Terry Pluto - The Girl in Red (prose)

As I think of The Girl In Red, I hear those lyrics from
Don McLean’s “American Pie.”  |  Getty Images

Memories of The Girl In Red

& the soundtrack of ‘American Pie’

article link

by Terry Pluto‘s Faith & You

Terry Pluto, cleveland.com

Updated: Apr. 08, 2024, 2:46 a.m.|

Published: Mar. 17, 2024, 5:01 a.m.

CLEVELAND, Ohio – I think about her once or twice a year. It happens when I see a certain little girl dressed in red.

This girl … the girl in my memory … has chocolate skin, pretty braids and red ribbons in her hair. She is wearing a cute red dress – the kind kids wore to school once upon a time.

I see her walk. It’s more of a bounce. It’s an act of joy, punctuated with an innocent smile. She is young, maybe in the fourth grade.

“A long, long time ago …”

As I think of The Girl In Red, I hear those lyrics from Don McLean’s “American Pie.”

“A long, long time ago, I can still remember

how that music used to make me smile… "

I wish I could remember this story as clearly as I do those lyrics.

A LONG, LONG TIME AGO

It was the early 1970s. I was just starting college. “American Pie” was a constant as I drove to school and work in my blue Dodge Dart. It blared out of my 8-track tape player – one of the worst contraptions invented as it constantly chewed up the tape inside.

But it was a long, long time ago…

I had a part time job as a tutor at John Raper Elementary in Hough. The Hough Riots were in 1966. Several years later, you could still see a few burned-out buildings, some rubble where there once was a house.

I drove by looking for the school. The spot on East 85th is an empty lot. Like The Girl In Red, the school is long gone.

She was in the fourth grade, one of the smallest kids in the class. I was there to help the students learn the multiplication tables. My pay was something like two bucks an hour, a few hours three days a week. I lived on Red Barn cheeseburgers and pizza from the Rascal House near Cleveland State.

Once upon a time, there was a special girl student who Terry
Pluto remembers from almost 50 years ago. Illustration By
JoAnne Coughlin Walsh / Advance Local JoAnne Coughlin
Walsh, Advance Local

WHAT WAS HER NAME?

I wish I could remember her name, but I can’t. To me, she always is The Girl In Red even though I’m sure she wore other colors.

Unlike most of my students, she was excited to have a tutor. Her math was weak but her work ethic was strong. I was told she had moved around a lot. She was intelligent, but “lost time” living in different places, according to one of her teachers.

I had her for a few months, and she was the highlight of my tutoring day. Always dressed neatly – matching shoes, socks and dress. Her hair was immaculately braided with a ribbon, her smile was ever present.

One day, she asked me, “Do you live in a nice house?”

I never thought about it much. At that point, my family owned a split-level in Northfield. I was living at home, commuting to college and my various part-time jobs. Before I answered, I thought about the places I drove past each time I went to Hough.

“Yes,” I said. “I live in a nice house.”

I waited for her to say something else, but she didn’t. She sort of looked at something over my shoulder. I thought of asking her if she lived in a nice house, but wisely kept my mouth shut.

THE BRICK THROWERS

One day I was tutoring a little boy. Suddenly, a brick banged against the classroom window, glass shattering. The little boy ran to the window, me right behind him. We saw a couple of kids in the parking lot, looking up and laughing.

“They used to go here,” said the boy. “They bad.”

I was always thankful The Girl In Red wasn’t in the room with me that day. But I thought about the brick and the broken window right after she asked me about the house.

The little boy and I returned to working on the multiplication tables. What is there to say about any of it? For some of these kids, it seemed like so often someone was throwing a brick right in the middle of something good happening.

WHAT WE REMEMBER

I tell this story peering into the rearview mirror of memory of nearly a half-century ago. I’m not sure what is actually factual, at least the small details and conversations. Is it how I want to remember it, or did it actually happen as I remember?

“February made me shiver with every paper I’d deliver …

“Bad news on the doorstep, I couldn’t take one more step … ”

There they are, more lyrics from “American Pie.”

In my memory, it happened in February. Even though the school was a few miles from Lake Erie, the winter wind whipped and puffs of white came out of my mouth while I walked into the school.

I saw The Girl In Red at the other end of the hall. She was going out the door. She was with an older woman, The Girl In Red hanging on to the lady’s hand.

I walked into the classroom and asked the teacher about her.

“You won’t be seeing her again,” she said.

“What happened?” I asked.

The teacher explained the lady was from “the welfare department.” It was probably Child Protective Services.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“I told you,” said the teacher. “She won’t be with us anymore.”

The teacher went silent. She gave me the look she gave her students, the stare that could silence a classroom. This woman didn’t babysit, she taught. She kept order. Her kids learned the basics. She was about 50. At that point, it seemed – just for a second – like she might cry.

“I can’t say any more,” she said.

We were talking in the hallway. She turned and walked into the classroom. I followed her.

“I met a girl who sang the blues and

asked her for some happy news …

“But she just smiled and turned away.”

More lines from “American Pie.”

I always wished I had heard some happy news about The Girl In Red. Never heard a word. Never think about her, until I see a little girl in red with braids and a smile.

Don McLean - America Pie (Lyric Video)

[Verse 1]

A long, long time ago

I can still remember how that music

Used to make me smile

And I knew if I had my chance

That I could make those people dance

And maybe they'd be happy for a while

But February made me shiver

With every paper I'd deliver

Bad news on the doorstep

I couldn't take one more step

I can't remember if I cried

When I read about his widowed bride

But something touched me deep inside

The day the music died

[Chorus]

So, bye-bye, Miss American Pie

Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry

And them good ol' boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye

Singin', "This'll be the day that I die

This'll be the day that I die"

[Verse 2]

Did you write the book of love?

And do you have faith in God above

If the Bible tells you so?

Now, do you believe in rock 'n' roll?

Can music save your mortal soul?

And can you teach me how to dance real slow?

Well, I know that you're in love with him

'Cause I saw you dancin' in the gym

You both kicked off your shoes

Man, I dig those rhythm and blues

I was a lonely teenage broncin' buck

With a pink carnation and a pickup truck

But I knew I was out of luck

The day the music died

[Chorus]

I started singin', bye-bye, Miss American Pie

Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry

Them good ol' boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye

And singin', "This'll be the day that I die

This'll be the day that I die"

[Verse 3]

Now, for ten years we've been on our own

And moss grows fat on a rollin' stone

But that's not how it used to be

When the jester sang for the king and queen

In a coat he borrowed from James Dean

And a voice that came from you and me

Oh, and while the king was looking down

The jester stole his thorny crown

The courtroom was adjourned

No verdict was returned

And while Lennon read a book on Marx

The quartet practiced in the park

And we sang dirges in the dark

The day the music died

[Chorus]

We were singin', bye-bye, Miss American Pie

Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry

Them good ol' boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye

And singin', "This'll be the day that I die

This'll be the day that I die"

[Verse 4]

Helter skelter in a summer swelter

The birds flew off with a fallout shelter

Eight miles high and fallin' fast

It landed foul on the grass

The players tried for a forward pass

With the jester on the sidelines in a cast

Now, the halftime air was sweet perfume

While sergeants played a marching tune

We all got up to dance

Oh, but we never got the chance

'Cause the players tried to take the field

The marching band refused to yield

Do you recall what was revealed

The day the music died?

[Chorus]

We started singin', bye-bye, Miss American Pie

Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry

Them good ol' boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye

And singin', "This'll be the day that I die

This'll be the day that I die"

[Verse 5]

Oh, and there we were all in one place

A generation lost in space

With no time left to start again

So, come on, Jack be nimble, Jack be quick

Jack Flash sat on a candlestick

'Cause fire is the Devil's only friend

Oh, and as I watched him on the stage

My hands were clenched in fists of rage

No angel born in Hell

Could break that Satan spell

And as the flames climbed high into the night

To light the sacrificial rite

I saw Satan laughing with delight

The day the music died

[Chorus]

He was singin', bye-bye, Miss American Pie

Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry

Them good ol' boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye

And singin', "This'll be the day that I die

This'll be the day that I die..."

[Bridge]

I met a girl who sang the blues

And I asked her for some happy news

But she just smiled and turned away

I went down to the sacred store

Where I'd heard the music years before

But the man there said the music wouldn't play

And in the streets, the children screamed

The lovers cried and the poets dreamed

But not a word was spoken

The church bells all were broken

And the three men I admire most

The Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost

They caught the last train for the coast

The day the music died

[Deleted Verse]

And there I stood alone and afraid

I dropped to my knees and there I prayed

And I promised Him everything I could give

If only He would make the music live

And He promised it would live once more

But this time one would equal four

And in five years four had come to mourn

And the music was reborn

[Chorus]

And they were singin', bye-bye, Miss American Pie

Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry

And them good ol' boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye

Singin', "This'll be the day that I die

This'll be the day that I die"

[Outro]

They were singin', bye-bye, Miss American Pie

Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry

Them good ol' boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye

Singin', "This'll be the day that I die"

Odes to Creation, Life, Purpose, Nation Building, and Parenting

Creation

R.E. Slater

March 25-26, 2023

The human mind cannot comprehend

those hoary ages which came before,

nor human breast deny its longings,

yearning long life and fellowship;

measured in eons past it's instincts for

survival's best of self and contrary world.

Formed at once of soil and frail breed, One

with nature, sea and land, beast and primate,

which came before overcoming perils;

all bourne of earth, of starry celestials,

rich in lore, in act and sacrifice, running

to mysteries divine and divinely driven.

Impregnated with renewal divine yet fraught

heavenly fellowships by forces dark and wan;

disrupters to the One, the All, the Creator God

we call Redeemer, Lover, Hope, and Sage;

frail, impoverished, having but one another

against crucibles natural, unwieldy, fey.

To Thee, O' Lord, we submit to mysteries

incomprehensible but assuredly Thine,

to Thy love which runs throughout vine

and branch, to the starry skies above;

Thy hallowed spaces are everywhere about

when met with bent knee to Thee and Thine.

R.E. Slater

March 26, 2023

@copyright R.E. Slater Publications

all rights reserved

* * * * * * *

Human Evolution

by Ryan Christopher Brandes

October 2012

We open our minds to expand to the times not to pretend there is some end to confine the limits of prime; we defend to remind to dance to the trance we redefine to enhance not to surrender to chance.

We open our hearts to embrace the new space-time transparency, interdimensional race as we become united and one, open to truth we exhibit ourselves as one infinite youth, gifted and new, eternally pure evolved to endure no end to potential, perfect and cured.

We strengthen our bodies and build on each other we love ourselves and love one another we grow and mature and extend to our neighbors but as we think deeper our expansion is greater our planet is one and our galaxy peace to the opening worlds we bring wisdom and ease we do not enslave or deny or deceive but we share our pure knowledge our light and belief.

We raise up our souls beyond science and physics to evolve beyond consciousness confinements and limits our imperial nature shifts to emerge from the boundaries of body and smallness of Earth we expand our perception to include all dimensions from previous eons to future inceptions.

We shift our new world from finite to light, universal, infinite, natural, bright we embrace the day and welcome the night to work with each other to be perfect, upright, to evolve our new planet, our galactic mindframe to expand from micro to cosmically aimed to unlock the portals to open our brains to evolve from old gears to interdimensional spheres uniting creation without hesitation pure as clean water and deep meditation.

* * * * * * *

To Darwin

A poem about human evolution

by N.A. Kazi

June 28, 2021

O, the grandmaster of philosophy!
And the patron saint of biology!

I recite to thee:

I decoupled myself by performing
the most effective therapy
And the greatest meditation of all: poetry;

To observe my motionless body
In search of the mysteries of lostness,
And the paths to self-identity.

I sought that exact moment
When a species evolves into another:

From an Australopithecus to
Homo Habilis into Homo Erectus to the next.

A minute-by-minute record,

A frame-by-frame snapshot

Of the final changes in

The DNA of an embryo

In the womb of its unwitting

Heidelbergian mother that

Engendered the primeval baby-sapient.

That moment, that precious second of

The mutation is a secular miracle,

A natural yet defiled magical process

Of procreation, survival, and growth,

In pursuit of self-promotion

On this Planet Number X

Of the Galaxy Y. Voila!

Welcome to human society:

At the mercy of biochemistry

And genetic coding over zillions of years.

Each incremental incident

Producing that microscopic change

That all adds up to our paranoid existence.

The flawless scientific logic of trial and error,

Mediated by a handsome dose of coincidence,

Cannibalism, and self-preservation.

But were they, too, the naked, feeble

Hominid ancestors of ours, romantic?

Did they love to rhyme

With the opening words of

Their primitive languages?

Did they observe thunder, rain, and rainbow

With similar bewilderment?

Did they watch the night-sky

And it's billions of stars and

Thought, “Is it, one giant

Piece of hanging net adorned

With gems and diamonds?”

Or did they know not any

Precious metals and stones?

Did they see their reflections in the water

And amazed at the beauty of the beholder?

Or like me, they, too, saw shabby images,

As though on a mirror, and frowned,

Groaned, mocked, and took pity

On their own souls and self?

Did they, too, comprehend that

This ephemeral body is but a vessel

For the brain: a watery, fatty creature that

Cannot walk or live outside its host?

We are at the mercy

Of that demigod and its

All-powerful courtesans:

The heart, the gut &

The nervous scheme.

But what’s the point of carrying

Around this tangle of neurons?

Oh, the mind, of course!

It is the domicile of the latter,

Which holds in its palms

The twin portions of id

And super-ego:

The constant tug-of-war

Between instinct and critique.

We know not

Which one is poisonous

And which is nourishing.

It is a great unsolved puzzle,

My polymath friend:

They both might be succulent,

Or both equally noxious.

[Halifax, 28.06.21]

* * * * * * *

As a Strong Bird on Pinions Free

by Walt Whitman

 1
AS a strong bird on pinions free, 
Joyous, the amplest spaces heavenward cleaving, 
Such be the thought I’d think to-day of thee, America, 
Such be the recitative I’d bring to-day for thee.
 

The conceits of the poets of other lands I bring thee not,
Nor the compliments that have served their turn so long, 
Nor rhyme—nor the classics—nor perfume of foreign court, or indoor library; 
But an odor I’d bring to-day as from forests of pine in the north, in Maine—or
 breath
 of an Illinois prairie, 
With open airs of Virginia, or Georgia, or Tennessee—or from Texas uplands, or
 Florida’s glades, 
With presentment of Yellowstone’s scenes, or Yosemite;
And murmuring under, pervading all, I’d bring the rustling sea-sound, 
That endlessly sounds from the two great seas of the world.
 

And for thy subtler sense, subtler refrains, O Union! 
Preludes of intellect tallying these and thee—mind-formulas fitted for
 thee—real, and
 sane, and large as these and thee; 
Thou, mounting higher, diving deeper than we knew—thou transcendental Union!
By thee Fact to be justified—blended with Thought; 
Thought of Man justified—blended with God: 
Through thy Idea—lo! the immortal Reality! 
Through thy Reality—lo! the immortal Idea! 

2
Brain of the New World! what a task is thine!
To formulate the Modern.
.
.
.
.
Out of the peerless grandeur of the modern, 
Out of Thyself—comprising Science—to recast Poems, Churches, Art, 
(Recast—may-be discard them, end them—May-be their work is done—who knows?)

By vision, hand, conception, on the background of the mighty past, the dead, 
To limn, with absolute faith, the mighty living present.


(And yet, thou living, present brain! heir of the dead, the Old World brain! 
Thou that lay folded, like an unborn babe, within its folds so long! 
Thou carefully prepared by it so long!—haply thou but unfoldest it—only maturest
 it; 
It to eventuate in thee—the essence of the by-gone time contain’d in thee; 
Its poems, churches, arts, unwitting to themselves, destined with reference to thee,
The fruit of all the Old, ripening to-day in thee.) 

3
Sail—sail thy best, ship of Democracy! 
Of value is thy freight—’tis not the Present only, 
The Past is also stored in thee! 
Thou holdest not the venture of thyself alone—not of thy western continent alone;
Earth’s résumé entire floats on thy keel, O ship—is
 steadied by
 thy spars; 
With thee Time voyages in trust—the antecedent nations sink or swim with thee; 
With all their ancient struggles, martyrs, heroes, epics, wars, thou bear’st the
 other
 continents; 
Theirs, theirs as much as thine, the destination-port triumphant: 
—Steer, steer with good strong hand and wary eye, O helmsman—thou carryest great
 companions,
Venerable, priestly Asia sails this day with thee, 
And royal, feudal Europe sails with thee.
 

4
Beautiful World of new, superber Birth, that rises to my eyes, 
Like a limitless golden cloud, filling the western sky; 
Emblem of general Maternity, lifted above all;
Sacred shape of the bearer of daughters and sons; 
Out of thy teeming womb, thy giant babes in ceaseless procession issuing, 
Acceding from such gestation, taking and giving continual strength and life; 
World of the Real! world of the twain in one! 
World of the Soul—born by the world of the real alone—led to identity, body, by
 it
 alone;
Yet in beginning only—incalculable masses of composite, precious materials, 
By history’s cycles forwarded—by every nation, language, hither sent, 
Ready, collected here—a freer, vast, electric World, to be constructed here, 
(The true New World—the world of orbic Science, Morals, Literatures to come,) 
Thou Wonder World, yet undefined, unform’d—neither do I define thee;
How can I pierce the impenetrable blank of the future? 
I feel thy ominous greatness, evil as well as good; 
I watch thee, advancing, absorbing the present, transcending the past; 
I see thy light lighting and thy shadow shadowing, as if the entire globe; 
But I do not undertake to define thee—hardly to comprehend thee;
I but thee name—thee prophecy—as now! 
I merely thee ejaculate! 

Thee in thy future; 
Thee in thy only permanent life, career—thy own unloosen’d mind—thy soaring
 spirit; 
Thee as another equally needed sun, America—radiant, ablaze, swift-moving,
 fructifying
 all;
Thee! risen in thy potent cheerfulness and joy—thy endless, great hilarity! 
(Scattering for good the cloud that hung so long—that weigh’d so long upon the
 mind
 of man, 
The doubt, suspicion, dread, of gradual, certain decadence of man;) 
Thee in thy larger, saner breeds of Female, Male—thee in thy athletes, moral,
 spiritual,
 South, North, West, East, 
(To thy immortal breasts, Mother of All, thy every daughter, son, endear’d alike,
 forever
 equal;)
Thee in thy own musicians, singers, artists, unborn yet, but certain; 
Thee in thy moral wealth and civilization (until which thy proudest material wealth and
 civilization must remain in vain;) 
Thee in thy all-supplying, all-enclosing Worship—thee in no single bible, saviour,
 merely,

Thy saviours countless, latent within thyself—thy bibles incessant, within thyself,
 equal
 to any, divine as any; 
Thee in an education grown of thee—in teachers, studies, students, born of thee;
Thee in thy democratic fetes, en masse—thy high original festivals, operas,
 lecturers,
 preachers; 
Thee in thy ultimata, (the preparations only now completed—the edifice on sure
 foundations
 tied,) 
Thee in thy pinnacles, intellect, thought—thy topmost rational joys—thy love,
 and
 godlike aspiration, 
In thy resplendent coming literati—thy full-lung’d orators—thy sacerdotal
 bards—kosmic savans, 
These! these in thee, (certain to come,) to-day I prophecy.


5
Land tolerating all—accepting all—not for the good alone—all good for thee;

Land in the realms of God to be a realm unto thyself; 
Under the rule of God to be a rule unto thyself.
 

(Lo! where arise three peerless stars, 
To be thy natal stars, my country—Ensemble—Evolution—Freedom,
Set in the sky of Law.) 

Land of unprecedented faith—God’s faith! 
Thy soil, thy very subsoil, all upheav’d; 
The general inner earth, so long, so sedulously draped over, now and hence for what it is,
 boldly laid bare, 
Open’d by thee to heaven’s light, for benefit or bale.


Not for success alone; 
Not to fair-sail unintermitted always; 
The storm shall dash thy face—the murk of war, and worse than war, shall cover thee
 all
 over; 
(Wert capable of war—its tug and trials? Be capable of peace, its trials; 
For the tug and mortal strain of nations come at last in peace—not war;)
In many a smiling mask death shall approach, beguiling thee—thou in disease shalt
 swelter;

The livid cancer spread its hideous claws, clinging upon thy breasts, seeking to strike
 thee
 deep within; 
Consumption of the worst—moral consumption—shall rouge thy face with hectic: 
But thou shalt face thy fortunes, thy diseases, and surmount them all, 
Whatever they are to-day, and whatever through time they may be,
They each and all shall lift, and pass away, and cease from thee; 
While thou, Time’s spirals rounding—out of thyself, thyself still extricating,
 fusing, 
Equable, natural, mystical Union thou—(the mortal with immortal blent,) 
Shalt soar toward the fulfilment of the future—the spirit of the body and the mind, 
The Soul—its destinies.


The Soul, its destinies—the real real, 
(Purport of all these apparitions of the real;) 
In thee, America, the Soul, its destinies; 
Thou globe of globes! thou wonder nebulous! 
By many a throe of heat and cold convuls’d—(by these thyself solidifying;)
Thou mental, moral orb! thou New, indeed new, Spiritual World! 
The Present holds thee not—for such vast growth as thine—for such
 unparallel’d
 flight as thine, 
The Future only holds thee, and can hold thee.

* * * * * * *

At The Smithville Methodist Church

by Stephen Dunn

It was supposed to be Arts & Crafts for a week,

but when she came home

with the "Jesus Saves" button, we knew what art

was up, what ancient craft.

She liked her little friends.
She liked the songs

they sang when they weren't

twisting and folding paper into dolls.

What could be so bad?

Jesus had been a good man, and putting faith

in good men was what

we had to do to stay this side of cynicism,

that other sadness.

OK, we said, One week.

But when she came home

singing "Jesus loves me,

the Bible tells me so," it was time to talk.

Could we say Jesus

doesn't love you?

Could I tell her the Bible

is a great book certain people use

to make you feel bad? We sent her back

without a word.

It had been so long since we believed, so long

since we needed Jesus

as our nemesis and friend, that we thought he was

sufficiently dead,

that our children would think of him like Lincoln

or Thomas Jefferson.

Soon it became clear to us: you can't teach disbelief

to a child,

only wonderful stories, and we hadn't a story

nearly as good.

On parents' night there were the Arts & Crafts

all spread out

like appetizers.
Then we took our seats

in the church

and the children sang a song about the Ark,

and Hallelujah

and one in which they had to jump up and down

for Jesus.

I can't remember ever feeling so uncertain

about what's comic, what's serious.

Evolution is magical but devoid of heroes.

You can't say to your child

"Evolution loves you.

"The story stinks

of extinction and nothing

exciting happens for centuries.

I didn't have

a wonderful story for my child

and she was beaming.

All the way home in the car

she sang the songs,

occasionally standing up for Jesus.

There was nothing to do

but drive, ride it out, sing along

in silence.

With Malice Towards None... A World in Search of Peace

 

An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.

- Mahatma Ghandi

One doesn't have to operate with great malice to do great harm.

The absence of empathy and understanding are sufficient.

- Charles M. Blow, journalist

Twenty years of American foreign policy incompetence has led to an expected ending of disaster in Afghanistan which only U.S. State officials and the military chose not to see in their contingency planning, all the while the American public and a world of outsiders saw all too clearly. America should never have been on foreign soil, and in leaving, left only more death and suffering as violent ideologies took over as living legacies to America's unwanted presence. As a "Christian" nation we are takers, not builders. Our mirror is pitiful and must be broken in order to see again. May we finally learn the ways of peace and love, the ways of grace and forgiveness, towards a world as hardened as we are towards the other.

R.E. Slater

August 20, 2021

Addendum

Yesterday and the day before yesterday I participated in a forum speaking out against White Christian Nationalism having sensed little difference between it and Islamic Jihadism. Both speak death. Both force upon people unwanted laws and restrictions. Both take away personal freedoms and rights (which I find ironic with the anti-vax crowd and facts deniers). Both harm the other, belittle the other, despise the other, and do not see the other. And both speak a religion ugly and deadly to the soul.

I'll say again, the human heart is deeply corrupt. It speaks death before it speaks life. The God of all religions and nations says to us to learn to hold in our heart the attitude of "Malice Towards None." This is our task as humans struggling to become fully human as God intended (or as our spirit-souls long for deep within our minds and bodies, hearts and spirits). We share together a deep, deep  sense of existential struggle of contrition before others, repentance from evil, humility and respect towards all.

We feel it deeply in our bones the necessity to learn to speak peace, goodwill, honor, and love to one another. This the truest core of the Christian faith. Not its legalism, perversions, and enforced religious structures. When Christians speak war, vengeance and harm we do not speak the life-giving word(s) of God. Just our own selfish, prideful, words. Words which make us blind, deaf, and dumb to one another. Those we no longer can see, hear, or speak to....

Mahatma Ghandi once said, "An eye for an eye will make the whole world blind." Let us then cast off the weight of hatred and malice towards one another and make this next millennium of human civilization about peace and goodwill. Let all nations learn the language of love by beating their metaphorical "swords into ploughshares" by seeking faith and trust with one another. Honor and respect.

The ways of the world can be the ways of beauty and joy if we allow it to be - which is the essence of John Lennon's songs. Chose then this day a new God, a radical God, One who has invested Himself in a radically new religion reviving the souls of the other. And a new social politick which heals, makes beautiful all around it, and nurtures every human benumbed by sin and evil.

And finally, to move forward we must repent of our wicked ways, learn to forgive one another, be merciful to the ones we no longer see, and learn to reach out to the ones we have dismissed and despised.

Importantly, America's newest foreign policy and diplomacy must deploy a radically new motto: "To care for the other and this good earth." Let us learn then the language of grace and forgiveness as Jesus had taught us centuries ago. Which we have witnessed again-and-again in the lives of remarkable human beings filled with God's light and love given to us to guide us in renewing ways of caretake, wellbeing, and nurture for one another.

Peace,

R.E. Slater
August 20, 2021

John Lennon & Yoko Ono: WAR IS OVER! (If You Want It)

HAPPY XMAS (WAR IS OVER). 

(Ultimate Mix, 2020) John & Yoko Plastic Ono Band

+ Harlem Community Choir

John Lennon & Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

Mashup at MLK Day in Greenville, NC

Martin Luther King Jr. Nobel Peace Prize Acceptance Speech

Martin Luther King Jr. –

Acceptance Speech

 https://www.nobelprize.org/prizes/peace/1964/king/26142-martin-luther-king-jr-acceptance-speech-1964/

on the occasion of the award of the Nobel Peace Prize

in Oslo, Norway, December 10, 1964

Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness, Mr. President, Excellencies, Ladies and Gentlemen:

I accept the Nobel Prize for Peace at a moment when 22 million Negroes of the United States of America are engaged in a creative battle to end the long night of racial injustice. I accept this award on behalf of a civil rights movement which is moving with determination and a majestic scorn for risk and danger to establish a reign of freedom and a rule of justice. I am mindful that only yesterday in Birmingham, Alabama, our children, crying out for brotherhood, were answered with fire hoses, snarling dogs and even death. I am mindful that only yesterday in Philadelphia, Mississippi, young people seeking to secure the right to vote were brutalized and murdered. And only yesterday more than 40 houses of worship in the State of Mississippi alone were bombed or burned because they offered a sanctuary to those who would not accept segregation. I am mindful that debilitating and grinding poverty afflicts my people and chains them to the lowest rung of the economic ladder.

Therefore, I must ask why this prize is awarded to a movement which is beleaguered and committed to unrelenting struggle; to a movement which has not won the very peace and brotherhood which is the essence of the Nobel Prize.

Sooner or later all the people of the world will have

to discover a way to live together in peace …

After contemplation, I conclude that this award which I receive on behalf of that movement is a profound recognition that nonviolence is the answer to the crucial political and moral question of our time – the need for man to overcome oppression and violence without resorting to violence and oppression. Civilization and violence are antithetical concepts. Negroes of the United States, following the people of India, have demonstrated that nonviolence is not sterile passivity, but a powerful moral force which makes for social transformation. Sooner or later all the people of the world will have to discover a way to live together in peace, and thereby transform this pending cosmic elegy into a creative psalm of brotherhood. If this is to be achieved, man must evolve for all human conflict a method which rejects revenge, aggression and retaliation. The foundation of such a method is love.

The tortuous road which has led from Montgomery, Alabama to Oslo bears witness to this truth. This is a road over which millions of Negroes are travelling to find a new sense of dignity. This same road has opened for all Americans a new era of progress and hope. It has led to a new Civil Rights Bill, and it will, I am convinced, be widened and lengthened into a super highway of justice as Negro and white men in increasing numbers create alliances to overcome their common problems.

I accept this award today with an abiding faith in America and an audacious faith in the future of mankind. I refuse to accept despair as the final response to the ambiguities of history. I refuse to accept the idea that the “isness” of man’s present nature makes him morally incapable of reaching up for the eternal “oughtness” that forever confronts him. I refuse to accept the idea that man is mere flotsom and jetsom in the river of life, unable to influence the unfolding events which surround him. I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the bright daybreak of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality.

I refuse to accept the cynical notion that nation after nation must spiral down a militaristic stairway into the hell of thermonuclear destruction. I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. This is why right temporarily defeated is stronger than evil triumphant. I believe that even amid today’s mortar bursts and whining bullets, there is still hope for a brighter tomorrow. I believe that wounded justice, lying prostrate on the blood-flowing streets of our nations, can be lifted from this dust of shame to reign supreme among the children of men. I have the audacity to believe that peoples everywhere can have three meals a day for their bodies, education and culture for their minds, and dignity, equality and freedom for their spirits. I believe that what self-centered men have torn down men other-centered can build up. I still believe that one day mankind will bow before the altars of God and be crowned triumphant over war and bloodshed, and nonviolent redemptive good will proclaim the rule of the land. “And the lion and the lamb shall lie down together and every man shall sit under his own vine and fig tree and none shall be afraid.” I still believe that We Shall overcome!

This faith can give us courage to face the uncertainties of the future. It will give our tired feet new strength as we continue our forward stride toward the city of freedom. When our days become dreary with low-hovering clouds and our nights become darker than a thousand midnights, we will know that we are living in the creative turmoil of a genuine civilization struggling to be born.

Today I come to Oslo as a trustee, inspired and with renewed dedication to humanity. I accept this prize on behalf of all men who love peace and brotherhood. I say I come as a trustee, for in the depths of my heart I am aware that this prize is much more than an honor to me personally.

Every time I take a flight, I am always mindful of the many people who make a successful journey possible – the known pilots and the unknown ground crew.

So you honor the dedicated pilots of our struggle who have sat at the controls as the freedom movement soared into orbit. You honor, once again, Chief Lutuli of South Africa, whose struggles with and for his people, are still met with the most brutal expression of man’s inhumanity to man. You honor the ground crew without whose labor and sacrifices the jet flights to freedom could never have left the earth. Most of these people will never make the headline and their names will not appear in Who’s Who. Yet when years have rolled past and when the blazing light of truth is focused on this marvellous age in which we live – men and women will know and children will be taught that we have a finer land, a better people, a more noble civilization – because these humble children of God were willing to suffer for righteousness’ sake.

… peace is more precious than diamonds or silver or gold.

I think Alfred Nobel would know what I mean when I say that I accept this award in the spirit of a curator of some precious heirloom which he holds in trust for its true owners – all those to whom beauty is truth and truth beauty – and in whose eyes the beauty of genuine brotherhood and peace is more precious than diamonds or silver or gold.

---

*From Les Prix Nobel en 1964, Editor Göran Liljestrand, [Nobel Foundation], Stockholm, 1965. Copyright © The Nobel Foundation 1964

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"An Indictment against American Foreign Policy"

"We came in as a wrecking ball

then realized others had come in before us

taking what they wanted

leaving their own death and destruction

as we would too."

- R.E. Slater

August 20, 2021

Amazon Link

From Selma to Moscow: How Human Rights Activists

Transformed U.S. Foreign Policy

Illustrated, April 24, 2018

by Sarah B. Snyder (Author)

The 1960s marked a transformation of human rights activism in the United States. At a time of increased concern for the rights of their fellow citizens―civil and political rights, as well as the social and economic rights that Great Society programs sought to secure―many Americans saw inconsistencies between domestic and foreign policy and advocated for a new approach. The activism that arose from the upheavals of the 1960s fundamentally altered U.S. foreign policy―yet previous accounts have often overlooked its crucial role.

In From Selma to Moscow, Sarah B. Snyder traces the influence of human rights activists and advances a new interpretation of U.S. foreign policy in the “long 1960s.” She shows how transnational connections and social movements spurred American activism that achieved legislation that curbed military and economic assistance to repressive governments, created institutions to monitor human rights around the world, and enshrined human rights in U.S. foreign policy making for years to come. Snyder analyzes how Americans responded to repression in the Soviet Union, racial discrimination in Southern Rhodesia, authoritarianism in South Korea, and coups in Greece and Chile. By highlighting the importance of nonstate and lower-level actors, Snyder shows how this activism established the networks and tactics critical to the institutionalization of human rights. A major work of international and transnational history, From Selma to Moscow reshapes our understanding of the role of human rights activism in transforming U.S. foreign policy in the 1960s and 1970s and highlights timely lessons for those seeking to promote a policy agenda resisted by the White House.

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PHOTOS OF THE TALIBAN IN KABUL, AFGHANISTAN,

AND FLEEING AFGHANIS

Mid-August, 2021

The way of peace is hard

but its joys last forever.

- R.E. Slater

August 10, 2021

Matthew 5:9 Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God.

Romans 14:19 So then let us pursue what makes for peace and for mutual upbuilding.

James 3:18 And a harvest of righteousness is sown in peace by those who make peace.

John 14:27 Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.

Ephesians 6:23 Peace be to the brothers, and love with faith, from God the Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

Philippians 4:7 And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

John 16:33 I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulations. But take heart; I have overcome the world.

Luke 1:79 To give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.

Mark 9:50 Salt is good, but if the salt looses its saltiness, how will you make it salty again? Have salt in yourselves, and be at peace with one another.

James 3:18 And a harvest of righteousness is sown in peace by those who make peace.

Théodore Géricault, The Raft of the Medusa (1818-1819)

Pablo Picasso, Massacre in Korea (1951)

Banksy, The Flower Thrower (2003)

Jaune Smith, I See Red: Migration (1995)

Activists in Exile

Samuel Bak, Open Book