Shooting
Refugees
American Traditions
A Gay Hero |
|
While
Americans sat down to traditional
Thanksgiving dinners, with relatives they
can't stand, to celebrate the arrival of our
nation's first refugees who came here
fleeing persecution; our president told our
troops to shoot any refugee attempting to
enter America via our southern border.
A fine holiday welcome from the grandson of
a Nazi!
I know a
little bit about all this, first hand, because
my mother arrived here as an illegal immigrant
refugee during WWII, fleeing Nazi genocide in
Europe. After her ship sailed passed the
Statue of Liberty and docked at Ellis Island,
she presented herself to Immigration as a
refugee. She was allowed to stay, given
the equivalent of a green card, and five cents
to pay for the ferry ride across New York
Harbor, past the Statue of Liberty, to begin her
new life in America. That nickel was the
only welfare she ever got during her sixty years
of life here in freedom. For our family's first
Thanksgiving in America in the late 1940s, we
went to Grandma's house where she cooked a
Canadian Snow Goose. We didn't know much
about the holiday back then, but the goose was
delicious. I also remember learning about
another American holiday tradition as a toddler
in the late 1940s when I attempted to enjoy
Halloween by standing in some goofy little
costume on upper Broadway in NYC and squeaking
"Trick or Treat" without having a clue what I
was saying. Growing up in a refugee
community, I didn't speak English yet,
even though I was born here. It was a long
time ago. Since then, I've learned to love
our Thanksgiving more than anything,
particularly as the son of refugees and as a
veteran. The whole Thanksgiving story is likely a myth
made up to teach children about American Values;
but the meaning of it has guided my life along
with my illegal immigrant mother having taught
me that "there is nothing more precious than
American Freedom."
Over the same
Thanksgiving weekend, this year, a few thousand
desperate starving Central American refugees
rushed the border and tried to climb over the
barrier. Tear gas was fired at them from
the American side, and in the chaos some poor
woman fell and was impaled in a bloody mess on
the barbed wire to the horror of her little
children who were with her. Is this is
what makes America great, Herr president?
Something
smells fishy to me about that border rush.
I suspect some Spanish speaking right wing
Yankee agent provocateur told them that there
was a sit-down turkey dinner waiting for them on
the other side; just so that Democratic leaders
could be falsely blamed for the whole thing,
which they were. Ridiculous? I've
seen the same dirty tricks by Republicans for
decades! Back in 1972 during the
Republican National Convention in Miami Beach,
there was a riot supposedly carried out by raggedly
dressed left wing Hippies rampaging down Collins
Avenue smashing cars and store windows.
The thing was that they were all wearing wing
tip shoes and had white wall haircuts, because
they were all paid employees of a right wing
private security company. It was so very
obviously fake! I saw the whole thing with
my own eyes. (Yeah, I was there as a
genuine left wing peaceful demonstrator).
Instead of
ruining Thanksgiving for thousands of American
troops sent to the border for a vile political
stunt, the millions that cost could have been
spent setting up a safe tent city for the
refugees and giving them a proper sit-down
Thanksgiving dinner, without stealing their
children or bashing them in their faces with
rifle butts. Who the hell are we anyway?
Are we some brutal third world sand-banana
republic run by a crazed greedy dictator?
Sadly, at the moment, you'd think so.
And now we
have the First Family's f.....g red Christmas
trees lining the sacred halls of the White
House; paid for by your tax dollars. Or
maybe they were a gift from Vladimir? Uggghh! Is that the tune of the
International I hear wafting through the Red
House? We already know the president is
mean, nasty, destructive, likes Russian hookers
peeing, etc. But those red trees are sick!
The fake
president ended the month by flying off to an
international meeting of world leaders in
Argentina, where he made an idiotic show of
canceling a meeting with Putin. But, you
can be sure he managed to sneak up to Putin's
hotel room in the middle of the night to get on
his knees to kiss Putin's ass and feet.
Enough! I'm sick of reciting the sins of
the month.
------------------------------------------------------
A Gay Hero
Late November
this year marked the 40th anniversary of the
assassination of Harvey Milk in San Francisco.
I was there; I knew him; I was a young veteran
at the time beginning a new life in the gayest
city on Earth. It makes me feel old
realizing how long ago it was. But, what
matters is that there are so many of us old gay
farts still alive to remember. Thousands
of people knew him; it wasn't unusual. You
could stroll into his camera shop on Castro
Street and be mesmerized by his charisma as he
just stood there talking plain and simple down
to earth about his plans to create a world where
gay folks are free and equal. Harvey Milk,
born in 1930, grew up in suburban Long Island,
just east of New York City; he went to college,
joined the Navy, and served as a Lieutenant
during the Korean War. Yes, Milk was a
veteran and proud of it. He was a Navy
Master Diver and instructor and proudly wore his
US Navy Master Diver's belt buckle till the day
he died. After quietly working on Wall
Street in New York City until he was 40, he
became inspired by the clarion call of San
Francisco where gay folks could live openly, and
moved there as so many of us did. He then
dared to do more and proudly became the City's
first openly gay member of the Board of
Supervisors. What a thrill it was to vote
for him! Had he lived, he likely would
have become a member of Congress, and fought for
HIV/AIDS funding. Sadly, a nobody bigot
murdered Mayor Moscone and Milk on a day
remembered around the world by folks dreaming of
freedom even now.
USN LT Harvey Milk |
USAF TSGT Leonard Matlovich |
Back in the
day, in San Francisco in the 1970s, the Gods of
the Gay Revolution walked the Earth like
ordinary mortals. You could drop into
Milk's shop anytime or stand on the corner of
Castro and 18th chatting with Leonard Matlovich
for hours. Yes, Leonard Matlovich, another
gay veteran and hero, just hanging out on Castro
like ordinary people. On a summer Saturday
afternoon, it was normal to see bearded gay men
walking down the street holding hands, with
crazed German tourists chasing after them
snapping photos with an Instamatic to show the
folks back home. One such day, a fellow
walked casually down Castro in a full feathered
headdress and a fringed leather outfit.
The two German tourists with the camera nearly
died of excitement; "an INDIAN, a Gay Indian!"
He was just an ordinary Native American headed
for a local meeting, of course. It was all
he could do to keep from laughing his ass off at
the German tourists gasping behind him.
A year after
the assassination, the murderer was given a slap
on the wrist sentence for killing two heroes.
That evening someone got ahold of Milk's
megaphone and the shout echoed through the
Castro, "Out of the bars and into the streets!"
Sixty thousand people gathered and began a
peaceful candlelight march down Market Street
headed to City Hall. I joined and soon
found myself in the middle of what became known
as the White Night Riot! When riot police
arrived, all hell broke loose at what had been a
peaceful protest. Police cars were set on
fire, windows were smashed, and crazed police
chased people running away and broke bones with
their batons. I managed to escape to
Market Street; streetcar service had been shut
down, black helicopters were overhead, and
busloads of riot police raced past me towards
City Hall. I was in a war zone! I
walked and walked and arrived home at Midnight.
My lover was watching the riot live on TV,
imagining me lying somewhere in a pool of blood.
He burst into tears when I walked in safe.
We held each other in bed watching the carnage
on TV through the night. So, long ago!
We must never
forget our heroes; thank a gay veteran today.
-Denny Meyer,
fmr USN, SFC USAR
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