Code Pink Journals CodePINK Journals

Work 4 Peace,Hold All Life Sacred,Eliminate Violence! This is my often neglected blog mostly about my travels across country in my mobile billboard truck as I attempt to engage in dialogue with people in hopes to wake us up and inspire action to change our country and communities and selves. And 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 and life we want

Wednesday, February 21, 2018

Facelift and 'update' for my truck!!!

My truck got a needed facelift and 'update' over the weekend - THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU Phoebe!!!! So I'm ready for my next cross-country joiyssey!!!
The column on the side under #SayHerName are some of the Black and brown womyn murdered by police. I 'updated' but still very incomplete. The names and ages painted in black were painted in 2015; yesterday I painted more names in red of womyn murdered by police in 2016.DISARM the fuckin police!!!

And on the beautiful mural side that our local gifted artist Phoebe painted and gave a facelift to, monfuckinsanto was relegated to a minor image as Bayer has bought Monsanto, thus merging pharmaceuticals and chemicals into a huge toxic - and monetarily wealthy beyond belief - destroying machine.
A womon passing by wanted to know what the advantage was for a drug company to also produce chemicals, as I had said pharmaceuticals are the richest corporations on the planet - even richer than oil companies. 
Of course the answer is drug companies need the chemicals and other toxins to blanket our environment and infiltrate our bodies so they can keep us sick in order to then manufacture and sell drugs to us that allegedly make us 'healthy'.
End Violence Against Women and Children side



fuckinbayer, fuckinmonsanto
Womyn Growing Peace Organic

Save Mother Earth

Sunday, January 28, 2018

Welcome to California

So here I have put about maybe seven thousand miles on my truck these past couple months, driving from California through the deep south to Atlanta and then to Florida; and then returning again but deeper through the deep south - I10 this time into Alabama, Mississippi and Louisiana, across the entire state of Texas, New Mexico and Arizona with my truck unscathed the entire trip.

Then I relax, let my guard down as I get to my home state, my beautiful California that I treasure so much. I cross the Mohave desert, through Palm Springs and about 60 miles east of Los Angeles I stop at a rest stop to go to the bathroom and check my phone for messages.

I leave the bathroom and begin the walk back to my truck when a carload of young white men, gunning their engine, scream "fuck you" and "white power", accompanied by their obscene gestures leaning out their windows as they zoom by.

I shake my head and raise my arms, one hand displaying "peace", the other "love". As I get closer to my truck, I see that they have taken magic markers and, well, you'll see below:

Saturday, January 27, 2018

if only...

...I could find a white man who can speak calmly let alone logically about what he finds to be hateful or even "inspiring hate" on the back of my truck.

white male rage in new mexico

I back-track a little this morning to head into Las Cruces so I can go to the post office and get hooked up to the internet. I'm pleased to see a Starbucks sign, so I won't have to go to MacDonalds as both Starbucks the clientele and the workers have been very progressive all across the country plus no one will think I consume that micky-dee poison.

Even though the cafe is hopping so early on a Saturday morning, I find a large table where I can sit sight unseen by the workers, in case anyone wants to demand that I purchase a coffee in order to use the internet, which no one does.

A compact and wiry 40ish white man approaches my table and fools me into thinking he's pleasant and hip, especially for as isolated a town as Las Cruces is. He has a wide friendly smile on his slightly tanned face, short but not too short neatly trimmed light brown hair, off-white t-shirt and jeans with a brightly colored unbuttoned vest giving him a casual relaxed aura.

After his initial soft-spoken request that I share the table with him, curiosity lacing his inquiry about my ownership of the truck outside. I didn't see him come in and I wasn't aware of him noticing my shirt painted with "death to misogyny" not really visible behind my laptop nor reading my "are you great yet" hat so I half jokingly ask him how he figures that.

He lights into me, his smile and soft voice a fleeting figment, leaning across the table, and stridently demands to know why I hate white men. I ask him what makes him think I hate white men. "That hateful message you have on the back of your truck", he spits out each word with increasing volume.

I tell him he needs to calm down and stop yelling at me if he wants to have a conversation. He stares at me as if I've suddenly grown six heads (which I wish I could have). I continue by inviting him to take the seat he has pulled out for himself and reassure him I'd like to talk with him but only if he stops yelling.

He sits reluctantly, protest flitting across his face, as I ask him again "Can you explain what you find hateful on the back of my truck."

He claims I am spreading hate by telling Black people there's a war against them. I ask him if he doesn't think that Black people already know there's a war against them.

It suddenly occurs to him that he's not yelling, maybe because I've instructed him not to yell at me so he protests and sullenly declares if I can say there's a war on then he can yell.

A quick glance around the room lets me know there are mostly white men deeply engrossed in their conversations or the top of their coffee cups so I begin to shut down my computer as the little man stands up again, leaning across the wide table and raises his voice to outrageously tell me lesbians threw their children off a bridge when he lived in Oregon and does that mean he gets to hate lesbians.

His rage seems so personal succeed I ask "were you one of those children", succeeding in silencing him for a second. He actually looks embarrassed as he shakes his head no but he doesn't reduce his volume nor does he sit down.

I again tell him he cannot yell at me, maybe that's why he has a wife or children but I will not tolerate his violence. He shouts I'm the one that's violent, making Black people hate white men.

I leave him with "I think white men do a good enough job all by themselves inspiring hatred, they don't need me".

Friday, January 26, 2018

indescribably stunningly beautiful

I wish I had a good camera but even so, there's no way 2 capture the beaut of the vast glorious sky as the sun bids her farewell, her stunning visage spreading over the wide expanse of the Arizona desert. These were taken thru my windshield - no time to stop & pull over...

christ NO

Oh goddess - the christians. A stocky white womon, short, very strate dyed cinnamon hair parted on the side and held back with a small silver barrette approached me today at a rest stop, claiming she admired my truck. She was staring at the anti-monsanto/womyn growing peace organic side. But she didn't know who monsanto is and she doesn't speak spanish.

I had seen her van parked at the curb when I walked to the bathroom earlier - it was covered in those maybe 2"x3" stick-on silver letters on a pale gold background that blended in with her dirty rose paint job - with bible sayings and her devotion to christ was blatant. I smiled to myself as I went out of my way to avoid her - how can I talk about someone with her vehicle covered in messages...

But when I returned to my truck and began pumping my veggie oil, she appeared and we got to talking. Renee shared an interesting story with me - a couple actually - one saying god told her to give her camper to a homeless man, which is why now she only has a van to travel around and sleep in. As she flushed out the story, he was actually working on a construction job but sleeping in the office. She felt, even though he was homeless, he was working hard so he deserved the camper, as per god's instruction.

She also identified as a christian minister and had the kind face and demeanor fitting for one, with a bulky sweater on and no collar.

She said she'd been ministering in Idaho in a church where her husband was pastor. A white church, of course. Then the church started forming a militia, refusing to pay taxes, going off the grid while arming themselves. She stood up against this and was kicked out - of the church and her marriage.

How scary!

Still, she's committed to christ and god and VERY concerned that I do not share her commitment nor her god - which I was more than willing to point out so she didn't mistake my proselytizing as any agreement with her 'do what christ says' message.

She tried very hard to smile and nod her head, even though I'm saying things she could never agree with like when she pointed to the heavans where her god resides and I pointed to the vast desert, the hawk perched above us on the mesquite tree, the distant mountains standing stiff as egg whites plopped onto a tray where my goddesses reside.

We agreed on the horrific state of our country and I tried to get her to explain how she can separate the religion as it has manifested itself for 2000 years and her faith in the christian god. She nodded and agreed that horrible things have been happening "lately" in the name of christ - but she hurries to add that it is not christ's fault.

When I challenged her "lately" myth, she began to get agitated and wanted me to prove that people have been slaughtered in the name of christianity since the religion began. I told her to prove to me that they haven't. I talked about the fuckin "discovery doctrine" that she never heard of, the crusades that she saw as a benign and welcomed spreading of light through the 'dark' ages.

It became clear to her that I was not going to start worshiping her god but she actually kept our connection going until her last argument about her concern with my afterlife. I had already told her I'm a Jew but it was when I claimed Jews don't believe in an afterlife.

That, more than anything, put her over the edge. I told her I was more concerned with how I'm living this life than about some 'afterlife' christians have made up. I told her my behavior was not dependent on ensuring my entrance into 'heaven' but on caring for all life on this planet.

She walked off in a huff, so angry she wouldn't say goodbye.

Thursday, January 25, 2018

Stupidest billboard ever

I really need to get a good camera and do a photo journal of billboards across the country.

The latest idiotic billboard I saw this morning in Louisiana in pastel colors with a large "The People" across the top and "2012 Stop Obama".

Are they for real? Did they think (not to assume they have such capabilities) Obama was going to try to stay in the presidency? Like start a war or duplicate a 9/11 to stay in office or what???

Tuesday, January 23, 2018

White men...

Why do white men, strangers you've never before laid eyes on, feel free to approach you and think they can tell you what to do?

This is of course a rhetorical question

McDonalds and white men

McDonald's has contributed to my cross-country journeys now that they have free wifi. They're a back-up if the library is closed or if I can't find a Starbucks or Whole Foods to write at. Plus they are usually right off the exit within feet of the roads I travel on and open close to 24 hours daily.

Although I love the exposure my truck gets to folks that wouldn't necessarily see it, I don't want anyone to think I would give McDonald's any of my money nor consume any of the the poison they are selling.

But the bathrooms tend to be clean (although not all the time), there tends to be empty booths where one can sit comfortably, and best of all, free wifi!

Today, I dash in to write, check messages, and use the bathroom. When I'm leaving, I see a skinny biker gearing up to approach my truck. He is white, male, and has that professional biker look, equipment, stretchy uniform, and lean body.

He immediately starts lecturing me about racism, informing me in his macho male confident voice that I know will not listen to me nor want any kind of dialogue. He informs me that Black people can be racist, so can Mexicans and Chinese.

I interrupt him with my question "how do you define racism then?" I have succeeded in stopping his tirade for a second and he actually turns his head so he's finally looking me in the eye. He stumbles a bit then continues "You need to take that false message off the back of your truck right now and stop spreading lies."

Really? I tell him he needs to listen to what I'm telling him instead of telling me what to do. But he doesn't bother. He jumps back on his bike, pedaling off as he throws over his shoulder "Take those lies off your truck!"

At least he sees I'm driving a truck.

I made it!

I’m soooooo proud of myself – I finally made it to the Y, first time in a couple weeks! I ran for 30 minutes, 4.0 mph, and then stretched & exercised on the mat for about 20 minutes.

I’m in Gainesville, FL and traveling thru rush-hour this morning, I happened to pass the University of Florida – probably why so many positives, horn honks, waves, curious smiles!

Parking at the Y, a skinny old white man tells me in what I think is a sarcastic tone “Quite a truck you have there” I just jovially and loudly agree.

I stand with Black and brown people against police brutality and racism

3:10a.m. and the pleasant, light rain has stopped. It is still warm and muggy, dark starless sky behind a few blaring street lights illuminating the rest rooms. As I head back outside toward my truck, I read “I stand for the national anthem” on the t-shirt back of an older white man standing in the doorway talking loudly to the womon I had noticed through the window of the guard shack when I went into the bathroom. She was standing patiently, listening to him talk.

As I pass, I say “I don’t stand for the national anthem”. He calls out “thank you” with so much sincerity I question for a second if I read his red, white, and blue t-shirt correctly. I look back at their happy, grinning faces and tell him again “I do NOT stand for the national anthem”.

“I stand for the national anthem” he declares proudly. “Of course you do,” I retort. “Look at you, you are white and male.”

He ignores me, throws  up his hands and yells “why don’t you stand?” I firmly tell him through the misty dark “I stand with Black and brown people against racism and police brutality.”

He defiantly tosses back at me, “I fought twice for our nation and...” I interrupt him and declare “no you didn’t, you fought for our corporations to gain access to other people’s resources and nation”. 

 “And I was injured twice,” he continues, not listening, indicating his slightly bowed naked-from-the-knee-down legs that seem to glow in the dark.“I did it for you, I fought for you” he insists. I want to get up in his face so he can clearly see my eyes but I stand, turning around to fully face him as I say “You NEVER fought for me.”

“God bless you” he smiles that superior smile that is evident from even the 20 feet away from him that I am now.

“I don’t need your god’s blessings” I tell him, “but I’m sure you are going to be needing that blessing from your “Thou Shalt Not Kill” god”.

I’m livid men can still be so blindly ignorant and obedient, especially with tRump blowing war horns.

Sunday, January 21, 2018

No, it's womyn's work. .. & I'll feel proud if I want 2

I switched out my veggie oil pump 2day & was so very very proud of myself. I swell with pride & deep satisfaction when I accomplish something that womyn are not supposed 2 know how 2 do, let alone actually do.

I had 2 buy a hose-2-half inch connector plus clamps, install it into the his & attach 2 the pump, disconnect the ground & hot wires from the old pump & reattach 2 the new pump& then transfer my veggie oil from a storage tank in2 my main tank.

IT WORKED! In my heightened sense of self-worth, I totally 4 got that i had opened the valve 2 all the tanks when I tried 2 transfer veggie oil using the gravity method of liquid seeking its own level-which again filled me with aggrandizement when it worked up to a point -at least giving me 25 gallons to run on until I found the pump.

Halting the flow to check the level, I was expecting the back tank I thought I was pumping put of to be close to empty. It wasn't. That was when I noticed the switches to each tank were open. & I swiftly saw the other drum - the one I haven't opened the lid on, was caving in like the sucked in checks on a child making her lips protrude.

I immediately flicked the switch to off, climbed up on the truck & forced open the lid, which finally gave to a rush of air.

I feel chastised for being so boastful. I continue pumping out of the designated tank after I closed all the other valves. By the time my tank is full, the auxiliary tank has returned to it's normal shape, thank the goddesses. I check for leaks or cracks but this time, I'm lucky. Alls well.

I fill the water tank as well & scrape the tape off my windshield. & ponder how accomplished I still feel - doing "man's work". No, it's womyn's work! !

Saturday, January 20, 2018

The BEST sign at the Womyn's March!

This is it:

Transwomen are MEN

Truth is NOT Hate

Don't believe the hype

Trans ideology is Misogynist & Homophobic

Woman is NOT a "feeling", a costume or a performance of a stereotype

Woman is a biological reality

We have no ethical or moral duty 2 lie 2 inflate a male ego


Friday, January 12, 2018

My brother's a homo

The rain continues today, a little harder than before but I was able to get in a short hike on a Florida Nature Trail for an hour this morning. Now, fed & coffeed up, facebooked & informed for the day, no excuses left to postpone finishing my book - on the second third of review.

The campground continues to b quiet, folks staying inside I guess. One white man with a thick southern drawl gave me a friendly wave & said he wanted 2 take his boat out  go fishing but it's too windy. There r slight ripples on the water...hmm mm

He stares at me, thru the drizzle and slight fog, wind tossing his straggly hair around like a flag in shreds. I really don't want to engage but slow down as he hesitantly ambles toward me, asking me if I like to fish.

He motions me to come closer, which I do not but try to keep my face friendly yet distant. He wants to tell me something. I see his old camper, u.s.ofa. flag plastered on the side, motorcycle listing carelessly on the sand, and brace myself.

He lowers his voice and all I catch is his desire to tell me something, a sharp tang of sweat, and his face turning bright orange in the morning light. He wants to know if I'm a homosexual. I raise my voice and tell him I am a lesbian - I'm still not sure what he wants.

Then he reveals his baby brother is a "homo" but what he really wants to talk about is how awful he's been to his brother - and probably to other gay people. I look at him closer, the puffy blood-shot eyes, unhealthy swollen cheeks with that 5:00 shadow even though it's dawn, thin lips disappearing as he attempts to smile.

He looks anguished and sorry as I urge him to talk to his brother, let his brother know how sorry he is, and ask for his forgiveness. His face drains of color so quickly I want to get out of there as I hope he'll not faint. He doesn't but he tells me "It's too late. My brother's been dead for 24 years."

I can only nod as I tell him maybe he can join PFLAG and make it up to others.

The lingering pain and shame of biogtry.

Thursday, January 11, 2018

"you and ....your huuuusband"????? Really?

I'm taking my sunset walk around the pond & campground when a middle aged white man approaches in a huge dually pick up truck, the kind that tend 2 try 2 run me off the road. But I'm far from my truck & I don't think he's read my "death to racism" shirt or my "are u great yet" cap. & I'm the only person he can just lean out his truck & talk 2.

No, he wants 2 know about camping here. He explains in that Florida drawl that he's about a half hour from here & was checking it out because he thought he'd just hook up the trailer & come camping 2moro. A not-so-much younger silent white womon materializes from the shadows of the passenger seat, long chestnut hair hanging over alert blue eyes & a smile that grows broader as we speak.

He wants 2 know how come the campground is so full. I look around at all the empty spaces & point them out to him but he sadly shakes his head & says he has 2 have electricity & water. All those sites are full.

He wants 2 know if I'm from Florida or Georgia. To his astonishment I say California. That's when he marvels & says "So you & your husband just...."

Of course he doesn't get 2 finish because it's time my incredulity"Husband" I snort. "What would i ever need a husband for?" My snort is echoed from the passenger seat as his astonishment grows exponentially larger.

" mean you really drove here without a husband?" He still doesn't get it but his womon companion is now openly laughing - at him.

I tell him I drive around the whole country.. "What, by yourself?". He's gaping now with a little spittle dripping off the left corner of his mouth.

"Sometimes alone" I nod solemnly & then I lie (after all he's not going 2 get an electric campsite & he's incapable of being here without electricity!) "But most of the time with my wife!"

His companion actually hoots, leans over him & the steering wheel & slaps me a high 5 as we silly grin each other. Maybe she's his sister...

Tuesday, January 09, 2018

He's a monster

An older white strate couple swiftly approach my truck from the anti-Monsanto side, & I'm instantly on high alert. After all this is the deep south, southern georgia, less than 100 miles from Florida.

As they get closer, I see he has a kindly but serious face beneath a shock of abundant short new snow white hair, gaunt willow body clad in a plaid flannel shirt & dungarees. His wife pauses in front of him, short permed hair puffing out 2 frame a round face with dark brown square glasses that slip a little when she smiles broadly & extends her hand.

"He's a monster" the husband says emphatically, his thin frame towering at least a foot over her as he places both hand on her shoulders & they both stare at me with twin tragic expressions. I agree.

"We LOVE your truck" he continues as she also starts 2 speak. "We agree with everything you've written."

His wife finally concurs with "He's a criminal & Congress is complicit if they don't get rid of him!"

I ask them if they heard the wh told the CDC 2 "prepare the public for nuclear war. Their faces reflect the piercing disbelief that i know is in my eyes. "How the hell do they intend 2 do that" she croaks as her husband mutters again "He's a monster!"

I say "There's only 1 fuckin way 2 'prepare' 4 fuckin nuclear war, & that is 2 PREVENT it."

Nods & hugs all around as we swear 2 do our part.

I think I'll repaint the back of my truck - as much as I love what's already there. Maybe I ca keep some of it. 

Sunday, October 29, 2017

Are you threatening me?

Today is full of veggie oil challenges. I’m panicking a little because I’ve spent all my funds on veggie oil – if my system is not working, I’m going to be up the creek and not the church one. This is the 3rd time I’ve changed my pre-filter. I’ve also changed my main filter, although I really shouldn’t of had to. 

I’m taking the small, two land road just south of I80 and I90 to avoid paying tolls and the horrible stop-and-go traffic of Chicago. Normally, I welcome traffic – the more the better for getting out my messages but today, with the iffy veg oil, I opt for the smaller, cheaper (if I’m not forced to buy diesel) road.

I pull over into the edge of an almost empty Kroger parking lot so I can check my filters – the last time I changed the filter, I forgot (I’m embarrassed to admit) to re-open the valves when I finished changing the filter. I want to double check and make sure I didn’t forget this time, as the truck is starting to hesitate.

I lift the cab just enough to see the valves are open, everything is as it should be – and to see a fairly new large white dually pickup truck hauling an empty trailer circle my vehicle. I finish my veg check, return the cab down and lock it into place. I see the truck is idling directly behind my truck, blocking my exit. As I go to approach him, he slowly moves forward. I extend my palms in a “what?” gesture and he turns off the engine, steps out his truck, and approaches me. He is young, large, very white in jeans and a short-sleeved shirt even though it is quite chilly here.

I ask him if he wants to dialogue or just scowl at me. His face relaxes a little and he points to my truck, asking what I’m doing in this part of Indiana. I tell him I’m engaging in dialogue with my fellow u.s.ofa. citizens, like him. 

I’m stricken with immense sadness and a deep sense of failure as our interaction continues, for it is so obvious he has been molded into such a shallow, ignorant, hateful fellow quick to spout right wing rhetoric without being able to defend it. I fear we cannot begin to reach any kind of common ground. When he claims that the white rights people in Charlottesville were having a peaceful demonstration there until the anti-fascists became violent, I’m choking on my incredulity. He’s now shouting as he moves closer to tower over me and claims further that white rights people were the ones bloodied and injured, not Black people. I slam down my water bottle on the trailer that is separating us, angry as hell, and he jumps a little as he backs up. I point out it was a white male nazi that drove his car into a crowd of people walking peacefully but he glibly dismisses that violence as not counting because a white womon was killed. When I talk about nazis in Seattle and San Diego, he says the left media used adobe photoshop to put up images of white rights people shooting anti-racist people.

How to even begin to address this mentality? I do smile inwardly and send love to those brave anti-fascists when he expresses his fear of the “antifa” and claims they are the most violent people in our country, maybe more violent than Muslims.

He points to my truck and tells me I’m instigating violence. I ask him what exactly on my truck is instigating violence. He tells me any self-respecting {white} man would be moved to violence reading that “death to racism” and “end the white and male war against Black, etc. people.” In his forceful opinion, that’s racist and instigating violence.

He then slaps his back pocket as he’s now shouting at me again “yes I carry”. I ask him point blank if he’s threatening me to which he denies he is, and I tell him it sure sounds like he is for he’s shouting again and looming over me.

He calms down, lowers his voice, and continues to tell me how sick (white) men are of hearing and seeing the racist “Black Lives Matter”. He’s as indignant as a little boy who’s been made to wait his turn on the slide when he claims he doesn’t have the right to put “White Lives Matter” on his vehicle. As if. 

I tell him I’m sorry we can’t find some common understanding and he interrupts me and points sideways in the direction of Chicago and tells me I need to head there if I want to be around people who think crazy like I do. He promises me I won’t find those people along this route I’ve chosen. Again, I ask him if he’s threatening me. Everything coming from him now feels like a threat. I try to reign him in again by telling him that actually I’ve gotten lots of positive feedback along this route and at that exact moment, a passing car honks behind his back & I give a thumbs up, as if the driver’s message is positive even though I was unable to see if the driver was supportive or protesting. 

He turns to leave as he tells me he feels sorry for me and he’ll pray for me. I’m praying he’ll sit on that gun in his back pocket and shoot himself in the balls.

Saturday, October 28, 2017

It’s a fuckin parking lot for fucks be continued

I do complete my shower, get dressed, and return to the front desk. I ask to speak with whomever is in charge and I’m told that the CEO is on her way to speak with me. 

I wait in the lobby for a several minutes and then decide I better mosey on out to the parking lot and make sure my truck hasn’t been fucked with.

There is no longer a police presence nor are there many people roaming around. I check my tires, hoses, paint job then unlock the door and put up my gym bag. When I turn around, an angry large male is shouting at me from across the parking lot something about how he ‘served’ in Yemen and how dare I disrespect him and all of amerikkka but painting something so racist on the back of my truck. I ask him what he interprets as ‘racist’ but before he can say anything, a white womon appears shouting that she’s also a veteran and I’m the most racist person she’s met, more racist that Black people even.

Well, I’m musing on how to defuse them enough to dialogue and how to address that one when yet another white womon, this one small, brown hair also tied back in a pony tail that rests on her shirt collar, swiftly intercedes as she races to get ahead of these other two people.

She extends her hand, introducing herself as Marie, the CEO I’ve been waiting for. The first thing she tells me is she doesn’t want a political discussion, she just wants me to move my truck.

I have to chuckle as I tell her she’s already started a ‘political’ discussion by asking me to leave and what she really means is that she wants to put out her politics but doesn’t want to hear mine.

She assures me that I have no idea what her politics are, that she’s just ‘doing her job’. When I ask her what exactly that job is, she says it is against Y policy for trucks like mine to be in the parking lot. I question her “You mean a box truck or a camper cannot park in this lot?” as I throw a meaningful look at the RV parked about two isles over.

No I could park there if I didn’t have any political messages on my truck. I point out that I saw several other vehicles in the parking lot that have blatant ‘political’ messages on their cars when I drove in this morning so she must be discriminating against me. She shakes her head fervently and claims, stammering a little, that if I just had a few bumper stickers she wouldn’t object. I clarify so it’s not the content of my truck but the size that is against Y policy?

I continue as I ask her in my most reasonable but incredulous voice exactly which messages she’s objecting to: the “End Violence Against Womyn & Children” or the “Death to Racism” or perhaps the “Womyn growing peace, organic”?

I accuse her now of not upholding the Constitution and Bill of Rights. Plus I point out to her the large sign out front a few feet away that says the Y welcomes everyone.

She continues to tell me that if I had large confederate flags and a “Death to Black Lives Matter” signage on my truck instead, she would still ask me to move. I’m livid she would compare “Death to Racism” with “Death to Black Lives Matter and I tell her so.