The line is wrapped around the block this morning. Hungry, frightened people wait in the freezing cold, hoping that this time they will get one of those coveted numbers that will yield a bag of groceries to help feed their families through the next week. Maybe two, if they really stretch it.
Liss has a post up with the names of those who were lost this year to hatred and bigotry, and the belief that those feelings grant the right to commit violence against human beings who don’t meet some arbitrary “norm”. I can’t imagine the pain their families and friends have experienced and will continue to feel for years to come.
One day isn’t enough to remember that we still live in a world where those who are seen as different must live in fear of abuse, assault, and even murder. Changing the world is an everyday struggle. Let’s get to it.
Henry Waxman has taken the chair of the House Energy & Commerce committee away from John Dingell.
I feel starry-eyed with hope.
Ted Stevens has lost his re-election bid. Good to know the people of Alaska won’t have a convicted felon representing them in Washington. At least for now.
What’s going on in your part of the world?
I’ve had my doubts about John McCain’s character ever since he kissed up to George W. Bush after the nastiness that was the 2000 South Carolina primary. Yeah, politics, strange bedfellows — I get that. But I could not cozy up to someone who allowed his campaign staff to go after my child. Not. Ever.
Now McCain is campaigning for Saxby Chambliss (R-GA), who faces a runoff against challenger Jim Martin. In 2002, Chambliss ran against incumbent Sen. Max Cleland, a triple amputee Vietnam War veteran, and had the unmitigated gall to question his patriotism. Unfortunately, the smear job worked, and Chambliss won the race. Here’s what John McCain said about Chambliss’ sleazy tactics at the time:
“I’d never seen anything like that ad,” McCain told CNN in 2003. “Putting pictures of Saddam Hussein and Osama bin Laden next to the picture of a man who left three limbs on the battlefield — it’s worse than disgraceful. It’s reprehensible.”
Yet McCain was in Georgia yesterday campaigning for Chambliss, a man who avoided military service (those bad knees haven’t slowed him down on the golf course, though), against Martin, a fellow Vietnam vet. He’s supporting Chambliss, who told his white base, “The other folks are voting,” and also said about black turnout for early voting, “There has always been a rush to the polls by African-Americans early…It has also got our side energized, they see what is happening.”
I’d call that reprehensible.
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Georgia’s Senate runoff is scheduled for December 2. Click here to contribute to Jim Martin’s campaign. If you want to contribute to Chambliss, you’re at the wrong blog.
Oh please, oh please, oh please! Del sent me word this morning that Anchorage mayor Mark Begich has opened a small lead over convicted felon Ted Stevens as Alaska continues to count votes in the Senate race. If this holds, not only will the reasonable citizens of Alaska avoid the shame of sending Ted back to Washington to be booted out by his colleagues, but Sarah Palin will be forced to take notice that God has slammed the political door. Again.
Here in Mobile, we have a snippy little joke about the “MGM Club”—”Married Gay Men.” There does seem to be a disproportionately large number of these marriages in my town. (I’d call them “mariages des convenances,” except I believe that term implies the wife’s knowledge of and cooperation with the arrangement; here, it seems like everybody except the wife knows, at least until the divorce.)
I’ve heard various explanations for this phenomenon, most having to do with inherited money and/or social position. So, I guess to answer the question posed by this Prop 8 protester, why the heck not? My daughter would be wealthy, established in society, and if the stereotype holds true, married to a congenial fellow who has terrific taste in home decor and always picks up his dirty socks.
But no. Since my daughter is heterosexual, I’d prefer that she marry a heterosexual man. And I’m sure that all the folks who voted for Proposition 8 feel the same way. Where we differ, of course, is about what all those gay men & lesbians who don’t marry our daughters or sons are supposed to do about their desire for an affectionate, committed, legal partnership.
(Sullivan’s blog post with the picture is here.)
A year ago today we were awakened by a ringing cell phone. I was so discombobulated that I couldn’t get to it in time. Surely it was a wrong number. No one ever called that early on a Sunday morning. When I finally dug the phone from my purse, I saw Tony’s number on the missed calls list. I called him back, and he answered, frantic, tears in his voice. “Kathy, I think he’s dead.” Surely, surely I didn’t hear that right.
Tony said Ken had had some kind of attack. He was fine one minute; the next, he couldn’t breathe. The paramedics were there, and they were about to leave for the hospital. I told him I was on my way. Surely he would be okay. The paramedics were there.
I packed a bag with the kind of thing you take when you expect to spend time at a hospital. A couple of shirts, some clean underwear, toothbrush and toothpaste. They might have to keep him a few days, but we’d be close to their house; I’d have a place to shower and wash clothes.
At the last minute Bill decided to go with me. He called his sister to stay with the girls, and we headed for Montgomery. My phone rang before we got to the interstate. Surely it would be Tony telling me Ken was better.
He wasn’t. He was gone before they reached the hospital, probably gone before they left the house. A heart attack, a stroke, a ruptured aneurysm? We don’t know. We do know he had been suffering with severe headaches for a couple of months before his death, but tests and scans had revealed nothing to explain them.
He went quickly. It’s what he wanted. He had watched our father die, slowly and painfully, just months before. He left behind an amazing and inspiring legacy, of which I’ve written a great deal. I’m so proud of him and what he accomplished in his much too short life. Most days that’s enough to get by on.
Today it isn’t. Today I just want him here. I want to sit and listen to him and Tony tell me about what they’ve been doing to the house and the yard, where they went over the weekend, how the dogs are doing, what’s happening at church this week. I want to ask him about the weed infestation in the front bed and how hard would it be to rewire the light fixture outside the garage door. I want to hear about the events he’s attended and the ones he’s planning and how important it is to work for justice for all people, not just the ones who look like us or believe like us. I want to see Tony light up when he walks into the room. I want to see my mother smile again.
Today he’s been gone a year. All the magical thinking in the world won’t bring him back. Tomorrow I’ll get back to cherishing the memories and doing what I can to carry on the work. Today I hurt.
The people on the front lines are the first to fall. We’re all stretched this year, but I hope and believe we will do what we can to help those who are hurting the most.
