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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 steaming 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

Friday, January 07, 2011


And then I read the ACLU announcement today that some mean, tiny congressperson with no consciousness let alone humanity or respect for our constitution, has introduced a bill to disallow children born in the u.s. citizenship. Born to non-citizens that is. Born to non-white non-citizens that really is.

Too bad he wasn’t around when all those Anglo Saxons hit the shores so many centuries ago – the u.s. could have remained in the hands of those already living here. Just think, no white people would be citizens!

Oh, he has included an exception: unless you’re a non-citizen in the u.s. military! So kill, kill, kill and your child can become a citizen.

I’m sick.  

Terminate the SOA

As I travel through México and as I am more and more exposed to the real nature of the people who inhabit this country, the more anger, rage, resentment, helplessness I feel towards our military industrial complex and all that entails.   

There’s not a word terrible enough to mean how horrendous our military industrial complex and supporting policies are. In this case, the SOA.

I meet men who have somehow entered the u.s. to seek work that is despicable to most u.s. born men, to try to save the lives of themselves and their families, only to either have the work disappear or they get deported.

---PLEASE see the Lonely Harvest: the Bracero ‘Program’ Documentary – my ‘ …’ for the ‘program’ was more like ‘enslavement’---

I meet men who have been trained to kill, to murder their own people, to swell with the sick self-importance of killers, to video-game-fight to the death – for what? Control of the people so that the rich can stay richer & richer, and the poor become poorer and poorer. 

I see men and boys expertly sweeping the dirt, the house, the sidewalk; I see them hunched over outdoor cement sinks, confidently scooping water and scrubbing pots and pans.

I meet men who actually stand back, shyly offer their help, and wait for me to accept; men who do not need to take over the ‘manly’ task I’m doing but who are ready to assist if I want them to. 

I meet baby-faced boys handling dangerous weapons casually, nonchalantly, as if they were swinging a broom over their shoulders. Weapons made in the usa, paid for by us tax payers, policy after policy passed by our government, to hurt these people.

I see men and boys hanging together, playing with each other, roughhousing, tossing each other around, grinning laughing unselfconsciously, enjoyment radiating in their every move.

I see the same men working with their hands, their backs, laboring harder in a day than the majority of people in the u.s. have ever labored in their lifetime..

I see people who are desperate to escape their poverty – and I’m not talking about their lack of ‘things’, a car, a tv, a 4 bedroom house – I’m talking food, water, land to build and live on, means to support themselves.

I see men with children hanging around their necks, children in their arms, children almost as tall as they are holding their hands or arms slung around each other.

I see people anxious to escape their prisons of NAFTA-grown ‘rewards’, or people who haven’t seen their children, their parent, their spouse in years maybe, who are unable to get a simple visa while I sashay across any border.

And then I see Nancy Smith has been sentenced to 6 months in jail for protesting the training of these men, i.e. the breaking of their morality, the maiming their goodness, the destruction of their humanity, so they can be the killers of our empire.


As I sit out front sipping my tea and blogging, a lovely womon approaches my table excitedly and asks me if I own the truck in the parking lot. She’s grabs me and hugs me and declares, among other things in rapid spanish, that she's been looking for me.

She is very excited about growing organically. She has been wanting to grow organic, she believes in organic, she can’t believe I am here.

And it’s impossible to find organic produce here.

Guadalupe, her 2 daughters and her niece enthusiastically circle the truck, reading and absorbing the messages. She asks me if I am selling organic seeds. I tell her I am giving organic seeds away.

She wants corn. Of course I have no corn. Why didn’t I try to get corn seeds before I left. GRRRRRR.

I show Guadalupe my truck, my little house, my veggie oil tank, when we walk over to get the seeds out the back. She is excited and pleased – and her enthusiasm makes me so happy!

I get out my bag of seeds and she chooses a few of each. I have to put more seeds into her little envelopes that she makes for the seeds, to ensure she has enough that will grow.

I’m SOOOOOOOO excited I even consider staying here longer to get to know her better. We exchange email addresses and I tell her about Miguel, the organic farmer I met a couple of days ago.

Guadalupe has a car and so I give her a CodePINK bumper sticker and pins for her and the girls. 

She insists on giving me 100 pesos – which is almost $10. I try to refuse but she tells me it is her contribution for more seeds for more womyn that I meet.

I hope I will get to know her thru email maybe! And I know her and her girls will grow peace!

The (continued) search for veggie oil

There’s so much to write about I don’t know where to start.

I’ll start with my continued hunt for more veggie oil. The first restaurant I return to, where I’m supposed to ask for Denise, where I’ve agreed to pay 30 pesos for 20 liters, has no 20 liters – they don’t even have 10 liters.

 And what they do have looks really dirty.

Oh well, off to the next place. When I get to this restaurant, I am immediately recognized by the guy at the counter who says “ah, aceite vegetal” when he sees me.

We head to the kitchen and the womon says it is outside. We go outside and it is gone. The whole kitchen staff, and the waiter, comes out to talk with me.

I explain the whole process to their amazed smiles. They are all very apologetic and tell me to return on Sunday and they will have more for me then.

Apparently someone gave the containers by mistake to the garbage people. That hurts. I want to find that damn garbage truck.

I go to a new restaurant and again, everyone who works in the place, who seem to be very young and pretty, comes out front and walks around my truck, admiring Phoebe’s art, and they ask lots of questions about my journey and especially why I want veggie oil – that the owner says they don’t have.

I decide to return to one of the restaurants where I previously got oil – the owner told me I should come back whenever – but they tell me 15 more days.

The last place I stop, a casino no less, tells me to come back tomorrow at 11am for 10 liters. Hmmmm.

 I intend to leave early tomorrow unless it is really foggy again – or unless I find more veggie oil to pick up. 10 liters is not really a reason to delay my leaving.

The road ahead looks pretty mountainous, even though it runs along the coast, and I want to find a nice, quiet place to be for a few days, so I can recover from the hunt for veggie oil and catch up with my blogs.

Beginning filtering watering

This morning, I get up early, well rested, and ready to work - i.e. filter oil into the tank - but there is heavy fog again, no sun, and only 21 volts showing on my charger – not enough to run the motor for the filter yet.

So I begin with the batteries – adding their weekly water supply, 4+ liters again. I’m running out of power after dark, which is okay as it is only the fridge that runs all nite. If I want to use a light after dark, I just shut off the fridge and use the light until I’m finished.

Then I turn the fridge back on and sometime during the nite, it dies. If I’m going to make popcorn or use another small appliance, I have to do it when the sun is out and I have more than enough electricity.

I don’t know how much longer the batteries are going to hold up tho. They overcharge during the day in the intense sun, and run out at night. Grrrr.

The sun is beginning to come out so I put on my “veggie oil” clothes and get to work prepping for filtering.

Fortunately by the time spread the blanket, haul all the containers and buckets I’ve collected onto the blanket, release the hoses, pump, and filter from the locked propane cage, and get the new filters and attachments out the truck, the sun has pushed the voltage up to 24.5 volts and climbing! Yeah!

The quality of most the oil is great. One bucket full seems a little hydrogenated and clogs the filter swiftly. It is so very difficult to undo the filter. I ask a guy passing by to help me and he takes one look at how dirty I am, the filter is, the whole set-up is, and tells me he’s so sorry but he’s rushing to work.

I finally get it off myself – yeah! A police officer drives by, leans out his car, and asks me if I’m selling anything. I explain what I’m doing and he says oh, trabajando – I’m working!

Soon several more men come by and I explain to them what I’m doing. The men are impressed and pleased that I am ecological and care about the environment and ending war. They promise to do what they can too.

I am very thrilled when I finish. This is the easiest time I’ve had filtering the oil. I'm getting a system down, more organized, returning everything to its proper place.

I only have ½ a tank but I have two more places to go to today that have promised me oil, and maybe I’ll find more places.

I have my bathing suit on so I’m going to wash in the shower by the ocean, get dressed in clean clothes, and head for more veggie oil!