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Goodness How Time Goes Flush

It seemed like a good idea to start this little blog, keeping track of all my articles in one handy index, but then something like life got a hold of me, and really it's enough work to get the things written and posted the first time, much less be my own librarian. So this is officially an abandoned project, in case you couldn't tell. Still, I kinda like the collection. A summer of free diving . . . Please enjoy.

Rocha's Friends Respond to No-Bill of Cop who Killed him

Sarah and Roxanne knew Daniel Rocha in high school, so at the press conference called by Poder, LULAC, and the ACLU, they shared a sign protesting the grand jury's decision to issue no indictments against the police officer who killed him. Both Sarah and Roxanne say the same thing about the situation: "Daniel was a small guy."

"Daniel was pretty cool," says Roxanne. "I had a dance class with his girlfriend, so he was always at the door waiting for her. He always had a smile on his face. He was always making everyone laugh. He would tell a lot of jokes."

Rocha's Friends Respond to No-Bill of Cop who Killed him, Texas Civil Rights Review

The Rocha Files: A Tragic Collection

Schroeder's claim that Rocha was doing something more than trying to get away from her boss seems incredible when compared to her boss' statement that he was hanging onto Rocha's foot. So there is no question that Daniel Rocha was playing with fire in his gangsta attitude, but there is also an expectation that cops are trained to deal with such cases in ways that do not escalate into on-the-spot executions. I think that's why they are called peace officers.

To kids, especially teenage males, we have to suggest better things, but then again, we have to be pretty careful that we not pretend to have offered Daniel a well-chosen world to work with. When I think of the comment that he had a slight learning disability, then I can see how he was following the wrong crowd, he just wasn't so quick as the one who first jumped the fence. A slight learning disability is all it would take for that moment of hesitation, then that moment of tragic motivation to follow his friend over the fence.

The Rocha Files: A Tragic Collection, Texas Civil Rights Review

Raw Talk Revival at Camp Casey Two

I don't know how America got to be so juvenile since then, but there was a time when a Southern boy with one glass eye could go to West Point, get a good job in the Army, retire as a Colonel, dedicate his retirement to teaching, vote as a Lincoln Republican, and die in East Texas with a mind open enough to see that Marx is simply one of the best reads going. I mean, even if your only interest is quality writing, why would you not have some affection for good ol' Karl right next to (because it's never in) the best of Reader's Digest. Too bad grandpa died before I finally re-read Marx more thoroughly. We might have had a quite wonderful chat about that. In terms of pure writing, I'd have asked grandpa if he’d ever read Adorno.

From the very beginning of the post 9/11 debacle, socialists have been quite reliable opponents of the Bush juggernaut. They predicted more or less where this was all heading, and they hit the streets early hollering about it. Some of my best sources of news these past years have come from lists organized by socialists. Moms of dead or endangered soldiers might find out they have more in common with socialists than they would otherwise think. So I hope the parties work something out. In terms of world history, America is sadly missing out on the great secret that socialism is a mainstream movement, adopted by base commanders everywhere as the best way for officer's kids to be raised. Not to mention land grant universities such as my alma mater, Texas A&M.

The Listening Tent and the Raw Talk Revival at Camp Casey Two, Peacefile

New Voices Rising at Camp Casey Two

Later Saturday, out at Camp Casey Two, Dominique stood with her mother under a white canopy, facing neatly-placed rows of white crosses that glowed under the light of a full moon. With the light of day nearly faded into navy blue, Dominique and Renee stood together as down the tiny country road walked a tall trim soldier, trumpet in hand. The soldier stopped in front of them, raised the horn to his lips and played taps. There was hardly a whisper among the 300 or so witnesses who stood under the crystal clear dusk sky.

And then, for Renee, suddenly, it all came back. "I mean you act as if it's gone, but it's just not." When she was seven years old, explains Renee, her father died at camp, away from home. "It never goes away." Into the clear night air, in answer to the silence of the prairie, Renee started singing. And her voice rang through the night like a trumpet.

"Let there be peace on earth!" To the gathered crowd, Renee's singing sounded like the next perfect thing. To Cathy Courtney of Houston, Renee's first line was immediately recognizable as a 1955 hymn by Sy Miller and Jill Jackson. So Cathy joined in. "And let it begin with me." Together they sang the next line: "Let there be peace on earth, the peace that was meant to be."

'Let it Begin with Me': New Voices Rising at Camp Casey Two, Peacefile

A Daytrip without Cindy

Not having Cindy Sheehan in Crawford Friday turned out okay. Her absence didn't stop the media from crowding around a noon prayer vigil. And nobody I talked to was planning to cut short their stay on account of her absence. In fact, as usual, folks were sort of falling in love with the land and each other, wondering how many days more could they squeeze in.

Take the example of Katie Sterling of Fort Worth and her traveling companion Pam Humphrey of Burleson, Texas. In the sweltering afternoon heat across Cedar Rock Parkway from the Crawford Peace House, they were tending to a field of 40 cars parked in neat rows, talking with big smiles about last night's sleepover in the network of bar ditches that has become Camp Casey. "We planned to stay in Waco with relatives, but we couldn't leave, so we slept in a ditch and it was great!" And why couldn't they leave? Because they were having too much fun.

A Daytrip without Cindy, Peacefile

Cindy, the Peace Train, and the Little Ditch that Could

Two months ago while exhausted from a Summer Soulstice peace festival, and while looking with dismay into a long hot summer of war, Louisiana attorney Buddy Spell, his spouse Annie, and their guest of honor Cindy Sheehan decided they needed to do something, but not something too high energy. So they browsed through the train schedule and designated an Amtrak Crescent as their Peace Train. Come September they'd board the train in New Orleans and put out word to folks along the way to hop on for a ride to the big peace march in Washington D.C. That would be enough to keep their peace hopes on track. Of course, that was then.

"We had about 60 people signed up before Cindy went to Crawford," says Buddy, "but that has tripled." With a pre-boarding rally in Covington, Louisiana the night before Cindy and friends depart, the little town of Covington may soon be feeling like next month's Crawford. And when the train hits Union Station, Buddy says 'old fart' activists will be greeted by the Campus Action Network, and wherever they go for the weekend, they will be marching 500 strong. And that's how you go in just a couple of months from a little ol' z-net zap to a global headliner by way of the little ditch that could.

Cindy, the Peace Train, and the Little Ditch that Could, Peacefile

Mona in the Field of Crosses (at Camp Casey, Tx)

"Mona, is that your son?" I ask. She looks up, slightly startled, then, "Yes, that’s him." Standing up, she twirls the picture to show me the flip side, a photo of her three grandchildren. Two of them are from her son's family, one is from her daughter's, but she has made a group photo for her son to take with him, to give him hope, to encourage him to come back alive. Back to her work with the crosses, she says in a wavering voice, "I sure hope I don't have to put out one of these for him." And we both stand there crying. "Where are all the mothers," she asks, "that these crosses belong to?" A Korean reporter looks at us, and he is also frozen stiff by this grief. His pen hovers over his notebook, but what exactly is there to say?

"Ma'am, do you want me to help you put names on those crosses?" asks the gentle voice of a brand new volunteer who has just walked the line. Which helps to get us all moving again. Under the high sun, with cicadas and crickets buzzing from their invisible homes in the grass, Mona, with her hat brim pulled down, returns to her work among the field of crosses at Prairie Chapel Road.

Mona in the Field of Crosses, Peacefile

Pilgrims of Protest: Aug. 11, 2005 (Part Three)

Penny strides into the front lawn of the Crawford Peace House talking about that time up in Racine five weeks before the alleged re-election when she stood along the street with firemen and everybody, and flipped the President the bird. "Thank you," is what Penny recalls the President saying to her. "God, what a weak man!"

Like Cindy Sheehan, Penny is motivated by the death of her son, but Penny's son was not killed in an overseas war. He lost his life to the politics of health care funding in Texas. "I'm only the Governor," is how Penny recalls Bush's response when she asked him to help restore a sudden cut in funding to the cancer research trial in Arlington, Texas that was doing good things for her son. "My son died because that treatment was delayed," says Penny. And that's one reason why she flipped the President the bird.

As for why she's standing here in Texas, 1163 miles from home, she says of herself and spouse Mike, who should be shuttled here any minute from the stadium parking lot: "We have no idea what we're doing. We’ve never done anything like this before. But it's time we became teenagers!"

Pilgrims of Protest, Peacefile

Tomorrow's History Today: Camp Casey Up Close

Moving a little further down side A, or Morgan Road, I see hefty rolls of measuring tape being unpacked. I happen to know what this means, because last Friday morning I had been sipping coffee with a VFPer from Tacoma. He had helped to lay out an Arlington West display there, and he spoke of the exhaustive care they took to make sure the crosses were neatly placed so many feet apart to mimic the respectful military order of graves at the Arlington national cemetery near D.C. These huge rolls of tape are the first visual evidence of what will be done today, all day, as 1800 crosses get pounded into the ground around Camp Casey and tagged with the names of USA soldiers killed in Iraq. "We need to figure out a way to also honor the Iraqis killed in this war," said my Tacoma informant. "But how do we do that? Eighteen hundred crosses are difficult enough to deal with."

Tim Goodrich is spotting his perch for the day under the windbreak along Morgan Road. This morning he has changed into desert khakis so there will be no mistaking the fact that he is an Iraq Veteran Against the War. Later in the day with the sun scorching down on his neck, I see him studying the names on the crosses. As I think about the pictures I've seen of VietNam vets at the Memorial Wall in D.C., I certainly don't ask Tim Goodrich what's going through his bowed head.

Tomorrow's History Today, Peacefile

A Crawford Peace House Morning

As soon as the sky lightens up into the faintest shade of blue, I rummage the trunk for my toothbrush. Soon I'm back on the porch with my back to the front window, checking out a little animal carrier tucked underneath a chair. Out from the Peace House comes a man with a sign that he slides behind my back onto the window sill. "Expose the 9/11 Cover Up." I move down a chair so that the sign might be read by others.

Turns out the little animal carrier came in with the Louisiana delegation carrying a 9-week-old kitten named Smudge. Leaping into a sprawling Rosemary bush, Smudge looks up at me with eyes of great adventure. And someone is placing a huge cup of coffee under my nose. "Here, please hold this," says Cindy Sheehan before she scoops up Smudge kitty for a little face-to-face schmooze. And Sheehan introduces me to Smudge's mommy, Annie who in turn tells me that the kitten has been with the family for about a week. I try to imagine this whole world as a nine-week-old kitten would see it, as Smudge leaps and pounces in the freshness of the day.

A Crawford Peace House Morning, Peacefile

How Building a Saudi City Made a Lefty of Dick Underhill

Back in the 60s you could say two things about Navy and Air Force veteran Dick Underhill: he liked to do the work that nobody else wanted to do, and he was a Goldwater Republican. Today as Underhill shuttles in and out of Crawford, Texas, running supplies and tending to lists of things to do in support of Cindy Sheehan, you could still say he likes to do the work that nobody else wants to do, but you couldn’t call him a Goldwater Republican anymore.

"You have heard about PTSD, haven't you?" asks Underhill in a telephone interview Tuesday afternoon from his Austin home. "That's Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Well, I have a name for something else that I call PASD. That's Post Awareness Stress Disorder. It's what happens to you when you've been raised all your life to believe the story that the slaveholders and merchant pirates who founded the USA were good people and that the government of the USA is the best in the world. When you find out that's not true at all, it does leave you under stress."

How Building a Saudi City Made a Lefy Out of Dick Underhill, Peacefile

Sheehan Draws Tears of Support

Later in the evening black suburbans started whizzing past. A stream of maybe 25, coming down the road, one after the other, about a minute apart, with government tags. Soon after that overhead came the presidential helicopter with a three helicopter escort, buzzing past the camp and over to the Western White House. But the impressive action was down in the ditch among the small band of resolute activists who have flung themselves together for this circle of courage and tears.

"It's very moving being out there," says Abbe. "I'm so glad I went." She's going to clear her schedule and go back soon. "I'm very emotional, very glad. If I could communicate to you what it's like to be there. If people could see it and experience it, well then number one..." But Abbe can't finish the sentence. "I can't finish the sentence, because I'm crying."

"Let me just say," says Abbe Waldman DeLozier through her tears, "that there would be millions out there.

Sheehan Draws Tears of Support Peacefile

A Day in the Bar Ditch of American Democracy

"You have to see that road," says Young. "There is no traffic on that road at all, yet they made us walk in the bar ditch beside the road, which was full of weeds. Real hard ground." After a while the cops stopped them. "They were looking for an excuse to stop us," says Young. "They said we were walking in the road against orders."

"We protested loud and proud," recalls Young. "And we meant everything we said. That went on for about 30-45 minutes. We even told the police to get out their history books and read about Hitler so they could understand their role in history, standing here protecting a war criminal. We were being brutally honest from our point of view. And there was lots of press there at the time."

"Cindy got right in their face, too," says Young. "She said look, this is a public roadway. How can you prevent me from walking on a public roadway?"

"At that point I got right behind her," says Young. "If she was going to jail, I was going to jail. If they wanted confrontation, I was going to back her up. I had made my mind up about that." But there was no confrontation, no arrest.

A Day in the Bar Ditch of Democracy USA Peacefile

Dining with the Posse

"If you've ever been in a war situation," says the vet, "imagine what it must be like to find out while it's still going on. That they lied. While you were into it." He looks at me directly, shakes his head slowly, and digs at some food on his plate. He's talking about the Downing Street memo, and he references AfterDowningStreet.Org.

"And as for Karl Rove," says the vet, "in boot camp they used the word traitor. Loose lips sink ships. He's just spitting in everyone's face." Rove, the so-called brain of the Bush regime, has been widely identified as the most likely source for the public 'outing' of CIA agent Valerie Plame.

"Saturday I'm going," says the vet again, talking about Sheehan's plan to confront the President at Crawford. "I'm going to follow her down there." And you can tell by the slight grin on his face that he's proud to have the opportunity. This is the 20th Annual convention of Veterans for Peace, and tonight this big, wide tent is a swirl of activists in motion.

Dining with the Posse (of Peace) Peacefile