RumourNation

The Revolution WILL Be Televised: #DemocraticSitIn

Regardless which side of the political aisle you occupy, if you’re not totally absorbed in what’s happening in Congress right now, you certainly can’t call yourself a media expert. IMHO, you may not even be able to call yourself an American. Because you’re looking at our media future.

Democratic Representatives have occupied the floor in the House for nearly 24 hours, exhorting Congress for a vote to close the “terror gap” in gun sales. Speaker Paul Ryan demanded that they stand down; when they did not, he cut the House camera feeds, ending coverage on C-SPAN, and presumably, any other media outlet.

Welcome to the 21^st century, Paul. Led by California congressman (and fellow Duke grad) Scott Peters, lawmakers whipped out their cameras and began livestreaming the proceedings via Periscope and Facebook Live. In due time, C-SPAN picked up the feeds. And a movement was born.

Never mind that the House cameras are a tax-supported activity designed to provide transparency in the lawmaking process - the fact that the Speaker can cut them off at all is deplorable.

What’s remarkable is that this media revolution came from the most unexpected places: a branch of government and a free cable channel. Perhaps that’s how it had to happen, given that there’s no tangle of content rights or license negotiations surrounding coverage of Congress.

Non-sanctioned cameras have certainly played their part in the political process for years. It’s possible to argue that Mitt Romney’s entire 2012 campaign was brought down by his “49%” comment caught by a camera on the sly at a fundraiser. However, this is the first time that the participants themselves are providing the media live: both creating it and influencing its outcome. I expect we’re going to see an explosion in livestreaming on the political trail, and indeed, in any situation where the participants are actively invested in the effects it produces. And we’re going to see more powerful mainstream media outlets start adopting these feeds, further muddying the line between journalism and activism.  

On the whole, I think it’s good. At least, until it’s not.

Essays with Recipes No. 2: Three Kinds of Summer

I made this for lunch today.  Jealous?

 

I've been lucky enough to do a bit of traveling over the past couple of months, and have been struck by the differences in the definition of "summer" wherever I go.

In northwest Indiana, "summer" means "oops, there goes another tornado watch!" As a long-time Californian, I'm brave when it comes to earthquakes ("oops, there goes another 3.2!"), but something of a pussy when it comes to tornadoes. When the screeching noises take over my cell phone, I throw a blanket into the bathtub and plot my path to the nearest basement.  Native Indianans, however, don't even notice.  They're just wondering when the rain is going to end, and plot to send their excess water out to California in return for a sunny day.

In New York City, "summer" means "sweating on the subway."  I used to be a Southern girl who only glowed, but, somehow, advancing age has turned me into a powerhouse sweat-machine. Now I fairly glisten, like Edward Cullen in the sunlight (yeah, I watched those movies ... dreadful.  You want a real actress?  Cast my daughter.)  And while I'm grateful for sweat's cleansing qualities, I don't appreciate heading for brunch at Dimes and arriving looking like a rat that was just fished out of the East River. 

So I retreat to my SoCal summer, which means constantly-open windows, driving with the convertible top down, skinny margaritas, and an occasional sweatshirt after an evening tennis match.  In other words, the perfect summer, all year round.

But what we don't have all year round, anywhere, is the fruit.  And in each spot I've visited, I've been bedazzled by summer's treasures:  chewy-ripe cherries, sensuous figs, delicious juicy peaches, luscious nectarines.  If this is what summer means, I'll take it, wherever I can get it. 

Today, I got it, in the form of a new favorite summer salad:  Peaches, Burrata, Prosciutto, Arugula. Sounds like an Italian law firm, only sweeter, and much less expensive.

For the salad:

• 6 ounces arugula
• 3 ripe peaches, peeled, pitted and cut into 1/2" slices
• 8 oz burrata, removed from water, drained, and cut into 1/3" slices
• 2 oz prosciutto, sliced into 1/4" strips
• Extra balsamic vinegar + honey for drizzling

For the salad dressing:

• 2 TBSP olive oil
• 1 tsp dijon mustard
• 1 tsp balsamic vinegar
• 1 tsp honey
• pinch of salt & pepper

Whisk together the dressing ingredients in a small bowl.  Add a little more olive oil if the mixture seems too thick.  Toss with arugula in a salad bowl and momentarily set aside.

Arrange peaches around the rims of 2 dinner plates.  Pile the dressed arugula into the center of each plate.  Top the greens on each plate with 1/2 the burrata and 1/2 the prosciutto, artfully scattered.  Drizzle the peaches with a little balsamic vinegar and a little honey.  Crank a little black pepper across the top.  Eat.  Thank the universe for summer.

Serves 2.

 

Essays with Recipes No. 1: #jonvoyage & the Republican Clown Car

Image courtesy of Yahoo!  Embellished by yours truly.

 

 

This is the opener for a series of posts that I've been thinking about for quite some time. Words and food are never a bad combo, neh? 

I can't believe the synchronicity in this day: Jon Stewart's Daily Show is ending just as the 2016 Presidential election truly begins. Not just beginning, but beginning with a bang - a "debate" populated by some arcane polling math, headlined by the biggest clown in the car:  Donald Trump. 

JStew must be pounding his head on his soon-to-be-enshrined desk.  #jonvoyage, indeed.

As for me, given that I've joined the Millennials in cutting the cord, I'm trying to figure out how to watch all this live. I know I can defer viewing and catch everything online tomorrow, but say what you might about the state of the tee-vee business, there's still something in the excitement of participating in an event while it is happening. If that were not so, Facebook wouldn't have just invested a shit-ton lot of money into beating Twitter at the Periscope game. (I know that sounds like gibberish to some of you, but believe me, it is not.)

It's doubly interesting to me that the headliners for this evening are both quintessential New Yorkers, similar in their chutzpah and ability to hold an audience; vastly different in their capacity for observation and rational thought. Trump builds edifices shaped like phalluses that are periodically thrown down in one mock battle or another (he's declared bankruptcy how many times?): he's a loser, but his ability to bloviate obscures that fact for many people. Stewart has built a media empire on skewering, of all things, the very media that feeds him. How meta of him, as my Millennial friends would say. Stewart's a winner, but Trump thinks he's a loser, for one simple reason:  JStew is much better at taking a joke. 

So, I'll figure out a way to watch The Donald's 15 minutes while Stewart signs off from his 15 years.  And I'll do it Big Apple-style, with a version of Wally and Joseph's Chopped Salad to celebrate what is surely going to be a "word salad" from Trump, a delicious NY cheesecake to celebrate the sweetness of my love for Mr. Leibovitz, and a beer from Brooklyn Brewery.

Wally and Joseph's Chopped Salad

• 1 large, ripe tomato, seeded and chopped
• 1 head Romaine or iceberg lettuce, chopped
• 1 cucumber, peeled, seeded and coarsely chopped
• 2 ribs celery, finely chopped
• 1 small yellow onion, diced
• 3 whole red pimentos, diced
• 1 TBSP capers
• 2 TBSP coarsely chopped green or black olives (or a combo)
• 5 anchovy fillets, coarsely chopped
• 2 TBSP olive oil
• 1 TBSP red wine vinegar
• Salt, to taste
• Freshly ground black pepper, to taste

1. Drain the tomato in a colander, pressing with your hand or a wooden spoon to expel any excess water.
2. In a large bowl, combine the remaining vegetables with the olives and anchovies.  Add the tomatoes and give the mixture a good toss.  If desired, use a sharp knife to chop a little more, right in the bowl.
3. Add the olive oil and toss.  Add salt to taste and toss some more. Finish with the freshly ground pepper. 

Serves 4

Adapted from The New York Cookbook by Molly O'Neill.

 

 

 

Not Dead Yet.

Today just happens to be the 2nd anniversary of the day I had major surgery for cancer.  Rather than wallowing in introspection, I chose to honor the occasion with a date with a machine, pounding the shit out of fuzzy yellow balls on the tennis court.  Fuzzy yellow balls are a good metaphor for the cancer cells that surgery, chemotherapy and radiation pounded the shit out of in my body for most of a year. I hit them hard, and it felt good.

I've been making some major changes in my life since finishing treatment. Most of those changes are stressful. I go to a therapist to talk about it, to create a "safe place" where we can smooth out the rough edges and make sure that I'm kind to myself.  Therapy should be a requirement after you face a critical illness - I'm grateful that the medical community is acknowledging that fact.  And I'm grateful that the ACA has made mental healthcare a requirement for insurance policies. Guess those pro-Obama phone calls I made while fighting off chemo-induced nausea were worth something. 

It's funny, though, that when the therapist and I talk about one currently tough situation or another, when she asks me how it's affecting me, I have a stock response:  "I'm not dead." 

I'm not being flippant, it just happens to be the truth. Things like cancer change you. I hesitate to qualify whether that change is for the better, or for the worse - you will never, ever hear me say that I'm grateful for cancer or that it made me a better person. But it has made me more respectful of myself, more aware of what I'm capable of handling, and more greedy for a life based on joy. It's made me less tolerant of equivocation. (I'm talking to you, Tea Party.)  It's made me more clear about what I say, and what I want.

I have a beloved Labrador Retriever, and I feel like he wakes up every morning with that sentiment:  "I'm not dead!" (Followed by:  "Feed me now!").  When you greet each day with that kind of joy, it's hard to be dragged down even by massive challenges.  Instead of saving it for the therapist's office, I think I'm going to try it every morning and see where it leads me. 

Photo:  "Joy of the Chase" by E. Howe.

 

 

My Closing Argument for the Election

It's true, and atypical for me:  Rumournation has lain fallow, in the middle of an election year.  Usually full of rant, bluster and venting, this little space in the middle of cyberspace has been empty, no longer a waystation for friends who care about what I have to say and the random visitor brought hither by a misspelled Google search. 

The reason is simple:  I've been fighting breast cancer.  And that fight has turned me into a warrior, not only when it comes to hanging on to my life, but when it comes to my politics.  Because, suddenly I went from someone who was making it on her own, to someone who needed the social safety net.  And because politicians like Mitt Romney (born with a silver spoon in his mouth) and members of the Tea Party (born when their heads stuck in their butts) don't want to believe that I exist. 

But I do exist, in multiple dimensions:  The single mom-head of of household dimension, where I still had to raise my child every day, despite being ill and exhausted from surgery, chemotherapy and radiation.  The suddenly not-able-to-work dimension, where COBRA became a lifeline, even with the $1200 a month premium to cover both me and my kid.  The pre-existing condition dimension, where despite the fact that I can actually make a good living doing consulting work, I face a gap in health insurance coverage during the months between the end of my COBRA coverage and the start of the ACA in early 2014 that is an enormous barrier to running a small business.  And, most of all, the American-working-woman dimension, where I've become used to the fact that, for me to succeed, I usually have to be better, smarter and more buttoned-up than my male counterparts because I am simply not afforded the same considerations and freedoms as they are, even after years of agitating for equal rights.

Case in point:  Reproductive issues are economic issues for women.  And yet, access to birth control is not universal, while access to Viagra virtually is.  Planned Parenthood is vilified as an abortion provider, rather than being valued for what it really does:  provides basic healthcare for free.  And despite the fact that the freedom to terminate a pregnancy is the law of the land, instead of hewing to policies that keep abortion "safe, legal and rare," there's a movement afoot to create what I consider real "death panels:"  juries of (let's face it, primarily men) who will demand that a woman prove she was raped, is ill, or otherwise incompetent, before she will be allowed to make a very personal choice about her very own body. 

I've tried to view Republican nominees without prejudice.  I really have.  I've read their platforms, looked at their economic plans (well, not Romney's plan, because I can't find it), tried to logic my way into their view of fiscal responsibility. 

But, I can't forget that George W. Bush did more to erode both our basic freedoms (Patriot Act, anyone?) and our economic well-being than the previous four presidents combined.  I can't ignore the fact that Romney, as a Mormon bishop, ordered a woman to give up her child because there wasn't a "proper Mormon father" in the home.  And there's Ryan's voting record in Congress, plain as day, where he turned out to be a defender of the "Protect Life Act," which permitted hospitals to deny women emergency abortions in ANY circumstance, and who authored a budget plan that his own church decried as viciously discriminatory.  

I am trying to raise my daughter to have courage and grace, to tell the truth, to respect others no matter what their skin color or economic status.  But how do I explain to her that, despite the fact that she's a living, breathing American with a brain, heart and spirit, when she needs support and healthcare, well, she's just not as valuable as a man, or as that fetus she might be carrying? 

I can't do it.  I can't tell her that.  And I can't support a party that cynically chose to conflate politics with religion in a bid for power, that thinks that eroding women's rights is a morally supportable position, that thinks empowering only a small sliver of the population makes economic sense. 

And please don't tell me that they're actually protecting women.  I have eyes and ears.  And I've fought cancer:  I can fight you. 

I've seen what Barack Obama has accomplished over the past three-plus years.  It's not perfect, but it's very, very good.  And it's meaningful to me that the first bill he signed in office was the Lily Ledbetter Fair Pay Act.   Apparently, he thinks I'm worth as much as the man I'm standing next to. 

And that, my friends, is what makes a leader and a President.  Vote Obama. 

 

Atlas Befugged

I read Atlas Shrugged when I was 12.  Took me about five days.  I then proceeded to get into a big fight with my mother because she couldn’t understand why a 12-year-old should be allowed to go find a job, live on her own, and eschew dealing with her younger brothers, who “weren’t pulling their own weight".  (I still don’t know how my mother made it through my childhood.)

I’ve re-read Atlas Shrugged many times since then, although I usually skip the interminable “A-is-A” John Galt speech.  I always wanted to make it, and The Lord of the Rings, into movies.  Unfortunately, Peter Jackson beat me to the latter.  Some bunch of crazy people  beat me to the former, but I have no doubts the rights  to the book will be free again sometime soon, and I can hire Peter Jackson to make that movie, too.   Because that’s where Atlas Shrugged belongs:  in books, in movies, in your imagination … but not as the blueprint for your governmental policy.    If it is, can I ask you this:  does Sauron also figure large in your defense strategy?

My point:  There is a difference between pure intellectualism and pragmatism.   Between imagination and its application.  No one impugns inspiration, but it means nothing if it cannot solve the problems at hand, whether they are artistic problems, or problems in government.

Rep. Paul Ryan of Wisconsin is lionized as a “deep thinker” for having thought about the current Federal budget deficit and looming debt.  He has proposed an Ayn Rand-style budget to address the issue, one that reduces spending as a percentage of GDP and returns us to balance some time around 2034 – a generation away.   This ballyhooed proposal was symbolically passed by the Republican-controlled House as their “budget,” despite the fact that it has as much relationship to the real world as Atlas Shrugged.   And then used as the basis for grandstanding about the “do-nothing” Democratic members of Congress.   But isn’t doing something wrong, just to say you did it … just wrong?   Frankly, it even violates the core of Rand’s Objectivist principals. 

The fallacy in Ryan’s budget is similar to the fallacy in Rand’s book:  we’re not operating in a vacuum.   As much as we like to think success or failure belongs solely to ourselves, there are mitigating circumstances – including just plain old luck – and the inescapable fact that we live in a network of human beings who contribute in positive and negative ways to our well-being every single day.  Even small contributions on the positive side can add up to big wins.  In the book, the world collapses after all the “real” workers (all fabulously successful and wealthy) go hide in a 1950’s version of a Montana militia camp.   The book ends joyously as Dagny and John head back out the world to “fix” everything.  Rand cleverly omits the part where the lazy-asses who were left behind turn on these shiny smarty-pants and eat them, then take over their militia camp.  Humans just don’t give up that easily, and frankly, in harsh circumstances, the intellectuals are the first to be culled from the herd.   

Similarly, Ryan achieves his budget goals by slashing entitlement programs and severely reducing Federal support for the individual states, despite the fact that the state governments that are not wrestling with their own deficits are few and far between.  He also imagines that money will flow in, without actually creating any new sources of revenue – raising taxes is a non-starter for him.  Like Rand, he somehow assumes that the lazy masses who don’t deserve Federal support (including the states!) are just going to meekly go away.  When in fact, they’ll probably eat him, and his cute family, too. 

IMHO, Ryan would be a true hero if he actually looked at the facts  - there’s a chart of the impact of the Bush tax cuts here (although missing the resulting economic growth it generated, because there wasn’t any) – and then made a balanced proposal, acknowledging the fact that the “real” workers aren’t all confined to the moneyed classes.   You can still be a conservative and advocate for a progressive tax strategy, Paul.   You know Norquist is an idiot, stand up and tell him that.  Say it came from John Galt, who always spits the truth.   

Roman Catholic Ryan recently publically repudiated Atlas Shrugged after Catholic bishops called his budget “immoral.”  He did this after years of giving away the book as his standard holiday gift.   Maybe the ghost of Ayn Rand, who accepted help from Social Security and possibly Medicare near the end of her life, also got to him. 

Mitt Romney’s pick of Ryan for his V.P. has generated much hoopla from both ends of the political spectrum over the past 24 hours.  Conservatives view him as a hero.  Less-conservatives and liberals view him as an easy target.   Me, I view him as the smart 12-year-old who never really got over Atlas Shrugged.   Maybe I should have my mom call him.   

 Photo of Atlas from Natural History Museum, London, in honor of the Olympics.

The Politics of the Hunger Games: A Warning for 2012 Candidates

The LA Times ran a column titled "What The Hunger Games Means" a couple of days ago.  Among the POV's cited was one from fellow Duke alum and Angeleno Fred Goldring, who opined that The Hunger Games (THG) was a fable about this year's Republican Presidential candidates.  Given that the books were written four years ago, I think Fred was being a little tongue-in-cheek.

But I am not.  I think that the popularity of THG -- both books and movie -- represents a rising tide of female empowerment and resentment that can be turned towards government in a skinny minute.  And I think, by elevating recent discourse about denying access to birth control into a virtual party platform, various conservative pundits and wanna-be candidates are sticking their proverbial feet right on top of a proverbial landmine.  Or, to use another metaphor, putting themselves squarely in the sights of Katniss' very-accurate bow. 

Granted, the Twilight series, which in my mind is the antithesis of female empowerment, has also been very popular.  But THG blew away Twilight's opening-weekend records.  Which indicates to me that the normally-quiet swing voters (in this case, movie-goers) were moved to action by a tale that features a female hunter-heroine who sacrifices for her sister and ultimately takes down a repressive government. 

Katniss, the heroine, does not want children, because she doesn't want them subjected to the depradations of the Hunger Games.  If you've read the books, you know that she later changes her mind, after the Games have been eliminated.  She not only hunts, kills and defends her family like a wildcat, but she also exercises her right to choose her life's direction, without interference from the government.  This is a message that many of my female peers, as well as their daughters, understand completely.

I can't tell you how many of my distaff Republican friends are dismayed that rights that they thought were settled long ago are somehow now on the table, that a party that was built on individual accountability and small government now supports the idea that government should regulate your reproductive choices - mostly by denying the female half of the citizenry access to choice.   They feel that their party is failing them, and they have nowhere to go. 

If the dialog continues down this track, I wouldn't be surprised if the result is hundreds of thousands of Katnisses, ready to step in for their sisters and stick a few arrows in those who would oppress them. To quote President Snow (Donald Sutherland) from the movie:  "Hope.  It's the only thing stronger than fear."  

 

We Aren't Gonna Take It: Limbaugh & Social Conservatism Unmasked.

I've been a little silent on RumourNation, partially because writing about politics and pop culture is more fun during election years (I'm sure Jon Stewart would concur), and also because I've been dealing with a health crisis that is particular to women, and which is, sadly, becoming more common in the U.S. every year.   The side effect of the crisis is that I'm much more sensitive to my status as a woman, as well as to the drastic failings inherent in the U.S. healthcare system.  As if this were not rough enough, Rush Limbaugh and his posse of social conservatives have now awakened me to the fact that, really, I'm not a person at all:  I'm just a receptacle for Rush' desire to watch porn online, and for the Tea Party's desire to poke me with foreign instruments for my perceived moral failings.  

I'm referring, of course, to Limbaugh's recent rant about Sandra Fluke's appearance before Congress in support of private insurance-funded birth control, and to the recent attempt to mandate transvaginal ultrasounds prior to abortion in my native state - er, Commonwealth - of Virginia. 

Limbaugh is not alone, BTW.  He was followed quickly by fellow bully Bill O'Reilly, who repeated the fallacy that Fluke's request for support from private healthcare was the equivalent of stealing O'Reilly's 1-percenter money.   And Virginia, of course, is not the lone state (although it may be the lone Commonwealth) to try to stick things in women's private parts as punishment for wanting an abortion. 

Both situations have blown the covers off the motivations of the social conservative movement, which pretends to want government out of our lives.  Turns out that the pesky government is only a problem when it comes to money.  Government intervention is fine when it comes to things like religion and sex.  And, of course, when it comes to things like religion and sex, women are not fellow travelers on the path of life.  They are the enemy. 

There is a part of me that's cheering this reset in political discourse, because it's having the effect I want:  it's pissing off women, who make up more than half of the electorate.  Those of us who are under 50 don't understand why issues like contraception are even part of the dialog:  in our minds, our rights to these things were settled long ago.  However, older and wiser women are nodding their heads - they remember what it was like to fight, and they know that, in all likelihood, we are going to have to fight again.  As the mother of a teenage daughter, I am taking heed.

I think we should all take heed of what happens to civilizations that hate their women:  they may succeed for a while, but they ultimately break, because by nature, they have eliminated half their potential.   Nature abhors a vacuum.   Social conservatives who label women "sluts" for wanting access to birth control are, in actuality, operating from the same assumptions as groups like the Taliban.   Rick Santorum called Limbaugh an "entertainer."  Perhaps unfortunate, given that public beheadings,  hangings and maulings have all been called "entertainment" at one time or another.  Sometimes the line between religious doctrine and bloodlust can seem rather permeable.  Some will claim that I'm dramatically stretching the point.  They are conveniently forgetting the pogroms in our history. 

So, I'm encouraging my sisters and brothers, but especially my sisters, to stand up and push back.  Bullies like Limbaugh and O'Reilly need their comeuppance, and since we control the domestic pursestrings, let's give it to them.  Here are a couple of places you can go to get started.  On the political front, let's direct those social conservatives to the real issues -- the economy, employment, rebuilding our country -- and find out if they actually have any solutions.  If not, let's find some folks who do.  Here are a few more places where you might go. 

I'll tackle the healthcare system -- where you are clearly not a person unless you are employed -- in another post, perhaps one about the true meaning of "death panels" in the U.S.  And don't even get me started on "Citizens United."

Please note that I am registered as an independent, and do not belong to a major political party.  Maybe you'll take what I say a little more seriously. 

 

9/11: The Man in the Red Bandana

It opens today, the 9/11 Memorial.  I'm watching the opening service, where family members read the names of those who died, a liturgy made of missing lives and a mournful fugue by Yo-Yo Ma.   It's heartbreaking to see the kids, most of whom who are now young teenagers, who've been denied the love of their mothers and fathers for a decade now. 

The Memorial itself is breathtaking, an endless waterfall into a deep pool, surrounded by the nearly 3,000 names of those who died that day, who died for simply being American.  We see the families as they walk into the plaza for the first time, hunting for their loved ones.  They react, simply and quietly, when they find a beloved name:  they reach out and touch it. 

I'm struck, as the names are read, by how many family members are themselves New York City firefighters and police officers, by the depth of the bonds of honor, service and duty that exist in a city that many think of as being huge and faceless. Then I hear one father say " ... and my son, Welles Remy Crowther, the man in the red bandana." 

If you haven't heard Welles' story, watch this lovely short video by ESPN.  Why ESPN?  Because Welles was a lacrosse star at Boston College.  He was a securities trader who really wanted to be a New York City firefighter.  He always carried a red bandana.  And he was responsible for saving at least 12 people in the South Tower of the World Trade Center on 9/11, despite the fact that he could have left the building at any time, and survived.   

When I hear Welles' story, and the story of Flight 93, the tales of the first responders who entered the buildings with no fear, who died while rescuing their fellow countrymen, I'm saddened. 

What did they die for?  For fights over the debt ceiling?  For a banking system that profiteers while denying working capital to small businesses?  So politicans could stand up and say that hurricanes and earthquakes are the result of sinful living? 

I don't think the men and women who helped each other that day gave a rat's ass about who had health insurance, who was married to whom, whether or not the person they hauled out of the building was a "real" American.  All they cared about was the fact that their fellow travelers, human beings who were attacked for simply being alive, needed help. 

I want to live in the country that those folks come from.  The one where we care about each other, where our differences are valued, not maligned, where (to paraphrase), a man is not judged by the contents of his wallet, but by the content of his character. 

We've blown it, my friends.  We squandered the chance to make ourselves stronger, instead opted for a catfight about meritocracy and special interests.  We can fix it, if we try.  But it involves calling our elected representatives -- and those who desire to be our elected representatives -- on their shit.  It involves not devolving to personal attacks on those who hold differing opinions, who worship different gods, who have more melanin in their skins.  It involves remembering the very words that our founding fathers (and mothers) adopted in an act of Congress in 1782:   E pluribus unum.  Out of many, one. 

Not one out of those who think like me.  Not one out of those who "deserve" it.  Not one out those who worship my god.  Out of many, one. 

I leave you with the words of the formidable Archibald MacLeish:

"There are those who will say that the liberation of humanity, the freedom of man and mind is nothing but a dream. They are right. It is the American Dream." 

Don't give up on the dream. 

Enough.

I've been crying all morning.  In anger and in sadness.   Because, as the grown-ups --a minority!--who populate our country have been predicting for some time, it's come true:  a non-Tea Party member of Congress got shot for doing her job.   It's impossible to glorify violence, and guns, and to talk about your political opponents as traitors deserving of death, without seeing your words come to life. 

And the objects of all this vitriol?  People who have voted for things like extending healthcare to more Americans, keeping unemployment benefits in place, allowing all citizens to serve in the military regardless of sexual orientation. 

"But," Palin apologists protest, "Our graphics with crosshairs on them have nothing to do with violence!  And Sarah doesn't mean it when she uses words like 'bulls-eye'!  And she doesn't shoot those moose just for fun!"

"But," adds Michelle Malkin, "The Daily Kos called for Gabby Giffords' death just last week!"

"But," adds Tea Party Nation founder Judson Phillips, "Giffords is a liberal!" 

Let's take a moment to look at some of those affected, and the losses, from yesterday's shooting.  Giffords is the first Jewish woman elected to Congress from Arizona, a Democrat representing a staunchly Republican district, and a supporter of such decidedly non-liberal stances as strong immigration laws and, ironically, gun owership.  She just defeated a Tea Party candidate to keep her seat.  She's also a Fulbright scholar.  And her husband, Mark Kelly, is a freakin' astronaut.  An ASTRONAUT. 

Among those murdered:  Giffords' head of community outreach, who was a respected young social worker; John Roll, a highly-regarded Federal judge with nearly 40 years of government service; and a nine-year-old girl whose birthday was 9/11/2001.

Giffords and her Arizona colleague, Raul Grijalva, have been targets of violence for months, as had Judge Roll.  Vandalism, death threats, and guns at town halls had become a fact of life.  The reason:  because they held humanistic views on immigration reform.

Tea Party leaders, and those Republicans who have enabled them, are decrying any notion of a relationship between the deranged perpetrator of yesterday's shootings and right-wing political rhetoric.  Perhaps they are correct.  But I would bet my recession-plundered savings to say that the vandals, gun carriers and death-threat-issuers who have attacked Giffords, Grijalva and Roll over the past year HAVE been Tea Party members. 

Because here's the truth:  Tea Party rhetoric implies that it is right to employ violence against fellow Americans who hold different political ideologies.  Having a different opinion means that you deserve to be shot, just like moose, for simply existing.  

And "different" can be most anything:  if you're not white, and don't believe in a Christian god, you're different.  If you voted for Obama, you're different.  If you think religion has no place in government, you're different.  If you think I'm overstating the problem, just ask my white, Southern mother, who is now afraid to speak her mind in the city where she has lived her entire life.  Her compassion and capability for rational thought now make her "different."

The fact is, as the grown-ups have known for quite some time, Tea Party rhetoric is not about fiscal responsibility or patriotism or unemployment.  It's about fear, and hatred, and an unwillingness to accept the reality of living in a nation that, despite looking very different from the nation of 1776, has managed to survive intact, and make the rule of law and general civility the standard operating procedure, for all its diverse citizens.  It's rather a miracle.  And the supposedly spiritual Tea Party seems intent on destroying it. 

Perhaps Palin and her cronies do not advocate physical violence, but ya betcha, they're pretty good at invoking its imagery.  Makes it easy for some deranged 23-year-old to connect the dots between the crosshairs on a Facebook page and the crosshairs on a real gun, doesn't it?  And to think that he'll be a hero for shooting someone?

Like most of the people I know, I've had enough.  I'm not even particularly liberal, or a Democrat.  But I am an American.  I feel that we've worked hard for our particular miracle of a nation, and I'm not going to stand by and watch us lose it to those who seem to think that Fulbright scholars, astronauts, judges, social workers and schoolchildren are unnecessary frills in our society.  Or that political discourse free from fear is a luxury, not a right. 

I'm going to stand up and block their every move.  My weapons:  compassion, inclusion, love.  My invitation:  To come back from exile in the land of TeaPartania, fellow travelers.  Join us in America, at the grown-ups table.  We've had enough.