By Michael Hoyt
I gave you life.
I gave you the trees and plants to provide oxygen.
I gave you the animals for food and companionship and transportation.
I gave you the streams and lakes and rivers so you could drink.
I gave you the oceans and the tides and the fish.
I gave you all things.
There were some that knew.
There were some that worshiped the sun and the moon and the animals and water.
There were some that only took from the land what they needed to survive.
Then you developed wealth.
With the wealth came greed.
You put value on the minerals I gave you.
The gold, the diamonds and the blood of the dinosaur.
You put asphalt and concrete on the land.
You cut down the trees and destroyed the vegetation.
You filled the rivers and lakes and oceans with your chemicals.
You ruined the air with the coal and oil.
You made some of the animals I gave you extinct.
And yet, there were still some who cared.
They tried to warn you but you turned a deaf ear.
I too tried to warn you.
I gave you more tornadoes and hurricanes and hotter summers.
I gave you drought and hunger, but still you wouldn’t listen.
In your quest for untold riches you denied global warming.
And still there were some who fought you.
They blocked your whaling ships.
They passed laws to protect the animals and forests.
They passed laws to protect the water and the air.
But still you wouldn’t listen.
Now it is too late.
I am Mother Earth.
You are killing me.
And when I die, you die.
Dear Mr. Romney,
So you think you want to identify with the poor and middle class yet you think you can say disparaging things about them in private and they will never find out. Didn’t work that way, did it.You need to walk a few miles in their shoes before you can even come close.
First I should give you a little background on myself.
When I was in third grade my parents developed a disease. Oh, it’s probably not something you would call a disease but it was a disease none the less. You see, my parents became alcoholics. You would probably just call them a couple of drunks.
My dad sold the nice farm we lived on and we moved to California into a shack. There was a my mom and Dad, my older sister, me and my younger brother. A picture of that shack is below.
Dad only drank beer on weekdays but when the weekend came he would buy whiskey and him and Mom would spend Friday night and Saturday drunk and Sunday sobering up so dad could go to work in the saw mill on Monday.
By the time I got to third grade I thought things would get better. We moved back to Oregon. Did we get to live in a nice house? Dad bought a little 15 foot trailer and found a place to park it where it couldn’t be seen from the road and thats where we lived. By this time my sister no longer lived with us, having moved to Eugene. Here is a picture of that house.
This picture isn’t very clear because it’s old and didn’t scan very well. That’s my brother and my nephew in the doorway. This house was loads of fun. There was a creek about 50 feet from that doorway that served as our drinking water, bath tub, and toilet. Lots of fun. Things didn’t really get better until I graduated from high school and went to work.There’s one more thing, poor people in the large cities have it much worse than I did.
By now you probably are saying to yourself, “He’s just feeling sorry for himself.” NO SIR! I’m feeling sorry for you. You see- when you were in high school learning to chase down boys you thought were gay and cut their hair off. I was learning compassion. When you were deciding the poor were a bunch of moochers, I was deciding that if ever I could I would help those less fortunate. When you were hiding in France to avoid the draft I tried to join the army but was rejected because of a bad ear. NO SIR. I’m not feeling sorry for myself, for you will never know the joy of seeing a little boys face light up because you take time to just sit and talk to them. You’ll never see the smile of a homeless man that you’ve taken into a restaurant and bought him what is probably the first meal that didn’t come from the garbage in a long time. You’ll never feel the gratitude of the homeless family that you have helped find shelter at least for a while.
I’m retired now and still on your moochers list and proud of it. There is no way you will ever identify with any of us moochers.
A Proud Moocher.
I need to start this blog by explaining a little about myself. I grew up in a small town on the coast of Oregon, Gold Beach. With a population of only 1600 , counting dogs, we never had the problems of the big city. We didn’t worry about child molesters or getting mugged or kidnapped or drugs. Our only restriction was that on school nights we had to be in when the street lights came on and on weekends the city had a 10:00 o’clock curfew that we had to abide by unless we went to a movie that kept us out later and then the police (all two of them) were there to make sure we went straight home.
It wasn’t until I moved to Eugene in 1964 and went to work for Southern Pacific Railroad that I began to learn about these things. The civil rights movement was in full swing and I couldn’t figure out what all the fuss was about. I hadn’t seen any of the prejudice and I found it hard to believe that people were that way. After all, wasn’t this America and wasn’t everybody created equal in the eyes of the law.
I admit that I fell into the trap and said and did some things I shouldn’t have and the “N” word became part of my vocabulary. I realize now that I did these things not because I really believed it but because I didn’t have the courage of my convictions.I wanted to fit in.
The seventies came along and I again fell into the trap. This time it was the Vietnam war protests. Those dirty smelly rotten hippies why don’t they get a job? People fled to Canada and gave up their American citizenship to avoid the draft and Mohamed Ali and others claimed conscientious objector status and I figured they were cowards or traitors or anything but good Americans. I got my draft notice in “67” and would have gone. I was (and still am) deaf in one ear and was reclassified as 1-Y. I figured I had an excuse but these others had none.
What struck me most about these two time periods was the violence. I remember M.L.K talking peace but most places they marched was violence and the 70’s demonstrations were marred with violence and the media portrayed it as the demonstrators or marchers starting it.
I’ve come a long way since those days. I now know that it wasn’t the demonstrators who instigated the violence but the police. Wherever the marchers went they were met by police in full riot gear who used billy clubs and tear gas and fire hoses to break them up. And then there was Kent State and the cops got over excited and started shooting.
I’ve thought a lot about those days. I look at the occupy movement and the 99% and I see history repeating itself once again.
My conclusion in all of this is that this is not and never has been a truly free country. The people are free only as long as they do what the ruling class wants them to do. The Oligarchs and the plutocrats and wall street and big banks, if you stay in line they are perfectly happy but if you step forward and protest and let them know this isn’t the way–well–you scare them and they react the only way they know how, with fear, intimidation and violence.
Yes, Ive come a long way. I now believe that all people should have the same opportunities regardless of race, sex, creed, national origin or sexual preference, for we are all the same raceand that is the human race.