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Here, morning, noon, and evening, my mother came to draw water from the muddy stream for our household use. Having gone many paces ahead I stopped, panting for breath, and laughing with glee as my mother watched my every movement.
Returning from the river, I tugged beside my mother, with my hand upon the bucket I believed I was carrying.
I looked up into my mother's face while she spoke; and seeing her bite her lips, I knew she was unhappy.
Setting the pail of water on the ground, my mother stooped, and stretching her left hand out on the level with my eyes, she placed her other arm about me; she pointed to the hill where my uncle and my only sister lay buried. Though I heard many strange experiences related by these wayfarers, I loved best the evening meal, for that was the time old legends were told.
At the arrival of our guests I sat close to my mother, and did not leave her side without first asking her consent. As each in turn began to tell a legend, I pillowed my head in my mother's lap; and lying flat upon my back, I watched the stars as they peeped down upon me, one by one.
The distant howling of a pack of wolves or the hooting of an owl in the river bottom frightened me, and I nestled into my mother's lap.
On such an evening, I remember the glare of the fire shone on a tattooed star upon the brow of the old warrior who was telling a story. After the warrior's story was finished, I asked the old woman the meaning of the blue lines on her chin, looking all the while out of the corners of my eyes at the warrior with the star on his forehead. It was a long story of a woman whose magic power lay hidden behind the marks upon her face. Untying the long tasseled strings that bound a small brown buckskin bag, my mother spread upon a mat beside her bunches of colored beads, just as an artist arranges the paints upon his palette. Close beside my mother I sat on a rug, with a scrap of buckskin in one hand and an awl in the other. It took many trials before I learned how to knot my sinew thread on the point of my finger, as I saw her do. Always after these confining lessons I was wild with surplus spirits, and found joyous relief in running loose in the open again.
I remember well how we used to exchange our necklaces, beaded belts, and sometimes even our moccasins. While one was telling of some heroic deed recently done by a near relative, the rest of us listened attentively, and exclaimed in undertones, "Han! No matter how exciting a tale we might be rehearsing, the mere shifting of a cloud shadow in the landscape near by was sufficient to change our impulses; and soon we were all chasing the great shadows that played among the hills. On one occasion I forgot the cloud shadow in a strange notion to catch up with my own shadow. Before this peculiar experience I have no distinct memory of having recognized any vital bond between myself and my own shadow.
One summer afternoon my mother left me alone in our wigwam while she went across the way to my aunt's dwelling. I did not much like to stay alone in our tepee for I feared a tall, broad-shouldered crazy man, some forty years old, who walked loose among the hills. I felt so sorry for the man in his misfortune that I prayed to the Great Spirit to restore him. Thus, when my mother left me by myself that afternoon I sat in a fearful mood within our tepee. Just then, from without a hand lifted the canvas covering of the entrance; the shadow of a man fell within the wigwam, and a large roughly moccasined foot was planted inside. For a moment I did not dare to breathe or stir, for I thought that could be no other than Wiyaka-Napbina. In front of the wigwam a great fire was built, and several large black kettles of venison were suspended over it. Young girls, with their faces glowing like bright red autumn leaves, their glossy braids falling over each ear, sat coquettishly beside their chaperons. Haraka Wambdi was a strong young brave, who had just returned from his first battle, a warrior.
Holding my pretty striped blanket in readiness to throw over my shoulders, I grew more and more restless as I watched the gay throng assembling.
Having once seen the suffering on the thin, pinched features of this dying woman, I felt a momentary shame that I had not remembered her before.
Eyeing the forbidden fruit, I trod lightly on the sacred ground, and dared to speak only in whispers until we had gone many paces from it.
The lasting impression of that day, as I recall it now, is what my mother told me about the dead man's plum bush. In the busy autumn days my cousin Warca-Ziwin's mother came to our wigwam to help my mother preserve foods for our winter use. Ever since I knew her she wore a string of large blue beads around her neck,a€”beads that were precious because my uncle had given them to her when she was a younger woman. I loved my aunt threefold: for her hearty laughter, for the cheerfulness she caused my mother, and most of all for the times she dried my tears and held me in her lap, when my mother had reproved me.
Early in the cool mornings, just as the yellow rim of the sun rose above the hills, we were up and eating our breakfast. As I frolicked about our dwelling I used to stop suddenly, and with a fearful awe watch the smoking of the unknown fires. From a field in the fertile river bottom my mother and aunt gathered an abundant supply of corn.
There was a little stranger with a black-and-yellow-striped coat that used to come to the drying corn. When mother had dried all the corn she wished, then she sliced great pumpkins into thin rings; and these she doubled and linked together into long chains. From that day on, for many a moon, I believed that glass marbles had river ice inside of them.
Thus my mother discouraged my curiosity about the lands beyond our eastern horizon; for it was not yet an ambition for Letters that was stirring me. Wrapped in my heavy blanket, I walked with my mother to the carriage that was soon to take us to the iron horse. There were eight in our party of bronzed children who were going East with the missionaries. We had been very impatient to start on our journey to the Red Apple Country, which, we were told, lay a little beyond the great circular horizon of the Western prairie.
On the train, fair women, with tottering babies on each arm, stopped their haste and scrutinized the children of absent mothers. I sat perfectly still, with my eyes downcast, daring only now and then to shoot long glances around me. In this way I had forgotten my uncomfortable surroundings, when I heard one of my comrades call out my name. Though we rode several days inside of the iron horse, I do not recall a single thing about our luncheons.
From the table we were taken along an upward incline of wooden boxes, which I learned afterward to call a stairway.
I had arrived in the wonderful land of rosy skies, but I was not happy, as I had thought I should be.
The first day in the land of apples was a bitter-cold one; for the snow still covered the ground, and the trees were bare. From my hiding place I peered out, shuddering with fear whenever I heard footsteps near by. I cried aloud, shaking my head all the while until I felt the cold blades of the scissors against my neck, and heard them gnaw off one of my thick braids.
This time the woman meant her blows to smart, for the poor frightened girl shrieked at the top of her voice. With this the woman hid away her half-worn slipper, and led the child out, stroking her black shorn head.
During the first two or three seasons misunderstandings as ridiculous as this one of the snow episode frequently took place, bringing unjustifiable frights and punishments into our little lives.
As I sat eating my dinner, and saw that no turnips were served, I whooped in my heart for having once asserted the rebellion within me.
If you listen to Donald Trump and his legions of supporters—a task you undertake at your own peril—you will inevitably hear about hordes of invading Mexicans arriving in the United States daily, and the border wall the billionaire presidential candidate has proposed to keep them out.
The brilliant Andrew Bacevich explains why our massive march to folly in Middle East has to be seen as one war. I first interviewed Andrew Bacevich, the soldier turned scholar, after he spoke at the Hope Club, an old-line gents’ establishment in Providence, Rhode Island. After countless hours of research on and about this breed, here is my version of how this wonderful breed came to be.In the early 1800a€™s Scotsman Bruce McKinsey moved his family moved from the cold damp climates of Northern Scotland to the Grampian Hills of Central Scotland. A footpath wound its way gently down the sloping land till it reached the broad river bottom; creeping through the long swamp grasses that bent over it on either side, it came out on the edge of the Missouri. Loosely clad in a slip of brown buckskin, and light-footed with a pair of soft moccasins on my feet, I was as free as the wind that blew my hair, and no less spirited than a bounding deer.
At the farthest point of the shade my mother sat beside her fire, toasting a savory piece of dried meat. At noon, several who chanced to be passing by stopped to rest, and to share our luncheon with us, for they were sure of our hospitality. His name was on the lips of old men when talking of the proud feats of valor; and it was mentioned by younger men, too, in connection with deeds of gallantry. I was always glad when the sun hung low in the west, for then my mother sent me to invite the neighboring old men and women to eat supper with us. Rising at once and carrying their blankets across one shoulder, they flocked leisurely from their various wigwams toward our dwelling.
All out of breath, I told my mother almost the exact words of the answers to my invitation. I ate my supper in quiet, listening patiently to the talk of the old people, wishing all the time that they would begin the stories I loved best.
The increasing interest of the tale aroused me, and I sat up eagerly listening to every word. She added some dry sticks to the open fire, and the bright flames leaped up into the faces of the old folks as they sat around in a great circle. Wherever I saw one I glanced furtively at the mark and round about it, wondering what terrible magic power was covered there. On a bright, clear day, she pulled out the wooden pegs that pinned the skirt of our wigwam to the ground, and rolled the canvas part way up on its frame of slender poles. On a lapboard she smoothed out a double sheet of soft white buckskin; and drawing from a beaded case that hung on the left of her wide belt a long, narrow blade, she trimmed the buckskin into shape. Then the next difficulty was in keeping my thread stiffly twisted, so that I could easily string my beads upon it. I was pleased with an outline of yellow upon a background of dark blue, or a combination of red and myrtle-green. Many a summer afternoon a party of four or five of my playmates roamed over the hills with me.
We shouted and whooped in the chase; laughing and calling to one another, we were like little sportive nymphs on that Dakota sea of rolling green. Wiyaka-Napbina (Wearer of a Feather Necklace) was harmless, and whenever he came into a wigwam he was driven there by extreme hunger.
But though I pitied him at a distance, I was still afraid of him when he appeared near our wigwam. I recalled all I had ever heard about Wiyaka-Napbina; and I tried to assure myself that though he might pass near by, he would not come to our wigwam because there was no little girl around our grounds. I set the pot on a heap of cold ashes in the centre, and filled it half full of warm Missouri River water. But neither she nor the warrior, whom the law of our custom had compelled to partake of my insipid hospitality, said anything to embarrass me. With painted faces, and wearing broad white bosoms of elk's teeth, they hurried down the narrow footpath to Haraka Wambdi's wigwam.
It was a custom for young Indian women to invite some older relative to escort them to the public feasts. His near relatives, to celebrate his new rank, were spreading a feast to which the whole of the Indian village was invited.
She had a peculiar swing in her gait, caused by a long stride rarely natural to so slight a figure. We awoke so early that we saw the sacred hour when a misty smoke hung over a pit surrounded by an impassable sinking mire.
While the vapor was visible I was afraid to go very far from our wigwam unless I went with my mother. Near our tepee they spread a large canvas upon the grass, and dried their sweet corn in it.
It was a little ground squirrel, who was so fearless of me that he came to one corner of the canvas and carried away as much of the sweet corn as he could hold. But chiefest among my early recollections of autumn is that one of the corn drying and the ground squirrel. They were from that class of white men who wore big hats and carried large hearts, they said. Your brother said the missionaries had inquired about his little sister," she said, watching my face very closely. The missionaries waited in silence; and my eyes began to blur with tears, though I struggled to choke them back. Alone with my mother, I yielded to my tears, and cried aloud, shaking my head so as not to hear what she was saying to me. Before I went to bed I begged the Great Spirit to make my mother willing I should go with the missionaries. Under a sky of rosy apples we dreamt of roaming as freely and happily as we had chased the cloud shadows on the Dakota plains. Large men, with heavy bundles in their hands, halted near by, and riveted their glassy blue eyes upon us. Directly in front of me, children who were no larger than I hung themselves upon the backs of their seats, with their bold white faces toward me.
Chancing to turn to the window at my side, I was quite breathless upon seeing one familiar object. The lights from the windows of the large buildings fell upon some of the icicled trees that stood beneath them.
A large bell rang for breakfast, its loud metallic voice crashing through the belfry overhead and into our sensitive ears.
I crept up the stairs as quietly as I could in my squeaking shoes,a€”my moccasins had been exchanged for shoes. As soon as I comprehended a part of what was said and done, a mischievous spirit of revenge possessed me.
He oh-so-presidentially hangs up on people who ask them and pretends not to be there when the inquirer calls back to restart the conversation.Faced with pretty damning proof that in the past the bizarrely egomaniacal and yet strangely insecure psychopath who is the presumptive Republican nominee has posed as his own publicist and phoned reporters to urge them to write flattering stories about him, Trump did what he perhaps does best.
That evening he outlined a dozen or so “theses,” as he called them in honor of the 95 Luther is said to have nailed to the door of the Wittenberg Castle Church in 1517. It was as if I were the activity, and my hands and feet were only experiments for my spirit to work upon. My grown-up cousin, Warca-Ziwin (Sunflower), who was then seventeen, always went to the river alone for water for her mother. We traveled many days and nights; not in the grand, happy way that we moved camp when I was a little girl, but we were driven, my child, driven like a herd of buffalo.
Near her, I sat upon my feet, eating my dried meat with unleavened bread, and drinking strong black coffee.
Old women praised him for his kindness toward them; young women held him up as an ideal to their sweethearts. The old women made funny remarks, and laughed so heartily that I could not help joining them. Then the cool morning breezes swept freely through our dwelling, now and then wafting the perfume of sweet grasses from newly burnt prairie. From a skein of finely twisted threads of silvery sinews my mother pulled out a single one.
My original designs were not always symmetrical nor sufficiently characteristic, two faults with which my mother had little patience. We each carried a light sharpened rod about four feet long, with which we pried up certain sweet roots.
When, with the greatest care, I set my foot in advance of myself, my shadow crept onward too.
He was overtaken by a malicious spirit among the hills, one day, when he went hither and thither after his ponies.
Behind them some of the braves stood leaning against the necks of their ponies, their tall figures draped in loose robes which were well drawn over their eyes. I grew sober with awe, and was alert to hear a long-drawn-out whistle rise from the roots of it. It was during my aunt's visit with us that my mother forgot her accustomed quietness, often laughing heartily at some of my aunt's witty remarks.
This strange smoke appeared every morning, both winter and summer; but most visibly in midwinter it rose immediately above the marshy spot. I wanted very much to catch him and rub his pretty fur back, but my mother said he would be so frightened if I caught him that he would bite my fingers.
Running direct to my mother, I began to question her why these two strangers were among us. First it was a change from the buffalo skin to the white man's canvas that covered our wigwam.


I had never tasted more than a dozen red apples in my life; and when I heard of the orchards of the East, I was eager to roam among them. This was the first time I had ever been so unwilling to give up my own desire that I refused to hearken to my mother's voice.
I looked at it in amazement, and with a vague misgiving, for in our village I had never seen so large a house. We had anticipated much pleasure from a ride on the iron horse, but the throngs of staring palefaces disturbed and troubled us.
Sometimes they took their forefingers out of their mouths and pointed at my moccasined feet. We were led toward an open door, where the brightness of the lights within flooded out over the heads of the excited palefaces who blocked our way. The noisy hurrying of hard shoes upon a bare wooden floor increased the whirring in my ears. One morning we learned through her ears that we were forbidden to fall lengthwise in the snow, as we had been doing, to see our own impressions. Her words fell from her lips like crackling embers, and her inflection ran up like the small end of a switch. Because right now, for the first time since the 1940s, more Mexicans are actually leaving the United States than are arriving.
But what happens to the data?“The missing element--call it administrative, if you will—has been the mindset of accountability, one that says we are serious about dealing with the bad officers, and also helping officers who appear to be going off track and need help getting back on track,” Walker says.
After spending time together working the sheep in the fields and watching how McKinseya€™s dogs worked the livestock, Alexander eventually acquired a female Scottish Colley from Bruce and named her Flora. Often she was sad and silent, at which times her full arched lips were compressed into hard and bitter lines, and shadows fell under her black eyes. With every step, your sister, who was not as large as you are now, shrieked with the painful jar until she was hoarse with crying.
The quietness of her oversight made me feel strongly responsible and dependent upon my own judgment.
When I became a little familiar with designing and the various pleasing combinations of color, a harder lesson was given me. When we had eaten all the choice roots we chanced upon, we shouldered our rods and strayed off into patches of a stalky plant under whose yellow blossoms we found little crystal drops of gum. As the discourse became more thrilling, according to our ideas, we raised our voices in these interjections. In one tawny arm he used to carry a heavy bunch of wild sunflowers that he gathered in his aimless ramblings.
I was brave when my mother was near by, and Wiyaka-Napbina walking farther and farther away.
They overtook and passed by the bent old grandmothers who were trudging along with crooked canes toward the centre of excitement. Though I had never heard with my own ears this strange whistle of departed spirits, yet I had listened so frequently to hear the old folks describe it that I knew I should recognize it at once. By the time the full face of the sun appeared above the eastern horizon, the smoke vanished. Walking with my mother to the river, on a late winter day, we found great chunks of ice piled all along the bank. She told me, after I had teased much, that they had come to take away Indian boys and girls to the East. Now she had given up her wigwam of slender poles, to live, a foreigner, in a home of clumsy logs. We showed one another our new beaded moccasins, and the width of the belts that girdled our new dresses. Trembling with fear and distrust of the palefaces, my teeth chattering from the chilly ride, I crept noiselessly in my soft moccasins along the narrow hall, keeping very close to the bare wall. Their mothers, instead of reproving such rude curiosity, looked closely at me, and attracted their children's further notice to my blanket. Very near my mother's dwelling, along the edge of a road thickly bordered with wild sunflowers, some poles like these had been planted by white men. My tears were left to dry themselves in streaks, because neither my aunt nor my mother was near to wipe them away. The constant clash of harsh noises, with an undercurrent of many voices murmuring an unknown tongue, made a bedlam within which I was securely tied. Our mothers had taught us that only unskilled warriors who were captured had their hair shingled by the enemy.
However, before many hours we had forgotten the order, and were having great sport in the snow, when a shrill voice called us.
It was a powerful presentation, and we met again in a Boston restaurant to talk shortly thereafter. Thus it happened that even strangers were sure of welcome in our lodge, if they but asked a favor in my uncle's name.
It was not any fear that made me so dumb when out upon such a happy errand; nor was it that I wished to withhold the invitation, for it was all I could do to observe this very proper silence. Picking up the tiny beads one by one, she strung them with the point of her thread, always twisting it carefully after every stitch. Soon I learned from self-inflicted punishment to refrain from drawing complex patterns, for I had to finish whatever I began. She treated me as a dignified little individual as long as I was on my good behavior; and how humiliated I was when some boldness of mine drew forth a rebuke from her! It was the sewing on, instead of beads, some tinted porcupine quills, moistened and flattened between the nails of the thumb and forefinger.
Drop by drop we gathered this nature's rock-candy, until each of us could boast of a lump the size of a small bird's egg. In these impersonations our parents were led to say only those things that were in common favor.
His black hair was matted by the winds, and scorched into a dry red by the constant summer sun. Turning soon to the coffeepot, which would never have boiled on a dead fire had I waited forever, I poured out a cup of worse than muddy warm water. Even very old men, who had known this country the longest, said that the smoke from this pit had never failed a single day to rise heavenward. I braided their soft fine silk for hair, and gave them blankets as various as the scraps I found in my mother's workbag.
It was another, a young interpreter, a paleface who had a smattering of the Indian language.
Often I had stopped, on my way down the road, to hold my ear against the pole, and, hearing its low moaning, I used to wonder what the paleface had done to hurt it.
As I was wondering in which direction to escape from all this confusion, two warm hands grasped me firmly, and in the same moment I was tossed high in midair.
I was tucked into bed with one of the tall girls, because she talked to me in my mother tongue and seemed to soothe me.
As I walked noiselessly in my soft moccasins, I felt like sinking to the floor, for my blanket had been stripped from my shoulders. Ran. The incident does seem to have resolved the question of who might be White House press secretary in the horrifying event Trump wins the presidency. But it was a sensing of the atmosphere, to assure myself that I should not hinder other plans. Soon satiated with its woody flavor, we tossed away our gum, to return again to the sweet roots. In the lap of the prairie we seated ourselves upon our feet, and leaning our painted cheeks in the palms of our hands, we rested our elbows on our knees, and bent forward as old women were most accustomed to do.
As he took great strides, placing one brown bare foot directly in front of the other, he swung his long lean arm to and fro.
Carrying the bowl in one hand and cup in the other, I handed the light luncheon to the old warrior.
Some evenings I have seen him creeping about our grounds; and when I gave a sudden whoop of recognition he ran quickly out of sight.
As I stood beside one large block, I noticed for the first time the colors of the rainbow in the crystal ice. But in a day or two, I gleaned many wonderful stories from my playfellows concerning the strangers. When I saw the lonely figure of my mother vanish in the distance, a sense of regret settled heavily upon me. I looked hard at the Indian girls, who seemed not to care that they were even more immodestly dressed than I, in their tightly fitting clothes. Thankful that no one was there, I directed my steps toward the corner farthest from the door.
The Orlando Sentinel’s Focus on Force project last November found that five percent of that city’s police officers accounted for a quarter of the cases where force was used against citizens.
And as impressive as his synopsis of its themes was last year, the “dissident colonel,” as I like to call him, did not do this account anything close to justice.
Faster and faster I ran, setting my teeth and clenching my fists, determined to overtake my own fleet shadow. It is the first book to explain the Middle Eastern wars we have lived with for 36 years now as one unbroken conflict with many theaters. For this reason, my mother said, I should not do much alone in quills until I was as tall as my cousin Warca-Ziwin. With my bare fingers I tried to pick out some of the colors, for they seemed so near the surface. I stared into her eyes, wishing her to let me stand on my own feet, but she jumped me up and down with increasing enthusiasm.
Not a soul reasoned quietly with me, as my own mother used to do; for now I was only one of many little animals driven by a herder. THESE VERY SAME ENFORCEMENT AGENCIES, WHO HAVE SWORN TO PROTECT AND SERVE, OUR COUNTRY, AND CITIZENS ,ARE BUT SOME, OF THE CORRUPT,GREEDY TRAITORS .ENGAGED IN THE TYRANNY AND TORTURE. It'll be such fun!Amazingly, this was not even the craziest or most disqualifying thing emerging from the Trump camp this week. It'll be such fun!Amazingly, this was not even the craziest or most disqualifying thing emerging from the Trump camp this week. And it is scholarship of the best kind—carefully researched and referenced, but written with unscholarly grace—to put the point bluntly—and perfectly accessible to the intelligent general reader. But my fingers began to sting with the intense cold, and I had to bite them hard to keep from crying. I stood upon a step, and, grasping the handle with both hands, I bent in hot rage over the turnips. I felt triumphant in my revenge, though deep within me I was a wee bit sorry to have broken the jar. There was his beloved virulently racist Mar-a-Lago butler who is fond of calling for Obama’s assassination, and the disgraceful statement that Trump’s repeated call for an official ban on Muslim immigration to the U.S. You put it down thinking, “I understand a great deal more than I did when I started reading this.”I drove to Boston last month to interview Bacevich again. Pew cites sluggish Great Recession economic recovery, and correlating shrinkage in unskilled labor market, as a demotivating factor for Mexican migration and a possible reason why some migrants have returned home.
When I arrived he was delivering a lecture to a gathering of faculty and students at the University of Massachusetts, Boston. Now the first step, parting me from my mother, was taken, and all my belated tears availed nothing.
Supposing this act meant they were to be seated, I pulled out mine and at once slipped into it from one side. But when I turned my head, I saw that I was the only one seated, and all the rest at our table remained standing.
This will not be his last book, he hinted, but it may be his last on the topics he has addressed in his others to date.
Just as I began to rise, looking shyly around to see how chairs were to be used, a second bell was sounded. I renewed my energy; and as I sent the masher into the bottom of the jar, I felt a satisfying sensation that the weight of my body had gone into it.
In 2000, 1.6 million Mexican nationals trying to enter the country were apprehended at the border. Different words, same sentiments.For this serious and subtle grasp of current and recent events, as well as many similar statements, Mr. These include “American Empire” (2002) “The New American Militarism (2005), “The Limits of Power (2008) and “Washington Rules” (2010).It was interesting to hear Bacevich talk through the new book again, this time post-publication. He’s a political animal and needs police union support to get reelected.“Mayors hate this kind of shit. There isna€™t any information as to the demise of Alexander, but he was well into his 80's at this time. Post-Great Recession America is a place fewer Mexican migrants are willing to undertake the journey to reach.With decreasing belief in the accessibility of the American Dream, an increasing number of Mexican citizens are less convinced the grass to the north is greener.
So even if a chief wants to get rid of somebody, the political climate often will prevent them from doing that,” he says.Gilbertson predicts that unions will continue to be a bulwark against termination of bad-seed cops, even if innovative early-intervention systems take root. Whatever backtracking Trump tries to do in the coming months, he seems unlikely to disavow his years of racist birtherism, questioning everything from Obama’s nationality to his Harvard credentials to his patriotism. This is, perhaps, based on more widespread knowledge of the difficult lives migrants encounter, as relayed by nearly four generations of Mexican immigrants.
During the Q & A afterward, he contended with one LaRouche adherent and one member of the Revolutionary Communist Party USA, whose questions were not quite questions so much as vehemently delivered challenges. And he still has many friends, allies and advisers who share the butler’s views and worse.So you have to wonder, what exactly did the butler do wrong, anyway?2. I was struck by the courtesy and aplomb with which Bacevich responded—qualities I had seen in him when we met in Providence.Afterward, we crossed a corner of the campus to the JFK Presidential Library, which sits on a rise overlooking Boston harbor. Two of the most despicable people in the world join odd forces.We are talking about George Zimmerman, proud and unrepentant killer of teenaged Trayvon Martin, and pharma nightmare bro Martin Shkreli. The spring wind out the building’s sea-facing wall of glass was brisk; gulls and geese wheeled just above the white caps as we spoke. Social isolation, alienation and loneliness—and encounters with xenophobia and racism, which have crept up since these surveys were conducted—can take a toll not always or fully remedied by money earned through backbreaking labor. Maybe that explains why a 2014 Mexican Survey of Demographic Dynamics cited by Pew found 61 percent of migrants said their primary reason for returning home was to reconnect with family.
As Bacevich was generous with his time and never other than interesting, I have broken the interview into two parts.This is the first. The transcript was expertly produced by Salon’s Michael Conway Garofalo, who has my gratitude.You’ve written a remarkable book. This pup would come to be known as "Jet", a black pup with a faint line of white up his face, a white chest and socks. Palantir is a data-analysis vendor for the LAPD, a consortium of Salt Lake City-area police departments, and a number of federal law enforcement agencies, among many others.One of Selby’s software products, StreetCred Clarity, analyzes patrol officers’ behavior and performance based upon numerous data points. It’s original in treating the Middle East and surrounding regions as unitary in American strategic thinking since 1980. The information might be used to red-flag a cop who stops an inordinate percentage of minorities—or, more pertinently, whose traffic citations written against African-American motorists are frequently dismissed in court.“You see patterns in the data, and then you look for mitigation or amplifications,” Selby says.
Yet you’ve done nothing more than examine readily available facts and records with the proper degree of intellectual detachment. There might be a reasonable explanation–if the officer works in a predominantly black neighborhood, for example.“Or,” Selby adds, “it could just be that the cop’s a racist.”Good Cop, Bad CopWhat traits make a person a good cop?
Some research suggests that an agreeable, extroverted, emotionally stable, conscientious and open-minded man or woman are best-suited to the job. Of course, Trump’s spokeswoman Katrina Pierson said something totally unhinged.Much like her boss, Katrina Pierson will literally say anything even if that thing directly contradicts something she just said, or even something contained in the same sentence. One of the aims of the book is to persuade Americans, persuade readers, that to consider U.S. Both theseA lines worked from the head and didn't have the a€?loose eyeda€? working style of the traditional Collies.If you look at the picture of the Basque Sheepherder, taken at the turn of the century, you can see the resemblance of our modern day McNab in the Black and white dog in the back on the right side.
They include:·      An anomalous number of uses of some type of force, typically more than one every two months·      An abnormal number of citizen complaints·      Abuse of sick leave·      A pattern of automobile accidents·      Relationship issues, including divorce·      Financial problems Gilbertson has identified two other predictive factors that he says crop up frequently in his expert witness casework. It’s a problem in our politics to focus on the most recent episode, the ongoing episode, and to ignore everything that came before.There’s no past in Washington.
He says an inordinate number of Washington State officers cited in use-of-force complaints participate in mixed martial arts or Muay Thai, a similar combat sport.
Last year, law enforcers in Bakersfield, Calif., killed more people per-capita than any other American locale, at nearly four times the national average. But introducing historical perspective in these matters is like crashing a black mass with a crucifix, and I imagine your scholarly colleagues—those not ruined by ideology—approve.
A Pew survey released earlier this year found a staggering “84 percent of Republican and Republican-leaning registered voters who support Trump for the GOP nomination favor building a border wall.” Among Republican voters in general, 63 percent back the proposition. But what about your old army buddies and policy people on the inside?All my old army buddies are long retired. Just 13 percent of Democrats think this the wall is a good idea, while 84 percent are opposed to it. And I have very, very few contacts in the active-duty force, in terms of personal connections.
That’s closer in alignment with the feelings of Americans overall, 62 percent of whom say they are against the wall.Amidst all the facts that should be emphasized in any sane conversation about Trump’s border wall, the standout is that there’s no way it will ever be built. That said, I am encouraged by the number of emails I get from younger officers, people I’ve never met, who have now read this book or previous books or articles and express general support. The wall that Trump has not yet called “the sexiest thing to happen to border reinforcements” (give it a week) is really a make-up illusion to send his base into a frenzy; a fetish object fantasy for the white, angry, racist, “poorly educated” voters he claims to love so much. IntransigenceScientists, cops and advocates agree that data-gazing will lead to increased restraint and accountability only if law enforcement intransigence can be overcome.“I don’t buy it,” Gilbertson tells me. My point here is that—and maybe this is wishful thinking on my part—I do sense there is something of an awakening in the officer corps, an awareness of how badly wrong we’ve gone.


Between labor, cost, violations of the law and sheer uselessness, it’s obvious that Trump’s money pit will never become a reality.Donald Trump may be a fool, but he’s not an idiot, and he knows all this. Have no fear, Rush Limbaugh is still completely awful.Trump may be the busy little backtracker, but certain things remain constant and reliable, Rush Limbaugh's awfulness a prime example. The issue of which bathroom transgender people should use has gotten all the hatemongers riled up lately, and though he no longer exactly leads his flock as he did in his heyday, Limbaugh is still in there fighting to say the stupidest, most outrageous thing.On his show Friday, Limbaugh demonstrated his subtle grasp of the issues when he ranted that we might as well legalize rape since bathrooms are no longer just for one gender or the other. Because he knows his followers don’t really care what he actually does, as long as he tells them what they want to hear, thereby justifying all the terrible things they, and plenty of Americans, think. This is about what a police agency does or does not do with the information it has.”“Police departments need to be willing to seriously take a look at themselves critically, and it’s all too rare that they have been willing to do that,” says Asher. It was vintage Rush stuff when he told a caller concerned that his wife and daughter might be victimized in the bathroom by someone not living the gender they were born with: "Civil rights," Rush scoffed. Among Scottish flocks he is the pride of Scottish owners, and is valued, both in the Old World and the New, as one of the best aids money can procure. Here even, in far California, there is one ranch, lying high on the breezy mountains and low in the grassy dells, that for years has relied upon the help given by imported collies and their offspring, and it is of the work these bright dogs do that this article is written.For the history of the collie one must look elsewhere than in a brief magazine sketch.
The daughter of a friend was at the Kennedy School [of Government, at Harvard] studying international relations, no mean accomplishment getting in. Many wise dogs have journeyed far by land and sea to race over the rugged hills after the nimble sheep, which in these mountain wilds give fleet defiance to the would-be-gatherer.
No one but a real Scotch shepherd can train these dogs to the perfection they attain among Scottish flocks under constant supervision. If you put any kind of paper forward that doesn’t begin with the military option, no one takes it seriously.Isn’t that revealing?Yeah.
Descended from long generations of workers the puppies take actively to business, and practice amusing tactics of herding on the farm poultry while still too young to be initiated into the graver cares of life; and at first sight of a band of sheep will usually make some move that denotes the shepherd strain. In that now-famous Jeffrey Goldberg article [on Obama’s foreign-policy thinking, published in the Atlantic in March] it’s Goldberg allowing the president to speak, and I think the president is showing himself to be someone who over the past seven-plus years has actually acquired a very sophisticated understanding of statecraft and of the world as it is. Trump confidante says completely unhinged thing about Hillary Clinton.In fairness, saying completely unhinged things about Hillary Clinton is Trump’s longtime friend, confidante and adviser Roger Stone's stock in trade. Literally is it true of the collie, Ye cannot serve two masters ; his allegiance must be given to but one, or the valuable animal becomes worthless for the work that nature and training have given him to do. We routinely elect people to the presidency who know next to nothing about statecraft, but I think he’s learned a lot, and I found that to be very impressive.That said, you would say, “Well if he’s learned so much then why don’t we see greater change than we see?” I think his presidency is a reminder to some degree as to the constraints under which presidents operate.
There’s this fiction in our public discussion of politics that seems to imply that whoever is president is the dictator or the messiah, and that’s simply not true. The breeze is sweet with bloom, and the sunlight falls, a flood of golden glory, over the lavish green of April meadow, as we take the upward trail, a woodland path that rises steeply under the shadow of the Peak, giving but glimpses of the valley home below, and winding through still shadows in the absolute silence of Natures own domains.
The school district has moved to a biometric identification program, saying students will no longer have to use an ID card to buy lunch.A  BIOMETRICS TO TRACK YOUR KIDS!!!!!i»?i»?A TARGETED INDIVIDUALS, THE GREEDY CRIMINALS ARE NOW CONDONING THEIR TECH! They are constrained by the fact that there’re two other branches of the federal government. Higher we go, and onward, past an old stone cabin, a picturesque bit of ruin in the lap of spring. As we come out from the woods with the Peak still above us, send a swift glance northward, where Sanhedrim and the northern mountains still are capped in glittering snow, rising sharply from green valleys to the sunny sky, their sparkling peaks the only hint of winter in all this summerland. They’re constrained by the fact that they inherit situations that they’re not able to wave their hand and make go away. They’re constrained by the actions and interests of other nations, some which profess to be allies, some of which are obviously not allies.So I think we’re condemned to being disappointed by our presidents.
Even if they come into office as people of good will, we’re condemned to be disappointed because we don’t appreciate the limits of their authority, and the limits of their freedom of action.You mention that Truman had to “capitulate,” and then, similarly, Carter had to capitulate.
Off he dashes up the hill, makes a wide circle past a dozen ewes, and as they bolt up hill heads them, turns, and deftly drives them down.
When you say this, to what or to whom did they capitulate?The Truman capitulation occurs in response to the beginning of the Korean War. I believe that until that point, Truman was still clinging to…FDR’s vision of peaceful partnership [with the Soviet Union]?…or of the United Nations becoming an entity that would prevent further conflicts after World War II. Their lambs lie asleep in the warm sun or frolic together on the hillside, bright bits of movement white against the green.
He also was resistant to the notion of creating a permanent, large U.S military establishment, to some degree because of his naivety, I think, about atomic weapons. A motion of the hand directs the alert dogs, and they join the two bands and send them steadily along the trail. Once the Korean War began, the capitulation was in agreeing to the conclusions contained in the famous document called NSC-68, which had been commissioned but had not been acted upon until after the North Koreans invaded the South.
Two ewes and a lamb go running to the side.Here, Pete!The dog dashes quickly across a little hill, the bright drops sparkling on his black coat as he passes the sheep and turns them. And the capitulation was to commit the United States to becoming a permanent military power. The permanent military power.For which there was a considerable constituency?Who was he capitulating to?
Circling in front again, the dog overtakes, turns them, follows, and turns again, and patiently works them along till his troublesome charges are safely among their fellows. He was capitulating to the then-emergent national security apparatus, consisting of senior military officers, the “four stars” [the joint chiefs of staff and other top generals], who had been adamant that the budgets that he was approving in ’46, ’47, ’48 were totally inadequate; but also capitulation to these new national security bureaucrats, who, for reasons not identical to those of the military, were also committed to maintaining, on a permanent basis, a large national security apparatus.
If sent to hurry the little flock, he dashes at the hindmost, barking his orders.Here the master whistles Fred to the right.
The embodiment of those people at that particular moment was this guy Paul Nitze [a key figure in shaping Cold War policy during many administrations], who was the principal author of NSC-68—not the only example of that kind of a person but a very important example who was influential at the particular moment.Carter’s capitulation was, in a sense, a capitulation to the American people. Nothing is visible to him, but off scurries the obedient dog, barking frantically, circles, and stops. He had, in his “malaise” speech in the summer of ’79, called upon the people to change, to embrace a different definition of freedom, believing that if we embraced a different definition of freedom we would return to the path of virtue and would also be able to avoid getting drawn more deeply into the complex politics of the Persian Gulf. I think in January of 1980 he concedes that the American people are not going to change, not going to rethink our culture, not going to rethink what we believe is a satisfying way of life, and so the capitulation is to them.And what is the capitulation about? The capitulation there is to add the Persian Gulf to the limited roster of places that we view as worth fighting for. And that we subsequently then do fight for, in ways large and small, albeit never yielding any particular success.How do you parse and apportion the various drivers that make American policy what it is?
Off he dashes, perhaps fifty feet or so ahead, and dropping to the ground with nose between his paws, he waits till the flock is close upon him ; then he springs up and trots ahead again, and once more quietly waits their coming.Fred!
Do you have any others to add, and what is your read as to which are the most prominent?I think you’re making a very important point, and that is that there is no single explanation. The master walks away, and Fred, understanding perfectly that he must keep the flock, swiftly circles round them and brings them to a halt. Here, alone, he holds them, keeping them closely together while Peter and the master gather the other side of the hill, and return two hours later to find the sheep quietly grazing and Fred lying as quietly watching them.Two ewes wander a little too far.
Scarcely rising to his feet, the dog slips quietly through the grass beside them, and they turn and slowly rejoin the band, cropping as they go.
It is all those factors that you cite, and I think I would add one more, and that would be domestic politics. Fred trots quietly around his charges, sees that all are safe, then drops down again, watching them ceaselessly with shining eyes, and not a ewe or lamb is missing when the returning master adds his flock.Steadily we climb, through the golden afternoon.
The cycle of elections and the competition for political power, then, shapes the posturing that the campaigns elicit.But your question was, how do they all stack up in terms of priorities?
Occasionally shy deer peer through the brush, the warm air is sweet with the breath of bloom, and a distant eagle screams as he sweeps in stately circles over the Peak. The flocks number in the hundreds as we finally reach the summit, where we are met by the shepherd and Tweed, with another band.
In go the dogs, and send the sheep briskly down the trail, while Peter, circling far behind of his own accord, often brings in a stray ewe that has slyly dropped out.Yonder is a place where the whole band broke away years ago, and never have forgotten it, but neither have the dogs.
With a fierce challenge the collies vigorously meet the flying band, and force them back to the trail more roughly than we have seen them do yet, in punishment, perhaps, for their presumption and past sins.
She has bolted away several times, and given Peter much trouble to bring her in ; but his Scotch is up, as she dashes away again. He springs in before her, and with a dexterous hoist of his body sends her tumbling end over end, which is his own cure for these troublesome bolters, and was never known to fail. As if shot from a cannon, the ewe bangs against him, and over goes Tweed, howling rolling over and over, down the steep hillside, all four feet kicking at once, in angry protest as they come uppermost ; and his chap-fallen expression, as he struggles to his feet and slinks away, shows that Tweed is both a sadder and a wiser dog.
Though all are trained alike in a general way, two collies differ as widely in characteristic methods of work as two men,each possessing a distinct individuality of his own.Ah! After much hard running the flock is finally under control, but a bunch of lambs has become separated in the confusion, and after circling helplessly, stampedes in wild disorder. Peter tries his wise best to work the foolish little things back, vainly attempting to head them off.but they jump over him, halfa-dozen in succession, ears and tails flapping wildly as they clear his broad back. While the master separates the sheep, let us sit on this sunny hillside and watch the collies as they circle round the running lambs. They never bark at them as they would at old sheep, but merely follow and slowly check them by degrees. The little things are both obstinate and foolish, and at first pay no attention to the quiet collies that trot patiently round and round, quietly gather them together, and at last stop their wilr1 run.
Slowly, and with marvelous patience they are turned, jumping over each other, then over the dogs, and it seems a hopeless task even to attempt to take them the half-mile to the corral, but in a couple of hours time Fred and Peter come slowly up to the gate with them, not a lamb hurt or missing, and their first acquaintance made with these gentle protectors and friends. Peter is a favorite, bright even beyond the ordinary collie, his first appearance in the field showing a canine reason. Then he suddenly spied a huge rock; straight for it he went, and springing into sight upon its top, he stood a moment, one paw uplifted, ears up and nose a-quiver, a pretty picture, gave two quick glances, and was down and with the sheep again, and quietly drove them straight across the field to the hidden gate. Often, till he learned the hills, did he leave the sheep,, and on some high point literally take his bearings, to return to his charge and take them down the better way, justifying his masters assertion that surely the line between reason and instinct is closely drawn in the Scotch collie. He was a ready match for a certain obstinate old ram, that always fought the dogs and delayed their work ; till at last when sent for the flock Peter went first for this old enemy, and there, nose to nose, both heads bobbing excitedly, he would angrily bark and growl, till the conquered ram at last would make a sudden bolt, and the victorious Peter calmly gather in the flock. A most conscientious dog, his work was done faithfully and well till years disabled him; but Fred, more alert to praise, did best were strangers present, when he abounded in bright ways and brilliant work, done with a comically conscious air of superior excellence. The young man pondered a little, then to the country saddler he went and ordered made from his description little leather shoes.
He took to them kindly, like the wise dog he was, wore them gratefully, and after a long days run through flying seed, off would come the shoes, leaving his feet sound and well. Meekly he would let his shoes be donned, regarding his master quizzically the while, and wear them complacently enough in view, but let him be sent for sheep a little out of sight, a little delay would be noticed, then out from behind some bushy clump or sheltering rock Fred would gayly emerge, with many gambols to divert the eye. Clyde closely resembles Fred, whose days are past; and till the present puppy, tiny Tweed, grows to working age, Clyde is the mainstay of the gathering. Help fulfills his name on other portions of the large range ; but either are true types of the working collie, willing and faithful helpers till years disable them.
Either one is sent for sheep entirely out of sight in a large field, and patiently hunts till he finds them, then brings them in alone ; and Gyps mother, Bessie, brings in the entire flock from her owners small range just as readily as from the field. They brought with them their stock dogs, the Fox Shepard, the origin not known, but have survived in Scotland for centuries. McNab returned to the Grampian Hills in Scotland for the sole purpose of getting some of the dogs he was used to working.
He brought Peter back with him, leaving Fred to have his training completed, and he was later sent to America. These two dogs were bred to select Shepard females of the Spanish origin, which were brought to this country by the Basque sheepherders, and that cross was called the McNab Shepherds because Mr.
He named this pup Jet he was black with a faint white line up his face, a white chest and a small amount of white on his feet. Some of these dogs will have a wider strip up the face (Bentley Stripe) and a ring around the neck, there are also instances of pups with brown on their face and legs but will still be mostly black. Paul Weindling, history of medicine professor at Oxford Brookes University, describes his search for the lost victims of Nazi experiments. Alexander McNab and his family raised sheep in Scotland, but longed for a warmer climate and enticed by the news of the West, set out across the Atlantic to America. The chairman of the board at ESL a€” then proprietor of the desert wasteland in Nevada known as a€?Area 51a€? a€” was William Perry, who would be appointed secretary of defense several years later. McNab was not satisfied with the type of working dogs he found locally, and in 1885 he returned to Scotland for the sole purpose of importing the type of dog(s) he had been accustomed to working with. EUCACH.ORG PanelIn a 2-hour wide-ranging Panel with Alfred Lambremont Webre on the Transhumanist Agenda, Magnus Olsson, Dr. Henning Witte, and Melanie Vritschan, three experts from the European Coalition Against Covert Harassment, revealed recent technological advances in human robotization and nano implant technologies, and an acceleration of what Melanie Vritschan characterized as a a€?global enslavement programa€?.Shift from electromagnetic to scalar wavesThese technologies have now shifted from electromagnetic wave to scalar waves and use super quantum computers in the quantum cloud to control a€?pipesa€? a reference to the brains of humans that have been taken over via DNA, via implants that can be breathed can breach the blood-brain barrier and then controlled via scalar waved on a super-grid.
It was said that these two male dogs were bred to female dogs of Spanish origin, which were brought to this country by the Basque sheep herders. Eventually, such 'subvocal speech' systems could be used in spacesuits, in noisy places like airport towers to capture air-traffic controller commands, or even in traditional voice-recognition programs to increase accuracy, according to NASA scientists."What is analyzed is silent, or sub auditory, speech, such as when a person silently reads or talks to himself," said Chuck Jorgensen, a scientist whose team is developing silent, subvocal speech recognition at NASA Ames Research Center in California's Silicon Valley. I have searched (and continue to search) to find out the type of dog the Basque may have brought with them to California, and my findings were contradicting.
We numbered the columns and rows, and we could identify each letter with a pair of single-digit numbers," Jorgensen said.
People in noisy conditions could use the system when privacy is needed, such as during telephone conversations on buses or trains, according to scientists."An expanded muscle-control system could help injured astronauts control machines.
If an astronaut is suffering from muscle weakness due to a long stint in microgravity, the astronaut could send signals to software that would assist with landings on Mars or the Earth, for example," Jorgensen explained. These are processed to remove noise, and then we process them to see useful parts of the signals to show one word from another," Jorgensen said.After the signals are amplified, computer software 'reads' the signals to recognize each word and sound.
Our Research and Development Division has been in contact with the Federal Bureau of Prisons, the California Department of Corrections, the Texas Department of Public Safety, and the Massachusetts Department of Correction to run limited trials of the 2020 neural chip implant. We have established representatives of our interests in both management and institutional level positions within these departments. Federal regulations do not yet permit testing of implants on prisoners, but we have entered nto contractual agreements with privatized health care professionals and specified correctional personnel to do limited testing of our products. We need, however, to expand our testing to research how effective the 2020 neural chip implant performs in those identified as the most aggressive in our society. In California, several prisoners were identified as members of the security threat group, EME, or Mexican Mafia.
They were brought to the health services unit at Pelican Bay and tranquilized with advanced sedatives developed by our Cambridge,Massachussetts laboratories. The results of implants on 8 prisoners yielded the following results: a€?Implants served as surveillance monitoring device for threat group activity. However, during that period substantial data was gathered by our research and development team which suggests that the implants exceed expected results. One of the major concerns of Security and the R & D team was that the test subject would discover the chemial imbalance during the initial adjustment period and the test would have to be scurbbed. However, due to advanced technological developments in the sedatives administered, the 48 hour adjustment period can be attributed t prescription medication given to the test subjects after the implant procedure. One of the concerns raised by R & D was the cause of the bleeding and how to eliminate that problem.
Unexplained bleeding might cause the subject to inquire further about his "routine" visit to the infirmary or health care facility. Security officials now know several strategies employed by the EME that facilitate the transmission of illegal drugs and weapons into their correctional facilities. One intelligence officier remarked that while they cannot use the informaiton that have in a court of law that they now know who to watch and what outside "connections" they have.
The prison at Soledad is now considering transferring three subjects to Vacaville wher we have ongoing implant reserach. Our technicians have promised that they can do three 2020 neural chip implants in less than an hour. Soledad officials hope to collect information from the trio to bring a 14 month investigation into drug trafficking by correctional officers to a close. Essentially, the implants make the unsuspecting prisoner a walking-talking recorder of every event he comes into contact with.
There are only five intelligence officers and the Commisoner of Corrections who actually know the full scope of the implant testing.
In Massachusetts, the Department of Corrections has already entered into high level discussion about releasing certain offenders to the community with the 2020 neural chip implants. Our people are not altogether against the idea, however, attorneys for Intelli-Connection have advised against implant technology outside strick control settings. While we have a strong lobby in the Congress and various state legislatures favoring our product, we must proceed with the utmost caution on uncontrolled use of the 2020 neural chip. If the chip were discovered in use not authorized by law and the procedure traced to us we could not endure for long the resulting publicity and liability payments.
Massachusetts officials have developed an intelligence branch from their Fugitive Task Force Squad that would do limited test runs under tight controls with the pre-release subjects. Correctons officials have dubbed these poetnetial test subjects "the insurance group." (the name derives from the concept that the 2020 implant insures compliance with the law and allows officials to detect misconduct or violations without question) A retired police detective from Charlestown, Massachusetts, now with the intelligence unit has asked us to consider using the 2020 neural chip on hard core felons suspected of bank and armored car robbery. He stated, "Charlestown would never be the same, we'd finally know what was happening before they knew what was happening." We will continue to explore community uses of the 2020 chip, but our company rep will be attached to all law enforcement operations with an extraction crrew that can be on-site in 2 hours from anywhere at anytime.
We have an Intelli-Connection discussion group who is meeting with the Director of Security at Florence, Colorado's federal super maximum security unit. The initial discussions with the Director have been promising and we hope to have an R & D unit at this important facilitly within the next six months. Napolitano insisted that the department was not planning on engaging in any form of ideological profiling. I will tell him face-to-face that we honor veterans at DHS and employ thousands across the department, up to and including the Deputy Secretary," Ms. Steve Buyer of Indiana, the ranking Republican on the House Committee on Veterans' Affairs, called it "inconceivable" that the Obama administration would categorize veterans as a potential threat.




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