tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50470852024-03-07T21:56:12.973-05:00Julius SpeaksA collage of personal, political,cultural, and historical commentary from the thought processes of Brandon Wallace.Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129329403360324931noreply@blogger.comBlogger4037125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5047085.post-92082624244425765372012-11-16T12:44:00.000-05:002012-11-16T12:44:07.379-05:00Interview with Marian Gordon of CCDS About Her Recent Visit to Palestine<br />
<br />
Recently, Marian Gordon, a member of CCDS from California participated in a tour of Palestine and agreed to share her observations and experiences with our readers. Conducting our interview via telephone, this is what transpired.<br />
<br />
<b>Q: What is your background?</b><br />
<br />
A: I was reared as a secular Jew by working class, Communist parents. I was a red diaper baby, born in Philadelphia. My first, independent political activity growing up was to collect signatures against desegregation in the South. I later went south to Mississippi and participated in Freedom Summer. What I saw in happening in Palestine very much reminded me of what was happening in Mississippi during the 1960s. <br />
<br />
<b>Q: What is your profession?</b><br />
<br />
A: I am a speech pathologist by trade.<br />
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<b>Q: When were you in Palestine?</b><br />
<br />
A: From September 22nd to October 7th of 2012.<br />
<br />
<b>Q: Who organized the tour? Were you apart of the group that took Alice Walker and Medea Benjamin?</b><br />
<br />
A: No, this tour wasn’t apart of that group, though Alice Walker endorsed our tour. My tour was organized by the Freedom Bus Tour and the Freedom Theatre of the Jenean Refugee Camp in Palestine. My group comprised of about thirty people- a plurality of them U.S. citizens, but also a large delegation of Swedes-actors with the Swedish National Theatre which is greatly supportive of the theatre troupe in Jenean. In our group there were also people from France, other places across Europe, and Australia. Our ages ranged from 20 to 80 with lots of young people traveling with us.<br />
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<b>Q: How long have you been involved with Palestinian issues? What propelled you to go on this trip?</b><br />
<br />
A: I’ve been involved with Palestinian issues since September 22nd, 2012. As a Jewish activist all my life and knowing what the role of the U.S. and Israel in Palestine are, I felt compelled to do more about this issue. I felt especially compelled to participate in the boycott movement.<br />
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<b>Q: What did you see over there?</b><br />
<br />
A: A people who are educated and who must fight for their basic rights. They are occupied. I saw awareness of their personal and political problems everywhere-in militant villagers, in older people, on college campuses.<br />
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Q: Do you agree with Alice Walker’s assessment that what is going on in Palestine is very similar to the Jim Crow of the 1960s in the US?</b><br />
<br />
A: Yes. I went to Mississippi and frequently witnessed Jim Crow. For Palestinians in Israel, it is very Jim Crow. For people in the West Bank and Gaza, they are occupied.<br />
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Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129329403360324931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5047085.post-84986637400718768942012-09-11T18:25:00.000-04:002012-09-11T18:25:30.221-04:00Solidarity with Chicago Teachers!!!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhadd5clbDYYHX0nizBQJzMhxlyep19G8IQfY7NnPXcJZbRW7BR4d1ej_wD0I23DZVelMgmmlYMQvc_uiOVn6fU_lxs9Co0Z-C_shfaetc4wnua6EQo_PMKTBaT5jPZEeY5m6YmOA/s1600/Chicago_Schools_Strike-08997.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="213" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhadd5clbDYYHX0nizBQJzMhxlyep19G8IQfY7NnPXcJZbRW7BR4d1ej_wD0I23DZVelMgmmlYMQvc_uiOVn6fU_lxs9Co0Z-C_shfaetc4wnua6EQo_PMKTBaT5jPZEeY5m6YmOA/s320/Chicago_Schools_Strike-08997.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129329403360324931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5047085.post-58032261323834794572012-09-03T17:25:00.001-04:002012-09-03T17:25:14.517-04:00Happy Labor Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYZu0fUePTSaEMFsfc1JNvfrYKYaDpyCqHZAbtjQcv8pJXdVfgVb8AAmovIMIsSmMFkrZGPxB7JOnS_dWLYxWxMwDTbZ_ztGP6L8Ia2AONp8u6SxJzD6wuVSA2eusoTO-hb4K7FA/s1600/1st+labor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="234" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYZu0fUePTSaEMFsfc1JNvfrYKYaDpyCqHZAbtjQcv8pJXdVfgVb8AAmovIMIsSmMFkrZGPxB7JOnS_dWLYxWxMwDTbZ_ztGP6L8Ia2AONp8u6SxJzD6wuVSA2eusoTO-hb4K7FA/s320/1st+labor.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129329403360324931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5047085.post-11355730554613314292012-08-25T10:30:00.001-04:002012-08-25T10:30:18.286-04:00Mitt Romney needs to step back from the GOP Nomination due to his birther joke.Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129329403360324931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5047085.post-21383132900504366532012-08-20T18:36:00.001-04:002012-08-20T18:36:43.277-04:00RIP Phyllis Diller<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcia4T-tYRvHwuIsZuY3g6fEJaWHrB4R02KYlOWvWoyoN24fASoHTPUNmClq7LMg5y5gd_iE0wloJrAWiinspXsPoSRK_pI39lpPoyVwydlAyEZCQPb5l6as1WZm3NdWP2hRML9g/s1600/phyllis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="313" width="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcia4T-tYRvHwuIsZuY3g6fEJaWHrB4R02KYlOWvWoyoN24fASoHTPUNmClq7LMg5y5gd_iE0wloJrAWiinspXsPoSRK_pI39lpPoyVwydlAyEZCQPb5l6as1WZm3NdWP2hRML9g/s320/phyllis.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<a href="http://tv.yahoo.com/news/phyllis-diller-dead-at-95.html">1917-2012</a>Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129329403360324931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5047085.post-14774699272424798532012-08-17T19:54:00.001-04:002012-08-17T19:54:31.023-04:00Free the Pussy Rioters!Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129329403360324931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5047085.post-2106902324478718432012-08-13T08:45:00.002-04:002012-08-13T08:45:54.269-04:00Civil Rights Legacy/Civil Rights Heroes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9gQJ6Vfh1UHycBiuJcKo_SagDtjV7meithkU3f8tihSgnbniNHWEQ0qPmhUwhOOALsPwohrklyP4W4EbYcKvMRtN5s1iWavBmqhlIy_WdyXegBuuBI1b5bttx61xhAPCRSy-5zw/s1600/cwa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="299" width="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9gQJ6Vfh1UHycBiuJcKo_SagDtjV7meithkU3f8tihSgnbniNHWEQ0qPmhUwhOOALsPwohrklyP4W4EbYcKvMRtN5s1iWavBmqhlIy_WdyXegBuuBI1b5bttx61xhAPCRSy-5zw/s320/cwa.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129329403360324931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5047085.post-46677228604181138582012-08-12T20:14:00.001-04:002012-08-12T20:14:51.398-04:00<iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/aWK_Josc0Og" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129329403360324931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5047085.post-69218633939264901562012-08-07T10:23:00.000-04:002012-08-07T10:23:11.087-04:00Barbra Has Lost Marvin...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbp13EWN2wd4sctRatBCGGYcDZ0A4JsOdr7Xzy7zG2EXMqTVoajUITkj_NHZ-OCokbYvrJu6PzLAAx2T89aqljLaJ2IOayYQHTss5yFVVStPCGUn8hhOKaXKgAlcCcxivpe92qtA/s1600/marvin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="284" width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbp13EWN2wd4sctRatBCGGYcDZ0A4JsOdr7Xzy7zG2EXMqTVoajUITkj_NHZ-OCokbYvrJu6PzLAAx2T89aqljLaJ2IOayYQHTss5yFVVStPCGUn8hhOKaXKgAlcCcxivpe92qtA/s320/marvin.jpg" /></a></div><br />
RIP Marvin Hamlisch, 1944-2012Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129329403360324931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5047085.post-87612283066163233862012-08-01T09:50:00.000-04:002012-08-01T09:50:06.517-04:00RIP Gore Vidal 1925-2012<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh37r50OhVHABwmAFITU4mwM0iEh7gN1mQdackJrNI3maIHyFvG_bAv4JLP_tk_1CSv-uIwPKsht8yyulZmITupYDSeAk0hMQicUYxZB2GpKWC1VfIpAAB4msA2QZYpWiEc0-2ULQ/s1600/Gore+Vidal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh37r50OhVHABwmAFITU4mwM0iEh7gN1mQdackJrNI3maIHyFvG_bAv4JLP_tk_1CSv-uIwPKsht8yyulZmITupYDSeAk0hMQicUYxZB2GpKWC1VfIpAAB4msA2QZYpWiEc0-2ULQ/s320/Gore+Vidal.jpg" /></a></div><br />Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129329403360324931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5047085.post-46730303578279422492012-07-29T17:50:00.001-04:002012-07-29T17:50:09.318-04:00Hobo Justice by Brandon WallaceWinner of an Honorable Mention in the Lorian Hemingway Contest<br />
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<br />
Hobo Justice<br />
<br />
<br />
Papa had just gotten a brand new radio. Big and solid oak, it made a huge impression in the parlor where Papa kept it so we could listen to it especially on Saturday afternoons. Papa had bought the first radio in the community almost eight years ago and since that time, every Saturday afternoon after four o’clock, come rain or shine, every Dick and Jerry from miles around crowded around our front porch to listen to the radio or take in the fight, if there was one. Papa obliged them all and as such kept his praises in the mouths of nearly everyone in the community. This new radio had come on Papa’s birthday, ordered directly from Sears and Roebuck and delivered special handling. Since the beginning of fall , however, the radio had been neatly put away, positioned back on its perch on the glass and marble end table in front of the parlor window. No one had a taste to listen to it and Papa didn’t think it wise to bring it out to play anymore. Only I snuck into the parlor whenever I could, after finishing chores or after finishing dinner, and turned the big knob to listen to Deford Bailey, Roy Acuff, and Maybelle Carter at the Grand Ol’ Opry. Papa regularly sat to listen to the radio on Sunday afternoons after church, listening to the news and to music. It was only between the two of us that the radio remained functional.<br />
<br />
Things had gotten bad. The mill had closed and as summer approached there were hundreds of men out of work in our town. Their children were starving and people had started wandering. I nearly died of fright one late morning as summer started while I sat out breakfast for the cats. A man came walking past the house coming down from the railroad tracks that crossed our property past the apple, pear, and peach orchards. The man was tall and lanky, little more than skin and bones with a shirt and a pair of pants thrown over it. He carried a knapsack over his shoulder and as he passed the house, he looked at me with something between derision, pity, and contempt. He passed me by without uttering a word, but was so close to the house, I swung back inside and fastened the screen door shut after me. I told Mama about what happened. Mama sat me down and very sternly told me that if I ever saw any men walking down from the railroad track towards the house to not be afraid. I should stick close to the house, be kind and respectful, and offer them food if they asked for it. She said those men were wanderers, and called themselves hobos and they were looking for places to sleep and something to eat because they had nothing else going for them. They were wandering to and from town looking for work and food. Our house was the closest and quickest path from the rail line into town. She said I should always remember that she wasn’t that far from the house and just to call for her if I needed her. What she told me peaked my curiosity. Why were these men wanderers? I was determined to find out more about them and why they were wanderers.<br />
<br />
I had just turned twelve as school let out. My older sister Margaret had just gone off to college and I was left all alone at the house before school resumed that fall. Mother usually spent her days in her garden, toiling in her few acres of vegetables and herbs on the other side of the hill, leaving after breakfast at half past six and not returning until late in the afternoon on the other side of four o’clock. That left me to fetch my own breakfast and occupy myself until mother came back home. Father wandered into the house at half past six every evening, rain or shine, and had done so every day of my life since I knew him. Being alone in our huge, rustic house , I let my imagination take reign. Armed with my new knowledge of the wanderers, I perched myself to find out whatever I could when the opportunity presented itself. <br />
<br />
That first morning of my vacation, I turned over in my bed, my ears perched slightly as my mother wandered out from the house. Turning back over, I slept til well past eight then commenced to get up and take myself into the kitchen in order to make breakfast. My mother always baked biscuits every morning before leaving the house, cooking for her own breakfast, my father’s and ultimately mine. I was ever so grateful for those biscuits. I cracked eggs open and whisked away at them, adding pepper and salt, and threw strips of bacon in the skillet, but somehow those biscuits provided a comfort to me that I had something to eat, even if my little hands couldn’t make it. With my oven-warmed biscuits, eggs, bacon, and thermos of orange juice( I cheated when by myself: I never used a juice glass for breakfast, but took as much as I wanted, not knowing that the absence of juice would be noticed) I commenced to the front porch where I made myself a picnic, listening to the birds giving concerts and basking in the early morning sunshine. After breakfast, I was obliged just to sit back with my arms folded behind my head, laying against the wood floor of the porch, tapping my feet in time with the natural rhythm of the universe. I was lost in the euphoria of my youth and new found freedom. Every day seemed a mere extension of some magical universe. I had completely forgotten about the wanderers.<br />
<br />
That Friday, I lay out on the porch staring up into space, as had become my custom, just me and my connection to the cosmic, when I heard the crunching of footsteps in the yard, moving along at a mechanical pace, like the ticking of a machine in a factory. At first I sucked in all my breath and was unable to move, my body paralyzed and stuck to the hard wood of the floor. Struggling and pushing, I forced my torso into an upright position and there I saw him. Again, he was tall and lanky-it must have been a trait peculiar to the wanderers- and wore ragged clothes merely pasted to his body. This one was attractive though. His hair was dark brunette and a whisp of it fell into his face in a little curlicue. His face was handsome, showed no sign of strain. His eyes were magnetic and warm and his tiny mouth puckered beautifully into a pouty bottom lip, all of it covered by the mask of his dark brown beard, which was soft and gave him the appearance of being a genteel young man somewhere in his late twenties or thirties. <br />
He was a few yards away from the house when I finally stood up. Nodding my head in his direction, I muddled up enough sound in my throat to utter a weak greeting. <br />
“Hello.” I nodded again and threw my hand in the air.<br />
The man attempted something of a smile and threw his hand back up in the air at me. Almost at the house, he didn’t slow down and I wondered if he planned to ask for something to eat or not. He did not stop, but slowed greatly, ready to engage in conversation if so obliged. <br />
<br />
“Are you a hobo?”<br />
The man thought on it a minute.<br />
“Why yes, I reckon I am.”<br />
“That means you’re wandering. A hobo means wandering.”<br />
His answer satisfied me for a minute. A smile sprang across my face in my satisfaction at discovering another hobo. After that, we stood together, several feet apart, in a long odd silence. <br />
“Are you hungry? “ I asked somewhat prematurely.<br />
“Why yes’m. I’d be much obliged of some victuals. I’m mighty hungry.” <br />
“Come up to the porch and I’ll get you something to eat. “ I summoned him up with my hands and obliged him to stand at the bottom of the steps while I went back into the house. I debated on what I should feed him. Not knowing what to do, I turned on my heels and went back to the porch.<br />
“When was the last time you had a meal?” <br />
The man got a perplexed look on his face as he tried to figure the last meal he had eaten.<br />
“I don’t rightly know.”<br />
Shaking my head, assuming a maternal role, I gestured to him with my hand.<br />
<br />
“Come up here to the porch and sit at this table, let me get you something to eat. “<br />
Slowly, he obliged, climbing the eight steps to the porch and sitting at the table. <br />
After he was seated, I went into the house and proceeded into the kitchen. Setting the skillet on the stove to get hot, I pulled off four pieces of bacon and put them in the fryer along with two eggs. While the bacon and eggs were frying, I placed a brown paper sack on the table and filled it with apples, oranges, some candy, a pear, a block of cheese and some crackers. I figured he could eat them while he wandered around doing whatever hobos did. I also took three cans of sardines out of the pantry and placed them in the bag. I hated sardines and despised whenever mother presented them to me for lunch. I got rid of as many cans as I could within reason. This man was going to have a good lunch. <br />
<br />
When the bacon and eggs had finished frying, I sat two biscuits in the stove to get hot and shoveled them onto a plate along with another apple, which I figured rounded out the plate for a healthy breakfast. I got the cane syrup out of the cabinet and doused the plate with it then poured a healthy glass of orange juice. Once I finished up packing the paper bag, I grabbed the plate and the orange juice then proceeded out to the porch to the wicker table where I had left him sitting. <br />
“ Here you go. I hope you’re mighty hungry this morning, because this is a good breakfast.” I smiled as I sat the plate and glass on the table. The man nodded his thanks to me silently and dug into the food with restrained relish. As he ate, I pulled up a chair on the opposite side of the table and folded myself into it, leaning into my elbows as I watched him eat. <br />
<br />
“What’s your name?” I asked him, my fists stuck into my jaws.<br />
“Hezekiah.” <br />
“How old are you, Hezekiah?”<br />
“28.”<br />
I let that one sit on my mind a bit. He was more than twice my age. His face was young and gentle though. <br />
“Why are you wandering? “<br />
He looked up at the question, unsure of how to answer.<br />
“At this point, I don’t even rightly know. But I do know my legs are tired, my body’s tired, and I’ve traveled a long way.” <br />
“Where’d you come from?”<br />
The man smiled and lowered his head at her question.<br />
“I don’t even know that anymore.”<br />
“Well how do you get to eat?” <br />
“Sometimes I don’t.”<br />
“That must be mighty hard.” I shook my head at the thought of having nothing to eat. <br />
“It gets hard. The open road’s a hard life. There’s plenty of freedom, but you get rained on, you get tired. And you play by a different set of rules. Rules of the road meted out with hobo justice. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, and sometimes you get taken advantage of.“<br />
“What’s hobo justice?” I asked as he resumed eating.<br />
He looked up from his plate and shook his head.<br />
“Just rules of the road, young lady. A Hobo’s life with a hobo’s code of ethics.”<br />
“It must be hard and dangerous living by the hobo rules.” <br />
The man smiled, moved that I would engage him so in conversation.<br />
“Want to hear a story about a hobo’s life?” He asked after a small pause.<br />
“Sure!” I curled my knees further into the chair, digging in to listen at the story.<br />
<br />
“Once, not even three months ago, a hobo was passing through a town and came to a small brick house on a quiet street. He was looking for food. He was hungry and had twenty five cents to his name, a nickel and two dimes. He was willing to give that nickel and two dimes to anybody who would spare him a morsel to eat. He came upon the house and noticed a young woman sweeping off the front step. She had two small children, around five or six years old, running at her heels. The house was decent and clean—had a piano near the window where it could be seen from the street. The upholstery was old, but it was neat and clean and appeared very well cared for. “<br />
<br />
I drew my chair closer to him, intrigued by his story.<br />
“So the man figured this woman would be kind and gentle. He could give her his money and have her fix him something to eat. He just wanted a small morsel, nothing fancy, not even enough to intrude on her grocery bill. He waited and then two hours later, after the woman had finished her chores and laid her children down for a nap, he went and rapped at her door. She answered and he made his proposal, to which she agreed. Excited, he gave her the twenty-five cents and told her he would wait under the tree in her front yard for his food. The lady took the money and closed the door. The man sat down under the tree with his knees under his chin. He could already taste the food in his mouth as he sat there. He wondered if it would be bacon and a piece of bread or a piece of fatback on a biscuit. His mouth watered. He waited. An hour passed. Then two hours. After two hours he rapped on the door again, this time to no avail. Going up to the window on the porch, he looked in. The house was as quiet as a mouse. The woman and her children were gone and the stove was as cold as stone. Angry, he was determined to sit there all night perched under her tree. It was less than an hour later, however, when the lady reappeared with her children at the front of the house, this time accompanied by a policeman. She had told the policeman that the man was loitering in her yard and she feared for her life. After failing to explain himself, he left willingly. He found shelter under a tree right at the edge of town, just a six minute walk from the woman’s house. His body was hungry and cold, but his soul was red hot. He was boiling over with the need for revenge. He waited there at the edge of town, under his tree, until Sunday. “ <br />
<br />
Hezekiah seemed fully absorbed in the story as he told it. His skin turned a bright red and his voice grew animated as each scene unfolded until he seemed to remember my presence. He paused for a moment, looked at me and sighed as the color left his skin. Slowly, he resumed telling his story.<br />
<br />
“That Sunday, the woman dressed her two children in their Sunday best and made her way to church. He stood at a distance and watched them go. After they had left, the man made his way up the steps of the house and found the woman had left her kitchen window open. On the sill, sat a sleeve of matches from a fancy hotel the lady had saved as a souvenir. The man looked down at the book of matches. It had a pretty pink cover with fancy writing on it and it said it was from the Peabody Hotel, Atlantic City. For a minute, he just stood there and looked at the book of matches. Looking up briefly, his eye caught sight of a porcelain container filled with kitchen grease sitting on the counter by the window. A pan of biscuits sat next to the stove. His eyes went from the kitchen grease to the matches and from the matches to the kitchen grease. The more he looked, the angrier he grew. Breaking the window, the man reached inside the window and took the kitchen grease from the side counter and drizzled it all across the front of the porch and the inside of the window. He then broke out one of the matches, struck it against the lighting pad, and threw it against the house. The fire burned, but was contained only to the front part of the house under the window and the kitchen. Using his shoulder as a battling ram, he broke the door down and entered the house, kicking things over until he found a can of gasoline in the pantry. Hot venom spread through his fingers as he literally turned the can up and spread the contents of the can over everything he could reach. He then broke off another match, lit it, and threw it inside the house, barging outside after the deed was done. Flames roared inside the house, and soon the entire house was ablaze. Reaching inside his pocket, he felt a pencil, and a slip of paper lining his pockets. He walked up to the tree under which he had sat so many days before waiting for food and nourishment, his blood boiling so that he was almost an inch off of the ground. Taking the paper, he wrote on it. “This house cost twenty-five cents.” Then he stabbed the paper into the side of the tree with the pencil and left. “<br />
<br />
I sat still as a mouse, completely drawn in by him and the dark unfolding of his story. His tale amazed me. Some part of me had grown listening to the story. After he finished the tale, I felt that I knew him. I had come to a deeper understanding about his life and about justice. I had learned something of human will and motivation. We sat there across from each other, a kind of sympathy reflecting from our eyes onto the other until finally he lowered his head and resumed his meal. <br />
The next quarter of an hour was quiet as he noisily supped, sopping up the drippings from the plate with his biscuit. I went inside the house and fetched the paper sack that I had fixed for him. By the time I made it back out on the porch, he had finished eating. <br />
<br />
“Here, this is for you too. It’s something to keep you while you’re out wandering.” I sat the bag on the table next to him. Boldly, I touched him, clapping him on the shoulder. Peering inside the bag, he nearly swallowed his tongue. <br />
“Why thank you, ma’am. This is too much. Thank you. Thank you.” Tears threatened to well in his eyes. He fought bravely to keep the nice, congenial demeanor he had assumed. He licked his fingers as he roamed through the contents of the bag. He was outdone by his fortune. His eyes blinked as if to make him truly believe what his eyes saw sitting before him. Standing quickly, he moved to make his leave from the porch and back to his life as a wanderer. Grabbing the bag, he made his way down the steps. Just as suddenly, he turned on his heels and peered back up towards me. Again, our eyes connected. <br />
<br />
“Here little girl, this is for you.” He reached his hand into his pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper. It seemed to be something ripped out of a newspaper. I extended my hand down and accepted his gift. Opening up the torn out newspaper clipping, I read the headline. The paper was dated May 5, 1930 and the headline read “Woman’s House Burns Over Twenty-Five Cents.” I folded the clipping back and looked up at Hezekiah, a huge smile on my face.<br />
<br />
“Thanks!”<br />
<br />
Silently, he lifted his hat on his head to me then turned and continued walking towards town. I turned and went into the house. Later that night, I slipped into the parlor to listen to the radio. I’ll never forget the song that was playing. I fell asleep on the floor listening to the words:<br />
<br />
May I sleep in your barn tonight, mister <br />
It is cold lying out on the ground <br />
And the cold north wind is a-howling <br />
And I have no place to lie downBrandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129329403360324931noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5047085.post-72327363818527731772012-07-23T17:51:00.001-04:002012-07-23T17:51:59.761-04:00<iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/bDST8obBfjQ" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129329403360324931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5047085.post-58599969425334526112012-07-22T15:47:00.001-04:002012-07-22T15:47:32.920-04:00U.S. Poverty On Track To Rise To Highest Since 1960sR<a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/07/22/us-poverty-level-1960s_n_1692744.html">Read Here</a><br />
<br />
The ranks of America's poor are on track to climb to levels unseen in nearly half a century, erasing gains from the war on poverty in the 1960s amid a weak economy and fraying government safety net.<br />
<br />
Census figures for 2011 will be released this fall in the critical weeks ahead of the November elections.<br />
<br />
The Associated Press surveyed more than a dozen economists, think tanks and academics, both nonpartisan and those with known liberal or conservative leanings, and found a broad consensus: The official poverty rate will rise from 15.1 percent in 2010, climbing as high as 15.7 percent. Several predicted a more modest gain, but even a 0.1 percentage point increase would put poverty at the highest level since 1965.<br />
<br />
Poverty is spreading at record levels across many groups, from underemployed workers and suburban families to the poorest poor. More discouraged workers are giving up on the job market, leaving them vulnerable as unemployment aid begins to run out. Suburbs are seeing increases in poverty, including in such political battlegrounds as Colorado, Florida and Nevada, where voters are coping with a new norm of living hand to mouth.<br />
<br />
"I grew up going to Hawaii every summer. Now I'm here, applying for assistance because it's hard to make ends meet. It's very hard to adjust," said Laura Fritz, 27, of Wheat Ridge, Colo., describing her slide from rich to poor as she filled out aid forms at a county center. Since 2000, large swaths of Jefferson County just outside Denver have seen poverty nearly double.<br />
<br />
Fritz says she grew up wealthy in the Denver suburb of Highlands Ranch, but fortunes turned after her parents lost a significant amount of money in the housing bust. Stuck in a half-million dollar house, her parents began living off food stamps and Fritz's college money evaporated. She tried joining the Army but was injured during basic training.<br />
<br />
Now she's living on disability, with an infant daughter and a boyfriend, Garrett Goudeseune, 25, who can't find work as a landscaper. They are struggling to pay their $650 rent on his unemployment checks and don't know how they would get by without the extra help as they hope for the job market to improve.<br />
<br />
In an election year dominated by discussion of the middle class, Fritz's case highlights a dim reality for the growing group in poverty. Millions could fall through the cracks as government aid from unemployment insurance, Medicaid, welfare and food stamps diminishes.<br />
<br />
"The issues aren't just with public benefits. We have some deep problems in the economy," said Peter Edelman, director of the Georgetown Center on Poverty, Inequality and Public Policy.<br />
<br />
<br />
He pointed to the recent recession but also longer-term changes in the economy such as globalization, automation, outsourcing, immigration, and less unionization that have pushed median household income lower. Even after strong economic growth in the 1990s, poverty never fell below a 1973 low of 11.1 percent. That low point came after President Lyndon Johnson's war on poverty, launched in 1964, that created Medicaid, Medicare and other social welfare programs.<br />
<br />
"I'm reluctant to say that we've gone back to where we were in the 1960s. The programs we enacted make a big difference. The problem is that the tidal wave of low-wage jobs is dragging us down and the wage problem is not going to go away anytime soon," Edelman said.<br />
<br />
Stacey Mazer of the National Association of State Budget Officers said states will be watching for poverty increases when figures are released in September as they make decisions about the Medicaid expansion. Most states generally assume poverty levels will hold mostly steady and they will hesitate if the findings show otherwise. "It's a constant tension in the budget," she said.<br />
<br />
The predictions for 2011 are based on separate AP interviews, supplemented with research on suburban poverty from Alan Berube of the Brookings Institution and an analysis of federal spending by the Congressional Research Service and Elise Gould of the Economic Policy Institute.<br />
<br />
The analysts' estimates suggest that some 47 million people in the U.S., or 1 in 6, were poor last year. An increase of one-tenth of a percentage point to 15.2 percent would tie the 1983 rate, the highest since 1965. The highest level on record was 22.4 percent in 1959, when the government began calculating poverty figures.<br />
<br />
Poverty is closely tied to joblessness. While the unemployment rate improved from 9.6 percent in 2010 to 8.9 percent in 2011, the employment-population ratio remained largely unchanged, meaning many discouraged workers simply stopped looking for work. Food stamp rolls, another indicator of poverty, also grew.<br />
<br />
Demographers also say:<br />
<br />
_Poverty will remain above the pre-recession level of 12.5 percent for many more years. Several predicted that peak poverty levels – 15 percent to 16 percent – will last at least until 2014, due to expiring unemployment benefits, a jobless rate persistently above 6 percent and weak wage growth.<br />
<br />
_Suburban poverty, already at a record level of 11.8 percent, will increase again in 2011.<br />
<br />
_Part-time or underemployed workers, who saw a record 15 percent poverty in 2010, will rise to a new high.<br />
<br />
_Poverty among people 65 and older will remain at historically low levels, buoyed by Social Security cash payments.<br />
<br />
_Child poverty will increase from its 22 percent level in 2010.<br />
<br />
Analysts also believe that the poorest poor, defined as those at 50 percent or less of the poverty level, will remain near its peak level of 6.7 percent.<br />
<br />
"I've always been the guy who could find a job. Now I'm not," said Dale Szymanski, 56, a Teamsters Union forklift operator and convention hand who lives outside Las Vegas in Clark County. In a state where unemployment ranks highest in the nation, the Las Vegas suburbs have seen a particularly rapid increase in poverty from 9.7 percent in 2007 to 14.7 percent.<br />
<br />
Szymanski, who moved from Wisconsin in 2000, said he used to make a decent living of more than $40,000 a year but now doesn't work enough hours to qualify for union health care. He changed apartments several months ago and sold his aging 2001 Chrysler Sebring in April to pay expenses.<br />
<br />
"You keep thinking it's going to turn around. But I'm stuck," he said.<br />
<br />
The 2010 poverty level was $22,314 for a family of four, and $11,139 for an individual, based on an official government calculation that includes only cash income, before tax deductions. It excludes capital gains or accumulated wealth, such as home ownership, as well as noncash aid such as food stamps and tax credits, which were expanded substantially under President Barack Obama's stimulus package.<br />
<br />
An additional 9 million people in 2010 would have been counted above the poverty line if food stamps and tax credits were taken into account.<br />
<br />
Robert Rector, a senior research fellow at the conservative Heritage Foundation, believes the social safety net has worked and it is now time to cut back. He worries that advocates may use a rising poverty rate to justify additional spending on the poor, when in fact, he says, many live in decent-size homes, drive cars and own wide-screen TVs.<br />
<br />
A new census measure accounts for noncash aid, but that supplemental poverty figure isn't expected to be released until after the November election. Since that measure is relatively new, the official rate remains the best gauge of year-to-year changes in poverty dating back to 1959.<br />
<br />
Few people advocate cuts in anti-poverty programs. Roughly 79 percent of Americans think the gap between rich and poor has grown in the past two decades, according to a Public Religion Research Institute/RNS Religion News survey from November 2011. The same poll found that about 67 percent oppose "cutting federal funding for social programs that help the poor" to help reduce the budget deficit.<br />
<br />
Outside of Medicaid, federal spending on major low-income assistance programs such as food stamps, disability aid and tax credits have been mostly flat at roughly 1.5 percent of the gross domestic product from 1975 to the 1990s. Spending spiked higher to 2.3 percent of GDP after Obama's stimulus program in 2009 temporarily expanded unemployment insurance and tax credits for the poor.<br />
<br />
The U.S. safety net may soon offer little comfort to people such as Jose Gorrin, 52, who lives in the western Miami suburb of Hialeah Gardens. Arriving from Cuba in 1980, he was able to earn a decent living as a plumber for years, providing for his children and ex-wife. But things turned sour in 2007 and in the past two years he has barely worked, surviving on the occasional odd job.<br />
<br />
His unemployment aid has run out, and he's too young to draw Social Security.<br />
<br />
Holding a paper bag of still-warm bread he'd just bought for lunch, Gorrin said he hasn't decided whom he'll vote for in November, expressing little confidence the presidential candidates can solve the nation's economic problems. "They all promise to help when they're candidates," Gorrin said, adding, "I hope things turn around. I already left Cuba. I don't know where else I can go."<br />
<br />
___<br />
<br />
Associated Press writers Kristen Wyatt in Lakewood, Colo., Ken Ritter and Michelle Rindels in Las Vegas, Laura Wides-Munoz in Miami and AP Deputy Director of Polling Jennifer Agiesta contributed to this report.Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129329403360324931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5047085.post-90667456749223679022012-07-17T18:46:00.001-04:002012-07-17T18:46:56.414-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0PQT1zr8ZNtmvyrqirHFyJsVJCF0nnN9NY-gIwh-pnrRqtkdpLrk-mOxe7F1EjNvrDuPxuw9t_s3eHAxMmycM46q2CzX8PpZtFs7G1Kn7sjqEbyyXcy7MRc_TIiO1X8JbSsJp_g/s1600/cayman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0PQT1zr8ZNtmvyrqirHFyJsVJCF0nnN9NY-gIwh-pnrRqtkdpLrk-mOxe7F1EjNvrDuPxuw9t_s3eHAxMmycM46q2CzX8PpZtFs7G1Kn7sjqEbyyXcy7MRc_TIiO1X8JbSsJp_g/s320/cayman.jpg" /></a></div><br />Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129329403360324931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5047085.post-37195476875504116392012-07-16T23:31:00.001-04:002012-07-16T23:31:39.484-04:00For Colored Girls...Ok....I just made myself watch Tyler Perry's For Colored Girls...I must say he didn't mess it up and I don't have to crucify....as a matter of fact.....it was pretty good...I give it a B. The adaptation done in the 80s was great.....perhaps this should be redone every generation....Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129329403360324931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5047085.post-42696071050972893782012-07-14T21:56:00.001-04:002012-07-14T21:56:29.347-04:00<iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/NabU5bxaVM4" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129329403360324931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5047085.post-5540980775534629932012-07-14T16:58:00.000-04:002012-07-14T16:58:05.579-04:00George Zimmerman's Corrupt Connections<a href="http://www.csmonitor.com/USA/Justice/2012/0714/Trayvon-Martin-case-s-mystery-man-George-Zimmerman-s-cop-connection">Read here</a>.Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129329403360324931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5047085.post-16271077915428216202012-07-07T11:39:00.000-04:002012-07-07T11:39:02.033-04:00YAY SERENA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129329403360324931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5047085.post-23215014408080114992012-07-06T19:52:00.000-04:002012-07-06T19:52:03.727-04:00Why is Mitt Romney on vacation?What has he done that he needs to be on vacation? How many people in the US have had a vacation in the past five years?Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129329403360324931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5047085.post-39122076938026335092012-07-04T19:17:00.003-04:002012-07-04T19:17:52.227-04:00Listen and Learn<iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/Bpx8uNzRdew" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129329403360324931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5047085.post-35493126196185714242012-07-04T13:00:00.001-04:002012-07-04T13:00:36.532-04:00From Steven ArgueTHE LAKEVIEW SIT-IN HAS BEEN RAIDED!!!<br />
<br />
Dozens of cops raided the Lakeview Sit-in this morning of July 3rd, kicking out a bunch of families and teachers. Two people were arrested including one parent and former student.<br />
<br />
A rally was held at the Lakeview steps at 5pm. Stay tuned for more.<br />
<br />
For over two weeks the Lakeview Sit-In and People's School for Public Education has been running a free summer program out of occupied Lakeview Elementary, serving over 30 children with programming in social justice, art, PE, and gardening. That sit-in is demanding that Tony Smith and the School Board:<br />
<br />
* Reopen all five closed elementary schools!<br />
* Repudiate the state debt!<br />
* Stop busting teacher and school workers' unions!<br />
* Reverse the cuts to special education!<br />
* Fully fund public education for every student!<br />
<br />
Here are statements of the Oakland Education Association and the Alameda Labor Council in support of the sit-in:<br />
<br />
Support Community Sit In<br />
The Alameda Labor Council supports and encourages affiliates to engage as is individually appropriate for the "Community Sit In" at Lakeview Elementary School in Oakland which was recently closed by the OUSD. Various union members, parents and the community have rallied against this and other school closures. Please see OEA Statement on Lakeview Sit In.<br />
<br />
OAKLAND EDUCATION ASSOCIATION STATEMENT ON LAKEVIEW SIT-IN<br />
June 23, 2012: On June 20, the OEA Executive Board voted to support the efforts of the Lakeview Sit-In and the People’s School for Public Education. We also endorsed these demands:<br />
<br />
•Don’t close the 5 schools. Keep all neighborhood schools open.<br />
•Stop union busting: defend the OEA and all school worker unions<br />
•Repudiate the state debt<br />
•Fully fund quality public education for all<br />
<br />
Oakland Unified School District’s closure of five public elementary schools has displaced over 1,000 students, mostly children of color, and destabilitized entire communities. Some of these school buildings are slated to be turned into district administration offices, while others have already been given over to non-union, privately controlled charter schools. One, Santa Fe, has been leased to Emeryville, leaving an entire zip code without a public school – and resulting in the loss of $157,000 for the next three years in Quality Education Investment Act (QEIA) funding, money directly targeted for class size reduction.<br />
<br />
This process has taken place without the full input of the communities involved, and without addressing the numerous alternatives that were raised by OEA and members of the community after the closures were announced on October 26, 2011. At that time, OEA issued a statement that included the following:<br />
<br />
“When the Board of Education adopted a set of criteria for closing schools in late August, OEA countered with a set of our own. These included closing poorly-performing charter schools, getting rid of outside consultant contracts, and decreasing the number of administrative positions. We called on the Board to do whatever was necessary before moving to close any schools, and to do this in a way that was transparent and involved the community. Instead, they have moved ahead with their plans, despite vocal opposition from all affected communities.<br />
<br />
Therefore, OEA stands in opposition to the closure of Lakeview, Lazear, Marshall, Maxwell Park, and Santa Fe, all schools serving predominantly children of color. We call on the district to abandon their plan and work with the many teachers, students, and community leaders who have come to the past few Board meetings with creative ideas for keeping their schools open. If this plan goes forward, the Board is essentially refusing to listen to the voice of their constituents and is instead encouraging even more bleeding from the district as families leave in disgust and more schools opt to convert to charters.”<br />
<br />
We urge all labor and community partners to join with us in supporting the courageous efforts of the Lakeview Sit-In – this is an action with significance that goes far beyond one school in Oakland and strikes at the very heart of the attempts to starve and then privatize public education.<br />
<br />
Subscribe free to Liberation News for updates and future actions<br />
https://lists.riseup.net/www/info/liberation_newsBrandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129329403360324931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5047085.post-46402867654306763172012-07-03T15:45:00.000-04:002012-07-03T15:51:21.258-04:00RIP Andy Griffith<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir7TPLliNnqUrz-T2b4bHG4zHiqycetGrwGwFS8Iu4SkIN6_wV7TNEgJsyYIqYITKBJrvORvxungzI6-InxlawNhYckvH6xseVpnzuqc-3EeQuVbm4OG5jTRWH9nVgujtg7veWlw/s1600/griffithand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="300" width="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir7TPLliNnqUrz-T2b4bHG4zHiqycetGrwGwFS8Iu4SkIN6_wV7TNEgJsyYIqYITKBJrvORvxungzI6-InxlawNhYckvH6xseVpnzuqc-3EeQuVbm4OG5jTRWH9nVgujtg7veWlw/s320/griffithand.jpg" /></a></div><br />
1926-2012Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129329403360324931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5047085.post-22844161677776531452012-06-30T23:37:00.000-04:002012-06-30T23:37:31.665-04:00Memo to John Boehner et alYou lost. Nanny Nanny boo boo.Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129329403360324931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5047085.post-46726320123921916112012-06-28T23:26:00.002-04:002012-06-28T23:26:33.764-04:00<iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/Zwk7DWq_E3s" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129329403360324931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5047085.post-6550496648973791852012-06-20T23:28:00.002-04:002012-06-20T23:28:47.043-04:00Nikki Giovanni: Adulthood“I usta wonder who I’d be<br />
when I was a little girl in Indianapolis<br />
sitting on doctors porches with post-dawn pre-debs<br />
(wondering would my aunt drag me to church sunday)<br />
i was meaningless<br />
and i wondered if life<br />
would give me a chance to mean<br />
i found a new life in the withdrawal from all things<br />
not like my image<br />
when I was a teenager I usta sit<br />
on front steps conversing<br />
the gym teachers son with embryonic eyes<br />
about the essential essence of the universe<br />
(and other bullshit stuff)<br />
recognizing the basic powerlessness of me.<br />
but then I went to college where i learned<br />
that just because everything i was was unreal<br />
i could be real and not just real through withdrawal<br />
into emotional crosshairs of colored bourgeoisie intellectual pretensions<br />
but from involvement with things approaching reality<br />
i could possibly have a life<br />
so catatonic emotions and time wasting sex games<br />
were replaced with functioning commitments to logic and<br />
necessity and the gray area was slowly darkened into<br />
a black thing<br />
for a while progress was being made along with a certain degree<br />
of happiness cause i wrote a book and found a love<br />
and organized a theatre and even gave some lectures on<br />
Black history<br />
and began to believe all good people could get<br />
together and win without bloodshed<br />
then<br />
hammaskjold was killed<br />
and diem was killed<br />
and kennedy was killed<br />
and malcolm was killed<br />
and evers was killed<br />
and schwerner, chaney and goodman were killed<br />
and liuzzo was killed<br />
and stokely fled the country<br />
and le roi was arrested<br />
and rap was arrested<br />
and pollard, thompson and cooper were killed<br />
and king was killed<br />
and kennedy was killed<br />
and i sometimes wonder why i didn’t become a debutante<br />
sitting on porches, going to church all the time, wondering<br />
is my eye make-up on straight<br />
or a withdrawn discoursing on the stars and moon<br />
instead of a for real Black person who must now feel<br />
and inflict<br />
pain”Brandonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129329403360324931noreply@blogger.com0