My Yang Story

   

        I’m a fifty-four year old lesbian who has fallen in love with a man ten years my junior and joined a gang. Here’s how it happened.

            I was watching the first Democratic debate and saw this Asian guy with no necktie who said if he wins, everyone gets $1000 each month. I said to myself, “Ok, I’ll vote for this guy,” convinced I’d never again hear the name, Andrew Yang. The next day, he was still on my mind. I hopped on Twitter to see what some of the candidates were saying and noticed this hashtag, #YangGang. I’m still not sure I understand what a hashtag means, exactly. I then started following Andrew Yang and garnered some understanding as to this man’s vision. He wants people to live better lives. Period. His campaign slogan is Humanity First. His catch phrase is, Not Left. Not Right. Forward. Then I saw the hats that simply say, MATH. I hate math, the academic discipline, and thought, “maybe this isn’t for me.” After a bit of research, I learned that MATH stands for Make America Think Harder. Yes! Thinking has been missing for quite some time in our American political system. So this guy wants to work for humanity, unite the country, better the lives of countless Americans, and encourages thinking. Wow, I’m all in. Those are my ideals; the ideological tenets of my political philosophy.

            Debate two came up and I fell harder. He appeared again without a necktie and commented how surprised he was that media outlets even cared about that sort of nonsense. His wardrobe, like his ideas, do not conform to traditional politics. That is when “like” became “love” for me. When mainstream media started leaving him off the polls and the DNC didn’t even seem to know who he is, I knew he was on to something. Donald Trump still will not mention his name…he’s afraid to engage and give Andrew the media attention. Trump supporters are joining our Yang Gang and I couldn’t be happier. The Gang is diverse in all aspects: political, social, economic, cultural, ethnic, age, sexual orientation, gender or lack thereof, religion. I’m sure I’ve forgotten some. That is the attraction for me; a truly united country.

            The third debate showed me a few things. First, Andrew’s proposal to test the Freedom Dividend by selecting ten people to receive $1000 monthly for one year. It was laughed at by other candidates; it was cheered by his supporters. To run a pilot program at the cost of $120,000 rather than spend that money on advertisements that do nothing but smear other candidates, is inspired. Second, ABC set rules for the participants and not one person other than Andrew followed the rules. They all agreed, promised, to abide by the guidelines, yet each thought what she had to say was more important than anyone else. Except Andrew. Yang was the only person up there who kept his word. That’s what I want from my president.

            I have been politically engaged and voting since I was eighteen years old. I am fifty-four now. I am considered disabled and live on Social Security Disability Insurance (SSDI), something for which I worked extremely hard. I have numerous medical and prescription expenses. The Freedom Dividend will enhance my life. Not only will it help me financially, it will allow me to provide more for others. Our nation will prosper. People who have no homes will again have means. People in abusive situations will have the means to flee. Stay at home parents and caregivers will be compensated for the amazing work they perform. There are so many more situations to list.

            Andrew Yang saved me from political disengagement. He has given me hope and made me care again. He is not a “cookie-cutter” politician. I was registered as an Independent and switched to Dem in order to vote for Yang. I donated a small amount to his campaign, which averages $25 per donation. There are no corporate interests here. I am driving my friends crazy with my endorsements of this man. These are all firsts for me. I have renewed hope for the future of our country and humanity as a whole. Thank you, Andrew.

Border Madness

I learned something new today. What I learned today reinforced something I learned long ago. What I learned is that government funded agencies cannot receive donations of goods or money so as to keep said agency from being beholden to any individual or corporation. Makes sense when a cursory reading is done. What if we think…not something our leaders want us to do…and understand what this really means in relation to the internment camps operating along the southern U.S. border.

People trying to donate clothing, water, diapers, hygiene supplies, and other items to these “camps,” are being turned away. Hang on, I can’t keep using the word “camps.” That word connotes summer camp and fun. So, let’s just call it what it is; Human Impound. Now, at the Impound, human beings are in need of essential supplies. The government is not providing and the Impounds cannot accept donations. Does that seem odd to anyone else? Ordinarily when the government needs money, they just raise taxes and spend as they best see fit. These are the elected officials who supposedly represent their constituents. How did they get elected? They ran successful campaigns. How did they do that? Through extraordinary campaign funding; funding from individuals and yes, corporations. Are they not therefore beholden to those who donated to their campaigns? Why was money accepted? Why were hats and t-shirts (clothing) accepted as donations? The answer is simple; the government doesn’t just want your money, they want to be in control of your money.

Lobbyists. Show of hands: How many think one or two members of congress are beholden to Big Pharma or the Gun Lobby? Based on the logic employed by the government, no donations, monetary or otherwise, can be accepted by any member of congress for any reason so as not to skew bias to one group or another. As we know all too well, that is not the case. Which brings me to what was rigorously reinforced in me today; the empowered entities (lobbies more so than government individuals) of the world are hypocrites. Further, most in that group believe “we the people” are idiots.

Tax dollars for bombs are acceptable; donations to aid the refugees the bombs create are not.

Logic amid the Madness: For Parkland

Topal had to fill a prescription at the pharmacy and asked Sunto to go along. As they walked, a conversation began:

Topal: Thanks for joining me. It’s a beautiful day for a walk. Peaceful and very quiet.

Sunto: My pleasure. What do you need at the drug store?

Topal: I have a couple of prescriptions ready and I need to get some Sudafed for my sinuses before the pharmacy counter closes.

Sunto: I didn’t know you take prescription meds for your congestion.

Topal: I don’t.

Sunto: Then why do you need to see the pharmacy staff for over the counter pills?

Topal: Because of the ingredients. Apparently, when bought in abundance, the decongestant ingredients can be used to cook crystal meth or something. So, they limit the amount you can buy.

Sunto: Who is “they?”

Topal: The FDA. Each state also has laws regarding pseudoephedrine. A couple of states even require a prescription to get the drug.

Sunto: What led up to all of this?

Topal: This drug is essentially an amphetamine and when used incorrectly or excessively can kill a person. A lot of truckers used to take it to stay awake on the road. Then it started being used to cook meth and the emergency rooms started filling up with overdoses. It became almost epidemic in scope so the government decided to regulate the sale and usage of the drug.

Sunto: Well, I guess that makes sense. The states that require a prescription seem to be the smartest. They want to be sure a doctor documents a patient’s condition before that person is allowed to handle something so potentially dangerous. I know it’s a pain in the butt for you because you have a legitimate reason and aren’t going to hurt yourself or anyone else with the drug.

Topal: So, you think it’s okay for legitimate and law-abiding people to be inconvenienced and undergo extra scrutiny to buy something legally available on the market?

Sunto: I really do. If taking a few extra minutes out of your day makes our society, especially our children safer, it is time well spent. No one is trying to take away your medicine, they just want it regulated so it doesn’t revert back to being a problem of epidemic proportion.

Topal: I’m so glad to hear you say that. It’s nice to agree on something. Remember our last conversation about stricter gun laws? Funny, I said the same thing to you then as you are saying to me now. 

Sunto became silent as they continued to walk.

Topal: Oh brother, I forgot we had to walk past Planned Parenthood. Why can’t the protestors leave those patients and doctors alone? If they are Pro-Life, why don’t they protest in front of a gun store?

Sunto: That’s ridiculous! Not everyone who goes into a gun store is buying a weapon to hurt people.

Topal: You’re right, I guess. Harassing people who are going in for a legitimate reason is wrong. Do you know how many people going into Planned Parenthood are having abortions?

Sunto: Ugh, no, I don’t.

Topal: Lucky for you, I do. Three percent have abortions performed. The rest go for cancer screenings, STD treatment, and low income males can get vasectomies for little or no cost. So, for every one hundred patients who enter the clinic, three unborn fetuses are aborted. Let’s say that three people of every one hundred patrons of a gun store buy assault type weapons and vast amounts of ammunition for the purpose of harming others. Are more than three people murdered?

Sunto: (Says nothing)

Topal: You don’t have to answer that. It seems to me that the so-called Pro-Lifers who intimidate and degrade women seeking abortions, are in fact nothing more than Pro-Birthers. If they were truly in favor of protecting all life, they would protest at gun shows and outside the doors of prison death houses.

Sunto: Okay, you make a fair point, however; guns can still be bought illegally. Heck, you can buy your sinus pills illegally, too. So, what’s the point of stricter regulation if we can’t enforce the laws already on the books?

Topal: I’m learning so much from you today. I never would have guessed you as an advocate for deregulating drugs. One last thing, okay?

Sunto: Go ahead.

Topal: Why do we strictly regulate drugs but not guns? Why do we fight so desperately to keep drugs off the playgrounds and not guns? Why do some groups concern themselves with advocating for an unborn life but not lives already being lived? Why are my sinuses under tighter scrutiny than the mental state of one who possesses a deadly weapon? Why does any thinking person believe that an educator carrying a gun can protect others when the U.S. Army couldn’t do it at Fort Hood?

Sunto: (Stops walking) I have no answers. Where can I get some answers?

Topal: Look to the children; the children who witnessed and survived a situation that you and I can only logically comprehend but never fully understand. Children who will soon vote. The children who are marching; who have displayed more courage in a week than the lobbyists and politicians have shown in a lifetime. The children who will not let their dead friends be forgotten, who will give a fuller and more purposeful meaning to their tragically short lives. Although it may be toward the end of our lifetime, change will come. Change is constant and this stage of social evolution will be for the betterment of all. Sunto, we need to learn from each other and listen to the children. The future is theirs, not ours. Wipe your tears and watch the children, for they “have it in [their] power to begin the world over again.”[1]

Dona nobis pacem

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[1] Thomas Paine, Common Sense (Philadelphia, 1776).

Tangible Respect

Kneeling during the National Anthem in the NFL has morphed from a protest of racial injustice into a politicized and angry debate over the flag being a symbol of respect for our nation’s veterans. I am saddened that the social message has gotten lost, yet at the same time thankful for this opportunity to promote honest and tangible respect for our veterans.

 Let me start by saying that I stand for the playing of the National Anthem wherever I am when I hear it played. I am an avid sports fan and watch most of the games on television. When the song begins, I stand with my hand over my heart. I also accept that those who choose to exercise their Constitutional right by kneeling are not necessarily disrespecting veterans. In fact, many veterans also take a knee. I applaud them for again showing us what true courage looks like. I respect them and I show my respect for them, not by standing alone in my living room with my hand over my heart, but by trying to make a positive difference in their lives. 

One of every fourteen people in this country is a veteran. If you are that one, thank you. Next time you’re driving through the city and see a homeless person and mumble, “get a job,” or “I’m not giving him money for drugs,” remember, if you see fourteen homeless people, it is likely that one is a veteran. Sometimes the worst wounds can’t be seen. In fact, right here in Phoenix there is a place called the Mana House (https://www.manahouseaz.org/) where fifty homeless veterans reside. I show my respect by making donations once or twice a month to “my guys.” If you are interested in showing actual respect for these great men, please visit the website or message me and I will be happy to collect your donation. I recommend making the trip yourself; however, as interacting with these men is unforgettable. 

There are so many other organizations supporting veterans that if you go online you can find a group to help either nationally or locally. The Wounded Warrior Project is an excellent group as is the Pat Tillman Foundation. If you go to these sites with the expectation of reading more about the Anthem debate, you will be disappointed as these organizations exist to assist veterans with their lives. They know why they served and don’t want to engage in political debate. In fact, Pat Tillman’s widow echoed that sentiment (http://www.abc15.com/sports/sports-blogs-local/pat-tillman-s-widow-reacts-to-national-anthem-protests-president-trump-s-tweet).

It seems that as of late most everyone has an opinion on what it means to respect our veterans. In my opinion, it means to serve them as they served us. 

We Really Are Family

The Most Dysfunctional Family of All

I have labeled myself a Globalist. I don’t even know if that’s a real thing, but I like what it entails. A Globalist is pretty self-explanatory in that it is one who celebrates, studies, and respects the diversity of life and physical properties of the earth. For without the earth, there is no life. There are an abundance of legends as to how life came to exist on earth and how and when humans appeared. The belief one holds as to the origin of life, however; either falls into the category of science or spirituality/religion….or if you’re like me, a little of both. My ignorance of the religious creation myths throughout the world limits me to speak only of Western religious myths. Western religions state that God/Allah created everything in a week. Man was created, then took a woman out of his ribs and they started making babies. As they were the only two people on earth, every offspring from ALL future generations MUST share the DNA of those first two people.

 Scientists present concrete proof that evolution occurred. I myself have participated in the Human Genome Project, which traced my ancestry over more than 150,000 years back to East Africa. The same is true of all who have participated. So, like religious beliefs, evolutionary science traces human life back to one source. In both cases, we all share DNA; we are all related. With all that being said, the bottom line is, regardless of which origin story you accept, the end result is the same…..we are all part of one family. 

My immediate family is weird. Dysfunctional. Challenging. Crazy! Seriously, I will throw down the “weird family” gauntlet and take on all challengers. There is deep and irreparable division between all possible combinations of siblings, parents, nieces, etc. Most of the vitriol stems from the fact that those who have held hate in their hearts for so long, refuse to communicate. The hate grows over time and spreads to those other family members who listen only to the opinion of the hater. Being armed with biased, and more often than not, false information, the hate among the followers grows and spreads, like cancer…it kills. If then, this takes place in one small family, what happens when it occurs to the entire human family? I think we’re seeing those results more clearly than ever.

We all started from the same place, wherever you believe that place to be, and migration got us to where we are now. Clans that stayed close to the equator have the darkest skin and those who travelled furthest from the equator have the lightest skin. All of the other shades depend on where the clan went and for how long. People who live in higher elevations, have a greater amount of hemoglobin in their blood; hemoglobin oxygenates the blood. At higher elevations there is less oxygen therefore more hemoglobin is needed to supply the human body. I can’t look at someone and determine her hemoglobin level. I can look at someone and determine her skin color. I can see what is on the outside but not what is happening inside. The only way to do that (aside from lab work) is to engage in conversation. In other words, rather than judge someone based on what I can see, I can try to understand someone based on what I learn from that person.

  I don’t like everyone and I can say with absolute certainty that an enormous number of people don’t like me. That’s ok. My reason for disliking a person is based on the actions of that person. Even more than that, perhaps. It may even be that person’s intentions. Sometimes we don’t ask “why” often enough. And we only need to ask “why” when that person is doing something that affects another. I don’t ask “why” when someone goes to a church that is not mine. Or when someone lives a heterosexual lifestyle. Or when someone speaks a different language, looks different than me, or learns differently. I do wonder “why” when someone is cruel, selfish, or hateful to another being; human or otherwise. 

You see, this globalist does in fact believe we are all related and when one suffers that means a family member is suffering. And the worst pain endured is that inflicted by another family member. We are all on this earth for a relatively short time and must learn to be at peace with our global neighbors. The idea of an all loving planet is a naïve fantasy. I know I don’t like everyone, but I also don’t hate anyone. Like my immediate siblings, however; I can love someone I don’t like. I can bask in the diversity of this wonderful planet while at the same time practice introspection to determine how I can improve myself and subsequently the fortunes of my brothers and sisters of the world. Peace.

Poetry in the Park

I went to the park today. I went today of all days; June 20 in Phoenix when the forecast predicted a 120 degree day. I only stayed for about 20 minutes and sweat through my t-shirt. I talked to my new friend, James. He’s so interesting. We talked about books, one of my favorite subjects. He is fun and intelligent. He is a poet. He is an addict. He is homeless. James and the eight other people and the dog in the small park are homeless. They needed a little extra help today, so I contributed ever so slightly.

I bought several cases of water and a few bunches of bananas and hit the road to downtown Phoenix this morning. On my way to the park, I was fortunate enough to meet several gentle souls that needed a bite to eat and some cool water. When I got out of my car at the park, not a soul stirred. I surveyed my surroundings, I saw dirty and exhausted bodies sleeping on the grass under the small trees. I wasn’t afraid; neither were they. We’re the same; just people on a miserably hot day. I spent the next ten minutes distributing water and bananas; the man with the dog came first. He had nothing to eat or drink yet his dog’s bowl was full of water, placed next to her full bowl of dog food. Her name is Sally the Dog.

Then I met James. He was boisterous and outgoing. He pointed to a young man who was lying on the pavement under an awning. As I approached, the man reached out his hand for the water I was carrying. I handed it to him but he was too weak to open the bottle. I opened it and lifted his head to give him a sip. He gulped the whole bottle. When he was finished with his third bottle, he tried to sit up against a tree but just didn’t have the strength. He wasn’t too tired to thank me.

Before I left, I stopped to have a smoke with James. We talked for maybe ten minutes. He had been reading a newspaper. Before I knew it, we were talking about our favorite authors. We share a love of Oscar Wilde. We hugged and said goodbye, not knowing if we’ll ever see each other again.

Walking back to my car, I was starting to feel the pain of wearing some old flip-flops for the first time in years. I was sweating, thirsty, and didn’t feel very well. So was James.

I drove home in my air-conditioned car. Tonight I stopped at a sub shop to get my favorite sandwich. I soaked my blistered feet and changed my shoes. Now, I’m in my cool home with a full belly and my feet up. I may walk to the kitchen for a snack and another cold drink while I watch t.v. My dogs are sleeping, one on my bed, and one on hers. Sally doesn’t have a bed, neither does James.

It’s after eight o’clock at night and still 115 degrees. If you’re inside and have enough water, think about James and his friends. If you’re not too embarrassed to look someone in the eye when she offers you a cold drink, think about James. If your dog is safe tonight, think about Sally. If you’re fortunate enough to have the strength to sit upright, think about James. If you’re privileged enough to have something tangible, anything to call your own, think of James. When you’re done thinking, help.

The Blue Collar Woman

Going to Work in Trump's America

I have a friend who works in a place that is the epitome of the “Good Ol’ Boys Club.” I worked there once; was it yesterday or a lifetime ago? My friend, let’s call her Chica Sullivan, is an aware, intelligent, hard-working fireball. She works in a male dominated, prejudicial, blue collar environment with the most diverse group of people I have ever seen in one workplace. Although men and women, young and old, gay and straight people from all over the globe work and coexist together, the management and, more importantly, the breakrooms are dominated by white, hetero, Christian, male ideals and attitudes. That is not to say that all members of that group are as intolerable as this group, but the ones who were prone to ignorant and misogynistic behavior have been given license to exacerbate their cowardly and testosterone influenced behavior.

Chica has worked in this environment for many years. So did I. She has my most heartfelt empathy as she is not the type of person who can “get over it” when she hears her coworkers advocating bigotry and chauvinism. Why, you ask? Because she is a logical human being who cares about her fellow man. Oh she’s no saint, who among us is? I would never, ever recommend pissing off this woman. Like me, she becomes irate when a group of white guys, (and yes, they are most vocal when in a group, as are all little boys) excuses and even applauds the racist rants of our new POTUS. I know exactly who these boys are. One used to look forward to December 7 as he saw it as “Hate a Jap” day. Another, probably who thinks that the protests are about losing an election, is likely the most vocal supporter of the “You lost, get over it” movement. Oh yeah, he’s the one who still waves the Confederate flag. Another, who enjoys texting dirty jokes to the women, has blamed President Obama for everything that has happened on earth in the past eight years. It’s raining? “Thanks, Obama.” He is also the kind of guy that has to constantly reiterate how much he respects women and tells you how many black friends he has in order to dissuade us of the more clever sect from believing he is a racist. Ps, you haven’t fooled anyone.

Chica works with and endures the ceaseless whining of these little boys but she also works with men and women. One man, perhaps the most respected in the place and also an immigrant, was wise enough to prefer that his crew was made up entirely of women. He told me women worked harder and smarter. It has been my experience in that particular place of work that he is correct.

Then we have the plain old bullies. The ones who, when among their similarly immature and ignorant peers, make fun of one’s religious beliefs, personal appearance, and believe it or not, their intellect. Yes, these boys (and some little girls) love to use the word “retard.” If someone doesn’t believe in the same manner as they do, he is a retard. If something is not popular or stylish, it is gay. Yes, these are supposed adults who say these things. And Chica, who has the intellect and courage to speak openly and honestly, fights them in groups. When I worked there, I used to tell myself, often one hundred times or more each day, that “Arguing with a fool only proves that there are two.” (Mark Twain) It is hard. The mental agony a sane, intelligent, non-prejudiced adult faces in that place is far more demanding than any physical requirement needed. And Chica can do the physical. While these boys complain about their work load (not all of them), Chica performed a very physically demanding job while carrying a healthy baby. And I mean her own child, not like when she figuratively carries the baby boys with whom she works.

Now, there are many, many good men, real men who work with Chica. They come from all backgrounds and various levels of education and somehow are all able to comprehend that people are people. Some of the biggest and strongest boys are the laziest, whiniest, most unintelligent, insecure little babies I have ever known. They love to gossip and hold the belief that the rules do not apply to them. And since the election of their new Grand Wizard, their sense of entitlement, which was present since birth, has shot through the roof.

Chica, I can’t begin to tell you the level of respect I have for you in standing strong and being brave. I want you to know a few things: 1) You are not alone in your frustration; 2) These are culturally biased boys with whom you are dealing; 3) Somewhere in their emotional and intellectual development they were stunted and therefore remain extremely insecure and are afraid of change; 4) Insecure people (and Fascists) constantly seek out the inferior other so as to distract themselves and others from their shortcomings. Most importantly please remember this; gorillas in the zoo go insane because they are too intelligent for their environment. Keep up the fight, I got your back. Peace.