One of my pet peeves is the phrase "bring to justice."
First, it's just a clunky, inexact phrase. Technically, it just means to set a proper punishment, but more often, I think the phrase is used as a euphemism for killing someone who has committed a crime the speaker finds particularly egregious. The first instance of this usage that really sticks out in my mind is when President Bush vowed to "bring to justice" the perpetrators of the 9/11 attacks.
The wording smacks of Wild West–style vengeance rather than civilized law and order. Saying it almost allows you to play the role of grand hero, instead of facing up to the realistic facts of the situation. "Bring to justice" is not a plan or a way to deal with criminals.
I'm trying to track down the exact origins of the phrase, but the first time I remember it being used in political/civic circles was in fact with George W. Bush after 9/11. Does anyone know where and when this phrase actually came from though?
I caught a fascinating segment on the radio as I was driving home last night.
Two years ago, Seattle was hit by terrible December storms—wind and rain followed by a week of frigid cold and ice. For some local residents (including my parents), power was out for over a week. One of the most jarring stories to come out of that whole situation was the death Kate Fleming. The incident was so sudden, so unfair, so unpredictable that it shook to the core people's faith in the comfort of every day.
Fleming was a voice-over actress who lived in Seattle's Madison Valley. When flash flooding hit her home, threatening recording equipment she kept in her basement, Fleming went into the basement to rescue the equipment before she evacuated. Fleming became trapped in the basement and trapped in rising water. 911 had difficulty locating her correct address. As a result, rescue workers could not help her in time. By the time Fleming's partner, Charlene Strong, and neighbors could attempt a rescue, it was too late.
Charlene Strong is now using this situation as a catalyst to activism. While in the hospital with Fleming, as doctors made last efforts to try to revive her, and while funeral planning, Strong realized she had no rights because she was a gay partner. Strong is fighting for equal rights for gays and lesbians so that other partners will not be put in the same situation she was—faced with losing a loved one and then having to fight to get their voice heard.
Strong had to call Fleming's sister in Virginia to be allowed into her hospital room. Fleming's mother was the one who was allowed to sign paperwork at the funeral home, even though Strong paid for the services.
A new documentary depicts Charlene Strong's activism. I remember vividly how upset I was when I read about Fleming's death over two years ago. I can't tell you how hopeful I am to read about something so positive coming out of such a terrible situation. This woman is an inspiration.
(Last year, our state passed a domestic partner bill, and this clip from the documentary seems to infer that Strong was intimately involved with the passage. I do know for a fact that she testified in the State House. That's all I have been able to verify.)
Sorry for the spoiler ... but I'm not sure it's actually a spoiler. (What dog movie/book doesn't start with a puppy and end with a death?) But it's not often that I get the chance to post something both lighthearted and on topic.
I can't remember where I found this photo, but it's been cycling around the Internet. Someone just couldn't resist scrawling out the poor doggie's fate.
He seems to have wanted to put out his resume in a way that would grab great attention and show that he was grand. By using the stone and building a big structure, maybe he thought he was building something like a statue—monuments often built to great figures in society. But great figures do not build statues to themselves. And their accomplishments are not literally listed out on those statues.
He has greatly confused matters by putting this thing in a cemetery. Is he suggesting that it will one day serve as the mark of his entire life, and he will add to it the remainder of his accomplishments? Even if that is the case, building it now, in the middle of a media controversy over his senate seat, makes it look like an argument for his ability to serve.
It seems the use of a cemetery was merely accidental, as if it was the only place he could get land. Because, what public park would house this thing? I feel sorry for the friends and family of people who are actually resting in this cemetery.
Roland Burris sure seems like a piece of work.
(image from CNN)
Update: I've done some more research, and it appears Burris has had this monument for awhile; it's just getting lots of attention now because of him being at the center of a controversy. I'm a little disappointed that media outlets aren't making that more clear in their reporting. It seems to be a big distinction.
Anyway, the monument is certainly a reflection of a large ego ... but at least it wasn't done as an argument for his senatorship. And hey, he's making some plans for his death—which is more than a lot of people can say.
Some creep is using the threat of death to communicate an anti-gay message to the residents of Seattle.
Anonymous letters were sent to 11 bars in Capitol Hill, Seattle's largest urban neighborhood, and a historic home of much of Seattle's gay population. Many of the targeted bars are either specifically gay bars or just happen to draw a large gay clientele.
The letters claim to be from someone in possession of the poison ricin. He/she threatens to use it on at least five patrons from each of the 11 bars.
A letter was also sent to The Stranger, Seattle's leading weekly paper, advising them to watch for the deaths. It was addressed to their obituary section.
At this point, no one is really sure whether these are empty threats or whether real attempts will be made to use ricin. I'll keep you updated as more info. comes out. You can see a copy of the actual letter at this link.
My mom just opened up a Gmail account that she rarely uses. Actually, rarely is an understatement. She set it up, but really hasn't opened it up since then. So, it has sat idle for a couple of years. But fed up with hotmail spam, she finally decided to switch to the account.
When she logged in, she found 177 emails from my grandfather, her father, who died 14 months ago.
Email provides us with some odd timing situations ... and they can be especially odd when the sender has passed on. Susan Barnes writes about the nature of time as it relates to email: "Email messages are sent and received in asynchronous time." Barnes continues, "Cybertime blurs the distinctions between past, present, and future because when reading email we have the sense of simultaneously conversing with the author in cyberspace."
The author sends the email in the present, and it sits in our inbox for a given amount of time ... could be seconds, could be years. However, whenever it is that we get around to reading it, we perceive that moment to be the present for the email.
In cases where the author has since passed on in real-time, the reader is left in a strange, emotional limbo in which the author still exists in cybertime.
Most of my grandfather's emails were silly forwards about safety at the gas pump, not forgetting 9-11, etc., so it probably wasn't as jarring as receiving 177 new, personally crafted emails ... but still, it had to be a disquieting experience for my mother.
