Code Pink Journals CodePINK Journals

Work 4 Peace,Hold All Life Sacred,Eliminate Violence! I am on my mobile version of the door-to-door, going town-to-town holding readings/gatherings/discussions of my book "But What Can I Do?" This is my often neglected blog mostly about my travels since 9/11 as I engage in dialogue and actions. It is froth with my opinions, insights, analyses toward that end of holding all life sacred, dismantling the empire and eliminating violence while creating the society we want all to thrive in

Thursday, September 06, 2018

I'm the problem...

I've womonaged to extend my workout at the y this afternoon to beat the heat - and to watch/read the disgusting kava hearings that should not even exist. I'm SOOOOOOO proud of MY senator Kamala Harris, who I've had the distinct honor of voting for several times!!! Durbin shocked me with his ruthless honesty calling out tRump, and Cory Booker - another hero, saying try to get rid of me, I'm telling what I know.

But leaving the y I'm stuck in Philly traffic as I try to advance to Whole Foods to continue using wifi and cool air. A young white man in a pick up truck next to me, drops his window to lean over his passenger seat to tell me "there are some good white men". I grin at him and do my best fake shock, hand over the heart and all that "what, really?" but he responds seriously, "yes, I'm a good white man".

I tell him I'm sure he is as he tells me he has three beautiful daughters  and he tries really hard to not be sexist in his interactions with them. I nod and smile my approval as he continues telling me that he talks to old white men about their racism. I tell him I support him doing both, and don't add out loud as he should.

"But your sign" he indicates the back of my truck "makes me feel like I'm the problem."

Traffic is starting to move and he will be ahead of my lane in a few seconds so I quickly ask him "to take a few quiet moments to himself, and honestly look at where that feeling comes from." I add but don't think he's able to hear "not all 'good' white men react this way". He is nodding contemplatively as he returns his windows to their closed position.

Interesting, the white men responses to "End the white and male war..."


I've gone ten miles out of my way to find a laundry mat with both air conditioning and wifi but I don't get to plug in and work because as I'm putting my clothes into the dryer a very tall older man with a "Viet Nam Vet" cap slung over his forehead approaches me and asks me if he can take a picture of my truck.

I say of course, all four sides! He tells me how much he loves it. I struggle to understand him as he speaks fast, has no teeth, and the laundry mat is so very noisy plus there's loud music playing - music I want to sing and dance along with.

He comes back as soon as I'm finished loading my wash machine - it was hi-teck and I had to get help figuring out how to pay my $4.95 for the damn thing. He starts talking to me about food: he's an organic gardener, retired military, and has a large garden at the airport on land no one wants or can build on. Plus he has another garden in West Philly. He says people aren't looking to grow food anymore but he has some of his grandmother's seeds!

He has misinterpreted my anti-monsanto mural. He doesn't speak Spanish and doesn't realize I'm saying NO GMO's as he points to that symbol and starts to tell me all the bad, side effects of GMO food. He's so happy when I tell him I'm anti-GMO. He talks about horse manure and straw as the only natural things you need to make the soil strong to grow delicious food.

I ask him if he wants some seeds - I tell him I'm also a seed-saver and I love handing out organic seeds to folks. He's very hesitant at first but he has three acres! It must be difficult and expensive to find seeds for that much land! Finally he tells me he has a bag of tomatoes he harvested today that he was going to give to someone else but he'll trade me for seeds!

We make the exchange as I get a phone call I have to answer so I never get to taste the tomato and tell him how yummy they are. And how timely, as it's still too hot to cook

Wednesday, September 05, 2018

The monsanto mantra

I'm hiding from the heat again, this time in Morgantown West Virginia at the library. I have to pay for parking - 2 hour ONLY Strictly enforced - so I'm writing quickly.

Morgantown is a treasured memory of my early adulthood when I had the dubious honor of attending college, for the first time, in southern West Virginia. Morgantown was the place all the northerners at Wesleyan drooled over (after Pittsburgh) and fantasized about escaping to - the biggest city around.

The streets are so small and narrow, the buildings old and in many places lacking sidewalks, but even more, windy and hilly. The beautiful river is concreted off from public access, altho there's a lush green grass park running paralleling the river with an asphalt trail snaking down the middle. Trees appear as oases (that's the real plural of oasis...) along a river bank that I'm sure was blanketed with trees and vegetation.

I feel the familiar pang of loss and deepest sadness when the picture of long ago (50 years now) superimposes itself on this 'new' Morgantown.

Parking costs 25cents for 20 minutes and so many cars drive through or around this maybe 6 street 'downtown' that it takes a good 10 minutes to go 3 blocks.

I've only gotten fuck you's thus far from white male drivers - that hasn't changed over the decades.

I am pleased to find a food co-op on the edge of downtown. No parking close by but it is my habit to stop at co-ops if I can. In the old days, food co-ops were guarantee lesbian places, as were libraries. I have to walk the length of downtown to get from my parking space to the co-op - and this time I have to pay 25cents for 15 minutes!

The co-op is in a beautiful old building, with two sections or storefronts: one includes a little vegan cafe and the herbs and environmentally products from makeup to shampoo to dish soap, as well as every vitamin and supplement known to man.

The other side is the produce and food products part. I'm looking for greens, even though it is too fuckin hot to cook - they'll probably just cook themselves! Much of the produce is labeled "local" and some is labeled "organic" but not all.

You know the answer I got when I asked the sweet young white girl, pierced and tattooed, if the greens were organic. Oh no, much too expensive to get certified mantra of Monsanto...

She did not appreciate my challenging her holding onto and passing on that mantra. But maybe she'll do the research, she is after all, in a university town!

Tuesday, September 04, 2018

Anti-male, anti-white, and anti-trans....grrrrr

I'm still hot as hell - the shower I took earlier at the y is as far distant as a childhood memory - but I need to get a couple hundred miles east so I can make it in a couple days to my veggie oil guy's place in time .

As I roll down the window preparing to take off, I notice a large charcoal grey pick up truck roll up beside me, angle his truck in front of me so he can lean across the passenger seat, smile broadly, in order to let me know with that both white and male confidence that little ole me just needs to be told and of COURSE I'll agree that "racism works both ways".

I meet his smile and ask "Huh? And what ways are those ways, do ya think?"

His smile loses a little of it's luster as he leans even farther over to try to almost whisper emphatically "brown people can be racist too" and then adds quickly "so can Black people."

I get out the truck and walk over to his window before he can roll it up and drive away, as I'm sure is his intention. He just wants to deliver his racist bomb and ride away into the sunset (which is not setting fast enough for me).

I ask him if he knows the difference between prejudice, bigotry, discrimination, and racism because "what I think you're describing is bigotry or prejudice, not racism."

He rears back and sneers "You're talking about power. They have power, you pretend they don't, but they do."

"Oh" I say, very curious now, "so you've already been informed about power."

"Yeah and it's bullshit. 'They' have just as much power as I do. In fact...." But I interrupt him, I know what he's going to say.

"The only reason you're saying that is because you're white and male and you can dismiss or ignore or negate your power."

He rolls up his window then, indicating if I'm interpreting this move correctly, that our conversation is over. I flash him the peace symbol, which he takes such great offense to that he lowers his window once more to yell at me "You're just anti-male and anti-white".

And he's right, although not in the way he thinks: to call out the truth of racism, is to be anti-white when white means racist; to identify the truth of sexism, is to be anti-male when male means sexist; to point out misogyny in transdomination theory is to be anti-trans when trans means attacking, defining and exploiting female sovereignty.

I see him shaking his fist in his rear view mirror and hear him yelling "anti-male, anti-white" all the way out of the parking lot.

So be it.


Oh no, the 'buying new' choice....

It's 98 degrees and only 10a.m. There's no way I can drive in this heat, and not because I don't have air conditioning - it is actually much more pleasant driving with the windows down than being outside. But because the strain I'd put on both the engine and the tires.

But being outside my truck is challenging, to say the least, in this heat. Already I've used the early morning 80's weather to change first one veggie filter - the small one - but when that didn't result in a smoother ride, I found an auto parts store and bought two more filters for my veg oil system: the big one and the pre-filter little one.

I was pleased to notice there were two womyn working in the store, both white, although the boss was a younger white male, of course. Still gotta work on that! They were so friendly and helpful, even after I dropped the new oil filter (filled to the brim with cleaned veggie oil) on their pristine cement parking space while I was in the process of changing that filter....grrrrrr

Then I went to the hardware store and purchased the screws necessary to replace the two that had disappeared from my camper door lock, plus a few eye hooks so I could re-secure my dish drainer to the camper wall. If you have a camper, you know that EVERYfuckinTHING needs to be secured down if you want anything left after driving even a couple miles.

So I feel SOOOOOOO accomplished, once again, having fixed my veg oil system, the door lock, and the dish drainer. Now I need to find a ymca and then library or grocery store where I can huddle for the rest of the day, waiting for whatever relief from the heat and humidity the dusk will bring.

Of course, my sense of accomplishment is tampered by my knowledge of making choices that counter my values and I'm breaking one of my first 10 'things to do' that anyone can do: never buy new.

Monday, September 03, 2018

My big mistake...

I totally spaced the holiday so I can't find a ymca that is open nor a library but I did find a Fresh Thyme. We don't have Fresh Thyme's in the west as far as I know but I really like them in a pinch because, although their organic section is very small, it is fresh and often cheaper than Whole Foods. But mostly because they have a very private section with chairs and tables in the front of the store with free wifi and plenty of electrical outlets. The very best feature of this part of the store is the height of the tables that line one wall: you can easily stand and work - or lean on the tall stools. I hate to sit and write, especially after driving most the night through driving rain and horrid humidity to land in sunshine, humidity, 100 degree heat and no open y's!

I've spent the good part of the heat of the day here - not catching up on my blog, but putting out emails and answering emails for future readings/gatherings/discussions.

I also finished the editing for my 3rd printing of 100 books, at least all the editing I'm doing this time - the first 15 or so chapters. I'll focus on the last 15 or so chapters for the next edition. I have to get a rush printing anyway because of all the readings I've scheduled this weekend...

So I'm in the middle of gmo corn-on-crack corn fields, mega farms and green rolling hills, getting into my truck after avoiding waves of white male anger coming from the revving engine black truck parked opposite me when I notice an older white womon in some kind of sedan has circled past me twice, staring openly and in disbelief as she goes around my truck.

She finally parks two spaces down from me, grabs her large shoulder bag, and comes strolling over. I've rolled down my window but I open the door and start to slide out but she's already there expressing her wonderment and firing questions at me.

At first I can't tell if she's a positive or negative, she's so taken with the fact that I exist, my truck exists, and asking me how I came into this existence. I tell her about 9/11 and thou shall not kill, and then the rest. I'm pretty sure she is trying to smile but is gaping so broadly it's hard to tell.

Margaret, she says, when we exchange names, who has lived in Indiana all her life. She is small, in an old lady dress, curiosity overcoming any misgivings she might have talking with a stranger so different from her church friends, I imagine. She is catholic, pissed as hell with bishops and even the pope, the one and only pope I actually occasionally like.

She finally confesses how deeply her faith in knowing the truth has been undermined, how hard for her to know who to believe, who is telling lies, she's given up. But she adds hastily - even before I tell her believe in womyn - she believes me and everything written on my truck. She has had a hard life - her eyes leave mine and I know she's talking about church-condoned male violence - although she's quick to assure me her life is better now, she has survived.

I guess she is one of the 64% of old white women who voted for tRump and so I ask her. Her eyes bore into mine as she angrily tells me it was such a big mistake as he hasn't done anything she thought he would. I ask her, as I always do, what did she think those things were, that tRump was going to provide us.

She waves her hand turning her head in disgust, causing a flash of brilliance sparkling in the weak but still hot rays of the setting sun off her ring of diamonds, temporarily blinding me. Because he wasn't a 'politician' (just a fuckin billionaire, I mumble under my breath) she considered him one of the 'normal' people who wouldn't lie like politicians.

I don't ask her "when has a rich man done anything for you" but between her ring, her sedan, and her health she perhaps has had a rich man doing many things for he. 

I have to ask her how could she, as a womon of indeterminate (to me) age although I would guess late 70's, given the only opportunity she's ever had in her entire long life to vote for another womon, how could she choose not to?

She shakes her head sadly, protesting she didn't know until recently about how many concentrated lies the media was spreading about Hillary. "It was really both of them together, the Clintons" as if they're inseparable like water and wet - which I don't point out the internalized sexism in holding a female candidate responsible for her husband...grrrrr - that, well she believed they had murdered so many to get so high in politics, that they were 'traffickers' and all around evil people.

Did she think about what tRump did to become a bazillionaire?

While she's talking, she riffles through her pocketbook - the one hanging over her shoulder - and pulls out a little red purse that she opens and takes a $20 bill to hand to me. I ask her if she wants a copy of my book but she hesitates and appears so uncomfortable, I wonder if she reads. She wants to know if I sell it. I nod, hold up her donated $20 and say she's already paid me for it.

She promises to read it and pass it on to her womyn's group at the church - the womyn's group who have been talking about nothing but the betrayal of the men of that church, a conversation I'm sure womyn have had over the eons. Maybe that's why womyn became nuns and isolated themselves from those men in the first place. What do I know.

I encourage her to bring me back to do a reading/gathering/discussion with her whole group - I'm very mobile!

Sunday, September 02, 2018

The Guilt, The Bad, The Problem...

In my line of work, confronting bigotry, racism, sexism, sometimes liberal whites respond with declarations of guilt caused by the info I'm revealing to them, or maybe perhaps the way in which I'm revealing it.

Often they also say they feel like they’re bad people or worse, they are part of the problem.


This happened today at a reading in Madison when an older white womon told me I was making her feel guilty. Liberal whites expect that to be the end of the conversation, well maybe the end after I apologize for laying a guilt trip on them. For it seems to be a condition of liberalism to avoid like a plague making anyone feel guilty or bad or ‘the’ problem.

So I asked her what she feels guilty about but she quickly claims just doesn't want to feel guilty.

Ok, who does? I ask her  “I’m wondering why you disparaged my veggie oil truck?” to which she responded with cautious smile she never did. I look at her with my best disbelief expression “Really, you didn’t? Last week at the grocery store you put down my truck’s paint job and told everyone who would listen that a 5 year old could have done a better job?”

“No,” she is leaning toward me, firm and sincere, frowning now.

“Well, maybe that wasn’t you,” I concede and she begins to slide back, “but I know it was you who broke my cell phone and then hid it in the garbage can.”

She jumps upright in her seat and demands to know what the hell I’m doing, to which I respond “I’m trying to make you feel guilty. Do you feel guilty?”

“Hell know, “ she responds, “I don’t have anything to feel guilty about.”

“That is my lesson for this day. I don’t believe anyone can ‘make’ us ‘feel’ guilty unless there’s something we’re doing to feel guilty about.”

Everyone in the circle, including Sarah, nods slowly as I explain.

So I urge my participants to try something different, when they’re talking about or being confronted with racism or sexism, or any ugly truth etc. If and when feelings of guilt, of accusation, of I’m a bad person comes up for you, take a few minutes and step back, open your mind and thoughts to figure out what exactly it is that you have to feel guilty about, to feel bad about, to feel like you are part of the problem.

And then change it.

Saturday, August 25, 2018

dumb and dumber pro-fetus folks

I see a big painted billboard on the edge of a gmo corn field facing the highway, saying "SMILE" with a bright blue smiley face under it.

Then under the smiley face, it says "Your parents choose life"

It's CHOSE idiots.


I'm hanging out at a very fancy rest stop building on I320 from Iowa City to Cedar Rapids, waiting for my cell phone to get enough charge to googlemap me into the Y at Cedar Rapids. It''s been sooooo gloomy and my solar is challenged anyway, with one cracked battery, so I'm unable to even charge my phone - first time ever in 10 years!

A tall, chubby older white man in shorts and baggy t-shirt stretched tight over a huge belly is circling around me when I notice he stops and waits until I turn and smile hello.

He asks me, incredulity spreading wider than shirt, "You really believe that?" He's indicating the back of my shirt. I know the front of my shirt says "Abolish Prison" but I can't remember what the back says.

As I painted it, he should know I believe it but I ask him what it says. "Abolish Police"

I treat him to my shortened version of absofuckinlutely. We do not need armed men walking around amongst us.

He can hardly speak, and I don't think he's a man who normally stutters much.I take advantage of his void and say "The police only kill people - especially Black and brown people - and throw them and poor white people into jail."

He finally has found his voice, a sound that echos loudly in the great acoustics of the center. "We need the police." I immediately interrupt him with "Rich and white people need the police to keep everyone else poor and struggling."

"But there'll be anarchy without the police,"  he shouts, desperation displacing his incredulity.

I ask him what does that even mean. But then I don't even want to know. Instead I say, "I know, you think people will go around killing each other, and setting up gated communities to keep their riches in and the poor without. And the rich will hire private security guards to patrol their grounds, or landlords will hire private security guards to protect their property..."

"We need the police to keep order," he retorts. I tell him no we don't, there is another way, other ways. We know there are other ways. I see a shiny gold cross hanging on a heavy chain dangling over the collar of his t-shirt.

"So you're a christian," I acknowledge. "You above all others in this country should know that police killing people is wrong; guns are wrong; taking life is anti-christian."

He abruptly walks away then, probably sorry he asked!

Friday, August 24, 2018

Making the connections...

I offer a friend an organic banana and she tells me there are too many carbohydrates in that banana for her to eat.

Really???? I'm thinking. Really??? The only thing I say is that they are the good carbs and your body needs good carbs.

She says something about for a diabetic there are no good carbs.

She is young, maybe in her early 40's, and drinking a can of diet pepsi. Fuckin diet fuckin pepsi.

I want to point out that this banana has more nutrition and is soooooooooooo much better for her than this can of chemicals and fake sugar.

I want to tell her a banana is full of potassium and magnesium, vitamins and fiber and even proteins! While her can is full of poisons that are probably pushing her toward diabetes faster than any little organic banana is capable of.

But I feel like I've already overwhelmed her with information this weekend and so I let this slide but now feel bad I didn't share this info with her.

Thursday, August 23, 2018

New, crisp 100 dollar bill!

My dear daughter has sent me my last box of 25 books from Atlanta to Des Moines, where I will be reading this evening at a picnic in the park with a wonderful lesbian group.

I enter the tiny cargo office in a low red brick building where there’s a heavily bearded white male behind the counter staring intently at a computer and next to me another white male, balding and casually dressed but on the well-groomed side attempting to mail a small cage with a little $2000 dog (I learn later) to Birmingham.

He kinda glares at me and points out my “Death to Racism” and asks why? I respond with my normal “what would you like to happen to racism?” question and we’re off on a 45 minute discussion while I’m acutely aware I failed to turn down my veggie oil but sacrifice my glo plugs in favor of continuing our conversation.

He tells me he doesn’t think racism exists anymore. I tell him that’s because he’s white and male so of course he doesn’t want to think racism still exists.

When I’ve convinced him that racism exists, he asks me what I think we can do about it. I tell him I don’t think that’s the right question, as there are millions of things we “can” do about it. I think the question for him and all white people is what do we “want” to do about it? Once we decide we WANT to do something about racism, we’ll be able to listen up, speak up, act up.

I tell him he and most white people want to see the racist as the KKK’r or the nazi, when really all white people have benefited and continue to benefit from racism. It’s a legacy on our backs, as misogyny is a legacy on the backs of men.

I talk about my book, and how I break down these myths and lies and legacies.

Tom, he later tells me, is a christian who home schools his 7 children, is fiercely anti-war and thinks the military is the number one scourge of our nation. So we have huge common ground.

He starts to tell there’s a clear and concise formula in this country that allz people have to is to follow the formula and  they will make it. I stop him right there and challenge his formula theory as a myth and propaganda so he and white people will not see the racism and sexism driving that formula.

I site some statistics like for every $100 white people have, a Black person has $8. He listens, absorbing the details, and then points to Obama as an example of what happens when you follow the ‘formula’. “What about him?” he enquires. I tell him the system allows for one or two oppressed people to slip thru so that white people like us can point to him and say “Oh he made it, so can you!”

I tell him he wants to believe we all start out on a level playing field – another great myth of u.s.ofa. democracy. I tell him that even before a Black child is born, she is 8 times more likely to die than a white child. Black and white children tend to begin kindergarten with the same academic abilities but by 2nd grade, Black children have already fallen behind – not because they’re stupid, less intelligent but because of how schools are funded in our country: by property taxes.

So then we get into who lends money to Black people to buy homes, redlining, and how Black womyn pay the highest mortgage rates in the country.

He leans toward me, lowering his voice, to tell me conspiratorially he hires Mexicans to work in his business. He invites “them” into his home, takes “them” out to a meal on occasion, he teaches them English on occasion as well.

I think he’s telling me that to take the racism out of his next statements.

Tom asks me if I thought Obama’s immigration policy is better than tRump’s. I say “You mean putting refugees from u.s. military aggression and horrific foreign policy fleeing to this country into jail and taking their children from them to be incarcerated into another jail states away?”

He tries to tell me that’s only happened to 24 children. I know he sees the challenge on my face but I merely ask him “If that was your children, or even one of your 7 children, taken from you and put into a jail somewhere, would you think 24 is an ‘only’ anything?”

I state unequivocally that putting refugees into jail is criminal and should NEVER happen.

Of course he then has to launch into the murder by one of those refugees Obama let in the country, of a beautiful, young white womon who went jogging over a month ago and disappeared, according to her boyfriend who reported her missing, never returning from her jog.

I know exactly what he was talking about. Just a couple days ago, a Hispanic man confessed to the murder – a murder he doesn’t remember clearly but thinks he must have done. He’s a immigrant who has been in Iowa for four years allegedly. So this murder and his arrest have given the racist anti-immigrant faction in Iowa and probably around the country, lots of kindling for their burning hatred.

Instead of defending Obama’s immigration policy I ask him about the fact that from January 2018 until July 2018, 154 mass murders have been committed in this country: not ONE by a womon; nor ONE by a man of color; but ALL by white men.

The young bearded man turns his hard eyes from the computer screen and interrupts us: “See,” he near shouts, “you are being racist, you are stirring up hatred against white people. People are just people and you are dividing us.”

I try to say if “people are people” how come the race and immigration status is coming into play with this recent murder? Which might turn out to be someone railroaded for this crime.

He is adamant in his ‘proof’ that I’m a racist, stirring up racism so I return my attention to Tom and ask him how come he doesn’t feel the same hatred toward all white men who have committed so many more crimes and promote the incarceration of white men?

Of course, he’s not going to do this. Instead he asks me what I mean by ‘mass’ murders. I tell him it’s when at least either three or four (I can’t remember exactly) people are killed at the same time by the same murderer. And I tell him over 70% of those murdered are womyn and children the murderer claimed to have loved: i.e. ‘domestic’ violence (I hate that ‘softening’ of male violence as well). He nods slowly.

The bearded white man behind the counter asks me impatiently why I am there. He grabs the paperwork and shoves the box across the country just at the same time Tom is asking “but what do you think I can do about all this?”

And I have the perfect opportunity to urge him to buy my book. I take the box outside before I’m ordered out of the place and open it in my truck.

Tom comes outside still carrying his cage with the tiny expensive fluffy white dog cowering in a corner, and says he wants to buy my book.

I tell him it’s $20 if he can afford it, or whatever he can afford. He pulls out a wad of bills bigger than a 2nd Ave Deli pastrami sandwich and starts riffling thru the 20 dollar bills. He finally reaches a bill he’s satisfied with and pulls out a hundred dollar bill to hand me. I’m thinking there’s no way he wants change after all those 20’s which he confirms: he wants to pay $100 for my book.

I’m delighted, to say the least, as I stick it quickly into my pocket, asking him to let me know what he thinks of my book when he assures me he’s going to read it immediately.

Standing on the hot pavement between our vehicles he tells me he’s a former meth and heroin addict who was saved by jesus christ. Then he starts, mildly but there anyway, urging me to accept jesus into my heart and god the creator.

I tell him with great sincerity I’m so happy for him that he was able to kick the drug habit, thinking of all the grown children of my chosen sistars who have not been able to kick this habit. I know he believes god came down, spoke to him, and entered him. Who am I to deny that in any way.

But who I am is someone who has escaped such addiction and doesn’t need this crutch in my life and so when he hugs me and bestows his blessing upon me asking his god to bless me and to reveal his love to me, keeping me safe as I travel, I have to bestow my own blessing on him, telling him may lesbians bless him and bring our magic close to his journey through life.

Wednesday, August 22, 2018

Kicked off facebook AGAIN challenging racism...

I'm only grateful I got to post my upcoming readings and invite folks before facebook caught up with the post I sent out a couple dayz ago when I learned about the white people in a Georgia voting district that is over 60% Black deciding to eliminate all but one or two polling places for the upcoming gubernatorial race where Stacy Abrams is running.

Georgia has NEVER had a Black governor, even with a 30% Black population, and never had a female governor period: in fact only TWO states have had Black male governors ever and only 42 white womyn in the entire country have ever been governors period.

So I posted the article about the fuckin white people of Georgia wanting to prevent Black people from voting for fierce, kickass, more than progressive Stacey Abrams. And I got blocked again, this time for 3 days!

Last month I got blocked for pointing out that since January 2018 until July 2018, 154 mass murders were committed: not ONE by a womon, not ONE by a man of color but ALL by white men: white men are the MOST VIOLENT in our country.

This was against "facebook community": and how was/is that? Our country, including facebook is SOOOOO invested in keeping the violence of white men hidden while portraying Black men as vicious, violent murderers, they had to kick me off for pointing out the obvious truth.

This time, calling out voter suppression as a white conspiracy is also against the image of white people in this country: whites have to believe that Black and brown people have the right to vote, period. White people don't want to hear about the intentional (nor even the unintentional) ways in which Black and brown vote is suppressed.

Because then we'd have to do something about it - and that's the LAST thing those in power want from us, doing something about racism!

Somethin about the womyn...

The wonderful womyn of Des Moines have not only set up readings/gatherings/discussions for me, but a sweet couple has opened up their home to me, welcomed me, and are taking such good care of me making sure I have everything I need, making sure I am comfortable and supported in this city of my birth.

I have a reading this evening at a lesbian-owned cafe Ritual and tomorrow evening we are having a potluck (of course - we're lesbians!) picnic and then my reading!

I'm soooooooo looking forward to connecting with all these womyn.

And I'm wondering if I have any relatives left in this town. My dad was an Iowa farm boy who had to quit school in 1929 when he was 12 to work to try unsuccessfully to save the family farm. I'm not sure when the farm went under cause I also remember staying at a farm once when we visited Iowa and my sister and I had to keep the chickens my dad was butchering (cutting off their heads) from running down the outside stairs to the root cellar. Hmmmm

Tuesday, August 21, 2018

Angry white biker man

I approach my truck after going to the bathroom and notice there's a white man standing close to the "End Violence Against Womyn & Children" side of my truck. He's dressed totally in black and is yanking on a black helmet sputtering at me.

"You're a ......" he lets out a list of sexist profanities and continues "there's no white male war against anybody" as he continues to call me the whole list of offensive names for various parts of female bodies.

I talk softly to him, asking him if he sees the way he is acting, the violent way he is acting. I tell him he is embodying the very sentiment painted on the back of my truck. His helmet is finally secure so he can raise both middle fingers to me, jabbing them into the air as he punctuates every name he is calling me.

I see his motorcycle parked a few parking spaces away from me and another figure, in jeans and a sweatshirt, also peering towards us. I think it's a womon and I can't tell if she's mimicking his middle finger or gesturing for him to return to the bike. I don't dare take my eyes away from his for a second.

He steps toward me and I say again "see how you are acting, you who probably think everyone has freedom of speech in this country yet you're doing just what I've painted on the back: attacking me a womon, acting violently towards me. I bet you a million dollars that if I was a man standing here, a white man standing here, you wouldn't even say one word to me. You are proving what I'm saying."

He stops, twirls around, and stomps off toward his bike, stopping once to call me the b word yet again.

I whip out my phone and pretend I'm filming him as he furiously hops on his bike and takes off, almost leaving his passenger in the dust. Poor passenger...

Saturday, August 18, 2018

Open letter to Grandmothers Respond

Dearest Grandmothers, Womyn, Sistars!

It is with great trepidation and regret that I feel compelled – after  asking you to pretend these babies are our very own grandchildren – to write these truths to you that I’m sure you already know but that our behavior and actions are not reflecting.

We are NOT going to be able to end our nation’s policy of separating babies and children from their parents in our spare time!

Nor are we going to be able to end our nation’s practice of incarcerating refugees from our foreign policy of war and looting their countries of origin when it’s convenient for us to do so!

Nor are we going to be able to terminate our employment of ICE to intimidate and subjugate these refugees when we’re not occupied by our biological families.

We are NOT going to be able to ensure the reunification and freedom of refugees in between our pursuit of the amerikkkan nitemare, our continuing our lives ‘as usual’, safeguarding our privileged lives undisrupted by the very policies that are guaranteeing our undisrupted lives.

We are NOT going to be able to bring justice to the lives of refugees – and in turn our country – during a one week caravan, a 24 hour action, or a one day descent on washington d.c.

I KNOW we value freedom and justice – for everyone. I KNOW we are acutely horrified and deeply care for the families, the mothers and children who are right now suffering in ways most of us on this caravan have never come close to suffering. I KNOW we want to end this.

But I ask you, do we want to end the suffering of refugees who have made it to our borders as much as we want to continue our lives as usual?

Do we really want to say we’ve done enough or that we are now content we’ve done our best, or that our children and grandchildren are safe and we embrace that safety above all else? Therefore we can relax, pat ourselves on the back, and be content that we tried?

Let us rent a house for a month in d.c. BEFORE the election! And reserve the campground outside d.c.! Let us demand tRump, congress, supreme court IMMEDIATELY end separation, torture, rape and incarceration of refugees. And let us be determined to capitalize on our caravan action as awesome and inspiring as it was, before it fizzles and especially before another child is snatched from another mother.

Let us increase our actions, let us be motivated by the vision that these refugees are OUR children, OUR daughters, OUR grandchildren today, this minute, attempting to survive in prison detention centers.

"I don't care tRump got elected...I'm a strate white male..."

Making the coffee shop rounds in Quad Cities!

So today I’m at a relatively new café & bookstore in Davenport “The Brewed Book”, where I’m seeking a date/time for one of my readings/gatherings/discussions, as I’m calling my presentations!

I’m also framing this work I’m doing, spreading the messages in my book, as the mobile version of a door-to-door campaign, except I’m going town-to-town, city-to-city – any and everywhere folks are pondering the question “But What Can I Do?”

Yesterday I was at the sweet Theo’s Java Club – around the corner from a small organic family-owned grocery store, believe it or not – talking with the very open barista and leaving my card for Theo!

This is also an interesting café, located in an economically devastated neighborhood in the midst of a couple colleges and many rental units. They did offer one organic coffee choice and instead of a tip jar, the fellow behind the counter said that the owners pay him generously, he doesn’t depend on tips, and that the café was donating any tip money to the local food bank this month!

The co-owner, Tony, spoke with me for a long time and purchased a book! He is open to me doing a reading, at least he is prior to reading my book but after speaking with him, I think he’ll still be supportive of a reading.

Our conversation started with me expressing horror when he pointed out the nuclear power plant around the corner, declaring he worked there for thirty-some years. He rolled over my inquiry about his health, dismissing the idea in support of the best source of cheap energy to meet the needs of the country.

I frame the issue as our willingness to risk human life and life of Mother Earth in exchange for that cheap energy. Tony calmly reiterates that we will disagree about this one thing.

He told me he wrote a (sarcastic) “I don’t care that tRump was elected…” piece that started “…I’m a strate white man, no police officer is going to shoot me” and “….I was born in this country, no one is going to deport me” and so on.

He also talked openly about racism existing in the area and the presence of Black and brown people now living here, a white town he was born and raised in that is no longer as white.

This café is providing coffee drinks cheaper than corporate places (not to name names) and a lovely space with floor-to-ceiling book shelves stacked with mostly used books.

I highly recommend a visit to both these cafés when passing thru the Quad Cities!