The "defund the police" movement respects and needs police officers. It is simply a matter of reorganising budgets to respond more appropriately to traumatised populations. Most populations in poverty have intergenerational trauma issues that arise as expressions of aggression and lack of self control between citizens. As such, jail and violent force is not only inappropriate but it escalates, exacerbates and perpetuates problems. When instead of force the responders are trained in mental health, when they use empathy techniques, when they come with social workers who can offer real help and good advice - the chance to transform a community arises. People want functionality. People want a healthy community. People want their neighbours to have health. Once their brains are helped to switch into empathy-mode they can start to achieve their own goals and dreams. Perhaps an analogy would help too.
Imagine a see-saw. The social problems are on one side and punishment and threat is on the other. As social problems increase, so must the threats of law if it is to balance. Yet there is an obvious choice here... you could remove social pressures instead of adding threats... and that's the logic of "defund the police," we keep police, yet we start to change the way we balance things, we start to remove social pressures instead. It's part of social evolution. It is the start of putting love into action and rejecting emotional indifference. It is the start of better things to come.
She's only five years old and unaffected by death. A little innocent light with so much joy. But that will soon change and I hate it.
"Hey, why are they burying Aunty Carla? She can't bake those yummy cookies in the ground! Stop!" she screams. The people who weren't already crying allowed tears to drip down their faces. "Stop it!" She screams, tears streaming down her face.
Unexpectedly, Levi bends down and hugs Dina. "Dina, she's going to sleep." Levi whispers, "Don't be so loud or you'll wake her." Dina cuddles Levi and wails. He strokes her hair and her back lovingly. That just overpowers me. I start crying loudly causing a chain reaction in the small group. Soon everyone who loved Carla are sobbing uncontrollably.
I walk up to the makeshift stage and begin my little speech, "Mam was kind and didn't hesitate to help someone in need. Her helpful spirit got her in trouble a few times but I don't think she ever regretted it. I-"I pause clearing my throat from the tears, "I won't ever let her out my heart, she will stay in here in peace. I love you, Mam." I place my hand on my heart. AOT SALUTE. My tears soaking the clothes I'm wearing.
"Don't cry Eren! Aunty Carla is just asleep," she cries trying to make me happier. I give her a sad smile and nod while walking off the 'stage'.
Slowly her coffin gets lowered into the hole. The closest relatives take turns with the spade, covering her inch by inch with dirt.
Bye Mam. I will miss you...
Homeschool could be challenging for many people for many reasons, and so we started the government "mom and pop" schools. They were run by a pair of teachers (one male, one female where possible) out of local cafes and restaurants. The teachers were good role models and emotional anchors in the storm that was rocking the world. The renting of the space was a much needed boost to local business and the kids were fed a full days worth of good food in a relaxed learning environment. We did it in the homeschool way with siblings together, with time to relax and socialise built in. The teachers took on a loving parent approach combined with teaching tailored to each child's ability and interests. Homeschool has better results than private school, so the educational outcomes were optimal. Kids who feel loved develop healthier brains and bodies, and so the social and health outcomes were great too. It was a big reorganisation, for sure, but these bubbles were needed in the pandemic and once we tried it, why go back? It was far better for everyone.
When I was eight months old, I knew every corner of the house because I had just learnt to walk. By the time I was ten months old, I hadn’t left any spot in the sunflower field untraveled. That’s how my mother liked to say it.
She once told me, “When you took your first step in that field, when I saw how balanced those tiny feet were, I knew my baby could run; I knew I would be so proud of my baby.”
She was right; the pride in Ma’s eyes lit up like the fireworks on Fourth of July. Her baby had made her proud. I remember wrapping my fingers around the medal hanging from my neck, then letting Ma hug me so tight, almost suffocating me as always.
Two months after our chat, her baby ran again. Little did she know, I was running with a bag of weed, and almost a thousand dollars in cash. I only needed to get out of my head, and out of the town.
I haven’t seen those eyes again. Not when I had graduated middle school with all as from juvie, or even when I had decided Dusty’s life was more important than my own.
For the last six months, all I’ve seen is the disappointment in her face, dark like the sky over Carlson, all the stars dead with the death of the soldiers and the death of the veteran’s dreams
It can be hard sometimes. Now and then we will choose the wrong way, a bit like moving against the grain.
We can ruin the wood we call life.
This can be hard to take back, since the damage has already been done.
It will scar you for a while, the mistakes we make but eventually it will fade into the past.
A simple decision can ruin our lives, but only you can choose whether to hold on to the past pain or let it go.
Upon the sunbathed wooden supports grew the most verdant of plants, its green as bright and gay as any summer's bloom.
Thus, if we fail to be aware of the limitations of language, then we are in danger of reducing our concept, our intuition and awe of nature and the world into these soundbites we call words. Instead of our emotional intelligence being engaged, it is in danger of being silenced.
That warm, raspy voice that possessed his cords that night, sent nerves dancing up my spine. His smile sent my mind into an uncontrolled, captivated spiral and his light touch lingered, it branded my soul with a simple mark: infatuation. To call it love would be a mockery of my heart, a symbol of my dying innocence. But every tempered word he spoke invaded my mind, like ivy tendrils seeking any point of weakness to enter; they wrapped my body in a blanket of comfort and consumed my soul in the heat of lust.
I remember that night in a soft, painful haze. It's the night that taught me the difference between love and infatuation. Love is unconditional, eternal... Infatuation? It dies.
Tears rolled down, wetting every part of her cheek. Her eyes pleaded for Succor and help, albeit that she knew no one was coming. There was only darkness as her own demons haunted and strangled her. She was suffocating. In the pain of abandonment she almost forgot how to feel. She desired amnesia so that all this suffering could fade away, fade and allow memories of laughter to soothe her, to restore peace in her life.
Sometimes a cough is a sign of healing, that a sore throat is on the mend and all will soon be well. At these times fresh air can work wonders, especially in the evening and early hours.
That the financial system enables the privileged to prey on the disadvantaged is obvious, but the fact that it enables the "elders" to prey on the younger generation is the real kicker. You can either support or exploit others, to chase greed in the money-nexus or embrace ways of loving... it is a choice.
