In response

Wow, guys, you've given me a lot to chew on.  I'm sorry it's taking me until today to respond, but there have been other things to attend to (like how my mother is going to survive this pandemic).  Forgive me for using my blog as a medium.  I will only be sharing it with you.  It's format makes it easier for me to respond to the many questions you've posed for me, so here goes:

I'm going to make an assumption about what kind of government is a Bernie/AOC type of government.  I'll assume you think it means it has more elements of "socialism" than you are comfortable with.  I describe myself as a Matthew 25 Christian of the Episcopal persuasion.  That means we are called to care for the "least of these."  For Jesus, that meant the sick, poor, widows, the imprisoned.  If the church or churches can't or won't, then the government should step in (to promote the General welfare -- preamble to the Constitution).  I could go on, but I thank you for giving me the opportunity to put this into words.  If that means a degree of "socialism", then so be it.

In particular, be careful about citing the bible to justify tight controls over "welfare" programs.  The specific quote is from II Thessalonians, 3:11-12:  "For we hear that some of you are living in idleness, mere busybodies, not doing any work. Now such persons we command and exhort in the Lord Jesus Christ to do their work quietly and to earn their own living." 

Now, having done some research, I might note that biblical scholars think this letter (along with some others) was not written by Paul, but by a follower written in his style.  Contrast the harsh language used here with the language of I Corinthians 13, which scholars agree was written by Paul.  Paul was writing to a church that he himself  had "planted" to use the current vernacular.  Paul himself was preaching that the second coming is just around the corner.  So, his followers were taking an "eat, drink, and be merry" approach.  This was Paul doing a certain amount of backtracking, because he realized that the end times were not immediately ahead.

Regardless, having studied the bible a good deal as a layman for around thirty years, I find, as a Christian, I am safest in citing the gospels and the words of Jesus as recorded there:

• Love your neighbor as yourself.
• Love your enemies.
• Love one another as I have loved you.

Also, don't forget that there are several successful countries whose governments reflect democratic socialism;  most of Scandinavia, Germany, France, to name a few.  They have elements of socialism and capitalism, don't they?  Venezuela is not the best example, because it's corruption, not socialism, that has caused it to be a semi-failed state.  

As for open borders, in the aftermath of 9/11, no one in their right minds would be for open borders and you don't hear any Democrats saying they are for open borders.  There are a lot of Republicans and certain media outlets who accuse Democrats of being for open borders, but I'm sorry.  Democratic leadership is not and has never been.  That having been said, I don't think it is right to completely shut off the asylum process.  

The United States has a spotty record as regards asylum seekers.  Terry, I would ask you to think about the logic of  "If an asylum seeker can't support himself, he shouldn't be allowed in."  They are ASYLUM SEEKERS for crying out loud, looking for protection in a safer environment than their home countries, where they experienced war, persecution, corrupt governments, or torture.  Of course, they are not going to be able to support themselves immediately.  I speak with some experience, having, through my church, been introduced to a gentleman from the Democratic Republic of Congo, who had to flee his country after he was persecuted, tortured, his wife raped, and his brother-in-law murdered because he was a member of an opposition party.  It took him, his wife, and his seven children ten months to work their way to the southern border near San Diego.  He applied for asylum, but it was denied, because he didn't complete it with the help of an official French translator.  (He had asked for a French translator to help him, but that was denied as well.)  I visited with him three times in the Etowah County Detention Center in Gadsden, Alabama, where he had been detained, off and on, for two years.  He had been detained in other detention centers as well, all remote from any meaningful legal assistance.  He came close to deportation, but through the help of supporters, that was put on hold.  He wants to work but our government will not allow it.  He has to wait for his work permit a ridiculous amount of time.

Abortion--jeez why do we always come to this?  No one I know is pro-abortion.  You may think it is a matter of semantics, but I choose the term pro-choice.  Frankly, I don't think three old men should be telling a young woman what to do with her body.  Joe, I don't know the particulars of your situation, but it sounded pretty dreadful for you and I'm sorry you had to experience that.  Having said that, we put the burden on young women but not on their male "accomplices".  It's become a cliche, but when I hear people say they are pro-life, my immediate response is, "Are you willing to support this woman by providing access to contraception, this child through good education, good healthcare, an economy that promises opportunity?"  I would go on to ask if they support capital punishment?  In my mind, you can't have it both ways.

Let's talk about the form of government for a while.  A republic, by definition, is "a state in which supreme power is held by the people and their elected representatives, and which has an elected or nominated president rather than a monarch. The primary positions of power within a republic are attained, through democracy, oligarchy, autocracy, or a mix thereof, rather than being unalterably occupied. "   Now we say we are a democratic republic.  Ours is a democratic form of government, and the founders had some great ideals which they embodied in the constitution.  Sometimes, however, we fail to live out those ideals.  There are two areas of particular concern for me now:

1. Gerrymandered congressional districts do injury to a representative form of government.  Both Democrats and Republicans are guilty.  Many states are starting to establish non-partisan committees to set the congressional districts.  That seems like a good idea to me.
2. Big money in politics turns us more into an oligarchy (like Russia) where a few very wealthy individuals have an undue amount of influence over our government.

I find a strict or originalist interpretation of the Constitution abhorrent.  Times change, and Madison, who authored much of the Constitution, was wise to include an amendment process.  However, I don't think he could have foreseen a weapon like the AR15.  He also did not foresee our country united behind an effort to place a man on the moon.  Since we all pitched in, was that socialism?

This comes up most often with regard to the second amendment.  First, if you dig into its history, you'll find that it was a compromise between free and slave state positions.  The "militias" to which it refers were groups who rounded up escaped slaves and felt they (the militias) needed to be armed.  There is nothing in the amendment about defending individuals from an encroaching government.   I consider it a fear tactic to raise that as a reason for continuing our adherence to the amendment.  Even if you read the "militias" as necessary for the defense of the various states, that argument goes out the window with the establishment of our various armed forces, including the state-based National Guard.  Joe, since you brought it up, even if the government does come gunning for you, what are you going to do against bazookas, mortars, tanks, and aircraft?  I don't think your AR15 will be much help.

But, seriously, if you believe in the system of government with its checks and balances, how realistic a fear is that anyway?

Now, let's get to the elephant in the room:  the President.

Actually, Joe, we do have some common ground.  I'm concerned about Joe Biden and his numerous misstatements.  I, frankly, do think he may be slipping a bit.  But I've been watching the President a lot (it's hard to miss him).  Talk about slipping!  He had trouble getting the word "virus" out in his message from the oval office the other night and that's not all.  The message was full of confusing, incomplete statements to the people at a time when confusion is the last thing needed.  And this is not the only slip of the tongue--not by a long shot.  The late night comedians have been given so much material by him.

I think he should have been impeached, but not so much for the business about Ukraine.  You can choose to believe him about the Mueller report being biased if you want, but Robert Mueller has a reputation for honesty that is hard to match, as does Jim Comey.  I think he should have been impeached for the ten or eleven instances of obstruction of justice cited in the Mueller Report.  And we all witnessed one or more of them because they were public. I'll never forget the interview with Leonard Holt of NBC when he stated that he fired Comey because of "the Russia thing."

With Ukraine, the obstruction of Congress was equally obvious and public.

I'm troubled by the man's character.  He lies or misspeaks daily, if not hourly.  He clearly expects those who report to him to praise him.  Can anyone forget that first Cabinet meeting back in 2017? 

Why has he not divested himself of his business interests?

I've gone on way too long.  Thank you for your patience if you've made it this far.

I'm Terrified

I'm terrified with the news delivered to Congress and to the Sanders campaign that Vladimir Putin is directing a concerted effort to engineer the 2020 Presidential election.

Basically, Putin wants Trump to win again.  He wants Bernie Sanders to win, I think, because he perceives Senator Sanders to be a weak candidate who would lose to Trump.

As in 2016, the strategy is to drop into the social media maelstrom, nuggets of disinformation, that are picked up and re-posted by those who are reading what reinforces their existing bias.  And the social media platforms are complicit as the "algorithm" sees what you "like" and feeds you more of the same.

I'm terrified that Putin and his minions are even smarter than we can imagine.

They're also more cynical than most Americans are.  Despite our current gloom and doom divisions, the idea of America has always been hopeful, believing in the best of people far more than their worst.  I think the Russians think that if they can just push our Democratic and Republican buttons, we can re-push the buttons in knee-jerk fashion, purely as a reflex without any conscious thought.

We don't seem to be very smart.  We've embraced social media wholeheartedly without exercising caution about its dark side, without realizing that it's not our old methods of exchanging ideas and positions.

I don't believe my Republican friends are natural liars anymore than I think Democrats are.  What they have in common is a desire to latch on to "news" items that comes across their news feeds that speak to their frequently unacknowledged biases. 

So if Vladimir or Donald post or tweet a lie, shame on them.  If we re-post the lie, shame on us.  We owe it to ourselves, our neighbors, and the ideal of our country to stop, think, and ask ourselves why it resonates with us.

What we can do is some good, old fashioned soul searching, what I learned in my Catholic upbringing as an examination of conscience.

Why do we feel the way we do?  If we don't spend some time in introspection, then Putin will make his choices our choices.

And he will have won.  Again.

Quotable quote

I found the following in the introduction to Conversations with Scripture:  The Gospel of Mark by Marcus Borg.  The introduction is written by Frederick W. Schmidt, the series editor.

He quotes (or paraphrases) William Sloane Coffin:

"...the problem with Americans and the Bible is that we read it like a drunk uses a lamppost.  We lean on it, we don't use it for illumination.  Leaning on Scripture and having the lamppost taken out completely are simply two very closely related ways of failing to acknowledge the creative space provided by Scripture."

Parkway Place

Good whatever time it is, daughters, when you read this.

If you noticed my most recent blog post, you will know that I want to catch up on some things that I regret not sharing with you in your younger days.

First on the list, what it was like growing up in the particular manner that I did, in the particular environment that was mine.

Parkway Place in the 1950s was part working class, part white collar.  I remember widows living with their spinster daughters.  I remember a retired policeman.  For the most part, watch an old "Leave It To Beaver" and you'll get the idea of the kind of street it was.  Parkway Place was heaven.

Our home was at 2399 Parkway Place in Memphis in the middle of a long block that runs from East Parkway almost to Hollywood.  Through traffic was not possible, so it was pretty quiet traffic wise.

Our house is what is usually referred to as an airplane bungalow with a first floor and a second perched on the back of the house.  Until renovating the upstairs several years after we moved in, there were only two bedrooms.  The front room was for my parents; the back room was for the children.  There was a living room, a dining room, a kitchen, and one bathroom.  Considering that the two of you spent your lives (for the most part) having your own room, you need to imagine what the sleeping arrangements were like after Mawmaw had Uncle Andy and Uncle Steve.  It was when she was pregnant with your Uncle Richard, that they decided we needed more room.

Truthfully, around the time I was thirteen or fourteen, they renovated the upstairs and gave it to me as my bedroom.  It had a built in desk, built in shelves and drawers for my clothes.  Best of all, I had my own bathroom.

Around the same time, Pawpaw tore down an old decrepit rotting garage and replaced it with more of a storeroom for equipment he had to sell.  It sat up on a concrete bed, about two feet high, and, therefore, could never be used as a garage.  The raised platform was ideal for me when I was learning how to throw a baseball, although the metal door on the front of the storeroom probably still shows dents where I threw too high.

We had tried to put a basketball rim on the old garage, but it didn't work out.  It was a first effort for both Pawpaw and me.

When we got the new building, I asked Pawpaw if I could remount the rim on the new building.  He told me if I could make a backboard and attach the rim so that it would not come off, we would put it on the building.  I learned a lot about countersinking screws so the boards would not come out.  I did it with an old fashioned, manual drill that looked like this

(except that it was really old and had belonged to my grandfather) and it took me the better part of a week to build it.

There was an opening in a fence at the end of the street which gave us a short cut walking or on bikes to the post office or to school.

School was only six to eight blocks away, depending on the route you took.  (This was before Sam Cooper cut through the area.  Imagine there not being a Sam Cooper.)

I received my first bicycle when I was six years old.  It was a 22" Schwinn.  I learned to ride with that bicycle.  It was easy to learn on such a quiet street and you could learn to balance by riding right next to the curb.

Once I learned to ride, I would ride to a friend's house on Forrest Avenue, a block away.

There were other kids on the street.  The Kaminskys were a Jewish family who lived a few houses down and across the street.  There were three boys, the youngest of which made a deal with your grandmother:  he would teach her Hebrew if she would teach him to bake cream puffs.  This should come as no surprise to you.

Charles and Alan Wilson lived down the street close to East Parkway.  Charles was about three years older and Alan was about my age.  Charles was the boy who received a catcher's mitt as a gift when he was about thirteen and I was ten.  This is the same catcher's mitt that figures into the disaster in which I caught a baseball on my nose.
This injury sent me to the emergency room and led, eventually, to three surgeries of my nose and throat as an adult.

I still have a scar on the back of my leg from playing in Alan's back yard one day.  We must have been playing soldiers or cops and robbers.  Alan "shot" me and I fell to the ground.  When I got up, blood was streaming down my leg; I had cut it on a broken bottle.

Our next door neighbors were the Eillerts.  Mr. Eillert worked at the old Press Scimitar, the afternoon newspaper which probably went out of business before you were born.

Mr. Eillert taught me how to tie my shoes.  I haven't any idea why your grandparents did not.  Perhaps Mr. Eillert just beat them to the punch.

The Eillerts had two sons, both older than me, Bobby and Jimmy.  They attended the Church of Christ, but still were good neighbors to us.

Jimmy was another cream puff fan and hung around whenever your grandmother experimented with baking.  He also spent a lot of time with me because he enjoyed sports, but I don't think he was ever good enough to play for his school.  He taught me how to throw a football.  He would play catch with me when he came home from school.

Jimmy is also remembered for picking your Uncle Andy up when he was about a year old.  While playing with the baby, he lifted him up quickly over his head. Unfortunately, he was standing under a door jam.  I'm not sure Uncle Andy was ever the same after that.

Our street was so quiet that we could play touch football in the middle of it and rarely have to stop to let a car pass.

We could also play a game known as cork ball.  It was played with a large cork (bigger than a wine cork), wrapped in adhesive tape.  A sawed off broom handle was used as a bat.  Imagine how hard you might find it to hit a wine cork with a broom handle.  You could have any number of defensive players in the "field" (i.e., street).  

There's a certain technique to "throwing" the cork.  I'd love to show my grandsons some day.  

If you hit the cork and it was caught on the fly, you were out.  Otherwise, you were awarded a base hit.  There were no bases and no running.

We had to be careful about playing in front of Mrs. Lancaster's house.  She kept a lookout for any kid who stepped in her yard.  Her lawn was immaculate and, by God, she was going to keep it that way.  Of course, her house was in the middle of the block, right where it was most convenient for us to play.  Also, of course, stray cork balls, baseballs, and footballs would make their way to her yard.  We would beg her forgiveness to get the balls back.  She was a terror, but her yard was immaculate, nary a weed ever dared show its face.

All of the yards on our side of the street were higher than those on the other side.  One of my greatest pleasures was taking that little Schwinn bicycle, pedal into sufficient speed to ride up the slope of the yard and "jump" the bicycle.  I'm sure I never achieved anything like kids of your generation with the fancy equipment installed in modern parks.

Our yards were also great for playing tackle football.  We played without pads or helmets.  There was an older boy who lived across the street, Don Holt.  Don was a good athlete but, I think, was somewhat of a hypochondriac.  He was always going down with one suspicious injury or another.

Don had an older sister, Blanche.  She babysat your Aunt Barbara, Uncle Andy, and me on Friday nights when your grandparents would take dancing lessons at a friend's house.  I fell in love with Blanche. You know that was going to work out.  I was in the sixth grade, she was a senior in high school.  She would come over and when the younger children were in bed we would do our weekend homework together.  Blanche, unfortunately, did not reciprocate my ardor, married right out of high school, and moved away.

At the open end of the street was East Parkway and Overton Park with its zoo, ball fields, and old growth forest. 

When I was in the fourth grade, I received my first 26" bicycle.  Your grandparents bought it at the Western Auto store on the corner of Cleveland and Poplar.  It was really too big for me to handle, but I slowly managed.  My parents now allowed me to ride to school and back.  I had outgrown the little Schwinn so much that my knees were hitting the handle bars when I rode.

I really wanted an "English racer", a bike with gears and, I thought, the ability to fly.  Still, I had my new bike.  I tried all kinds of things to make it look like a racing bike.  I turned the handlebars upside down so that I was bent over them like the ones I'd seen racing on television.

One of my "friends" toward the east end of the street was Patricia.  We were the same age and we played together.  She was, however, an only child.  She and her divorced mother lived with Patricia's grandmother.  Her grandmother nicknamed her "Tissa".  I can still hear her grandmother shrieking her name out the front door when she wanted Patricia to come home.  "Tissa!  Tissa!  Tissa!"

Patricia was large for her age and could turn playtime into bullying in about thirty seconds.  I recall playing a lot of hopscotch with her and arguing over some of the rules.  Eventually, she would become president of a local Beatles fan club.


I went to high school with Alan Chambers who would visit his grandparents on occasion.  He became a fairly well known lawyer in town.

It was really fun living so close to Overton Park.  When I was in the Boy Scouts, several of us would meet in the old growth forest.  We would cut vines away from the old trees and swing on them.  Have you ever swung on an actual vine?  Of course, we would also pretend to be Tarzan, but we lacked the acrobatic skills.

What was different about Parkway Place and the era from the places and era in which you were raised?

We had not laid eyes on our first personal computer.  We learned addition and multiplication rules by rote and were tested and drilled on them constantly.

Unless the weather interfered, we rode bikes or the bus if we needed to get somewhere.  Our parents would drive us (sometimes) to ball games and the like.  I would ride the bus downtown to take swimming lessons at the old YMCA.  In your day, we rarely let you ride your bikes out of our sight and, as for the bus, forget it.  My parents were less afraid for the safety of their children than your mother and I were.  Of course our parents' perception was of a safer environment.  Whether it was really safer or not, I don't know.

Another clue to this difference is how we were allowed to play outside with neighbor kids until the street lights came on.  We would ride bikes all over the neighborhood, into Overton Park, and no one thought a thing about it.

Your grandfather had his business in the basement of our house for a while.  It was nice to have him so close and I loved to learn to use his typewriter and adding machine.

He also had a business phone line that we could answer by twisting a dial on the home phone.  This was useful when his secretary would have lunch with your grandmother during the day.  A big difference is that I knew many of the people with whom your grandfather worked, whereas you grew up knowing very few of my associates.

Your grandfather discovered that "factory men" from manufacturers he represented were happier eating your grandmother's cooking at our home than going out to a restaurant.

His longest term employee, Billie Bush, started as a secretary, but eventually learned to be more involved in developing and pricing the various construction jobs to which Pawpaw hope to sell heating and air conditioning equipment.

Billie would usually take her lunch upstairs with your grandmother, watching a variety show on television.  The Mike Douglas show sticks in my memory.

Evenings, after homework was done and baths were taken, we were allowed to watch television.  Leave It To Beaver, Twilight Zone, Gunsmoke, Dragnet, Peter Gunn are all shows that I remember.

I may say more about homework when I write about the school I attended, but suffice it to say that your grandparents insisted that homework always came first.  Oh, I could go out and play football or cork ball or play hide and seek with neighborhood children, but there was never any question whether I could pass on homework.

Constantin Bakala

In late March, 2019, I was contacted by a member of St. Luke's North Park in San Diego. 
 

St. Luke's has a large immigrant ministry, being so close to the San Ysidro Port of Entry.
  

Constantin Bakala, his wife, and seven children fled their home country of the Democratic Republic of Congo in 2016.  Constantin was affiliated with a party with democratic ideals, opposing the party in power.  He was tortured, she raped, and one of his relatives was murdered.

They traveled through ten countries before arriving in Mexico and presenting at the Port of Entry in November 2017.  Taken into custody, his wife and children were allowed to remain in San Diego (she wearing a tracking ankle bracelet), while he was sent to detention centers on the other side of the country, in Louisiana, Virginia, Atlanta, and finally Etowah County Detention Center (otherwise know as the county jail).

He has been in detention for about fifteen months.  His health is starting to decline with increased blood pressure, weight loss, and depression.

He is not allowed any personal visits.  Rather, you have to go through a website (www.jailfunds.com) to schedule a video visit.  So far, I have traveled to the detention center twice for video visits of twenty minutes each.

There is a commissary where he can purchase incidental items for hygiene, extra food, etc.  But money must be deposited into the commissary account in order for him to avail himself of this "privilege."  For the present, he has enough money in his account.

I mailed him an English-French dictionary so that he can improve his English and better understanding the proceedings of his case.  It was scheduled to arrive last Saturday, but as of this morning, he had not been given the book.

There are about three hundred other detainees being kept in the detention center.

The conditions under which he is being kept would seem to violate the norms of a civilized society:  separated from family, restricted communications only facilitated by paying a fee.  All after his making an attempt to seek admission to the country legally under the asylum process.

Now, asylum seekers are being processed and allowed into the country.  But what about those already in detention?

Constantin has technical skills and would like to contribute to society, rather than living this painful existence on the public dollar.

Whatever happened to compassion?

If I had it to do over...

I'd tell my children more of my own personal story:

• what it was like to grow up on a dead end street in midtown Memphis.
• what it was like to go to a Catholic parochial school in the fifties and early sixties.
• what it was like to go to an all male Catholic high school in the sixties.
• what it was like to come to doubt everything I'd been taught.
• how much I loved basketball and baseball.
• how I tried out for high school football but found out what football was really like the first day we wore pads.
• about the day JFK died.
• how I was a product of the 60s (although the 60s arrived in Memphis Tennessee somewhere around 1971)
• how I felt the night Martin Luther King was killed
• how I was opposed to the Vietnam War and what I did about it
• how and why I became disenchanted with the church in which I was raised
• how I went to live with a dying man during college.
• how I fell in love with their mother but once we were engaged I had second thoughts but went ahead with it anyway
• how my church tried to keep us from getting married.
• how our relationship deteriorated to the point we couldn't live with each other anymore.
• how we were both heartbroken when our first child was still born.
• about the nights each of them was born.
• how much human rights means to me.
• how much I loved watching them play volleyball, a sport I never dreamed of playing.
• how much I dreamed of a career in academia.
• how much I loved mathematics.
• just how good I was at my job.
• what it's like to live with clinical depression for twenty years.
• what it was like to stay up to watch the first steps of man on the moon. 

I think I have some emails to write.

Wes Kitchens and more important issues

Wes Kitchens is a young local man who is running for a seat in the state legislature.  

As described in the text below, he sent out a political flyer that set my teeth on edge.  I responded by writing a letter to the editor.  

This is the "more important issue" I reference in the title above.  The first amendment to our constitution assures us of a free press and the freedom of speech.  A letter to the editor takes advantage of both rights.

One of the newspapers to which I submitted the letter declined to publish it, regarding it as political in nature and, by the newspaper's "policy", allowable only as a paid political advertisement.  In my view, this paper denied me my right of free speech.

The local paper in the town where I live chose to publish it and, for that, I am grateful, despite the tone of my letter and the overarching ideology of the local paper being in stark contrast.

We must not fear to speak out.  There are those who would choose to ignore glaring falsehoods when spoken by those in power.  I choose not.

Now my letter:

To the editor:

I opened my mailbox the other day to find a flyer from Mr. Kitchens' campaign focused on the sole issue of his support of the second amendment and his "highest rating" from the NRA.

It takes a little digging, but I eventually found my way to the NRA's Political Victory Fund web site where politicians' grades can be found.  I looked up Mr. Kitchens' grade.  It was AQ ( defined as a "pro-gun candidate whose rating is based solely on the candidate's responses to the NRA-PVF Candidate Questionnaire and who does not have a voting record on Second Amendment issues").  Well, that makes sense.  Mr. Kitchens hasn't held elective office so he would have no voting record at all.  Elected officials who have voting records can receive grades of A +, B, and D, depending on the extent to which they have supported the NRA agenda of gun rights versus gun control.

Candidates (like Mr. Kitchens) can achieve a grade of A (higher than AQ) if they are a " solidly pro-gun candidate. A candidate who has supported NRA positions on key votes in elective office or a candidate with a demonstrated record of support on Second Amendment issues."

An argument can be made, therefore, that Mr. Kitchens does not have the highest grade (A+) nor does he have the second highest grade (A).  Who else thinks this earns him either a "Pinocchio" award or a "Pants on Fire" prize?

It gets better.  The flyer declares "Wes Kitchens believes you have a God-given constitutional right to keep and bear arms."  I love it when politicians string these nonsense word salads together.  Constitutional?  That's verifiable.  I believe we all have a constitutional right to keep and bear arms.  There are times that I wish we didn't.  But God-given?  That's harder.

So let me help Mr. Kitchens establish that this is a God-given right.  Maybe it has its roots in Exodus where the Lord God instructs that "You shall not kill."  Or moving forward in the Bible, it's where Jesus says that "He who lives by the sword will die by the sword."  Isaiah must have had this right in mind when he foresaw Jesus as the "Prince of Peace".  I know it must be in one of those pesky commands Jesus gives, like "Love your neighbor as yourself.  Love your enemies."  And peskiest of all, "Love one another as I have loved you."

I could not find a campaign web site for Mr. Kitchens.  I did find his Facebook page, but it shed little light on what kind of platform Mr. Kitchens is promoting.  His announcement of his intention to run contained more of that word salad:  "Fiscally conservative".  "Christian and conservative values".  "Reduce wasteful spending."

All those phrases are meant to give warm, fuzzy feelings to the electorate.  They give me heartburn, because they don't say anything about what qualifies him to run.  They don't say anything concrete about what legislation he envisions putting forth. 

Does "fiscally conservative" mean that you want to keep the state in the same financial pickle it's been in for years, because you're too terrified to suggest that we might need more revenue (i.e., taxes) to repair our infrastructure, to educate our children, to provide better healthcare for our citizens, to address mental health issues that are an insult to the phrase "Christian values"?

Mr. Kitchens is running a campaign of smoke and mirrors and some other elements that I'm too polite to mention here.

He will not have my vote.  He believes in keeping Alabama on its present track to the bottom. 

He would do better to recall the words of George Bernard Shaw often cited by  Robert Kennedy,  "Some men see things as they are, and ask why. I dream of things that never were, and ask why not."  Now those are words to guide a political campaign.  We need a few good dreamers.

I know it's just primary season, but I encourage your readers to investigate Bill Jones, Democrat running for the same district 27 seat as Mr. Kitchens.  Bill has a platform; it's about a better Alabama.