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

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 sake...to 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.

Dripping wet & bareass naked



So I hear there’s a large crowd of white people and many police surrounding my truck in the parking lot so concern about vandalism and such, I cut my workout short – no swim – and start to take a shower. As the water is heating up, I hear someone call my name and I peek out to see a young womon with long brown hair tied back standing a few feet away and I ask her if she’s called me. She asks me if that’s my truck out there with all the writing on it. I smile broadly as I affirm that’s my baby. She tells me that she’s been sent to let me know I have to move it. I ask her why and she is joined by another white but older womon who says over her shoulder that it is against Y policy for me to park there. 

When she tells me I must come out of the shower and leave, I obey half her command. I turn off the water and step out from behind the shower curtain, bare ass naked still dripping wet and ask them who in the world they are? They haven’t introduced themselves to me and they’re wearing street clothes. They both identify themselves as Y employees, so I ask them to let me know what policy is this that I’m breaking. They both start sputtering that I must move and I nod agreeably and say again I need to understand what policy I’m breaking.

After a few moments of this, the older womon has the nerve to tell me to get dressed, I shouldn’t be standing there naked. I point out that she’s the one who told me to step out the shower. I do have pity on them & tell them I’ve completed my workout and if they let me complete my shower, I’m happy to be leaving this place.