Who Watches The Watchmen?

 From the get-go, let me say that I have a certain amount of respect ingrained in me for all law enforcement, having watched my older brother serve and protect the county in which we grew up for some thirty-five years. That being said, I also live in a world that finds law enforcement regularly in the news not for its competence, but for callous disregard for the communities they are supposed to protect and serve. The challenges of maintaining law and order in a city such as Los Angeles highlight this struggle. 

Recently, LAPD responded to a wellness call in Canoga Park where neighbors had expressed concern about the shouting heard coming from a nearby apartment. More than fourteen of them showed up to respond to what turned out to be a woman celebrating the New York Knicks winning the NBA championship. Somewhere in all the excitement, an officer shot and killed her family dog, who was wearing a Knicks jersey. The body cam footage was released by LAPD and it's difficult to come away feeling as though the officer, whose name has yet to be released, was protecting or serving. 

I will chalk this up to a difficult situation being compounded by bad training and poor judgement, but it will not bring Jameson, the family dog, back. Furthermore, it would be ridiculous to isolate this incident as illustrative of the conduct of all of the nearly nine thousand members of the Los Angeles Police Department. The nominal good news here is that an investigation is ongoing based on the footage mandated by the use of body cams by all uniformed officers. 

Which is why I find it so interesting that just recently the LAPD chose to end its contract with Flock Security cameras, a company that specializes in recording license plate information from vehicles across the vast maze of streets and highways in the city. The footage from these cameras is audited and kept for seven to thirty days before it is deleted. Recent concerns about how this footage is being disseminated, particularly in immigration cases by agencies outside of the city governance. In yet another twist to this tale, the Los Angeles Police Department does not own these cameras. They are owned by homeowners associations and other groups, and there remains some question about whether they will continue to watch the streets of LA once the contract expires. Could the be used by ICE goons to track citizens? Or perhaps used to monitor police presence and conduct throughout the city?

Or maybe we should all start serving and protecting each other. 

Had It

 It would be a whole lot easier to take if ICE goon's mission did not include killing people they were supposed to deport. 

Lorenzo Salgado Araujo was murdered by the Department of Homeland Security this past Tuesday morning. The "agents" who killed Lorenzo did not have their body cams on, but there was plenty of documentation in the form of witnesses and their cell phones in addition to security cams located throughout the area. 

The white van that Mister Araujo was driving was chased, pulled over and the goons chose to shoot and kill him because he ran away. In the most morbid Keystone Cops tradition, it turns out that Lorenzo was not the suspect they were looking for. He just happened to be driving a white van that looked similar to the one that these poorly trained imbeciles were supposed to be trailing. 

Who are these trigger-happy idiots who seem bent on enforcing their vision of an immigration policy? The idiots in charge were quick to point out that Lorenzo was in our country illegally, but I cannot find a section of any statute that suggests that being in the country illegally is grounds for execution. The story we are being fed by DHS is that Lorenzo rammed the officers' vehicle and they fired on him "in self defense." If this refrain sounds familiar, you might be remembering when Renee Good was accused of trying to run down on the streets of Minneapolis. As was the case back in January, all available footage suggests otherwise. The goons chose to use deadly force rather than deescalate the situation. 

This is not what they are trained to do. I am using the term "trained" here with a great deal of latitude. They are carrying out orders from a xenophobic racists who are attempting to blame our nation's problems on immigrants who came here just a little after they did. Their murdering rampage has totalled, by government accounts, "at least ten people." This does not include the number of those who were detained and died "in custody." 

This isn't an immigration policy. It's genocide. 

Resigned To It

 Graham Platner has suspended his race for the Senate seat in Maine. 

Eric Swalwell will not be governor of California anytime soon. 

Al Franken resigned his Minnesota Senate seat way back in 2018. 

These are politicians whose careers came to an abrupt halt because of their treatment of women. Harassment. Abuse. Unwanted attention. The underlying reason it seems to me is that if you are willing to torment people that make up more than half of the population, then you probably shouldn't have a job that serves any people. 

Another feature that all those former politicians have in common is their party: They are all Democrats. Following in the grand tradition of Gary Hart, these are men who have yet to figure out boundaries. Fidelity. What the word "no" means. Consider the other Democratic stalwarts such as Bill Clinton, JFK and FDR. These were men hoisted high on the totem pole only to have sullied their own legacy with infidelity and less than, shall we say, "presidential behavior." 

Or maybe this mistreatment of women and the sanctity of marriage is just part of the package when you find yourself in a position that allows a certain measure of power over others. To be fair, a certain number of Republicans have also been shown the door as a consequence for their behavior.

But this guy who calls women reporters "Piggy," and seems to have endless fascinconation with the physical attributes of the women who are unfortunate enough to find themselves drawn into his orbit, seems to have no such limits placed on his conduct. He is a rapist, certified as such by the Supreme Court. A Supreme Court that I feel that I should point out has its share of misogynistic behavior in its record. Clarence and Brett, I'm looking directly at you. 

What I'm suggesting here is that party affiliation or the number of zeroes in your bank account should not be the litmus for whether or not a person should be allowed to hold any office. 

Anywhere. 

Corroboration

 Evidence. It is the stuff that Perry Mason would get to somewhere around the forty-five minute mark out of fifty-two. Perry wasn't alone in this. Most TV detectives or attorneys would eventually get around to presenting some sort of physical proof of just exactly how a crime was committed. As I understand it, this is kind of a bedrock element of our justice system. We even have a fancy Latin term for this: Habeas corpus.

One of the most notorious moments in terms of American Justice and the use of evidence was when Orenthal James Simpson was asked to try on a pair of gloves found at the scene of his wife's murder. One of his attorneys, Johnny Cochran exhorted the jury, along with the multitudes of those watching at home, "If the glove doesn't fit, you must acquit." 

The glove, in a moment of dramatic revelation, did not fit and it was soon thereafter that Mister Simpson walked out of the courtroom a free man. Which, depending on how you see this process working, is how things should have wrapped up. 

We now live on a planet where surveillance by video is the norm. Very few portions of the globe do not have an eye on us all, making it difficult if not impossible not to leave some kind of trace behind for Columbo or Perry Mason or Johnny Cochran to pick up and utilize to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that crime that was committed had, in actual fact been committed.

We are currently being told, by a convicted felon, that the damage done to the Reflecting Pool was done by "vandals," including a former Olympic athlete who has been arrested for this crime. Of course there is "video evidence," if the blurry indistinct images of figures putting their hands in the goo that has replaced the water in the "newly renovated" pool can be considered "evidence" of anything other than bad judgement on the part of all the blurry indistinct figures seen putting their hands into the mess made by the convicted felon's attempt at giving his campaign donor a no-bid contract to Make America Green Again.

Of course, this is also the guy who exhorted his followers on January 6, 2021 to march up to the Capitol and "fight like hell" to overturn the results of an election he felt he shouldn't have lost. How do I know this? I've seen the evidence. 

I wonder what Perry Mason could do with that? 

Not Right Now

I got the news from my cousin from Kansas while he was out visiting after doing a cross-country road rally. He told me that he had stopped reading this blog because "of all that Trump stuff." After a few minutes he went on to echo many of the sentiments expressed here on a frequent basis, including the mess made in the Reflecting Pool and the illegal war in Iran. 

He didn't disagree with what I was saying. He had simply grown tired of reading my frequent if not daily rehash of events and how I didn't seem able to move off the point. That moved the conversation further down the path that had him confiding his surprise that there are "still folks who are behind this guy one hundred percent."

It was apparent to me that he was feeling the same or similar distress with the way the country was moving. I listened and considered, not for the first time, my own voice crying out in the wilderness. What was I doing aside from the obvious preaching to the choir? How could I not see myself as sitting on the other end of the seesaw that was still "behind this guy one hundred percent?"

I told him that I appreciated his commentary on my commentary, but I also politely suggested that without some sort of equal and opposite reaction from the other side, the outrage might continue and then I would never be able to get back to writing more frequently about kittens and funny things kids say. 

It continues to be a battle, and it pains me that I feel I have to give my hundred percent to poking holes in the directives coming out of Washington. 

Can't I think of anything else to talk about? 

Not right now. 

World Wide

 I consider myself a sports fan. Not unreasonable, but fixated on the outcome of certain games being played by grown men and women for which I have a "rooting interest." I don't gamble on the final score or any of the other mathematical or statistical threads that could become a concern. I do participate in a "friendly" fantasy football league whose prize at the end of the season is primarily bragging rights for the following year. 

This being said, I know that I do not appreciate sports, or rather a sport, like the football fans across the globe who are currently immersed in the contest we now embrace as The World Cup. Far from the somewhat ridiculous exclusivity of Major League Baseball's "World Series" which is comprised entirely of teams from North America, FIFA brings together a truly international group of competitors. This event is, according to John Oliver, the way that Americans learn about geography. Each one of these teams has its own fan base which instantly reveals my "passion" for certain franchises to be a passing fancy. 

I learned just how tepid my own concerns were last weekend when my wife began to notice the sounds emenating from up and down the houses and apartment buildings on our street. Mexico and England were locked in a tense match, and each shot on goal or offsides was met with a roar coming from inside and out of neighbors' homes. As we walked up the street for dinner, we took notice of how still the rest of the neighborhood was outside of these periodic eruptions. It made me think of Super Bowl Sundays when "everyone" was settled onto their couches, staring at the uniquely American "football" spectacle.

Or at least the commercials. 

I was reminded of the 1970s. Back when we in the United States began to tense and surrender for the adoption of the metric system. It was right about this time that initial rumblings began to occur about how we should also brace ourselves for the next big wave of international influence: Soccer. Boys and girls began to organize teams that allowed them to move the ball only with their feet. 

How could this be? 

Most of us are still waiting for this domination to usurp our use of the term "football." But as I made my way down my street in Oakland, I was reminded of the multiculture in which I teach. On any given day there is a basket ball game, or some American football being tossed around, but by far the most regular attraction on our playground is the soccer pitch. Boys and girls from five to twelve are all kicking and screaming to their hearts' content, fully aware of the rules of the game if not the subtle techniques of the players they have grown up idolizing. Seeing this throng of children playing a game with such fervor reminds me of the melting pot in which I live. It makes me understand the World just a little better. 

Monuments

 Fifteen years ago, my family made a trip to Washington DC. It was kind of a make good on the trip that my son didn't go on when he was in middle school. We spent a few days getting to know our nation's capital, seeing the sights and soaking up the patriotism. We took public transit into the city from our friends' house where we were staying and when we came up into the Union Station stop, I took in the view that Jefferson Smith beheld upon his arrival in the 1939 film Mr. Smith Goes To Washington. My wife and I sometimes talk about my "Jimmy Stewart moments," those times when I am feeling especially earnest. This was one of those times. 

We were there ostensibly to fill in the void in my son's patriotism, but we ended up filling my red, white and blue bucket as well. Standing outside the gates of the White House, with the mild certainty that across that lawn inside was the man to whom I gave my vote twice to be President of the United States, gave me a satisfaction that I can barely describe. It felt right. 

As we meandered around the museums and monuments, I took full measure of the sights I was witnessing. I had made a similar trip when I was much younger with my brothers and parents, but my post-Watergate cynicism kept me from fully appreciating the grandeur I was seeing. After two terms of hope and change, I was ready to pay tribute. 

The following day, we set ourselves the task of the Smithsonian Institute, but first I declared that we needed to stop by the National Archives to see what all the fuss was about this Declaration of Independence. My wife and son and I spent the early afternoon of July 4 that year standing in line for just a quick glimpse. As the day wore on, we found ourselves walking out onto the National Mall just about dusk. We sat down on the grass and proceeded to watch a fireworks display like I can't recall ever seeing before or since, with the Washington Monument in the background. 

Which made me feel all the worse for those tourists who found themselves in a similar place this past weekend but came away with a much different experience. The magic that swept up Jimmy Stewart and yours truly wasn't available this Fourth of July, partly because of climate change and perhaps the gods anger with the way things are these days. 

I hope for all of our sakes that it is not gone forever.