From NOEBIE.net
“True compassion is more than flinging a coin to a beggar; it is not haphazard and superficial. It comes to see that an edifice which produces beggars needs restructuring. A true revolution of values will soon look uneasily on the glaring contrast of poverty and wealth.”
— Martin Luther King, Jr.
He approached the van with a broad smile on his face while I was waiting to pick my daughter up from school. I’d arrived a few minutes early, and was catching up on some reading. He gestured to me, and I rolled down the window.
He asked me directly “Are you a Christian?”
“Yes I am.”
“Are you reading the Word right now?” His eyes were friendly and soulful.
I smiled back at him. “This afternoon I’m reading politics.”
“But you are a Christian?” It seemed an important question to him.
“Of course.”
He now appeared rather nervous and I began to wonder what kind of conversation this was going to be. He pulled a card out of his pocket and brought it up to my eye level. It was his driver’s license.
“This is me. This is who I am. I’ve got money too. I can show you. I’ve got to get to Chicago and I need eight more dollars for my fare.”
I considered, for a moment. I knew that I had a five dollar bill and a few singles in my wallet. Before I could discern, he volunteered more information. “I don’t drink or anything.” For some reason, I believed him, though it really didn’t matter.
We seldom see people asking for money on the street in our small town. When we’re visiting the city, if someone is panhandling I almost always give them a few bucks (if I can spare it and unless it seems unsafe to do so). Although friends have occasionally derided me for “supporting someone’s bad habits,” my response has been that it’s not up to me to take on that particular burden of judgment. Let God sort it out.
The man seemed dressed for the weather, clean and not shabby. He told me that he’d had a good job providing transportation to senior citizens until state funding was cut, and then he had lived with his mother until her house was foreclosed. How he ended up here, or what was waiting for him in Chicago, I didn’t ask. By that point I was already handing him the five and three ones.
“This’ll get you there?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you. I’ll worry about finding something to eat later.”
I wished him good luck as he started to walk away, and then, struggling for a cheery admonition, added “I’m trusting you.” As soon as the words crossed my lips I regretted them.
He stopped, looking crestfallen, almost as if he was going to give the money back. “I wouldn’t lie to you. I’ll be on that train at 6 o’clock.” With that, he was on the move again, and I noticed for the first time that he was carrying a backpack.
I called out “God bless you,” as an afterthought.
By the time he had turned the corner I wished that I had done more. His comment about finding something to eat stuck with me. I had eight more singles in my wallet. I could have at least given him enough for a sandwich. I realized that I hadn’t done it because his comment had sounded like a slick panhandler’s line. I had judged the man, and shown him disrespect. I guess I was willing to “let God sort it out” when it came to a couple bucks, but when it approached the princely sum of ten, I didn’t want to be taken for a sucker.
The guilt that I felt at that moment was terrible. I recalled the words of Jesus, and they shamed me. “I was hungry, and you fed me not.”
There were still a few minutes before the kids were dismissed, so I got out of the van and started walking, hoping to find him. I saw someone walking from the nearby grocery store with what looked like a six pack of beer and (still yielding to judgment and suspicion) at first thought it might be him, but then realized by the hat and lack of backpack that it wasn’t. I went into the church to see if he was there waiting in the warmth until time for the train. The church was empty, and now it was time to go collect my daughter.
Back in the van and headed for home, my conscience was still bothering me. I told my daughter “We’re going to take a little detour.” I figured I would drive the five or six blocks to the train station in case he might be there, and then circle back toward the school on our way home in case he was still walking somewhere in between. I was almost desperate in the quest to find him and make amends for what I had said and for what I had failed to do.
To my delight, as we rounded the corner near the depot, I spotted him approaching it from the other direction. I pulled to the curb and rolled down the window. He recognized the van and walked over to us, smiling just as he had earlier.
“Hey, man – I should have given you some money for a sandwich. This is all I’ve got with me, but it ought to at least get you one meal.”
He nodded and grinned warmly. “Thanks. I think they’ve got hot dogs and stuff on the train.”
We shook hands through the open window, and suddenly he looked a little embarrassed. “You could tell that I’m homeless?”
I didn’t really know how to respond, but as we released our handshake I said “The depot is open and it ought to be warm in there until your train comes.”
“Yeah. Thanks again.”
“Good luck in Chicago.”
As we pulled from the curb, my daughter asked “Was that a homeless man?”
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As many as 3.5 million people in America experience homelessness in each year, with nearly three-quarters of a million homeless at any given time. The main cause of homelessness continues to be the lack of affordable housing. We can help by volunteering at local shelters, by contributing to organizations like Catholic Charities, by offering our prayers, and (perhaps most importantly of all) by showing our respect for the human dignity of homeless people we encounter.
I don’t know the name of the man I met today, and I will probably never know how his story turns out. I wish him godspeed on his journey, and good luck in the big city. He gave me much more than I gave him.
On this, the 70th anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor, we remember those who lost their lives that day, and those who served their country in the Second World War. We pray for peace in our own day.
The photo above (from the National Archives) depicts sailors honoring those killed during the attack on the Naval Air Station at Kaneohe, Oahu. This ceremony likely took place on Memorial Day of 1942.
The official U.S. Naval History and Heritage site recounts that the attacks of December 7th, 1941 caught the United States by surprise.
By late November 1941, with peace negotiations clearly approaching an end, informed U.S. officials (and they were well-informed, they believed, through an ability to read Japan’s diplomatic codes) fully expected a Japanese attack into the Indies, Malaya and probably the Philippines. Completely unanticipated was the prospect that Japan would attack east, as well.
More than 2400 American soldiers and sailors died in the attack and nearly 1300 more were wounded.
It is difficult for those of us who weren’t alive at the time of this attack to fully comprehend what it meant to those who were, and the mark it left on their memories. I know that December 7th was a solemn day for my mother throughout her life, as it was for other family members, particularly those who were serving at the time or who followed the call soon thereafter.
I find myself filled with feelings of sorrow and bewilderment today. I wonder what lessons we might draw from the events at Pearl Harbor and those that preceded and followed. I ponder how I might have reacted had I lived in my parents’ generation. I mourn the lost and ruined lives that are always the cost of war. I consider the grave personal responsibility to work for peace and justice in this world (for that is a task that cannot be entrusted to the politicians, the diplomats and the generals). I pray for those who are living with war on this December 7th.
Surely there must be a better way.
On Saturday, my red card from the Wobblies finally arrived in the mail. The postman brought the membership package (appropriately enough) while I was listening to the Illinois-World Labor Hour on WEFT Radio. Both emotionally and intellectually, the experience was akin to what we Catholics call the Communion of the Saints.
As a new member, I’m doing my best to learn as much as I can about the history, philosophy, strategy and tactics of the organization. Although becoming better informed and personally more conscious is my primary aim at this point, it strikes me that the act of organizing within my own local community will be the eventual test of my commitment, and the actual point of my having become a Wobbly. I must admit that the prospect frightens me a bit, as the process is utterly foreign to me.
Fortunately, the IWW offers lots of resources and training to help new members learn the ropes. Everyone with whom I’ve had any contact so far has been extremely patient, friendly and helpful.
Perhaps one day my Fellow Workers and I will achieve the dream of “building a new society in the shell of the old.” In the meantime you’ll find me taking baby steps in the right direction, with red card in hand.
Let’s say that you have tickets to see a new production of Shakespeare’s Othello. You’re thrilled at the prospects for the evening, and after weeks of anticipation, opening night has finally arrived. There you sit, a first-nighter at last, among thousands of others. The curtain goes up…
…and it turns out that it’s a Punch and Judy style puppet show.
There is a vague resemblance to Othello. Some of the plot lines and characters are familiar, but it’s far from what you expected. At first, you consider that maybe this is some sort of high concept theatre and you just don’t get it. As the evening wears on though, you become more and more outraged. It’s not Othello. It’s not even artful. It’s just plain old Punch and Judy batting each other in the head.
Would you blame the puppets?
Of course not.
Yet, over the past few decades, and in particular over the past few years, there has been an ever more boisterous chorus of outraged citizens in the United States blaming our government and our elected officials for all manner of evil, both real and imagined. If we could only get rid of those bastards in Washington, or make them ever less relevant to our lives, everything would be just peachy.
That, my friends, is blaming the puppets.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not defending the Congress, past or present, for their failures to lead, to solve problems, to respond with any coherence or common sense to any number of critical issues and dangers facing The Republic. I’m not defending the ham-handed dimwittedness of the Bush Administration, nor the calculating cynical ineffectualness of the Obama Administration. I’m just saying “don’t blame the puppets.” Blame the folks pulling the strings.
There’s no kind way to put this. The government of the United States has by now been so corrupted by our system of electoral financing that the Sons of St. Tammany would blush. It is, in effect and in the truest sense of the word, owned by the funders.
Some might suggest that I have fallen prey to cynicism myself, having made that statement. To them, I would ask a simple question. Do you believe that the United States Congress is responsive to the will of the people? If so, your opinion is at odds with 90% of the voting public. If not, the question becomes “to whom is Congress responsive, then?” The answer to that one should be obvious.
Over the past decade the financial services industry alone spent more than $2 billion on federal campaign contributions, according to the authoritative source on such things, Opensecrets.org. That amount was more than the health care, energy, defense, agriculture and transportation industries combined. Is it any wonder that one Senator recently admitted “frankly, they own the place?”
Immediately upon being appointed to the Joint Select Committee on Deficit Reduction (the so-called “Super Committee”), members began to see huge sums of money flowing into their re-election coffers from the political action committees of Lockheed, Pfizer, Goldman Sachs, the National Association of Realtors and others. Is it any wonder that they failed to reach an agreement that would impose a single penny of higher taxes on corporations and the wealthy, or to even consider any cuts to our bloated defense budget?
Is it surprising that the health care bill that passed in the last Congress is little more than a vehicle for subsidies to the big pharmaceutical and insurance companies? These ills, and scores more, can all be traced back to that single question. To whom are our elected officials most accountable? Who is pulling their strings?
Perhaps it’s fair to aim at least some of our ire at the government. After all, our elected officials aren’t made of wood. They are (presumably) human beings with the power of reason and conscience – but I submit that they are puppets nonetheless. Voting for new puppets, or downsizing the puppets, or placing term limits on the puppets, or getting rid of the puppets altogether won’t solve the problem.
We need to focus our attention toward the folks with their hands on the marionette bars, and we need to do our damnedest to cut the strings.
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Resources For Change:
A Banker Speaks, With Regret – NYTimes.com.
…some account executives earned a commission seven times higher from subprime loans, rather than prime mortgages. So they looked for less savvy borrowers — those with less education, without previous mortgage experience, or without fluent English — and nudged them toward subprime loans.
Nicholas Kristof of the New York Times recently spoke with James Theckston, who was a Regional VP for Chase during the housing boom. Theckston now speaks with regret about his culpability in the financial meltdown, as well as that of his bosses.
…they figured we’re going to make billions out of it, so who cares? The government is going to bail us out. And the problem loans will be out of here, maybe even overseas.
McCain says American Citizens Can Be Sent to Guantanamo. [The Progressive]
In this exchange between Senator Rand Paul and Senator John McCain while discussing provisions of the Defense Authorization Act, Senator McCain indicates that even U.S. Citizens could be arrested and held without trial indefinitely if they were considered a security threat.
Sen. Paul: “My question would be under the provisions would it be possible that an American citizen then could be declared an enemy combatant and sent to Guantanamo Bay and detained indefinitely?”
Sen. McCain: “I think that as long as that individual, no matter who they are, if they pose a threat to the security of the United States of America, should not be allowed to continue that threat.”
Read the full article at The Progressive.
Here’s more coverage from The Huffington Post.
Britons Strike as Government Extends Austerity Measures – NYTimes.com. Public sector workers on Wednesday began Britain’s biggest strike in a generation to protest austerity measures, a day after the British government said that it was falling behind with its deficit-reduction plan and that the measures would drag on for two more years.
Any issue that has these two in agreement ought to make us think twice.
Senator Rand Paul:
“It’s not enough just to be alleged to be a terrorist. That’s part of what due process is – deciding, are you a terrorist? I think it’s important that we not allow U.S. citizens to be taken.”
Senator Dianne Feinstein:
“Congress is essentially authorizing the indefinite imprisonment of American citizens, without charge. We are not a nation that locks up its citizens without charge.”
What are they talking about? There are provisions in the National Defense Authorization Act that will require that the U.S. military dispose with anyone who is suspected of terrorism, without regard to where they are, or who they are.
Let’s be clear about this. Under this law, if it passes, United States citizens, arrested within our own borders, could be imprisoned indefinitely without trial for the mere suspicion of having terrorist sympathies.
