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Day 539 – Letter to America: When Your Grandchildren Ask What Side You Were On, What Will You Tell Them?

Day 539 – Letter to America: When Your Grandchildren Ask What Side You Were On, What Will You Tell Them?

Dear America,

539 days ago, on the first day of his presidency, I wrote a letter to Mr. Trump. In it, I wondered what sort of leader he imagined himself to be and what sort of example he planned to set for the citizens of this country. What, I asked, would he encourage us to hold sacred? What would he teach our children to love about themselves and each other and their world? Would he lead us toward empathy and equality or toward judgment and division?

I’ll be honest: I suspected that we already knew the answers to those questions, and the last eighteen months have borne that suspicion out.  So, as Mr. Trump gets ready to put a second justice on the Supreme Court (thanks to Mitch McConnell for the act of public betrayal he committed in refusing to hold hearings on President Obama’s nominee Merrick Garland), and as he insults our allies in Western Europe and reasserts his bonafides as a “very stable genius,and as he makes misleading statements about trade deficits and NATO spending, and as he mangles sense and sensibility at increasingly desperate “rallies,” I’m no longer wondering what our country’s leader will do.

I’m wondering what we’re going to do.

True, the majority of American voters actually voted against the election of Donald Trump. But that choice was almost two years ago.

What are we going to do now?

What choices are we going to make for our future, for our country’s future, and for our planet’s future?

Despite the evidence of Trump’s presidency, I still believe in the power of government to be a force for good in people’s lives: to foster opportunity and possibility, to educate honestly and equally, and to promote community and to teach hope. I still believe that government can and should shelter those who are homeless, feed those who are hungry, and heal those who are ill — not because people have “earned it” somehow, but simply because they are human.

Likewise, I still believe that we can choose love over fear, inclusion over division, mercy over vengeance, curiosity over ignorance, and grace over the blind worship of wealth and power.

It’s not easy.

It’s never easy.

We’re bombarded daily by propaganda, some of it from Russian trollfarms, much of it by giant corporate interests looking to secure their rule for generations. We’re told by our president that people from “shithole countries” don’t deserve opportunity in America. We’re subjected to public statements from our president claiming that immigrants want to “infest our country.” We’re left staring at massive future debts as a result of tax cuts for the wealthiest Americans and wondering why our country should relax the environmental standards that had helped ensure relatively clean water and clear air for the past several generations.

In the face of this, it’s easy to assume that it’s too late, that the fight is lost, that there’s little to nothing that the hard-working individuals who make up the vast majority of the country can do to right the ship before it sinks.

In the same way, it’s easy to have somebody else make decisions for you, to dole out little bits of entertainment and opportunity, limiting significant freedoms while affording you symbolic ones.

It’s easy to view others as your competition rather than your community, your enemies rather than your brothers and sisters, your burden rather than your responsibility.

It’s easy to want to pull up the ladder behind you once you’ve reached a place of relative security and to credit your success purely to your own hard work rather than a combination of luck, opportunity, talent, effort, and help from others.

It’s easy to choose to simply believe the lies that a xenophobic, corrupt, hypocritical demagogue tells on an almost hourly basis and much more difficult to ask yourself, honestly and critically, what his election (and, perhaps, your vote) might mean both about and for our country.

It might very well be easier to allow America to continue its slide toward fascism and one-party rule than to recognize that slide for what it is and dare to resist it.

It’s always easier to allow what is to continue rather than to fight for what could be.

But when your grandchildren ask you what happened, when they look up at you and wonder what you did to help in these dark hours, what will you tell them?

When they ask which side you were on, what will you tell them?

When they look at photos from 2018, 2019, 2020, where will they find you? Will they find you screaming hate and violence from behind a tiki torch? Will they find you chanting “build that wall” at a mid-western rally? Will they find you glued to a screen, your eyes reflecting Facebook, or Netflix, or Hulu, absorbing much but doing little?

We lionize those who joined the fight against fascism and the deadly racist ideology of the Axis powers during World War II, and we’re proud of those who marched for civil rights across this country, putting their bodies on the line for the belief that America should honor in practice the pledge it made in words in its Declaration of Independence.

Will our grandchildren be as proud of us as we are of our grandparents? Will they tell stories of our bravery? Of our refusal to capitulate to corporate greed, isolationism, and the strange worship of dictators in other countries? Of our insistence that America is great not because of its wealth or its power but because of its commitment to equality and justice?

That’s our choice to make.

It’s not going to be easy. The right thing rarely is.

Let’s honor those who fought before us and those who will follow behind us, the idealistic foundation of our past and the promising opportunity of the future.

We’re better than Trump. We always have been.

This, after all, is the country that acted as the Arsenal of Democracy. This is the country that broke the Soviet Union and inspired people around the world to demand their own democratic rights. This is the country that invented jazz, that produced Franklin Delano Roosevelt and Frederick Douglass, Susan B. Anthony and John Wesley Powell. This is the country that gave us Bob Dylan and Toni Morrison, John Muir and Gary Snyder, Alfred Steiglitz and Georgia O’Keefe, Moby-Dick and A Love Supreme. This is the country that hopes eternal for all that the Rebel Alliance stands for as it beats back the tyranny of the Empire.

This is a country worthy of our love, and it’s also a country worthy of a fight.

Many of us are out there fighting for it already. Let’s join them, with all of our strength, our resolve, and our love. Let’s show our children, our grandchildren, and each other who we are and who we want to be.

Our country deserves nothing less.



Day 537 – One Letter to Go, and Then All Energy Turned Toward November and Ushering In the End of Your Administration. Woot I Say!

Day 537 – One Letter to Go, and Then All Energy Turned Toward November and Ushering In the End of Your Administration. Woot I Say!

Dear DJT,

This will be my last letter to you.  I’ve written before: I’ve implored you to listen to those of us that took to the streets after your inauguration (you do know now that we far exceeded the crowd at your party, yes?), I asked you to actually read and consider the Boy Scout motto, I explained to you the fears I had raising black children in this country, I admonished you not to brag about your intellect in the face of evidence contrary to your claims, I wrote a little holiday poem outlining what the general populace wanted for Christmas; basically, sir, I laid it all out for you. And because my epistles were peppered with fifty cent words, had no pictures to help with reading comprehension, and were not exactly filled with praise and accolades, I know you didn’t read them.

Oh, I know these aren’t the only reasons you haven’t read them; you’re a busy man, what with all the golfing, the various feuds you’ve waged with terminally ill senators, journalists, actors, late night talk show hosts, dictators that you are now besties with, your, and I cannot stress this enough, FORMER political opponent, lawyers, judges, members of your own administration, heads of state of allied nations, various legislators, me as the opposition, football players, basketball players, clergy, La Leche—whew, I know I’m forgetting people here, but you get the point, where was I, oh, yes, your schedule: watching FOX news, talking to comedians, old friends, new friends, and Sean Hannity on your unsecured cell phone, pardoning white nationalists of all stripes, signing executive orders, tweeting, and, I have to assume, maintaining that Cheeto-like hue, all of this, I imagine, is time consuming.  And, sir, I have no illusions that you will read this one, or any of the more than 536 letters that this group of your constituents has been writing since the day you took your oath of office (in front of a tiny crowd).

Sometimes I delude myself into thinking that someone in your service, maybe Jared, or the people in charge of taping together the official documents you are so fond of ripping up and tossing on the floor, are keeping track of them.  Maybe Kellyanne is printing them out between bouts of angry CNN appearances, bundling them up and burying them in the Rose Garden. I know our fearless editor once did take the time to print out the first several months of letters and sent them to you as you settled into your new digs, and she’s been tweeting them at you; we know how you love Twitter and seeing your name, so there’s a chance that you may have come across one or two. But in the end, I rather doubt it.

I have concluded, by your actions, based on accounts of your tender age years, after hearing some of your speeches, upon reading interviews conducted by reputable and not so reputable news outlets, that you don’t really read, listen, or think. You react, you incite, you watch, you gesture, you spout, but nothing resonates with you, nothing alters you, you learn nothing. The only mental device you seem to use is contrivance; you twist everything that you hear or see to fit your narrative.

The fourth estate becomes an enemy of the people until the day a man who sees journalists as you’ve relentlessly described them and kills five innocent people as they work. Then they become heroes, until another journalist dares to continue to do his or her job. “Fake news!” you scream, the tragedy of just 48 hours erased from your conscience.

The FBI, the CIA, even the DOJ are on a “witch hunt,” treating you and your confidants “very unfairly,” until they execute an edict of yours that makes the very act of seeking refuge illegal (it’s not, by the way, ask Jeff when the two of you are alone sometime), and rips babies out of parents arms and into dog runs and office parks and tents in the desert thousands of miles away. Then they are enforcing the law, until another subpoena is issued. Then the very idea of justice is suspect.

You want to “drain the swamp,” and create sound and fury against the “deep state,” the previous administration, your political adversaries, claiming to rid Washington of the corruption that you say has been the bane of every white male’s American citizen existence before you came to town, until your cabinet members spend obscene  amounts of money on things like dining room sets for their offices, huge 24/7 security details, five course dinners for said detail in Rome, and a soundproof booth (what was that anyway?). Then once the sweetheart leasing arrangements, the charter flights of planes and helicopters, and European honeymoons facilitated by military planes, make the news cycle, you express disappointment, until another round robin of conference table praise by these swamp creatures sends you back to your happy place.

If I am completely honest, I’ll admit that I held out a little hope that something that I or my fellow letter writers wrote would reach you, would give you pause, a brief moment to consider our issues, our worries, our outrage, our fear, or even acknowledgement of our disgust. I don’t hold that hope anymore. Each day that you occupy that once revered office adds to my distress as you dismantle and destroy the work my grandparents, parents, my brothers and sisters, and my sons and daughters have done to move America to greatness.  So I will no longer keep my tempest in this teapot. Instead, you will see me among the throngs that resist your racism, your corruption, your move toward tyranny. I’ll be marching. I’ll be shouting. I’ll be supporting the ACLU, Planned Parenthood, The Southern Poverty Law Center, RAICES, and the myriad of candidates poised to win the next two sets of elections. I will call for your resignation. You won’t hear me, but Jared, Kellyanne, do yourselves a favor and get out now while the gettin’s not completely debilitating…



Day 536 – I Guess Asking You to Just Stop Being You Isn’t an Option? No? Sigh.

Day 536 – I Guess Asking You to Just Stop Being You Isn’t an Option? No? Sigh.

Image from Twitter by Mark Bryant

Mr. President,

As I prepared to write my last letter to you, I thought back to your election and why I was so leery of you in the first place. It all comes back to your character. Before we even saw you as our president, we saw who you were as a person. You chalk it up to wanting to cut out the “political correctness” of our culture; I just look at it as moral bankruptcy.

Most recently, you took a sideways dig at our recently deceased former president (whose funeral you didn’t even bother to attend), and then you continued to bash an ailing senator. These actions alone are appalling, but that’s just the top of the list in terms of the totally inappropriate things you’ve said.

I watched a documentary the other evening (Icarus), which was about the performance enhancing drug scandal that plagued Russia. The documentary had some detailed evidence of the Russian state’s involvement in the scandal. Yet, Putin continues to deny his knowledge of any such program. It struck me why you seem to like Putin and want to be in cohort with him: you both put winning and appearances over all else.

I hate to tell you that there is no trophy for being a good President (not that you would be in line for one at this point anyway), nor is there a trophy for being a “1st place” country. I don’t know how you think you can win anything, except the hearts of the people who are so desperate to put themselves and America “first” that they listen to your fear-based attacks.

I can accept a lot from our leaders. Leaders are human beings who make mistakes, but get back up and keep at it. They are not liars, blamers, or easily flustered. At a minimum, they try their best to serve the people they lead. After a year and a half with you as our president, I see you serve only a handful of our citizens. Mostly, I see you serve yourself and your whims. If you have any aspirations to get the mess of a revolving-door White House in order, I suggest you get your own moral compass straightened out first.



Day 531 – Letter to America: Happy 4th of July?

Day 531 – Letter to America: Happy 4th of July?

Image from WHSV

Dear America,

It’s not easy to write a letter for the Fourth of July in 2018. There doesn’t seem to be much to be proud of about our country right now, and the things that appall us now only underline what has always been appalling about us. We are a country that separates children from their families, and we have always been a country that separates children from their families. We are a country where, despite language in our founding documents saying otherwise, human rights hang on a thread and are easily stripped, and we have always been that.

But we are, in small, yet measurable, ways better than we were. What halting progress we have made is because patriots saw the flaws in their country, organized, and pushed to make it better. They saw the potential in our system of government and our unattained ideals to be something great.

This is where we are today. We honor our country by seeing where it falls short and setting our expectations high. Instead of pretending we are the greatest in the world, we acknowledge our faults and strive to do better.

Get organized. Keep fighting. We’re in this for the long haul, but we’re in it together.



Day 528 – Letter to the American People: A Parable of Two Boy Scouts. And a Guy With A Lizard.

Day 528 – Letter to the American People: A Parable of Two Boy Scouts. And a Guy With A Lizard.

Dear friends,

This is a true story.

Two Boy Scouts, both third graders, were volunteering at a park cleanup event. They were weeding the gardens and planting flowers and discussing the many Pokemon players wandering throughout the park. One of the people who caught their attention was a man, in his mid-twenties, with a foot-long lizard clinging to his shirt.

The boys were enthralled.

“Did you see that guy?” they whispered. “See his lizard? Check out that guy with the lizard! I wonder why he’s got a lizard with him in the park!”

One of the boys, the long-haired one, said, “Let’s go check it out! I wanna ask him about the lizard!”

A second boy shook his head adamantly. “No,” he stage-whispered. “No, we can’t go bother him. He’ll get mad. He doesn’t want to be bothered by us.” The rest of the troop held back. No one was willing to take the lead.

The long-haired boy responded, “But the guy literally has a lizard on his shirt. He is walking around the park with a giant lizard. He knows people are going to see him and want to ask questions. He wouldn’t be playing Pokemon with a lizard on his shirt in the park if he didn’t want to be noticed.”

And so the long-haired boy led the way. He went up to the lizard guy. The rest of the troop followed. “Excuse me, sir,” the long-haired boy said, “but can we see your lizard?”

The man smiled. He said, “Sure!” And he proceeded to let the boys pet the lizard while he told them all about it. The boys spent 10 minutes with the lizard guy, learning all about lizards and how to train them and feed them and hold them and exercise them.

When the boys came back to the gardening, they were chattering non-stop about the lizard guy and his lizard. “So cool!” they said. “His lizard’s name is Toothless!”

And an hour later, when they exclaimed that they had found a snake, the lizard guy overheard them. He came back over, helped them pick up the snake, and gave them another 10 minute education on garter snakes and their markings, their mating habits, their lifecycles, and how to help preserve their habitats.

This is a story about two boys, both Boy Scouts, with vastly different world views. How did they grow up to the wise old age of 9 with such different ways to function in the world? The long-haired boy is from a liberal family, raised without organized religion. The other boy is from a very conservative family, raised with strict adherence to religion. But both boys are white, middle class, with highly educated parents. Both boys have been raised with a strict moral code. Both boys have the world at their fingertips, and only need to ask.

Yet, this second boy, the conservative one, has been raised to fear. Fear the stranger. Fear the conversation. Fear the unknown. And his fear has caused him to misread situations and sense danger when none exists. He saw the lizard guy as a potential threat to be avoided. The long-haired boy, curious about everything and raised to see people as generally good and full of knowledge and experience, saw the lizard guy as an ally. An opportunity. A guy just walking his lizard, playing Pokemon in the park on a beautiful summer day.

The parable of the two Boy Scouts should give us pause.

How do we see the world? How do we see others? How do we approach them? When and why do we fear? What can we do to overcome this? And how are we raising our children?

If we live in fear of the unknown, we begin to see each other as dangerous. We avoid conversations. We avoid interactions. We live in our bubble of fear. And because of this, we will never meet the lizard guy and his lizard, Toothless. We will never learn about the garter snake and how they have babies and what they eat for lunch. We will never take the risk to talk to a stranger in the park and learn about his passions.

And we will live our lives shortchanging our own experiences.

Creating our own filter bubbles.


Afraid of the unknown.

Just think about what our lives—and our country—could be like, if we all took the opportunity and made friends with the lizard guy?


Sharon Murchie

And Letters2Trump

Day 527 – Letter to Dems and Independents: Mobilize Your Privilege and Do Something!

Day 527 – Letter to Dems and Independents: Mobilize Your Privilege and Do Something!

Image from USA Today

Dear Democrats and Independents:

July 4th is almost upon us, which calls to mind the Revolutionary War – when the United States reluctantly but decidedly asserted itself as an independent nation and freed itself from all the ways that Britain was, for lack of a better term, abusing us as its colony.  Our uprising was a direct response to how our “parent” country saw us as valuable only for our resources and our markets and was utterly dismissive of our new, American way of looking at freedoms and rights.

Essentially, to use more modern terminology, we got sick and tired of being punked.  And we fought back.

And remember further how we won that war?  The Redcoats came over and lined up in neatly dressed fronts, expecting some sort of gentleman’s warfare — and instead, we hid in the forest and sniped their troops, engaged in guerrilla warfare knowing that, in a fight for freedom from tyranny, there are no holds barred.  All is fair.  The stakes were simply too high for us to be “civil” any longer — especially when the opponent seemed better armed, better organized, and determined to enforce the economic and social rules it alone had developed and imposed upon us without our consent or input.

Fast forward 242 years.  Democrats and Independents, YOU are the American colonialists.  The Republicans, led by King George Trump and Generals McConnell and Ryan, are the British.  They represent a minority of us.  A VAST minority.  And yet, by clinging to the levers of power and outflanking us at every turn, they have entrenched that minority at the engine of power.  They stole a Supreme Court seat from the African American president they still cannot believe bested them — twice.  They have tried to undo all the progress that president accomplished, and are enacting a social system that fits the 1950’s, not 2018, based on the fantasy that moneyed white men will always get the last say in this nation founded by moneyed white men.  They are about to lurch the country even more rightward with another SCOTUS pick — made possible by the retirement of Donald Trump’s personal banker’s father (look it up) — and the very real possibility exists that reproductive rights, women’s fair pay, sexual orientation equality, and a slew of other ways we have tried to institutionalize basic, human rights in this land will be wiped away.  In the VERY near term.

When are YOU going to get tired of being punked?

When are you going to stand up and say that you’re tired of allowing a wealthy sliver of our population to keep pushing you down for their benefit?

Stop worrying about a fair fight.  These guys cheat and play dirty and lie through their teeth at every turn.  And while it is ideal to turn the other cheek and to be the bigger person, to continue to do so now is like lining up in a neat row while the snipers pick us off, one by one.

The gloves have to come off.  Or Donald and Mitch and Paulie keep laughing all the way to the bank (and the Supreme Court and the legislatures and the White House) time after time after time.

Time’s up, I’m afraid.  The revolution, if it’s coming at all, has to begin now.  You know what you can do — join a rally. Make phone calls for progressive candidates. Talk to your friends and neighbors to get them to be political, too.  Donate to your favorite progressive action group.

But for god’s sake, VOTE.

Vote in every election you are eligible to vote in, and do so with research under your belt about which candidates will stand up for the punked majority.

Time to take our fucking country back, pardon my French.  By hook or by crook.

Happy Almost Independence Day.




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