How can we continue to stand by and watch the president and the Congress allow our rights to slip away?
For the Congress to grant approval to warrantless wiretapping is nothing short of absurd. The balance of powers has already erode to the point of being on the verge of an autocracy, with power being handed to a man who has little interest in the good of the nation.
Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, Benjamin Franklin, all the men who put their lives on the line for liberty (and even, I expect, those who opposed independency) would be appalled. George Washington wisely refused to be king, and left the office of the president before the people were willing to see him leave it, because he knew that it was important for the government to work.
Yes, terrorism is a terrible thing, and, yes, it it terrible partly because it circumvents the rules. But suspending the rules of the civilized world to try to eliminate it is not the answer. Like parenting, boundaries have to be set, and it is up to the people in charge to keep the boundaries. If we change the rules on the whim of the objector, we have anarchy.
We have a weak, wimpy Congress, with a majority that only does lip service to change, instead of forcing it. We need to see courageous choices, not safe, money-source-pleasing ones.
If we continue down this path, one of two things will happen. We will become a dictatorship under the rule of an idiot.
Or we will be governed by a Congress that is the pawn of the rich and influential.
It's not too late to change. Teddy Roosevelt stood up to corruption. Certainly the Congress can do the right thing.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Friday, August 03, 2007
The heartbreak in Minneapolis
For as long as I can remember, Minneapolis has been a magical place for me.
I was born there, and left there just shy of my 8th birthday to move to West Lafayette, Ind, on the banks of the Wabash, home of Purdue University, and boasting one of the top (if not the) school systems in the state.
But every summer, and many spring breaks and holidays, we would drive the 553 miles from our house to my grandparents' house on Elliot Avenue in south Minneapolis, where we were lovingly welcomed. In the summer, we played there, or at Lake Nokomis or Harriet with our cousins who lived not far away, and go to at least one Twins game at Met Stadium. If we were lucky, it would be a twinight double header. My grandfather would buy us a bag of peanuts and a drink, and every once in a while, a hot dog. During spring break, we would watch high school state hockey finals on television. And all year around we would head to the end of the block to the public park with swings, a baseball field and a wading pool.
Minnesota and Minneapolis is the setting for one of my favorite book series, the Betsy-Tacy books by Maud Hart Lovelace. She fictionalized her hometown of Mankato as Deep Valley, but Minneapolis stayed itself.
When I was an adult, I lived and worked in Minneapolis. I worked downtown, and lived, except for six months, in the city near the remarkable chain of lakes. It was like going home when I moved, because of the years of happy experiences and the love of family and friends we had there. For several years, I lived not far from where Maud placed Betsy and Joe's first house near Lake of the Isles.
When I married and moved away, Minneapolis remained for me "home." Although I have one brother in West Lafayette, and one in Minneapolis, and we will willingly travel to WL for a Purdue game, Minneapolis always seems to be the logical meeting place, "home." My mother, who lived in Indianapolis after West Lafayette, went back to Minneapolis to spend her last days when she was dying of cancer.
Minnesotans have always been proud of the high quality of life in the state, and for me, that was an aura that was almost magical. Tragedy happened in Minneapolis, but not often, and always on a small scale.
So when the I-35 bridge collapsed on Wednesday (a bridge I crossed hundreds of times), it was excrutiatingly shocking. Minnesotans aren't naive, they're too pragmatic for that. But with the quality of life comes the expectation of reasonable safety. And safe bridges falls in that realm.
The gleam of greatness has not left Minneapolis. But a pall of sadness has fallen over the city that will take a while to disappear.
I was born there, and left there just shy of my 8th birthday to move to West Lafayette, Ind, on the banks of the Wabash, home of Purdue University, and boasting one of the top (if not the) school systems in the state.
But every summer, and many spring breaks and holidays, we would drive the 553 miles from our house to my grandparents' house on Elliot Avenue in south Minneapolis, where we were lovingly welcomed. In the summer, we played there, or at Lake Nokomis or Harriet with our cousins who lived not far away, and go to at least one Twins game at Met Stadium. If we were lucky, it would be a twinight double header. My grandfather would buy us a bag of peanuts and a drink, and every once in a while, a hot dog. During spring break, we would watch high school state hockey finals on television. And all year around we would head to the end of the block to the public park with swings, a baseball field and a wading pool.
Minnesota and Minneapolis is the setting for one of my favorite book series, the Betsy-Tacy books by Maud Hart Lovelace. She fictionalized her hometown of Mankato as Deep Valley, but Minneapolis stayed itself.
When I was an adult, I lived and worked in Minneapolis. I worked downtown, and lived, except for six months, in the city near the remarkable chain of lakes. It was like going home when I moved, because of the years of happy experiences and the love of family and friends we had there. For several years, I lived not far from where Maud placed Betsy and Joe's first house near Lake of the Isles.
When I married and moved away, Minneapolis remained for me "home." Although I have one brother in West Lafayette, and one in Minneapolis, and we will willingly travel to WL for a Purdue game, Minneapolis always seems to be the logical meeting place, "home." My mother, who lived in Indianapolis after West Lafayette, went back to Minneapolis to spend her last days when she was dying of cancer.
Minnesotans have always been proud of the high quality of life in the state, and for me, that was an aura that was almost magical. Tragedy happened in Minneapolis, but not often, and always on a small scale.
So when the I-35 bridge collapsed on Wednesday (a bridge I crossed hundreds of times), it was excrutiatingly shocking. Minnesotans aren't naive, they're too pragmatic for that. But with the quality of life comes the expectation of reasonable safety. And safe bridges falls in that realm.
The gleam of greatness has not left Minneapolis. But a pall of sadness has fallen over the city that will take a while to disappear.
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