Should the Legacy of the Trump Presidency Include a Human Rights Trial?

The Trump legacy will always include an impeachment conviction. But the scope of his miserable deeds and actions upon so many both here and outside the US. His racism has known few boundaries. His hatred of other cultures, religions follows lessons taught to him by his father, a firm believer of Aryan supremacy.

In his desire to win, gain more power and money, he set aside any feelings towards his fellow man. His inhuman desire for revenge for disloyalty also had no bounds. But I digress.

In order to be put on trial at The Hague the case needs victims who suffered directly at the hands of the President. In fact documentation is often required that substantiate the acts against large numbers of individuals, more importantly, targets of his aggression.

Incidentally, Trump, has self documented almost every day, sometimes hours, of his presidency. The documentation will be available for generations to come through his Tweets, Press conferences, video speeches, and recordings. He will not need a Library.

Having documented intentions, executive orders and other material let’s identify the victims. I will start off with Americans that died of COVID19, as of July 26, 2020, 150,000.

The intention was clear from the beginning-to be re-elected while suppressing any bad news or showing a willingness to address the epidemic as one of the worst in US history. In this the President broke the Constitutional directive to “to protect America from foreign and domestic enemies.” This is not only a prime obligation, but the lack of accountability or empathy, is, frankly, inhuman and should be set as an example to all leaders.

The families and children that came up from Central America to escape death in their own homelands, only to be treated with the most inhuman zeal to put them in cages, and ultimately separate them. In a country formed through immigration, Trump from the beginning, and working with his immigration architect, Steven Miller, stomped on the human rights of these individuals, Moslems from outside of the US the resulted in children’s deaths, not to mention the potential deaths of those deported.

But as the beacon of freedom, the US has now abandoned all sense of defending human rights for those most vulnerable. In most cases, abandonment would most assuredly result in deaths. Here the number of victims may not be as precise, but nevertheless deaths resulted. I am reflecting on the Syrian refugees and the Kurds. The one, the Syrians, we simply closed the doors on, even as our allies took them in. The Kurds, who were our Allies in the fight against ISIS, we abandoned to the genocidal instincts of the Turks.

I see this trial to be Trump vs the oft quoted American ideal of “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness”. It will be sometime until the toll of death and misery is taken both domestically and globally. But like past dictators, others that wrought such misery on so many people, justice needs to be served.

.

An Old Veteran’s Pespective on Veteran’s Day

I have seen much in the seven decades I have been on this earth. I am a historical observer and sometimes a participant in historic events.

I was in Woodstock in high school. My friend and I made the trek hitching from Wall Street(where we worked) to Bethel, NY. Jumping over the fence and merging with thousands of people, wearing the most colorful clothe I have ever seen. I was like a Renaissance Fair, less knights and jousting. Long hair, period pieces from the time of the Civil War to the medieval era. No shoes, and a lot of moccasins.

The music was the essence of spirit. Tall loudspeaker towers, some people dangling on bars and the earth would shake when a bass note was played. Depending where you sat there was a latency until ears were penetrated. That is because of the long hair and distance from the stages. and height of the speakers. So, you just closed your eyes and flew over the ground until you were sitting below the singers.

People swayed as one, looking like wheat fields reacting to a light wind. No one was singing around me, since most voices were lost in the previous hours of shouting and singing. So we all listened and watched our youth disappear in the only concert of its king. From this day on, all of us went our separate ways, some to war, some to march against the war, and some just left the US for years.

After Kent State, I decided to leave and search for my roots and my homeland of Israel. I reduced every thing I owned to a medium back pack, five paperbacks and some silver dollars I received at my Bar Mitzvah.

A friend and I boarded Icelandic Air and landed in Amsterdam. It was the still the Sixties and the jumping off place was Amsterdam. Actually it was around the Dam Plaza, a counterculture assembly point from all over the world. Steve and I bought the requisite motorcycles, loaded our backpacks onto the bikes and noisily took off.

After a month, Steve decided to go south to Morocco. I could not go since I was born in Israel wherein even my American passport could not hide the fact that I was born into Israel’s first war and independence.

I returned to Amsterdam looking for a job and landed one in an American bar, playing piano, background music to loud groups. I would get a tip anytime I could recall a college alma mater, country and western songs for the US servicemen, or just plain blues for every one else. I then went on to other European capitals until it was time to go home to Israel to finish my studies.

Four  years after Woodstock and like Woodstock I was half buried in the mud, my face choking on muddy water each time a shell hit the ground. This was the Golan Heights a day into the Yom Kippur. Now I was observing the bloody mess of my unit after the Syrians decided to increase the frequency of shells to saturate the field we were on.

After the first day, I was a veteran. I saw enough to fill books but knew I would not be able to tell this story for at least another decade or so. Observers like me see so much that some times words cannot encapsulate what you felt. For survival your mind looks for nooks and crannies to bury the sights and sounds. Kind of a safety factor similar to the ones doctors have.

And so the old veteran if finally reaching back, pulling out observations and putting them now, five decades later, in context if to justify the humanity that remained.

A grandson, sits on my knee and asks me what it was like. I close my eyes pull out the script I prepared ten years earlier that hides much of the truth. It mostly consists of talking about others as if that will retain the distance from the ugly truths.

The child is content to hear the stories of others, but I know and fear that one day he will ask me about my adventures. I have not script for that, just a series of observations that have lost much of their clarity, thank you age.