#Hashbrowns

First we came for the landless, and we spoke up for them, because the suffering of the poor among us is the suffering of all.

Then we came for the enslaved, and we spoke up for them, because no man has the right to own another man.

Then we came for the the immigrant, and we spoke up for them, because we are the land of opportunity, where all can build a new life.

Then we came for the women, and we spoke up for them, because gender does not determine value.

Then we came for the people of color, and we spoke up for them, because there remained issues of the past which had not been resolved.

Then we came for the homosexuals, and we spoke up for them, because love is a virtue to be honored and cherished.

And so we have come for all: the rich and poor, man and woman, all races, all creeds, all identities.

And so we will continue to come for our brothers and sisters. Where ever there are chains, inequities, and hatred, we will speak and we will fight. There are voices that align against this, saying they enjoy the status quo, that raising others to their elevated status in fact diminishes them. Or that we cannot change the world.

On this last point, they are right. The world needs improvement. It will always need improvement. It will ever be enough.  And so, we will come to the aid of those that need, forever. Equality moves at the speed of Zeno’s Paradox. We can, and must, walk those infinite steps.

Stand up, speak out, and keep walking. For Liberty, Equality, and Brotherhood. Until the end.

My father died 15 years ago.

In the time since then, my mother went from holding an unused BA in Anthropology to a Master of Nursing and teaches at Washington University’s nursing school. My sister has become a professional who helps graduate students complete their work. My brother has become a modest success as a musician. My grandparents’ health has slowly failed, bit by bit, but they are still quite alive and good for it.

I’ve lost friends, and gained others, seen people grow and relationships blossom. The people who mean things to me are, for better or worse, mostly healthy, vibrant, and taking life as it comes, and I’d like to think I’m keeping pace. Family, however we define it, is all we’ve got. And my family, here in St. Louis and Columbia, and extending out in Diaspora to Kansas City and Camdenton and North Carolina and Texas and New York and Florida and anywhere else you can name, is what I still hold very dear.

For me, Father’s Day offers little occasion for gift giving or family outings. It instead gives me occasion to think back to my Bar Mitzvah, one of the last times I can remember my father being able to attend a big, public event. I think back to that day, that declaration that “Today, I am a man,” and I consider if he would approve of the man I am today, of the family I surround myself with, and the ethical choices I make.

I think he would. I love you all.

Happy Father’s Day, family of friends.

Rapture people, I totally feel for you. You really don’t need anyone making fun of you.

Normally, I’d be inclined to sanctimoniousness in the face of being completely right about something, especially something where you are telling me to my face that you are better than me, and that for this reason I deserve to die horribly at the hands of Satan himself.

But that’s not where you are right now. Right now, far more important to you that I and the countless others like me were right was that you were wrong. Something you believed, really and truly, with all your heart, was false. You had accepted it on faith. Some of you took dramatic steps acting on this certainty you had for the end of your mortal life; emptying bank accounts, quitting jobs, in some cases giving away or putting down family pets. There’s another set of people who go through the same actions: Suicides.

You have lived your life with the meaning hinging on what you were certain would be this one day and now that’s gone, leaving nothing but a hole. You’ve endured an absolute disappointment. For this, you have my sympathy.

Please do not go back to waiting for the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. It never arrives.

I figured a conventional first post would be a description of my intents in having one of these internet speaking podiums. My ideal is occasional sincere expressions of optimism and idealism, sandwiched between jaded informed dissertations on popular culture and history.

I begin with storytime, about a man named John Smith T. Yes, that was his name. Well back in the day, before the great land of Missouri was a state full of political assholes, it was a territory full of political assholes. The core of power in the region was the Junta in St. Louis. Such political assholes were they, that Junta is not a term applied to them by modern critics, comparing them to banana republics. This is what they called themselves.  John Smith T was what might be called an “enforcer” for the Junta in the St. Louis area. He might also be called a land pirate.

That is not to say he was like a pirate but on dry land (though he was.) it was that he pirated land. He became a wealthy lead mine operator by finding successful lead mines, then purchasing deeds of dubious quality. When he claimed his specious ownership, the rightful owner had two options: roll over and give their property to him, or dispute it, at which point John Smith T would claim offense at “being called a liar,” challenge the man to a duel and shoot him dead. His method of provoking duels and murdering people was quite successful, both as business practice, and at murdering enemies of the political machine of which he was a part. And despite his many, many murders, he never got any sort of comeuppance and died of a fever as an old man.

Congratulations. You now have about as much benefit of a history degree as I do. Knowing about this guy was my original research, and that is pretty much the only thing I got out of it that you couldn’t gather with just a studious reading of wikipedia followed by reading some of the books listed in the reference section on the articles. Enjoy your diploma.