OGT DAILY Day One Hundred and Fifteen LANGUAGE II

Language and how we use it.   Fascinating.   Last night when I was dialing Cobb County Georgia, on behalf of Christine Triebsch who is hoping to flip their Republican majority state senate, I was schooled by a veteran poll manager who I happened to get on the line.  She said, "Well do you know who she is running against?"   And since I was sitting in the living room of a community organizer in Scarsdale, NY and not somewhere down in the Atlanta suburbs, of course, I did not!   She said, "Well you should.  You know the Republicans all know that stuff.  We Democrats are so complacent and a bit fuzzy on things."   And she's right!   I told her thank you and that I was going to look it up, which I did. The Republican running is Kay Kirkpatrick a real supporter of Tom Price and supporter of the AHCA.   So it is all in what we know and the language how we use it.

Sally Yates' language could not have been more clear yesterday when she testified on Hill regarding the firing of Michael Flynn the National Security Adviser who was compromised by his Russian connections.

Yet you have the president of this country trying to "trump" her words by casting aspersions with his early morning tweet.  You have the original snake oil's salesman Ted Cruz trying to flip her testimony on its head by bringing up her firing over the Muslim Ban.  But it didn't work!   She was steady.  She had integrity and she made it very clear that she warned the White House and the president and they ignored her.   Nixon had his 18 seconds which did him in.   Trump now has his 18 days and what does he do??   He has no qualms and complete sense of impunity.  He goes and fires the head of the FBI - who is heading the investigation that Sally Yates is testifying for.   Can things get anymore surreal?   It's almost hilarious to see Sean Spicer try to defend it with his usual "alternative facts". Talk about creative language.   And what do we hear from the White House?  Silence - no language. Except:  It's time to close the whole Russia thing down - from Sarah Sanders the deputy press secretary.   The language they used for firing James Comey makes no sense and can't really be believed, but then nothing can believed from the administration any more.

Sean Spicer's Previous Profession

Sally Yates spoke yesterday about how she could not answer questions because of national security. It all becomes very difficult to believe in anyone's language.   But it sure seems like this president is anxious about any language that has to do with Russia and his campaign.  It seems that language can be dangerous for him now, but it can also be turned against ordinary American citizens - like the FCC going after Stephen Colbert for making jokes about Trump and Putin.  It seems the threat to our First Amendment rights may be real.

Nixon during Watergate 

On the way home from phone banking last night I had the pleasure of listening to Marie Howe, one of my favorite poets, as she was interviewed by Krista Tippett (On Being).  Marie spoke about how we no longer have a sense of action unless we live in a place of turmoil like Syria. She continued to say that action has come to take the form of language and this sure seems true.  We have never been more wrapped up in media, Facebook, news feeds, and Twitter.  However I cannot help but feel a sense of action as I sit at the phone prompting voters in Georgia and Montana and where ever we need to turn this conservative and seemingly corrupt tyrannical regime.   I can't help but feel that we are all becoming more active in the shaping of our lives.  I feel this when I attend a meeting with others who are as indignant as I am.  I feel this especially as I continue to engage in the embodied work or art therapy with young clients who need my support.

I also give thanks for elegant language that speaks truth when there is so much that is not.

Read the clear and brilliant words of Marie Howe in memory of her brother as an antidote to insanity:

WHAT THE LIVING DO

by Marie Howe

Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there.
And the Drano won't work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up

waiting for the plumber I still haven't called. This is the everyday we spoke of.
It's winter again: the sky's a deep, headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through

the open living-room windows because the heat's on too high in here and I can't turn it off.
For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street, the bag breaking,

I've been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday, hurrying along those
wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my wrist and sleeve,

I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This is it.
Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called that yearning.

What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the winter to pass. We want
whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss--we want more and more and then more of it.

But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass,
say, the window of the corner video store, and I'm gripped by a cherishing so deep

for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I'm speechless:
I am living. I remember you. 

https://www.theatlantic.com/past/docs/unbound/poetry/atlpoets/howe9404.htm