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The Art of Protest
The Art of Protest I'm a of the Sixties. Non-violence is my middle name. So, it should come as no surprise that on more than one occaision, I have walked into a crowded Starbucks, ordered my food and beverage, and when asked offered "BlackLivesMatter," for my name. And, I've done this on more than one occaision (ok, twice). But it is important to get the message accross. Like my Social Studies teacher, Mike Wagner did when he walked into my junior high, wearing an Israeli Army uniform, the day after the 1967 Six Day War ended. Mr. Wagner got canned, but parents united together to get him rehired. Groovy! Mike was very off the wall, but a damned fine teacher. But I drew the line when my inner Abie Hoffman whispered into my medulla oblongata say "BlackPussyMatters," shortly after the Sandra Bland tragedy. I forgive Abie, he's a sixties after all. That I deemed a bit over the top. Besides, I live in Phoenix, not L.A. or S.F. And, oh yeah I reminded myself, this isn't the sixties anymore. Thank God! People are strange when you're a stranger." |
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When I see all these people rioting whenever a black person is killed by a cop (white or black), I keep thinking back to Rev./Dr. King's "I Have a Dream" speech where he talks about his children being judged "not by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character". IMHO, That dream can never come to pass so long as Rev. Jackson and Rev. Sharpton, ordained ministers who know better but cannot seem to do better, and all the groups they incite (BLM, for example), keep demanding that blacks be treated more leniently, which is still being judged by the color of their skin.
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Although, drugs were cheap, sex was free, and the music was excellent. People are strange when you're a stranger."
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