The Hurt, The Itch, and The Joke

It’s raining today, which means it is time for miscellany.  I always have a few short ideas rattling around in my head, and these days writing about them is the best way to get them out of there.  First, the itch. 

For years now, if it doesn’t hurt, it itches.  I have arthritis in several places and it bothers me from time to time.  Currently it is my left knee and my left wrist.  The knee hurts and is weak for the first few steps when I get out of the chair.  I get shots in the knee from time to time, usually good for six months or so.  I am left handed and the wrist is intermittently a real pain, usually when gardening.  I notice that my left hand is weaker than the other one (I won’t say right.)  as I am the official opener and fixer around the house, this is not good.   

Itch

Itch

The itch is the biggie.  I itch every morning until the Allegra kicks in, and every evening until the Benadryl kicks in.  I don’t know what the allergen is, and it is year around.  The worst spots are on my back over my kidneys.  Right now, the inside of my forearm and calf are itching.  The itch doesn’t drive me nuts, I was already there.   

I tried the allergy specialist with no luck.  The only things that help are the antihistamines.  There is a possibility the allergen is one of the medications I take.  Next time I see my doctor I will talk to her about doing an allergy elimination protocol.  I won’t do it myself, I take that stuff for a reason.  I don’t want to have a stroke while tracking the source of the itch. 

I didn’t itch when I was younger.  I even felt a bit smug when others complained about their allergies.  Maybe the whole thing is karma.   

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Now, the joke, my favorite of all time.  I see a person wearing a college t-shirt or sweatshirt and ask them if they know why graduates of the school’s big rival keep a copy of their diploma on the dash of their car.  They do it so they can park in the handicapped spot.  Here in Denver it is usually Colorado-Nebraska or Denver University-Colorado College.  Nebraska, of course, is the most appropriate.  That N on their football player’s helmets stands for nowledge.  Most Coloradoans know that joke, but it is fun to see the reaction when in Nebraska. 

I have used it for schools all over the country.  Michigan-Ohio State, Purdue-Indiana, Notre Dame-Penn State, Duke-North Carolina, Auburn-Alabama, USC-UCLA, and especially Texas-Texas A&M, as Aggies are right in there with Nebraska.  I have told this to dozens of people, and only one didn’t like the joke.

Skin Cancer

Squamous Cell Skin Cancer

Squamous Cell Skin Cancer

When I noticed a little place on my cheek not healing, I made the appointment, but I thought, no big deal.  When I got home from the dermatologist’s and took the band-aid off, it suddenly became a big deal.  She gave me the choice of having a some stitches or just letting it heal with a scar.  The stitches meant another trip to have them out, so I said leave it alone.  I have lots of zit scars, so another scar was, again, no big deal. 

I have a hole in my face.  It is almost the size of a dime and is a deep sucker.  Seeing the crater was a shock.  I saw all the scars on my coworker’s face and didn’t make much of them, but they were on him, not me.  This is a big deal. 

My reaction to having cancer, even though it is relatively less dangerous, is colored by my experience with cancer in my circle of people.  My mother died of mis-diagnosed cancer and took a long time to die.  Other family members have had cancer.  My sister-in-law has just recovered from stage four abdominal cancer with the help of chemo and medical marijuana.  It’s pretty well documented that marijuana kills cancer cells. 

I have lost some high school classmates to cancer.  I was best man for one of them, and another died just a few weeks ago.  The scar on my psyche is from my mother’s death.  I was young, she was just in her late forties, and was an ordeal filled with denial.   

In recent years trips to the dermatologist are regular, every six months or year, depending on those scaly patches on my face.  My own denial is never taking enough precautions in the sun.    I grew up when we didn’t really know better, and sunburn was an annual event.  I drove an open sports car in the mountains, making my face red.  I always had sunscreen around, but hardly ever put it on.  Most of my hats cover my bald head and shade my eyes, but the rest of my face is out there.  No longer. 

Sunscreen and hats with a wide brim are the new cool.  Well, not really, I have never viewed myself as cool.  One of my rationales for not wearing good hats is because I am always losing the damn things.  I take it off and walk away.  Also, what am I supposed to do in winter?  The sun shines here and reflects off snow, but a wide brim hat?  Do I have to start wearing Stetsons? 

Here I am rambling on about hats.  The reality is, I’m scared.  I know squamous cell cancer properly treated is seldom dangerous, but I am still dealing with my mother’s cancer fifty years later, and this little event has triggered it once more.  One of my maxims is to not worry about things I have no control over.  The question is, can I have control over this?  I have a lot of letting go to do.

At the Dermatologist

I have a long medical history. But for modern medicine, I would be dead several times over.  Pneumonia, bleeding ulcer, knee ACL and PCL, serious butt stuff, on and on.
Most of my life I went out in the sun without sun protection. That was a bad idea, growing up at  some altitude in a desert. I have done a good amount of outside work as well. The only  precautions I ever took was wearing a hat, usually a ball cap.
A few years ago I started regular trips to the dermatologist to have patchy pre-cancerous areas  on my face frozen. There were always new spots to be treated. Not long after the last visit I  noticed my razor scraping a place on my cheek. It didn’t heal, so I called.
Early Stage Squamous Cell Cancer

Early Stage Squamous Cell Cancer

This morning my Dermatologist took one look and said cancer. She started with a biopsy and  saw it was deeper than she thought. She scooped out a chunk about the size of a dime. No  stitches, just a band-aid and Vaseline. Squamous cell cancer.

I have always been aware of the risk. A rancher and the game warden in Fruita died from skincancers they ignored for too long. A guard at one of the water plants where I worked had a sore  on his face he was ignoring. I yelled at him so much he finally went in and had the cancer cut out.
A friend at work, blonde with fair skin, grew up in Brooklyn and spent his summers at Coney  Island. He travels to the Caribbean to scuba dive several times a year. He goes to his  dermatologist every quarter to have more cancers cut out. He has a pretty good sized gouge  out of his nose.
I thought I was probably safe because my skin is not that fair. I have hardly ever used sunscreen, but have almost always worn a hat, especially after going bald. Usually it was a ball cap.  I have used a boonie hat more lately. I think my ball cap days are over. I will also start  using sunblock. Once again, modern medicine is saving my life.

Fall

Quakies on Kebler Pass Pass, Colorado

Quakies on Kebler Pass Pass, Colorado

The seasons they are a-changing.  Back when I was a hunter, dove season started on the first of September.  Here in eastern Colorado, the first cold front of the fall happens about that time.  Hunters hope it comes after the first, because the cool down sends the resident doves south.  The birds available are migratory birds, with different behavior and less numbers.   The Japanese Beetles also  burrow into the lawn.

I no longer hunt, but I miss our neighbor city doves and their calls as soon as they leave.  It’s harvest time as well.  We didn’t do well with squash this year, but the kitchen is full of tomatoes.  Tomato salads, tomato sauce, and tomato soup.  Tomato soup is the easiest, throw some tomato sin the Vita-Mix, add whatever zip you want, put the milk in, and whomp it up.  The Vita-Mix has enough power to heat the soup.  Carol makes a great baked frittata with sliced tomatoes on top.  .  

The other  wonderful thing about fall is the color.  Our maple tree leaves are getting a fringe here in mid-September.  In some parts of the high country, the Quakies are reaching their peak about now.  Peak season for the yellow and gold display varies around the state, so there are several weeks of viewing available. 

Squaw Pass

Squaw Pass

My favorite area near Denver is Squaw (The USGS needs to rename this pass) Pass between Evergreen and Echo Lake on the Mt. Evans road.  From the summit the view to the north is spectacular.  One can get a feeling for the sheer expanse of the Rocky Mountains.  Probably the most intense area for yellow trees is Kebler Pass from Crested Butte to Somerset, near Paonia.  There is good camping in the area, and fewer people. 

Probably the most popular color viewing drive from Denver is the Peak-to-Peak highway from Clear Creek Canyon to Estes Park.  I make the trip every year, usually coming up one of the canyons and back down BigThompson Canyon.  I drove it over the weekend.  There are some aspens, but not a lot.  I think there were more people in Estes Park than quakies along the Peak to Peak.   

I am so lucky to be a Colorado native.  The Colorado Plateau, with the red oak brush (Gambel Oak) to the cottonwoods in the canyons and the hardwoods in the towns, you go east into the mountains with more brush and those quakies.  Out on the plains, the creek and river bottoms have a display, a relief from the relentless tan of the prairie. 

I plan a prairie trip soon to go to the North Platte, Chimney Rock, Scott’s Bluff, and Fort Laramie, important spots on the Oregon Trail.  Our history is more recent compared to the old country, but there is a lot of it, much of it tragic.   

Fall is, to me, the best time for travel.  Last year it was I-80 from New York to Denver with all that eastern hardwood color, this year it is running around my home country, bounded by Ely, Nevada; Winslow, Arizona; Albuquerque; Springfield, Colorado; North Platte, Nebraska; Ten Sleep, Wyoming; and Vernal, Utah.  More or less.

Next week we are headed to New York for a visit.  Central Park will be pretty.

Declining and Arising

The Quarter Moon

The Quarter Moon

A few years ago Carol, my wife, her sister Judi, and I wrote a blog about caregiving for aging parents.  The aging parents are gone and so is the blog, but one piece I wrote sticks with me.  Watching the decline.  I wrote the piece about Frank, Carol’s and Judi’s dad who went into a serious decline in his ’90s.   

Frank is gone, so now I am watching my own decline.  I had it come home to me when I forgot where I parked the car in downtown Minneapolis and spent three hours searching for the damn thing. By the time I found it I was tired, relieved, and a bit ashamed.  Not finding the car has always been a problem for me, a function of my ADD.  I keep a little yellow ball on the radio antenna of my pickup so I can see it in the parking lot.  Losing the car for three hours is a new one, however.  Yes, I have a GPS in my cell phone. 

Losing the car is only one symptom.  My knee, wrist, shoulder, and back hurt.  I fall down.  I can’t remember names.  Carol and I make a plan every week, and I forget what I am supposed to do.  I go downstairs to get something, do three other things and end up back upstairs without what I went for.  Three times. 

I will be 74 in October.  What do I have left?  Ten, maybe fifteen years?  Aging is reality for me.  Usually I take these things in stride.  After all what is important is the moment, which is almost always pretty good.  The trip to Minneapolis threw me into something of a funk.  I got scared when I couldn’t find the car.  I went to help my brother-in-law, who is facing some aging issues as well.  I still haven’t recovered from the trip. 

My life is good.  We have a nice home and garden, good things to do, travel some, and have fun together.  I can write, which I was unable to do until the last few years after getting diagnosed and treated for ADD.  I have gone places and done things.  I can ( http://www.insightmeditation.org/ )meditate which I could not do for most of my life.  I have found an important role as family caregiver. Caregiving is especially meaningful because it didn’t exist in my family. 

The meditation has opened up a spiritual life I have sought since I first asked “Why?”.  I now  know the answer: Because.  The secret to because is becoming.  The sun is up every morning.  The birds sing, even if I have trouble hearing them.  The new in my life outweighs the difficulties.      Most of the time.  I get myself in trouble when I stare at that unknowable wall out there.  If I stay where I belong, here and now, I’m fine.  Events, however, sometimes present that wall-my brief time on this world and in this body.  I’ll get through it.  Writing this has already helped.

Minneapolis

I recently went to Minneapolis to help my brother-in-law.  He was on his bicycle returning from doing some volunteer work when he was hit by a car.  His leg was broken, and the ambulance took him to the Hennepin County Medical Center, a huge facility, where he had surgery on the leg.  There he was, in the hospital then in a nice rehab facility, immobile.   

I traveled from Denver to serve as legs.  He need his mail and things from his place and the police report for starters.  The mail and things was no problem.  He lives in one of Minneapolis’ hip neighborhoods.  Lots of bicycle shops and pizza joints.  The police report was another matter. 

Minneapolis City Hall

Minneapolis City Hall

The City website gave a wrong address.  I asked around, and was sent to City Hall next door.  It is quite an edifice, a big pile of brown brick meant to be in some architectural style.  There is nothing on the outside of the building to identify it as City Hall.  I found the right office and was told I had to have written permission from Jim to obtain the report.  So, back to the rehab center for the note, and back downtown.  A little later in the day, I had to park a few blocks from City Hall.  I said the location out loud to myself so I would remember.   

I got the report ($0.40) and headed back to the car.  I couldn’t remember where I parked the damn thing.  I walked around for three hours with no luck.  I even had to stop for something to eat as I was getting tired.  I asked for help at a police station and got nothing but sympathy.   

I finally got a cab and we found the car in ten minutes.  I was looking on north-south streets and the car was on an east-west street.  Later it dawned on me I could have pinned the location on the GPS in my phone.  I guess I will have to learn how to use the thing after three years.  I was as stressed out as at any time in my life.  I just felt old and clueless. 

I stayed in a hotel down by Mall of America and the airport, not wanting to stay downtown.  It is easy to go back and forth if it is not rush hour.  Minneapolis highways seem more congested than Denver, and the streets are in worse shape. It’s an older city and the winters are worse.   

The hotel restaurant was an Outback Steak House.  It was entirely too much noise for me.  I ended up at the Denny’s (!) down the street.  After running around an unfamiliar city, I was too tired every evening to even turn the TV on. 

Lots of years ago I spent some time in Minneapolis Searching For Truth.  I don’t know if I found truth, but I came to appreciate the city.  It is also where Carol went to high school and the University of Minnesota, so there are connections other than the one with Jim.   

As in every big city, downtown emphasizes the diversity of the population.  In Minneapolis, I expect to see blonde Scandinavians.  Nope, African Americans and Somalis.  The city has the largest Somali population in the country.  I don’t think they are Lutherans.   

The only complaint I have about Minneapolis is the climate.  It rained.  Several times.  Once, a lot.  This child of the desert can tolerate some rain, but not much.   What happened in Denver when I got home?  It rained.  Where is the justice?

Minneapolis Road Trip

Corn and Soybeans

Corn and Soybeans

I am back from a road trip to Minneapolis on family business. I will tell the family story later, this is about the road. People say I am a bit weird. I like road trips and enjoy not listening to anything but the sound of Diesel engines as I pass the trucks. I watch, listen, and as much as possible these days, think.

This time I was in a hurry to get there, so it was I-76, I-80, and I-35 to Minneapolis. I have done I-80 for you, and I-35 is more of the same-corn and soybeans. Some of the time it is soybeans and corn. The highway through Dezz Monezz is a bit dodgy, lots of turns and traffic.

The return trip a week later was more fun. I have known various people from Mankato over the years, but had never been there. I have always liked the name. The Native Americans were screwed in southern Minnesota more than many other places, being hauled off to Fort Snelling and imprisoned. We need to keep the memory of what happened to those people, here in the land of the free.

The drive from Minneapolis (I like writing that word, much better than MPLS.) to Mankato follows the Minnesota River for much of the way. The country is hilly and wooded, with farms on every available flat spot. Beautiful. Those of us from the West are a bit snobby about the Midwest, but there is beauty most everywhere you look. Except for the monotonous corn and soybeans. That country must be spectacular in the fall.

Close to Minneapolis, the Minnesota River is navigable. I like seeing ports in the middle of https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Valentine,_Nebraskathe country. West of Mankato, one finds corn and soybeans. My next goal was the Nebraska Sand Hill country and the Niobrara River. I followed the River from Niobrara to Valentine. It is farm country, but that River is always right over there.

Niobrara River

Niobrara River

The River is a national treasure. Designated a Wild and Scenic River, it winds through hilly country and is bordered by woodlands. There aren’t many people in that area, another benefit. One can get a sense of what it must have been like before the European Invasion. I am sure it was better then than it is now.

Valentine has 2700 people, but is the commercial center for a wide area. It goes on my list of nice small towns. There are several River outfitters based around there for people doing canoe trips on the Niobrara. I still want to do that in the next few years before I am too decrepit for that sort of thing.

 

The Sand Hills

The Sand Hills

The Sand Hills. So beautiful I almost ran off the road while taking it all in. It is truly hilly there. The northern Sand Hills get quite a bit of moisture and there is water. Like western South Dakota there is a sense of space. You are in the West, not the corn and soybean Midwest. Do I seem a bit biased?

Cow country. U.S. Highway 83 from Valentine to North Platte is 115 miles of ranch country. Thedford is 58 miles south of Valentine with no towns. There is a school about halfway. There are ranches all along the way, every mile or half mile or so, and lakes. There is a national wildlife refuge there. Sandhill Cranes and a lot of other wildlife. No antelope. There should be, but there are probably too many fences.
As you drive south it dries out. In late August it is green around Valentine, but fairly brown closer to North Platte. We are talking about a huge area of northwest Nebraska, and as good cattle country as anywhere. We should be eating grass fed beef from there rather than corn fed feedlot beef from along the Platte. There would be less corn across the Midwest.

The wind blows out there. I saw five or six huge wind farms making power in Nebraska. There was one in southwest Minnesota. I saw none in South Dakota or Colorado. The sun doesn’t always shine out there, but the wind almost always blows, even at night. All that wind from Wyoming has to go somewhere. I saw a number of trucks hauling those long wind vanes, so the wind power business is growing. Wind makes more sense than solar in more northern parts of the country. Home rooftop solar is good, you can’t have too many wind turbines in town. More wind power, less coal trains rattling through Alliance.

Back in Colorado, along the South Platte, there is lots of history. Gold rush wagon trains, Indian wars, farming and cattle. One of the small towns is Iliff, named for an early rancher who got rich raising beef for the miners. He was another of those Methodists who had a big role in early Colorado. Evans, Chivington. Iliff founded the Methodist seminary at Denver University.

I have to get out to Julesburg and poke around the history there then go up to Scotts Bluff on the North Platte, with a stop at Fort Laramie on the way home. Another road trip.

Jude Stoner

For a high school with less than 300 students in the late 1950’s, Fruita High School had some unique personalities. 

A year or two ahead of me was Jude Stoner (not his real name, but close ).  He was one of those people with exactly the right name.  He wasn’t tall, but was well built, dark, and exuded self confidence.  He didn’t participate in school activities, but wasn’t what we would have called a hood.  He also was not a stoner. 

I don’t know how it happened, but Jude ended up as a hairdresser in Aspen.  The Aspen ladies must have swooned over him, a rough-cut, good looking guy doing their hair.  In those days there wasn’t much going on in Aspen in the summer, so Jude did other things. 

Ruedi Dam and Reservoir

Ruedi Dam and Reservoir

At the time, the Ruedi Dam was being built 15 miles up the Frying Pan River from Basalt.  That is not far at all in Isolated Aspen terms.  Jude got a construction job on the dam.  Good money, keep in shape, have a break from the hair salon.  The ideal gig for Jude, as he was an experienced construction hand.   

The two most beautiful mountain valleys. In my opinion, are the Frying Pan Valley from Basalt to  Hagerman Pass over the Continental Divide.  The other valley is the Crystal River Valley from Carbondale to Marble.  Jude had a fine place to do a summer’s worth of construction. 

Construction workers are a rough cut bunch, not known for tact or social niceties.  Construction sites, especially in Western Colorado in the 1960’s, were strongholds of homophobia.  Gay men anywhere in the rural West almost always migrated to the cities.  Denver, for example, has had a significant gay community for a long time, drawing men from all the neighboring states.   

Downtown Aspen 1960's

Downtown Aspen 1960’s

Well, here was an Aspen hairdresser doing construction work.  The word got out Jude was a hairdresser.  Now Jude was kind of a formidable guy, so my guess there was a lot of talk about him behind his back.  He had to have been aware of the talk. 

One day it happened, one of the real men? on the crew called Jude a “Queer Hairdresser”.

Jude broke his jaw with one punch.  No more talk.

Arkose, Sand, and Loess

Geologists like to give common things fancy names.  Aeolian Deposition means wind-blown stuff from the mountains on the land.  Here in Eastern Colorado the South Platte and the Arkansas Rivers are in the process of hauling everything to the Mississippi Delta.  This is kind of a slow process, but a lot of stuff is already there.  Lots more is on the way.   

The material coming off the mountains is in three general categories: gravel, sand and dirt.  The stuff gets deposited, may get buried long enough to form rock (Castle Rock), but most of it sits around for a while, maybe millions of years, before it is washed into the streams and heads east. 

Castle Rock

Castle Rock

Along the base of the mountains are two kinds of deposits.  As the Rockies were rising, they eroded almost as fast.  Out mountains are mostly the roots of what was once there.  During wet periods, like when glaciers were melting, the chunks coming down were pretty angular.  The geologists call the deposits arkosic.  The Castle Rock Conglomerate is a good example.  At other times the erosion was so rapid that a mixture of angular rock and rounded river gravel were deposited together.  Rocky Flats between Golden and Boulder is an example.   

There are huge gravel deposits at the mouths of the many canyons emptying onto the flatter land where all the people live today.  Boulder didn’t get its name by accident.  I briefly worked for the telephone company in Boulder.  I was on a crew burying telephone cable in new subdivisions.  I ran a backhoe and a cable plow, a small bulldozer with a ripping tooth in back digging down about thirty inches and paying telephone cable out the back of the tooth (or plow).  In some places, we had to bring in a big D8 Caterpillar dozer with the power to rip through all the hard packed gravel so my little John Deere 450 dozer could do its job.  It’s sort of a Mini Cooper versus a Hummer. 

All those lakes you see near all the streams exiting the mountains are old gravel pits converted into water storage reservoirs.  You can find gravel in the South Platte River bottom in Nebraska that came out of the Rockies.  As the gravel is carried along, it erodes from angular pieces to progressively more rounded rocks, eventually becoming sand, clay, or just plain dirt. 

The flat country at the base of the Rockies is a patchwork of older rocks exposed by erosion, gravels and arkose near the mountains, then lots of sand, then dirt farther out.  A geologic map shows the patchwork.  Nature is relentless in its processes, but they are not uniform. 

Denver's Sand Creek

Denver’s Sand Creek

Eastern Colorado has several Sand Creeks, carrying the sand that blew out onto the flats to the South Platte or the Arkansas.  You can identify the sand deposits in Eastern Colorado because they are cow country, not suitable for farming.  My favorite Sand Creek runs from northern Aurora through some of the old Stapleton Airport property and on west to the Platte.  The Bluff Lake Nature Center can give you a good look at the sand and the loess.  Bluff lake itself is down along Sand Creek where you can play in the sand.  The trail leading down to the creek and lake drops down the bluff from the parking lot.  The bluff is loess.   

Bluff at Bluff Lake Nature Center. Loess

Bluff at Bluff Lake Nature Center. Loess

Under most of the eastern plains is the Pierre Shale or the Ogalla Formation.  The shale can be farmed, and the Ogalla holds all that rapidly diminishing irrigation water.  The surface is mostly stuff the wind blew in.  The dirt the wind carries is called loess, a German word.  The soil is fine, and in some places can be hundreds of feet thick.  That dust on your car after it sits out in Denver?  It will either be Mississippi mud or loess.  Well, even the loess will be mud someday, it is just being delayed for a while.

Cops and Repression

Cops are a constant presence in our lives.  When I was a young kid, the town marshal in Fruita drove a red Ford pickup with no lights or siren.  It wasn’t long before there were real police with a cruiser.  I have a lot of interactions with police officers because I am a lousy driver.  
Cops

Cops

The first really negative interaction was during all the demonstrations following the invasion of Cambodia in 1968.  We peace creeps stood across the barrier from helmeted Fort Collins police officers who could hardly restrain themselves from bashing heads.  They were putting up with a lot of verbal abuse.  The cop across from me was hyperventilating.  Fortunately, nothing happened. 

Cops today are shooting people and getting shot.  Ferguson, Missouri and Baltimore showed the nation how the police are an instrument of repression in some cities.  Fortunately this is not always the case.  After 9-11, Denver Water placed armed guards at the gates to the water treatment plants.  Most of the guards were retired or off duty Denver Police Officers moonlighting.  They usually worked one shift per week, and I got to know many of them at the plant where I worked. 

It was a shock to me to discover that most of them were really nice guys.  That did not fit my stereotype of cops.  A couple of them, however, were not nice guys.  They were right wing bullies filled with fear and anger.  The hate they projected was almost physically tangible.  They did not make eye contact and their speech was formal with an undercurrent of menace. 

I am sure every police department of any size in the land has a contingent of those fellows.  They are the enforcers, using violence to deal with undesirables.  They are relatively safe form reprisal because of the need for police to provide mutual support to one another.  There is a code of silence and even lying to cover for a fellow officer.  This is more common in some departments than others. 

These men serve as instruments of repression, usually to minorities.  Their self-appointed job is to keep undesirables in line, using any method they think they can get away with, including murder.in the USA, their targets are usually black, with Latinos and other minorities as alternate targets.  

Ferguson Riot

Ferguson Riot

At one time, most of the racial repression came from groups like the Ku Klux Klan, with their cross burnings, beatings, and lynchings.  Today, those groups have waned, and another means of repression has replaced them-rogue cops and rogue police departments.  Cops and police departments have always been part of the system of racial repression, but now they are the default lynchers.  There are no cross burnings on South Table Mountain in Golden these days. 

This system has run into trouble because almost anyone with a smartphone can record police violence and get the recordings to the media.  The code of silence is broken.  In times of unrest like today, the violent incidents are on the television screen every evening, just like the atrocities in Vietnam were in the 1960s.  Change in technology has made those conducting the new lynchings vulnerable.  The old system of other cops and prosecutors allowing the lynchers to get away with their brutality is not gone, as  Baltimore has recently shown, but it’s days are numbered. 

It may be that one factor creating the Trump phenomenon is the breakdown of repression.  The white working class, already hit by the loss of industrial jobs, is facing competition from people who were once sentenced to remain at the bottom.  White working class men once had those minorities to look down on.  Now the minorities are on the City Council and the police department.   

 

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