We live in a community that cares for others as do so many across our nation. This is as it should be because we recognize that all people are deserving of compassion. At the same time we realize that when we live in communities, large or small, we have a shared responsibility to provide services to all – fire and police protection, public education, hospital ERs, public infrastructure and the like – as we all share in these collective benefits. Caring about one another is more than just simple common sense; it’s what binds us together and makes our communities stronger and safer. Without these social contracts we cannot assure the human dignity that is the right of all people.
We all know that insurance company bureaucracies ration health care, refuse health care and deny legitimate claims. Patient/doctor relationships are governed by insurance companies for profit and not care, and excessive costs are passed onto citizens in order to maximize corporate profits. Everyone knows that’s how it works. Private insurance companies have driven millions of Americans, an estimated 700,000 a year, into bankruptcy in order to pay for health care. This is the only advanced nation in the world where such a cruel and heartless system exists.
Health care systems throughout the world, not all wealthier, industrialized countries either, have recognized health care (e.g. preventing disease, promoting public health, relieving pain and suffering) as a basic human right assuring human dignity. It is no different than the right to vote, the right for justice in a court of law, and the rights afforded all citizens for the civil liberties we have declared. We are a society comprised of communities that have realized we share a common bond and interconnection with one another to safeguard and provide for the welfare of all because each of us is worthy of care. We need, we deserve and we must have an American health care plan that will provide basic services for all our people.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Monday, September 7, 2009
Random Notes on This & That
Letter to Lynn Woolsey
Dear Congresswoman Woolsey,
I’m writing to you about the two recent public meetings, one in the Sonoma Plaza and the “rowdy” one (as the PD described it) in Petaluma. I attended the former, missed the latter.
As you know the first one went fine, you and the other speakers got your points made, Sonoma was exceedingly polite – probably the union and march/rally leaders’ presence didn’t hurt, and that was that. You vowed to hold the line for a “robust” public option – Medicare-like, and using that existing system to save years of time and money, etc. – and everyone heard that. However I’m a realist and a pessimist so I don’t think that’s going to hold true. I think there will be many more compromises about the public option and other aspects of health-care reform down the line, and as we know, the Republicans don’t compromise much. They’re ballsier that way. I hope I’ll be proved wrong.
The main point of this letter regards the Petaluma meeting where by all accounts things did not go swimmingly. We’re all familiar now with how organized, purposefully intimidating and uncaringly insulting these meetings have become, and you got a personal taste of that. It was bold and gutsy of you to take that on whatever the outcome, but more important is that there’s a lesson here for the Democratic Party and us in the liberal/progressive camp.
As I see it the lesson is this: These kinds of town hall meetings have to be conducted under the same rules governing representatives and members of the public meetings, i.e., city councils, board of supervisors or state committee hearings, now and in the future, regardless of the issue at hand. There’s a conduct of behavior that has to be followed; if not there’s chaos, anarchy – the biggest, loudest voice will win. If people are continually obstreperous or even personally insulting they are escorted and kept out of the proceedings. They’ve lost their right to speak because they’re preventing others from that right, or their behavior is beyond the pale and they have to leave. Period. I’ve been to countless local government meetings and that’s the way business is conducted. Why are these same time-honored methods of decorum not being followed in every town hall meeting in every state? The behavior, the actions of people at these meetings, whether orchestrated by the right or not, would not be tolerated by any city council or board of supervisors anywhere.
So my conclusion, and that of friends who were at the Petaluma meeting, is that the Democratic Party had better learn to deal with an organized right-wing mob that knows exactly what it is doing, and that has a self-righteous (I’d say deluded) rationale as to the why. I don’t think they’re going away. I think in this issue, health-care, and every one succeeding they’re going to be a presence. And you know as well as I that the media love this stuff. You’re not going to come out of it looking good.
Unless you get tough. The Democratic Party has to stand for something. You know this, you’re one of the stalwarts. But somehow you’ve got to let the Party know. They have to have clear goals and convictions, and the cahones to fight for them. I think that’s the lesson to be learned here. How you’re going to get that across to your compatriots in Congress I don’t know. But if not you, then who?
In closing a brief note. Three good friends of mine attended the Petaluma meeting. One is a long-time union organizer, one a cynical environmental activist and the other, a newer acquaintance who tells me she’s been to many political rallies. All three people reported that the hatred, venom and vicious insensibility they heard in the room that night was shocking, startling. Now these are not naïve or politically inexperienced people. If their report is accurate, and I believe it is, then progressives, the Democratic Party, and anyone who favors logic and reason and knowledge of the issues over blind, hate-filled emotions is in for a hell of a time.
It’s time we learned how to deal with this.
Respectfully,
Will Shonbrun, Sonoma
Dear Congresswoman Woolsey,
I’m writing to you about the two recent public meetings, one in the Sonoma Plaza and the “rowdy” one (as the PD described it) in Petaluma. I attended the former, missed the latter.
As you know the first one went fine, you and the other speakers got your points made, Sonoma was exceedingly polite – probably the union and march/rally leaders’ presence didn’t hurt, and that was that. You vowed to hold the line for a “robust” public option – Medicare-like, and using that existing system to save years of time and money, etc. – and everyone heard that. However I’m a realist and a pessimist so I don’t think that’s going to hold true. I think there will be many more compromises about the public option and other aspects of health-care reform down the line, and as we know, the Republicans don’t compromise much. They’re ballsier that way. I hope I’ll be proved wrong.
The main point of this letter regards the Petaluma meeting where by all accounts things did not go swimmingly. We’re all familiar now with how organized, purposefully intimidating and uncaringly insulting these meetings have become, and you got a personal taste of that. It was bold and gutsy of you to take that on whatever the outcome, but more important is that there’s a lesson here for the Democratic Party and us in the liberal/progressive camp.
As I see it the lesson is this: These kinds of town hall meetings have to be conducted under the same rules governing representatives and members of the public meetings, i.e., city councils, board of supervisors or state committee hearings, now and in the future, regardless of the issue at hand. There’s a conduct of behavior that has to be followed; if not there’s chaos, anarchy – the biggest, loudest voice will win. If people are continually obstreperous or even personally insulting they are escorted and kept out of the proceedings. They’ve lost their right to speak because they’re preventing others from that right, or their behavior is beyond the pale and they have to leave. Period. I’ve been to countless local government meetings and that’s the way business is conducted. Why are these same time-honored methods of decorum not being followed in every town hall meeting in every state? The behavior, the actions of people at these meetings, whether orchestrated by the right or not, would not be tolerated by any city council or board of supervisors anywhere.
So my conclusion, and that of friends who were at the Petaluma meeting, is that the Democratic Party had better learn to deal with an organized right-wing mob that knows exactly what it is doing, and that has a self-righteous (I’d say deluded) rationale as to the why. I don’t think they’re going away. I think in this issue, health-care, and every one succeeding they’re going to be a presence. And you know as well as I that the media love this stuff. You’re not going to come out of it looking good.
Unless you get tough. The Democratic Party has to stand for something. You know this, you’re one of the stalwarts. But somehow you’ve got to let the Party know. They have to have clear goals and convictions, and the cahones to fight for them. I think that’s the lesson to be learned here. How you’re going to get that across to your compatriots in Congress I don’t know. But if not you, then who?
In closing a brief note. Three good friends of mine attended the Petaluma meeting. One is a long-time union organizer, one a cynical environmental activist and the other, a newer acquaintance who tells me she’s been to many political rallies. All three people reported that the hatred, venom and vicious insensibility they heard in the room that night was shocking, startling. Now these are not naïve or politically inexperienced people. If their report is accurate, and I believe it is, then progressives, the Democratic Party, and anyone who favors logic and reason and knowledge of the issues over blind, hate-filled emotions is in for a hell of a time.
It’s time we learned how to deal with this.
Respectfully,
Will Shonbrun, Sonoma
Random Notes on This and That
I know what I know,
I’ll sing what I said,
We come and we go,
It’s a thing that I keep
In the back of my head
--Paul Simon
The kind of man that lived his own life.
We first met John Ross, Suzanne and I, when we bought our house in Sonoma in 1985, and John was one of a small group of contractors that worked on the place with us. It was an older house, probably a summer bungalow when it was built around 1945, so there was a lot of remodeling, basically a make-over, and over time everyone who worked on it got to know each other fairly well. It was at this time we were introduced to John’s sense of humor: quick, erudite, far ranging and hilarious. There were always laughs when I was with John, no matter how serious the conversation got. And they got pretty serious, about serious matters, as we are (or were) both very political and very opinionated.
Suzanne’s favorite John Ross story is when we were all working on the house one time and my friend, Coop, another contractor asked if we, John, Suzanne and I were going to watch the “big game” that night. I can’t remember if it was a football or baseball game. And John said without skipping a beat, “No, I think I’ll just drop acid and listen to it on the radio.” That was my official introduction to the mind of John Ross.
So we’ve known John for 24,25 years now, my family and I. He was a friend when my daughter was born and adopted, and when she graduated high school and went to college. We’ve been friends since our country started wars and started killing people in the Middle East, and locally we fought battles to keep developers from sticking resorts on our immediate hillsides. We’ve gossiped about people we know and what they’re up to and traded some pretty juicy stories. John was a great storyteller and a treasure trove of classified information, all heavily redacted.
There’s no way to sum up a man’s life, especially a man as complex and in-depth as John: a master gardener and grower of exquisite tasting vegetables in the patch adjacent to his house; an accomplished musician and music collector; an extraordinarily well read person and book collector; electrician; builder and community minded man. And as another friend recently pointed out – a gentle soul.
I knew John in times of adversity – a break-up with a long-time girlfriend, the death of his dog, Tommy, his aborted trip to Romania and a violent encounter and illness there, and the dark night of American politics after 9/11. I felt privileged to share his grief over these things and I did my fair bit of unloading on him when I came apart at the seams.
The happiest times with John were when he, Ken Brown and I got together at his place, ate the always excellent dinner he’d prepare, drink the wines we brought, smoked the best grass we’d gotten a hold of and talked and laughed into the night. I don’t know how I drove down Ghericke Road those nights, bagged and toasted to the gills, but completely in control of things. I knew what I was doing and what I’m capable of or not. Ask Ken. We did this maybe 3 or 4 times a year for a bunch of years. I’ll miss those times until the day I die.
Even though I didn’t see or hang out with John all that often he was one of those handful of friends I could count on in a pinch, as I had to do once. Some years back I had an operation and afterward it didn’t go so well, and because Suzanne was out of town I needed to call on a few friends over a few nights to stay the night in case I started bleeding and needed to get to the ER. Turned out I didn’t, but John was one of the people I could count on. That meant more to me than I can ever say. I hope I told him that. I think I did.
It’s funny how we rarely get to really say good-bye to people when they’re alive; we wind up doing it after they’ve died. Death should have taught us that every time we’re with people we like, and especially people we love; we might hold the thought that we might never see that person. I thought I’d learned that lesson, but I haven’t. I usually end my conversations with, “See ya” and take that for granted. But it ain’t so. Every moment with someone who really means something to you one should hold the thought, somewhere, this might be the last time I’ll ‘see ya.’ It needn’t be said, and then maybe these last good-byes wouldn’t be necessary. It would have been conveyed in life.
So I’ll say good-bye to my friend John Ross, who honored me with his friendship. If there’s a life after this one, I’ll see ya pal.
I’ll sing what I said,
We come and we go,
It’s a thing that I keep
In the back of my head
--Paul Simon
The kind of man that lived his own life.
We first met John Ross, Suzanne and I, when we bought our house in Sonoma in 1985, and John was one of a small group of contractors that worked on the place with us. It was an older house, probably a summer bungalow when it was built around 1945, so there was a lot of remodeling, basically a make-over, and over time everyone who worked on it got to know each other fairly well. It was at this time we were introduced to John’s sense of humor: quick, erudite, far ranging and hilarious. There were always laughs when I was with John, no matter how serious the conversation got. And they got pretty serious, about serious matters, as we are (or were) both very political and very opinionated.
Suzanne’s favorite John Ross story is when we were all working on the house one time and my friend, Coop, another contractor asked if we, John, Suzanne and I were going to watch the “big game” that night. I can’t remember if it was a football or baseball game. And John said without skipping a beat, “No, I think I’ll just drop acid and listen to it on the radio.” That was my official introduction to the mind of John Ross.
So we’ve known John for 24,25 years now, my family and I. He was a friend when my daughter was born and adopted, and when she graduated high school and went to college. We’ve been friends since our country started wars and started killing people in the Middle East, and locally we fought battles to keep developers from sticking resorts on our immediate hillsides. We’ve gossiped about people we know and what they’re up to and traded some pretty juicy stories. John was a great storyteller and a treasure trove of classified information, all heavily redacted.
There’s no way to sum up a man’s life, especially a man as complex and in-depth as John: a master gardener and grower of exquisite tasting vegetables in the patch adjacent to his house; an accomplished musician and music collector; an extraordinarily well read person and book collector; electrician; builder and community minded man. And as another friend recently pointed out – a gentle soul.
I knew John in times of adversity – a break-up with a long-time girlfriend, the death of his dog, Tommy, his aborted trip to Romania and a violent encounter and illness there, and the dark night of American politics after 9/11. I felt privileged to share his grief over these things and I did my fair bit of unloading on him when I came apart at the seams.
The happiest times with John were when he, Ken Brown and I got together at his place, ate the always excellent dinner he’d prepare, drink the wines we brought, smoked the best grass we’d gotten a hold of and talked and laughed into the night. I don’t know how I drove down Ghericke Road those nights, bagged and toasted to the gills, but completely in control of things. I knew what I was doing and what I’m capable of or not. Ask Ken. We did this maybe 3 or 4 times a year for a bunch of years. I’ll miss those times until the day I die.
Even though I didn’t see or hang out with John all that often he was one of those handful of friends I could count on in a pinch, as I had to do once. Some years back I had an operation and afterward it didn’t go so well, and because Suzanne was out of town I needed to call on a few friends over a few nights to stay the night in case I started bleeding and needed to get to the ER. Turned out I didn’t, but John was one of the people I could count on. That meant more to me than I can ever say. I hope I told him that. I think I did.
It’s funny how we rarely get to really say good-bye to people when they’re alive; we wind up doing it after they’ve died. Death should have taught us that every time we’re with people we like, and especially people we love; we might hold the thought that we might never see that person. I thought I’d learned that lesson, but I haven’t. I usually end my conversations with, “See ya” and take that for granted. But it ain’t so. Every moment with someone who really means something to you one should hold the thought, somewhere, this might be the last time I’ll ‘see ya.’ It needn’t be said, and then maybe these last good-byes wouldn’t be necessary. It would have been conveyed in life.
So I’ll say good-bye to my friend John Ross, who honored me with his friendship. If there’s a life after this one, I’ll see ya pal.
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