What to do about Democracy?

Submitted By Bob Bartlett

This is exceptionally powerful, particularly when you listen to the comments following the performance.  This short 40 minute play was written by two brothers-in-law, one a history professor in Maine and the other Bob Bartlett, a Sociology Professor at EWU, then updated for a fundraiser on Zoom held by St. Stephens Catholic Church in in inner-city Minneapolis to benefit a couple African-American Civil Rights non-profits who literally work in the neighborhood where George Floyd was murdered.    

These two talented professors teamed up to imagine a conversation on race relations between President Abraham Lincoln and Fredrick Douglas at the conclusion of the Civil War.  A conversation 150 years ago that still resonates today. The reaction to this play also needs to be heard, it revealed lived inner-city experiences and truths that I frankly needed to hear.  It influenced me enough that I called Bob, and gained his permission to share this you.

A lantern burns in window bright,

A star on earth of fallen light.

A message sent, empathic glow,

To all who pass, cloaked hearts in tow.

We believe that you are love,

Whose angels guard from gates above.

While oceans stream the tears of earth,

Protectors we, of riches worth.

That lantern signals end in sight,

So hug this planet, hold on tight.

                                                                                                 by Georgie Weatherby

Earth Day, April 2020

In honor of our precious earth,

After all, there is no Plan(et) B   

We’re living in amazing times,

Before some big collapse;

Best collect a few supplies

As well as some good maps.

If you’re the type that must have guns,

Well, gather one or two,

But realize that weaponry

Most likely won’t save you.

For a house that stands divided

Has no chance of survival—

The only thing to pull us through

Is a general revival

Of our sense of the common good

And our place in the scheme;

We’re tribal, we’re not loners,

Function best when we’re a team.

If we reinstate that attitude

Before some huge train wreck,

It’s possible that we could save

Our collective neck.

Let’s put aside the rhetoric,

The posturing and bluster,

And give ourselves half a chance

Finally to muster

The good side of our nature—

Unselfish, kind and giving—

Maybe then our mother earth

Will let us go on living.

Respect is what it’s all about—

Not the sort that’s formed by fear;

But that which springs alone from love,

That which we hold most dear.

Listen to the planet speak

In your heart, that quiet voice,

For it’s now crucial that we make

A life-affirming choice.

For we’re living in amazing times

Before some big events;

We don’t need gear and guns and maps—

We just need some common sense.

- Dick Warwick

Huddled out the back door of the thrift store

the death of Capitalism laid bare:

caged without reason behind chain link facing

front and ranked at attention a dozen captive

soldiers with no battle to bear and wearing

identical Grenadier caps of snow.

No one will use them again, disposable

mercenaries heralding planned

obsolescence and the death of the noble.

Or perhaps simply discarded broken home

appliances, nobody's symbol but my own.

Snow piles up in the night and that's no image

out there, asleep under the bridge.

(From Not Me, Exactly, c. 2020 by Dennis Held)

 These last 15 months have been like no other for health care providers. Our nurses are real heroes!  I have been tremendously proud to represent and advocate for our nurses as the Washington State Nurses Association President. I have had the opportunity to speak with Washington State Congressional Representatives along with our Washington State Legislators on behalf of supporting and protecting them.

Our nurses walk into work everyday knowing they might contract the virus or worst yet bring it home to their families. When we have lost our own nurses to the virus it is as bad as losing your family member. The depth of despair is expressed with our tears and hugs. The joy and relief is bright when we are able to save our patients.

The nursing profession is a Science and an Art -

They are Strong yet have the

   Gentlest of touch.

They walk with determination

   But always take time to listen.

They are educators, teaching and

   Sharing knowledge every day.

They are there when you need

   Them the most.

They are Nurses!

By Gail Gabel, RN

It is safe to say that almost all crimes are committed by boys in their early teens

or by those who began in effect a criminal career at that age. Saving criminals is,

in the last analysis, only saving children; and saving children means not only

saving criminals but their victims, too. Most of the criminals come from cities and

most of them were born and reared in the poor and crowded districts where they

had little chance to develop into anything but criminals. A little knowledge of

biology, psychology, and life makes this plain to understand. No well-informed

person believes that one is born a criminal or with even a tendency to crime. If

so, crime would not be of the individual’s own choosing nor his end be due to his

own volition. No child is born a criminal. He may be born weak or strong and,

therefore, his power of resistance be more or less; but the course he takes is due

to training, opportunity, and environment. The protection of the child or the

grown person comes from habit. Religion many teach precepts, but this means

nothing without habits. The school may give a certain kind of education, but

unless this creates habits which fit the child for life it is of no avail.

Most of those who follow a criminal career have had little education and cared

little for books. Most of them could not be fitted for professions by education;

their only chance was some sort of work. They passed the school age without

becoming scholars, and the schools have given them nothing in the place of what

is generally called an education. When very young they began a life that almost

inevitably leads to crime. If it is the duty of the state or any organized institution

to provide for the education of the youth, then the most important thing is to fit

them for the job of living. Many boys come to the adolescent age with only scant

education in books and no education that fits them for any self-reliant life. For

the large class who have no taste for books society furnishes no training in the

schools. These boys are thrown on their own resources with no occupation that

will furnish them a chance to live. The schools could as well teach manual trades

as books, and a large part of those who cannot succeed with books could do well

in working with their hands. There is no more reason why schools should

prepare one to succeed in a profession than why they should teach certain ones a

useful trade. Most boys like to use their hands, and the proper training for trades

should be begun when very young. It is seldom that a mechanic enters on a life of

crime. He forms habits that keep him safe.

The child is born with the same instincts that move all other animals. When he

wants something he feels the urge to take it in the easiest way. It is only training

that teaches him that he may get things one-way, but not another. His training

must be developed into habits. The life of a child is a conflict between primal

emotions and social restrictions, and he must be fortified, not alone by teaching,

but by habits, if he is to live the rules that society lays down. Intelligent teachers

and wise parents know what this means. It is only rarely that a boy is carefully

trained and fitted for life is sent to jail.

Submitted By John Costello

 By Rena Priest

2021-2023 Washington State Poet Laureate

& member of the Lhaq’temish (Lummi) Nation

I have seen a tree split in two

from the opposing weight of its branches.

It can survive, though its heart is exposed.

I have seen a country do this too.

I have heard an elder say,

That we must be like the willow –

bend not break.

I have made peace this way.

My neighbors clear-cut their trees,

leaving mine defenseless.  The arborist

said they’d fall in the first strong wind.

Together we stand.  I see this now.

I have seen a tree grown around

a bicycle, a street sign, and a chainsaw,

absorbing them like ingredients

in a big melting pot.

When we speak, whether or not

we agree, the trees will turn

the breath of our words

from carbon dioxide, back into air –

give us new breath

for new words,

new chances to listen,

new chances to be heard.

I've actually tinkered with things like these issues in the past few years -

"The Framer" is about more than building the right wall, obviously- but I have always been struck by the fundamental principle that framing the strongest structure- wall, home, etc., takes tension- the healthy kind that finds compromise in its opposing forces and becomes something stronger still for the gentle pressures all the parts contribute to the whole.

"Divisions" speaks to the what the earth needs us to remember- that we share it, that we cross it to be together rather than be apart.

The Framer

The framer plies a trade hidden, behind

Smooth plaster and lath; generations of

Life inside the bones of strong walls, crafted

By one who understands the value of support

And connectedness, and simple true materials

Tested first by sun and rain, drought and thick, heavy winter.

Upon the solid footing of stone,

Connected to the earth, reliant

On its steadfast nature, the bottom plate,

Straight, true and carefully measured.

Each stud in his wall, placed with care and knowledge,

An understanding of the wood’s strength and value.

There’s no selection necessary- each piece,

The Framer knows, has a place and purpose.

No board is perfect- this is known, and welcomed-

Instead, that which is different: the checks,

The gentle warpings and cups,

The very character and nature

Of once-living things are welcomed by the Framer;

A perfect position for every part in his creation.

The Framer understands that only these

Add the strength of tension and pressure

Necessary to hold the load of a world,

Subtle in its task yet complex in its connection

To a life it protects and nurtures.

Each section of the Framer’s creation

Meets the next, pushing into the past,

Pulling forward to the future. This is how

Tree becomes a wall, becomes a home, becomes a world.

Finished, the Framer leaves no trace of his craft

On the surface, but deep in the center,

The bones of the world remain strong and true-

The beauty and grace he crafts from the worth of each

Create the treasure of all.

- Andy Lang

Divisions

Hate should never divide us;

thoughts and words

should never divide us.

Rivers and mountains and fields

should be our only divisions.

These are divisions given us

by the heart of the world,

barriers to be explored

and enjoyed and experienced --

These are the divisions

that should define us--

divisions that are placed

to help us know who we are,

what we are capable of,

how blessed we are

the song of the world

is so rich and varied.

These are the divisions

we are meant to love

and cherish every day;

we are meant to come together

in and over and through these divisions

to better understand:

we are all verses in the song--

and the waters, and the stones,

the trees and the wild grasses

and the brambles,

and the dust in the breeze

call the tune. 

- Andy Lang

 1.

You like blue?

Well, an unhealthy

Adherence to blue

Means you’re the devil’s

Handmaiden.

You’re the bedwetter,

The bully, the thief.

You like salmon?

Trick question—

I like chicken. Fish

Eaters are scum.

In fact, they have no morals.

No reason to live.

2.

As you toss

Beer bottles into

The recycling bin

Suddenly the inside

Of the garage glows pink

And shines all

Aflutter

With evening light.

A headline on top

On the newspapers

Deep in the bin

Stops you:

Neo-Nazi Robocalls Reported

In Sandpoint.

How are we even talking

About this? Not my fault,

Not yours,

Right?

And it’s easy to look away—

Just fringe white supremacist

Nazi nobodies

Who nobody knows.

But if grievance is the coin 

We spend so merrily—

Treasuring our differences

While ignoring

All that together ties us—

Then what are we buying?

At what cost?

Sweet grievance.

You have your reasons.

I have mine.

Favorite

Reasons cached

Deep in our pockets

And fondled until

They’re raw

And ready to explode.

3.

A black friend—

Sociology professor, PhD

Storyteller, catch-and-release

Fly fisherman—

Says when white people

See a policeman

They know he’s there to help.

When a black person sees

A policeman she knows

She may possibly get hurt

Or die.

Then George Floyd

Is murdered on video

Reminding us

White people we’re racist,

Even though we don’t the ways how.

So decked out

In our high

And mighty compost-like

Stink—

Everybody owes us

Our blessings, our 401Ks

And our guns, everybody—

We require a sacrifice

Like George

To get off our couches

And open the blinds.

Ignore means

To refuse to pay attention to.

Big George’s

Plea—

I can’t breathe—

An invocation

To abandon

The privilege

Of remaining ignorant—

Who me?

Racist?

Wait a minute

The police?—

Not a gift

Easy to put away

Or trade

For an action flick

At Gold’s Pawn Shop,

But an invocation—

I can’t breathe.

Written and submitted by John Whalen

Remove the stain…

Of epithets and slurs of hate, cloaks of white, sidestepped debates.

Remove the stain…

That history carries like a fight, unwinnable, still burning bright.

Remove the stain…

That purifies those born with rights, a roll of dice that made them white.

Remove the stain…

That haunts our past and hangs from trees, examples made, etched memories.

Remove the stain…

Of equal and yet separate, a place reserved so none will fret.

Remove the stain…

Of bus and train divided so, our fellow man, the common foe.

Remove the stain…

Drinking fountains, luncheon space, all distinguished by one’s race.

Remove the stain…

Of flags still flown on proud display, Confederacy lives on today.

Remove the stain…

Of eyes turned downward, begging pleas, instead treat all humanity.

by Georgie Weatherby

Striving for a More Perfect Union:

Equal, NOT Separate

May 20, 2021

Small as a peanut, 

big as a giant,

We're all the same size when you turn off the light.

Rich as a sultan,

Poor as a mite,

We're all worth the same when you turn off the light.

Red, black or orange,

Yellow or white,

We all look the same when you turn off the light.

So maybe the way to make everything right, 

Is for someone to reach out and turn off the light!

Submitted By  Barb Cantlon