This year I am compelled to ask a question similar to that asked by the youngest child at the Jewish Passover Seder: “Why is this Christmas (night) different from all other Christmases (nights)?” It feels different, more significant, more laden with meaning. It calls for more introspection and reflection. Too many mornings I awaken with dread as if there will never be another Christmas
defined by love for all, peace in understanding, and hope for a free and joyful future. The darkness seems overwhelming. I look for a star in the sky to guide my way. I understand the need to find a course I can follow which will lead me to a simple stable where a humble family seeks shelter. I long for those around me to awaken to the need to overcome the darkness descending on my country, on my world. Crass consumerism can only mask the need for a short time while we search for something bigger than ourselves, to build and belong to a community ruled by fairness which operates within the bounds of law, where each soul has equal value and worth.
Autocrats, fraudsters, and wealthy oligarchs are not new. Courts which give them immunity are new. It is as if I now live among the crowd who shouted, “Give us Barabbas! ” I see that young babe in a manger in a cave or stable and wonder at man’s inhumanity to man, his disdain for women and children, his abuse of the very earth itself. Making a “buck”, to retain power and control, create more darkness over the earth. WE are the Light. The Light dwells within us. This Christmas I celebrate a birth of a babe who taught me this. I celebrate by standing in the Light, against the darkness. I celebrate by spreading Light.
Recently, readers outside the United States seem to have discovered posts I wrote on my other, earlier blog “Worthington for Obama 2012”. This prompted me to re-read them myself. They explain why I am not keen to listen to the shock and surprise at the current political climate. Anyone could have seen it coming, even I.
Since long before 2012 it was clear that a long-term strategy to destroy what the Republican Party could not compete with, what white supremacists (who started a civil war) and Christian nationalists who stole Native American lands and formed the KKK) have long abhorred, was thoughtfully and carefully organized through groups such as ALEC ( American Legislative Exchange Council formed in 1973 to create model bills across state legislatures),Tea Party (movement within the Republican Party to oppose Policies of President Barack Obama formed in 2009), The Heritage Foundation (Conservative Republican think tank formed in 1973 to popularize and enable President Reagan’s policies, and which developed and now leads Project 2025).
These groups were welcomed and happily utilized by the Republican Party. The changing demographics of the United States (think immigration no longer western-Europe dominant), enforcement of civil rights through the court decisions upholding constitutional rights following the Civil Rights Movement. The Republican Party either had to embrace diversity (accept the equality of people color, women and LGBQTQIA+ individuals) or change the rules by undermining the courts, gerrymandering districts, and suppressing the vote. They are nothing if not thorough. Over the past 30 years they stoped sneaking in the dark and spoke out loud as they convinced Americans that Democrats were the corruptors via their disinformation campaigns. Were you not paying attention? How could you when they kept you so entertained. Now their head honcho is an ex-“reality” TV star. Entertainment has been used as a distraction for those worn out by laboring long hours and just needing a break from reality. It is time to get off the couch and start paying attention.
Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission (2010) was filed by a conservative non-profit the FEC had stopped from promoting and airing a film unjustly criticizing (disinformation- at- the- ready) presidential candidate Hilary Clinton; and, McCutcheon v. Federal Election Commission(2014) weakened regulations reversing centuries of campaign finance regulations meant to eliminate/reduce corruption. We all know “money talks.” Citizens United and other groups are now free to use any amount by any person of wealth to influence an election during a time when 99% of the country’s wealth is held by 1% of the population. The result is inevitable. A very small minority controls the election through its unlimited political contributions. Super Pacs can include “dark money groups” who may act un-named “in the dark” so we never know about their direct coordination with candidates. McCutcheon v. FEC eliminated aggregate contributions limits. The sky is now the limit.
Corruption has never been easier. No wonder Americans have lost faith in elections and campaigns. No wonder they mistrust courts and politicians. And no, they are not “all the same.” These changes were fought by Democrats who opened what had been a Dixiecrat party to a tent large enough to embrace diverse populations, who advanced women’s rights, who worked to assure voting rights and Equal Opportunity using affirmative action to redress the denial of rights and opportunities for over a century, and restore the rights of labor unions and workers. Diversity and Inclusion (DEI) is not evil because of the good it does for all Americans. It is lambasted by Republicans because they want to keep the tent closed to all but white men and those willing to submit to white male dominance (which, unfortunately, includes too many white women).
Which brings us to today, not to what I wrote in 2012. Those who say they are “trying to understand how Vice-President Kamala lost have been ignoring the reality for decades. Those who are shocked by the outcome of the last election have not been paying attention. Donald trump is not the leader of a party. He is only the cheerleader for a corruption of the political process put in place by the Republican Party long ago. From the Reagan era on, Republicans have embraced these corrupt practices and strategies to secure their election and re-election despite the demographic changes and heightened awareness of constitutional rights. They have created a disinformation system bar none, even aligned themselves with Russian disinformation campaigns, feeding information to Russian operatives (remember Paul Manafort and Trump’s first campaign?).
But, now, the Republican Party which was a respected competitor, is dead. A fascist government will replace our democratic republic. Our constitution is up-ended by a corrupted Supreme Court put in place by the Heritage Foundation. Project 2025 is in process, replacing the transition process which we have long relied upon. National security secrets are at risk. Those securing our national security still in the field will soon be at risk of disclosure (Trump owes our enemies big time). Yet, we continue to ignore the reality set in place 30+ years ago and pretend this is a normal transition. We discuss the relative qualifications of unqualified sycophants (“Good “Nazis”). We elected a fascist whom we would not hire to babysit our children, entrusting our national survival to his care. We are the fools. we are getting what we deserve, for failing to pay attention and give a damn about our country. We have for too long put self-interest above national interest.
I have seen this day coming for a very long time. And here is what I know to be true:
No one can steal your joy.
No one can convince you to submit.
No one place you in fear.
No one can destroy your faith in freedom.
No one can compromise your hopes and dreams.
No one can take way your power.
No one can force you to give up.
No one can disinform a truth-seeker.
Keep fighting, friends of democracy.
Keep registering voters.
Keep educating our young people.
Keep cleaning the air, water and soil.
Keep reducing green-house emissions.
Keep supporting your community.
Keep telling the truth.
Good always overcomes evil.
Joy always overcomes grief.
Love always overcomes hate.
We are not done. Not by a long-shot!
Perhaps I am the greatest fool. I still believe in Americans. I still believe in you. Do not make me regret it.
Let me tell you. Being a woman who is fully human is not a given. It is always a hard-won position. Too many dismiss women as not fully human. Women and their ideas are called “empty-headed.” Women are called “weak-willed.” Women are called “frail.” Men are are not thought to brainless or empty-headed. Men are not thought to lack willpower. Men are not expected to be weak. There are stronger and more respectful words for men. I am all for respecting men. I only ask for the same in return. I do not always get that respect. Even if I had remained in my hometown, married a “nice Italian-Catholic boy” which was my parents’ most fervent hope, I would not have been able to avoid such disrespect. But, I might have had a man to come to my defense. More likely, not. Men know how to avoid a fight. Their lives depend on reconciliation to bullies. Male aggression can be a fierce and unpredictable experience; especially, by men with gangs behind them.
Bullies come in all guises. They are not just “street toughs” with cigarette packs stored in the rolled-up sleeves of their tee shirts, tatooed sleeves exposed in warning messages as in my childhood neighborhood. Boys and girls both learned to give them a wide berth. Bullies also exist in board rooms, school rooms, and court rooms.
I did not stay and be a well-behaved little girl all my life. I became a lawyer. I entered courtrooms where early-on I was usually the only woman to make an appearance on a client’s behalf that day. Maya Wiley, spoke of her experience as a lawyer yesterday, in an appearance on MSNBC. Ms. Wiley carries two strikes against her. She is not only female; but, like former Prosecutor and Attorney General of California Kamala Harris, she is a woman of color. She is Black. She lives in a world where the unspoken message is, “If you are Black, step back.” This is the silent message in the brain of too many Americans. I am a white woman. Yet, I find some empathy in our positions as a female.
Ms. Wiley mentioned episodes in her practice of law as a federal district attorney which matched my own experience. The judge, despite her presence at the Justice department table ready to plead her case, pretended not to know she was an attorney. The judge dismissed her entire identity in that moment. He cut her. She bled. She still bleeds.
On several occasions early in my career I made an appearance on behalf of a client. I sat with other attorneys, all men, in the courtroom waiting for my case to be called. It was called and I approached the Bench. “Good morning, your Honor, I am Louise Annarino, an attorney with the Legal Aid Society. This is my client…the plaintiff in the case before you today.” Standard introduction. Not a standard response from the judge, however. Instead he said with a smirk toward my opposing counsel, a man, “Young lady, you cannot just waltz in here without a lawyer. Come back after you get one. Next!”
Holding back my anger at his attempt to shame and dismiss me…and my female client…from “his” courtroom, I answer, “ Your Honor, I am an attorney. I am representing this woman who is my client. Let me repeat for you that I am a lawyer from the Legal Aid Society.” He responded,
“And, I told you you must be a lawyer to represent this client.” By this time my client leaned in and whispered to me, “I thought you were a lawyer!” I could barely hear her over the laughter of the male attorneys seated behind me awaiting their cases to be called. The judge laughed with them. I did not. I said, “Perhaps you are not listening to me, or are hard of hearing. I shall give you the befit of the doubt.” I am a licensed attorney in the state of Ohio and I am not going anywhere.” He heard my case. My client had her successful day in court. We both bled that day.
I returned to the office and told my colleagues what had happened. A woman attorney said, “Oh my, I forgot to warn you, we women always carry our license with us and lay them on the bench before we start.” I took my license off the wall and put it into my briefcase. I wish I could say that was the only episode, but it was not. Not every judge, nor every attorney cut me. But, I still bled. I bleed writing this account. All women bleed. We have become experts at stanching the flow. Right now, you are thinking of jokes about our menses ever month. Stop it! Those bleeds bring new life into the world. We honor those bleeds. We do not honor the dishonor of men cutting us down to size where we can be ignored as not fully human, not fully equal; cut and bled.
Kamala Harris was interviewed my Mika Byrezezinski at a Know Your Value Conference in San Francisco describing what it was like to face barriers of discrimination and break down walls. She said, “‘When you break things, it is painful. You get cut, and you bleed, and it will be worth it — But be very clear. It will be and can be a very painful process.’ Kamala Harris knows this. Maya Wiley knows this. I know this. Every woman who breaks down barriers knows this. Women break down barriers every day…int their homes, at their businesses, in boardrooms, in school rooms; and yes, in courtrooms. They break down barriers in friendship relationships, in love relationships, in business relationships. We still do not have an ERA (Equal Rights Amendment). Why do men need barriers from women? We love them. We respect them. We honor them. It is time for them to do the same. And to those women, too afraid to break down such barriers, we get it. We know the position you are in. We bleed for you, too.
We say to all people, as Reagan said to Khrushev, “Tear down this wall” so that none of us need bleed ever again. Vote for Kamala Harris in November. We need each other. We need each other healthy, whole and safe.
Firehosing is a propaganda tactic that involves pushing out large mounts of false and misleading information at once. The term was first applied to Russian propaganda strategies intended to silent dissent and mislead the public. Wikipedia, Jan.13, 2021. Actual use of firehoses is used in this country to silence protesters. It has been used against those Americans active in Civil Rights campaigns.
A new year begins with hope and praise for new beginnings. New year’s resolutions? I still wonder what I shall be when I grow up. It becomes harder with age to grow up. Angela and Angelo who brought me into world, parented me through life, showing me the way to be better and stronger, have been dead many years. The aunts and uncles who shepherded me through trials and struggles are also gone from the sight of those of my family still alive. Even my older brother Angelo and several lovable cousins have died. Childhood friends, too, have accepted their mortality and left me behind.
Who is left to help me grow up? To remind me how to behave myself, and direct my steps of exploration? Too few for one as strong-willed as I. I find myself more child-like and childish than ever. Perhaps I do it deliberately so that I may hear my Mother’s chiding tone in my head as she shares her exasperation over my antics,. Her words have taken up permanent residence in my brain. She comments on everything I do, still. It is a mystery to me, one I endure willingly, now.
I fought that constant harangue and meddlesome interference while she lived. All the older Italian women, family and friends, had no qualms about meddling in my life. I laugh now, at their efforts, with some stirring of guilt. It was a hopeless task, and I made certain they knew it as I laughed in their faces. Who is laughing now? I hope they are. I hope I can still make them smile. I only wanted to watch their determined faces break into smiles as they hit me with a rolled-up newspaper and shook their heads. Oh, yes, they operated as a gang. When my mother’s singular efforts seemed to get nowhere, she called in the troops. They would descend on my latest apartment, in the latest city I had moved to, to take the latest job. I was supposed to remain at home, or live next door with a husband, or at least within a few blocks of Mom. I never did. When I was about 35 years old she asked her sister, “ She is not coming home, is she?” Aunt Millie disclosed this to me long after Mom had died. Aunt Millie kept Mom with me all those years after her death. Now, Aunt Millie is also dead to this world. But, she and mom, and all those other Italian women who mothered me will always be alive in my head and my heart. One day, I will be grown up enough to join them. I dread that newspaper. My guess is they still keep it at-the-ready.
Dad lives in my head and heart, too; along with uncles, brothers and older male cousins who formed a protective barrier around me sight unseen. I seldom hear their words. What I hear is their laughter. I see their smiles and watch them quietly hand me a baseball, fishing pole, chocolate milk shake, deck of cards, rake, electrical tape, cement tool. And best of all, their grins. They stood behind the women who were intent on “setting me straight” with grins on their faces and laughter in their eyes. They redirected my thoughts from my transgressions, as I watched them with great delight. Probably, they smiled and smirked because I had taken the focus of the women off their own antics, temporarily relieving them of the women’s attention.
I felt more kinship with them. I wanted their freedom. The women were content to stay in their place. I wanted to go find my place, separate and apart. I wanted the right to control every choice. I did not want to “ask my husband” before I took a step. I wanted to go farther and wider than our insular neighborhood of people and ideas, which seemed enough to satisfy those I knew. I am still searching for that place. I seek a place where freedom of thought and affection expand rather than contract. Often, but not always, like E.T. and all travelers, I simply want to “go home.” So, I do.
I travel through memories tough and sweet back to the South side, just beyond the railroad tracks where Italian immigrant families had settled down. Eventually, most of the children of those families left the neighborhood, as did I. But, I truly still live there no matter my current address. There are no dead parents, no dead aunts and uncles, no dead cousins, no dead brother or dead friends there. All those I love still live there.
Aging brains do not become forgetful. Aging brains simply choose to remember all that once was alive, all those whom they loved. Aging brains hold memory alive with a strength no young brain can comprehend. We do it out of love, not loss. We have lost no ability to remember. We simply choose to remember what we chose to love.
So, here is my New Year’s resolution; I shall love all that is new, and all I can remember from what is old. I shall continue trying to grow up. I shall look for new paths, new journeys of discovery. I may appear to move more slowly than I did last year. I am carrying more baggage with me. I am carrying more of those who died and can no longer physically walk beside me. I love this journey. I am in no hurry to end it. However, I may have to take more stops along the way. The journey of life may seem slower when young. But, it is not. The young simply have fewer bags to carry. They only imagine they go faster, because they go lighter. I may be old now, but I feel light, too. Those whom I carry share their lightness of spirit with me. Someday, I shall become as light a spirit as they.
Cousins at play in public park: Tina, Victoria, Louise Annarino 1954
I have seen this hate before. I could not understand it then.I do not understand it now. When my mother lay dying it became clear to me that the only measure of a life is the ability to love. A body shriveled by cancer’s reach into every cell, wracked by pain, realizing death is near holds onto love, not life. Death’s grip is too fierce to break. But, the only thing death cannot destroy is love. I saw it in my dying mother’s eyes, reflected in my own. That love binds us still. It always will. So, no, I do not understand the need to hold onto hate when love is so much stronger. Love reveals our strength to us; hate, our weakness. Love displays our courage; hate, our cowardice. So, no, I do not understand hate.
As child of Italian immigrants, growing up in the 1950’s, in a neighborhood populated by two German immigrant families, dozens of Italian immigrants and a few Irish immigrants, I learned my place. Venturing too far away from the four block area adjacent to the railroad tracks we inhabited brought me to the Appalachian whites nearby, who could not afford to live anywhere else, so had to live near the despised and hated immigrants. Our Catholicism, a commonality of each immigrant group, did not endear us to “Americani”, either. We learned to ignore their taunts and sneers, threats and minor assaults with whatever weapon they wielded…a switch from a shrub, a golf ball, a pitched badminton racket, a rock. We were careful to avoid the “hoods” carrying switch blades. Skinned knees caused while running to escape and falling, split lips or bruises were not uncommon. To be clear, not all of those “Americani” participated in bully tactics; but, too few fully embraced us, and none defended us. I have seen this hate before. I have felt this hate before.
My parents explained that hate is not universal. Only cowards and ignorant fools cling to hate. Most people know how to love. Thus, we were admonished to never hate anyone. Stay strong. Show love no matter what. Be brave. Never start a fight; but, never run from one. Stand up to bullies. They are weak, fearful cowards and will back down. Hate is not endemic to white people, nor to any group. But, within every group there are cowards…bold, brassy, loud and stupid cowards. We held our ground at the playground. We ignored the jokes and jibes. We ducked the projectiles. We moved forward when told to get back, staring with fierce determination to continue to swing, to play ball, to run races. We seldom allowed hate to stop our games and ruin our fun. I learned to withhold my smirk when I saw the bully fall back and slink away. I learned to love despite the hate directed my way. I invited the bully to stay and play. Some did. Thus, we broke the force that would have driven us away from enjoying our childhood. We grew strong, fearless and full of hope for better days.
The recent anniversary of the assassination of President John F. Kennedy brought back these childhood memories. When the announcement of his death came over our PA system every class adjourned to the chapel at our Catholic high school. We prayed the rosary together. We prayed for comfort, peace and love in our country. Then, we were sent home to grieve with our families. I gathered my books, not knowing what to expect next, and when school might resume. Across the street was a public junior high school. As I walked by on my way home, clad in my school uniform identifying me as a Catholic, one by one, several public school students shouted at me, “We finally killed him!” “He got what was coming to all you filthy Catholics !” “ This is what happens to Catholics who don’t know their place.” I remember these taunts and all the others. They are tattooed on my heart and on my brain. I even can feel the look of confusion on my puckered brow, wondering how these young kids could hold so much hate for their own president, and for me, a total stranger who had done them no harm. How could they so dishonor the wonderful country we shared, and its democratic principles. No one is more aware of or more grateful for American principles than immigrants are. These long-time inhabitants seemed not to recognize such values at all.
That was then. This is now. Ignorant people still cling to their hate. But the indifference to the haters, the lack of comment rebuking haters which I expected but sadly never heard led to this day. Now, hate is fueled by the right wing of the Republican Party, and not condemned by its members. Worse, its chosen presidential candidate, whose first election succeeded because of, if not regardless of, his hate-spewed speech and hate-filled acts toward people of color, women and non-Christians is further encouraged to continue hate-filled policies and practices which will kill our democracy as surely as it killed Medgar Evers, Emmett Till, John F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King, Jr., Malcolm X, and Robert Kennedy. I have seen this hate before. I did understand it then. I do not understand it now.
I always knew I became a lawyer to stand in the way of those who blocked programs, policies and practices which honor diversity and seek justice for all. I would be in position where such efforts could be implemented and enforced. Only now, do I understand it was my armor to protect that child in me who still believes that good can prevail once we are willing to stand up to bullies; whether that bully is a landlord, bank, or company. The law is the bulwark against hate and harm, against greed and abuse of power. Now, I watch my beloved Law and its Courts undermined by those bullies by Republicans in state legislatures and the U.S.Congress, by Republican governors and secretaries of state and states attorneys general who support a bully as their fund-raising cheer-leader to cover their own dark deeds. The alternatives are not to choose between two evils; but, to choose good over evil. To choose love over hate. I watch the silent white supremacists alongside them allow them free rein. People of Color, Native Americans, immigrants have always known the Law favored the wealthy and powerful, majority of them white men. Now, we all recognize the system that has been in place for so long. As a nation we are reaping what we allowed to be sown. I still do not understand the hate that has allowed this to go on for so long. But, I will still fight such hate with love; until my dying breath…then beyond.
I know how to survive bullies. I am not worried for myself. I watch my country try to survive the bullies, those they eat dinner with at their private clubs who are shocked by what they see…what the oppressed have always seen. Yet, they stay silent or act entertained. Or worse yet, they choose to ignore what they have not wanted to notice. It is my countrymen whom I hope will uphold its constitution, its citizens I hope will stand up to bullies and vote them out of office before it is too late. The power of bullies’ wealth can be overcome by our numbers, if we vote. That is a big if. Mobilize, register, transport and assist voters to the polls. Write Letters to the Editors. Speak out on social media to friends and family. Meet your neighbors and recruit their support for the efforts it will take to stay the course of a democratic republic. I do not understand the hate. I never will. It does not matter. What matters is I will not allow hate to rule my country, nor anyone in it. I choose love, a love embodied in a country which puts no man above the law, and believes all men are created equal, with unalienable rights. I took an oath to uphold the constitution. I took an oath to love.
When we become isolated as we did for Covid 19 we stopped meeting those good souls who bring light and laughter to our world. We have along way to go to heal that sense of isolation. We can do it one moment at a time.
If we rely on social media, the entertainment industry, or even the news to bring others to us we face the stories least likely to display the inherent goodness of man and beast. “If it bleeds, it leads” rules our airwaves, our social media accounts, our own prurient interest.
This does not only damage our children, as studies show. It damages all of us. It is no wonder 38% percent of Americans sought mental health care during the past year.
Putting down the cell phone, closing the I-Pad, shutting down the computer is a life-affirming act. Engage other human beings who may be on their devices trying to connect with somebody, with anybody! Make eye contact whenever you get the chance. Interrupt your silence while waiting in interminable lines that have become the service sector’s bane, caused by understaffing. Talk to others waiting with you. Not, with a complaining voice; but, with an interested voice. The world lost millions of people who were productive workers, who made things run smoothly for all of us. Feel their loss with compassion for them, and for those left behind trying to fill their shoes. There is no fault in trying to cross fault lines with generosity for others’ struggles. Look in the face of the disgruntled worker at the fast food counter. Ask how they are doing. Listen and watch their expression ease. Perhaps, even garner a smile.
We are human beings doing our best with all that we have. Some of us have more to work with. Some of us have less. Everyone struggles with something. We need not carry others’ crosses. But, we can walk beside them, act as witness and ally to their struggle, encourage and support them with our strength, our love, and our respect.
This week has been one filled with unpleasant errands. Each time I was helped by someone who had few smiles and was overwhelmed by work. Yet, each person responded to my request for help with a gentle regard. Each person became more relaxed, smiled more, even laughed as I looked them in the eye and asked about their lives as they bent to the task of helping me. They performed acts of kindness, as they probably do hundreds of time a week. As I leave, I always tell such workers to thank their mother for raising such a wonderful son or daughter. Everything about their demeanor comes alive. They stand taller. Their shoulders drop and pull back. The creases around their mouth disappear. Their smiles appear. Everyone is someone’s child. everyone needs to be noticed. Perhaps, if we pay more attention to those who do good, more of us would be good.
I am guilty, too often, of bringing attention to the fools of this world who legislate, print, speak, and promote hate. Today, I want to remind myself and you of all those who courageously do good, despite being ignored and even disrespected. I want to thank all those who devote their hours, days and lives to being there when needed by others: the surgeons doing open-heart surgery on two of my dear friends, the UPS clerk who returns unwanted Amazon purchases, the tire guy who explains how tires work and deteriorate over time and which brand works best just for my car, the pharmacist who fills a prescription and the tech who answers questions over and over and over, the phone scheduler who finds a location with ease of access not simply an open date for an appointment, the neighbor who put out my recycling bin and returned it to its proper spot without being asked, the friend who called who really had nothing to say but “I love you”; yet, not in those words.I enjoyed my wait at the car dealer with the Muslim woman who spoke of teaching her children to pray and know the Koran at summer camp and listened to my story of teaching Catholic children prayers and the Bible in public-school-kid summer camp, the Italian-American woman who laughed as we shared family stories only Italians would find funny while we all waited. Lest I forget my beastly friends, thanks to the feral cat who chased the rabbits out of the garden, the songbird trilling a song while hundreds of fireflies danced in my yard last night.
There are so many ways to hide from one another. There are few good reasons to do so. Those reasons which do require hiding are fraught with danger and not to be ignored. But, too many times, our fears our unfounded. They are based on prejudice and ignorance. Too many times, we are simply afraid to look foolish. I challenge you to look like a fool today. Talk to someone you have never met, nor been introduced to as if they were a long-lost friend. You might just find out that they are your friend, even if just for a moment in time. The moments add up. Trust builds. Hope builds. Faith builds. And most importantly, love builds. Few of us are great. Few of us are famous. Few of us have any clue what we are about. But each of us can look others in the eye and speak, then listen with respect and interest. One moment at a time we can reconnect our world, a world where trust in one another creates a free, peaceful, and loving union of our citizens.
annarino writes 
FIGHTING WORDS
Poetry has fled.
Art hides in plain sight
behind clouds of flame,
beyond winds of change,
before plutocrats take the stage,
no longer waiting behind the scenes
which hide their rage.
Words have lost all meaning
when facts go unchecked
flung too fast to sustain truth
and belief in its power to right wrongs
for the weak and the poor,
tossed aside by courts which cower
fearing loss of wealth and power.
Which words are safe when lies procure
the party in power’s silent vote to score
total control of each life, each thought,
each breath threatened by dirty schemes
to pollute the earth, water and air?
Words cannot be spoken, claimed by death
of the rule of law.
No words exist to describe the depravity
some of us saw
as our words lay dying
first inside
then outside
where meaning can be lost.
Words remain frozen in heavy frost,
weighed down by cold hearts
and dead souls
seeking total control.
Freedom resides in words
which too often remain unsaid.
Words too softly spoken to wake
those asleep, escaping, all hopes dead.
Too few words of truth must compete
with an onslaught of unchecked lies.
I listen and watch, lost in thought.
I write and I plead against what we have wrought.
Poetry, I fear, carries too-little weight.
Poetry, perhaps, has waited too late
to escape the threat when so many lies
have buried the truth for power and greed.
Money has always been the creed
clothed in religion and faith
which grants God’s grace
to those who deserve to see His face
on dollar bills and hung on towers.
False gods seek our praise as they devour
a country whose best citizens
refuse to use their power to remain free,
and would rather lose their democracy.
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