Category Archives: COMMENTARY

LOVE ‘EM OR HATE ‘EM

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.

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LOOKING YOU IN THE EYE

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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.

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WOMAN’S WORK

My work life started with equality of effort and pay. Five year old brotherAngelo told me I could not help if I could not keep up. I kept up. We shared pulling our wagon through the alley near our house, rummaging through trash to pull our newspapers, cans, bottles and magazines. He pulled as I pushed the loaded wagon onto the scale at the junkyard across the street and down another alley. We checked each other’s math as Mr. Schonberger paid us pennies according to the weight of our load. We each received the same amount.

Angelo was able to secure a job as paperboy for the Newark Advocate. I tried but was told girls could not be paperboys. My brother allowed me to help him, as I always had, offering to split the pay with me. He hated going door-to-door to collect subscription fees. I was pretty successful at it. After awhile he became bored and started allowing me to deliver the paper as well. I was thrilled to finally be a papergirl, full stop! Except, Angelo retained his half of the salary on the premise I could earn nothing on my own so I still came out ahead. From that day on, I angrily experienced pay inequity. It takes many forms, is institutionalized and challenges to it are always risky. One can end up jobless, very easily. My own brother taught me those lessons when I was 8 years old.

After graduate school I became a Resident Counselor at a co-ed high rise residence hall at the University of Cincinnati. I soon discovered that I was paid less than the other three RCs assigned to our building. The other woman was entitled to her salary since she was considered the Head RC. But, the two men had fewer degrees than I and had less experience. Since we were a state university those were clearly defined bases for assessing wages. In my case those considerations were ignored. The second year in this position saw the Head counselor leave on maternity leave, one of the men transferred to the Athletic Dept. and the other man took a position as Head RC. These positional shifts left me to do the job 4 persons had been doing, with no increase in pay. I left after that year to attend law school, determined to learn what I needed to make the world a more just and fair place for everyone.

I will not go into the racism and sexism In law school, nor in my workplaces over the years. That discussion is for another day. Today is about pay equity. My first legal job was at The Legal Aid Society of Columbus. Pay equity was not an issue in this job. However, the salary there meant I was barely able to repay my school loans. I could not buy a car, could barley pay rent, and was unable to help out my parents or save any money for emergencies. I later secured a position at Ohio University where I could use both my legal training and experience, and my Student Affairs training and experience. I was confident the pay schedules would afford some protection.

I was wrong. After studying the issue of my pay versus the scale I realized had been placed three grades lower than the man who had preceeded me, who also had fewer degrees and less experience. He also did not have all the duties I had, and carried a much smaller case load as well. After a year-long study measuring my position against the pay scale at my university, the pay for similar position at other state schools in Ohio and state schools nationally I concluded I was grossly underpaid. Instead of filing a pay equity claim based on discrimination, I filed for a review of my position to bring it into compliance with the pay scale. I knew if I claimed sexual discrimination I would not have my contract renewed. I loved my job. I loved the work I did. I did not want to lose the position.

I never mentioned sex discrimination in my research report, my application for review, or any cover letters. I tread lightly. The wrangling went on for nearly 2 years while I patiently, if stressfully, sought pay equity. Finally, the Provost asked to speak to me. Such a meeting should have been unnecessary since the pay scale criteria were set and I met the criteria for a move up three grades and across the grade significantly. I had been underpaid from day one, but could only claim an amount due from the date of application for review, losing thousands of dollars in unmet equity. I was willing to forego those losses in order to retain my position. But, wanted fair and equal pay recognized and offered.

The first 5 minutes of the conversation with the Provost explained why he was meeting with me as he started to discuss sexual discrimination. I stopped him, reminding him I had not made my claim one for sexual discrimination which would have created a terrible image for the university, which I had pledged to serve. The university would be harmed if such a claim were made by its own legal counsel. He was caught off guard and stumbled in his speech. What do you want? I want what I have claimed. That started a negotiation. I did not get the back pay I asked for from day one’s misplacement on the scale. I did get the upgrade and back salary of two yers from the date I filed a job review request based on updated information. It was clear I would need to file suit to get full equity. I could not sue the institution I loved and hoped to continue working for. It was a bittersweet victory of sorts.

What I experienced at the university was not new to me, as such inequities existed in nearly every job I have held. Nor are such experiences limited to me. Every woman faces such discrimination. It is baked in to systems and those who create and manage them. It will not easily be removed. It impossible to attain equity but the costs are often too high for mere mortals to bear. A Vice-President for the university called me in soon after I was granted proper pay for my work. He told me the conversation we were about to have never happened should I repeat it to anyone. I will only say that he told me he had never seen such discrimination against any woman, and he had seen a lot in his career in private and public sector, as he saw in my case. He advised I remove myself from the position as the discrimination would not stop until I had been destroyed. He offered me a position under his area. It is hard to trust any man who starts the conversation, “This conversation never happened.” I did not acccept the position he offered.

I wonder, sometimes, if I could have avoided chronic fatigue syndrome which left me bedridden for a year, unable to speak or walk…or even sit-up or crawl. I relearned language. Learned to walk with a walker, then with a cane. I asked to do what many men had done following strokes or heart attacks, be in the office in the morning and work from home in the afternoon, I reasoned my hearings were usually scheduled in the morning. I could schedule meetings then as well; and, write briefs, make phone calls and do legal research in the afternoons. I was told I was not to return to work unless I could be in the office full-time. No man had ever been told this. I was in position to know. And this, from a boss who never came in to the office before 11 then left for a three hour lunch.

Women are marching across the globe for pay equity. I walk with them in spirit. I add my voice to theirs. This is the only way my health allows me to do so. Listen to those women. Hear their pleas. Help them. And do it “on the record”; not as if this conversation never happened.

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SKY WARS

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Before the world lit itself up like a Christmas tree on every corner we could stand in our backyards and view the Milky Way. Now, the stars are blocked, locked away behind the haze of nights ablaze in light. We can no longer mark our place in the universe, feel the smallness of our being, as we watch the movement of stars across the sky. We can no longer mark time throughout the night. I miss the stars. As a child I spent hours lying on my back in the grassy yard watching the stars move through the sky. We begged to be allowed to sleep outside on warm nights, stringing blankets like a tent over the clothes line. We seldom slept inside the tent. It was more for Mom’s benefit than our own.

I loved the sky, the way clouds moved across it. I sometimes let myself feel earth’s rotation through the passage of stars and clouds. I recognized that stars were fixtures, and it was I who was being moved about while standing on Earth’s surface. Such thoughts were dizzying, electric, compelling. One night, my Father and his brothers gathered all of us cousins in Uncle Frankie’s yard, out beyond any city lights that we might watch the passage of The United States’ first satellite Explorer 1, a year after Russia’s Sputnik 1. Its passage times were charted daily and printed in the newspaper. We stood in a single row with parents standing behind; children and adults both in awe. I was hooked. I was 8 years old. I am still hooked at 74.

Each autumn I made a leaf book. I collected the most beautiful and perfect leaves I could find from the trees along the neighborhood alleys and iron them between pages of wax paper to preserve their color and form, then sew together the pages into a book. I preferred to pull leaves from the tree before ground insects, soil and trampling feet marred their full beauty. The autumn I was 12 I was reaching up for a bright yellow oak leaf when I noticed an object brighter than any star in the afternoon sky. It was three times as high as the jet streaking across the sky, a tiny form one-tenth its size, far below. Such discrepancy in what I had ever seen in the sky startled me. I pointed it out to the neighbor children who were following my progress and searching for leaves. We stopped and simply watched in wonder for perhaps 30-40 minutes. For the first 30 minutes or more it did not move. It simply hung there, huge and brilliant in the sun reflecting off its surface. Everything else in the sky shifted as time passed. It stayed in place. That was confusing.

The shape was also confusing. It appeared as two curved plates turned toward each other, with a smaller curved plate in the center, below the main body of the object. It was a perfectly formed “flying saucer.” We could not believe what we were seeing. Yet, we could not take our eyes off the image. Suddenly, the object moved upward in a straight line faster than we had ever seen an object move in the sky. It was not flying at any speed we could comprehend. It lingered in its position for several moments then moved even more rapidly at a right angle directly right, stopped and immediately flew straight up again. We were not strangers to how planes or even helicopters flew. This was clearly neither one of those. We gasped at each strange move, entranced at its uniques pattern. Then whoosh! It flew so fast it literally disappeared from view. The breathless chatter of our group became a crescendo of need to know what it was we had witnessed. One friend, Paula, remembered a brochure in the box her telescope came in. It had a phone number we could call. She found the brochure and we read about Project Blue Book. It included a phone number. I called.

Project Blue Book was housed at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base in nearby Dayton, Ohio. An officer there took my call and said he would call back. My Mother was surprised the next day when she received a call from the officer to ask if she would allow me to meet with him and another officer at the Public Library the following day. She and Paula’s mother agreed we could meet. The two officers in military uniform met us and immediately separated us for interviews. I told my story, answered every question and drew photos to illustrate its form, position in the sky, altitude and movements. Then, I answered the questions a second time before the officers switched places. The interview resumed with repetitive questioning. At the close of the interview both officers sat with Paula and me and explained that were checking to see if our stories were consistent and true. They agreed we were truthful. They admitted we had seen what the Air Force called an unidentified flying object or UFO. The next step would take some time. More than 90% of such sightings turned out to be identifiable objects. They told us they would be checking for weather balloons, experimental flying objects of our country and of other nations.

Sometime later, the officer called to tell me what we had seen was a true UFO. They could find no explanation for what we had seen. He began sending me a monthly newsletter covering sightings around the country, some explainable, others not. I wish I had kept it. From that time on I paid attention to what we were putting up in our skies, and into outer space. I have watched the commercialization of space with concern, as the skies have become crowded without clear rules of operation worldwide. What goes up must come down and the duration of satellites and their eventual demise is a real concern for those of us on Earth below. The space race which began in 1957 has only picked up speed and, unfortunately, mass. Fortunately, NORAD, a joint effort by The United states and Canada, monitors those skies from the North Pole to Central America.

Events of the past week are not truly surprising. They are inevitable. The strategy behind the positioning of the Chinese spy balloon is interesting and worth considering. Unfortunately, Americans pay more attention to sci-fi thrillers than to facts and are more interested in movie scenarios than reality. The usual suspects are already claiming aliens are landing, one more group of “the other” to fear so white America votes hard right. Perhaps the Chinese strategy is not so inscrutable after all. Perhaps these events will awaken the world to the need to regulate the space where satellites and weather balloons claim dominance over those of us below. Keep looking up. There are challenges ahead and we must unleash imagination to meet those challenges. But, never fear. The best is yet to come.

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NOVEMBER 8, 2022

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Fear is funny that way.

Sometimes it runs hot.

Sometimes it runs cold.

Sometimes it sits and cries.

Sometimes it runs and hides

inside the mouth

under the tongue

where it is held hostage,

until it bursts forth in words

which ride on unleashed breath

in gasps and gulps

but flying free across the breach

to land on other tongues

younger, stronger, more free

to speak the truth

from mouths opened wide

whose words turn into votes

that set aside liars and their lies.

Then fear, finally, subsides.

Then words can move forward

to cool the earth,

to warm the hearth,

to fill us once again

with pride.

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SEEING IS BELIEVING

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Do you remember diagramming sentences. Your answer will tell me how old you are. It is a part of the human condition to believe what we know is the full truth. That what we perceive is full reality. My first science project in school led me to state finals and a blue ribbon. The title was “Seeing is believing ?” I studied optical illusions and, created activities demonstrating how what we see is not what really is. It was a mind-opening experience for me and for those who came to my table display. It started a need within me to open minds and challenge thoughts.

My second science project was the new (then) study of genetics. I was particularly interested in how RNA carried messages from the DNA throughout the body. Planaria have an ability to regenerate themselves. Cut off the upper half and it regrows a new upper half. The implications from that study left me in awe of possibilities such as regenerative limbs, eyes, body organs. It also made me question leadership and political growth and regrowth of political parties. For example, I wondered what the Asian subcontinent would have looked like if the British had embraced Ghandi rather than destroy him. Cutting off the leadership of a group may simply create regrowth one finds even more difficult to deal with. What if Martin Luther King and Malcolm X had been embraced instead of assassinated?

Of course, those RNA studies also prepared me to be first in line for Covid vaccination using MRNA technology. Medicine is on a new frontier since the human genome was mapped. Continued research opens up myriad possibilities for human health. As usual, when I think of physical health it also stirs an interest in emotional and psychological health. RNA is on the forefront of research of mental health as well. Then, I wonder what lessons such research teaches us about the social health of our communities, institutions, political structures and all groups.

The United States is singular as a nation which daily adds new DNA to its mix through immigration. Immigration is our RNA carrying new ideas, new ways of perceiving, new challenges to our perception of reality and opening our minds to previously unthought-of possibilities. Immigration is the source of our American body’s innovation and intellectual wealth which fuels our national economy.

Years ago I read articles decrying our education system because our students did not perform so well as Chinese students on standardized tests for comparison of intellectual status. What those articles seldom mentioned was that American students far outpaced students from other nations when creativity and innovation in problem solving was being measured. Instead of recognizing where our strength lies and enhancing teaching methodology to accommodate and pursue such strengths, politicians inserted their nationalistic noses into education and began requiring more standardized tests, more frequently, with worse results. Teachers now “teach to the test” instead of “to the student.”

Now, under the guise of American nationalism, Republicans push to control education even more by banning books, firing and un-licensing teachers who teach about racism, sexism, gender, and anything that even hints at a non-monolithic American (read white-male)identity and belief system. Such arrogant and ignorant intervention will not only destroy our educational system and those who are educated by it; it will destroy our national economy, Indeed, it will destroy our very nation itself. Such fools admire autocrats such as Turkey’s Erdogan, Belarus’ Lukashenko, China’s Xi, Russia’s Putin and Hungary’s Orban ; and American governors such as Florida’s DeSantis, Texas’ Abbot and others like Ohio’s DeWine who play footsie with such autocrats as Trump, McCarthy, Jordan et al. Republican politicians pay state visits, dine at their table, and praise them for their “strong” (iron-fisted) leadership; offering them as examples of the type of leadership America needs.

Voters should be wary of what they see in paid political ads, many funded by dollars given to fake charitable organizations (PACS) which are in fact propaganda machines, often carrying talking points prepared by foreign governments intent on undermining American democracy. Why would foreign autocratic leaders want to undermine democracy? Money! Autocrats do not simply control the lives of the people they rule. They control the means of production, the salary levels and profit margins, the wealth of their nations is their personal wealth. It no longer belongs to the people. The people have no say in how wealth is garnered, stored, maintained and spent. Its only purpose is to serve the autocrats. Undermine the examples of countries where the people rule their politicians, not vice-versa, and political leadership means greater wealth for the politician, but not the nation. The power of the gun lobby over republicans is an example of putting economic gain over public benefit here at home. We, the American voters, are the greatest threat to autocrats world-wide. They would destroy the example we set when we vote out corruption, and assert our control over our government. We do that peaceably by voting. Voting is our greatest strength and best protection.

Now, Republicans, more than ever, seek to undermine the power of our vote. They lie about election fraud, poll workers, election outcomes. They fuel distrust in fellow voters. They suppress the vote of those who challenge their leadership. They accept funding from foreign governments to boost such lies. The seek to place election deniers in Secretary of State offices, on county election boards, as poll workers etc. in order to control school board, local, state and nationwide elections. Republicans are now openly autocrats. How do they get away with this ?

I taught law as an Associate Professor in the colleges of Business, Medicine, Education and Social Work while also acting as Assistant Attorney General and Associate Director of Legal Affairs for Ohio University before retiring. I always started with discourse on the Declaration of Independence, The U.S. Constitution and Bill of Rights before I even began to use the casebook we would be using for that particular academic field of study. When I began, I was looking through the lens of my own educational experience. The students soon opened my eyes to new ways of looking at their readiness to understand law. I had summed they had been given a sound background in principles of democracy, civics, government and American history. I was wrong to assume so. Such courses were no longer “mandatory for graduation” course requirements. Very few of my students even knew there are three branches of government and that each branch creates law. I first had to teach American democratic principles, policies, structures and history before the cases I would teach them to decipher. I also scheduled a second classroom two nights per week to teach English grammar and writing to those who wanted a prayer of passing my essay exams. The first batch was unintelligible, lacking sound sentence and paragraph structure, and grammar. When I wrote a sentence on the board and asked for a volunteer to diagram it, no one volunteered. Instead I faced a class full of quizzical looks. They had no idea what a diagram was and had never heard of such a thing. I only did this for my first year of teaching, when my class size of 30 plus students still allowed for the time required. Soon, my glasses grew to 200-300 and I, ashamedly, resorted to multiple choice tests.

I know how so many Americans are duped by the Republican party today. They have been undereducated for several decades. We stopped supporting public schools since integration required us to face the results of our history of racism face-to-face, with real people instead of the racial tropes we had devised to assure us of our noble humanity. Recognizing equality was a slap in the face of white America. No one likes to take a hit. Better to pretend and create the illusion of superiority, instead of openly investigating our true historical reality. The Republican party was cut in half and has regenerated a disturbing adherence to autocratic rule, even if it requires divorcing itself, and us, from reality. This is not a true political party, but a cult, based on optical illusions and fear of facing the reality that no one is superior in a true democracy. No vote is superior in a true democracy, unless Republicans gerrymander those votes. Ah, yes, that they did! It seems, they still fear that even gerrymandering is not enough. How far will they go? To armed insurrection at our Nation’s Capitol and beyond ? Guess we know the answer. Go vote.

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LABOR DAY 2022

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My earliest memory of Labor Day was being lifted by my father from the stroller and placed on his shoulders. I remember feeling I might fall back and my mother’s hand holding me in place while she warned my Dad, “Be careful, honey.” Dad still had on his apron. He left work with his wife and children to watch the parade striding past his restaurant. I have no idea if the doors to the restaurant were left open. My guess is, knowing how the family business functioned, some uncle stayed inside to keep company with those already sitting at the bar this early in the morning. We never missed a parade.

Labor was honored in this Ohio factory town surrounded by farms. The parade was huge. The parade started a block away from the restaurant so we watched the parade walkers gather and assemble, the floats line up, the horses struggle against the urge to run, held pacing in place by their riders. We kids rejoiced in the front row view with insight into parade warm-up.

Every workplace, it seemed, had a float and/or groups of walkers. Factory workers carried their union flags and smiled as they passed out candy to the kids. Flags were in  abundance. Everyone in town participated in some way. Boy scouts and bands, dance and gymnastics academies, florists and glass blowers…farm equipment, police cruisers and fire trucks…politicians in cars, their wives and children smiling and waving. 

The parade queen was slightly less popular than the military and VFW contingent led by soldier, sailor, airman and marine cadres, followed by equipment from the local National Guard Armory. The soldier most vivid in my post-World War Two memory wore an unusual uniform. Dad explained he was one of the last living Civil War Union Army survivors. I shall never forget that man, ancient and proud of his service to country. He was bigger and better than the tanks, to me.

When I was about four or five years old I was considered old enough to sit on my dance school float. We were placed between two high school bands. It was deafening, if jaunty. I always got nosebleeds in the hot sun. Thus, I held a handful of increasingly bloody tissues in my hands; so, I could not wave at the crowd, nor wave away my humiliation. That never stopped me from climbing aboard the float. I simply learned humiliation should never get in the way of trying something new, and being part of the community. The ability to embrace humiliation cannot be underestimated. It has gotten me through every stage of life.

Farmers and factory workers lived and worked together in my small town. On Saturday afternoons farmers’ trucks and factory workers’ trucks were parked side by side on the town square while their wives shopped, kids sat on benches eating ice cream, and the men stopped into my dad’s restaurant for a quick drink. Later their families would join them for dinner there. Many of the farmers also worked in the factories, the unions protecting them both. A strong middle class grew in strength recognized by politicians as crucial to the country’s national defense. Post-war workers and politicians valued the middle class and encouraged its growth.

As I left for college the town was changing. A conglomerate was formed to shut down and take over local dairies, United Dairy Farmers was not a union protecting dairy farmers. It started the downward slide of strong family farms, substituting investor controlled farming which has usurped most of American farm production despite the current interest in “farm to table”. for centuries Farm to Table was firmly in place; until, investors saw a way to make money off the labor of farmers. Factories eliminated Research and Development divisions, relying on the easy gain to pay investors profits rather, than plowing profits into future gains which would ensure job growth and livable wages. Workers and farmers became serfs to investors. Today, even doctors and hospitals have become serfs. Wall Street investors now control their schedules, their workplace conditions, their decisions while practicing medicine. 

To make such a return to serfdom succeed unions had to be undermined and destroyed. After a short time, the parades ceased. Celebration of serfs’ labor made no sense. Companies which no longer invested in future growth and sound wages certainly would not invest in parade floats. Undermining union strength and avoiding the growing recognition that regulation of pollutants, safety for workers, and labor rights was accomplished by moving factories overseas. Acres and acres became ghost towns where workers mourned lost jobs. 

Brown fields blocked recommissioning the use of these acres to other uses. The costs to small towns was monumental. Politicians no longer valued workers but investors. Labor day lost it meaning. It simply became another day to sell hot dogs and potato salad, and lawn tents for family picnics, to those underemployed or out of work; cheap food for those no longer receiving a living wage. 

There is a resurrection going on. Over a million Americans have died in the Covid pandemic. The ongoing endemic and threat of more pandemics to come with global climate change disclosed a reduced work force. The broken immigration system, refusal to acknowledge existing refugee laws, and racial prejudice have further reduced our workforce. Supply chain issues have exposed the flaws in sending production of goods overseas, only to get stuck and threaten economic growth. 

These insights are giving rise to re-unionization of the American workforce. Our young workers have had it with wages so low they must have two to three jobs, cannot afford training or retraining to higher paying jobs, and must live in their parents’ basements. Workers refuse to remain serfs, working for Wall Street instead of Main Street. Workers have reason to hope this Labor Day. I only hope the parades can resume someday before I am gone. I eagerly await an epic Labor Day Parade as wonderful as those I attended as a child. It would mean labor is once again recognized and properly valued. I wish the same for workers everywhere. Higher wages, more parades. Workers unite!

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SPECIAL MASTER

SPECIAL MASTER

SPECIAL MASTER


— Read on annarinowrites.wordpress.com/2022/09/02/special-master/

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SPECIAL MASTER

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I cannot write carelessly about the Law. I am a retired attorney-at-law, former State Assistant Attorney General and former Associate Director of Legal Affairs for a university. I love the law with a passion. I am dedicated to the protection it affords individuals, my state, my country, my world.

The Declaration of Independence and Constitution of the United States are foremost in our minds when speaking of the treasure which is our Democratic republic. Brave documents written by men who had had enough of autocratic rule by a king out of touch with his subjects’ concerns an ocean away. Self-rule advanced eons by the declaration and constitutional reign of this nation of laws and not men. But, this new form of governance was at terrible risk of failure as it sought to establish itself among the colonists in the many states of the new nation. In 1789 George Washington signed into law the firs act of the new congress, the Judiciaries Act. The Judiciaries Act  established a three-part judiciary made up of district, courts, circuit courts and the Supreme Court, out-lining the duties of each branch. It also defined the role of Attorney General and the Dept. of Justice. It has been amended over the years, but never up-ended. The rights of appeal and the ultimate supremacy of the highest court to assure the constitution and the principles of the newly established republic were upheld in every state of the new union. Cases decided under this new system cemented the Rule of Law as the authority over its citizens. We have no king. We have no prince. We have political parties; but they have been given no authority to rule us. Let me repeat. Political parties have no legal authority over a free people. Only the law does so.

There have always been citizens seeking a king, or a party to undermine the Rule of Law. This is not new. What is new is a party which would be king. What is new are judges on our courts willing to acknowledge that party as king. 

A judge by definition must be an independent arbiter, looking to the American law and its principles to guide her decisions. No judge should EVER comment before all parties to a lawsuit have even filed their briefs; nor that she in “inclined” to decide in favor of a party to the suit. No judge should ever place party interest above the rule of law, its principles, and the security of the nation she serves.

Judges, like all public servants, serve the people.

There is a principle at work in legal ethics supported by courts to protect an individual’s conversation with his attorney regarding a legal issue. There is a principle at work supported by courts to not reveal through the normal exercise of court transparency those secrets of the nation which, if exposed, could cause irreparable harm to the very nation and its people’s national security. There is a principle at work supported by courts to protect witnesses and keep them safe.

In this case, an about to be charged criminal who stole the most desperately protected top secret documents, and it appears those likely including nuclear weapons secrets, hid that evidence of his crime amidst personal papers. Thus, we the people represented by the Department of Justice and FBI are faced with trying to sort the evidence of the crime for two reasons: to successfully prosecute a treasonous ex-president, and to protect our own national security and those who act on our behalf to do so every day.

Let me be clear, this case should have been disposed of by summary judgement the first day it was filed by the ex-president. He should have been re-directed to the court which handled the case from its inception, and this argument reviewed by the judge who already was handling the search and its legal issues. Or, it should have been dismissed since he had no standing to contest anything since the papers were seized as evidence of a crime. Not just any crime. A crime that endangers an entire nation, and other nations within our alliance. His criminal act of hiding documents should not then be used to further his and others’ crime. The delays caused the moment this judge accepted, and now continues to delay the efforts to unravel the crime and shut-down the threat to each of these nations, furthers the crime. A Special Master appointment furthers the crime. Justice delayed is Justice denied. The people of this nation deserve justice.

My guess is that the attorney-client communication at issue likely is more evidence of criminal activity affecting the survival of the country, which the attorneys should have reported, not argue should be protected. We are putting the interest of a single criminal over the interest of the continuing existence of the United states of America, and the republics around the world who strive to be equally free of kings, princes, autocrats and thug parties.

Individual interests are sacrosanct within our courts. This situation reminds me of the philosophical question about three people in a life boat with only enough food for one to survive delayed rescue. Who is sacrificed as the danger continues and prompt rescue is unlikely? Do we sacrifice one to save more? Who could decide such case? Judges face difficult situations every day. Solomons are not that rare. I once had a case where the divorcing parties last remaining dispute was who got the parrot. The Judge ordered the parrot split in half unless an agreement was reached in 10 minutes. Opposing counsel and I were thrilled to carry that message since nothing we said had moved either party over months of discussion. 

Judges must be decisive. It is implied by their title, right? “Under consideration” is a dodge where the legal issues are is clear as they are here. This judge seems to be looking for  a way to satisfy the party which holds her future appointments in their hands. Or, perhaps she was just not so qualified as she needed to be to decide cases at this level, or perhaps she has the nation’s interest at heart. But, if so, is she blind to the cost to the nation by her non-decisive action? Is she struggling to find some way, any way, to defend and support her “inclinations”?

The Rule of Law, the Judiciaries Act, are the cement holding together the foundation of any democratic republic. Our foundation is crumbling before our eyes, Silence is not an option.

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THE LONG HAUL

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Poetry saved me once thirty years ago when CFS laid me low. So low, I could no longer stand, sit up, kneel, walk nor talk. In fact, speech made no sense to me. When others spoke I heard noise, not language. Exhaustion over took every cell and the energy needed to operate cell function. It was an “all systems fail” experience that lasted for decades. Speech slowly returned after several months, as bits and pieces dropped from my lips, grammar-less and word substitution raising eyebrows when I attempted communication. It took one and one-half years to complete a single Easy Crossword puzzle. One puzzle, not the entire book. I relearned numbers and their relationships playing solitaire as I lay in bed. I learned to stand, then walk again; first with a walker, then years with a cane. I learned to read and write again, haltingly at first.

Poetry saved me. It gave me my first words. One morning I woke and picked up the empty journal by my bed, lifted the pen by its side and for the first time in more than a year I wrote nonsense for two pages until a poem suddenly appeared. This is the poem:

Snippets

like puppets

of the imagination

strung together

in the mind,

all mine.

With you they dance

in the breeze

of conversation.

Disjointed,

unanointed by grammar.

Flailing, distracted

emotion woodenly enacted.

Words tossed

together and apart

from the wound that is my heart.

what a performance!

I walk without aids now, 1-2 miles at a time. I garden. I paint. I write a blogs of poetry, commentaries, political essays. Before health restricted my ability to engage in personal contact with others I was able to be socially and politically active, personally. Now, I rely on words to show love and move others to action. Words I once lost are now my only connection to a fully lived life.

I worry for Covid long-haulers and what they will go through. At least they will be believed. Those of us with CFS(sometimes called ME, CFIDS etc) have seldom been believed. Only within the last year has my illness been given an ICD code although it has been a recognized disease by the CDC for decades. The reason this happened is because researches recognize the same symptoms in Covid long-haulers and thought it prudent to look at those with CFS. However, no data was organized enough to research since without an ICD code there was no effort to track patients like myself. Our medical histories are hidden and untraceable. My records will show only “easily fatigued.” That is the least of the symptoms; the result of the struggle against the underlying systems fails. Fatigue is not the disease itself. My hope is that we will not dismiss nor diminish the long-haulers who seek medical care in the decades to come. My hope is they will find the words needed to connect them to more fully lived lives. Life is good. The struggle is worth it. I pray they never lose hope. I pray they find the poetry of their lives.

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