Speaking of. . . .
Just as U.S. flags seem perpetually at half staff for this person, that
person, any person, “hero” too is a word, a thing, an idea, that has virtually
lost its meaning. Although it still has
a positive ring, when an athlete with the IQ of an ice cube scores to win a
game and is called a “hero” or when an entire 4th grade class at
Orwell Elementary are proclaimed “heroes” because they successfully raised $500
to help feed the poor, then somehow calling someone a hero who performs a truly
heroic act loses lots of luster. My
quick definition of a hero would be someone who, without any hope of
recognition, enrichment or advancement, nevertheless chooses to risk his skin
in an attempt to perform a great deed of altruism.
Glen Greenwald was the journalist who reported the leaked NSA info
given to him by the young whistle-blower, Ed Snowden. Here is what he said of Snowden:
"What I actually
started to realize about all this is two things. Number one, courage is
contagious. If you take a courageous step as an individual, you will literally
change the world because you will affect all sorts of people in your immediate
vicinity, who will then affect others and then affect others. You should never
doubt your ability to change the world. The other thing that I realized is it
doesn’t matter who you are as an individual or how formidable or powerful the
institutions that you want to challenge are. Mr. Snowden is a high school
dropout. His parents work for the federal government. He grew up in a lower
middle class environment in a military community in Virginia. He ended up
enlisting in the United States Army because he thought the Iraq War at first
was noble. He then did the same with the NSA and the CIA because he thought
those institutions were noble. He’s a person who has zero privilege, zero
power, zero position and zero prestige and yet he by himself has literally
changed the world."
Hero? This kid fits my
definition neatly. Don’t want to split
no hairs, either. What is the point of
protection when freedom is missing? Rather
than be a totally protected prisoner behind four gray walls, someone just shoot
me.
And yes, I’m positive that another “terror” incident is on tap to show American
sports fans and Walmart shoppers just how much we need even more “protection”
(and less freedom) and our protectors will point and say, “Now, do you see why
Edward Snowden was so bad? The traitor
allowed this to happen.” And alas, polls
will show that 96% of American sports fans and Walmart shoppers agree.
But just as power corrupts, so too does secrecy. Unless we seize the baton that this young,
selfless man has extended to us we may expect more secrecy, not less, more
surveillance, not less, less freedom, not more.
Any government that runs on
secrecy, torture and war is not a government I want any part of. We need more heroes like Edward Snowden, not
less.
______________________________________
Another meaningful
contribution in today’s dead-tree media:
Editor:
I am extremely
annoyed several times on a daily basis each and every time the phone
rings. I use a walker and must get up
from where I am sitting to answer the phone, which is several feet away. The caller doesn’t let the phone ring more
than five times, so I miss the call. As
a courtesy, it would be nice if the phone rang at least 10 times. Is the caller in such a rush or hurry? I would suggest that all who are reading this
take heed.
Wilma R. Crutchfield,
Englewood
Will someone kindly buy this cheap
old bag a voice mail or even one of those new-fangled cell phones, then teach
her how to use them? Poor lady, forced
to get up several times a day just to answer her phone. Poor thing, missing out on all those calls
from Nigeria announcing she’s been given all those millions, plus all those
cars they wanna give her so she can mow down mailboxes or bore through post
office walls with.
“Extremely annoyed?” “Ten times?” “Such
a rush or hurry?” Amazing.
______________________________________
Low Note, High Tide--Hmmmm. I
have biked up and down this slender sand spit, from stem to stern a thousand
times in three years. So why, I ask, why
was I unaware of that pot hole. I mean that pot hole large enough to swallow man
and bike whole?
Flipping along a few days back,
sore legs in flip flops happy with every blow that they were one pump less from
home, those legs came to a flooded part of the beach road where everyone must
slow to a crawl to get through. This low
spot gets such every time a tropical hits.
So, as I move over to let cars go through while I plow along like a boat
in foot-deep water, BOOM! I went head
over heels straight into the flood.
Quick as a blink--no slow-mo life-flashing moments here--just a fraction
of a second and I was head first in the mess.
I wasn’t hurt much . . . right leg . . .left hand . . . but doing this
in public, in front of a line of slow-moving cars, now that is pretty
shabby. Kind as they were--everyone
slowed, some stopped, to ask if I was okay—I wish they had not.
“No I’m not hurt,” I lied,
dripping water, weeds, mud, and muck from head to heel.
“Yes, I think I’ll survive . . .
thanks,” I forced a grim grin, looking more like the Creature From The Black
Lagoon and wanting to yell, “GOD, JUST GO ON.
PLEASE. IT’S BAD ENOUGH TO FLIP
ON MY HEAD AND BUST MY BUTT BUT TO NOW STAND STUPID IN THIS SNAIL-LIKE PUBLIC
PARADE IS JUST TOO MUCH!
One young guy drove by slowly:
“Hey man, you need a canoe.”
Note: Maybe I should simply stay off the bike for a bit. Saddling up this morning, bound for the post
office, I missed the saddle and fell off square on my shoulder, flat in the
road. Thank Merciful God and Mary above,
no one was coming from either direction so my shame was not shared and my pain
was contained to just shoulder and ego.
