Court Decision a Victory for Mosquera’s Rightful 2011 Qualification & Election

(TRENTON) – Assembly Women & Children Committee Chairwoman Pamela Lampitt and Assemblywoman Bonnie Watson Coleman on Thursday praised the U.S. District Court decision that declared that the residency requirement in the debate over Assemblywoman Gabriela Mosquera (D-Camden/Gloucester)’s election was unconstitutional.

The District court rejected a previous decision by the state Supreme Court in the challenge to Mosquera’s 2011 election, where she overwhelmingly defeated her Republican opponent.

“The District Court’s decision is clear, rejecting a partisan sour-grapes effort to prevent Assemblywoman Mosquera from being seated, despite her overwhelming victory in November 2011.” said Lampitt (D-Camden/Burlington).  “The courts and the people of the 4th legislative district have spoken–vindicating Assemblywoman Mosquera’s qualification and election despite a partisan lawsuit.  Having been decisively and duly elected in 2011, Assemblywoman Mosquera is laser-focused on fighting for the middle-class.  It is a shame that a partisan lawsuit and partisan court decisions have caused the 4th district to hold an unnecessary election this November.”

“The only leverage that Assemblywoman Mosquera’s opponents had was the state Supreme Court decision that her residency was invalid.  Today a federal court judge declared that was not the case,” said Watson Coleman (D-Mercer/Hunterdon). “I think it’s time for her opponents to accept defeat and allow Assemblywoman Mosquera to focus on the needs of the people who overwhelmingly elected her to office. The taxpayers should not have to incur the cost of an unnecessary election, but unfortunately, partisan concerns mean they will have to foot the bill for it anyway.”

After the 2011 redistricting process and the ensuing legislative elections, Mosquera’s election was challenged by the losing candidate, who claimed Mosquera’s election was invalid because she had moved into the newly-configured district 10 months before the election. Despite a 10-year old federal precedent declaring the residency requirement unconstitutional in the election immediately following redistricting, state courts permitted Mosquera to be seated but required her to run in a special election in 2012.

Earlier this week, the United States District Court held that the failure to follow the federal court order was not proper.

The following Assembly Democratic women joined Lampitt and Watson Coleman’s call:

Assembly Speaker Sheila Oliver
Assemblywoman Celeste Riley
Assemblywoman Annette Quijano
Assemblywoman Linda Stender
Assemblywoman Mila Jasey
Assemblywoman Cleopatra Tucker
Assemblywoman Grace Spencer
Assemblywoman Angelica Jimenez
Assemblywoman Shavonda Sumter
Assemblywoman Marlene Caride
Assemblywoman Valerie Vainieri Huttle
Assemblywoman Connie Wagner

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What We Can All Learn About Responsible Gun Ownership From the Tragic Mistakes of Others

Anyone who knows me knows that I, like most red-blooded American males, enjoy a good explosion every now and again.  Michael Bay movies were great for a while, but then I turned 13; and with the onset of puberty began what I hope will be a lifelong responsible relationship with projectile weapons.  You say “hope,” because as anyone who doesn’t live in fantasy land is painfully aware, people are not perfect; they make mistakes.  Mistakes can be painful and embarrassing, but mistakes made while in possession of a firearm can be downright life-altering.

I know that many people, myself included, are not immune to the “it will never happen to me” philosophy: I was one of them.  However, a recent tragedy in my own backyard of Boulder, CO involving the mistaken shooting by a homeowner of a drunken college girl who mistakenly wandered into his house caught me seriously off guard.  Essentially, a married couple were asleep in their bed late last Wednesday night when they were awakened by the startling sound of someone crashing around their house.  The unidentified perpetrator made its way to the couple’s bedroom after coming in through the closed-but-not-locked screen door, and woke the couple.  The man (who’s name is Justice, by the way, how fucking awesome is this line from the article: “Justice fired one shot,”), after screaming that he had a gun and he would use it if whoever-the-fuck-you-are doesn’t beat pavement right now, wound up taking a shot that hit this unfortunate girl in the hip.  The rest is history: Colorado’s make my day law protected the homeowner from criminal and civil liability in the matter, and the girl survived, though she is still in the hospital.

My initial reaction to this incident was one of horror: shooting someone mistakenly is a worst case scenario for a responsible gun owner.  In my world, just because I wouldn’t be charged with shooting her or having to defend myself in civil court would not mean that I could just let the whole thing wash off.  I’m not trying to judge, because after all I think the shooters did a lot of things right.  They heard someone in their house, outside their bedroom.  If that doesn’t get your hairs standing on end, I don’t know what will.  They shouted a warning to the intruder and told them they had a gun and would use it if they came any closer.  The intruder was silent: eery shit.  Then, he fired one time, not some spray and pray gangster crap.

However, while I can totally understand that armchair quarterbacking this scenario is unhelpful to everyone, there are some pretty valuable lessons that I learned from this and wish to share.    After all, if you’re going to own a weapon, you must temper that awesome power with responsibility less you wind up as a cautionary tale like these poor folks.  Better to have too much responsibility than not enough.

Lesson 1: A Locked Front Door is Your Friend

The trespasser gained entry through closed, but unlocked, screen door.  Given that the cops measured her BAC at .2 after they showed up, it strains credulity that this woman would have possessed the necessary motor skills to have found her way past the simplest (yet often most effective) security mechanism: the pesky deadbolt.  If she had to break into the house rather than simply gain entry through an open door, chances are it would have taken her longer to accomplish, and she would have made more noise that would have alerted the couple to her presence before she got to the entrance of their bedroom.  This may have given them time to have oriented themselves properly and maybe even make a better decision about whether to pull the trigger (though that is still not a guarantee).

I say this because my housemate constantly makes fun of me for locking the door when I am at home, as he thinks it is unnecessary.  I most passionately disagree, as even though the presence of our two dogs might provide some early alert to a potential intruder (though likely it won’t, as they tend to bark at goddamned everything that moves outside), it’s still not going to buy enough time to escape out the back or take up a defensive position in the (admittedly unlikely) scenario that some dude is busting through the door looking to fuck up my day.

Lesson 2: Back Light Your Target If At All Possible (And It’s Always Possible)

Shooting in the dark is hard, and shooting when you just woke up (I imagine, because I’ve never done it) is hard as well.  You can’t see what’s going on, and if you just woke up you’re not going to be 100% oriented and on the ball, so mistakes will be magnified.  That being said, you want to give yourself every conceivable advantage when dealing with these situations.  It is said in countless places that back lighting a target provides for a serious advantage.  If you turn on the lights in your bedroom, but the target is down the hall, that will just make you more visible to your target, and actually make the target less visible to you.  Advantage homeowner if you can set up a system that shines light on the target and leaves you in the dark.  That way you can see them and they can’t see  you.

As someone who maintains a nightstand gun, I have to admit that I never thought about the idea of back lighting until this article really brought the point home.  If you own your home, it would not take much to set up an electrical switch next to your bed that turned on the lights in the hallway outside the bedroom.  After reading this article, it is something I will most certainly do the minute I move into my own home.  If I’m in an apartment, and I want to keep the nightstand gun with the legitimate intention of using it if threatened, there is no excuse–run an extension chord to a standing lamp down the hall and connect that fucker to a foot switch near the bed.  Then you can be in a real advantageous position, as you’ll know what the fuck you’re shooting at before you pull the trigger, which brings us to…

Lesson 3: Know What The Fuck You’re Shooting At or Don’t Shoot At All

That’s basically the first rule of gun safety, loosely translated: don’t point a gun at anything you are not wishing to destroy.  When you aim a barrel at “shadows” you wind up putting lead through walls and into the baby’s room or a neighbor’s house, or in this scenario, a drunk chick who unfortunately got too schwasty after graduation and didn’t know what the fuck she was getting herself into.  I have a lot of sympathy for the girl, having done a lot of dumb shit myself while a bit too seduced by the water of life.  Thankfully, I never GOT SHOT IN THE HIP for my troubles.  I’m not making excuses for her–people need to be able to handle their shit–but I sympathize.  I sympathize with the guy who shot her too, because I’m sure he feels like a real goat (his wife had legitimate fears about stalking, and let’s be real, psychiatrists are the type of people who would be more exposed to actual crazies, which brings us back to Lesson 1…), but that’s the thing about sympathy: it just doesn’t put hemoglobin back into the circulatory system.

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Populist Rage and the Specter of Neo-Nazism in Greece, oder Mein Kampf mit der Politik

It is doubtful that anyone in America has heard about this, or frankly could give two shits if they had, but the European community has reacted with disgust at the recent results of the Greek parliamentary elections held on May 6, 2012 in which the Golden Dawn (a party advocating Neo-Nazism) received a startlingly high 7% of the vote.  Of course, the European community has reacted with disgust at these relatively high electoral numbers, with bloggers heaping shame on the Greek electorate for its perceived proto-fascist bent.  (Neni Panourgiapenned an article for Al Jazeera critical of the party’s frequent vigilante and racist ideology in which she identifies such a proto-fascist movement as a more general ‘European Problem’).

Ms. Panourgia’s article nicely documents the terrorist tactics employed by the Golden Dawn since the 1970’s, and identifies their racism and bigotry.  However, the article leaves unanswered its author’s most potent question, posed in the last third of her piece:

“Why would Greeks, who fought against totalitarianism in massive numbers and paid one of the heaviest tolls in Europe for their participation in the resistance against Nazi Germany, vote for this despicable, emetic, and deeply anti-political formation, even as a protest?”

This is a question that is not on its surface an easy one to answer, yet with some careful consideration, one can pose a partially satisfactory answer.  Being an amateur student of Western history, I for one am not surprised that the populist Golden Dawn party should see a surge in public support at a time when Greece and the rest of Europe are being driven ever closer to the brink of economic disaster.  The austerity programs which left millions of people unemployed and begging in the streets have been perceived as a massive failure by all but the financiers of the European monetary system (not to mention Germany and France, who were forced to shoulder heavy burdens in order to inject capital into the Greek economy and who saw their continued entanglement as an undesirable alternative to restrictive austerity whose principle effects would be felt only in Greece), and given the rise of serious talks of kicking Greece out of the Euro, one must expect a steep incline in populist anger to manifest itself in the polls.

A rise in public outrage is to be expected in times of economic decline—we’ve witnessed it in America in recent years with the Tea Party movement, and before that with the much more subdued xenophobia of Pat Buchanan’s failed presidential campaign.  Both of these domestic movements contained more than a hint of racial or other types of bias and short-sighted reactions, but even by the worst accounts they are not seriously comparable to Nazism.  However, given that it seems to be only natural for people to lash out at something—anything—in difficult times, one can’t help but wonder whether criticizing these movements on their face, as many in America have done with the Tea Party and Mr. Buchanan, and as Ms. Panourgia has more recently done with the Golden Dawn, is a constructive project.  Not surprisingly, such tongue-in-cheek criticisms—almost always made with a condescending tone from a privileged universalist position of multiculturalism, which always risks nothing but words—will be well received by the indoctrinated left, and conversely easily dismissed by those on the right who are consumed by populist rage.

Slajov Zizek, an intellectual hero of mine for some time, has written extensively on the subject of populist anger, dedicating an entire chapter to it in his 2008 book, In Defense of Lost Causes (IDLC).  Though he himself ultimately disagrees with the theoretical implications of populism for reasons too complicated to get into here, he nicely elucidates some of its more desirable practical qualities.  From a starting point, he describes populism as occupying a position that is:

“ultimately always sustained by ordinary people’s frustrated exasperation, by a cry of ‘I don’t know what’s going on, I just know I’ve had enough of it!  It can’t go on!  It must stop!’—an impatient outburst, a conviction that there must be somebody responsible for all the mess which is why an agent who is behind the scenes and explains it all is required.”  (IDLC, 282).

Zizek’s initial observation seems similar to the much rehashed critiques of populist movements levied by liberal-multiculturalists who esteem tolerance of otherness as the highest virtue; namely that such movements are the product of an infantile lashing out at the world, or an oversimplified view of a complex situation.  Anyone who has had any experience with the Tea Party or has studied the rise of Nazism after World War I can attest to the fact that these criticisms are undoubtedly well founded.  However, they fail to recognize the aborted revolutionary potential that is present within all populist movements from the rise of fascism in post-war Europe to the modern day reprisal of Nazism in Greece and elsewhere in the Eurozone.  The problem with populism, is that it correctly identifies an injustice (almost always capitalist excesses that have led to difficult economic times for the “average” citizen), but fails to recognize that the source of that injustice is systemic.  Rather than direct criticism at the system directly, populists movements almost always take for granted the fact that the system is inherently sound, moral, and good, preferring to single out a behind-the-scenes actor whose excessive qualities have poisoned the erstwhile harmonious structure.  Or, from Zizek:

“For a populist, the cause of the trouble is ultimately never the system as such, but the intruder who corrupted it (financial manipulators, not capitalists as such, etc.); not a fatal flaw inscribed into the structure as such, but an element that does not play its part within the structure properly.  For a Marxist, on the contrary (as for a Freudian), the pathological (the deviant misbehavior of some elements) is the symptom of the normal, an indicator of what is wrong in the very structure that is threatened with the ‘pathological’ outbursts…. This is why fascism definitely is a populism; its figure of the Jew is the equivalential point of the series of (heterogeneous, inconsistent even) threats experienced by individuals: the Jew is simultaneously too intellectual, dirty, sexually voracious, hard-working, financially exploitative  . . .” (IDLC, P 279).

The problem with populism is not that it is inherently “proto-fascist,”—far from it.  In many ways, the populist rage that is so easily condemned by self-described rational thinkers as childish outbursts of temperamental dilettante political actors is in actuality only slightly misguided.  If we are to single out one problem with populist rage, it is not, as its critics would allege, that it is too radical in its ideology and openness to brash or even violent political action.  On the contrary, the problem with populism is that it is not radical enough in its thinking and execution—it does not pursue the logic of its own presuppositions to their rational end.

 For example, in post WWI Germany, instead of directing anger toward central bankers and speculators, the National Socialists fixated on the figure of the Jew, upon whom all of the properties of the evil capitalists were transposed.  This was rather convenient for those who were in power at the time, as they ultimately had used all of the dirty capitalist tricks to consolidate wealth for themselves.  It would have been patently against their own interests to direct populist anger against the very system that ensured their survival, and so the Jew—a figure that had historically been mistrusted in European history—made a convenient scapegoat.  Modern populism is strikingly similar, except that the specter of illegal immigration has been transplanted in the place of the figure of the Jew.

It is for these reasons that the holier-than-though, let’s-all-just-talk-about-this, criticisms of the multiculturalist left are ultimately misguided.  Leaving behind the obvious fact that it is impossible to use reason to diffuse rage (be it justifiable or otherwise), the liberal multiculturalists completely overlook the positive aspects of populist political movements—namely, that they are essentially 85% correct in that they identify a serious problem, only they fail to look for solutions in the proper way.  One can’t help but wonder whether there is not some kernel of truth within modern populism that can be harnessed and put toward some more positive revolutionary purpose.  These movements at their most profound can be used as engines to affect positive change, or they can devolve into self-destructive forces of horrific proportions–begetting childish violence for its own sake. 

At a time when popular anger is on the rise, it would behoove those on the left to take notice of the revolutionary potential at its center, especially at such a key time in history.  Perhaps the biggest difference between our current situation and that which gave birth to National Socialism in the 1930′s is one of scale: in post WWI Germany, the state of economic inflation and the general destitution of the populace had gotten so bad that people had taken to burning their paper money for heat rather than spending it.  The situation in Greece has not yet become so dire, though it is fast approaching a tipping point.

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Ah Poo is Here

The camera comes into focus on a brightly lit room—podium standing majestically at the center with microphones glimmering under harsh lights.  Looking conservative and regal dressed in a gray suit and black tie, Our Attorney General paces nervously backstage, flapping his hands at his sides and muttering quietly to himself.  In a few moments, he is scheduled to address the nation about the many scandals that have plagued his administration, most recently the extrajudicial murder of two of our citizens.  Given his proximity to the Rich Old Farts who control the media, he is confident that the well-orchestrated cover up will have taken effect, and he will not be required to answer too many difficult questions before retreating back to the comfort of his insular home.

“Like swine to the trough,” he assures himself.  Nevertheless, he continues pacing, as there have been rumors of far-off tremors preceded by the honest blue ozone smell of lightning in the distance.

Inconspicuously, a young man in a patchwork jacket two sizes too large and a ridiculously outdated fedora with a conspicuous “PRESS” card jammed into the brim leans confidently against the back wall, checking a gold pocket watch and carefully surveying the room.  He gives off the appearance as being just another fixture in the back stage area—so seamless that you’d almost never notice he was there, ridiculous as that sounds given his curious mode of appearance.  He had been told that the secret to maintaining a low profile in a public space is to see everyone else before they see you, and that was what our young friend had been doing; standing and surveying, taking note of everyone who walked in and out of the area.

Suddenly, as if in response to some unknown signal, our young friend snaps his watch shut and replaces it in his jacket pocket, walking assertively toward Our Attorney General with a congenial smile and an outstretched hand.

“Just wanted to thank you, sir, for your consideration in letting me back here to talk with your handlers—erm—assistants.  It was a fantastic opportunity for me, and I’m sure you’ll appreciate the story when it hits the papers tomorrow morning.”

“Yes,” replied the man in the grey suit as he shook the reporter’s hand, “I trust that I will.  Now, if you will excuse me, there’s the matter of this press conference.  You should have a seat in the audience.  I’m sure you’ll want to take good notes for your story.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” replied our young friend.  “I have already accomplished everything that I came here to do.”

Perplexed but unfazed, Our Attorney General broke his grip of the reporter’s hand and went back to pacing and muttering.  The reporter simply walked away through the door in the back of the room, quickly removing a thin latex, skin-colored, glove from his hand as he went, and deposited it in a trashcan outside.  Once outside, he casually lit a cigarette, took two long puffs, and got into the backseat of an idling Lincoln Town Car.  In another instant, he and the car had vanished, leaving behind nothing but a faint puff of blue smoke.

Back inside, Our Attorney General enters briskly from stage right and approaches his awaiting public.  He steps up to the podium, as he had done countless times in the past, and opens his mouth to speak, but the words do not come.  He clears his throat with a loud “harrumph” peculiar to men steeped in power and privilege, and tries again, but to his horror—instead of the carefully practiced speech—a small but utterly recognizable piece of shit comes flopping out of his mouth and lands with a splat on the top of the podium.  Silence fills the room.  Appalled by this irregularity, but never one to lose face in public, Our Attorney General quickly clenches his teeth and claps a clammy hand over his tight mouth, betraying more than a hint of embarrassment on his sallow face.  He coughs twice quietly to keep up appearances, arranges a pile of papers on the podium, and again looks into the uncaring glow of the teleprompter.

Tentatively, he opens his mouth again and begins to speak, but is suddenly stricken with a feeling of dread as the words again catch in his throat.  Something is building inside him.  Something is not right.  Horrified, he draws in a deep breath and attempts to hold it, but the pressure proves too powerful, and as he opens his mouth to begin his speech, a torrent of foul-smelling excrement is propelled from his gaping maw, showering the reporters and onlookers below with flecks of shit.

“SHIT!” he exclaims to himself, white with terror, standing transfixed by the piercing gazes from below.  But it was building again, and there was nothing to be done to stop it.  Like a volcanic eruption, the shit began to flow freely from Our Attorney General’s helpless orifice, landing in a resentful pile on the papers in front of him, dripping down the microphone wires, and pooling in a fetid puddle at his feet.

It kept coming for what seemed like an eternity, spraying every corner of the room, collecting on the lenses of the television cameras, and defiling the reporters’ notepads.  A high-maintenance blonde cast a look of disgust at Our Attorney General as she attempted to clean a persistent glob off of her new Prada pumps.  Women screamed, and a few of them fainted.  Some of the veterans weathered the storm without a bit of surprise: they had come prepared with umbrellas and plastic ponchos.

As quickly and unexpectedly as the torrent began, it stopped.  No longer did Our Attorney General feel the building pressure inside his stomach—gone was the feeling of dread as his throat cleared up as if by some miracle.  Astonished, but relieved that the worst was behind him, he opened his mouth to speak to the people below:

“I  most sincerely apologize if any of you were offended just now in some way,” he began, “I must confess, I have been feeling under the weather today.  My adviser begged me to cancel my engagement.  It appears that I should have listened to him.  Not to worry, ladies and gentlemen, the Office of the Attorney General will gladly pay for dry cleaning and, um, any other expenses that this unfortunate illness may have caused. “  Looking around the room sheepishly, he paused for a moment and again looked into the teleprompter.

“I resign!” he shouted violently.  And again, he covered his mouth with a hand reflexively, his eyes darting furiously back and forth, looking desperately for a way out.

“I RESIGN!” he shouted uncontrollably through his hand and clenched teeth, “I RESIGN, I RESIGN, I RESIGN, I RESIGN, I RESIGN!”

By now, the entire experience was too much for Our Unfortunate Attorney General to bear, and he took off running stage left like a frightened school child.  The reporters looked around instinctively at one another, but generally made no new expressions of surprise.  A man in the front row looked up from his notebook, of which he had filled a solid four pages with frantic scribbling, and, almost as if annoyed at being short-changed by the whole ordeal, cast a wistful glance at his watch, got up with a prolonged sigh, and made a casual exit toward the door.  The others soon followed suit, heading back to their offices and studio apartments to churn out tomorrow’s story over four fingers of whisky.

Meanwhile, at the outskirts of town, the Lincoln pulls up to a small house and stops.  Johnsons with gleeful smiles eagerly step off the front porch and open the back door to the Town Car, excited to greet the Director of the Germ Warfare Division as he steps out; looking somehow regal dressed in his patchwork jacket and fedora.  He returns their knowing looks, shares their good cheer, and enters the house behind them with a bounce in his step.

“Really, it was nothing.  Just a simple truth serum and nothing more….”

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Dear Mr. President: An Open Letter to President Obama ~ Dave Imbriaco

Dear President Obama,

…….I am writing to you (and to any other American who wishes to share in this) because I, like many Americans, want to help our country get back on track.  Call it a cry for help or a public plea of a distressed citizen, but I digress.

…….My personal situation is hardly the worst it could be: I’m a graduate student living with my parents and partially self-funding my education with my own personal savings (I’m taking out loans for the rest).  On the other hand, I graduated in May of 2010 and have worked a total of only five months since then at a variety of jobs, always for $12 an hour or less.  Compared to other people my age, I consider myself to be incredibly lucky.  Think about that – lucky to have a supportive, loving family that has the means to keep me afloat while I struggle to get out on my own, barely holding down a poverty-wage job.  It’s heartbreaking and discouraging to know that so many others my age aren’t so fortunate, and I wonder how their futures will unfold.

…….Mr. President, I donated to your campaign, voted for you, and have defended your actions to the people that I encounter who disagree with or disapprove of them.  I, and many others like me, were swept up by your lofty rhetoric and cool demeanor.  I genuinely believed that your election would spell slow but steady improvement in our lives.  You campaigned on hope, but since your election Americans have only grown more hopeless.  Our situations are worse off now than when you took office, and as of now, I will be neither voting for you nor donating to your campaign in the next election because honestly, I and many others in my position – the very same people who put you in the oval office – feel betrayed by you.

…….I am very much aware that you did not create the enormous problems that our country currently faces.  You didn’t enact the policies over the past 30 years that triggered an economic collapse that some Cassandras knew was coming.  You aren’t responsible for the way wages have stagnated for 30 years while corporate profits have skyrocketed.  And of course I cannot blame you for the disgusting gridlock in Congress.  But your failure to make any credible attempt to rectify any of our problems has now made you complicit in them.

…….You are now two and a half years into your term and have been nothing but a disappointment.  The way you refused to fight for a public option in the health care debate.  The way you refused to expend any political capital to punish the people whose recklessness and greed caused the collapse (and how your administration, bafflingly so, is resistant to any attempt at holding those people accountable)! The way you cave to John Boehner and the Tea Party every single time a confrontation arises, be it the debt ceiling or the date of your supposed major address on jobs.  The way you allow blatant falsehoods about the economy and policy to circulate like the bubonic plague while refusing to provide your own narrative of what has happened in America.  The way you try to negotiate with those who have made clear their only goal is to bring you down.

…….You do not lead, you preside.  By the same token, you do not compromise, you capitulate.

…….In fact, your governing style (or lack thereof) is mind-boggling.  Mr. President, you refuse to stand up for your supporters while you try to reason with the unreasonable.  The opposition party has made it clear that they have absolutely no interest in working with you.  Don’t you remember when Mitch McConnell said on the Senate floor that his primary political objective was to deny you a second term and to not solve our country’s problems?  I understand that good politics is about compromise, but when have any of your priorities not been sacrificed on the altar of bi-partisianship with nothing in return?  You just recently gave away the ability to regulate smog and got what in return?  That’s not a negotiated compromise, that is a giveaway – a sign not of strength, but of spinelessness.  You are actively abdicating your responsibility as President to be a leader.

…….Maybe I should have paid attention to the fact that you voted “present” more times than not in the Illinois legislature – a sign that you were afraid to do anything that might present an ounce of risk.  Maybe I should have thought twice when you tossed to the curb the man who married you and your wife, who was your “spiritual mentor” after a smear campaign comparable to John Kerry’s swift-boating.

…….Now, I have noticed how you stubbornly refuse to take positions beyond vague ovations of improving health care and appeals to a supposed American Exceptionalism.  At a time when the American people needed someone who would stand up for them, who would lead them and be unafraid to take a controversial position that he truly believes in, they mistakenly voted for someone who flees at the first sign of confrontation.  Franklin Delano Roosevelt, the man who said of the Wall Street banks (your campaign contributors) “I welcome their hatred” is rolling over in his grave.  Not only have you been an ineffective President, but also a failed Democrat – a party I was forced to abandon after years of active support when I felt that they turned on me.

…….I say with complete, unshakable honestly that I take absolutely no pleasure in doing this.  But with my firsthand experience and things I know about the current state of our economy, the trend is dismal, and reasons to be optimistic are harder and harder to find.  Your inability to successfully govern the country coupled with the undeclared war against the average American people by her own elites are causing America to crumble right beneath your feet.  I don’t even know for sure who’s side you’re really on anymore, the side of the people or the enemies of the people? Please be the president that I voted for in 2008. Otherwise, get out of the way.

………………………………………………………Sincerely in Frustration,

………………………………………………………Dave Imbriaco

______________________________

Photo courtesy of projectcensored.org

(http://www.projectcensored.org/top-stories/articles/22-obamas-trilateral-commission-team/)

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Save the Post Office: Write to Your Friends ~ Matia Guardabascio

I have over four hundred friends on Facebook. Sometimes I wonder how many of them I actually talk to, how many I actually hang out with, or whether or not it matters if I do either of those things. Virtual communication and social media undoubtedly have many advantages, the most important of which being the immediacy of getting in touch with someone, like with text messaging. Social media, e-mail, text messaging, these are all synonymous with instant communication, or better yet, the instant gratification of immediately establishing contact with someone. But I wonder, how much of the human experience gets lost in virtual communication?

I cannot say that social media is destroying the bonds of friendship and really mean it. People are more connected than ever—finding long lost family, or friends from elementary school you thought you would never see again. But there is a difference between a Facebook friend and an actual friend. You know, a friend—someone you trust. Someone you actually talk to and know.

The interpersonal touch is obviously missing. You can’t shake hands with someone online. While social media offers many means of communicating, the intimacy of talking to a single person at one time is lost.  Facebook pages and Twitter accounts share information with everyone all at once. It’s all public. Even posts on friends’ pages are visible to anyone with access. People may be connected in a more vast and efficient way, but the intimacy, by which I mean the attentiveness, focus and honesty that goes hand in hand with one on one conversation, is all but lost in such a fast and efficient method of communication.

The epistolary form—letter writing—is a far more personal way of communicating with a good friend. People express themselves differently in written form than they do verbally or in a brief post on Facebook. Writing letters to friends opens up a whole world of expression that is otherwise buried by the concise methods of expression in virtual communication.

I write letters to some of my friends, mostly to those who live in other countries or on the Pacific side of the United States. These are friends I no longer get to see or talk to on any kind of regular basis. Writing letters to them enables me to tell them everything I want them to know—the kind of things one confides in good friends—in a space I choose to dedicate to them. And only them.

Sitting down to write a letter can be an arduous task sometimes. One of the reasons I use letter writing to communicate with my far away friends is because I can’t tell them directly what’s going on in my life on Facebook without telling everyone, or sending a long winded email. A letter carries with it the connotation of being long correspondence and of being personal. Still, the actual act of writing a letter requires a similar effort to writing a paper in that it requires a particular kind of uninterrupted focus, not to mention time. When I write to a good friend I have to focus only on that friend and what I would say if we were alone on a porch or by a fire drinking a bottle of wine. Letter writing requires honesty, focus and time, three things that are hard to come by in a world that insists on instant communication. But once the habit is established, writing letters to friends becomes a consistent way to speak truth to those who are too far away for a few beers and an afternoon chat on the porch or the stoop.

When you put your words on paper, you are creating a record. A record of a thought process, of an idea, or of a moment. And when you take the time to attach your words to a page and send them to the intended audience, you will have said everything you wanted to say, but couldn’t because other people were around. That friend now has a record of a moment in time in your life that he or she can read over and over again, if only to hear your voice.

Whenever I know I am to receive a letter, I wait anxiously for the mailman to come. I rush to the mailbox after he leaves and sift though it as if I’m searching for something of more value than a hidden treasure. For that reason, the mailman has always been one of my favorite people. I love expecting something other than bills to come for me. And the mailman is always the guy who gives me the good news.

There is something to be said for the anticipation of receiving snail-mail correspondence. The world of social media has undoubtedly spoiled us. Now, instant gratification is an every day thing when it comes to communicating. Waiting for a letter takes too much time in a world obsessed with efficiency and speed. But with efficiency and speed running the world of communication, how much substantial conversation can really be had? Already the deterioration of the English language is underway. Text messaging alone has been the biggest culprit… cuz like i luv like talking to u w/o actually speaking, u kno? Because of our abbreviated methods of communication, no one really seems to be talking or writing at length anymore. No one has the time because we’re all too busy trying to keep up with the pace of this virtual world.

But, how great a feeling is it to get a birthday card in the mail—the thought that someone actually took two seconds out of their day to think of you (and maybe help you out with a check or some cash)! They actually bought a stamp for you! How awesome is that? I mean—who buys stamps anymore?

But what would happen if we couldn’t buy stamps anymore? Or get birthday cards in the mail? What would happen if the Post Office died? Well, the answer is the same as it always is when a government service is diminished or disappears: the private sector takes over that entire market. UPS, Fedex, and DHL would be in charge of making sure your correspondence or package would be taken care of logistically! But at what cost? Soon you would be spending dollars instead of cents to RSVP to a wedding or mail a college application or send a ‘thank you’ note.

The Post Office is our last hope for paying a reasonable price for anything! While we’re paying four dollars per gallon for gas, you’re still paying less than fifty cents to mail a letter, less than a dollar to mail a letter anywhere else in the world. It’s easy to take advantage of a service like the Post Office because it has been around for as long as the United States has been a country.

The Post Office has this illusory aura about it, that it will always be around because it’s an American institution. But like most illusory things, this is untrue. Because communication has now exceeded speeds that the Post Office can maintain, its potential disappearance is now a real threat, as evidenced by the hundreds of Post Offices that have recently closed, and the thousands of postal workers who were consequently laid off.

We will lose more than jobs if the Post Office goes out of business. Listen to me… If you don’t write to your friends, then the most inexpensive service known to American society will die. And with it will die your last chance to really correspond with someone in the last intimate form of quality non-verbal communication.

__________________________

Photo courtesy of vocabulary.wordpress.com

(http://vocabulry.wordpress.com/2010/07/31/epistolary/)

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Occupying the Brooklyn Bridge and the Power of Protest ~ Matthew D’Elia

Part I

I did not know what to expect when I decided to go to New York on Saturday to check out Occupy Wall Street. In fact, I had only opted to go after seeing the now famous footage of police brutality, courtesy of inspector Anthony Bologna aka “Tony Baloney”(video). I had originally planned to go with a couple of friends, but that did not pan out. For a moment I was hesitant to go by myself because I rarely travel to New York City, let alone get involved in a protest in which people have been beaten, pepper sprayed, and arrested. But I decided to go anyway. After walking out of the PATH Station at the World Trade Center I was immediately taken aback by the number of police officers stationed in the area. Apparently the police have occupied their own portions of Lower Manhattan where they are keeping vans, buses, equipment and personnel at the ready just in case the word comes in to start making mass arrests.

I wandered a bit until finally making it to Liberty Plaza Park (formerly known as Zucotti Park), where I continued to wander aimlessly, snapping a few pictures until I happened upon fellow Rutgers University students, Kristin Clark, Matt Cordeiro, and Joel Salvino, who were looking for a bathroom. Joel pointed out a ninety-five year old Marxist-Leninist who had been yelling at a few Ron Paul supporters. I wanted to know why this man was so insistent on being a Leninist as well as a Marxist, so I decided to have a chat with him while I waited for them to come back. Here I learned a valuable lesson: ninety-five year old men do not take shit from anyone. He formed his political beliefs in the 1930s and they seem to have not changed since.What made him a Marxist-Leninist was the idea that radical social change was only possible through a tightly structured organization with ideological cohesion,  a specific set of goals, a powerful leadership and the willingness to achieve their ends by any means necessary. Occupy Wall Street does not follow this model at all.

It is usually difficult to categorize or try to make sense of mass movements and protests that emerge seemingly out of nowhere. Occupy Wall Street is marked partially by a strange alliance of both Ron Paul supporters on the far right (Anarcho-Capitalists) and socialists, Marxists, and Anarcho-Syndicalists on the far left. Barring their consensus on the full expansion of civil liberties, the only agreement among the two sides is that greed and, to borrow a quip from the historian Thomas Bailey, the “international gangsterism” of the global finance industry and powerful states has crippled the global economy and propped up the power of a handful of elites at the expense of the majority.

Liberty Park is not only Occupy Wall Street’s staging ground, but has also become a temporary, indefinite home for the movement’s core group of organizers, including Zu, a former Rutgers student and resident of New Brunswick, who after getting laid off decided to sublet her apartment and move into the park. Most of the youth living in the park seem to be in a similar situation.  In order to accommodate themselves they have set up sleeping spaces, a kitchen of sorts, a medical station, and even a library.

As we began preparing for the 3:00pm march, there were whispers that we would be marching over the Brooklyn Bridge. At the time—and even now—I did not know whether this meant that we would be marching over the walkway or one of the traffic lanes. In any case, the march got underway without incident. We were positioned in the back because Zu had taken up the task of setting the pace from the back of the march. The senior citizens were to take up the vanguard. Ironically enough, there is a much higher chance of getting arrested in the rear of any given protest march, because from there it is much easier for the police to use the “kettling technique” to trap demonstrators. However, being positioned there actually prevented us from joining those on the traffic lanes and subsequent arrest.

The group of marchers was increasing in size as we moved north along Broadway towards the Brooklyn Bridge. This was easy to notice because in order to continue setting the pace from the back we had to keep moving behind all of the new people joining the march. People were getting really excited. There was a very energetic young woman (one of the organizers), who was running around starting up chants and trying to get everyone to close off the gaps between marchers. She accidentally stepped on the back of my shoe, causing my foot to fall out. She quickly said “Sorry, baby!” with real sincerity, and ran ahead to energize the rest of the group.

As we were approaching the bridge, I was still not sure if we were going to cross into the traffic lanes. The police had blocked traffic from travelling eastbound into Brooklyn, but had also formed a line to prevent protesters from entering. We were still at the very back of the march. The police were patrolling up and down the lane parallel to the walkway. It was not until we had travelled a few hundred yards up the bridge that we realized protesters had somehow made it down into the street. I had assumed that the police formed that line blocking protesters from entering the entire time; apparently that was not the case. A large number of protesters had stopped on the walkway to look, take pictures, and express solidarity with those who were fenced in on the street below. The police had already started making arrests, singling out specific individuals and grabbing them as the opportunity presented itself. After making our way a bit further up the bridge, past the penned in group, I heard a familiar shout. I squeezed over to the side to get a look and saw that energetic young woman, struggling and yelling as two police officers were dragging her away.

Those who were not trapped on the street or standing on the walkway to provide moral support made their way across the bridge into Brooklyn, where we rallied at Cadman Plaza Park, surrounding the William Jay Gaynor monument. Here the organizers passed along information regarding our fellow protesters on the bridge as well as advice on what to do next: who to call if a friend has been arrested, etc. Because Occupy Wall Street demonstrators are not permitted to use loudspeakers or megaphones, communication is done through a massive game of telephone. One person shouts the original message, and the surrounding crowd shouts it along to those standing out of earshot of the speaker.  I noticed that the same person never spoke twice. A different person conveyed each message.

While all this was happening, the police were slowly surrounding the park and making their way inside. According to them, we would not be arrested so long as we “did not break park regulations.” They conveniently failed to enumerate these regulations.

I would have loved to stay at Cadman Park, but I had a few obligations that night in New Brunswick. Joel and I decided to walk back across the bridge to get to the PATH station. As we started up the walkway, two police officers warned us that “protesters were blocking the path up ahead and not letting people through.” We snickered to ourselves, musing at how we could assume different identities by not walking with a large group of people.

The police were stationed throughout walkway, telling people that they had to keep moving to the other side of the bridge. Now there were buses (some of which were from MTA) lined up in the street below, outside of which arrested protesters were waiting to be loaded up and taken down to the station. Joel and I shouted down to one of the protesters asking, “how did you get down there!?” The response was “I don’t know, I was just following the group!” We then came upon the group of alledgedly obstructive protesters who, roughly twenty strong, were standing on one side of walkway in solidarity with those below. A few police officers were standing around them, telling them that they had to get off of the bridge. One man questioned the legality of forcing people off of a public walkway, to which an officer in a white shirt responded by grabbing the protester and threatening arrest. They said that we were allowed to be on the bridge, but that we “had to keep moving.” One of the officers began approaching me as I was trying to take a picture, so I quickly put down my camera and walked away.

As Joel and I walked to the train station, I could not help but mull over the greater significance of what happened and what my role was within these events. It was a shared role, of course. I am grateful to have had support from Matt, Kristen, Zu, and Joel. I feel like we are a part of what could become the largest social movement of our generation, but I do not yet know how to classify it.

Part II

History certainly verifies the power of protest, but despite this common technique, Occupy Wall Street is decidedly different from its predecessors in its organization and goals.

Solidarity, which with roughly ten million members would become the largest trade union in history, emerged  from a strike at the Lenin Shipyards in Gdansk, Poland, in 1980.  Solidarity used civil disobedience and nationwide strikes to demand workers’ rights and social change from a government whose legitimacy was founded upon notions of workers’ rights and social change. Though this movement was violently suppressed by the Communist government in 1981, they would remain underground throughout 1980s until finally reemerging in 1988-89 to successfully negotiate for democratic elections. This set into motion a chain of events leading to the Revolutions of 1989 in the Eastern Bloc and arguably the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991.

Similarly, the Civil Rights movement demonstrates the efficacy of non-violent protest and civil disobedience in an American context. This movement exposed the inherent contradictions in a supposedly liberal, democratic state, which emphasized human equality in theory while in practice systematically marginalized the political power of a select group. In this case, the legal basis of the state itself had provided the means for its own criticism. The Declaration of Independence and the U.S. Constitution could be used as effective tools to compel the U.S. government to concretely meet its theoretical obligation to guarantee political freedom for all citizens of the United States.

When compared to Solidarity and the Civil Rights movement, Occupy Wall Street lacks the means to make very specific demands because the enemy is not so clearly defined. For those living in the Eastern Bloc, information came from the Politburo and one could either accept it as fact or, as most did, reject it entirely. The goals of the Civil Rights movement were legitimized by the state itself.

Today’s issue is far more nuanced: the enemy is amorphous, and mainstream sources of information provide no basis from which this systematic oppression can be criticized.

Wall Street has become an institution fundamentally embedded within the political and economic structure in not only the US, but the entire world. So much so that its sudden failure carries with it the threat of global collapse through a process that practically nobody–let alone Wall Street bankers– truly understands. By creating specific demands that fit into the typical logic of American politics, the Occupy Wall Street movement would compromise its essence and surrender its claim to representing “the 99%.”

For example, demanding a specific tax increase on large corporations or a clearly defined fiscal policy on Wall Street–within the framework of mainstream economics–would do little curb their power over society.Wall Street and other corporate interests have gained such influence over the political and economic sphere that any such maneuver would require the support of these institutions to succeed. Having the power to convert and move its capital anywhere in the world in an instant, Wall Street could easily adapt to new economic circumstances. Large corporations, using the money they have already accumulated, could likewise send their productive potential outside of the country. In short, operating within the mainstream political, economic, and social paradigm would be self-defeating.

The failure of this paradigm  is apparent in its inability to predict the economic crisis of 2008, while Libertarians like Ron Paul and Marxists such as David Harvey had a sense that the system was untenable.

More importantly, creating narrow demands would undoubtedly alienate individuals who, although they support the revolutionary spirit of Occupy Wall Street, may see certain demands as being counterproductive to the overall intent of this movement. If the group’s demands do not receive something like unanimous consent, leaders would have to take the charge and set the agenda. Such an organization has certainly worked for movements in the past, but conditions in the present seem to belie this kind of structure.

Solidarity was lead by the personality of Lech Walesa and individuals such as Martin Luther King and Rosa Parks were specific figures of inspiration within the Civil Rights Movement. These were all charismatic figures around whom personality cults formed and served as a source of inspiration and ideological cohesion.

Despite their effectiveness, Solidarity and the Civil Rights movement often did not represent “the 99%.” They represented certain classes of people who were clearly being oppressed within the legal framework of society. So they applied pragmatic political means, within the structure of their society, to achieve their ends. After taking power, Solidarity itself, as a political organization, succumbed to infighting among the leadership, causing its decline (Paradox of Change). Even Dr. King had to refrain from openly opposing the Vietnam War until after 1965, as doing so would have undermined support for the Civil Rights and Voting Rights Acts.

Occupy Wall Street has no definitive leaders, just familiar faces.

This movement is not about playing politics with actors in a broken system. It has emerged as a result of the inability of so-called “leaders” to deliver on their promises and fix these errors. The masses of unemployed, underpaid, or indebted are sick of these political games and are seeking to build a new system in which they are free to use their vast creative potential and are not subject to all of the crap being shoveled by our political institutions. The only option is to try to create a movement that stands outside of this paradigm.

Occupy Wall Street should be seen as continuation of the Arab Spring, like the protests in Wisconsin, the demonstrations against austerity measures in London, and the protests in Greece and Spain in May. This is a global protest against the current organization of power: one that is suppressing the power of most individuals through exceedingly complicated mechanisms which are run by only a few. But this movement may be even more than just a reaction to thirty years of lying by global elites that is to be considered only within the context of recent history. Perhaps it is the enduring idea that those in power, whether they are political, bureaucratic, financial, or industrial elites, must be held accountable for their actions. An expansion of democracy beyond polls and voting booths, following through with principles established during the Enlightenment. In this regard, it may be more appropriate to consider this movement as a part of a tradition that dates back to the revolutions of 1688, 1776 and 1789.

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Photos by Mr. Matthew D’Elia. All rights reserved by the artist.

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Reflections Through a Broken Mirror ~ Danny Cassidy

That the body can conduct its choir

of heavy robes  the concert of the mind

winter branches budding into praise

& the coda opens
its mouth
of longing—

in wait for the arms to drop.

*

Can the soul labor righteously?

If not, is the righteous
soul merely idle

ornament of resistance

until in the grasp
of his palm

made useful–

as in the grape hyacinths

finally bloomed
and stripped
of its fruit

by a child’s restless wonder.

*

How do we talk
of it, or measure
its tire?

Cracked shell.
Shore arched back

with the tide
(as if the rind

of our earth peeled.)
Calloused hand.

Autumn leaf.
A shattered bulb.

How we praise
the body adorned
with labor:

muscle finally
a form of gauze,

covering

what must
be a wound.

*

How wrongly we have mapped our journey.

The false north stars /   you who

shouted chaos and the earth coiled

its tongue / As if somewhere a window

had shattered  /  the river

a stream of  glass / cutting  light,

bleeding with it,  think moth /

( wings soft oars wading through

the plum pond of night ) / how sharp

their want  at the lip of the bulb.

O  gather eternity, its wax /and oils,

make a wick of this broken earth.

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Occupy Wall Street (Day 13) Video and Photography ~ Dan Bracaglia

#Occupy Wall Street – Day 13

I avoided the enigma that is #OccupyWallStreet for nearly two weeks, despite it essentially taking place in my backyard. However, this past Friday I made my way down to Zuccotti Park around 2pm, to experience it for myself. Well, that is not completely true. I originally left work early on Friday, with a Canon 5D Mark II (with a 70-200mm 2.8 L lens) and Nikon D3s (with a 35mm f/1.4 lens) in hand (how’s that for democracy?!), at my boss’ suggestion, due to circulating  rumors that Radiohead would be performing in the park around 4pm. I was to shoot the show, if it happened, for Sound and Vision Magazine. Those rumors proved false—and that is probably for the best.

I ended up spending about 6 hours with “the movement,” on Friday, mingling about, talking to protesters, police officers, local shop owners, and bystanders alike. The day went a little something like this:

At 2pm I arrived in Zuccotti Park and found between 300-500 individuals present—most stood around one of two drum circles either dancing, playing instruments, or simply observing, while others were mulling around the makeshift sleeping areas, library, and media center.  Admittedly, the music coming from the circles was intoxicating.

By 4pm, the number of individuals in the park grew to somewhere around 3000, as a “General Assembly,” began to take place. The second and third image in this series are from that general assembly, which is a free-form open forum, in which anyone can address the crowd by shouting “Mic Check,” to which everyone in the park repeats back “Mic Check.” Messages are passed around the enormous crowd in a “telephone” like way—those standing nearest to you repeat the message back to you even louder, those who hear it then repeat it even louder to those even further away. It is by no means an ideal way to get information around, but worked surprisingly well.

By 5:00pm, the number of individuals in the park was probably somewhere between 4000 and 5000, excluding police officers. It was at this point I learned that the group was set to march down Broadway, 15 blocks, to One Police Plaza, in solidarity for those individuals who were allegedly beaten by police during a march the previous week.

By around 6pm, all 4000 to 5000 protestors had peacefully made it to One Police Plaza without any incident—their cheers upon entering the plaza were deafening. I stuck around there for another hour and a half before going back to my office.

You will notice several things in the images and audio slideshow that follow. First and foremost you will notice the immense diversity of those participating in this movement. That was by far what most impressed me. This is not a movement to support any cause in particular, in fact, I am not even sure you can call this a movement (however I will continue to as I don’t know any other name to call it).

The second thing you will notice is how dismayed, embarrassed and simply exhausted the NYPD looks in all of these images. All in all, I think the NYPD drew the short straw in all of this. Sure, a handful of police officers a week and a half ago may have abused their power and perhaps acted criminally, but in comparison to the number of times a day these protesters are marching, and the insane amount of man power it takes to keep everyone safe and traffic moving, the NYPD has beyond earned my respect. Every officer I encountered Friday was polite and courteous. In fact, I heard a protester use some pretty nasty language to a police officer who asked him to please stay off the street. The officer’s response? “Hey man, we are human too; we are just trying to keep you safe.”

I know 700 protestors were arrested Saturday for blocking traffic on the Brooklyn Bridge. There are conflicting reports from several individuals, that police tricked the protestors, saying at first it was OK for them to march on the bridge, and then arrested them all. I find this very hard to believe. Every officer I encountered Friday made it very, very clear that IF you were to block traffic in anyway, you WOULD be arrested, no questions asked. To those protestors who now have to deal with NYC municipal court, many of which I probably spoke with the day before, you have my condolences, however you have no one to blame but yourselves.

Speaking of the NYPD, other things you will notice from the audio slideshow are that a large number of police officers were equipped with video cameras and documenting the protest. I can only assume that this is the NYPD’s response to backlash from the protestors’ and journalists’ videos showing uncalled-for and illegal brutality some day’s prior. Either way, it is very interesting.

All in all, a lot has been said about #OccupyWallStreet in the past two weeks, some of it true, some if it not. If you are curious what this movement is all about, I would highly recommend taking an afternoon and experiencing it for yourself. Overall, I must say, I am impressed with the courage and passion of those core individuals who are so dedicated to this. What they aim to change, when it will happen, how it will happen, they don’t even know. But they aren’t going away anytime soon, and I think that is a very good thing.

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Tragedy and Outrage in New Brunswick Shooting ~ Kine Martinussen

New Brunswick, NJ–According to reports, New Brunswick resident Barry Deloatch, 47, was shot twice and killed by a New Brunswick Police officer on Wednesday, September 21, 2011, near the intersection of Throop Avenue and Handy Street in New Brunswick.

Reacting to this tragedy, nearly 150 people gathered Thursday in front of the New Brunswick City Hall in protest against police violence.  Most were friends of Mr. Deloatch, and identified the shooting as part of a long-term and ongoing attack on New Brunswick’s African American and Hispanic communities. I came by to see what was going on. Here is what I heard from members of the community affected by the tragedy, in their own words.

The sign reads: ASSASSINATED: Shawn Potts, Sissy Adams (Tanya Lanham’s drill team coach), Barry Deloatch, Silvia Parson and André Showell

Cedric Goodman, Middlesex Country Democratic Committee person, and friend of Mr. Deloatch, called for an independent and outside investigation into the matter. He claimed that the NBPD has a long history of racist and brutal behavior.

Nina Webb feels for the Deloatch family: “We went through the same thing. My brother got shot in the back seven times. He was twenty years old. I want justice for my mother, and I want justice for the Deloatch family.” Commenting on the New Brunswick Police, she said “You don’t have to draw your gun all the time. You’re trained to apprehend people by other means instead of deadly force. He was a nice man and I feel for his family.”

Several agreed that there needs to be an effort to include the police in the community. Protester Sarah Lee is tired of the police circumventing their own protocol: “Cops should be from here, from our community. They need to live here for three years in order to join NBPD but they keep faking their addresses and moving away as soon as they can.” Publisher and community activist Tanya Lanham is sad to see that the police make no effort to connect to youth from her area: “The police officers don’t visit the schools and the mayor doesn’t visit the schools. My son is 23 years old and he has never seen the people he is supposed to vote for.”

Her son has however had encounters with the police, having been searched twice, once when he was 13 and again last August.” According to Ms. Lanham, both searches were unlawful. She also says her sister’s husband has been pulled over with a frequency of “once a week” on Remsen Avenue for “the last five years.” She concludes, “I am scared to come outside.”

The family of Mr. Deloatch was also present at the protest, and could be singled out by that raw, dazed, and wounded aura that clings to those who have recently lost of someone dear. Mr. Deloatch’s brother, Bennie, is appalled that he never got a proper courtesy call from the police. “We were never notified,” he says. “I had a friend call me telling me he saw my brother get shot. I got out of bed and I rushed to the hospital as fast as I could, but he was already dead.” To him, the pieces don’t match up. Nate, his other brother, kept repeating “My brother should still be alive right now.”

This is not the first time the NBPD has faced criticism for its alleged use of excessive force, let alone the first time this year. One protester said his brother’s jaw was broken during an interrogation, and that frequent searches have become routine. Last February, Rutgers students Jake Kostman and Kareem Najjar sued for police violence after being beaten during a search on their Somerset student home (which can be seen here).

New Brunswick Mayor Jim Cahill had this to say: “It’s fully understandable that people want, demand answers to numerous questions that arise. I think that we need to be patient to make sure the answers that are given are accurate.”

Neither the Mayor nor the NBPD have commented further since…

_________________________

Photos by Ms. Kine Martinussen.

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