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White Sheet Republicans January 30, 2010

Posted by voolavex in Social Issues.
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1 comment so far
When I see the Obama Family on TV or see President Obama I  usually smile.  Almost every time.  Because I simply cannot believe I lived to see this nice looking brown-skinned family in the White House.  It makes me feel clean somehow  – as if our country has considered the  good of the people and the nation and gone for a youngish, smart and hard-working chief of state .  I don’t think I’m alone in this  either and I hope not because he needs time and support to unglue the mess we’re in and make things better.  After an eight year ordeal with Mr. Bush – you’d think the GOP and its many sects of adherents would get behind him, tell their own people to support him and start to go forward in these difficult times.  (Drum roll – enter Steve Martin) But nooooooooooo.  And not just noooooooo, Nasty no!  Vicious no!  Name calling no!
 
 
No respect for the man at all, but that also means no respect for the office.  Every speech, meeting, movement , gesture is derided and dismissed instantly as a sign of what?   Oh, wait. “He’s a communist, he’s a socialist, he’s an unnatural citizen, he wants to steal from the rich and share the wealth with the rest. He thinks Americans – across the board, should have health care.  His very name is a traitorous betrayal – Barack Hussein Obama, Jr.  Now that’s not right.  He must be a Muslim and since he’s named after his black African father – he must have been born there too. He  has absolutely no use for the Jews and he hates whites in secret.  His wife’s arms are too bare and she is far too fit;  she is too tall, how dare she wear nice outfits,  and to top it off they have the same kind of dog that Ted Kennedy had.  That really is  over the top.  How dare he, she, they and the dog”.
 
I have a name for these people; these disruptive, Constitution chewing, greedy, mad tea partying GOP members.  I call them White Sheet Republicans.  I do not believe a single one even listens to the policies of or direction this president wants to take us.  I don’t believe they would even reject of it if it were suggested by a moderate GOP member.  They might mumble and growl and not agree with parts  – but I suggest the name calling would be minimal.  We must keep in mind that, under their protective covers they will do whatever it takes to keep their ball rolling backward.  They are extremely sore losers.   They believe  Sarah, Glenn and Rush are truth-telling, extreme intellectuals.  They gloat over lies that are told to discredit the current administration.  I would  suggest – that beneath their 800 thread count uniforms they make even make faces.  This is a group of vicious, nasty people.  People I would not break bread with.
 
 
But why “White Sheet Republicans“?  Are they ashamed of their party? Their platform?  Naaaah.  It’s because of what slips out far too often.  Because they feel the need to preface almost every nasty crack with, “don’t get me wrong, it’s not because he’s black” and because we absolutely know that it is very much because he’s black. And the proffered apologies are sung to the tune of Dixie.  Is it because he is not a son of the Stolen, descended from slaves.  None of these people’s people even stole his forebears – he has symbolically not sat in the back of the bus. So,  as much as he is rightfully embraced by most African-Americans – he really does present a unique and estimable president who speaks to all of us.   
Under the sheets, however, this doesn’t even register.  “”Bananas, chimpanzees, zoos, thick lips, nappy hair, doesn’t act or sound black “. (I suppose a disappointment to many in Dixie)  all creep out from under their hems. Of course it’s because he’s black.  God knows what a White Sheet GOP kaukus sounds like. 
 
 
Somewhere these White Sheet Republicans assumed  (probably before the Civil War) they would never have to worry about some Darkie running for president.   Both the old and new money, the right schools, the stiffest upper lip, the right address would keep that from ever happening.  Damn it, the Founding Fathers owned stolen black folks and there isn’t anything in the Constitution that says a slave can be president.  They are chattel. And so even the ones way down South living in the kudzu believe it too.  They may have tolerated Affirmative Action, but that tolerance did not include any action that could allow you to be President of the United States.  So when you read the vitriol and angry, personalized attacks on Mr. Obama – picture those White Sheet Republicans spinning out of control watching  Birth of A Nation, Bamboozled and all taking notes.  And be very concerned about all of them because they are definitely out of control.
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Dreams From My Father November 10, 2008

Posted by voolavex in Politics & Religion.
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2 comments
I had a wonderful father.  The beliefs he offered me and showed me  have stayed with me to this moment in time.  He was a Boston Irish Catholic intellectual with all the baggage that carries.  Short of cash and far too smart for his own good at a time when university was for the very rich., he never got his degree.  He always said his love of books was due to the fact his parents both worked in a book bindery and stayed employed during the Depression.  He passed it on to me.  He was a serious smart ass and a great wit.  He drank.  He was a snob and a social climber – the networker of all time. He was a  metrosexual before the word was ever coined.  He had quite a few jobs that made great stories. At eight he learned to drive and smoke.  He drove a hearse to and from the family speakeasy because he looked “mature” and they needed a sober driver.  He rappelled off the walls from under his bedroom window  and transported bathtub gin back and forth.  He told me the secret of a good bathtub gin was Red Lion Juniper Juice.  I was young enough to be impressed.  He was a butler. He went to Washington DC to work as a copywriter for the Washington Post and he was good. This was before we entered the war.  His cronies were all  admen and crackpots and they ran in a pack.  Not chasing women but more after the joy of the times they were in and the place they were in them. When in NYC he frequented Spivy’s Roof.  One day he wandered through the public rooms of the White House and saw Eleanor Roosevelt in her office.  He said hello and the next thing he knew they had a standing lunch date.  He revered her and I have no doubt he entertained her greatly.  One night, drunk on a Potomac golf course near the War College one of his cronies played reveille on his trumpet at 3 a.m.; the lights went on and the lot of them staggered like jackrabbits to get outta’ town.    He met  and courted  my mother in 1942 and two people could not have been less suited to one another – but it was war time and every GI wanted a sweetheart. He had been drafted (bad vision and flat feet did not keep him out of this man’s army)  and after resisting Sam’s call  he finally showed up with a pair of boxers and a quart of gin.  During the war they married and it went south from there but not before they had me and Boston apartment full of Heywood Wakefield furniture.  He wrote a book about his experiences in the Army and it was indeed published.  I have always been proud of this achievement because he was so happy about it.  He was an officer and a gentleman.  We’ll skip the re-up and the wrong assignment and the subsequent divorce – it was dismal but I did eventually wind up living with father in New York City and thus began my education in 1958.  My father was a Kennedy Democrat and rightly so.  As he liked to remind people he was born 3 days and 26 miles from JFK in 1917.  It didn’t take long for me to become just as enthralled.
 
During this period in my life my father sold Winfield China and his territory was New Rochelle and Mt. Vernon; his clients were middle class NegroesHe chose his territory.  He often took me with him and as a consequence my only experience with the Black community as a young teen was lemonade, cookies and a serious caveat to be quiet and respectful.  What I saw were working people with nice flats and good jobs. They didn’t seem very different to me than any other people.  Civil rights occupied his conscience and troubled him deeply.  From this I learned things I assumed everyone knew.  I was angry when I found that was not the case.The March on Washington was my father’s march.  And mine.  He had a seat – spiritually – at every sit-in and our worst falling out was when I called him a bigot after he told me I couldn’t go to Selma.  The reason: he was afraid white people would kill me.  He taught me the N-word was the worst word a person could utter. His beliefs and moral outrage never left me and when Barack Obama ran for president I could imagine how my father would have felt.  And I was sad because he didn’t live to experience this sublime moment in the advancement of his cherished thoughts.  I know I voted for Obama, at least partly, as a result of my father’s wisdom.  And I know that I cast my ballot for Obama and his platform from a deep and precious place – a place that would never have been born and never have flourished without the dreams from my father.