July 16 and 17, 1942, the French watched as their neighbors were rounded up in the Winter Velodrome in Paris to be deported to death camps. They accepted the government’s action, sending off 9037 Jewish adults and 4115 Jewish children to die. In total, 28,000 Jews were sent away during WWII by Prime Minister Pierre Laval’s regime in France. He was placed in power by a foreign country in order to carry out hateful policies, and he and his administration did the job well, applauded by many in the general population.
Finally, that leader was replaced by a government where France’s claims of “Liberty, Equality, Fraternity” were restored, and in the 21st century, “Rafle du Vél’ d’Hiv’” is recognized by the French and the world as a political atrocity against a religious group.
The reversal of Laval’s administration, of course, did not bring back the dead. Other national scars remain as well. But this era in France gives me a glimmer of hope that people in the United States, in the years to come, will rally against the regime of hatred which reigns in the halls of Washington and in the homes and hearts of many Americans, to see the ideals of the Declaration of Independence and the U.S. Constitution embraced again.
Mr. President, do you think your son’s actions with the Russians are treasonous?
Junior was just trying to help his dad. Nothing wrong with that. He used a few of his connections. That’s the American way, right? Not Treason. No treason here.
It’s not like he’s a spy or something. He was just doing what had to be done. Treason’s something foreigners do, people not born here, like Obama. That’s where you should look for treason, at people like him.
Anyway, my son, he’s a good boy, and he didn’t get anything on stupid Hillary the American people didn’t need to know. They should know these things, and he wouldn’t have to call up his friends or whoever if American news reporters would do their job, instead of always putting out fake news.
My boy did nothing compared to what Hillary did. I wouldn’t grab her pussy, she’s so old. Why doesn’t she get some face work done. Then she wouldn’t be so ugly and maybe Clinton would want her. No one wants her. She’s a loser. Tell her to go on a diet. You agree with me, right? She’s the one who betrayed this great country. Let’s put her in jail. Her and Obama both. That’s where they belong. That’s where the treason is. Cover that story. That’s the real story.
Donny didn’t think he was breaking any law. It was no big deal. It was nothing. Besides the law is wrong. Let’s change the law. What’s wrong with getting some help from your friends and allies. We should do that more often. What are friends for if they can’t help you? The Russians are on our side, you know. We all want the same thing.
So you don’t agree with people who are saying you’re letting your son take the rap for you in Russia-gate, letting him be the fall guy and scapegoat, sending him down the river to save your own skin?
I understand that Fox’s license is coming up for renewal soon. I bet it’s a bad thing for a t.v. station to lose its license. You better have your facts straight before you say things that might get you in trouble. Just saying.
It was a simple moment: two dog-lovers talking happily in the sun as their animals chased each other at the edge of the forest.
To make chit-chat, I said, “There’s less trash than usual.” Often in the early mornings, the public trash receptacles are over-flowing from evening picnickers, before the garbage trucks come to clean up. It’s an issue because my dog is a trash-lover.
He replied, “Yes. There must not have been any Arabs around.”
I metaphorically shook my ears to see if my hearing was working.
He continued, “They’re different from us. They’ve got no regard for cleanliness. I’ve seen their fat women toss trash on the ground without paying any attention.”
I wanted to crush the “us/them” perspective and countered as best as my stunned brain could, “No. It’s all people. We can all be litter-bugs when we forget to pay attention.”
He waved aside my comment and kept talking as if he were right instead of racist.
Later I thought of what I wished I had said:
“I disagree. The Arabs I know are clean, smart, and respectful.”
Or, “I try not to make stereotypical statements like that about groups of people.”
Or, “I remember littering myself on occasion. Does that make me an Arab?”
Or, “Shut up if you can’t say something intelligent.”
As for me, I took note of and eliminated a stereotype of mine: that dog-owners are better than the general population.
Of course, any name of any group that serves as the scapegoat of the moment could replace the word “Arab” in the man’s racist comments.
And of course, nothing I said could have changed the hard heart and small mind of this man who was willing to condemn an entire population because of a cup left on the ground next to a garbage can by some unknown individual.
What an honor !!
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A president traveled to a party held in the middle east, where he lolled in golden splendor with sultans, arranging a deal to sell guns, missiles, and nuclear bombs. The men lounged on low cushions of luxurious fabrics and were draped with scantily clad young women. The sultans gave the president a deposit of 100 million dollars and a gift of a million barrels of crude oil. They enjoyed themselves.
The next day the weapons were delivered to the palace, and the sultans presented the balance of the payment to the president. Everyone smiled. The following week, the sultans held a party of their own, as their pilots dropped nuclear bombs on the president’s home during his daughter’s birthday party, annihilating the eastern half of his country. The sultans clinked glasses of champagne and smiled.
When I awoke, the dream tainted my entire day.
HAPPILY, NOW IN PAPERBACK
Verna Ware starts out as a girl and takes a short cut to adulthood. Outrage and fear make her strong. VERNA WARE’S LONG WAY HOME is an emotionally rich, straight-shooting story set in the American frontier.
The novel has a homey reality, a heart-warming simplicity, a lulling cadence from an earlier time, until BAM, the shock of Texas action and consequence come alive. Verna’s sweat and courage display her passionate thirst for a moral compass in the old West. Four generations of tough Texas women stay the course. The canvas is large, but all the characters are life-size in this lyrical tale by M.D. Poole.