Not a Good Idea -- Suing the Saudi Government

Dear family and friends of those who perished on September 11, 2001:

That was a terrible, terrible day.  I grieved for the loss of lives, of a sense of security, of peace.    Along with everyone else in this country, and even around the world, my heart was broken.  

The problem is, I see the senseless loss of life every day.   It’s all over broadcast and print news, and in social media.  Even before social media, and well before 11 September 2001, that kind of grief was real to me.    Many times, those left to bury their loved ones, most times killed by the hands of their own countrymen, citizens of the United States of America, had no recourse.  You know the ways people get killed here without justification or provocation; that litany need not be set out here.   So, while there was a terrible, terrible morning of violence in our country and thousands were lost, and it is normal to seek to hold someone accountable, I cannot help but think that to seek redress from another country’s government is not good for our fellow countrymen who may be in other countries right now, nor for the rest of us.   Is it right and fitting to risk their possible freedom, or possibly even their lives?  Or our national security?  

And to Congress:  of all the issues on which to unite, could you not have focused on something that is more pressing and affects the entire country?  Or would you rather have it shut down again, and in the process cause more Americans distress – financial and otherwise? 

I grieve for the thousands who perished on September 11, 2001

I grieve for all who have been abused by police officers who were/are psychologically and/or emotionally unfit for duty.

I grieve for four young lives lost at 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama, and the lives of all others who were maimed, crippled and killed to secure rights they did not have, for themselves and for those who came after, like me.

I grieve because all lives should matter the same, regardless of how those lives ended.  The sad commentary is that they do not.

It's Not the Size (of the Hands) That Counts

For more than a year, this country has been inundated with political campaigns, many of which have been waged like grade school popularity contests.   The personal attacks have been rampant, and more has been said about candidates and their families in many aspects than about candidates and their  perspectives on policies and issues that affect the operation and the very existence of the country.   

Last evening, the lopsided debate of the candidates from the two largest political parties was no exception.   And, of course, this morning is yielding the reviews and analyses (such as can be done) of last night’s debacle – oops – debate.   For the truly anal, there is a transcript, complete with fact-checking on National Public Radio’s website:  http://www.npr.org/2016/09/26/495115346/fact-check-first-presidential-debate.  

My morning message, however, is a tad more succinct.  I had a fleeting thought of the “small hands” issue promulgated by Marco Rubio (http://abcnews.go.com/Politics/history-donald-trump-small-hands-insult/story?id=37395515), and the responding thought (yes, there is running dialog in my mind most of the time) was “forget the small hands – those aren’t important.”

Indeed, the size of either candidate’s hands (nor any other body part to which this reference is alluded) is irrelevant.  What is important, however, is the capacity and quality of their minds.

“Great minds discuss ideas; average minds discuss events; small minds discuss people." 

- Eleanor Roosevelt 

What's in YOUR Closet?

He has a gun!   
Shots fired!   He’s dead.  
Oh, he had a license to carry.  Oh well.  
I feared for my life.

Every time police kill someone, the decedent’s present and past get plundered.   The things often found (sometimes after being planted) via the plundering are guns and drugs.   Folks then use these findings as to justify the killing.  Is there ever found a school book, comic book, technical manual, novel or a Bible?  What about a bottle of prescription drugs?   What about pictures of children or a spouse?   What about a protein bar — or even a candy bar?   What about a job application?  Or better, what about a police officer application?

ARE PEOPLE REALLY EXPECTED TO BELIEVE THAT THE ONLY THING FOUND AMONG A PERSON’S BELONGINGS AFTER BEING KILLED BY POLICE IS A GUN OR A STASH OF ILLEGAL DRUGS???

The sad, sad commentary is that the ignorant, the bigoted, the hate-filled, will delude themselves and use those findings as justification for the killing.   This begs the questions:  

What’s in YOUR closet?   
What’s in YOUR vehicle?   
What’s in YOUR past?  
What’s in YOUR heart?

When you are killed (highly probably if you are Black and stopped by police in the United States) – or when you die (by whatever means we will all do this), what will you leave behind?  How will you be remembered?

Profoundly Disturbed

This morning I am profoundly disturbed.  Upon learning via Facebook of the murder of yet another Black man by police, I clicked on the link – http://tinyurl.com/j2tl7ja –  read the article, and watched the video over and over.   And over.  And over.

Profoundly disturbed?  Yes —

• disturbed that while I cringe at horror movies I could calmly (at least outwardly so) view the real life killing of a human being

• disturbed that the sight of Hannibal Lecter is more than I can bear, but I would prefer to see someone of his ilk approaching my vehicle rather than a police officer

• disturbed by the realization that no matter what posture Mr.  Crutcher assumed, regardless of what “command” he may have followed – or not – most likely he would have been killed

• disturbed by the recent memory of driving home from the circus in fear of being stopped by police after learning that a headlight no longer worked.  (Yes, I am a 62-year-old woman, but something similar happened to my 67-year-old client and she was placed in the back of a police car while they checked her out.  This did not help her cardiac problems.)

• disturbed that I have a brother whom I love dearly, who is educated, a brilliant chemistry geek, a Biblical wizard whose dinner-table sermons should be heard by the masses, well-spoken, happily retired, and licensed to carry a gun – and is a Black man, and therefore statistically more likely to be stopped by police than any other man in this country.

• disturbed that all lives in this country do not matter – because at least 12% of them don’t – and they are Black.   Like me.