"The opposite of love is not hate; it's indifference.
The opposite of art is not ugliness; it's indifference.
The opposite of faith is not heresy; it's indifference.
And the opposite of life is not death; it's indifference." ~ Elie Wiesel
It was February 14, 2008, Valentine's Day. Love was in the air. However, the expressions of appreciation offered were mournful. Doctors informed the family and his friends, Lawrence King, 15, was removed from life support. Two days earlier, young Larry was in the computer lab at E. O. Green Junior High in Oxnard, California. He sat with 24 other students when Brandon McInerney walked into the room with a gun. The armed classmate, fourteen-years of age, approached Lawrence with intent. Brandon aimed his weapon, pulled the trigger, and shot Lawrence in the head. Without hesitation, the shooter ran from the building. Circumstances led observers and police officers to conclude the act was intentional, calculated, and a conscious choice. Brandon committed what is commonly defined as a "hate crime."
In this a Presidential election year, citizens of this country are intensely aware, every vote counts. The world witnessed, in State after State people scrambled to the polls. Voters of every age have turned out in large numbers. The sprint to the White House is on. Most every electorate wants to join in. the people wish to return to power. Much is at stake. The people want to participate in the process.
Booker Harris and his wife Allie are not household names. There has been no round the clock coverage of Mr. Booker, age 91, who was deposited in a lawn chair, in front of the Superdome, during Katrina. Mr. Booker died there of dehydration, shock, neglect, and racism of the first order. Allie, age 93, his frail wife, sat at his side munching on crackers, unaware of her surroundings, or the death of her husband.
They'd survived wars, the Great Depression, the KKK, segregated water fountains/restaurants, schools, housing, red neck Southern sheriffs, numerous floods, and hurricanes. What they didn't survive was the contemptible corruption, and gentrification by disaster, of the 21st century. What they didn't survive, was a nation that boasts of dancing amongst the stars, visiting distant planets, yet is incapable of building a levee here on earth?
It may have been a January evening; perhaps it was earlier. The year was 2003. I was living in Orange County, California. I saw Gretchen as I exited the pool. She and I were newly acquainted. Quickly we realized we shared a solid belief; war is not an option! On this night, Gretchen mentioned there was a peace vigil at the corner of Anton and Bristol in Costa Mesa. Protestors were gathering across from one of the swankiest market places in the nation, South Coast Plaza. Certainly, Americans would be there, for in 2001, after the Twin Towers fell President Bush and Vice President Cheney encouraged citizens to go shopping.
In an afternoon conversation, Gretchen's son spoke of the event. He had been in the past and she was on her way there now. She asked if I would like to join her. I am as far from spontaneous as a person can be. Nevertheless, there are times when principles are more important than habits. Neither of us hesitated. Gretchen did not have to convince me to go. We attended our first peace vigil together. We were there within minutes. That was the beginning of an all too long and all too important series of protests.
For three decades, she has voted religiously in every California election. No ballot was too large or too small. All were scrutinized carefully. When she felt as though she did not have enough information to make a well-informed judgment, she turned to those who did. She had been an activist from the start and knew many that were deeply connected. She traveled in circles where people read books and wrote articles on affairs of state; they made political moves their lives. She always had.
This voter was willing to work as a volunteer. She offered to assist in telephone banks; she went from neighborhood to neighborhood collecting signatures for petitions. The woman stuffed envelopes, posted signs, walked precincts, and ultimately was asked to work as a Campaign Coordinator. She was not looking for the position, though others were. Her diligence and dedication to the cause promoted a candidate to ask if she would work for him.
Whenever this constituent moved, she immediately changed her voter registration, often before she ordered her utilities. Voting in every election was and is her highest priority.
For those of you that have been following my personal transition, I offer my home.
Please view the property, virtually. If possible, attend an open house. My doors are open to you.
If you are not able to attend on a weekday, the house will be open again on the weekend. You may enter 37 Eastmont on Saturday, September 17 between noon and 4:00 PM, or come on Sunday the 18th, at the same times.
I am immersing myself in a bubble. At times I am floating and at other times, pop! All that I thought was perfect appears far less than that.
Politics, puns, pontificating, professing, or pretending to know what I cannot imagine, are not my chosen path in this moment. Writing words of wonderment is beyond me for now. I am wrestling with life decisions. I have decided to make a huge change, to consider a life transition. I am certain that I need to at minimum, explore this idea. For the last two months, I have done much research, made many telephone calls, pursued practical avenues, and now the time has come.
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