Snitch (Part 2)

The following narrative was written as my final submission for English 404, Creative NonFiction, during the Fall 2022 semester. Read Part 1 HERE.

“It’s always the ones with the dirty hands pointing the fingers.”

Sonya Teclai, musical artist.
Snitch
Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay
“Think of it as we’re building a pyramid; you would never start at the top,” the AUSA (Assistant U.S. Attorney) explained. “You begin with the foundation, then build upwards from there,” he droned on. The analogy didn’t make me feel any better. I pictured myself and my friends as bricks getting piled on each other, layer by layer, wondering how much pressure I could stand as they kept building their damn pyramid.

Washington, D.C. might be an International City and the capital of the free world, but trust me, it is, at heart, a small town. There are few secrets when it comes to elected officials and bureaucrats. I knew it was only a matter of time before the whole world got wind of my snitching.

Snitch
1983- Photo by Art Jones
My ex-girlfriend was someone I suspected would be another brick in the pyramid. Forget that we had been separated for nearly a year, my lawyer explained, “The feds would try to squeeze her for leverage over you. You must reach out to her.”

This was not going to be an easy conversation.

We met in one of those dive bars in a part of town that we would never have been caught dead in when we were dating. I guess it didn’t matter much now. Anonymity was the goal. I gave her the bad news, and she didn’t take it well. “What the hell does this have to do with me?” she exclaimed as her voice rose a few octaves to no effect on the few customers in the fine dive establishment. Then, any hope that I could trust her to keep the matter confidential evaporated quickly. “Are you wearing a wire? Are you trying to entrap me?” She leaned forward, speaking into my chest, “I knew nothing about your craziness back then. Do you hear me, whoever is listening to us?”
There was no wire, no one was listening to us, and I was not trying to entrap her. I thought it was fair to warn her that I was a bigger jerk than she knew me to be when we were a couple. But all I could tell her as I got up to leave was to Get a lawyer and that I was sorry.
Grand Jury
Image by Sang Hyun Cho from Pixabay

The marble bench was still uncomfortable. The subpoena stated that I was to appear outside the Grand Jury room at an appointed hour, and someone would come to give me further instructions. Considerable time had passed, no one had come looking for me, and my lawyer hadn’t arrived. I considered looking for a pay phone to call his office, but I was afraid to move. All I could think about with every ticking second was how I would explain what I was doing outside a federal grand jury room if someone I knew stopped and asked me questions.

I suddenly recognized a woman walking down the corridor with a group of people heading toward another jury room. Our gazes locked for a second, and I turned, looked down at my cards, and pretended that I was intensely reading them. My stomach had passed into my throat and then collapsed like a rock back into place. When the group had passed, I breathed a sigh of relief as I saw the back of her head. She never looked back.

The relief was short-lived. I thought about my parents and family in New York and how I would explain everything. My lawyer and the feds told me there was no guarantee my name wouldn’t be made public once the grand jury had completed its work and someone had been indicted. In fact, due to the high-profile nature of this investigation, it was a good chance that my name would be splattered across the front page of the Washington Post, the New York Times, and every local radio and television outlet in Washington. “You’ll be famous.” I don’t want to be famous.

Priests
Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay
I was preparing to sign the immunity agreement when I suddenly realized I had a question or two. I hesitated for what must have been a second too long when someone, the AUSA or the DEA agent, slammed their hand down on the table. Hard. Addressing my lawyer, “Sir, you better speak to your client. He is either prepared to answer all questions before the grand jury, or this agreement will be torn up.” Both men suddenly got up and left the room, leaving my lawyer and me. 
Shaking from the confrontation, I got up from my seat and walked to the sole tall narrow window overlooking the plaza in front of the courthouse. I pondered my fate as I watched the people below briskly moving about their business, oblivious to my panic and the world falling around me. How the hell did I get to this moment?
I knew the answer, of course. Greed. Recklessness. Now I was in a room in a courthouse, getting ready to sign an agreement that would make me a snitch. I didn’t want to go to prison. It was either them or me. I once spent four hours in a police station lock-up in 1968 and was close to losing it.  A federal penitentiary, I’m sure, would be worse. Sign the damn agreement.

My lawyer finally arrived, insisting on last-minute instructions. “Tell the truth, but be very specific in your responses, and don’t go off on tangents.” I heard him, but my mind was somewhere else. At that moment, I steeled myself.

Grand Jury
Image by Ichigo121212 from Pixabay

My vision narrowed, staring down a tunnel with no light at the other end—only darkness. Afraid I was being sucked into a vortex, there was nothing to hold onto as I free-fall, twisting and turning, rolling and spinning, my eyes wide open because I couldn’t close them. No, I think I will be forced to witness my fate, feel it, like a million shards of glass cutting into me. And I wonder if this is what hell would be like if it existed.

All I could think about was asking for forgiveness, a new beginning, and wishing I could quietly slink away in anonymity.

The mahogany-colored door to the jury room opened beside me, and a woman stepped out. “Mister Ruiz, we’re ready for you.”

Snitch (Part 1)

The following narrative was written as my final submission for English 404, Creative NonFiction, during the Fall 2022 semester.

“It’s always the ones with the dirty hands pointing the fingers.”

Sonya Teclai, musical artist.
Snitch
Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

So here is the truth, as close to the truth as I can recollect or want to. Strips of memories have been peeled away over time, so all I’m left with are hazy recollections, unremembered names, blurry sequences of events, and a desire not to smear the names of people I’ve hurt. Thirty-nine years later, it’s still difficult to admit I was a snitch. Not just any snitch. A snitch willing to bring down a friend, allegedly the mistress of the Mayor of Washington, D.C. I’m not proud of that decision, as I’m writing about it now, but I’d like to think of it as, while painful, therapy. To say that I have felt shame, regret, or embarrassment at any juncture in my journey would be an understatement. The pain in my conscience eases when I tell myself that most people would have done the same as I did. Testify before a federal grand jury against your friends, or else find yourself on a fast track to the hell of prison.

The Elijah Barrett Prettyman U.S. Courthouse on Constitution Avenue Northwest in Washington D.C. was a twenty-minute walk and a mile away from my East Capital Street studio apartment with an awe-inspiring view of the top of the U.S. Capitol building. It took me five years of sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll to make it to that marble-decorated courthouse hallway and the hard-ass marble bench outside a federal grand jury room. I sat there, my ass and legs constantly shifting as I searched for comfort on that bench.

Snitch
1983- Photo by Art Jones

I shuffled the three-by-five index cards given to me by my lawyer, desperately trying to memorize their content. One card spelled precise instructions on pleading the fifth amendment if I thought an answer would incriminate me. How would I know that? “Use common sense,” my lawyer scolded me. “If they ask whether you have ever personally dealt drugs to the mayor, you should assume it’s a trick question and take the fifth.”

I wish you could be there. Grand Juries, I learned, don’t allow witnesses or potential defendants to have a lawyer present when questioned. “That’s why I gave you the second card,” he explained, “tell them you want to step outside the grand jury room and speak to me if you feel uneasy about a question.”

This is the point in the story when I try to poke my memory for what I felt back then. I was scared shitless about going to prison. I’d seen enough gangster and prison movies to know that only gang rapes and death by shivs awaited me. One wrong statement spits out of my mouth, and the Federal prosecutors would pounce on me, claiming, “Oops, you fucked up,” except in more legalese language.

Snitch
When I received the first grand jury subpoena and figured out what the hell was going on, I called the target of the federal investigation. Are you fucking kidding me? I remember exclaiming when we met at a downtown Washington D.C. restaurant, one of those gentrified places that the next generation of movers and shakers frequented. During the day, I was the Executive Director of a government commission appointed by the same Mayor. Talk about irony. At night, I was snorting my way through ounces of cocaine and selling grams of the South American export with an abandonment, expecting that my two lives would never intersect. I was delusional. I’m living in the nation’s capital during the war on drugs. What would make me think that a semi-high profile bureaucrat would never attract the attention of every illegal drug-chasing federal agency while living less than two miles from the White House and FBI headquarters? That is the definition of recklessness.

Waiting for my lawyer, I thought about an earlier meeting with the Assistant United States Attorney (AUSA) and a Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) agent. That was when I agreed to become a snitch. To betray my friends, to sacrifice whatever moral high ground I lived on in exchange for not being charged with any federal crimes.

Conspiracy
Image by Markus Winkler from Pixabay
The nightmare always comes to me like a wave of cascading emotions. There’s the narrow high ceiling office with one lone window. My lawyer and me on one side of a small desk, the AUSA and the DEA agent opposite us. My lawyer tells me he’s hammered out the details of the immunity deal, and the meeting was a formality. “You can ask questions,” my lawyer told me, “Just remember, they hold all the cards.” That didn’t seem like a choice. More like blackmail. I knew there would be questions about the target of the investigation, but there was nothing to stop prosecutors from asking about other people. Suddenly, shockwaves of doubt and remorse throttled through my body. All I could think about was the long list of people, some with serious political and street creds, who bought drugs from me. But I visibly shuddered when I thought about the people who sold me the drugs. What would happen when they found out that I had snitched on them? 

To Be Continued…

UPDATE: Someone Stole My CAT…

Stealing
Image by Ryan McGuire from Pixabay

…Catalytic converter, that is. And I wasn’t alone. According to neighbors, at least two other cars on the block were also hit on the same night. Have you ever driven a car without a catalytic converter? Sounds like a herd of elephants running alongside your car.

UPDATE: Am I just the luckiest guy alive, or what? When I first contacted the auto repair business about the delivery time for a new catalytic converter, I was told it would be four to six months. It seems I wasn’t the only unlucky person to end up in catalytic hell. Well, in a matter of days of turning in my car and picking up the rental, the call came. My car was going to be ready because they had found an aftermarket converter. I was there quicker than the time it took to saw off my CAT and immediately took it to a muffler shop to have them install a CAT shield. Yes, the universe came together. Shout out to my insurance company, the Auto Club; the repair shop, Crash Champions; and the muffler shop, High Flow Muffler.

Whoever said that misery loves company doesn’t know my misery or that of my neighbors. It is a pain of inconvenience; I am pissed and feel violated. I’m not alone, and I don’t mean just my neighbors. State Farm Insurance company reported in a newsletter last October that “auto claims data reveals continued surge in catalytic converter theft.” According to CARFAX, which provides vehicle data to individuals and businesses, the U.S. Department of Justice recently announced “that a combination of federal, state, and local law enforcement agencies took coordinated action against a “national network” of people” who were involved in thefts worth tens of millions of dollars. Well, you can add my CAT to the pile of money. Yes, I reported it to my insurance company and the police, but all that does is add me to the statistics, and there is no pleasure in that.

Stealing
Image by Henryk Niestrój from Pixabay

One of my neighbors whose CAT was stolen lamented, “Hell, we could have just given them the money” and not suffered all this hassle. Funny, I don’t feel that way. I feel like an organized ring of thieves violated my space and time; if anything, they owe me compensation and an apology.

I’ve been robbed twice before in my life (not counting when I was roughed up in St. Mary’s Park for my raffle money when I was twelve years old). It was a burglary of the house in Washington, D.C. I was living with two other people. Long story, they didn’t steal much except some gas cards and expired credit cards (they did miss the pound of cocaine in a picnic basket. Come on, I’m just kidding). Strangers, we assume, broke into the house through a window under the front porch, busted the basement door to the kitchen, and ransacked the house in search of whatever. That’s right, not once but two times. Aside from the psychological pain and the inconvenience of repairs and police reports and not sleeping well for a few nights, the more incredible feeling was violation and questions about why. Could the thieves have just knocked on the front door and asked, “Listen, we’re thinking of burglarizing your house tomorrow, and we’ll probably do some damage in the process, which will cost you a shitload of money and inconvenience? Say, you give us the cash value now and save yourself the misery.” Now, that’s forward-thinking.

Stealing
Image by Thomas Rüdesheim from Pixabay

You ever hear the old saying, “A neo-conservative is a liberal who has been mugged by reality?” Supposedly said by Irving Kristol, who has been described as the “godfather of neo-conservatism.” Well, I’m not changing political parties or philosophies any time soon, but I am always intrigued by the human condition. Why do humans continue to F- over their fellow humans, pummeling them monetarily with everything from billion-dollar Wall Street Ponzi schemes to cybercrimes to stealing catalytic converters?

Now, I know it sounds like a naive question but don’t tell me you’ve never once thought about it. Or that you weren’t taught the seventh commandment, “Thou shall not steal.” Or if you as parents haven’t taught your children not to steal. Okay, maybe, in the back of your mind, you might have added a couple of exceptions to the rule. You know something about who will ever know if you keep it to a small amount. You steal it from a friend, or maybe you steal from your multinational corporate employer (hell, they got plenty of money). Okay, you didn’t report that thousand-dollar Superbowl bet you won (the government has plenty of your cash already). I mean, is it thievery?

Author and University Professor Sheila Kohler wrote an article for Psychology Today, “Why Do People Steal?” with the sub-heading “Some people feel it’s their right to steal.” In the article, Kohler uses some examples of stealing that seem rational. The adult casually takes a “box of Kleenex from a hotel room, and some might even purloin a towel or a bathrobe, thinking most probably: I’m paying enough for this hotel room.” What kind of parents did they have? Or the people who sometimes steal because they are hungry and their children are hungry, and the world is cruel, and you have to do what you have to do to survive.

Stealing
Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

Kohler even quotes Socrates, “that no one knowingly commits an evil action, evil is turned into good in the mind.” According to her analogy, thieves convince themselves that they have a right to the object they desire, “He needs it more than the other does. It is rightfully his.” Well, I tell you what, I need that catalytic converter more than the thieves do. I’m facing the prospect of having no car for four to six months and juggling the use of my wife’s car. Doesn’t sound like a fair deal to me.

The idea that someone else or even you or I am entitled to something that doesn’t rightfully belong to any of us doesn’t seem like a nice thing to think. Throughout human history, we (as human beings) just have looked for any excuse to take what we covet because we believe it’s ours and F- the other person. Maybe, that’s the problem. It’s the rationale behind wars, Imperialism, colonialism, genocide, Ponzi schemes, petty thefts, and stealing my damn catalytic converter.

Stealing
Image by inna mykytas from Pixabay

Next time, knock on my door and ask me for the cash. I’ll be waiting.

Someone Stole My CAT…

Stealing
Image by Ryan McGuire from Pixabay

…Catalytic converter, that is. And I wasn’t alone. According to neighbors, at least two other cars on the block were also hit on the same night. Have you ever driven a car without a catalytic converter? Sounds like a herd of elephants running alongside your car.

Whoever said that misery loves company doesn’t know my misery or that of my neighbors. It is a pain of inconvenience; I am pissed and feel violated. I’m not alone, and I don’t mean just my neighbors. State Farm Insurance company reported in a newsletter last October that “auto claims data reveals continued surge in catalytic converter theft.” According to CARFAX, which provides vehicle data to individuals and businesses, the U.S. Department of Justice recently announced “that a combination of federal, state, and local law enforcement agencies took coordinated action against a “national network” of people” who were involved in thefts worth tens of millions of dollars. Well, you can add my CAT to the pile of money. Yes, I reported it to my insurance company and the police, but all that does is add me to the statistics, and there is no pleasure in that.

Stealing
Image by Henryk Niestrój from Pixabay

One of my neighbors whose CAT was stolen lamented, “Hell, we could have just given them the money” and not suffered all this hassle. Funny, I don’t feel that way. I feel like an organized ring of thieves violated my space and time; if anything, they owe me compensation and an apology.

I’ve been robbed twice before in my life (not counting when I was roughed up in St. Mary’s Park for my raffle money when I was twelve years old). It was a burglary of the house in Washington, D.C. I was living with two other people. Long story, they didn’t steal much except some gas cards and expired credit cards (they did miss the pound of cocaine in a picnic basket. Come on, I’m just kidding). Strangers, we assume, broke into the house through a window under the front porch, busted the basement door to the kitchen, and ransacked the house in search of whatever. That’s right, not once but two times. Aside from the psychological pain and the inconvenience of repairs and police reports and not sleeping well for a few nights, the more incredible feeling was violation and questions about why. Could the thieves have just knocked on the front door and asked, “Listen, we’re thinking of burglarizing your house tomorrow, and we’ll probably do some damage in the process, which will cost you a shitload of money and inconvenience? Say, you give us the cash value now and save yourself the misery.” Now, that’s forward-thinking.

Stealing
Image by Thomas Rüdesheim from Pixabay

You ever hear the old saying, “A neo-conservative is a liberal who has been mugged by reality?” Supposedly said by Irving Kristol, who has been described as the “godfather of neo-conservatism.” Well, I’m not changing political parties or philosophies any time soon, but I am always intrigued by the human condition. Why do humans continue to F- over their fellow humans, pummeling them monetarily with everything from billion-dollar Wall Street Ponzi schemes to cybercrimes to stealing catalytic converters?

Now, I know it sounds like a naive question but don’t tell me you’ve never once thought about it. Or that you weren’t taught the seventh commandment, “Thou shall not steal.” Or if you as parents haven’t taught your children not to steal. Okay, maybe, in the back of your mind, you might have added a couple of exceptions to the rule. You know something about who will ever know if you keep it to a small amount. You steal it from a friend, or maybe you steal from your multinational corporate employer (hell, they got plenty of money). Okay, you didn’t report that thousand-dollar Superbowl bet you won (the government has plenty of your cash already). I mean, is it thievery?

Author and University Professor Sheila Kohler wrote an article for Psychology Today, “Why Do People Steal?” with the sub-heading “Some people feel it’s their right to steal.” In the article, Kohler uses some examples of stealing that seem rational. The adult casually takes a “box of Kleenex from a hotel room, and some might even purloin a towel or a bathrobe, thinking most probably: I’m paying enough for this hotel room.” What kind of parents did they have? Or the people who sometimes steal because they are hungry and their children are hungry, and the world is cruel, and you have to do what you have to do to survive.

Stealing
Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

Kohler even quotes Socrates, “that no one knowingly commits an evil action, evil is turned into good in the mind.” According to her analogy, thieves convince themselves that they have a right to the object they desire, “He needs it more than the other does. It is rightfully his.” Well, I tell you what, I need that catalytic converter more than the thieves do. I’m facing the prospect of having no car for four to six months and juggling the use of my wife’s car. Doesn’t sound like a fair deal to me.

The idea that someone else or even you or I am entitled to something that doesn’t rightfully belong to any of us doesn’t seem like a nice thing to think. Throughout human history, we (as human beings) just have looked for any excuse to take what we covet because we believe it’s ours and F- the other person. Maybe, that’s the problem. It’s the rationale behind wars, Imperialism, colonialism, genocide, Ponzi schemes, petty thefts, and stealing my damn catalytic converter.

Stealing
Image by inna mykytas from Pixabay

Next time, knock on my door and ask me for the cash. I’ll be waiting.

My Country, Right or Wrong?

Image by kalhh from Pixabay 

This past 4th of July celebration with its American flag decorations and fireworks displays and the reading of the Declaration of Independence on the radio made me think about how much patriotism is spoon-fed to us growing up in the United States of America.

This is the story we are taught to believe: that some brave white men (it’s always courageous white men in the history books and movies) set out to make the United States of America by declaring independence from the British Crown. They alone fought the war to make it happen. It’s a great story. The oppressed take on the oppressor and tell them to get the eff out of their lives and kick their ass to make freedom ring over the land. Good story, but everything about this country is not the whole story.

Born and growing up in the fifties and early sixties in the South Bronx, I was taught that patriotism was all about flag-waving, talking shit about the evil empire of communism, and making sure that no one talked shit about America. However, it was okay for everyone else to talk shit about politicians, the IRS, the DMV, people on welfare, and of course, anyone who wasn’t white (Although in New York, talking about the Jews, Italians, and Irish was often allowed).

Howard Zinn at MIT 2005 – The Myth of American Exceptionalism

The concept of patriotism was inculcated into our young minds by our Catholic school and the endless flag-waving movies on television and at the local movie house. I was a big fan of James Cagney’s portrayal of George M. Cohen and his Yankee Doodle Dandy. My father, who was Puerto Rican born (U.S. citizens since 1917) and served in the U.S. Army during World War Two, constantly repeated the mantra of American patriotism, “My country, right or wrong.” Trust me; he wasn’t alone.

You were never patriotic enough. For example, the fifties were the times of the famous Senator Joseph McCarthy witch hunts. A communist in every level of government, colleges, unions, hell, have you looked under your bed lately? Be careful what you say or else. America may have been the home of the free and brave, but only if you toed the line, whatever that was. The problem was that they kept moving the line. The consensus in White America (there were more People of Color in this camp than you might believe) was that America was the land of freedom, even if it meant you couldn’t exercise that freedom or didn’t have that freedom. Remember, the modern-day Civil Rights Act wasn’t enacted until 1964. The Voting Rights Act came the following year, in 1965.

Myths from American History Class: Atlantic Magazine

It was all about the illusion of freedom. Just ask Black, Brown, indigenous people, all women, and most Asians during the fifties in America. For many folks, patriotism was loyalty to a myth, a dream that sometimes made you feel good because you thought you belonged but didn’t. If you fought in a war, you figured you paid the price of admission, so you should be able to attend the party. The reality was, however, often something else.

This is more relevant today as we react and respond to threats on even fundamental voting freedoms. This essential freedom is now threatened by potential repeats of the efforts to overthrow the peaceful transfer of power last year. The realistic fear is that 2021 was a dress rehearsal for the 2022 and 2024 elections. You begin to wonder what is it about America I should be cheering, “My country, right or wrong.”

8 False American History Facts You Always Thought Were True

We love wrapping ourselves in myths. From school to our religious institutions to the media, American history is distorted to favor the winners, which usually translates into white men the victors. Everyone else are either the defeated or just didn’t really do anything to help. We’re talking indigenous people, enslaved Africans, the excluded Chinese, interned Japanese Americans, and brown people. No matter that those who were not brought here by force came here just like Europeans in search of a new and free life. If they complained about their treatment when they got here, they were told to go back where they came from. “America, Love it or Leave it.”

All this talk of “America, Love it or Leave it” or any of its modern day versions needs to be seen in the context of what it is all about, power. At first, it was the power of the majority over the minority. The majority of Americans who were white could decide who got rewarded and who got punished. Who got rights and who didn’t. They (you know whom I mean) controlled the power of government, business, and religion. They used the money that power generated to build more power and then more money and then more power. They had a head start because they were good at it (Okay, they’re still very good at it).

Now, as more People of Color and their liberal/progressive political allies become the majority in some states and cities, they (Come on, do I need to spell out who they are?) have become the minority. But they’re not sitting by and taking it gracefully. No, while they’ve had the power for most of the time this nation has existed, President Barack Obama scared the bejeesus out of them. From that moment until today, they have done everything they can to ensure that the year 2045 never arrives. That is the year People of Color are forecasted to be the majority in this country.

(Quick aside: I’ve never believed that just because People of Color are the majority, it means we’re all suddenly going to abandon this country’s white-dominated political and cultural domination.)

Jordan Klepper Shows Trump Supporters January 6th Hearing Clips | The Daily Show

Well, they are not taking any chances. The preparations are underway for preserving majority rule even when they become a minority. Beginning with the Tea Party and now with Trump’s party, the winds have shifted, and we, whoever we are, will get our asses kicked. Not just the Democratic Party (I got your When they go low, we go high right here) but also any true Independents, scared as shit Republicans, and every other political party in this country who sees the writing on the wall. When they say, America, love or leave it”, they mean love it or leave it, which translates into “otherwise we’ll send your ass back to whatever shithole country the hell you came from.” Yeah, news to them: Ain’t going anywhere. I’m here to stay. Fuggedaboutit.

Sh!t On My Mind

On my mind
Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

Election day in California has come and gone, and it’s time to get back to the vital matter at hand, summer. You know, trips to the beach, the desert, camping, mountains, blockbuster movies, and don’t forget, predictions of doom for the midterms in November. Hell, I can make vacay and doomsay at the same time. In between house and summer break stuff, I’ve been sorting through a bunch of sh!t on my mind. For example, who won the Heard-Depp defamation trial? And why should I care?

The Economy

The economy
Image by S K from Pixabay

The good news: the unemployment rate is now 3.6% from a high of 14.7% two years ago. Do you remember when everyone was so happy to get those Pandemic checks and small business grants and rent moratoriums? Now, economists and critics swear that all this has helped lead us into the inflation crisis we’re facing. Putting too much money into people’s pockets and the economy spells trouble like gas and food prices: Doom and gloom. Yet, I have seen more people in stores and restaurants in a long time. I was just wondering what all of this means.

Crime

Crime
Image by Gentle07 from Pixabay

I read that Democrats all over the country because they favor social justice approaches to, well, justice. The prevailing narrative is that all this has led to an increase in crime. So, the pandemic and the crazy that followed have nothing to do with it. The solution is more police and locking people up (any people, it seems) and throwing away the key.

For example in New York City.

“For the month of April 2022, New York City saw a 38% decrease in homicides (31 v. 50) and a 29.1% drop in shooting incidents (105 v. 148) compared to April 2021. Overall index crime increased by 34.2% in April 2022, compared to the same period a year ago (9,463 v. 7,051) – a total driven by a 43.5% increase in grand larceny (3,867 v. 2,694) and a 41.5% increase in robbery (1,261 v. 891). Burglaries also increased by 39.4% (1,209 v. 867) in April 2022 compared to last year.”

https://www1.nyc.gov/site/nypd/news/p00044/nypd-citywide-crime-statistics-april-2022

But then, you come across stuff like the following. I guess one’s perception of crime depends on where one lives and not just what one feels.

“According to polls from Axios/SurveyMonkey and The Economist/YouGov, around 9 in 10 Americans feel very or somewhat safe in the communities where they live. At the same time, Gallup polling shows the gap in perception of growing crime in the U.S. versus crime in one’s own neighborhood has never been wider.”

https://www.consumeraffairs.com/homeowners/safest-states-in-the-us.html

Here’s their list:

  • New Jersey is the safest state, according to our scoring system. It separated itself from other leading states with a significantly higher score for law enforcement officers per capita.
  • Eight of the 10 safest states are in the Northeastern region of the U.S. (as defined by the Census Bureau), including the top six states on our list. The list also includes one state from the Midwest and one from the South. No states from the West made the top 10.
  • Maine had the best score of all 50 states for violent crime per capita. Massachusetts had the best score for property crime per capita. New Jersey had the best score for law enforcement officers per capita, and Ohio had the highest score for estimated public safety budget per law enforcement employee.

In the Meantime

“Mass shootings have been on the rise in recent years. In 2021, almost 700 such incidents occurred, a jump from the 611 in 2020 and 417 in 2019. Before that, incidents had not topped 400 annually since the Gun Violence Archive started tracking in 2014.”

https://www.washingtonpost.com/nation/2022/06/02/mass-shootings-in-2022/

I guess I’m not doing enough prayers. Well, that’s probably because I don’t believe in prayers, only laws, and their enforcement. But, no laws are going to stop the madness of anger, violence worship, and “I just don’t give a sh!t” attitudes.

The Unhoused

Unhoused
Image by Brigitte Werner from Pixabay

Drive or walk down any major street or freeway in southern California, and their presence is ubiquitous, tents of the unhoused.

“In the United States, there are over half a million people experiencing homelessness. These individuals live in a temporary shelter or transitional housing or sleep in a place not meant for habitation (like an abandoned building). The top four causes of homelessness, in order, are lack of affordable housing, unemployment, poverty, and low wages.”

https://worldpopulationreview.com/state-rankings/homeless-population-by-state

According to the World Population Review website, these some of the breakdown of their statistics:

  • The average life expectancy of a homeless person is just 50 years.
  • 39.8% of homeless persons are African-Americans
  • 61% of homeless persons are men and boys
  • 20% of homeless persons are kids
  • 42% of street children identify as LGBT
  • New York City has one-fifth of all US sheltered homeless
  • The homeless problem is on a downward trend- Where is this happening?
  • Permanent housing interventions have grown by 450% in 5 years.

Music

Music
Image by Pexels from Pixabay

Did you know that the top artist and song right now is Harry Styles, “As It Was,” according to Billboard Magazine? Number two is Doja Cat, “Woman.” And number three is Lizzo, “About Damn Time.” I am so out of touch. Read more of the list HERE.

Fashion

Fashion
Image by Pexels from Pixabay

You may not remember, but in another dimension, I was once Executive Producer of Fashion Police with Joan and Melissa Rivers on E! (No, really). According to Refinery29.com, these fashion trends are defining 2022

  • Sweats 2.0
  • The Pointelle Lounge Crop Pants
  • Victor Glemaud Chain Link Wide-Leg Cropped Pants
  • Donni Eco-Fleece Roll Pant
  • Skims Cozy Knit Pant

Curious

Curious
Image by Dean Moriarty from Pixabay

What are we calling the generation after Gen Z? Well, apparently, Gen Alpha.

“Com­par­ing Gen­er­a­tion Alpha ver­sus Gen­er­a­tion Z sta­tis­tics — much like the groups’ mem­bers them­selves — are still devel­op­ing. How­ev­er, if cur­rent trends hold, Gen­er­a­tion Alpha kids will be more racial­ly and eth­ni­cal­ly diverse than their Gen­er­a­tion Z coun­ter­parts. Mem­bers of Gen­er­a­tion Alpha will also be more like­ly to go to col­lege, more like­ly to grow up in a sin­gle-par­ent house­hold and more likely to be sur­round­ed by col­lege-edu­cat­ed adults.”

https://www.aecf.org/blog/what-is-generation-alpha

Still Curious

I’ve been told that the Republican Party is looking after us better than the Democratic Party because…….I’ll have to get back to you on that.

Conspiracy Theories

Conspiracy
Image by Markus Winkler from Pixabay

When did conspiracy theories go from “Who Killed JFK?” to the Democrats are a bunch of child-eating pedos?

English as my major

Lifelong Learning
Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

I’m so naive. I didn’t realize that when I decided to major in English to study Creative Writing that it meant that I would be studying mostly white men and some white women, with James Baldwin thrown in as the token. I must be in the wrong decade.

I only have four semesters left to graduate at seventy-five years old with a Bachelor of Arts in English- Creative Writing. Do you think I will be too old to pursue a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing at that age?

Stop Me If You’ve Heard This Before

The unraveling of America. Not that we were ever as knotted together as we think we were.

Apathy
Image by Mediamodifier from Pixabay

Stop me if you’ve heard this before.

Road Rage
A group of teenagers (or adults) is beating up another teenager (or adult) in a public space, and no one who is witnessing it attempts to stop it. Instead, everyone pulls out their phones and start recording the event, and some even live stream it. Another human being whose video of the incident later gets 225,643 likes steps over the victim on the ground because they have places to go. The victim is so severely injured that they are transported to the hospital, where they suffer needlessly or die. Maybe, they'll get five minutes on the news. 

Stop me if you’ve heard this before.

Mask Fights
You’re seventy-three years old and high-risk health-wise, and you go to the Urologist’s office in Orange County where you see a waiting room of other senior-looking men and a few women who you assume might also be at risk health-wise considering their age and the reason they are there and the intake person is a young woman who is not wearing a mask in the middle of a pandemic and chatting up a storm to those coming to the window, and then you look over and realize that other staff around her (also young people) are not wearing masks, and you’re shocked, and you quickly retreat to the furthest corner of the office lobby hoping that you’re going to be okay and wondering “Is this a doctor’s office?” and why weren’t you warned and you swear that you won’t ever come here again because it’s apparent that they just don’t give a shit about you or your health. Kind of like walking over your dead body because they got better things to do than protect your health in a doctor’s office. 

Stop me if you’ve heard this before.

Spirit Airlines passengers brawl inside Detroit Metro Airport
You’re at the airport waiting at the gate for your flight when all of a sudden you hear shouting from the gate next door, and you turn and see a full-fledged rock 'em and sock ‘em battle to the death by would be passengers hauling blows upon the airline staff behind the counter as the victimizers curse their mommas and daddies and complain “Whatcha’ mean the flight’s been canceled?” and people get their cell phones out and are recording the action, some even streaming it live, and you’re thinking to yourself, ‘Where’re the cops?” and “Aren’t you supposed to be wearing a mask at the airport?” as you watch the victimizers not wearing masks because they want to be able to shout their obscenities filled rants clearly and loudly so they can be heard and some of the people shooting videos have lowered their masks because they’ve determined that somehow the masks get in the way of their live streaming the battle royal. Later one of them will learn that their video has received 525,674 likes after they’ve stepped over the airport damage and some little old lady innocent bystander who’s writhing on the ground in pain (“Fuck ‘em).

Stop me if you’ve heard this before.

I was thinking about all of this when I came across the headline America Is Falling Apart at the Seams, an opinion piece by David Brooks. The headline scared me because I’d been saying it for the past seven years (Actually, way longer). Brooks lamented the seeming breakdown in society’s weave and wondered why.

“But something darker and deeper seems to be happening as well — a long-term loss of solidarity, a long-term rise in estrangement and hostility. This is what it feels like to live in a society that is dissolving from the bottom up as much as from the top down.”

David Brooks
Apathy
Image by joanbrown51 from Pixabay

There’s a long list of signs that America is unraveling, but he offers no solutions, “As a columnist, I’m supposed to have some answers. But I just don’t right now. I just know the situation is dire.” I agree. Things seem bad. So bad that we just don’t have an answer to what to do about it (Besides just shooting some video and stepping over some person’s dead body).

It must be so bad that I found other columnists bemoaning the state of America: Rudeness Is on the Rise. You Got a Problem With That? by Jennifer Finney Boylan. Others are looking into the possibilities of the next American Civil War: Imagine another American Civil War, but this time in every state reported by NPR’s Ron Elving or In the coming second American Civil War, which side are you on? an opinion piece by Chauncey Devega.

These pieces mirror the news headlines we see every day announcing the latest battles around COVID or Race or White Supremacy, guns, crime, fights on planes, and my favorite, Wokeness (I wish someone would define that for me). Dogmatism has replaced compromise because the extreme wings of our political and social discourse have hijacked the process.

On the right, the politics of the last twenty-two years since the Bush-Gore debacle have grown more feverish, commanding, and powerful. Strategically, they have worked hard to take the levers of power in more states and localities than the moderates and progressives can ever have dreamt. Ruthless and dogged while inciting in mostly White Americans (Black and Latino adherents are a separate story) the need to kick some ass on their way to their thrones of power.

On the left, there has been a desire to abandon dialogue with the right and moderates because, well, what has that gotten them? The victories of the sixties through the end of the twentieth century are threatened and, in some cases, have already been pushed back by conservative legislatures and conservative judiciary. The left asks, “Why are we still fighting for social justice in 2022?” and they are frustrated to the point of To hell with compromise.

Some on the left, like their counterparts on the right, believe the only thing this country understands is what comes out of the end of a gun barrel. It may be time to kick some ass.

But the reality is, that as long as I’ve been alive, I’ve witnessed this conflict of conscience where some people don’t give one cent about their fellow humans. Anyone who has studied American history (not the whitewashed homogenized version) knows that this is not the first time in our history that the hands of Americans are at the throats of other Americans and that they didn’t give a shit.

However, something feels different now. It’s not just the pandemic, or that’s there are just more of us with smartphones and access to and influence of the thoughts of millions of other Americans who just can’t stand other Americans and also don’t give a shit. Fuck ‘em as I walk over their dead bodies.

Apathy
Image by Engin Akyurt from Pixabay

This is sad. Not surprising, but still sad. You just feel that something is missing. An emptiness of character, a deficit of human empathy. That there is no hope.

Damn, there just has to be.

Stop me if you’ve heard this before.

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