Goldy

I suppose one of the more shocking aspects of yesterday’s Charlie Hebdo massacre was that it happened in the West, where both laws and cultural norms tend to provide near absolute protection to freedom of speech and freedom of the press. “I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it,” Voltaire is often credited with saying, a quote that while misattributed, still accurately represents both Voltaire’s sentiments and that of the broader French tradition. Here in the US and other modern democracies, a journalist might occasionally risk his job by speaking his mind, but almost never his life or liberty. A free press is absolutely essential to sustaining a functional democracy; indeed, neither can long survive without the other.

That is why, beyond the obvious human tragedy, the assassination of political cartoonists has so united citizens of the free world in outrage and mourning. This was an attack on the most fundamental tenet of modern Western civilization, a principle on which there cannot be an inch of compromise if democracy is to survive.

That said, it would be a mistake to be too Western-centric in our celebration of journalistic courage while ignoring the thousands of journalists who risk their lives pursuing their profession in parts of the world where freedom of the press is denied either in law or in practice. According to Reporters Without Borders, 96 journalists were killed on the job in 2014, while thousands more were arrested, threatened, kidnapped, and assaulted. And a quick scan of the list of victims will find it dominated by Arabic and other Islamic names, journalists who faced death or imprisonment every day of their professional lives.

I have long blogged by the unofficial motto “write fearlessly, or don’t bother writing at all,” but that’s a pose of false bravado that’s easy to assume when writing from the relative safety of the United States. (Also, when writing from the relative obscurity of just another local political blog.) But I’ve always been left a little in awe of the journalists who fearlessly pursue their profession in parts of the world where mere words or drawings can easily get oneself killed, beaten, or imprisoned. Which is why for the past several years I’ve been proud to use as my avatar on Twitter, Facebook, Slog, HA, and elsewhere the following unflattering caricature sketched of me by Tunisian political cartoonist Imed Ben Hamida:

A couple times a year, in my role as foul-mouthed blogger, I meet with visiting foreign delegations, usually journalists, through a program run by the State Department, and administered locally through the World Affairs Council. And in the summer of 2009 I met with Imed and five other political cartoonists from Tunisia, Qatar, Egypt, Algeria, Bahrain, and Kuwait. Here’s how the State Department briefing document described that day’s program:

Designed for political cartoonists from the Near East and North Africa, this program will examine the role of a free, independent media in a democracy vis-à-vis political cartooning. Participants will examine the practices, techniques, and ethical responsibilities of political cartoonists, the philosophical beliefs underlying their work, and the impact that their cartoons have on history, political debate, public opinion and free speech.

I always enjoy these meetings, but I remember this one being particularly fascinating. It was a year and a half before the Arab Spring, and much of our conversation centered around issues of press freedom. They seemed both amused and surprised at the manner and degree to which I could savage government officials and other subjects without fear of reprisal, and I was curious about how they could effectively ply their craft given their own legal and cultural constraints. (The short answer: “subtly.”) But we all agreed on the crucial role of political satire in shaping an honest and effective public debate.

The point of this tangent, I suppose, is to remind ourselves that our battle is with a small group of Islamist extremist assholes, not the Islamic world as a whole—an Islamic world that includes political cartoonists not much different from those who were brutally gunned down in Paris. They may not share all of our values, but they share many of them. And my strong impression from our conversation was that far from hating our freedom, these Arabic speaking political cartoonists understandably envied it.

And so in the wake of the Charlie Hebdo massacre I continue to wear my Tunisian-drawn avatar with pride, and in a show of solidarity with political cartoonists everywhere.

Today’s cowardly massacre at the French satirical newspaper Charlie Hebdo is both incredibly sad and incredibly infuriating, for reasons I don’t think I really need to explain. In fact, I am so outraged, that I’m momentarily at an uncharacteristic loss for words. And so pathetic as it is, the only thing I can think of to honor the lives of the courageous satirists who were assassinated today is to reprint my own pathetic cartoon of the prophet Mohammad:

I don’t pretend for a moment that I face any personal risk in posting this. I’m not nearly important enough. But lacking the words to fully express my outrage, I felt the need to make some sort of symbolic gesture, and this was the best I could come up with in the moment.

Personally, I’d rather not live than live in a world without satire. And I would hope that everybody in the media who shares this sentiment would err on the side of defiance rather than caution in honoring the lives of their fallen comrades.

To be clear, I don’t intend to use my occasional posts here on HA to closely cover local elections. I’m mostly done with that. But I couldn’t pass by the recent buzz over Seattle Times columnist Danny Westneat’s professed non-candidacy for city council without mentioning that the Democratic establishment has already apparently recruited a challenger to Socialist incumbent Kshama Sawant: former Equal Rights Washington executive director Rod Hearne. At least, that’s what I’ve been hearing.

Before their separation last year, Hearne and his former partner, high-priced PR flack Roger Nyhus, were a bit of a Capitol Hill power couple, hosting numerous political fundraisers at what Dom once described as their “swank mansion.” I’ve no idea what Hearne has been doing since—I emailed him yesterday to give him the chance to confirm, deny, or hedge on the rumors of his candidacy, but he’s yet to reply (hence the question mark in the headline).

I suppose part of the logic behind Hearne’s recruitment is that his leadership in the LGBTQ community will earn him the lion’s share of the LGBTQ vote. Or something. Sawant can’t really help herself that she’s attracted to the opposite sex (she was born that way!), but she’s a pretty fierce advocate for LGBTQ issues too. So it’s hard to see this sort of identity politics playing a decisive role in the race. And while Hearne is no doubt capable of raising a ton of money, Sawant will raise more than enough to get her message out—$200,000-plus wouldn’t surprise me—so it’s not like she can be dramatically outspent. Hearne would also garner a bunch of establishment endorsements, but that didn’t help Richard Conlin all that much in 2013. And this time around organized labor and human services organizations would be crazy not to line up behind Sawant.

And those are Hearne’s known strengths. On the other side of the ledger the “swank mansion” thing makes Hearne an imperfect challenger to diffuse Sawant’s powerful message of economic populism.

I’ve bumped into Hearne from time to time through political circles, and he seems like a nice enough guy. And who knows: Perhaps he’ll turn out to be a dynamite campaigner? But as an unapologetic Sawant partisan, I can’t say I’m all that concerned.

UPDATE: Last night Hearne confirmed to me that he is indeed running against Sawant in Seattle’s 3rd council district. So I’ve removed the question mark from the headline.

Longtime readers, both here on HA and on Slog, know that I’m kinda obsessed with fixing Washington’s absurdly regressive and unsustainable state and local tax structure. Yet more than a decade of kvetching, cursing, and exhaustively explaining why our 1930s-era kludge of a tax system can’t possibly meet the needs of our 21st century economy has sparked little serious debate amongst our state’s politicians and pundits. It’s the blogging equivalent of pissing into the wind.

And so it is at least a little bit encouraging to see state Representative Reuven Carlyle (D-Seattle) use his position as chair of the House Finance Committee to publicly advance the issue:

All of these dense policy issues fail to capture the human impact of morally bankrupt tax system. By any standard our tax system has become the most unfair to the middle class and low income in the nation. According to the Institute of Taxation and Economic Policy, the lowest 20% of income earners in Washington–making an average income of $11,500 per year–pay 16.9% of their income in state and local taxes. The national average for this group is 11.1%. The top end–the proverbial one percent earning average income of $1.1 million per year–pay 2.8% of their income in combined taxes in Washington, dramatically less than the 5.6% national average.

We can no longer continue down the same path of tinkering with a broken, unfair and economically inefficient tax system that is divorced from our economy and fails to serve our communities. The 20-year trend shows absolutely no signs of relenting.  In a handful of years we are likely to be 40th in the nation in the combined level of state and local taxes based on personal income.  And a few years beyond that we can expect to reach 45th.  Is that our vision for ourselves? Are we so caustically anti-tax that we would close the doors of our colleges to our own children?  Would we close foster homes for our most vulnerable?  Would we allow traffic to suffocate our industrial economy and our quality of life?

Again, nothing in Rep. Carlyle’s blog post will come as a surprise to my regular readers—I’ve been writing about this stuff for years. But I hope that the fact that it’s coming from the House Finance chair will lend the issue the gravitas that a dirty, foul-mouthed, blogger like me could never give it.

Matthew 21:18-19
Early in the morning, as Jesus was on his way back to the city, he was hungry. Seeing a fig tree by the road, he went up to it but found nothing on it except leaves. Then he said to it, “May you never bear fruit again!” Immediately the tree withered.

Discuss.

I’m proud to have been able to cast a vote for NY Governor Mario Cuomo in 1990, and will forever regret that I never had the chance to cast a vote for him as president. He was one of our nation’s most inspiring orators, and one of the last of a generation of great statesmen.

RIP, Governor Cuomo.

Wow. How do you even begin to engage in a conversation about gun safety when the other side displays such a total lack of introspection?

“She was not the least bit irresponsible,” her father-in-law, Terry Rutledge said,

You know, except for the part about leaving a loaded gun within reach of her two-year-old.

He complained about people using the incident to attack his daughter-in-law.

Again, wow.

Oy…

A woman was shopping with four kids, when one of the kids reached into her purse and accidentally discharged the weapon, according to Kootenai County Sheriff’s Deputies at the scene.

The gunshot killed the 29-year-old woman. Deputies on scene said the child who accidentally fired the handgun was about 2-years-old.

No doubt this woman kept a gun in her purse to protect herself and her children. Didn’t work out that way. As usual.

Area school districts are having a helluva time attracting substitute teachers:

Some districts said teachers are missing too many school days, whether for sickness, vacation or teacher training. Some said pools of qualified candidates are dwindling for all teaching positions — not just substitutes. Others said substitutes aren’t paid enough, and that higher-paying districts attract more candidates. A substitute in Seattle makes between $161 and $187 a day, with no benefits unless the sub works more than 60 consecutive days in one place.

Considering how disrespected they are by politicians and pundits, it’s hard to understand why anybody would want to be a school teacher these days. But a substitute? Yikes. Even if one were to get an assignment for all 180 school days (and you won’t come close), $161 a day comes to only $28,980 a year with zero benefits. For somebody with a college degree!

So here’s an idea: If we want to attract more (and better!) teachers to the profession, maybe we should try both paying them more, and showing them a little goddamn respect? I mean, isn’t that the way labor markets are supposed to work?

One of the stupidest defenses of shareholder maximization theory is the bullshit argument that since everybody owns stocks these days through our 401Ks and mutual funds, then high corporate profits and a booming stock market benefits everybody! Except, not really:

The vast majority of working and middle class Americans simply don’t own much stock, because you can’t invest money you don’t have.

Forty years ago, annual US corporate profits averaged about 6 percent of GDP. Today profits consume about 13 percent of GDP. That’s an extra $1 trillion a year in corporate profits propping up equity prices. Meanwhile, labor’s share of GDP has declined by a corresponding 7 percent over the same period. Coincidence?

Righties hate numbers like this, fearing that they might be used to justify some sort of massive redistribution of wealth. But that redistribution is already going on. It’s just going in the wrong direction.

1 Corinthians 10:20
But I say, that the things which the Gentiles sacrifice, they sacrifice to devils, and not to God: and I would not that ye should have fellowship with devils.

Discuss.

Rank and file New York Police Department members and their spokespeople are blaming peaceful protesters for inciting the brutal murder of Officers Rafael Ramos and Wenjian Liu.

Okay. There’s a discernible logic to that. I suppose had there been no public outrage over the most recent spate of police killings of unarmed black men, perhaps 28-year-old shooter Ismaaiyl Brinsley would have turned his anger and insanity toward another target. Had there been no protests against police violence to focus his rage, maybe instead of Officers Ramos and Liu, Brinsley would have shot up a synagogue or a mosque or a school? Or maybe his own family? He had already shot his ex-girlfriend earlier the same day, and his mother reportedly told police that she feared her own son, so this guy was clearly a shooting spree waiting to happen. Yeah, if not for the protests, perhaps Officers Ramos and Liu would still be alive today. It’s at least possible.

But you know what else might have prevented this tragedy? Fewer police killings of unarmed black men.

Had Officer Darren Wilson not shot dead Michael Brown, had NYPD officers not choked to death Eric Garner, and had our justice system not failed to vigorously prosecute the officers for, at the very least, negligence, these protests might have never been sparked. So if, as the NYPD insists, protests against police violence are responsible for inciting the murders of Officers Ramos and Liu, then the police violence that sparked the protests ultimately deserves some blame as well.

I understand if some find this line of reasoning offensive, but it is the logical conclusion of the same line of reasoning that prompted hundreds of NYPD officers to display their contempt for civil authority today by turning their backs on New York City Mayor Bill de Blasio in anger over his refusal to condemn protests against police violence.

Violence breeds violence. That is human nature. And that is why in the wake of this tragedy it is incumbent upon police officers nationwide to show more discipline, professionalism, and restraint, not less.

Every Joo
Down in Joo-ville
Liked Chanukah as such…

But the Kvetch,
Who lived just north of Joo-ville,
… not so much.

The Kvetch hated Chanukah, the whole Chanukah season.
Now don’t ask me why. What? Should I know the reason?
It could be he wasn’t a mensch, that is all.
Or his petzel, perhaps, was two sizes too small.
Such meshug’as comes from one thing or another,
But like most Joo-ish boys, we should just blame his mother!

But,
The reason, whatever,
His mom or his putz,
The Kvetch hated Chanukah. Oy, what a yutz!
For he knew every Joo down in Joo-ville tonight
Was busy preparing menorahs to light.

“And they’re giving out gelt!” he sighed as he said
“I need waxy chocolate like holes in my head!”
Then he nervously whined as his fingers tapped horas,
“I MUST stop the Joos from igniting menorahs!”

For,
The Kvetch knew that soon…

… All the Joo girls and boys
Would say the baruch’ha, then unwrap their toys!
And then! Oh, the oys! Oh, the Oys! Oys! Oys! Oys!
If it’s not what they wanted, the OYS! OYS! OYS! OYS!

Then the Joos, young and old, would sit down for a nosh.
And they’d nosh! And they’d nosh!
And they’d NOSH! NOSH! NOSH! NOSH!
They would nosh on Joo-latkes, and Gefilte-Joo-Fish,
Which was surely the Kvetch’s least favorite dish!

And THEN
They’d do something
Which made the Kvetch plotz!
Every Joo down in Joo-ville, Bar Mitzvahed or not,
Would sit down together, their proud ponim’s grinning.
Then dreidels in hand, all the Joos would start spinning!

They’d spin! And they’d spin!
AND they’d SPIN! SPIN! SPIN! SPIN!
And the more the Kvetch thought of this Joo-Dreidel-Spin,
The more the Kvetch thought, “I can’t let this begin!
“Oy, for fifty-three years I’ve put up with it now!
“Chanukah, Schmanukah! Stop it!
… But HOW?”

Then he got an idea!
And the moment he had,
He said
“I’m no Einstein, but this… not half bad!”

“I know just what to do!” Then he donned an old sheet,
And dug up some sandals to wear on his feet.
“I’m the Prophet Elijiah! They’ve set me a plate!”
(For the Kvetch couldn’t keep Joo-ish holidays straight.)
“The Joos ‘ll oblige ol’ Elijiah, no doubt!
“I will simply walk in. Then I’ll clean the place out!”

“All I need is a camel…”
He looked far and near,
But this wasn’t the desert, and camels are dear.
Did that stop the old Kvetch…?
That pischer? No, never:
“If I can’t find a camel,” the Kvetch said, “…whatever.”
So he called his dog, Max. Then he took an old sack
And he tied a hump onto the front of his back.

THEN
He climbed on this
dog-dromedaryish mammal.
You never have seen
Such a schmuck on a camel.

Then the Kvetch cried “Oy vey!”
As old Max started down
Toward the homes, while the Joos
Where still schmoozing in town.

All their driveways were empty. Just SUV tracks.
All the Joos were out last-minute-shopping at Saks,
As he rode to a not-so-small house on old Max.
“It’s a good thing I brought” the old Prophet Kvetch thought,
“All these bags with to stuff all the stuff the Joos bought.”

Then he looked at the chimney. It seemed quite a stretch
That a fat goy like Santa could fit, thought the Kvetch,
“Still, the goyim believe stranger things, that’s for sure.”
Then the Kvetch shrugged his shoulders, and walked through the door
Where the little Joo dreidels were all strewn about.
“These dreidels,” he grinned, “are the first to go out!”

And he schvitzed, as he shlepped, with an odor unpleasant,
Around the whole house, as he took every present!
Barbie dolls! Mountain bikes! Brios! And blocks!
Pokemon! GameBoys! And all of that shlock!
And he stuffed them in bags. Then his arms spread akimbo,
He shlepped all the bags, one by one, out the wimbo!

Then he shlepped to the kitchen. He took every dish.
He took the Joo-latkes. The Gefilte-Joo-Fish.
He cleaned out the Sub-Zero so nimbly and neat,
Careful to separate dairy from meat.
Then he shlepped the Joo-nosh right out the front door-a.
“And NOW!” kvelled the Kvetch, “I will shlep the menorah!”

And he grabbed the menorah, and started to shlep on,
When he heard a whine, like a cat being stepped on.
He spun ‘round with shpilkes, and coming his way,
It was Ruth Levy-Joo, who was two, if a day.

The Kvetch had been caught by this small shaina maidel,
Who’d been watching TV on her big RCA’dle.
“The Prophet Elijiah?” she quizzed the old fool,
“You visit on Pesach, they taught us in shul.”

And although the old Kvetch was surprised and confused,
It’s not hard to lie to a girl in her twos.
“Bubbeleh… sweatheart…” he started his tale,
“Your dad paid full price, when this all was on sale!
“And like any good merchant, I just want to please ya.
“I’ll ring it up right, then I’ll refund your VISA.”

Then he patted her tush. Put a Barney tape in.
And she spaced-out as fast as the spindle could spin.
And as Ruth Levy-Joo watched her mauve dinosaura,
HE went to the door and shlepped out the menorah!

Then the match for the shamas
Was last to be filched!
Then he shlepped himself out to continue his pillage.
On the walls he left nothing at all. Bubkes. Zilch.
And the one speck of food
That he left in the house
Was a matzoh ball even too dense for a mouse.

Then
He did the same schtick
In the other Joo’s houses.

Leaving knaidlach
Too dense
For the other Joo’s mouses!

It was quarter to dusk…
All the Joos, still at Saks,
All the Joos, still a-shmooze
When he packed up old Max,
Packed him up with their presents! The gelt and the dreidels!
The chotchkes and latkes! The knish and the knaidels!

He hauled it all up to his condo in haste!
(A Grinch might have dumped it, but why go to waste?)
“Shtup you!” to the Joos, the Kvetch loudly cheered,
“They’re finding out Chanukah’s cancelled this year!
“They’re just coming home! I know just what they’ll say!
“They’ll ask their homeowners insurance to pay,
“Then the Joos down in Joo-ville will all cry OY VEY!”

“All those Oys,” kvelled the Kvetch,
“Now THIS I must hear!”
So he paused. And the Kvetch put his hand to his ear.
And he did hear a sound rising up from the shtetl.
It started to grow. Then the Kvetch grew unsettled…

Why the sound wasn’t sad,
It was more like the noise
Of a UPS trucker
Delivering toys!

He stared down at Joo-ville!
And then the Kvetch shook,
As truck after truck
Replaced all that he took!

Every Joo down in Joo-ville, the Golds and the Steins,
Re-ordered their presents by going online!

Chanukah HADN’T been cancelled!
IT CAME!
…On UPS trucks… but it came just the same!

Then the Kvetch, staring down at the gifts where they sat,
Stood kvitching and kvetching: “For this, I did that?
“It came without traffic! It came without tax!
“It came without shopping at Bloomie’s or Saks!”
And he kvetched on and on, til he started to shvitz,
Then the Kvetch thought of something which might make him rich!
“Maybe stores,” thought the Kvetch, “don’t need mortar and bricks.
“Maybe toys can be bought with a few well-placed clicks!”

And what happened then…?
Well… in Joo-ville they say
That the Kvetch raised
Ten million in venture that day!
And the minute his web site was ready to go,
He raised ten billion more on his new IPO!
He sold back the toys to the homes they came from!
And he…

… he the Kvetch…!
Founded YA-JOO.COM!

©2000 by David Goldstein
All rights reserved

[An HA holiday tradition (yeah, a couple days late this year), with apologies to the late, great Dr. Seuss—but not to the greedy, litigious bastards at Dr. Seuss Enterprises, LLC. So there. Happy Christmukah.]

I am attempting to write this post through the chills and sweats of a 101.7 degree fever and the massive 48-hours-and-counting headache that came with it. I have the flu. And it is awful. So consider this a public service announcement: Get a goddamn flu shot!

Yes, I know, this year’s vaccine doesn’t fully protect against one of the dominant strains this season. So maybe I would’ve caught the flu regardless. Or maybe not. Fifty percent effective is a helluva lot better than zero percent effective, so yeah, I was a fucking idiot for driving by all those drug stores with the “Get Your Flu Shot Now” signs, yet never stopping in.

Procrastination will likely kill me one day. But for now it has just made me totally fucking miserable. Get a flu shot.

Genesis 2:25
Adam and his wife were both naked, and they felt no shame.

Discuss.