but I've already foisted enough reruns on you guys. The truth is, I really am more like that hibernating snail in the thought for the day than a bear... not all that grumpy or dangerous, but I sure am SLOW.

So, what to write about? My blogging brain isn't firing on all cylinders right now, so I'm gonna ease my way back into this. (It's always best not to test the depth of the water with both feet.) Today is September 15... so what happened on this date in history?

[image courtesy of wiki]

As it turns out... LOTS of stuff, but seeing's as how I'm trying to ease back into blogging, I won't natter on about all of them... or even most of some. Just two. (You're welcome.)

First, I'll natter about... gnats. Miserable little creatures, aren't they? Anyone who does outdoor work, especially in sweaty climes, is well aware of those little booger bugs with a propensity for buzzing around heads, flying up noses and into eyes, and getting stuck in perspiration. (Why the heck didn't Noah smoosh them when he had the chance?)

So what is it about gnats and this particular date in history? Well, included in a loooooong list of historic events that occurred on this date throughout the ages, I found a peculiar listing for 1946, in which the Dodgers beat the Cubs 2-0. Yeah, I know... nothing historic THERE, but that game was called after only five innings. Not because of rain... or tornado... or hurricane... or fire... or flood. Because of gnats. Swarms of them. Who'd think a little critter like that could cause such misery and mayhem that the Cubs lost their opportunity to win that game? (Um, not that they WOULD have, mind you, but I'm just saying...) It wasn't the size or annoyance factor of any individual gnat, but the accumulative effect of a mess of them. A whole gang of them crawled out from under their rocks and banded together to create an atmosphere of cursing, swatting, and running. And in essence, the gnats... won the day. And all the good people retreated.

[photograph: Carol Highsmith]

The second event from this date in history, surprisingly enough, wasn't included on the list that cited the gnat tale, which I found astounding, because this second event was something that truly changed the course of history.

In 1963, hate-filled white supremacists bombed the 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama, and four little girls were killed. Another little girl was blinded for life, and fourteen other church members were seriously injured. It's horrifying that it took something this terrible to awaken America to the deplorable state of race relations in some parts of this country, but that wake-up call also provided impetus for the passage of new civil rights laws.

Now here we are in 2017, and it seems that white supremacists are crawling out from under their rocks not only here in the United States, but in other countries all over the world, and they're banding together to create a renewed atmosphere of cursing, violence, and fear. Like swarms of gnats, they cause misery and mayhem, and the diseases they try to spread are hatred and intolerance.

The one thing we should hate is hatred; the one we should not tolerate is intolerance.

The following photograph was taken in 1992 by small-town newspaper photographer Todd Robertson at a KKK rally in Gainesville, Georgia. (If you'd like to read more about it, check this earlier post )

The child in that picture was only three years old at time. I wonder where he is now... and whether he rose above the hatred he was taught. Is he one of the white supremacists now crawling out from under their slimy rocks? Look at the face of the now-retired trooper Allen Campbell. What sadness he must have felt in his soul to see an innocent child clad in garb of hatred.

Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that. [Martin Luther King, Jr.]

On this September 15 of 2017, I despair that such hatred is still in existence and that the passage of civil rights laws hasn't erased intolerance from the evil hearts of some... gnats. That is what these white supremacists and neo-Nazis are to me... an annoying swarm of creatures that will be smooshed in the end. These gnats will not win, and the fight for decency will not end early. There are far more of us with love in our hearts than there are of them. This time, the good people will not retreat.

We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope. [Martin Luther King, Jr.]



                              Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

Cover Stories

Thought for the Day:  Do you ever judge a book by its cover???

[morguefile]

So who are you more likely to trust... a pious bunch of church-goers, led by a sweet-faced white-haired man with pale blue eyes and a cowboy hat...

[morguefile]

or a free-wheeling bunch of bearded, leather-clad bikers led by a bad-ass looking dude on a Harley?


Looks can be deceiving, you know. Could be a... cover story.


What if that sweet-faced church leader clutching his Bible like a weapon were... Fred Phelps?  Yeah, that guy.

[wikipedia]

The fruit loop guy who led the Westboro Primitive Baptist Church in Topeka, Kansas from 1955 until he died a few months ago, the guy who taught his congregation to... hate. Protected by freedom of speech laws, they got their self-righteous jollies by protesting and picketing... even at funerals. Especially at funerals... especially at military funerals.

[wikipedia]

And what if those scary-looking bikers were Patriot Guard riders? They're members of a nation-wide volunteer organization of bikers who make a difference by attending military funerals to show respect for our fallen heroes, and to shield grieving families and friends from the additional pain dished out by those protesters. What's more, they do it peacefully, legally, and with great dignity.

I certainly know which of these groups gets my respect... and trust.

Bottom line, when referring to those particular church-goers and biker dudes, one could easily jump to the conclusion that you can't judge a book by its cover. But Whoa, Nelly! Not so fast. Sometimes, you can. Sometimes, we do. Like Joyce O'Neal said, You can't judge a book by its cover, but you can sure sell a bunch of books if you have a good one.

And I'm about to reveal a really really good one. My prediction is it's gonna be holding a really really good book inside, too. How do I know? Because I've read Carol's other books, and they were all terrific. Okay, ready to sneak a peek... ?

                                                                       Down...
                                                                 
                                                                       Down...

                                                                       Down...

                                                                       Down...

                                                                      YOWZA!


                                                                         

Isn't that gorgeous??? What's more, the story sounds terrific, too:

By the end of a long evening working as a special set of eyes for the presidential security detail, all Kat Marengo wants is to kick off her shoes and stash two not-really-stolen rings in a secure spot. Plus, maybe sleep with Dave Krizak. No, make that definitely sleep with Dave Krizak. The next morning, she wishes her new top priorities were so simple.

As an operative for a covert agency buried in the depths of the Department of Homeland Security, Kat is asked to participate in a matter of life or death—locate a kidnapped girl believed to be held in Corpus Christi, Texas. Since the person doing the asking is the wife of the president and the girl is the daughter of the first lady’s dearest friend, it’s hard to say no.

Kat and Dave quickly learn the real stakes are higher than they or the first lady believed and will require more than any of them bargained for. The kicker? They have twenty-four hours to find the girl—or the matter of life or death will become more than a possibility.

[morguefile]

Does that have you salivating like Pavlov's dog?


Yeah, me too.


I hate to tell ya, but Secrets of Honor isn't gonna be released until September. Yeah, I know. Bummer.

But don't blame me. Blame this lovely lady for teasing you like this. Blame Carol.

Yeah, just look at that smile on her face. That's because she knows how the story ends... the rest of us are just gonna have to wait. (Don't worry; I'll remind you in September.)

Wanta hear a little something about this talented writer with the 100-watt smile?

Carol writes grocery lists, texts to her family, new lyrics to old songs for her dogs, love notes to her husband, and novels for herself. And for you. In between, she blogs weekly at Under the Tiki Hut and is active on Facebook and Twitter.

She sees mystery and subterfuge everywhere. And she’s a sucker for a good love story—especially ones with humor and mystery. Crime Fiction with a Kiss gives her the latitude to mix and match throughout the broad mystery and romance genres. Having flexibility makes her heart happy.

LINKS

Under the Tiki Hut blog:  http://www.underthetikihut.blogspot.com

Website with Monthly Contest: http://www.carolkilgore.net

Facebook:http://www.facebook.com/carol.kilgore1

Twitter: http://twitter.com/carol_kilgore

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6094110.Carol_Kilgore

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Carol-Kilgore/e/B008FRCXQY

Once upon a time, there was a jewel thief. Her name was Katia. She worked for The Government. Yes, that government. But one day, Kat took something she shouldn’t have. She really shouldn't have done that.

****

How about you? Are you pretty good at judging books by their covers? Are you as het up to read this book as I am? (And did you find it as ironic as I did that Phelps' family had the audacity to ask the public to respect their privacy after he died...?  I swear, bearing spiritual fruit is one thing, but those folks are religious nuts.)

                             Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

The Waters of Justice Sometimes Trickle

Thought for the day:  Justice is truth in action.  [Benjamin Disraeli]

EXTRA! EXTRA! [National Archives]

A couple years ago, I wrote a two-part post, Art and the Human Spirit, about the internment of Japanese-American citizens during WWII. Those posts focused on human resilience, but today's post is going to approach the internments from a different angle. From the angle of justice.

[courtesy of Karen Korematsu and the Korematsu Institute]

Fred Korematsu was one of many Japanese-Americans living on the west coast at the beginning of World War II, when President Roosevelt issued Executive Order 9066, which authorized the internment of all people of Japanese descent into what was euphemistically called relocation camps. On May 3, 1942, General DeWitt ordered 120,000 Japanese-Americans to report  to Assembly Centers six days later as a prelude to their incarceration.

[National Archives]

As American citizens, many of whom were born and raised in the United States, these men, women, and children considered themselves to be red-white-and-blue American patriots. They hung banners and signs from their businesses declaring their allegiance, but it didn't matter, because they couldn't change the way they looked.

Tanforan Assembly Center [National Archives]

Twenty-two-year-old Fred Korematsu and his family were to be transported to Tanforan Assembly Center, where they'd be kept in converted horse stalls until assigned and relocated to camp. But Fred didn't believe the government had the constitutional right to imprison its own citizens without benefit of trial, hearing, or filing of charges. So he didn't go.

Waiting to be taken to camp. [National Archives]

He was nabbed on May 30 for looking like a Jap while standing on an Oakland street corner, and on September 8, was convicted in federal court for defying the order to report for relocation. He received five years' probation... but was sent immediately to Tanforan. Then, like so many others, he was put on a train to his assigned internment camp.

Topaz, Utah camp [National Archives]

Like the rest of his family, he was incarcerated in a desolate camp in Topaz, Utah. There, he lived in a horse stall lit by a single light bulb. He said conditions were worse there than in the jails.

Other residents of the camp avoided him, because they considered him to be a troublemaker, and thought his defiance was wrong and disrespectful. He continued to believe in their constitutional rights, and in the American justice system, and he was sure he would find justice in the courtroom.

Supreme Court building [Wikipedia]

The ACLU used his case to test the legality of the WWII incarcerations, and after losing several appeals, his case made its way to the Supreme Court in 1944. There, in a 6-3 ruling, it was determined that your ethnic affiliation can predispose you to disloyalty if you're an American of Japanese descent, and that compulsory exclusion, though constitutionally suspect, is justified during circumstances of emergency and peril. 

But Korematsu didn't give up He continued to pursue his plea of innocence. A special commission formed by President Carter concluded in 1982 that the internment of Japanese-American citizens was a grave injustice based on race prejudice, war hysteria, and  failure of political leadership. That same year, Professor Peter Irons uncovered evidence that the government's lawyers had withheld important information during Korematsu's 1944 Supreme Court hearing. In 1983, the U.S. District of the Northern District of California overturned Korematsu's conviction. Standing before the court, he said, I would like to see the government admit that they were wrong and do something about it so this will never happen again to any American citizen of any race, creed, or color.  And, If anyone should do any pardoning, I should be the one pardoning the government for what they did to Japanese-American people. 

In 1988, Congress apologized, and granted personal compensation of twenty thousand dollars to each surviving prisoner.

[photo credit: Dennis Cook]

President Clinton also presented Korematsu with the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 1988. Until his death in 2005, Korematsu continued to speak tirelessly on behalf of civil rights, and in 2004, in reference to the detainees at Guantanamo, he insisted, No one should ever be locked away simply because they share the same race, ethnicity, or religion as a spy or terrorist. 

Since 2011, January 30 has been celebrated as Fred Korematsu Day... a day to remember him, and to honor his unwavering belief in civil liberties, justice, and the Constitution of the United States.

In the 1944 Supreme Court decision,  in speaking for the dissenters, Robert Jackson said, The Supreme Court for all time has validated the principle of racial discrimination in criminal procedure and of transplanting American citizens.  And that 1944 Supreme Court decision... still stands.

                                    Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

P.S. If you'd like to see the two earlier posts, you can find them by clicking on the Gaman tag in the sidebar.

A Captured Moment

Thought for the day:  Racism isn't born, folks, it's taught. I have a two-year-old son. You know what he hates? Naps! End of list. [Denis Leary]

The Atlanta Journal ran a photograph last month, a photograph that was taken more than twenty years ago, but has been recently drawing renewed attention. A photograph I want YOU to see.

Before showing it to you, a little background information. The photographer, Todd Robertson, graduated from the University of Georgia School of Journalism in 1991, and in September of the following year, attended a Ku Klux Klan rally as a freelance photographer, in hopes of capturing some pictures for the Gainesville Times, a small local newspaper. Sixty-six KKK members showed up in Gainesville for that rally, and they were all outsiders. No locals. And there were approximately three times as many law enforcement officers on hand to keep the peace. Some notable civil rights leaders were also there, and the whole rally and peaceful counter-protest march even got some coverage on the Oprah Winfrey Show. 

                                                        Get the picture?

I think that hate is a feeling that can only exist where there is no understanding.  [Tennessee Williams]


                                                 Then, you're ready to SEE the picture.

                                 

The now-retired trooper, Allen Campbell, says he wasn't even thinking about race relations that day. To him, it was just another day on the job, and he was thinking more about the Labor Day cook-out he was missing. Then, this little fella approached to marvel at his reflection in the riot shield, and the photographer happened to be right there to capture the moment. To capture the expression on Campbell's face. And a moment is all he got... because the mother, seen at the right of the picture, quickly snatched the boy and brought him back to the stroller, where an even younger child sat, also dressed in mini-KKK garb.

Josh, the little boy in the picture, was only three years old at the time. Most people who see this picture want to know what became of him. But Campbell and Robertson, who abandoned photography shortly after taking this picture, don't know.

In light of this photograph's recent resurrection, the Gainesville Times recently interviewed Campbell and Robertson. You can see that short video here

Anybody remember the poem Children Learn What They Live [by Dorothy Law Nolte, 1972]

                        Here it is:

If children live with criticism, they learn to condemn.
If children live with hostility, they learn to fight.
If children live with fear, they learn to be apprehensive.
If children live with pity, they learn to feel sorry for themselves.
If children live with ridicule, they learn to feel shy.
If children live with jealousy, they learn to feel envy.
If children live with shame, they learn to feel guilty.
If children live with encouragement, they learn confidence.
If children live with tolerance, they learn patience.
If children live with praise, they learn appreciation.
If children live with acceptance, they learn to love.
If children live with approval, they learn to like themselves.
If children live with recognition, they learn it is good to have a goal.
If children live with sharing, they learn generosity.
If children live with honesty, they learn truthfulness.
If children live with fairness, they learn justice.
If children live with kindness and consideration, they learn respect.
If children live with security, they learn to have faith in themselves and in those about them.
If children live with friendliness, they learn the world is a nice place in which to live.
***


                           So, what happens when a child is taught to hate?

I will permit no man to narrow and degrade my soul by making me hate him.  [Booker T. Washington]

Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love.  [St. Francis of Assisi]

Do you remember this song? It isn't a perfect match for this post, but it's insinuated itself into my mind, and insists that it's ... close enough.

So, what do YOU think of that old photograph? What do you see in it? In the expression on the trooper's face?

                                   Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

We must accept finite disappointment, but we must never lose infinite hope.  [Martin Luther King, Jr.]

Strip Poker, Anyone?

Thought for the day:  Other people have wrinkles. I prefer to think of mine as character lines.

Well, looky here. An award. How cool is that? It's always nice to be considered ... kreativ.


This award came from a new blogging pal from the A-Z, Maryann Miller and I really do appreciate it. Except, the thing is, now I'm supposed to give up ten more things about myself that I haven't already blabbed about in earlier posts like this. Sheesh, with all the tidbits I threw into the pot in other bare it all award posts, if this were a game of strip poker, I'd already be shivering a little. For those of you interested in catching up on earlier revelations, you can look here and more here and even more here and ohmigod, please make her stop Okay, I stopped. Now, let's see if I can some up with a winning hand here without having to resort to telling you (UGH!) my favorite color. Okay, ten things. Here goes:

1. My parents didn't believe in doling out allowances, so if I wanted money, I jolly well had to find a way to earn it on my own. So I made and sold lemonade to construction workers, did yard work, washed and waxed cars, cleaned house, polished silver, and baked all kinds of goodies. And ya know what? It didn't kill me.

2. But looking back,  it's a wonder I didn't manage to kill myself in other ways. If someone dared me to do something, nine times out of ten, I was gonna give it a try. Like the time I accepted the dare to ride my bicycle down the steps outside the elementary school. The series of steps were built down a steep hill to the lower play areas, so that there were like eight concrete steps, then a small concrete landing, then eight more steps, another landing, and the final eight steps leading onto the field. Picture that? Well, I did fine on the first set of steps, and then the front tire hit the first landing KAPOW, and the bike went barreling down the second flight like a proverbial bat outta hell. Hit that second landing going about a bazillion miles an hour, and I kid you not, the bike flipped a complete somersault in the air. Heck, maybe it even flipped twice. All I know is it flew in one direction, and I went spinning through the air in another. Oh, did I happen to mention that the banisters on either side of those steps were made of steel? No? Well, they were. And I smashed into one of them, head-first. When I came to, luckily, I wasn't dead. Might very well explain my weird sense of humor, though.

3. The first boy-girl party I attended was a bit unusual. See, I spent half the party in the back room shooting craps with a bunch of guys. That is, until the boy hosting the party took me outside to show me how to hot-wire a car. (Told you it was unusual.)

4. When we were in high school, my husband, a few of the other kids, and I played strip poker in the bus on the way home from a field trip to Philadelphia. (from Baltimore) I mean, what can I say? The setting was just right. Dark outside, and there we were, safe inside the dimly lit bus with a bunch of tired kids. Besides, I'm a pretty darned good poker player, if I must say so myself. Oh, one thing. We only lost articles of clothing ... on paper. (Didn't even remove our shoes.)

5. Following President Kennedy's assassination, I joined the crowd in D.C. to see his casket carried by caisson from the rotunda to the cathedral. On that very cold day, masses of people of all ages gathered along both sides of the road to pay their respects. And with all those people, even young children and babes in arms, the only sound I can remember hearing, the only thing that broke the eerie silence, was the somber clop-clop of horses' hooves.

6. Following Martin Luther King's assassination, riots broke out in numerous parts of the country. The worst were in D.C., Chicago, and Baltimore. I happened to work in downtown Baltimore at the time, and had the misfortune of being caught in the middle of the riots. An angry mob of black men surrounded the car, glared in the windows at us, and then began rocking the car. It was the first time (and thankfully, the only time) I ever saw blind hatred with my own eyes.

7. Rather than waste my breath, I  hauled our sons' little keisters to the police station and got an officer to put some fear into their hearts. The boys had defied my orders not to buy ninja stars. (Remember when they were all the rage in the seventies?) They didn't believe ME when I told them how dangerous those things could be, but they definitely believed the policeman.

8. I like to dabble with oil paints every now and then. This picture hangs on our bedroom wall. People always used to ask if it was a self-portrait. (No, it isn't.) Funny ... nobody ever asks anymore. (sigh)

9. (Whew! Almost done!) I mentored several teenagers as part of our church's confirmation process, and every month or so, would take them to another church to attend a worship service. The week we were to attend a non-denominational charismatic church, I laughingly assured the parents that at the first sign of rattlesnakes, we'd hightail it out of there. As it turned out, I dunno if any snakes showed up or not. See, an hour or so into the service, the music started getting progressively louder and louder, faster and faster. Trumpets were blaring, and drums were thump, thump, thumping out a blood-stirring primitive beat. Then, here and there, people started to stand, and began swaying slowly in place, with eyes rolled back, and arms lifted skyward. Then began the remarkable sound of people all around us ... babbling in tongues. Um, not that it wasn't fascinating in a terrifying kinda way, but to tell the truth, some Lutherans aren't even comfortable with the whole sharing of the Holy Spirit awkward hug, ya know? So, talking in tongues? Let's just say it wasn't to our taste. We, uh, didn't hang around for the snakes.

10. I enjoy plunking on the guitar. After playing the same one (the one in the picture) for many many years, I treated myself to a shiny new one last year.Our son-in-law, a professional musician, took her for a spin and declared her to have a fine sound. Me, I immediately removed all the steel strings and replaced them with nylon. What? The heck with the fine sound. Nylon is easier on my fingers.


Woo, HOO! Didn't even  have to tell you my favorite color, did I? Now that you know much more about me than you ever cared to know, my task is to pass this award onto some other bloggers. Not sure how many. Probably ten, but I'm gonna pass it on to three. (Being rejected by ten would be highly devastating. Three, I can handle.) And psssst! If you three just wanta tell us your favorite color and what animal you'd be if you could come back as one, or whatever, by all means, go for it. Whatever ten things, long or short, silly or serious,  that you'd like to peel off and throw into the pot would be fine.

So, with a drum roll and no further ado, I pass this lovely award to

• Suze of Analog Breakfast I just met her through the A-Z, and am totally taken with her blog, which is always intelligent and thought-provoking. Check it out. You'll love the stimulating discussions.
• Geo of Trainride of the Enigmas His blog  is one of the best-kept secrets of the Blogosphere. His posts are always clever, well-written, and often, chuckle-worthy. I'm amazed that he doesn't have billions and billions of followers.
• Rubye of Rubye Jack I just met Rubye through the Challenge, too, and find her posts to be open, honest, and served with a grain of grit.

If you aren't familiar with these folks, I urge you to check 'em out. Go ahead ... I double dog dare ya! (Hey! Have I ever steered you wrong?)

                                   Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.