Occupy Wall Street Transforming Consciousness

Meltdown: The Men Who Crashed The World

This is a 4 part documentary of the worldwide financial crisis and the inside story that will keep you on the edge of your seat. After watching part 1 click under Meltdown: (part 2) A Global Financial Tsunami, (part 3) Paying The Price and (part 4) After The Fall.

The men who crashed the world – Meltdown – Al Jazeera English.

And if that is not enough there is the earlier film called “Inside Job.”

In short, a comment on Facebook: America’s wealthiest one percent owns 40% of the country’s total wealth. (The bottom 80% owns just 7% — no typo) — America’s wealthiest one percent owns 51% of all of the country’s stocks, bonds, and mutual funds. (The bottom 50% owns just one-half of one percent.) — America’s wealthiest one percent takes in 24% of all the income generated each year. — Between 1923 and 1929, the concentration of wealth at the top of the country’s economic ladder was at the highest point in US history. Then came the Crash and the Depression. For decades afterward, the middle class was dealt into the game at a much greater level. As recently as 1976, America’s wealthiest one percent took in only 9% of the country’s income (again, the current figure is 24%). Time Magazine, hardly an outfit full of liberal kooks, says that the concentration of wealth has again reached 1929 levels. Something is wrong here. To quote a great man: “But if a man doesn’t have a job or an income, he has neither life nor liberty nor the possibility for the pursuit of happiness. He merely exists. We are coming to ask America to be true to the huge promissory note that it signed years ago. And we are coming to engage in dramatic nonviolent action, to call attention to the gulf between promise and fulfillment; to make the invisible visible.”

In response we now have Occupy Wall Street sit-ins all over the U.S. and the world by young people who cannot find jobs in their chosen fields and, in the U.S., are saddled with education loans up the ying yang that they cannot repay. Jobs have been lost. Homes lost.

Statement published by Occupy Wall Street

Occupy Together

I have been glued to the Occupy Wall Street Livestreams worldwide where I am watching “a learning tribe that is trying to BE what it wants the world to grow into.”

What you don’t see going on in the occupations and is so difficult to communicate to the media, mainly because they don’t get it, is the TRANSFORMATION that is going on in the working groups and in the General Assemblies and in the personal interactions. It looks from the outside so diffuse because each individual is connecting into it from where they are personally in their growth and circumstances.

Comment I saw this morning to a controversial CNN YouTube video: F**k the media. Each and every one of them. They’re out there with one objective and that’s to create division between us. Everyone PLEASE stop with this Hippie, Teabagger, Republican, Democrat, Conservative, Liberal name calling classification bullshit! Don’t you fucking get it? None of it matters! All that those monickers do is provide ammo to the shit starters. Were all are in the same boat on this one and we all need to stick together as AMERICANS if were going to get anything done.” Right on! ”

A friend who is participating in Occupy Seattle says: I am trusting the nonviolence to win out.

It’s a process. Not a linear one…but an organic one. They don’t know yet how the movement will change anything. But they for sure know that nothing will change without a change of consciousness of each individual. IMO it will change when there is a critical mass of people that have changed. One by one. Each in his/her own way.

I have been hanging out with a group of young current and former Couchsurfers and volunteers here in Oaxaca (when I am not glued to the Livestreams) who are participating in the same process. Occupy Wall Street is just one manifestation of where these young folks, world-wide, are taking us. With their clear-eyed insight they are edging me out of my old paradigm…out of old categories. We spent all day saturday at a sustainability fair with representatives from 80 communities all over Mexico.

What amazes me the most is the lack of cynicism and the hope and trust they have. They are losing hope of being able to pursue their careers they studied for, so they are looking for other ways to plug into the transformative process. The exchange with them is exhilarating…and yes…they are changing me too.

Some of these young people have just come off a year traveling to 4 countries to live in and study local sustainable projects in India, Tanzania, New Zealand and now Oaxaca. They underwent life-changing experiences (and in one case a near breakdown) as they came to understand that you cannot go into a country to “show them how to do it.” That old liberal do-good paradigm is dying.

But you can empower local people in their own efforts and learn from them new ways like the one in indigenous communities here in Oaxaca called “Uses Y Costumbres” which is a consensus process they use to govern themselves and the Zapatista movement in Chiapas.

The director of the year-long program is here in Oaxaca. Here is an interview with him. He turns Paulo Friere’s educational pedagogy, that has become orthodox in US educational reform movements since the 70’s, on it’s head.

A high school and college friend on Facebook recently told me I have too much time on my hands! hahahahahaha. Can’t think of a better way to spend my retirement than encouraging and affirming all these young people!

Reflections on July 4

JULY 4th

Have you ever wondered what happened to the 56 men who signed the Declaration of Independence?

Five signers were captured by the British as traitors, and tortured before they died.

Twelve had their homes ransacked and burned.

Two lost their sons serving in the Revolutionary Army;

Another had two sons captured.

Nine of the 56 fought and died from wounds or hardships of the Revolutionary War.

They signed and they pledged their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor.

What kind of men were they?

Twenty-four were lawyers and jurists.

Eleven were merchants,

Nine were farmers and large plantation owners; men of means, well educated

But they signed the Declaration of Independence knowing full well that the penalty would be death if they were captured..

Carter Braxton of Virginia, a wealthy planter and trader, saw his ships swept from the seas by the British Navy. He sold his home and properties to pay his debts, and died in rags.

Thomas McKeam was so hounded by the British that he was forced to move his family almost constantly. He served in the Congress without pay, and his family was kept in hiding. His possessions were taken from him, and poverty was his reward.

Vandals or soldiers looted the properties of Dillery, Hall , Clymer, Walton, Gwinnett, Heyward, Rutledge, and Middleton.

At the battle of Yorktown, Thomas Nelson, Jr ., noted that the British General Cornwallis had taken over the Nelson home for his headquarters. He quietly urged General George Washington to open fire. The home was destroyed, and Nelson died bankrupt.

Francis Lewis had his home and properties destroyed. The enemy jailed his wife, and she died within a few months.

John Hart was driven from his wife’s bedside as she was dying; their 13 children fled for their lives. His fields and his gristmill were laid to waste. For more than a year he lived in forests and caves, returning home to find his wife dead and his children vanished.

Self Censuring

I moved to Oaxaca City in 2006 to find 70,000 of the state’s teachers striking in the Centro. They had been striking every year for more than 20 years to gain a minimum of educational standards for a state with 16 indigenous groups living in the mountains…all with their own languages.

The strike gained scores of supporters, including human rights activists and civil organizations and this time it lasted 7 months before it was put down by thousands of federal riot control troops. It left more than 20 dead, including an American independent journalist and hundreds more beaten and/or incarcerated or disappeared. No one has been convicted of any of it.

I reported on much of this in this blog, thinking, like many other expats living there, that helping shine the light internationally on unlawful acts by the authorities, would help protect the innocent. I am not so sure any more because the impunity of the authorities has been escalating. The most recent incident is the killing of a Finnish human rights worker along with two Trique leaders as he accompanied a caravan bringing food and water from Mexico City to a barricaded Trique community. Repeated inquiries by the Finnish parents, the European Union and even the UN has not resulted in justice.

However, it is also unlawful in Mexico for foreigners to “interfere” in Mexican national politics and the authorities are free at any time to define what constitutes “interference.” The authorities can arrest or deport (or more) any foreigner on the spot and it has been done.

So when I return to Oaxaca, I will not be reporting on my blog on activities that I feel could be interpreted as “interference.”

However there are reputable blogs reporting breaking events in Latin America, including Oaxaca. Two of these are Upside Down World and Narco News.com with 450 co-publishers reporting.

Bunkered In Las Vegas

Looks like another week holed up with my son, Greg, and my favorite sweet golden laborador, in Las Vegas. If Las Vegas is invaded I am quite certain I will survive. 🙂

I am cooking for the freezer as is usual when I visit him. Split pea soup with ham hocks, lasagna, Oaxacan pork ribs in salsa verde.

Greg has offered to take me to the Cirque du Soleil “Elvis” but just can’t bring myself to watch this dog and pony show of my old raunchy 7th grade love.

I am missing the Day Of The Dead in Oaxaca. I would definitely prefer to celebrate the dead there than to watch the dying off political process in the U.S. of A.

Sigh…

Freedom Country

From Klamath Falls I cross the California border…past the WWII Japanese Internment camp at Newell near Tule Lake…euphemistically called the Tule Lake War Relocation Center…and head south toward Reno Nevada.

I have a blown-up photo of my father herding sheep on the Liskey Ranch on the drained tule lake beds. (tules are plants that grow in water.) In fact, when my father died, it was the lead article on the front page of the Tule Lake newspaper, which at the time was surprising to me. I hadn’t realized what he stood for in Freedom Country.

North and south of this border is the ORCAL (Oregon/California) freedom country where, as a little girl…my father’s shadow…I grew up listening to my father rant on his rounds of visits with his farmer friends about the government, the trilateral commission and the Federal Reserve and all other forms of perceived intrusion of the government in their lives. My father would get far-right mailings from far-right organizations that my mother wouldn’t let in her house…making him read them outside on the porch. He used to declare that if the govmt ever showed up at his house he would blow them away with his hunting rifle. Such was and is the mentality of these 19th Century land settlers and their descendants.

Fast forward to the near-end of the Bush-Cheney presidency. Thousands of farmers in the Klamath Basin Irrigation District (of which my father once was president at a time when they were letting excess water flow into the sea rather than let California have any of it) were struggling to keep their crops from turning to dust in a recent drought.

As growers were counting on a century-old complex of dams and canals to irrigate 400,000 square miles of potato and alfalfa and grazing range from water in the nearby Lower Klamath Lake, the Bureau of Reclamation was getting ready to shut down the water gates. Federal biologists announced that the Endangered Species Act had determined that diverting the water from Lower Klamath Lake to the Tule Lake farmland was necessary to save the lives of 3 endangered species of fish…the Shortnose Suckers, Lost River Suckers and the Coho Salmon….at least one of which was the fish that the Klamath Indians had fished for centuries. This was just the kind of thing that drove so many western farmers around the bend.

But I wonder now what my father would think about water being diverted from Klamath County Oregon to Tule Lake California.

My own opinion, at the time, was that, in the first place, all this was the result of draining Tule Lake to create more farm land with no assurance of an adequate future source of water. Mess with mother nature and this what you get.

In the meantime, I was not surprised to learn that protests against the federal water cut-off were edging toward violence. Farmers and their families organized a symbolic bucket brigade of 18,000 men and women on May 7, 2001, then staged raids in June and July, using blow torches and chain saw to open irrigation gate that the Bureau of Reclamation had welded shut. Some of them clashed with U.S. marshals who were called out when local law enforcement officers refused to intervene. One group of protesters formed a mounted cavalry, organizing a Klamath T Party of civil disobedience.

Anti-government activists from out of state, including militia activists from Montana, Michigan, Idaho and Nevada, gathered in August for a Freedom Day demonstration at Klamath Falls. You had farmers sitting in front of the locks. It was an emotionally charged and potentially explosive situation.

Vice President Dick Cheney asked the interior department to convene a God Squad. The Republicans had lost Oregon by only one half of one percent in the prior election in 2000 and all they needed for a Republican win in 2008 was a draw that pitted one group of scientists against another. Cheney’s shadow government was not looking for answers as to how the fish could be saved and the farmers still get water. This was not about fish. It was about politics.

So with plenty of television coverage the headgate was opened as farmers chanted, Let the water flow!

In late September 2002, the first of an estimated 77 thousand dead salmon began washing up on the banks of the Klamath River where it passed through Yurok tribal lands. The threatened Cohos were dying but in even larger numbers were Chinook salmon which was the staple of commercial fishing in northern California.

So, on my way to Vegas, I wasn’t surprised to see this archway with the word Freedom at the head of a dirt road leading into one of the ranches.

My iPhone google maps gets me around Reno to highway 95 to Las Vegas. Then no service appears on my phone as I drive through the seemingly unending Nevada desert. At dark, I stop in Tonapah to spend the night in a $38 with senior discount trucker motel with free WiFi where I let my son in Las Vegas know where I am via email.

The next morning I drive up to a Mexican dive for breakfast. An old guy was sitting on the sidewalk in front of the car. As I walked past him, he says I am from a good state.

McDonald’s Waitress Makes My Day

No wonder there are so many “old people” at McDonalds! A $1.00 coffee is only 69 cents for seniors! The waitress looks up and says, you aren’t a senior are you? I say yes, 66. She says, really! Maybe just my granma looks old!

A guy next to me starts bantering with her. We went to circus school in Italy together, he says. Cirque du Soleil! So much for Klamath Falls being Red Neck! 🙂 My son, Greg, is taking me to see the Elvis Cirque when I get to Las Vegas. The Beatles Cirque last year was outstanding! Almost unbelievable!

George and Jan took off this morning for Eugene…just to see a football game! Back at McDonalds…WiFi and listening to NPR…discouraging news but the station redeems itself with enlivening world music.

Now killing time waiting for an old high school classmate to get into town tonight. What to do? My choices seem to be a walk along the river, the county museum or the Indian Museum.

A few years ago at the County Museum, I found an article in an old newspaper with a picture of the Winema Riverboat that carried my paternal grandparents across Klamath River into Klamath Falls in 1906….that is after coming out west from Kansas on a “citizen train” to Dunsmuir CA (the end of the railroad at that time) where they climbed aboard a stagecoach to meet the Riverboat.

My aunt Mary was a little girl at the time…my father still in utero…has always talked about the ferry turning over on the way. I’ll be darned if I didn’t find a news article about that accident too!

But that wasn’t the end of the trip. A horse and buggy carried them another 40 miles to Malin…a whole Czech settlement that moved out together from the midwest because of the promise of plentiful irrigation water and where my father (Cecil) grew up being called “cecelic,” or some such spelling for some kind of little animal because my father was small. As a small girl I loved those Czech people who delighted in children and always made me feel liked and cared for. Well, the Irish sheepherder friends of my father did too…entertaining me no end with leprechuan stories.

Sometime before I kick the bucket I am going to have to lug all the Indian artifacts to the Indian Museum and give them back to the Klamath Indian tribe. Hundreds of pounds of pestles and bowls were plowed up over the years by my father on the property…Big Springs Ranch… which was years before a Klamath Indian encampment. Huge beautiful springs ran through it feeding the nearby Lost River…my childhood playground where I pretended I was an Indian Maiden like the ones I saw in John Wayne movies. Sometimes I would be a stealthy Indian tracker. Heck with the cowboys!

Oh dear, look what happens when I have time on my hands…

So I begin skype-chatting with a Thai friend in Bangkok.

A Conversation While Using McDonald’s WiFi In Klamath Falls

I’m back at McDonalds…pretty good latte here…cheaper than Starbucks. I’m sitting in my car using their free WiFi when a bent-over older (old sounds unkind) fellow appears at my open car window which is apparently an invitation for conversation.

Watcha doin’? Studyin’?

You like this car? Big tires. You get better gas mileage with bigger tires. I say gas is expensive here…$2.99 to 3.07. Yeah, he says, they’re all crooks. Doesn’t cost that much to get gas in here. They’re all crooks.

You know what the fellow up there says? There are no pockets up there. No money. He (I assume he means God) doesn’t like his name on money. No pockets up there. His name on money comes from some European country. No pockets up there and we will find that out. Yep.

I don’t know what else to say. Ok, he says, pointing to the birds all over the parking lot, I gotta go feed the pigeons.

Bet McDonalds loves that.

Klamath Falls is turning out to be just as, if not more, interesting than many other places in the world I have been.

Gone Huntin’ In Klamath Falls

After 7 weeks in Salem Oregon taking care of a lot of unfinished business and spending time with my son Doug, who will be returning soon to Thailand to join his Thai wife, I am finally on my way back to Oaxaca in my new car loaded with stuff.

First stop. Klamath Falls in rural SE Oregon. I grew up 50 miles from here on a sheep ranch just outside of Bonanza (little more than 300 people) and attended junior high and high school in Klamath. Bea and Sal are gone now, but I am visiting with what’s left of my second family that I lived with during high school.

Red Neck country for sure. Of course I didn’t think that when I lived here. Hunting with my dad in the fall was something to look forward to after a summer of haying and irrigating 10 hours a day. He used me to flush the brush in the draw while he stood watch on the ridge. Sleeping out under the stars at night under only a blanket. We’d laugh at the city folk all dressed up in fancy orange gear lugging their sleeping bags, lanterns, cook stoves and such. Lambing time wouldn’t come until February. It is fall now and many businesses are closed with Gone Huntin’ signs on the doors.

I also didn’t notice the neighborly generosity when I lived here. I guess because I was used to it. My mom would trade eggs for ice-cream from the milk man. She was always taking cuttings of her plants and giving them away to anyone who visited.

George makes chorizo and salsa and gives it out to his appreciative co-workers at the lumber company where he works nights maintaining the machinery. His next door neighbor brought over fresh home-grown peppers and tomatoes yesterday. At Christmas, George grinds and cooks his own corn for masa for tamales like his Mexican dad always did…continuing a generational ritual. He will give away most of those too.
George gives me a bag of beef jerky for my trip south. George would give you the shirt off his back.

Last night, after a high school football game (football is endemic here), and while George was at work, his wife Jan, his daughter Melina and her husband and his parents and their twin 17 year old boys and their 20 year old daughter (my god where has the time gone… Melina is the same age as my oldest son…43!) and I gathered at Wubba’s BBQ rustic rib joint for dinner to celebrate Melina’s husband’s birthday.

I was the first one to arrive at the restaurant, so I had waited on a bench by the door…perusing my iPhone for emails. When Melina entered I jumped up to hug her leaving my iPhone on the bench. I was already seated when this young guy comes over to my table. Do I know you, I thought. Then I saw he was holding out the iPhone.

It has been a few years since I have seen Melina’s kids so she re-introduces me to them. Remember Eunice? Then she says I used to live with her dad! Everyone’s mouth drops open. She clears it up. “When Eunice was living with dad and his family when they were in high school,” she says laughing.

The 20 year old daughter squeals with excitement about moving into her own apartment with a friend. Almost everything they need has been given to them but they still need a few things, one of which was a microwave. People are often loud here and the daughter is so loud she could be overheard by those at nearby tables. I had been noticing a big guy with a face so work-dirty it was nearly black in a nearby booth. Suddenly the daughter and Melina’s husband disappear…coming back to announce that the guy with a dirty face had given her a small microwave that wouldn’t fit into the space for it in his work truck. He GAVE it to her. He didn’t ask to sell it to her. It was nearly new.

This morning I am sitting in my car at McDonalds using the only free WiFi I can find in Klamath…of course after having coffee (coffee is surprisingly good at McDonalds) and a Egg McMuffin. An older guy walks by my open window and notices my computer propped up against the steering wheel. He looks at the computer screen showing Amazon.com. He asks who I’m chatting with. Then he announces that he caught his wife talking to these guys on internet chat in kind of a “personal” way. Then he tells me that sometimes he sees naked girls whirling around on his screen. But his wife, he says, tore up his Playboy. I laugh…and he laughs and he moves on into McDonalds.

I’m here several hours (Jan is at work and George is sleeping) when I realize I am hungry again. A young kid with tattoos and a baseball cap comes out of McDonalds and holds up a bag with two chicken sandwiches. For you, he says. I am speechless as I gratefully take them with a big smile. I have no idea why he gave them to me.

What is this? Off the beaten track, Klamath County is one of the most economically depressed counties in Oregon. Gas is 2.99 a gallon here. Jobless numbers exceed national and state figures. Maybe they realize they are all in this together and they have to help each other out. Or maybe they were just always this way…

I Hope I Never Have To Buy A Car Again

Colorful indigenous mountain villages are wonderful to visit in Oaxaca. Having had an older SUV there for a year in 2007, I drove it back to the states where my son killed it…an oil leak in the motor.

But, missing Oaxaca, I moved back down again. Then the options were frightening chicken buses that often go over the brink…the gory details in the back of every newspaper. Or colectivos…shared taxis piled with as many bodies as would fit…often with a small child who would upchuck around the curves. No potty stops…no photo stops. I would often wish I could explain to the drivers how to take a corner…slow down… and then about 2/3 of the way into it step on the accelerator which picks up the car and helps keep nine bodies from ending up in what’s left of each others’ laps….back and forth…constant low-level nausea. It offers up a story or two for your friends but it gets old fast.

So. I flew back to Oregon to buy a mountain car and bring back some more of my stuff. My 23 inch computer monitor for watching movies (I don’t have a TV), hand mixer, food mill, a small microwave with English language controls, real maple syrup, pourable salt, Krusteaz mix, corn meal, (can you believe that with all the corn in Oaxaca you can’t get the kind of corn meal to make corn bread), spices and some favorite kitchen ware. You know the stuff.

I decided on the Nissan Xterra. I requested estimates on the internet and then followed up in person. I had a limit and let them know, but they will tell you anything just to get you on the lot.

First lot…Gladstone in Portland Oregon…called the internet contact and asked for an appointment. Oh, yes, I’ll be here she says. NOT!!! Got there and she hid in her office…sending out another salesman to deal with me. I showed him the email with her offer. Conference ensued between manager and 4 other people. Oh, that was a typo in the email they said. Riiight!

Walked out and called Wilsonville. Told them my limit. Salesman confers with his manager. Comes back to the phone and tells me they have a demonstrator with low mileage for well below my limit. Go to the Wilsonville lot. Oh, we can’t possibly sell it for that! The salesman was new and didn’t know what he was doing! Riiiight!

I call Hillsboro who had a basic model for well below my limit. I call McMinnville who had one Xterra S with big tires. Ohhh, damn. Should have gone to Hillsboro first. I wanted the S. Told the salesman what the other two lots did to me. He said, oh, are they still doing that? That’s what they used to do in the 60’s! Sold it to me for my limit. But no car manual in the car and had to go back to McMinnville a week later to pick up a copy they ordered specially. They promised an extradited car title. It’s been over a month and I have yet to get it. Oh, well.

My first and last auto purchase…I hope!

Why Are Americans Loud

A bit of information about the formation of the individual and national consciousness of people in the U.S.

Sorry for length, but this is mostly for people who are not “United Staters.” :))

We all know that the US was settled by people who had already rejected religious and political persecution. My own Polish great grandfather, when the Germans who had taken over the part of Poland they were in, toward the end of the 18th century, wanted to conscript the boys into the German army and only allow German to be used in the schools, said “hell no” and sent my grandfather and his older sister, 17 and 18 at the time, across the ocean in the middle of a harrowing storm, to find a home for their parents and the rest of their 10 siblings. Imagine that!

They worked in the mines in Illinois until they had enough money to rent farms. My husband’s German parents, fleeing the fury of Stalin in Ukraine, settled first in Canada and then lived in earth huts in North Dakota…carving out a life out of stone and mud. People were “bootstrappers.” They were “free thinkers” and were some of this countries first teachers. This is the stuff that this country was made of…and still is if only in the national consciousness.

Then came WWI and WWII. I don’t know if many people realize that “Americans” in the U.S. contributed a great deal of support to the war effort… especially by severe rationing. After the war, in the 50’s, there was a GI student loan program that enabled returning veterans to leave the farms and become educated and join the booming middle class…many donning suits to work hugely long hours in new businesses. (Man In The Grey Flannel Suit).

There was an economic rebound and people were able to enjoy all those material things they had never had before…buying washing machines, sewing machines, modern kitchens with sinks and refrigerators and all kinds of things produced by the industrial revolution. This was when the states became very materialistic. Families wanted to provide the things for their children they never had for themselves.

But the collateral damage was huge. The children of these families grew up feeling neglected by absentee fathers. Mothers and other women, largely uneducated, were kept out of the work force and except by a few brave vocal ones, became the “perfect” housewife. The culture became extremely conforming. A woman’s skirt, one inch above or below the norm was considered weird. By this time, in the late 50’s, with increased economic stability, children were entering college. They began to notice the materialism and lack of values. They began to feel stifled by the conformity and perceived hypocrisy. This spawned the Beat Generation:

From the “Free Wiki”:

The Beat Generation is a term used to describe a group of American writers who came to prominence in the 1950s, and the cultural phenomena that they wrote about and inspired (later sometimes called “beatniks”). Central elements of “Beat” culture included experimentation with drugs and alternative forms of sexuality, an interest in Eastern religion, and a rejection of materialism.

The major works of Beat writing are Allen Ginsberg’s Howl (1956), William S. Burroughs’s Naked Lunch (1959) and Jack Kerouac’s On the Road (1957). Both Howl and Naked Lunch were the focus of obscenity trials that ultimately helped to liberalize what could be published in the United States. On the Road transformed Kerouac’s friend Neal Cassady into a youth-culture hero. The members of the Beat Generation quickly developed a reputation as new bohemian hedonists, who celebrated non-conformity and spontaneous creativity.

The original “Beat Generation” writers met in New York. Later, the central figures (with the exception of Burroughs) ended up together in San Francisco in the mid-1950s where they met and became friends with figures associated with the San Francisco Renaissance.

This is what attracted kids later to the streets of San Francisco.

Meanwhile, “Old Leftists,” (largely Socialist and Communist) seeing the handwriting on the wall became vocal but were drummed out by a culture diametrically opposed to their political agendas. Union organizers were beaten by police at the bidding of robber barons.

In the late 50’s, Jerry Rubin lead the “Free Speech Movement” largely centered at the University of California at Berkeley. I have friends who were swept off the steps of Spraul Hall by water cannons during those demonstrations.

These were the spiritual predecessors of the next generation of “drop-outs” in the 60’s and 70’s…rebelling against conformity and lack of free expression. Kids left home to live on the streets or join “back to the earth” communes. (The Beatles “She’s Leaving Home” and songs by first Pete Seegar and then Bob Dylan). Conscientious Objectors fled to Canada rather than be drafted into the Viet Nam War. And they were “loud.”

Backpackers by the thousands hit the “Hippie Trail” that led from London to Kathmandu and found alternative cultures and values.

Those who initially objected to the involvement in Vietnam fell into three broad categories: people with left-wing political opinions who wanted an NLF victory; pacifists who opposed all wars; and liberals who believed that the best way of stopping the spread of communism was by encouraging democratic, rather than authoritarian governments.

The first march to Washington against the war took place in December, 1964. Only 25,000 people took part but it was still the largest anti-war demonstration in American history.

In 1967, a group of distinguished academics under the leadership of Bertrand Russell, set up the International War Crimes Tribunal.

In November, 1965, Norman Morrison, a Quaker from Baltimore, followed the example of the Buddhist monk, Thich Quang Due, and publically burnt himself to death. In the weeks that were to follow, two other pacifists, Roger La Porte and Alice Herz, also immolated themselves in protest against the war.

The draft increased the level of protest. Students protested at what they considered was an attack on people’s right to decide for themselves whether they wanted to fight for their country. Young men burnt their draft cards.

The Civil Rights Movement raged in the late 1960s. Anti-Vietnam War leaders began to claim that if the government did not withdraw from the war they might need the troops to stop a revolution taking place.
In New York, over a million people took part in one demonstration.

Eldridge Cleaver argued that blacks were being denied the right to vote in elections. Therefore, blacks were fighting in Vietnam “for something they don’t have for themselves.” As another black leader put it: “If a black man is going to fight anywhere, he ought to be fighting in Mississippi” and other parts of America.

The most dramatic opposition to the war came from the soldiers themselves. Between 1960 and 1973, 503,926 members of the US armed forces deserted. Many soldiers began to question the morality of the war once they began fighting in Vietnam.

In 1967, Vietnam Veterans Against the War was formed. They demonstrated all over America in wheelchairs or on crutches. People watched on television as Vietnam heroes threw away the medals they had won fighting in the war. (Senator John Kerry was one of these.)

Jerry Rubin and the Yippie movement had already begun planning a youth festival in Chicago to coincide with the Democratic National Convention in 1968. Students For a Democratic Society and the National Mobilization Committee to End the War in Vietnam, also made their presence known. In the end, 10,000 demonstrators gathered in Chicago for the convention where they were met by 23,000 police and National Guardsmen. And they were all very loud.

The Black Power and Brown Power movements threatened the “Establishment” “The Man.” They were loud. In 1968, at the Olympics in Mexico, the two Black medal winners held their black-gloved fists up during the national anthem.

The older generation and the conservatives by nature became confused and frightened. Society became divided. And is divided still. Libertarians have joined the New Leftists as if in two ends meeting in a circle in their demand for freedom for the individual. For the Libertarians and Constitutionalists, it means too much governmental power. With the world economic crisis, militias and the gun culture is growing…expecting a Mad Max world. Tea Partiers, on the margins, sick of “political correctness” and being made to feel guilty by the demands of the minorities are holding up misspelled signs. Glenn Beck is earning millions on Fox TV. The left has turned to blogs on the web. And they are all loud.

What has all this to do with the American personality? We are demanding freedom of expression and openness…politically and personally. There is a class war developing. Genteel behavior is just a reminder of the stifling 50’s and the superficiality and materialism it spawned. Gentility is also associated in many minds with the stifling cultures that “the Americans” fled in the last couple of centuries. Gentility is not considered very important in the scale of things. Backpacking leftists and tea partiers alike are extolling the “common man” against the monied oligarchy and abuse of governmental power. And they are loud.

Those on the sidelines, either have been greatly influenced by the continuum of popular and political culture eg some people in the south still fly the Confederate flag left over from the Civil War. Or are just not aware…busy making a living and/or raising kids. All these strands are immensely diverse depending on personal histories and the histories and cultures of the regions and states they live in, whether urban or rural, and anyone wanting to get a “feel” for the people would have to at least live there awhile but also travel extensively to see it. I would even go so far as to compare the states in the U.S. to the countries in the EU. Nearly impossible to make very many generalizations except for historical facts.

Whew!