One Misleading Headline After The Election...

On the evening of the 7th of November, 2016, as election results were coming in from across the United States, it became apparent that Donald Trump could win the presidency of the country.

The Drudge Report, a news aggregator that has become a blatantly pro-Trump propaganda site of late, ran in its top of page banner the headline, "Gold Spikes As Trump Leads" or some such click-bait.  I didn't click, because I was more interested in learning who was going to be my next president than in following what I assumed was a momentary uptick in the price of precious metals.

But the headline stuck with me for days.  And I thought I would just check the story.  After all, the implication was that Donald Trump's presumed victory was disturbing global equities markets so badly that capital was fleeing to the 'safe haven' of gold.

To the contrary, it appears that markets settled down and returned to their previously lackadaisical performance, and gold continued its long, slow retreat.

Here are the actual spot prices for gold in the days following the election, November 8th - 15th.



And, just in case we think that the gold market's spike was followed by an almost instantaneous correction on the morning after, here is a chart showing the price of gold in the 3 weeks leading up to the election, and the week following.



So, what do we see?  Thanks to goldline.com, we know that the Drudge Report, once a reputable source of real news, has become just one more deceptive media outlet with a political agenda.

Gold had begun a sharp slide well before the election, which continued during and after the election.  The price of gold today is right about where it was in early 2016, before any debates or primaries or elections took place.

Allen's Nu-Way To Fight Hunger And Protect Self-Respect...

In 1995 my wife's grandparents moved from the little trailer they'd called 'home' for decades into the Arizona Pioneer's Home in Prescott, Arizona.

For them it was the beginning of their life's final act.

For me it was the beginning of my discovery of the family legacy I'd recently married into.

Dick Allen and his wife, Velma, of more than 60 years were settled into their little apartment in the old brick retirement mansion once designated as a home for sick and elderly mine workers in Central Arizona.  And our work of sorting through their life's accumulated effects started.

There was the odd, like clean, empty yogurt cups; the expected, like stacks of lace doilies; the treasured, like an original oil painting of a violin and a trumpet.

And there was the revealing.

In a cigar box in the back of one of Dick's dresser drawers, I found an insight into who this man was, what motivated him, and why he did some of the things he did.

Dick was born Richard Michael Allen on the 8th of June, 1911 in Mesa, Arizona Territory.  By the time he was 10 years old, his family had moved from the desert into the more pleasant ranching and mining community around Prescott, Arizona.

One morning, Dick's father, Warner, heard about a family that had just arrived in the Prescott area destitute.  They had come up from a ranch in Southeastern Arizona driving a wagon pulled by a borrowed team of horses.  Drought had killed their last cattle and a house fire had burned their home to the ground while they were hauling water from a nearly dry river miles from their land.

Prescott seemed like as good a place as any to start anew.

Warner took Dick, hitched up a team of horses to the wagon, and drove out to meet the new family.  On the way he loaded the wagon with groceries and other supplies he thought these immigrants might need.  And while Dick helped unload the wagon at their new homestead, Warner slipped $50 in gold coins into the newcomer's hand.

There was no expectation of repayment.  It was what Warner did.  It was what he believed was the right thing to do.  It was what he raised his children to do.

Dick met Velma Christensen in 1933, and on February 1st, 1935 they were married.

Their life was as normal as so many others' were during the Second World War and the ensuing decades of the American Golden Age.  Dick managed, then owned the Allen's Nu-Way grocery store on Gurley Street in Prescott, and Velma headed up the PTA while raising 6 children.  Their oldest died when he was only 2 years old, and their second youngest contracted polio, but survived.

Dick had grown up learning and believing that all mankind - white, black, brown and red- are children of the same God.  He had grown up learning that service is the price we pay to live in this world.  He had grown up learning that the best thing you can do for a body is to let them retain their dignity.

And in that cigar box I found a revelation of how deeply Dick lived that ideal.

There were a few cheap, broken watches, a pen knife, a woman's hat pin, a brooch, and a handful of notes.  "J. Martins - $50."  "Mrs. Dascomb - $25."  And on, and on.  Careful not to harm anyone's dignity, Dick had taken collateral on grocery accounts his neighbors could not pay right away.  And Dick had taken a lenient approach to collection efforts.  That is to say, judging by the contents of his cigar box, none.

Believing in the soul-destroying power of a handout, Dick Allen waged his own war on hunger and poverty.  A one-man army simultaneously acting in charity and respecting humanity, he did what no government program, no community service project, could ever do.

And in 1995 I learned that part of my wife's character and my children's' legacy.

An Apology To Erin (Revisited)...

A gay friend of a gay friend of mine posted this cartoon online and the two, joined by a third person proceeded to 'LOL' and 'like' the post.

Why do I point out the sexual preference of the people involved?  Because it speaks to the fact that embracing violence, finding pleasure in others' pain, and general moral sickness is not limited to straight, white, or male people.

And I owe my niece an apology...



You see, for quite some time my niece has been decrying what she calls the 'rape culture' of America.  My insistence has been that there is no culture - no societal norm - of rape in America.

But I don't play video games, I rarely go to movies, and I don't have television at home.  I go to work, I go home, and I go to church.  The people I associate with, in the settings in which we associate, don't talk about, display, or exhibit violent behavior toward anyone, let alone toward women.

So, when I saw this cartoon I was stunned, repulsed and disgusted.

When I expressed this in a comment on the post, the original poster jumped in, accused me of having mental issues, and justified the post as a humorous communication to a friend who would appreciate it.

Except it wasn't.

When we share on social media, many times there is a way to make a message private or to restrict who sees the message.  This poster opted to post this image publicly.  He thought nothing of the anti-social, vile, despicable act portrayed and thought less about showing it to the world.

So, Erin, while I still believe that America is a place where right is right and wrong is wrong and where society will not accept violence against women or anyone else, I apologize for discounting your point of view.

It is evident that this is working itself into our culture.  And if we do not return to a civil society of moral people, this cartoon will become our signature image, and not some repugnant anomaly.

EDIT - 12 January 2018

It would seem that one reason those on the political left are so taken with the notion of a 'rape culture' that pervades American life would be that they are intimately familiar with it. 

Leftists from Harvey Weinstein to Al Franken have recently been exposed as flagrant perverts, misogynists, and even rapists.  (No, don't bring up Roy Moore.  He's a relative minority - being conservative - in the recent flood of perverts revealed.)

The old stories from Bill Clinton's presidential candidacy and terms in office still haven't garnered much attention from the likes of Oprah Winfrey or Elizabeth Warren.  It would seem that those on the political left have an exceptionally high tolerance for liberal-on-liberal sex crimes. 

But perhaps, those young leftists who actually believe the Party Line about equality and respect have had about enough.  When will they understand that the rest of the promises of secular statism are lies, too?

Thoughts On My Mother...

There is a common witticism that says something to the effect that we don't appreciate what our parents have done for us until we do the same things for our own children.

I don't dream memorable dreams often. And the dreams I have that are still with me when I wake most often fade from memory before I'm out of bed. But I recently had a dream that some might say is haunting me; I would just say it lingers.

My mom and I were in a newer Toyota Camry.  It was burgundy, with tan leather interior.  She was driving, and I was sitting in the passenger seat with my carry on luggage at my feet.

We pulled up to the airport terminal.  In the dreams I can remember where mass transit has been a part, terminals and stations are chaotic and confusing places with convoluted access and departure paths.

This was no different.

Streams of cars hurried by, filling many lanes of traffic.  Ramps led to and from parking garages and overpasses and tunnels.  My mom pulled up to the curb and I hopped out of the car and threw a quick, "Thanks, Mom!" over my shoulder as started to walk into the terminal.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw her standing on the pavement, with the driver's door open, watching me leave.  Her curly white hair was dignified.  Her comfortable velour jacket almost matched the car's color and a gold necklace laid over her knit blouse.  She was wearing pearl stud earrings, as she so often did.  And she was smiling.

She had a brave look on her face, but in her eyes I could see anxiety - almost terror.  And I suddenly remembered that she had dementia.  There was no way that she would ever find her way out of the airport, let alone find her way home.  My mind flashed to the trip I was scheduled to leave on, all the work I had to do, and the important things waiting for me.

"Ah, hell," I mentally muttered, not in resentment, and not in protest.

And in that instant I saw that my mom was doing what she had always done.  She'd done it as a girl, part of a family of eight crowded into a tiny three-bedroom house in a blue collar Southern California neighborhood.  She'd done it as a young wife, married to a man who, though good, could also be demanding.  She'd done it as a mother to four boys whose antics and mischief were enough to try the best of women to the breaking point.

She had done what had to be done.  She had borne what had to be borne.  And she had given what had to be given, walking through the Valley of The Shadow of Death and refusing to stay.

There she stood, bravely letting me go, knowing that she would never be able to find her way back to 328 Semillon Circle, back to her swivel rocker, back to her picture window view of Mount Diablo.

There she stood again, willingly giving what she knew I needed to be happy and confident and successful.

I dropped my bag on the curb, helped my mom into the passenger seat, and climbed in to drive her home.  And the dream ended there.

I hope in real life, that I was willing enough to drop my bag and take her home whenever she needed it.  I don't think I understood fully how much she'd given for me until that dream, though.

And as is so often the case, it is too late now to tell her.  But I'll do it here, trusting that she'll somehow see it.

Thank you, Mom, for giving every thing you had - the last full measure of devotion, I now see - for me.

I love you.

LaVoy Finicum and The Long Slow Death Of Constitutionalism...

"Congress shall make no law concerning the establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances."

That is the First Amendment to the Constitution of the United States of America.  The full text.  Since 1791 those few words, that one sentence, has been the symbol of individual liberty that has been the hallmark of America.

The significance of the text following the last semicolon must be understood in light of history.  This right of petition and redress was guaranteed in the laws of Great Britain and finds its roots in the Magna Carta; but the method King George III provided for hearing grievances from his colonies was cynical at best.  He would grant audience at inconvenient times and in inconvenient places, he would cancel or postpone audiences at the last minute, and he would drag out addressing grievances over months and years.  The 'established channels' for airing and resolving grievances with the government were used to enforce tyranny while lending an air of legitimacy to the process.

For decades, and for reasons I don't fully understand, American farmers and ranchers have been under increasingly unreasonable regulation.  The federal government, in granting statehood to western territories, agreed to an initial period of federal control of public lands which would then, as quickly as practical, be turned over to the sovereign state for management or disposal.

Western states looked at American history east of the Mississippi River and had no reason to doubt that they would be treated equitably as their earlier brothers, where state control of land was the norm and where control had been returned fairly quickly.

For whatever number of reasons this did not happen.  This left local ranchers and farmers to negotiate with a distant and removed federal bureaucracy which became known as the Bureau of Land Management.

Perhaps it began when the 'environmental movement' gained popularity within government planning circles.  The BLM's attention shifted from managing land and administering land use agreements to 'conserving' the land and 'protecting' wildlife.  The relationship between the federal government, represented by the BLM, and American agriculturalists began to deteriorate.  Ranchers who had counted for decades on free access to range land and water for livestock found their access restricted.  Sometimes the restrictions came in the form of arbitrary reduction or revocation of grazing rights; sometimes it came in the form of restricting access to water; but always it was incremental and localized.  A handful of small ranchers affected in a remote area, or a family farmer affected in a state whose economy was not dependent on agriculture made it easy for lawmakers and the public to ignore an increasingly heavy-handed bureaucracy.

But every now and again some small person gets the idea in his head that something is wrong with the way things are.  Thomas Paine was one; Rosa Parks was another; and Dwight Hammond was a third.  When, in the early 1990s, the BLM started to squeeze him and his family ranch in Harney County, Oregon, Dwight objected.  In court case after court case, judges and juries decided in his favor and forced the BLM to back down from their desired course of action - absorbing his privately owned family ranch into the Malheur Wildlife Refuge.  But when a government with unlimited legal and financial resources decides it will destroy one of its citizens or subjects who has only limited resources, the outcome is a foregone conclusion; only the timing is in question.

And bureaucrats have very long attention spans and even longer memories.

So, when Dwight Hammond and his son, Steven, committed a tactical error - in order to prevent a lighting-caused fire burning in 2006 on the Refuge from spreading to his land, Steven lit a backfire on his land  without seeking a fire permit.  The backfire was successful; it not only saved his family's land, but it stopped the wildfire from spreading more within the adjacent Refuge.  Steven's actions were reviewed and no charges were filed at the time.   But in 2011, at the urging of the BLM, both Steven and Dwight were charged under a relatively new anti-terrorism statute and convicted. They we're each sentenced to and served  months in prison.

Years passed and in 2015 BLM asked a judge to review the arson conviction and sentencing.  The review judge found that the trial judge had been too lenient in his sentencing, as the statute called for a minimum sentence of 5 years.  He ordered the two, aged 74 and 45, to return to prison to serve more than 4 1/2 years more time.  This despite the fact that the trial judge had determined that more than a few months in prison would have violated the men's rights under the 8th Amendment which protects Americans from cruel and unusual punishment.

This brings us to 4 January 2016, when, as the Hammonds reported to prison, fellow ranchers Ammon Bundy and LaVoy Finicum arrived at the Malheur Wildlife Refuge which surrounds the Hammond Ranch.  Ammon Bundy and his father, Cliven, are ranchers in Nevada and recently had their own difficulties with BLM when the agency ruled that they could not run cattle on their desert ranch leased from BLM because the ranching would pose problems for an endangered species of tortoise - never mind that the cows and tortoises had peacefully coexisted for more than 150 years.

Bundy and Finicum's arrival did not go unnoticed by self-styled 'militia' types who were sympathetic to the idea of an out-of-control bureaucratic government. In short order the Refuge headquarters building and surrounding area was occupied by dozens of armed men and women all bringing their grievances, real or imagined, to the table.

Days turned into weeks and law enforcement officials from agencies as local as the Harney County Sheriff's Office and as shadowy as contract security forces working for agencies they would not name gathered for this waiting game.  And through it all, LaVoy Finicum was a voice of reason.  Firm? Certainly.  Irrational? Definitely not.  Listen to the uncut audio and watch the uncut video of anyone his several interviews and you will see a man who is not deranged, but who is determined.

Finicum and Bundy and their close associates frequently visited the town of Burns, Oregon - about 30 miles away - to eat, shop or meet with people from journalists to law enforcement agents.

But something changed in late January; the tone of both FBI and HCSO became more aggressive.  The Harney County Sheriff, David Ward, began cancelling meetings, making the people he was supposed to hear wait long hours, and rather than being conciliatory or neutral, he became openly hostile.

On 26 January 2016, Ammon Bundy and LaVoy Finicum, accompanied by at least 4 others, left the Malheur Wildlife Refuge for a meetings with the sheriff and other citizens of another county.  They never made the meeting.  They were driving in two vehicles; one was LaVoy's truck and the other was a Jeep belonging to a recent arrival at the Refuge who called himself Mark McConnell. Both vehicles where stopped on the highway leading out of the Refuge.  The Jeep with Ammon Bundy was not allowed to drive on, but LaVoy left the traffic stop and continued to his meeting.  When rounding a blind curve in the road, LaVoy encountered a road block for which he could not stop in time and he drove his truck into a snow bank at the side of the road.

What happened at either the first traffic stop or the road block is unclear.  By some accounts, police were shooting at LaVoy's truck during the first stop, leading him to 'run for his life.' One passenger in the truck says that as soon as they crashed into the snow bank, law enforcement officers began shooting at the truck.  The official story is that upon crashing, LaVoy leapt from his truck and charged at law enforcement officers who had to shoot him.  The video released by the FBI contradicts this.  It shows LaVoy standing outside his truck with his hands in the air, and trying to keep his hands up as he is shot by no fewer than 3 agents.

By any measure, this was a murder.  And it was a murder intended to stop objections to government abuse at the hands of bureaucratic agencies. LaVoy Finicum was a sympathetic, well-spoken, rational and knowledgeable man.  He was a threat to the power structure.

I am convinced that he had no idea how greatly he was feared until the first bullet entered his body.  I am convinced that he believed that he could make people hear reason and that there was an outcome without blood that was possible. Right up to the end.

I don't like the crass and ugly threats from 'militia' types that I see on line.  That type of rhetoric is dangerous and ignorant.  And they represent a very small, by their own estimates 3%, of the population.

What concerns me more is the response I get from my friends in government and in general. A US military officer I know has no sympathy.  He chose to 'live by the sword' and thus chose his fate.  Never mind the fact that LaVoy Finicum hurt no one.

An attorney has no sympathy.  There is a right way to bring grievances before government.  When one goes outside that channel, then killing that person is justified.  Never mind the 8th Amendment or the 1st Amendment.

A liberal environmentalist has no sympathy.  There was important work to be done on the Refuge and he was keeping them from it. When someone undertakes to obstruct government work, then killing them is okay.

A business executive has no sympathy.  The guy was obviously a kook.  Someone being a kook makes it okay to kill them.

The general understanding among these people seems to be that, in order for First Amendment rights to be protected, one must be socially acceptable, not speak or act against government, and use those rights only within established channels as dictated by law and tradition.  This would be the first time I know of where the exercise of speech, assembly and petition were so narrowly applied.

I want to shake them and shout, "ARE YOU OKAY?!?! YOU THINK THESE GUYS HAD A SERIOUS CHANCE AT RESOLUTION THROUGH A SYSTEM THAT HAD BEEN TRYING TO DESTROY THEM FOR 30 YEARS?!?! WHAT GIVES YOU THAT IDEA? AND WHAT MAKES YOU THINK IT'S OKAY TO KILL SOMEONE WHO DISAGREES WITH GOVERNMENT ACTION?"