Is this where Black Lives Matter gets its money?

The Tablet offers a long investigative article about what it claims are the secretive sources of funding for Black Lives Matter and other radical groups.  It begins like this.

In a restless climate of nationwide demonstrations touched off by the killing of 17-year-old Trayvon Martin, an activist named Alicia Garza uttered the phrase “Black lives matter.” A few months later, in October 2013, Garza took a job with an organization called the National Domestic Workers Alliance, and the nonprofit immediately saw a dramatic increase in its funding from organizations tied to some of the wealthiest people in the world—people with names like Buffett, Soros, and Rockefeller.

This spring, in the wake of the killing of George Floyd, the movement became a global interest: Some 1.1 million individual donations worth an estimated $33 million flowed into its coffers. Large corporations, especially in Silicon Valley and retail, have been quick to follow suit, with brands like Square, Ubisoft, Google, Spanx, Tom’s Shoes, Lululemon, Nike, and Anastasia Beauty all making six- and seven-figure organizational pledges.

The received wisdom, echoing the official mythology around Black Lives Matter Global Network Inc.—co-founded by Garza along with fellow activists Opal Tometi and Patrisse Cullors—is that BLM is a grassroots movement that rose up organically out of the widespread rage sparked by viral videos of Black American men killed by police officers. According to this account, the political priorities of activists in Brooklyn screaming at cops and calling to defund the police have been fused with those of suburban moms in Peloton T-shirts, hand-painting signs with their kids using the BLM hashtags of large multinational conglomerates—an unusual union of protesters and the corporate boardroom spurred on by nothing more than everyone’s shared outrage over racism.

There is, however, another version of events, in which the heartfelt dedication to racial justice is only the forward-facing side of a more complicated movement. Behind the street level activism and emotional outpouring is a calculated machinery built by establishment money and power that has seized on racial politics, in which some of the biggest capitalists in the world are financially backing a group of self-described “trained Marxists”—a label that Cullors enthusiastically applies to herself and the group’s other co-founders.

These bedfellows, whose stories and fortunes are never publicly presented as related, are in reality intertwined under the umbrella of a fiscal sponsor named the International Development Exchange. A modestly endowed West Coast nonprofit with origins in the Peace Corps—which for decades supported local farmers, shepherds, and agricultural workers across the Global South—IDEX has, in the past six years, been transformed into two distinct new things: the infrastructure back end to the Black Lives Matter organization in the United States and also, at the very same time, an investment fund vehicle driven by recruited MBAs and finance experts seeking to leverage decades of on-the-ground grantee relationships for novel forms of potentially problematic lending instruments . And it did so with help from the family of one of the most famous American billionaires in history—the Oracle of Omaha himself.

There's much more at the link.

(Note that IDEX, referred to in the article, is now known as Thousand Currents.  That organization has some interesting attributes - go read them for yourself.  It appears to be structured to hide donations from other individuals and groups behind a shield of anonymity.)

Obviously, this article is only one source, and I'm sure much of the "putting two and two together" that the investigative journalists did is speculative.  Nevertheless, the article offers enough "meat on the bone" that it's worthy of further investigation, IMHO.

I've always been deeply suspicious of the level of organization displayed by BLM and Antifa during the street riots we've seen this past summer.  It's far more professional than one would have expected from a "spontaneous protest movement"  (or from the three "organizers" allegedly behind BLM, whom I suspect are figureheads for others who prefer to avoid publicity).  With resources such as these behind them, those organizations could have been (and probably were) preparing for months, and probably years, to swing into action as soon as a suitable pretext presented itself.  The death of George Floyd in police custody in Minneapolis provided the spark to the flame.

It costs a great deal of money to hire fleets of buses to move rioters around the country;  to train and equip organizers;  and to subsidize full-time staff for months on end while they take control of "useful idiots" and mobilize them to support the organization's ends.  Has the Tablet uncovered where that money came from?  It thinks it has.  I think there's far more to it than has presently been revealed, but that's a story for another time.

I suspect the Department of Justice knows more than it's saying, too.  It's been listening to communications between organizers for months now, and working its way further up the chain of command as it uncovers more evidence.  I won't be surprised to see a crackdown in due course, probably depending on the results of the elections in November.

Peter

Let's play Meat Bingo!

How many can you check off?

I've had all of them, and in some cases, variations on the meat across continents.  For example, I've eaten American alligator and Nile crocodile;  I've had American bison and Cape buffalo;  I've enjoyed American lobster and South African kreef;  and I've eaten shrimp in America and prawns in South Africa, Mozambique and elsewhere.  Part of the fun of traveling widely is the variety of food one can enjoy - even if the aftermath is not always enjoyable!  (Yes, "Montezuma's Revenge", "Delhi Belly", the "Gringo Gallop", the "Cairo Two-step", "Gyppy Tummy" and others are all the same thing, no matter what they're called or where they strike!)

How many can you check off, dear reader?  If you have anything exotic to add (for example, balut in the Far East or cane rat [also known as "grasscutter"] in Africa - the latter enjoyed by both Lawdog and myself;  it's very good eatin'!), let us know in Comments.

Peter

It looks like George Floyd was not "murdered" after all

A former federal and state prosecutor dissects the evidence against the police officers charged with murder in the death of George Floyd, and concludes that there's substantial evidence that in fact, he died of a drug overdose.  He also asks troubling questions about why the release of that evidence was delayed, and asks why the charges have not been dropped in the light of it.  Bold, underlined text is my emphasis.

Then, on May 31, 2020, NMS Labs forwarded Floyd’s toxicology report to the Hennepin County Medical Examiners’ Office.

And that’s when the proverbial fecal matter hit the fan.

At 7:30 p.m. on May 31, 2020, prosecutors “met” online with Dr. Andrew Baker, Chief Medical Examiner of Hennepin County, to discuss Floyd’s toxicology report.

. . .

So there they were, staring at the just-received and damning toxicology report that blew to smithereens the whole prosecution theory that the police had killed Floyd. To their undoubted dismay, Dr. Baker, the chief medical examiner, had to concede that at 11 ng/mL, Floyd had “a fatal level of fentanyl under normal circumstances.” He also conceded that the fentanyl overdose “can cause pulmonary edema,” a frothy fluid build-up in the lungs that was evidenced by the finding at autopsy that Floyd’s lungs weighed two to three times normal weight.

This is consistent with Officer Kueng’s observation at the scene that Floyd was foaming at the mouth and, as found at autopsy, that his lungs were “diffusely congested and edematous.”

In other words, like a drowned man, Floyd’s lungs were filled with fluid. And that was the obvious and inescapable reason why Floyd kept shouting over and over again that he couldn’t breathe even when he was upright and mobile.

The memorandum ends with Dr. Baker’s devastating conclusion that “if Floyd had been found dead in his home (or anywhere else) and there were no other contributing factors he [Dr. Baker] would conclude that it was an overdose death.”

Translation: this toxicology report drives a stake through the heart of our murder case. How do we justify criminally charging these police officers and explain away our colossal screw-up?

It is quite telling that this explosively exculpatory June 1 memorandum was not released by the prosecution until August 25, 2020. All of which prompts these questions:

First, why did the prosecution wait three months to release this memorandum?

Second, if the prosecution had released this information in a timely fashion, would that have helped to quell the anti-police outrage that has fueled the nationwide orgy of rioting and looting?

Third, in light of Floyd’s toxicology results and the medical examiner’s assessment that Floyd’s fentanyl overdose caused him to essentially drown in his own bodily fluid, why haven’t the charges against all of the police defendants been dropped?

The handwriting is on the wall. Through all of the rioting, looting, and burning, the prosecution has kept secret its knowledge that George Floyd died as the result of a self-administered overdose of fentanyl.

There's more at the link, including the full memorandum in question.  The article was published some weeks ago, but I didn't notice it until recently - hence this belated mention.

I don't see how a charge of murder can be sustained against the officers in question, given evidence like that.  It exculpates them entirely.  They may be guilty of procedural errors, but even that is in question, given their department's policies and training.  There's so much "smoke and mirrors" surrounding the case that it's hard for outsiders to know the truth;  and the mainstream news media appear uninterested in following up on the evidence revealed above, which makes an unbiased assessment even more difficult.

More and more, it looks like the officers involved were thrown to the wolves in a vain attempt to placate the mob.  What's more, it looks like the refusal to produce this evidence in a timely manner may have fueled the ongoing riots and protests across the country.  If that can be demonstrated, will Hennepin County and the city of Minneapolis be criminally or civilly liable for the billions of dollars in damage and commercial loss suffered by the locations of those riots and protests?  I wouldn't be surprised to see enterprising attorneys try to make that case.

Meanwhile, Officer Derek Chauvin is still in jail, while his three colleagues are free on (very high) bail.  The evidence described above makes one question the justice of that situation.

Peter

COVID-19, bureaucrats, and old technology - a recipe for a screw-up

The BBC reports that British bureaucrats "lost" data on thousands of COVID-19 cases due to using the wrong file format.

The badly thought-out use of Microsoft's Excel software was the reason nearly 16,000 coronavirus cases went unreported in England.

And it appears that Public Health England (PHE) was to blame, rather than a third-party contractor.

The issue was caused by the way the agency brought together logs produced by commercial firms paid to analyse swab tests of the public, to discover who has the virus.

They filed their results in the form of text-based lists - known as CSV files - without issue.

PHE had set up an automatic process to pull this data together into Excel templates so that it could then be uploaded to a central system and made available to the NHS Test and Trace team, as well as other government computer dashboards.

As a consequence, each template could handle only about 65,000 rows of data rather than the one million-plus rows that Excel is actually capable of.

And since each test result created several rows of data, in practice it meant that each template was limited to about 1,400 cases.
When that total was reached, further cases were simply left off.

For a bit of context, Excel's XLS file format dates back to 1987. It was superseded by XLSX in 2007. Had this been used, it would have handled 16 times the number of cases.

At the very least, that would have prevented the error from happening until testing levels were significantly higher than they are today.

But one expert suggested that even a high-school computing student would know that better alternatives exist.

"Excel was always meant for people mucking around with a bunch of data for their small company to see what it looked like," commented Prof Jon Crowcroft from the University of Cambridge.

"And then when you need to do something more serious, you build something bespoke that works - there's dozens of other things you could do.

"But you wouldn't use XLS. Nobody would start with that."

There's more at the link.

Tell me again how Big Brother is on our side, and looking out for us, and has our best interests in mind?

I wonder how many similar errors were made by government bureaucracies all over the world in the panicked rush to deal with the COVID-19 pandemic?  Were some of the thousands of deaths of elderly residents in New York nursing homes caused by bureaucrats who crunched the wrong numbers, and concluded that was the safest place for them to be isolated from outside risks of infection - while another set of bureaucrats crunched a different set of numbers, and decided that the best place for elderly people already infected with, and (hopefully) recovering from, COVID-19 was inside those same nursing homes?  We all know the result - but why did it happen?  How much of it was due to bureaucratic miscalculation?

Bureaucrats.  Data.  Some assembly required.  Some errors expected.




Peter

Chicago crime, demographics, and political incorrectness

I'm obliged to the always informative Second City Cop blog for these three maps of Chicago demographics.  They're eye-opening.

First up is this map of Chicago by racial distribution.  (For a larger view of any map, see the original at the Second City Cop link above.)

Next, Chicago by the number of shootings in various areas.

Finally, Chicago by distribution of votes for the current State's Attorney (i.e. prosecutor or District Attorney) for Cook County, Illinois (i.e. the city of Chicago), Kim Foxx.  She's a political activist who's been cutting back on pressing charges against criminals, and supporting politically correct demonstrations protests riots by not pressing charges against those arrested during them.  She appears to be loathed by most supporters of law and order in the city.

Second City Cop concludes (I've added the links):

So the people (and folks) who are getting killed at the highest rate are the ones who put Crimesha into office?

Someone want to contact Eric Holder and see if we can't have that discussion he was always whining about?

Do I hear a heartfelt "No s***, Sherlock!" from my readers?

Facts are facts.  They can be interpreted and "spun" and analyzed from all sorts of perspectives, but in the end, the numbers speak for themselves.  From the limited research that I've done, similar patterns may be found in most large American cities.

Go read the (currently) 85 comments beneath that article, many from Chicago cops (as are the authors of that blog).  They also speak for themselves.

Peter

A potentially useful gadget for AR-15 owners

Reader J. M. sent me the link to an interesting product over the weekend.  It's what the maker calls a "Redneck Rifle Hanger" for AR-15's.  (All images courtesy of the manufacturer's Web site.)

It looks simple enough, doesn't it?  I daresay one could make something like it if one had a length of suitable steel wire, but the manufactured product will almost certainly be better made and finished.  It can be used to hang one's rifle, ready for action, in a clothes closet or from any convenient hook, so that it's unobtrusive, yet readily available when needed.

The maker shows that it can also be useful outside the home.  That's not a bad idea - I've been in several situations where I wanted to keep my rifle out of the mud or dirt, but didn't have anywhere else to lean it.  This might offer a solution to that dilemma. It wouldn't be out of sight, of course, but it would keep the weapon clean and ready for use.  One might even be able to hang it inside a tent, if there was sufficient support to carry its weight.

I've been at some makeshift outdoor shooting ranges where there were no weapon racks. This looks like it might be a useful substitute.

That's not a bad idea at all, IMHO.  I think I'm going to have to get hold of a few, for use at home and in our vehicles.  No, the maker isn't paying or compensating me to mention the product - I just like to share useful ideas with my readers, so that we can all benefit.

I imagine that something similar could be made to fit other types of rifles, too.  It would simply require having a convenient point for the bottom "hook" to wrap around or attach.  Even a sling swivel might suffice.  I'll have to look into that.

Peter

The reality of wildfire disaster

Rancher Dave Daley pens a long missive describing the reality of losing his herd to mountain wildfires, and the insanity of looking to either politicians, or environmental and climate activists, to find solutions to the problem.  It's a long article, but well worth reading, because it describes reality as seen and experienced on the ground, not pie-in-the-sky theory.  Here's an excerpt.

I am enveloped by overwhelming sadness and grief and then, anger. I’m angry at everyone, and no one. Grieving for things lost that will never be the same. I wake myself weeping almost soundlessly. It is hard to stop.

I cry for the forest, the trees and streams, and the horrible deaths suffered by the wildlife and our cattle. The suffering was unimaginable.

When you find groups of cows and their baby calves tumbled in a ravine trying to escape, burned almost beyond recognition or a fawn and small calf side by side as if hoping to protect one another, you try not to wretch. You only pray death was swift. Worse, in searing memory, cows with their hooves, udder and even legs burned off still alive who had to be euthanized. A doe lying in the ashes with three fawns, not all hers I bet. And you are glad they can stand and move, even with a limp, because you really cannot imagine any more death today. Euthanasia is not pleasant, but sometimes it’s the only option. You don’t want more suffering. How many horrible choices have faced us in the past three days?

. . .

I am absolutely tired of politicians and politics, from both the left and the right.

Shut up. You use tragedies to fuel agendas and raise money to feed egos. I am sick of it. And it plays out on social media and cable news with distorted and half-truths. On both sides!

Washington, DC is 3,000 miles away and filled with lobbyists, consultants and regulators who wouldn’t know a sugar pine from a fir. Sacramento is 100 miles south and feels even more distant than DC.

. . .

Politicians stage drive by photo-ops to raise money. None of us really like you. We’re just forced to deal with you. Of course, there are many exceptions and you know who you are. I hate to visit an office to discuss issues when the legislator is far more interested in talking than listening. It seems that nobody can be a centrist, make sense and win.

There is plenty of blame to go around on both sides of the aisle.

And just maybe it’s both [factors]—horrible forest management and climate change. Don’t you think months of massive smoke covering the West may impact the climate, especially added to our other pollutants? Does it matter which came first? Why not invest in solutions rather than using sound bites to gin up the base? And locally, we know the solutions. And those investments should be locally conceived and locally driven.

. . .

Bureaucrats and well-intentioned regulators who don’t know they don’t know have tied our hands, and the blame is shared at the both the state and federal levels.

Lest you think I am a complete rube, I earned my PhD in Animal Science 35 years ago at Colorado State. I loved teaching and ranching – so I did both. But I am a cattleman at heart. And, I have been involved in industry activities for many years, serving as Past President of the California Cattlemen’s Association, current Chair of the California Cattle Council, Chair of the Forest Service committee for the Public Lands Council and Chair of Federal Lands for the National Cattlemen’s Beef Association.

I have walked the halls of Congress, met with legislators in both Sacramento and DC. I advocate for the cattle community to anyone who will listen. I have shared meals with legislators in DC, Chicago and Sacramento at wonderful restaurants noted for fine dining. The company, food and conversation were enjoyable. I have had bologna sandwiches and beer in the mountains with ranchers and loggers. Somehow, the air seemed cleaner and the food was better with them. Something about straightforward honesty and hard work is appealing.

I invite any legislator or regulator, state or federal, to come with me to this devastation. Leave your photographer behind, put on boots and let’s go. I will buy the bologna. We have created tragedy after tragedy across the west. We need solutions.

. . .

Mega-fires are a recent product of lack of use of fire, less grazing and over-regulation. Mismanagement. In recent history, almost every mega-fire has started on state or federal lands. These catastrophic fires contribute to climate change. Yet the guidelines followed by the feds on National Forest and the State on State Parks lands are “one size fits all.” It is beyond dumb. It’s no one’s fault. It’s everyone’s fault. Listen to the Forest. Listen to the locals.

It was estimated the 2017 Tubbs Fire in Santa Rosa produced more CO2 and pollutants in one week than all of the cars in California in one year. We have already had six of the largest 25 fires in California history in 2020. The Bear Fire has eclipsed 250,000 acres and is still burning. To me this is very personal, but this is a much bigger problem than my family having our cattle killed.

I get frustrated with experts and consultants who drive by and “know just what to do.” For 35 years I have attended conferences, given presentations and listened. What I have learned is solutions are local and specific. What happens in one watershed in Plumas or Butte County may be entirely different in the Lassen National Forest just next door. But experts of all kinds are glad to tell you how to do it. “Let’s prescribe graze, use virtual fences, change your timing, change your genetics.” Prescribe graze the forest and canyons? Yea. Right. They don’t know what they don’t know but they will take the honorarium anyway and have a great dinner on your dime. The locals and land rarely benefit.

. . .

Postscript

It is day 12 and we still are in the same pace because we have no choice. We are finding one or two head per day that have lived so it is difficult to stop, but the numbers are dwindling so we have to shift our focus to those that lived. It is hard to do. We have put 1,200 miles on the 4-wheelers in just a few days. I quit counting the number of tires we have ruined and how much chainsaw work we are doing. Unfortunately, today we had to begin euthanizing some of the cattle that we brought home. But they were home, fed and watered.

The fire is still not contained and takes runs depending on the wind. I am not sure what next year will bring.

There's much more at the link, written by one who knows the issues and the reality intimately.  It's a cry from the heart, and well worth reading in full.

Mr. Daley's comments about politicians and bureaucrats and activists ring true, because the same complaints have been voiced by many others about many other situations.  I'm reminded of the reintroduction of wolves and other predators in several western states.  Almost universally, we hear from ranchers and other locals that state and federal bureaucrats and administrators either didn't keep them fully informed, or deliberately lied to them, or put all sorts of obstacles in their way if they try to complain about the consequences of that reintroduction.  I know personally ranchers who've lost cattle to such predators, but find it so difficult to make their case and claim compensation that they've simply given up.  Instead, they now follow the ancient and time-honored 3-S method.  It solves their problem when the bureaucrats and officials won't.

Sadly, that solution can't be applied to wildfires.  However, those who are most to blame for them might wish to consider carefully.  In several parts of Africa, I know that a simple solution for arsonists, obstructionists and others is applied during wildfires.  If such critters are encountered, the fire crews simply tie them up and throw them into the hottest available part of the fire.  It happens surprisingly often, but is almost never reported, because the victims can't complain.  They can't reoffend, either.  (I wonder whether the arsonists we've seen at work during our present urban unrest ever worry about that?)

Peter

Memes that made me laugh 27

Gathered over the past week on the Interwebs.

More next week!

Peter

Sunday morning music

I'd like to try something different this morning.  I've mentioned the fantasy author Terry Pratchett in these pages a few times, and also the English folk rock group Steeleye Span, whom I've followed ever since they started in 1969.

Some years ago Steeleye Span released an album titled "Wintersmith".

It's named for the book of the same title by the late Terry Pratchett, and sets to music the characters and events of that book.

The group collaborated with Terry Pratchett on the project.  The novel (described here) concerns the adventures of the young witch Tiffany Aching as she seeks to avoid the amorous attentions of the Spirit of Winter.  She's aided in her quest by the Wee Free Men and by Granny Weatherwax, all familiar to lovers of Pratchett's Discworld fictional universe.

The album is definitely in the folk rock genre, but rather more "rock" than "folk", and with all the compositions original to the group, rather than drawn from old folk tunes that have been "rockified", if I can put it like that.  It may not be to traditionalists' taste for that reason, but it's certainly interesting to listeners who've grown up in the classic rock and folk traditions.

Let's start with a video vignette where Terry Pratchett and the members of Steeleye Span talk about what brought them together, and how they tackled the project.

Here's the overture to the album.

And here's the eponymous title track.

This one's called "Fire and Ice".

And to close, perhaps the best-known song from the album, "The Dark Morris".  It's very different from traditional Morris dances, but it's very dance-able to a modern audience.

I hope you enjoyed the selection.  More tracks are available on YouTube, and the album is available on Amazon.com.

Peter

Saturday Snippet: A new collection, and I'm in it

It's nice to have something new to report on the writing front.

Some months ago Jim Curtis, better known in the blogosphere as Old NFO, invited several Texas authors, including the members of our local North Texas Writers, Shooters and Pilots Association, to contribute stories to an anthology.  We could write about anything we pleased;  the idea was to have an easy-reading fireside collection of stories by local authors who were given free rein.

The results were a lot of fun.  Vampires in Wichita Falls?  We got 'em (with a typically Lawdog twist, too!).  Space adventures?  Other planets?  Cattle drives?  Ditto.

The anthology is titled "Tales around the Supper Table", and it launches today.

The e-book edition is available now.  A print edition will follow as soon as Jim receives, checks and approves the proof copies.

As a teaser, here's the beginning of my contribution to the anthology.  Readers of my "Ames Archives" series of Western novels will remember Tyler Reese, Walt Ames' partner in a cattle ranch in the Texas Panhandle.  Tyler and Walt met just after the Civil War, as described in the first book in the series, "Brings the Lightning".

In that book, I described how Walt came to be in that place at that time - but what about Tyler?  I figured it was time to flesh out his backstory a little.  Here's how it begins.

The lean, gaunt man pulled his horse to a halt as it topped the rise, staring eagerly at the log cabin nestled among the trees, next to the pond made by the dammed stream in the hollow. He sighed, a great, long, gusty breath, and took off his broad-brimmed hat, wiping his forehead with the sleeve on his left arm.

His collarless shirt had once been white, but was now a blotchy blend of dirt-brown and gray, the product of years of inadequate laundering. His trousers were worn and patched, originally smart Confederate military issue, but now a nondescript faded gray. His face was lined with weariness and remembered pain, and stubble stood out on his chin. Despite his shabby appearance, the Army Colt revolver on the right side of his belt, in a military holster with its flap cut off, was clean and serviceable, as was the knife sheathed at his left. The handgun’s twin rode in a saddle holster on one side of his horse, balancing a Sharps single-shot cavalry carbine booted on the other.

“Dang, ol’ hoss, there was times I never figured to see home again,” he said aloud. His dark brown mount snorted, as if in agreement. He touched its ribs with his spurs, replacing his hat as the animal headed down the slope, its tired legs stepping out gamely as it sensed rest and shelter ahead.

As he rode up to the barn, an older man emerged from it. He stopped dead in his tracks, staring, then exclaimed, “Tyler! Air that really you, son?”

The rider grinned as he slid from the saddle. “It’s me, pa.” With a swift stride, he reached his father, and they embraced tightly for a long, silent moment.

At last the older man said huskily, “Well, let me look at you.” He stood back, still holding Tyler’s arms in his work-toughened hands, and studied him up and down. “You’re rail-thin, boy. Reckon your ma will have to fatten you up. Are your wounds still troubling you?”

“A bit, but not near as much as they were. I guess I should be glad I’m alive to feel ’em. A lot of us ain’t. The First Texas Infantry started out in August of ’61 with ten companies. We had more’n five thousand good Texas boys pass through our ranks ’tween then and now. There were just 149 of us left at Appomattox, three months ago.” He could not keep the rough emotion from his voice as he remembered the surrender of the Army of Northern Virginia to Union forces, marking the end of the Confederate States of America for which he’d fought for almost four years.

“And you were there almost from the first, right to the last. Ain’t no-one gonna say you didn’t do your duty, son. Come on. Let’s get inside an’ tell your ma you’re home.”

His mother’s excited, tearful greetings kept them all occupied for some time. When she’d recovered herself, she turned to her husband. “Well, don’t just stand there! Go get us a yearling beef an’ slaughter it. We’re going to feast tonight, to celebrate Tyler coming home!”

Tyler put his horse into a stall with a meager feed of oats, and borrowed one of his father’s spare mounts to ride out with him. “How are our cows doin’?” he asked as they set out.

“All the time you boys were off at the war, they’ve been breedin’ like rabbits. We got several hundred now, but they’re scattered to hell an’ gone across the range. Most of ’em ain’t even branded. Ranches all over got the same problem. Trouble is, we can’t sell ’em. There’s no demand round here. The only places that want ’em are the hide an’ tallow plants, and they pay only two or three dollars per head. Down Brownsville way, they strip off the hide an’ take the fat for renderin’, then throw the rest o’ the carcass into the bay. They do say the sharks down there are the biggest an’ best-fed critters in the seven seas.”

“Likely. They need meat up north, though. In Virginia an’ Tennessee, there wasn’t enough beef to go round. The Union Army had to bring in ration cattle from as far away as Iowa and Nebraska.”

“Yeah, but that’s a long ways from here. How do we get our cows to where they’re wanted?”

“I came up with an idea about that on the way home. Let me think on it a mite longer.”

“All right.” His father glanced across at him. “Word was that at the surrender, you had to hand in your weapons an’ hosses. How did you get to keep yours?”

Tyler grinned. “I didn’t, but some Yankee units got real careless after the surrender. They was too busy celebratin’ an’ gettin’ drunk on rotgut sutler’s whiskey to pay much attention to their duties. A man who knew how to move real quiet at night could take most anything he needed while they was sleepin’ it off. I got my two pistols, that Sharps carbine, plenty of food and ammunition, two good hosses, an’ about nine hundred greenback dollars I took out of a paymaster’s desk in a tent.”

The older man whistled. “I hope you still got some o’ them greenbacks. Confederate money’s worthless now. Only place you can use it is in the outhouse.”

“I still got it. You need some?”

“I’d sure appreciate it, son. We ain’t had cash money to shop for our needs for six months or more.”

“Let’s head into Gainesville with a wagon tomorrow mornin’. Tell Ma to make a list of what she needs for the house, an’ not to skimp. You do the same for the ranch. I’m buyin’.”

~ ~ ~

They set out at dawn on a two-horse farm wagon. The dust kicked up by the team and the wheels eddied in the light morning breeze as the sun rose higher.

As they drew near to Gainesville, a rider came up from behind them, masking his face against the dust of their passage with his bandana. As he drew alongside the wagon, he glanced across at them, did a double-take, then pulled down his bandana. “Tyler, is that you?”

Tyler glanced over, then gave a whoop of delight as he hauled on the reins to stop the team. “Dutch! How the hell are you? When did you get back?” He reached across the gap to shake hands.

“Last month. I was in Chimborazo Hospital at Richmond when the Yankees moved in, a couple of weeks before the surrender.” He inclined his head towards the stump of his left arm, only a few inches long below the shoulder. His shirt sleeve was folded and pinned together over it. “When I was healed up enough, I took a ship to Galveston and rode from there.”

“You got here faster than me. I had to ride through the Carolinas an’ Georgia, then across Alabama, Mississippi an’ Louisiana – more’n thirteen hundred miles. Took me almost three months, what with havin’ to steer clear o’ the Yankee army so they wouldn’t take my guns again. My butt’s still bitchin’ at me.” They laughed softly together.

Tyler’s father frowned. “I didn’t know you’d been hurt, Dutch. How did your parents take it?”

“Bad, Mr. Reese. They was hopin’ I’d take over most o’ the work around the ranch, but it’s a real problem with only one arm. There’s so much to be done, a man needs at least two of ’em, if not more. We ain’t got no cash money, either. Matter o’ fact, I’m on my way into Gainesville to sell my Spencer carbine.” He nodded towards the seven-shot repeater in his saddle boot. “I took it off a Yankee cavalryman at Chattanooga. I hate to part with it, but with only one arm I can’t handle it right. Jeb at the hardware store says he’ll give me ten greenback dollars for it.”

Tyler’s eyes gleamed. He’d wanted a good repeating rifle for a long time. “I’ll give you fifteen.”

“You will?” Dutch’s face lit up. “That’s real gen’rous, Tyler. No-one else has that kinda money right now.”

Tyler took out his wallet, peeled off a ten and a five, and held them out. “Here you are. Fresh Yankee greenbacks.”

“I’m thankin’ you. That’ll help buy some o’ what we need.” Dutch took the notes from him, slipped them into his shirt pocket, then drew the carbine from his saddle boot and passed it to Tyler. Reaching into a saddlebag behind him, he took out a leather-covered Blakeslee cartridge box with its shoulder strap. “Six of the ten tubes are full. That’s 42 rounds. The others are empty.” He handed it over.

Tyler placed the rifle and ammunition box in the wagon behind him. “Ride the rest of the way with us.” He started the horses moving again. “You say there’s a lot to be done on your pa’s ranch?”

“Yeah. There’s a lot of unbranded stock that need seein’ to. The hay needs cuttin’ real bad – that ain’t been done for two years, ever since pa broke his leg. The barn needs settin’ to rights. Trouble is, we ain’t got hands. They enlisted or drifted away during the war. None of them have come back yet.”

“Even if they did, how could you pay them?”

Dutch shook his head sadly. “We’d have to pay ’em in beef on the hoof, not in cash; but they’d have nowhere to sell it, just like we don’t.”

“I got a couple of ideas about that. Can you bring your folks to our place for supper tomorrow? I’d like to talk to you an’ your pa about cows. Your folks can use my room overnight, and you and I’ll sleep in the barn.”

“Sure can.”

Tyler and his father spent a couple of hours buying supplies for the ranch, loading the wagon with as much as it could carry, plus another wagonload to be prepared for collection later. He took the opportunity to buy more ammunition for the Spencer carbine and his Colt revolvers, plus a Leech & Rigdon revolver for his father, a Confederate copy of the .36-caliber Colt Navy model of 1851, well-used but still serviceable.

His father thanked him, but looked puzzled. “Not that I don’t ’preciate it, son, but why the pistol?”

“Pa, no-one’s got spendin’ money. There’ll be those desperate to get some any way they can. Those we know around here are good people, but not all those passin’ through on their way back from the war will be. I want you and Ma to be able to protect yourselves if need be. I’ll help if I’m there, but if I’m out on the range, you’ll have to do it.”

“Can I use that Sharps carbine you brought back? Ain’t had much practice with short guns.”

“You sure can, and I’ll teach you to shoot your belt gun better.” Tyler turned to the clerk, hovering attentively. “Reckon you’d better add a hundred linen Sharps cartridges to my order, plus a holster to fit that Leech & Rigdon.”

~ ~ ~

Dutch and his parents arrived by wagon late the following afternoon. That evening they feasted on two of Ma’s gigantic pies filled with prairie chickens and savory gravy, plus mashed potatoes, spinach and squash. There was utter silence as they did full justice to her cooking. Apple pie followed for dessert. The men helped clear the table after the meal, and washed the dishes while the ladies roasted and ground coffee beans – real coffee, bought at high cost from the store in Gainesville, the first any of them had enjoyed for months.

They settled down at last, sipping their coffee with groans of contentment. “That was the finest meal I’ve eaten for a year or more,” Dutch’s mother said. “It’s so good to have something to celebrate! We lost Henry at Glorieta Pass in ’62, but at least Dutch came back to us.”

“Yes,” Ma agreed. “Tyler’s got a few holes in him, but he’s still alive and well. That’s more than many can say about their children.”

Dutch set down his coffee cup and saucer. “Tyler, you said you wanted to talk to us about cows.”

“Yeah. I raided a few Yankee camps after the surrender, to get what I needed to make it back to Texas. In a paymaster’s desk, I found a letter from his father in Iowa. He talked about how he’d set up a feed lot for cattle to sell to the Union Army. Seems the Yankees bought everything they could close to the fighting, and had to look further afield to get more meat. Some farmers in Iowa bought cattle all over the state, even as far away as Nebraska, then drove them to feed lots and fattened ’em up on corn before selling them to the Army. The Quartermaster’s Department paid them up to ten dollars per cow.” There was a rustle of surprise at the figure.

“His father’s gonna carry on with that now the war’s over. He plans to fatten up more cattle, then send them to Chicago. The stockyards there will slaughter some, and ship more east to New York an’ other cities by rail. He expects to get as much as twelve to fifteen dollars a head for good, fat cows. He reckons hundreds o’ thousands of Union soldiers have gotten used to eating plenty of meat. They’ll want to go on doing that as civilians. He figures there’s gonna be a big market in Eastern cities. If he’s right, and iffen we can get our cows up to Iowa, we can make good money.”

“But how?” his father asked, bewildered. “It’s a good six or seven hundred miles from here, an’ much o’ the land ’tween here an’ there’s already bein’ farmed. They won’t let you trample their crops to drive a few hundred cattle. How are you gonna get ’em there?”

“That I’m still studyin’,” Tyler admitted. “If we take a more westerly route through Kansas, we’ll avoid most of the farms. We can go north to Nebraska, then turn east. I kept that letter, and I’m gonna write to that man. I’ll say I heard about him from a Union quartermaster.” The others smiled. “I’ll ask about sellin’ Texas cows to his feed lot an’ others like it in Iowa.”

“It’ll take time to hear from him an’ make plans,” Dutch pointed out. “What’ll you do while you’re waitin’?”

“I’m not gonna wait. I’m gonna get right down to work. That’s why I wanted you to come here tonight, because I need you to be part of it. Y’see, there’s hundreds, mebbe thousands of cattle wanderin’ all over this area right now that’ve never been branded. The ranch hands that would have branded ’em went off to war. A lot ain’t comin’ back, and others are still on their way. I want to hire a crew of half a dozen men. I’ll pay ’em ten bucks a month in Yankee dollars, plus their food, and I’ll give ’em a couple o’ cows every month too. We’re gonna round up cattle for miles around here, on every ranch that lies empty and on land that ain’t yet been taken up. We won’t touch branded animals, or branded cows with unbranded calves; but apart from them, the law says that any unbranded animal belongs to the one who brands it. That’s gonna be us.

“I want to brand every one we can find, and drive ’em back here. We don’t have enough grazin’ land to handle more than a few hundred, but you got more land than we have, an’ Dutch was sayin’ that your grass is real long and needs hayin’. I’ll hire people to help do that, and on our land too, so we have cattle feed for the winter. We’ll gather together a big herd, maybe a thousand head or more, and hold ’em here while we make plans. Come spring next year, we’ll head ’em north to Iowa and see how we do. If we sell them for a decent price, I’ll pay you for the use of your land and grazin’ over the winter, then use the profits to do it again with even more cows.”

There was a long, thoughtful silence. Dutch’s father looked up and said, “You may not need to gather all the cattle yourself. What if you offered to drive cows north for ranches around here? You could charge them a dollar or two per head for doin’ that, plus expenses, and bring back the rest of the money to them. They can’t afford to drive their own herds north – they ain’t got enough money, cowhands or time for that.”

Tyler’s eyes gleamed. “That’s a real good idea! I’ll do it. If they contribute cowhands and supplies, I’ll charge them less; if they don’t, I’ll charge them more.”

Dutch shifted uncomfortably. “What about me, Tyler? With only one arm, I reckon I won’t be much use to you.”

“There’ll be all sorts of things to be organized, supplies to be bought, an’ what have you. You can handle that while I’m out bossin’ the roundup team. You can also talk to other ranchers about comin’ in with us, an’ keep an eye on the workers cuttin’ hay for us an’ fixin’ up our ranches. I’ll pay you ten bucks a month, same as the hands, an’ give you and your folks a share of the profits when we’re done.”

His friend’s eyes lit up. “I get it! Sure, I can do all that.”

Dutch’s father added, “Iffen you do well in Iowa, instead of a share in the profits, I’ll sell you my ranch to add to this place. We’re gettin’ too old to run it, and Dutch won’t be able to handle it with only one arm. I’ll give you a good price for the land if you’ll let us stay on in the house.”

“Iffen I get enough money, I’ll do it. I’m thankin’ you.”

“Where will you find the men you need?” Pa asked.

“I’m headin’ into Gainesville tomorrow to collect the rest of our supplies. I’ll pass the word in the stores an’ saloons there.”

That's the start to my story in the new anthology.  There's a lot more to it, so if you want to read the rest, you know where to find it!  The other stories are great, too.  The whole collection was fun to read, and I'm honored to be a part of it.

Peter

The immoral face of capitalism - the Remington Arms bankruptcy

I've long argued that the activities of many private equity and leveraged buyout firms are immoral and unethical.  Yes, I know that depends on who defines "ethical" or "moral" behavior.  I'm a Christian and a pastor, so I apply Biblical definitions to those terms.  Others differ, of course.  Nevertheless, to see such firms buy a company, asset-strip it, load it up with debt (paying themselves out of the proceeds of such loans) and then abandon it to wither and die under an impossible financial burden, leaves a very sour, nasty taste in one's mouth.  (It leaves an even worse one in the mouths of the company's employees, who typically lose everything in the crash.)  Those who glibly claim that such activities are "legal" (as if that makes them moral or ethical) tend to ignore such realities.

A classic example of such proceedings has resulted in the bankruptcy and dissolution of one of America's most historic manufacturers.

In order to buy Remington, Cerberus, as most private-equity firms would, created a new entity, a holding company. Instead of Cerberus buying a gun company, Cerberus put money into the holding company, and the holding company bought Remington. The entities were related but — and this was crucial — each could borrow money independently. In 2010, Cerberus had the holding company borrow $225 million from an undisclosed group of lenders, most likely hedge funds. Because this loan was risky — the lenders would be paid only if Remington made a lot of money or was sold — the holding company offered a generous interest rate of around 11 percent, much higher than a typical corporate loan. When the interest payments were due, the holding company paid them not in cash but with paid-in-kind notes, that is, with more debt. These are known as PIK notes.

The holding company now had $225 million in borrowed cash. Cerberus, meanwhile, owned most of the shares of the holding company’s stock, basically slips of paper they acquired when they created the holding company. The handoff happened next: The holding company spent most of the $225 million buying back its own stock, effectively transferring all the borrowed cash to Cerberus. Cerberus would keep that money no matter what. Meanwhile Remington continued rolling along as though nothing had happened, because Remington itself was not responsible for the holding company’s debt. Remington was just an “operating company” that the holding company owned, something that allowed the holding company to borrow money, the way you would take a necklace to a pawnshop. These were garden-variety maneuvers in a private-equity buyout. In the trade, this is called “financial engineering.” People get degrees in it.

In April 2012, Cerberus did something fateful, which probably seemed smart at the time. It had Remington borrow hundreds of millions of dollars and use it to buy the holding company’s debt, effectively transferring responsibility for the principal and the interest payments onto Remington. America’s oldest gun company now owed the money that Cerberus had used to pay itself back for having bought the company in the first place. There were plenty of sensible reasons to do this. Gun sales were high, and the debt that Remington took out was cheaper to service than the paid-in-kind debt.

But there was a catch. Because the operating company borrowed the money with a normal loan — and not with PIK notes — interest payments were required in cash. Suddenly Remington was carrying hundreds of millions of dollars in debt that, if it could not be paid, would cause the business to go bankrupt.

There's more at the link.

Of course, that's exactly what happened.  When the firearms market tanked after the election of President Trump, Remington couldn't service those loans, and ended up declaring bankruptcy.  Its component corporations and product lines have now been sold off to seven other companies, and Remington - a company founded in 1816, before the Industrial Revolution really took hold - has ceased to exist.  Most of its staff have been laid off without compensation, because most of the goods they used to produce will now be manufactured by other companies, in their own factories, using their own employees.

This scenario has been played out literally thousands of times in the business world in America over the past few decades.  Supporters of unrestricted capitalism argue that since it's legal, it should be permitted.  However, the hundreds of thousands of workers who've lost their jobs and their livelihoods as a result would probably beg to differ.  Venture capitalists and their ilk don't care about that, of course.  They worship the dollar and nothing else.

That's the unacceptable, immoral face of capitalism:  simply not caring about the human cost of making money.  Christianity's moral code (in theory, at least) should prevent its adherents from behaving like that.  Sadly, in far too many cases, the beliefs and moral code of the holders of capital tend to be conspicuous by their absence when it comes to increasing that capital.  It's been that way for a long time, of course;  the "robber barons" of the 19th century would probably feel right at home among the venture capitalists, private equity investors and leveraged buyout specialists of the 21st century.

Our politicians eagerly participate in the same racket.  Witness, for example, the Obama administration's pandering to trades unions in the General Motors bankruptcy of 2009, in which the pensions of Delphi workers were summarily slashed in order to provide greater benefits to union workers.  More than a decade later, those pensioners are still fighting for their stolen benefits to be restored.  There's little chance that they will succeed.

Spare a thought for the thousands of former Remington workers now struggling to make ends meet, because their employer was sold out from under them.  Spare a thought, too, for the little town of Ilion in New York, former home of Remington Arms, which has lost its major employer.  Whether the town can survive without Remington remains to be seen.  All this need not have happened, and wouldn't have happened but for the fact that Remington was saddled with hundreds of millions of dollars in debt that it hadn't incurred in the course of its normal business operations, and from which it derived no benefit - only liabilities that, in the end, crushed it.

Peter

Strategic napping??? Every old soldier knows that one!

I couldn't help laughing at this article.

... on Wednesday, the Army released new guidelines for optimal soldier performance — and they include strategic and aggressive napping.

The recommendation is part of an overhaul of the Army’s physical fitness training field manual, which was rebranded this week as the FM 7-22 Holistic Health and Fitness manual. No longer is the guide focused entirely on grueling physical challenges like long ruck marches and pull-ups. Now it has chapters on setting goals, visualizing success, “spiritual readiness” and, yes, the art of the nap.

“Soldiers can use short, infrequent naps to restore wakefulness and promote performance,” the new manual advises. “When routinely available sleep time is difficult to predict, soldiers might take the longest nap possible as frequently as time is available.”

I hardly think that's new advice, or even required.  I recall learning to - literally - sleep on my feet during basic training.  One got so darned tired of being rushed around and harassed, morning to night and frequently all night long, that one could hardly keep one's eyes open.  When we did route marches, it was routine for us to watch each other.  When someone's eyes closed, we'd close in on them and keep them upright.  Their legs would keep moving and their feet would keep pounding, but it was very clear that they were asleep on their feet.  Anytime we had a break, you could be sure more than half of us would lie back on our heavily loaded web gear and backpacks, and catch as many Z's as the instructors would permit before getting us back on our feet and moving again.  I've slept through many a military lecture, too, relying on others who stayed awake to copy their notes and prepare for the inevitable exam.  When I managed to stay awake and alert, I rendered the same service to those who'd fallen asleep.

When it came to combat, sleep was again in very short supply.  We'd sleep at the drop of a hat, and drop it ourselves if we got half a chance.  Twenty men in the back of a truck, bouncing so hard through the African bush that all of them became airborne every few yards?  No problem.  There'd be twenty snores to accompany every bounce!

As for "short" and "infrequent" naps - to hell with that!  We napped whenever and wherever we could, on the principle that it all added up.  We enthusiastically adopted as our own the old saw:  "Never stand when you can sit;  never sit when you can lie down;  and never be awake when you can be asleep" - because we never knew when we'd need all the reserve energy and stamina we could accumulate.  That saying was proven true so often that it's become accepted wisdom in every armed force with which I'm familiar.  I'm sure there's an equivalent idiom in Russian, or in Chinese - and there was probably a grizzled old centurion telling his legionaries roughly the same thing (in Latin, of course) during the Roman Empire, a couple of millennia ago.  (He probably also told them, "Venient, simias! Do tibi vis in æternum vive?"  Marines will understand the sentiment.)

Sadly, recognizing the value of nap time isn't all the new field manual does.

The manual also has ... a section on the importance of spirituality, with entries on meditation, journaling and how the “act of serving others” helps some soldiers realize the “interconnectedness of all things and people.”

That is a conversation Private Bailey never had with Sarge.

To promote good sleep, the manual warns soldiers to avoid video games, texting and other screen activity before bed, and recommends winding down by “listening to soothing music, reading, or taking a warm shower or bath” instead. It also says to avoid alcohol before sleep.

Y'know, soothing warm baths before sleep never seemed to be on our officers' priority lists . . . and if I'd tried soothing music or meditation to relax during a break in combat, my NCO's would have had a few choice words for me, uttered loudly, repeatedly and profanely, while kicking my butt!  As for avoiding alcohol before sleep, are these soldiers we're talking about?  In my experience, some of them would gleefully consume as much alcohol as possible, as quickly as possible, every night before sleeping!  If they couldn't buy it or steal it, they'd make it!  (It's amazing how quickly you can ferment a container of fruit, water and other strategic ingredients by strapping it to a hot exhaust.  No, I didn't drink any.  I prefer my alcohol to taste better than the southern end of a north-bound vulture, thank you very much!)

Have modern soldiers changed that much?  Is that even possible?  I beg to doubt it . . . and I therefore respectfully (?) suggest that this new, politically correct, touchy-feely field manual may be doomed before it's even circulated!




Peter

How the heck did he land that plane safely???

Readers are doubtless aware of the mid-air collision a few days ago between a US Marine Corps F-35B strike aircraft and a KC-130J tanker aircraft during air-to-air refueling.  The pilot of the F-35B ejected safely before his aircraft crashed, while the KC-130J's pilot was able to crash-land in a farm field, saving the lives of all on board.

That landing must have taken extraordinary skill.  Just look at the KC-130J on the ground.  Click the image for a larger view.

Both starboard (right side) propellers have been completely destroyed, and the outer port (left side) propeller has been severely damaged, missing at least one blade and showing damage to at least four more.  The only propeller left intact is the port inner one.  In addition, there's a fuel leak outboard of the port outer engine, where the underwing tank was formerly located (and presumably ripped off during the collision).  The photograph must have been taken very soon after the crash landing, because fuel is pouring out of the leak in a steady stream.

Given damage that severe to what was probably a heavily laden aircraft, the mind boggles that the pilot was able to crash-land it safely with only one working engine, with so little visible damage from its impact with the ground.  I bet the rest of the crew were lining up to buy him/her beers afterwards!  I won't be surprised if he/she earns a medal for airmanship, too.

That must have been a pretty sporty, brown-trouser moment for all concerned, in both aircraft.  I'm glad they all made it out alive.

Peter

Forklifts, and sleeping on the job - they don't mix

This must have been an expensive error.

Er . . . oops?

Peter

An open mind versus a closed mind

I think one of the saddest aspects of our current political, social and cultural polarization in these dis-United States is that most of us no longer listen to those with different opinions to our own.  We've retreated into our "comfort zones", and we tend to stay there.  Anyone who agrees with us is in that zone too;  anyone disagreeing with us is instantly classified as outside that zone, and is therefore automatically to be distrusted, even shunned.

I find support for this theory in the news and opinions we consult every day.  I grew up with parents who encouraged me to read widely about the news;  to expose myself to opinions from both the left and the right, and think about why they said what they said, and how they were trying to portray current events.  As I matured, and became a participant in some of the events thus described, I could see for myself how the bias of the journalists and editors concerned affected their reporting, and thereby judge whether their outlets were worthwhile or not.  Sadly, people today don't seem to want to do that at all.

Back in 2018, David Blankenhorn wrote an article titled "The Top 14 Causes of Political Polarization".  Two of those reasons he described as follows:

12. The spread of media ghettoes. The main features of the old analog media—including editing, fact-checking, professionalization, and the privileging of institutions over individuals—served as a credentialing system for American political expression. The distinguishing feature of the new digital media—the fact that anyone can publish anything that gains views and clicks—is replacing that old system with a non-system that is atomized and largely leaderless. One result made possible by this change is that Americans can now live in media ghettoes. If I wish, I can live all day every day encountering in my media travels only those views with which I already agree. Living in a media ghetto means less that my views are shaped and improved, much less challenged, than that they are hardened and made more extreme; what might’ve been analysis weakens into partisan talking points dispensed by identity-group leaders; moreover, because I’m exposed only to the most cartoonish, exaggerated versions of my opponents’ views, I come to believe that those views are so unhinged and irrational as to be dangerous. More broadly, the new media resemble and reinforce the new politics, such that the most reliable way to succeed in either domain is to be the most noisesome, outrageous, and polarizing.

13. The decline of journalistic responsibility. The dismantling of the old media has been accompanied by, and has probably helped cause, a decline in journalistic standards. These losses to society include journalists who’ll accept poor quality in pursuit of volume and repetition as well as the blurring and even erasure of boundaries between news and opinion, facts and non-facts, and journalism and entertainment. These losses feed polarization.

There's more at the link.

I'm not sure whether Mr. Blankenhorn's reasons are among the causes of political polarization, or among its results - or both.  An argument can be made either way.  Nevertheless, I think his concern about our failure to consult more and wider sources to obtain news, and the failure of many news media to report accurately and factually, instead of reporting opinions as facts and seeking to manipulate their audience, are both spot-on.

To use myself as an example, I consult several news resources each morning, choosing some from each side of the political and cultural spectrum so that I can view events from both perspectives.  On the right, I have the Wall Street Journal, Fox News and the New York Post.  On the left, I have the Drudge Report (which used to be on the right, but has changed radically over the past few years), the Washington Post and the Guardian's US edition.  For overseas news, I look to the BBC and some British and European newspapers, consulting them less frequently than US sources, but often enough to get a feel for how things are viewed from non-US perspectives.  I find this mix of sources gives me a reasonably balanced view of what's happening in the world, and what it might mean.

It doesn't take that long to skim through these news sources each morning;  I daresay I take less than half an hour each day to do so.  Nevertheless, it helps keep me balanced, aware of both sides of the story, and more able to see through partisan propaganda and judge opinions against facts.  I highly recommend the practice to all who have time to do likewise.  It helps us to stop seeing things from one side only, and seeing those who think differently from us as enemies rather than as fellow human beings.

Reading different opinions doesn't mean that I don't have any of my own, and it doesn't mean that I'm so unsure of myself that I'm at the mercy of the prevailing political, social or cultural winds.  It simply means that I want to view the world from as many perspectives as possible, to understand how others are seeing it differently to me.  It also challenges me to think about why I hold my opinions.

I've often used the analogy of white light being refracted through a prism.  The prism separates it into primary colors according to their wavelength, like this:

Someone standing in the beam of red light might exclaim, "Oh, what a lovely red!"  Someone standing in the blue beam might object, "It's not red - it's blue!  Look, I can see it with my own eyes!  I can't be wrong!"  Of course, they're both wrong about the light in its original form.  They're seeing it through their own "filters".  They can each see part of the truth, but not the whole of it.  If they both took the time and trouble to investigate, they'd acknowledge that the totality of the light - before refraction - was white, and that they were each viewing only one wavelength of it, and that neither of them understood the full picture.  However, they probably wouldn't bother to take the time or the trouble to do that.  Does that remind you of our current political, social and cultural polarization?  It sure does me!

Sadly, my efforts to retain a balanced perspective don't meet with the approval of some of my readers.  Interestingly, such opposition comes from both sides of the political fence.  I've been accused of being both liberal and reactionary;  of being a "fence-sitter", and an ideologue or extremist.  None of those accusations are correct.  I'm simply trying to be true to myself, and what I've learned to believe as the result of a life filled with many experiences that I'd rather not have had (as regular readers will understand).  I know extremism doesn't work, on either side of the political fence.  I know centrist perspectives risk being neither fish nor fowl, and run the risk of havering and equivocating and hesitating, rather than committing to action as a situation or event demands.  However, I also know (I've learned the hard way) that trying to understand both sides is required if we're to remain balanced.  No effort = no understanding = extremism.  Q.E.D.

That angers some people who've decided that balance is irrelevant.  For them, it's "their way or the highway".  Well, I can't change them, and they won't change me.  I'll continue to do what my pastor's heart tells me I must, and try to be "a city set on a hill" and "a light to the world".  It may be a rather battered city and a flawed light, and I may be wrong at times, but I still hope to offer a little shelter and provide a little illumination here and there.  Judging from the several thousand readers who return here each day, I must be doing something right!

Even if we still disagree (perhaps vehemently) with some other perspectives, we can at least try to understand them, and acknowledge that some of those holding them are as sincere in their beliefs as we are.  Given that, we can seek to work together in at least some areas, for the good of our communities, towns, cities, states and our nation as a whole.  That doesn't mean we have to surrender what we hold dear;  it means we hold fast to the core, and accept that others hold different core beliefs to our own, and do our best to work with them in areas that don't threaten our respective cores.

There are far too many extremists out there right now, trying to burn down this country and destroy our national unity.  Let's not add to their number.

Peter

When electoral shenanigans backfire - Russian edition

I had to laugh at this report from the BBC.

For the past four years, Marina Udgodskaya has scrubbed and mopped the offices of the local administration building in Povalikhino in rural Russia.

Now the 35-year-old cleaner is downing her dusters to move into the boss's seat, after winning an election earlier this month that she only entered to in order to get him reappointed.

When no-one in the village signed-up to challenge Nikolai Loktev, who's from the pro-Kremlin United Russia party, he persuaded Ms Udgodskaya to register as his "rival" to ensure the minimum requirement of two candidates.

That plan backfired when the cleaner beat him by a landslide.

. . .

... the village shopkeeper insists this result was personal: Mr Loktev had simply stopped showing any interest in his responsibilities.

"If we could have voted against all we would have done, but we had the option to vote for Marina, so we did," Irina explained.

"I think she'll cope. The whole village will help. Though of course, her education needs a bit of a boost."

Like it or not, Ms Udgodskaya is stuck with her new job. If she refused the role, the Pensioners' Party which is backing her says she'd have to pay for the entire election to be re-run.

There's more at the link.

I guess she'll go from cleaning up the administrative offices to cleaning up the administration!  I'm sure the villagers found the result amusing - although her former boss might not be so sanguine about it in private.

Hmmm... I can think of a few towns around here that could do with a major clean-up in their administrations.  Perhaps we should persuade the janitors to get politically organized?

Peter