The smaller they are, the more challenging they are to photograph, but I absolutely love the challenge, [m]y goal is to show people the beauty of these tiny treasures that are all around the forest but barely visible unless you look very very closely.
I've never thought of myself as a "car person". The last new car I bought (and in fact, now that I think about it, the first new car I ever bought) was the quirky 1998 Ford Contour SVT. Since then we bought a VW station wagon in 2011 and a Honda minivan in 2012 for family transportation duties. That's it. Not exactly the stuff The Stig's dreams are made of.
The station wagon made sense for a family of three, but became something of a disappointment because it was purchased before — surprise! — we had twins. As Mark Twain once said:
Sufficient unto the day is one baby. As long as you are in your right mind don't you ever pray for twins. Twins amount to a permanent riot. And there ain't any real difference between triplets and an insurrection.
I'm here to tell you that a station wagon doesn't quite cut it as a permanent riot abatement tool. For that you need a full sized minivan.
I'm with Philip Greenspun. Like black socks and sandals, minivans are actually … kind of awesome? Don't believe all the SUV propaganda. Minivans are flat out superior vehicle command centers. Swagger wagons, really.
The A-Team drove a van, not a freakin' SUV. I rest my case.
After 7 years, the station wagon had to go. We initially looked at hybrids because, well, isn't that required in California at this point? But if you know me at all, you know I'm a boil the sea kinda guy at heart. I figure if you're going to flirt with partially electric cars, why not put aside these half measures and go all the way?
It's been 5 years, but from time to time I'd see some electric vehicle on the road and I'd think about that Intergalactic SpaceBoat of Light and Wonder. Maybe it's time for our family to jump on the electric car trend, too, and just late enough that we can avoid the bleeding edge and end up merely on the … leading edge?
I've somehow gone from being a person who basically doesn't care about cars at all … to being one of those insufferable electric car people who won't shut up about them. I apologize in advance. If you suddenly feel an overwhelming urge to close this browser tab, I don't blame you.
I was expecting another car, like the three we bought before. What I got, instead, was a transformation:
Yes, yes, electric cars are clean, but it's a revelation how clean everything is in an electric. You take for granted how dirty and noisy gas based cars are in daily operation – the engine noise, the exhaust fumes, the brake dust on the rims, the oily residues and thin black film that descends on everything, the way you have to wash your hands every time you use the gas station pumps. You don't fully appreciate how oppressive those little dirty details were until they're gone.
Electric cars are (almost) completely silent. I guess technically in 2019 electric cars require artificial soundmakers at low speed for safety, and this car has one. But The Oatmeal was right. Electric cars feel like spacecraft because they move so effortlessly. There's virtually no delay from action to reaction, near immediate acceleration and deceleration … with almost no sound or vibration at all, like you're in freakin' space! It's so immensely satisfying!
Electric cars aren't just electric, they're utterly digital to their very core. Gas cars always felt like the classic 1950s Pixar Cars world of grease monkeys and machine shop guys, maybe with a few digital bobbins added here and there as an afterthought. This electric car, on the other hand, is squarely in the post-iPhone world of everyday digital gadgets. It feels more like a giant smartphone than a car. I am a programmer, I'm a digital guy, I love digital stuff. And electric cars are part of my world, rather than the other way around. It feels good.
Electric cars are mechanically much simpler than gasoline cars, which means they are inherently more reliable and cheaper to maintain. An internal combustion engine has hundreds of moving parts, many of which require regular maintenance, fluids, filters, and tune ups. It also has a complex transmission to translate the narrow power band of a gas powered engine. None of this is necessary on an electric vehicle, whose electric motor is basically one moving part with simple 100% direct drive from the motor to the wheels. This newfound simplicity is deeply appealing to a guy who always saw cars as incredibly complicated (but computers, not so much).
Being able to charge at home overnight is perhaps the most radical transformation of all. Your house is now a "gas station". Our Kia Niro has a range of about 250 miles on a full battery. With any modern electric car, provided you drive less than 200 miles a day round trip (who even drives this much?), it's very unlikely you'll ever need to "fill the tank" anywhere but at home. Ever. It's so strange to think that in 50 years, gas stations may eventually be as odd to see in public as telephone booths now are. Our charger is, conveniently enough, right next to the driveway since that's where the power breaker box was. With the level 2 charger installed, it literally looks like a gas pump on the side of the house, except this one "pumps" … electrons.
This electric car is such a great experience. It's so much better than our gas powered station wagon that I swear, if there was a fully electric minivan (there isn't) I would literally sell our Honda minivan tomorrow and switch over. Without question. And believe me, I had no plans to sell that vehicle two months ago. The electric car is that much better.
I was expecting "yet another car", but what I got instead was a new, radical worldview. Driving a car powered by barely controlled liquid fuel detonations used to be normal. But in an world of more and more viable electric vehicles this status quo increasingly starts to feel … deeply unnatural. Electric is so much better of an overall experience that you begin to wonder: why did we ever do it that way?
Gas cars seem, for lack of a better word, obsolete.
How did this transformation happen, from my perspective, so suddenly? When exactly did electric cars go from "expensive, experimental thing for crazy people" to "By God, I'll never buy another old fashioned gasoline based car if I can help it"?
I was vaguely aware of the early electric cars. I even remember one coworker circa 2001 who owned a bright neon green Honda Insight. I ignored it all because, like I said, I'm not a car guy. I needed to do the research to understand the history, and I started with the often recommended documentary Who Killed the Electric Car?
This is mostly about the original highly experimental General Motors EV1 from 1996 to 1999. It's so early the first models had lead-acid batteries! 😱 There's a number of conspiracy theories floated in the video, but I think the simple answer to the implied question in the title is straight up price. The battery tech was nowhere near ready, and per the Wikipedia article the estimated actual cost of the car was somewhere between $100,000 and $250,000 though I suspect it was much closer to the latter. It is interesting to note how much the owners (well, leasers) loved their EV1s. Having gone through that same conversion myself, I empathize!
I then watched the sequel, Revenge of the Electric Car. This one is essential, because it covers the dawn of the modern electric car we have today.
This chronicles the creation of three very influential early electric cars — the Nissan Leaf, the Chevy Volt, and of course the Tesla Roadster from 2005 - 2008. The precise moment that Lithium-Ion batteries were in play – that's when electric cars started to become viable. Every one of these three electric cars was well conceived and made it to market in volume, though not without significant challenges, both internal and external. None of them were perfect electric vehicles by any means: the Roadster was $100k, the Leaf had limited range, and the Volt was still technically a hybrid, albeit only using the gasoline engine to charge the battery.
Ten years later, Tesla has the model 3 at $38,000 and we bought our Kia Niro for about the same price. After national and state tax incentives and rebates, that puts the price at around $30,000. It's not as cheap as it needs to be … yet. But it's getting there. And it's already competitive with gasoline vehicles in 2019.
It's still early, but the trend lines are clear. And I'm here to tell you that right now, today, I'd buy any modern electric car over a gasoline powered car.
If you too are intrigued by the idea of owning an electric car, you should be. It's freaking awesome! Bring your skepticism, as always; I highly recommend the above Matt Ferrell explainer video on electric vehicle myths.
As for me, I have seen the future, and it is absolutely, inexorably, and unavoidably … electric. ⚡
Vulture capitalists are sucking value from a dying industry.
Wyoming is facing a potential crisis. Coal mines have shut down, hundreds of people are out of work, unemployment offices are overwhelmed, and there appears to be worse to come.
The coal industry, long seen as a friend and economic linchpin in the state, is falling apart, and the very communities that have supported it most are getting screwed over in the process.
This wasn’t supposed to happen in Wyoming. After all, it’s not like Appalachian coal country (West Virginia, eastern Kentucky, and Pennsylvania, along with eastern Ohio and parts of Alabama, Maryland, Tennessee, and Virginia).
Appalachia, which has been ground into codependent poverty by the coal industry over the course of a century, has been declining, in coal output and employment, for decades. Lately it has only gotten worse, as companies declare bankruptcy, executives get healthy bonuses, polluted coal mines are abandoned, and miners and retirees are denied long-promised health benefits and pensions.
But it has long been industry conventional wisdom that Western coal would continue to prosper, at least for a while. The coal boom in the Powder River Basin — the largest coal basin in the US, the source of 40 percent of American coal, spanning northeast Wyoming and southeast Montana — dates back to the early 1970s. It has resulted in a few large companies with deep local roots, their taxes funding infrastructure and schools. Their steady profitability has made coal the heart of several Western communities. There are 13,000 coal-dependent jobs in the PRB.
It’s beginning to look like conventional wisdom was wrong. Western coal is declining too, and as it does, vulture capitalists are buying up mines, squeezing out the last bit of profits, and declaring bankruptcy, leaving behind an environmental mess and workers without jobs or pensions.
It’s shaping up to be Appalachia all over again, in communities thatwere told it would never happen.
“While the signs have been there for a while, Wyoming’s leaders have done little to pivot our state’s economy away from this volatile industry,” writes the Casper Star-Tribune editorial board. “But there’s no more time. The fallout from the inevitable bust ... would be widespread and devastating to the entire state.”
We’ll start by explaining the most recent news and work our way back to the big, awful picture for the coal industry in the US.
Robert Godby, an energy economist at the University of Wyoming, described it as “a heart attack in the Powder River Basin.” Eagle Butte and Belle Ayr are the fourth and sixth top-producing mines in the US; Belle Ayr, just south of Gillette, Wyoming, was the first big mine to open in the PRB, back in 1972.
In some cases, the miners’ final paychecks, cashier’s checks flown in at the last minute, were held by banks or failed to clear. Local unemployment centers were almost immediately overwhelmed and reportedly ran out of materials on retraining within 24 hours. (Blackjewel paychecks are reportedly bouncing in Kentucky as well.)
Scenes from a public meeting about the recent Blackjewel mine closures at the Campbell County Courthouse today. The Eagle Butte and Belle Ayr mines near Gillette closed and sent roughly 700 workers home after Blackjewel LLC filed for bankruptcy yesterday. pic.twitter.com/5yJNmJgVYc
On Wednesday, a West Virginia bankruptcy judge denied a $20 million refinancing plan, but approved $5 million in emergency funding, not to reopen the mines but to monitor them for safety purposes. One condition of the loan was that Blackjewel CEO Jeff Hoops resign, that all members of his family resign, and that none of them be allowed access to any Blackjewel business or bank accounts. (More on Hoops later.)
For now, the restructured company is desperately seeking financing. If it does not succeed, it may be forced into Chapter 7 bankruptcy (liquidation), at which point it, or its creditors, would be forced to sell the mines. If they don’t find a buyer, the mines could be shut down for good, at which point environmental reclamation would begin. Some 1,700 jobs are on the line across the company.
The Wyoming Department of Environmental Quality (DEQ) told Wyoming Public Media that Blackjewel has sufficient bonds to cover reclamation, but community advocates are skeptical. Recent tax forms reveal about $237 million in bonds; it’s uncertain whether that will cover reclamation, which could take up to 20 years.
Just a few months earlier, in May, another big PRB mining company, Cloud Peak Energy, which owns three giant mines in Montana and Wyoming, also declared bankruptcy. Its fate offers a preview of what lies ahead for Blackjewel.
There were winners in the Cloud Peak bankruptcy: the CEO and top executives, the very crew that drove the company into a ditch with gross errors in judgment, will receive “retention” bonuses and emerge from the process wealthier than ever, no worse for the wear.
The losers, as Clark Williams-Derry explains in a post for the think tank Sightline, include everyone else: all the vendors to whom the company owes money, from the unsecured bondholders at the bottom of the stack (including many small local suppliers) to the secured bondholders above, who may end up stuck with the company’s near-worthless mines; miners, who are likely to see health benefits and pension plans canceled; and shareholders, who will be wiped out.
That’s more or less the model, and it’s not new.
Before Cloud Peak, in late 2018, it was the large Western mining firm Westmoreland going bankrupt. And before that, in 2015 and 2016, three of Wyoming’s biggest coal producers — Peabody Energy, Arch Coal, and Alpha Natural Resources — declared Chapter 11 and underwent restructuring. Almost 500 workers lost their jobs on a single day in 2016.
I wrote about the Peabody bankruptcy here and here and the Alpha bankruptcy here and here, but broadly speaking, their story is the same as Cloud Peak’s: “restructuring” left executives enriched and everyone else, including workers, hosed.
And here’s a funny story.
As part of Alpha’s restructuring, it spun off a new company, Contura, which took over its two Western crown jewels: the Eagle Butte and Belle Ayr mines (yes, the very mines that just closed). Contura quickly turned around and sold/gifted those mines to Blackjewel, a newly created subsidiary of Revelation Energy, an Appalachian mining firm owned by Hoops. In doing so, Contura expected to write off $400 million in taxes and $200 million in reclamation liabilities.
In response to the Blackjewel mine layoffs that are affecting Campbell County, Wyoming Food Bank of the Rockies will host two mobile pantries from 1-6 p.m. July 29 and Aug. 19. https://t.co/5v3ZJ1wfdQ
Basically, as the industry contracts, it’s a game of hot potato, as failing mines get passed around to increasingly fly-by-night companies that extract a little value before passing them along or going under.
As one company after another “restructures” through bankruptcy, they ditch social and environmental obligations, even as executives prosper. It’s vulture capitalism, stripping everything down to the remaining valuable assets, the remaining mines and coal, and casting everything else, including mining communities and the grotesquely scarred landscape, overboard.
Why is this happening?
Coal is going out faster than anyone expected, and it’s leaving wreckage behind
Coal’s ongoing demise has been written about a great deal, but there are some subtleties that help explain the current situation.
The big coal bankruptcies in 2015 and 2016 were not primarily due to coal getting beat on US electricity markets (though that is also happening). Rather, those companies made extraordinarily large and ill-advised bets on metallurgical coal, a special variety best adapted to steelmaking, meant for export abroad. Peabody, Arch, and Alpha all went heavy into metallurgical coal in the early 2010s, on the assumption that China would grow at its headlong early-2000s pace forever.
China ... didn’t. And those companies — or rather, their employees and shareholders — got hosed.
PRB coal was supposed to be somewhat immune to that, as it is primarily used domestically, in US coal-fired power plants.
While PRB coal is not as energy-dense as Appalachian coal, it has lower sulfur content, which makes it easier for power plants to comply with modern pollution standards. Consequently, power companies have been moving their business from Appalachia to the PRB for years.
But betting on US coal demand isn’t working out either. Thermal coal (the kind used for electricity) has been on the decline in the US, as cheap renewables and natural gas eat into coal’s market share, and the PRB has declined with it. As Ben Storrow reports for E&E, production in the basin fell “from 462 million tons in 2011 to 324 million tons last year.” Now, as coal plants close left and right, the latest projections have it heading to 175 million, well under half its heyday.
Still, most industry observers assumed a longer exit path. “Up until a few years ago, everyone, including me, knew that thermal electricity from coal was declining, but the Powder River Basin stood as the healthiest of the coal-producing areas,” Godby told the Casper Star-Tribune. “People in Wyoming took that for granted.”
Few imagined that coal’s decay would continue and accelerate to the point that producing mines might become worthless. That’s why regulators allowed shady operators from Appalachia to buy up the Western mines from the bankrupt companies. (More on that below.) They didn’t see the risk. The mines were supposed to be fine.
Yet coal’s decline has proven faster than anticipated, and PRB companies, accelerated by mismanagement, are dropping like flies. The market is turning away from their product.
Now Wyoming is facing another boom-and-bust episode, shaping up to be much the same as the last one. In a great piece that ties this story together as well as anything I’ve read, Bob LeResche of the Powder River Basin Resource Council recounts some recent Wyoming history:
When the coal bed methane boom went bust a few years ago [in 2015], big, responsible operators rushed to sell — or often give — multiple methane leases, hundreds of wells and infrastructure to newly hatched and poorly capitalized LLCs created by ‘get-rich-quick’ artists. These companies also relieved the original owners of huge liabilities: for taxes, surface use agreements, royalties, idle well bonds. Most of the new operators sold what gas they could and then quickly defaulted, leaving landowners with idle wells, eroded and disrupted surface lands, noxious weeds, uncollected royalties and rentals. They left the State of Wyoming with thousands of abandoned orphan wells and the need to spend tens of millions of dollars to plug and rehabilitate them.
NowWyoming legislators, regulators, and judges show every sign of sleepwalking into another round of the same issues.
It is no coincidence that this happened before in Wyoming, that it happened in Appalachia, that it’s happening on indigenous lands in Canada, that it’s happening in Nigeria and Angola. This is the resource-extraction model. It’s known as the “resource curse” — economies rich in natural resources and dependent on export commodities tend to grow more slowly and perform worse on a range of social indicators, and they are left worse off when the resources dry up. It’s true at the international level, but also within countries, states, and even, to some extent, cities.
Resources that can be mined or drilled are a boon to wealthy investors, but rarely to the people and land they lie beneath. Now the curse has come to Wyoming, and feckless leaders are letting it happen.
Coal will go out doing what it always does: offloading costs
What’s unfolding in Wyoming is a perfect example of a business model that has already been used in Appalachia, for old California oil wells, for offshore oil wells, and will likely be used soon for shut-down coal plants and other abandoned fossil fuel infrastructure. It’s a way for industries that lived by rent-seeking to die by it.
First, the big companies went bankrupt and were restructured. They were desperate to get rid of the mines — and the associated health, pension, and reclamation obligations. So in came the scavengers, to buy those mines for cheap, with vague promises to renew them.
One of those scavengers was Jeff Hoops. His company Revelation Energy LLC bought up hundreds of small mine permits in Appalachia and is known for a long history of safety and environmental violations. (According to an April investigation by the Ohio Valley Resource, Hoops faces more than $926,000 in delinquent mine safety mines.)
He spun off an affiliate, Blackjewel LLC, just to buy the two mines from Contura (the shell company created by Alpha to offload them).
A snapshot of Blackjewel's Virginia holdings, including 19 permits it holds & 1 it operates. Thom Kay of Appalachian Voices (the source of this info) suggested that it looks like Blackjewel was a destination for liabilities to be off-loaded through Chapter 11 bankruptcy. pic.twitter.com/70fC93WFhq
Another is Tom Clarke, a failed nursing home entrepreneur from Virginia who turned to buying up distressed iron and coal mines a few years ago, promising to clean them up and turn them around, and then ... not. He was behind the high-profile bankruptcy of Mission Coal a few years ago and has been involved in at least 10 bankruptcy cases over the years. Nonetheless, the bankruptcy court allowed him to buy the Kemmerer mine (in southwest Wyoming) from Westmoreland Coal Company, the 150-year-old company that went bankrupt last year. In buying it, he escaped the mine’s union contract and its pension obligations.
That is the model: buy the mines (or assets) for cheap from a company in restructuring, thereby escaping health, pension, and environmental obligations; take out huge loans to keep the mines going; pay yourself and your executives handsomely from those loans; and then, when the mine goes under anyway, pay yourself additional bonuses for “managing” your own bankruptcy and walk away richer than you started.
(Hoops isn’t allowed to run Blackjewel any more, but he’s plenty rich. He will likely still be able to build the 189-acre resort he has planned for his hometown of Milton, West Virginia, complete with a 3,500-seat replica of the Roman Coliseum. It will be called — and I am not kidding — Grand Patrician. According to Hoops, though, “no one is hurting more than me.” According to Gillette Mayor Louise Carter-King, “If I were him, I wouldn’t show up in Wyoming.”)
“Corporations have hacked bankruptcy law,” says Williams-Derry. “Many insiders walk away from bankruptcy with a decent-size payday, with ‘key employee retention plans’ and bonuses to keep the management team in place during bankruptcy. And for the C-suite, even if they don’t get rich, there’s no permanent downside to bankruptcy.”
Why are courts and regulators letting this happen?
Again, the case of Blackjewel is instructive. By the end, it had accrued $500 million in debts — to local vendors ($156 million), the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) for royalties, the Mine Safety and Health Administration (MSHA) for violations, and several states for back taxes ($6 million in Kentucky; $1.6 million Virginia; $17 million in Campbell County, Wyoming). The Eagle Butte and Belle Ayr mines alone owe $60 million in royalties and $37 million in county taxes.
All those institutions bent over backward to keep the house of cards upright. They extended Blackjewel’s loan payments, put the company on a royalty payment plan (“the BLM is very accommodating when you can’t make your payments,” Hoops said in bankruptcy court), and watched as payroll taxes were withheld but not remitted and 401(k) payments withheld but not deposited.
Hoops did admit that he frequently transferred money between his personal account and Blackjewel. Transferring money out of an insolvent company in this way is called a "preference" payment. It is decidedly not ok. From the hearing: pic.twitter.com/7Wj0fwlOV6
Regulators and courts seem frozen like deer in headlights, unable to wrap their heads around what’s going on. They can understand companies going bankrupt, but they cannot fathom that mines still producing coal might be worthless. “The rules were designed to deal with the failure of individual small mining companies,” says Williams-Derry. “But the idea that the industry as a whole might collapse ... it’s just completely absent.”
And everyone fears that cracking down on these companies might only hasten the loss of jobs. So the vulture capitalists keep getting away with it.
Coal has always lived by rent-seeking; now it will die rent-seeking
In Wyoming, leadership stands by gawking as the resource curse runs its course yet again. And the very Republican politicians who have power in those states, who made cozy deals with wealthy coal executives, who have systematically lied to their constituents about the fate of coal, are ... doubling down on their lies.
So here’s Wyoming Rep. Liz Cheney, ludicrously (still!) blaming “Obama’s War on Coal” for the mine closures and pledging “to stop the coal company exodus.” Oh? How does she plan to do that? She doesn’t say. She just repeats the latest administration propaganda: “Ensuring the reliability of our electric grid by supporting coal — a crucial baseload power source — is an economic and national security priority.”
The truth is, the US coal industry has never been a capitalist enterprise. In a purely capitalist system, a business pays all its own costs and keeps all its own profits.
The business model of the coal industry, as with most extractive industries, wherever they operate, is to capture the profits while avoiding the costs. That’s why they appear profitable as long as they do: Their steadily rising costs, in terms of humans (deaths, injuries, illnesses like black lung), the local environment (scarred land, dirty water, air pollution), and the atmosphere (climate change) are kept off their books. The public pays for those. The business model only works as long as the industry is able to offload costs.
Republicans (along with a shrinking number of Democrats from coal states) help coal executives offload costs — help them fight unions; diminish health, safety, and pollution regulations; and avoid their social and environmental responsibilities. That has always been the role of politicians in coal states. It’s the only way coal companies ever stay in business, which is one reason infamous coal CEO Bob Murray is hosting a fundraiser for President Trump later this month. Calling it “capitalism” would make Adam Smith roll over in his grave.
Extraction industries are largely a scam through which wealthy people remove value from a region and leave behind social and environmental ruin. It’s happening with coal, in Appalachia and now in Wyoming, but the model is not coal’s alone. It’s happening with oil and gas as well. It is the nature of an extraction economy.
Fossil fuels rest on a foundation of colonialist exploitation and rent-seeking. That’s how they came in; that’s how they’ll go out.
Since this is outside my agency's jurisdiction, I'll be blunt: anyone who structures a bankruptcy to disadvantage pensions is the scum of the Earth. There is no contract that deserves to be honored more than one that was already paid in toil.
This post has been scheduled in advance to be published during my digital detox period. Don't worry, I probably won't be wailing ... I think. But as I was rereading this text, I couldn't resist posting it.
"The Buribunks" is a uncannily prescient satire about a world where everyone is required to publish diaries about everything they experience. They are perfectly free to write that they have nothing to write, or that they hate writing—but if they actually stop writing, they fall into social oblivion.
At the foot of the Statue of Liberty, a few lines from Emma Lazarus’ 1883 poem The New Colossus are inscribed on a brass plaque…
Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!
Like millions before me, I have read them in person, and been humbled by the majesty of honor and sentiment they represent. Yet in 2019, sentiment is about all they do represent.
Today I received yet more bile-inducing, promotional material for July 4th sales of pens and stationery celebrating Liberty and Justice for All since 1776.
Ask the children taken from their parents at the United States/Mexico border, and held in U.S., concentration camps by the federal government about those lines from Lazarus’ poem, or even about liberty and justice.
“You’re really going to stand up and tell us that being able to sleep isn’t a question of safe and sanitary conditions?’” U.S. Circuit Judge Marsha Berzon asked the Justice Department’s Sarah Fabian Tuesday.
“Are you arguing seriously that you do not read the agreement as requiring you to do anything other than what I just described: cold all night long, lights on all night long, sleeping on concrete and you’ve got an aluminum foil blanket?” Fletcher asked. “I find that inconceivable that the government would say that that is safe and sanitary.”
And these are—and make no mistake about it, they are—concentration camps where, “once a month a child is dying in [federal] custody” (Christophi, 2019).
Ask Heather Heyer about liberty and justice for all since 1776—my apologies, you can’t. Heather Heyer was murdered by a white supremacist during a rally for equal human rights in 2017; an act tacitly supported by the “leader” of the United States. Someone elected in a manner that has been amply proven to bear little relationship to a legitimate democratic process, but stopped just short of being overtly criminal (Mueller, 2019, p. 9, 66, 173).
Ask Kevin Richardson, Antron McCray, Yusef Salaam, Korey Wise, and Raymond Santana, five innocent black children (the eldest at the time, being 16 years of age); jailed for a vicious offense foisted upon them by law enforcement organizations, and for whom the current U.S., president publicly demanded the death penalty. Something which he steadfastly refuses to retract to this day.
Ask the surviving friends and families of the 4391 people shot dead by U.S., police from 2015 until now—306 of which were unarmed; and despite black and hispanic individuals representing a minority of the population of the U.S., 145 of those shot were black/hispanic vs. 120 white (Washington Post Database, 2019). Even that data is likely to be skewed, as the Washington Post does not track the “deaths of people in police custody, fatal shootings by off-duty officers or non-shooting deaths.” (Washington Post Database methodology, 2019).
Simply on the basis of solid, observable, verifiable evidence, the United States is far from a democracy—partisan rigging of elections has been given the clear go-ahead by none other than the Supreme Court of the United States (Rucho, et al., v. Common Cause et al., 2019). The U.S., is a long and painful journey from representing freedom and liberty for all, and all of the fourth of July celebrations of American Independence, won’t make that any better, or the road any less daunting.
I have featured one or two of the graphics used above in posts I have made before, and people I would like to call friends have asked me to take them down—on the grounds that they are distressing for many. Most Americans do not support the actions of the federal government as described above, and the only recourse they have is to vote in numbers too great to falsify in 2020. For them I offer nothing but support, and sincere, heartfelt grief. Yet even the election system is stacked against them (Mueller, 2019; Rucho v. Common Cause, 2019). So I would say that people should be distressed. The American people should be very distressed. I am very distressed because I know and love America, and many, many Americans, who abhor, even more so than I, what is happening in their name, and to their country.
Some people may even attack this post on the grounds of politics. I have made no secret of how left-wing my political stance is, but this is not about politics. This is about having a fascist, conscience-less regime, willing to watch children die in concentration camps of their own making, just for power, wealth, and the childish ego of a criminal president. This is about basic right and wrong, not political left and right. There have been people like this president on the world stage before, and it has never ended well. In fact, America once stood in proud opposition to such world powers, when some of the concentration camps I’ve mentioned were built—to house American citizens with a Japanese heritage. Now they are occupied once again… by children; what an obscene irony. We should all be worried about the creature that currently occupies The White House; his failures have far-reaching consequences.
Some may say that a ridiculous little stationery blog is not the forum for such deep and heady discussion. I would normally agree, but what I just cannot understand, is why every single U.S., blog and opinion outlet is not exploding with outrage, at the monstrous nature of their current regime. When I am asked why do you care so much about what happens in the United States? I ask, why don’t you? If we all cared a whole lot more about our fellow human beings, children wouldn’t be dying in United States government concentration camps.
Buy a red, white and blue pen from an American supplier on Independence—or any other—day, while that abject failure of humanity is in power? I think not.