Across So Many Seas/ A través de los mares

By Ruth Behar 

*Publisher: ‎ Nancy Paulsen Books

*Hardcover: ‎272 pages

*ISBN-10: ‎0593323408

*ISBN-13: ‎978-0593323403

"As lyrical as it is epic, Across So Many Seas reminds us that while the past may be another country, it's also a living, breathing song of sadness and joy that helps define who we are." --Alan Gratz, New York Times bestselling author of Refugee

Spanning over 500 years, Pura Belpré Award winner Ruth Behar's epic novel tells the stories of four girls from different generations of a Jewish family, many of them forced to leave their country and start a new life.

In 1492, during the Spanish Inquisition, Benvenida and her family are banished from Spain for being Jewish, and must flee the country or be killed. They journey by foot and by sea, eventually settling in Istanbul.

Over four centuries later, in 1923, shortly after the Turkish war of independence, Reina’s father disowns her for a small act of disobedience. He ships her away to live with an aunt in Cuba, to be wed in an arranged marriage when she turns fifteen.

In 1961, Reina’s daughter, Alegra, is proud to be a brigadista, teaching literacy in the countryside for Fidel Castro. But soon Castro’s crackdowns force her to flee to Miami all alone, leaving her parents behind.

Finally, in 2003, Alegra’s daughter, Paloma, is fascinated by all the journeys that had to happen before she could be born. A keeper of memories, she’s thrilled by the opportunity to learn more about her heritage on a family trip to Spain, where she makes a momentous discovery.

Though many years and many seas separate these girls, they are united by a love of music and poetry, a desire to belong and to matter, a passion for learning, and their longing for a home where all are welcome. And each is lucky to stand on the shoulders of their courageous ancestors.

A lo largo de más de quinientos años, la novela épica de Ruth Behar, ganadora del Premio Pura Belpré, relata la historia de cuatro jóvenes de distintas generaciones de una familia judía, varias de ellas obligadas a abandonar su país y empezar una nueva vida.

En 1492, en tiempos de la inquisición española, Benvenida y su familia son expulsados de España por ser judíos, y deben abandonar el reino o morir. Viajan por caminos y mares, asentándose eventualmente en Estambul. Casi cinco siglos más tarde, en 1923, poco después de terminada la guerra de independencia turca, el padre de Reina la deshereda por un pequeño acto de desobediencia. La envía en barco a vivir con su tía en Cuba, donde se casa en un matrimonio arreglado al cumplir quince años.

En 1961, la hija de Reina, Alegra, se siente orgullosa de ser brigadista, de enseñar a leer y escribir en provincia, en nombre de Fidel Castro. Pero muy pronto, las represiones del régimen la obligan a huir a Miami sola, dejando a sus padres atrás. Por último, en 2003, la hija de Alegra, Paloma, está emocionada de salir de Miami, donde viven, y visitar España con sus padres y su abuela Reina. En un museo, Paloma ve una nota conservada desde la Edad Media que, sin ella saberlo, escribió su antepasada Benvenida justo antes de huir del país. Aunque las separan muchos años y muchos mares, las une el deseo de aprender y su anhelo por un hogar donde sean bienvenidas.

Review

“Four 12-year-old Sephardic Jewish girls in different time periods leave their homelands but carry their religion, culture, language, music, and heritage with them. . . . Woven through all four girls’ stories is the same Ladino song (included with an English translation); as Paloma says, ‘I’m connected to those who came before me through the power of the words we speak, the words we write, the words we sing, the words in which we tell our dreams.’ Behar’s diligent research and personal connection to this history, as described in a moving author’s note, shine through this story of generations of girls who use music and language to survive, tell their stories, and connect with past and future. Powerful and resonant.” —Kirkus Reviews, starred review

“Behar (Lucky Broken Girl)delivers a moving tale about four generations of a Sephardic Jewish family navigating cultural and societal upheaval from 1492 to 2003. . . . Divided into four parts, this enlightening read depicts one family’s determination to embrace and preserve her Jewish identity and offers glimpses into the long history of Jews in Spain. Behar crafts each included era with painstaking period detail and lush language, delivering a stunning portrayal of immigration and Jewish culture and religion that expounds upon the importance of remaining true to oneself, explores themes of prejudice and racism, and exposes the harm that bigotry can inflict on both individuals and society. The author includes English translations alongside songs and words in Ladino; concluding source notes add further historical context.” —Publishers Weekly, starred review

“This powerful historical novel by Behar relates the journeys and discoveries of four young girls from different generations of the same family. . . . Each protagonist embarks on a journey, whether fleeing persecution, searching for liberty, or discovering her past and her future. . . . The simple, resonant, and lyrical narrative transmits the hope and trust that have sustained Sephardic Jewish communities through the generations. Even the names of the title characters speak a blessing. Benevida means welcome; Reina means queen; Allegra means happiness; and Paloma means peace. An author’s note explains Behar’s connection to this important history. This moving historic tale treats every word used as if it is a fleeting and impossibly beautiful note in a song that can never be forgotten, as it illuminates a people and a past that deserves to be forever remembered. This will appeal to fans of Jane Yolen’s Briar Rose, and is highly recommended for all collections.” —School Library Journal, starred review

“This welcome historical novel traces a Sephardic Jewish family whose members travel from one country to another with first-person narrators from four generations and spanning centuries. . . . This family saga provides glimpses of several moments in world history and gives readers opportunities to spot connections among the generations, sometimes knowing details about the past that the characters can only guess at. . . . An oud and a Ladino song add echoes from one section to another. The author’s note provides context and personal connections; back matter also includes source notes with accessible explanations.” —The Horn Book

“Behar's sprawling saga, based in part on her own family history, captures the poignancy of being expelled from one's home. . . . The return to Spain brings the story full circle and provides readers with a satisfying conclusion. Generous author notes are appended.” —Booklist

Ruth Behar (ruthbehar.com), the Pura Belpré Award-winning author of Lucky Broken Girl and Letters from Cuba, was born in Havana, Cuba, grew up in New York, and has also lived in Spain and Mexico. Her work also includes poetry, memoir, and the acclaimed travel books An Island Called Home and Traveling Heavy. She was the first Latina to win a MacArthur "Genius" Grant, and other honors include a John Simon Guggenheim Fellowship and being named a "Great Immigrant" by the Carnegie Corporation. An anthropology professor at the University of Michigan, she lives in Ann Arbor, Michigan.

Ruth Behar nació en La Habana, Cuba, creció en Nueva York y también ha vivido en España y México. Además de escribir para lectores jóvenes, su trabajo incluye poesía, memorias y los aclamados libros de viaje An Island Called Home y Traveling Heavy, que exploran sus viajes de regreso a Cuba y la búsqueda de su hogar. Fue la primera latina en ganar una beca MacArthur "Genius". Obtuvo una beca John Simon Guggenheim y fue nombrada "Gran Inmigrante" por la Carnegie Corporation. Actualmente es profesora de antropología en la Universidad de Michigan y vive en Ann Arbor, Michigan.

Turning In Tightening Gyres

Swallowtails Zephyrs Digital Camera

Michael Sedano

Swallowtail butterflies float along the whirling margins of invisible zephyrs, flapping angling contorting their wings to escape the vortex and control a descent onto densely-flowered Lantana branches. Flocks of swallowtails live in the trees nearby. Their visits provide daily delights. These swallowtails are the giants of my garden's flying world, larger even than los colibríes coming to feed in my garden.

Today I see one swallowtail approach through the thermal curtain above the cement swimming pool deck. Hot drafts buffet the insect's unaltered course.  Riding a roller coaster current, unperturbed the swallowtail bobs and glides toward the Lantana.

Another swallowtail has lounged about the Lantana several minutes. Now the swallowtail rises, floats in air, wings unmoving, cupping unseen cushioning air, then angle to land upon a flower cluster proboscis already inserted into the floral trumpet. 

I marvel as those broad wings start vibrating and clapping together in uncontrolled ecstasy. With shivering wings, the swallowtail hops from cluster to cluster satisfying its hunger. A momentary pause, a wing stills, contorts, uplift! The swallowtail floats into a moment, a crystalline memory of flight and beauty and poetry.

I rise from a distant seat approaching slowly verifying the camera and lens settings. I want to savor the moment. And I want to make a foto that holds onto that moment of truth because it is all I need to know.

I've set the camera for its fastest speed, 1/4000s. The chip inside the Canon 6D Mark II will decide the amount of light to use and sets the lens aperture accordingly as I frame the moments and push the button. On this brilliant summer afternoon, f/9 and f/10 offer the exposure the butterflies demand.

I sit. I wait. I see them.

Seen Unseen Scenes

Among the various frustrations of an afternoon on a sunny deck is not having a camera and watching cavorting butterflies land and take off, float glide sweep through the air, land and feed, then meet with other butterflies and put on aerial shows of breath-taking beauty.

A related frustration is having the camera on-hand but the Lantana plants normally teeming with butterflies stand devoid of butterflies. Corollary desmadre is having the wrong lens on the camera.

Sabes que? None of those drawbacks came into play as I sat on my patio deck with a high quality camera body mounted with a superb 100mm macro lens. Serendipity, of course, comes into major play when seeking fotos of winged creatures in the air.

Ay de mi. There's a tenth muse, Serendipity.

And good equipment. The Canon EOS 6D Mark II exposes 3 frames a second. This gallery of helixing swallowtails 1/4000 1/4000 1/4000 slices of time thanks to the mechanical marvels of this camera body,

The Canon EF 100mm f/2.8 L IS macro lens accounts for the clean clear look of these full-sunlight exposures, handheld. With light sensitivity of ISO 6400, the camera generously sets the lens between f/10 and f/8. 

Lenses don't just see what's out there, sabes? A photographer has to focus on a given area of a vista and that's what's sharp. The aperture of a lens creates a horizontal depth of focus. The point of focus will be sharp, plus there's an area of sharp focus in front of, and behind, the focal point. The smaller the aperture, the deeper the field of focus. This is an f/2.8 lens with its smallest opening f/32. Distance from lens to object influences that field of sharpness. I'm happy to have f/10 and f/8. 

These two butterflies aren't as close as they appear and they're both in marvelous focus, que no? A telephoto lens makes stuff appear closer than they fly. At f/10, and standing ten feet from the focus point, the lens gives about ten inches of good focus, so we get to see both butterflies well.

This turning and twisting moment shows the swallowtails' horizontal distance in the previous frame. This is the depth of field at this distance, wingtip to wingtip.

Serendipity smiled upon me and I was elated, seeing what was happening through the viewfinder, knowing I was capturing a casí once-in-a-lifetime sequence of photographs. How rare, and a remedy to the frustration of seeing wonders and not being properly equipped.

It develops my elation was a dramatic irony. In a few minutes, another aerial display was to be. Twice in a lifetime miracles unfold before my eyes and lens. 

Mira nomás.

Turning and turning in a tightening gyre, the pair of Giant Swallowtails, Papilio cresphontes, 

don't mind the rapid-fire clicking shutter on the camera, the human making the noise who stands ten feet away, with the entire shrub guarding the distance between them. 

Grazing at opposite sides of the Lantana, both rise in tandem from their flowers, find a cushion of air that holds them floating just above the greenery. The butterflies sense their proximity and float closer in stuttering gasps, narrowing the gap between them until a magic distance obtains. Simultaneously their outspread wings bow minutely to fill with air and both ascend rising and closing the gap, spinning, spinning like that poem about lumbering beasts. Here, gente, nothing lumbers, here is puro elegance.
 

Subtle contortions of their wings pull the flying souls into closer and closer proximity.

The swallowtails whirl around the invisible helix of the earth's DNA.

Turning and turning in the tightening gyre, things come together, only the center remains.

The center always holds. Things come together. As they should.

Last Word: A Marvel of Wings 

A remarkable work of natural wonder, this is a species of Clearwing Moth.

To some eyes, this is Hemaris thysbe, the Hummingbird Clearwing Moth. To my eyes, it's an amazing, never-before seen, winged garden soul I'm overjoyed to have captured in a moment of sublime grace.

Xánath Caraza, _Tejerás el destino_: versos que oscilan entre mito e historia por la Dra. Natasa Lambrou

Xánath Caraza, _Tejerás el destino_: versos que oscilan entre mito e historia

por la Dra. Natasa Lambrou

 

          En este nuevo poemario de Xánath Caraza titulado Tejerás el destino se entrecruzan la cultura, la historia y el mito formando una parte homogénea dentro de dicha obra. En mis oídos tengo siempre las palabras de una de mis profesoras más queridas que decía sobre los indígenas del sub continente latinoamericano: “lo que es para nosotros hoy en día la mitología, para ellos fue su vida y su cotidianidad”. Hay que entender que los mitos relatan lo que no podía entender la gente porque no tenía el saber hacer o el saber práctico.

          En este poemario, el mito y la historia van de la mano haciendo destacar la voz azteca de Caraza, el amor por la cultura mesoamericana y la temática favorita de la poeta: la mujer poeta, la poetisa que en estos versos lleva el nombre de Macuilxochitzin como ya nos anticipa Álvaro Torres Calderón en su excelente introducción: “Macuilxochitzin o Macuilxochitl, poeta nacida en los años más prósperos de la expansión de la civilización Azteca. Hija del consejero real Tlacaélel y sobrina del guerrero Tlatoani Axayácatl”. Su vida y sus obras son un ejemplo del paralelismo de género en el México prehispánico en el que las mujeres tenían iguales oportunidades de las que disfrutaban los hombres. Aunque la mexicanidad de Caraza es el rasgo más característico en todas sus obras, es en este poemario que ha llegado a una altura inalcanzable.

          La temática principal, o mejor dicho, el personaje principal de este poemario es Macuilxochitzin; sin embargo, dentro de los versos caracianos podemos apreciar algunas sub temáticas que desempeñan un papel esencial también: la importancia del jade, la historia perdida, la identidad y la mujer y su posición en la cultura mesoamericana entre otras.

 

Macuilxochitzin

Macuilxochitzin, celebro tu poesía:

tú eres una guerrera águila.

De entre la oscuridad sales,

de la historia perdida emerges.

         

“A nonpehua noncuica”

“Elevo mis cantos”

Frase que vive por siempre.

 

A Axayácatl celebras,

mujer poeta que registra las crónicas de guerra:

“In otepehue Axayaca nohuian”,

“Por todas partes Axayácatl hizo conquistas”.

 

Recuerdas en tu poesía a las mujeres

que salvaron a Tlilatl

quien hirió a Axayácatl.

 

Macuilxochitzin, tienes flores en tu sangre.

Tus cantos, tu poesía:

in xóchitl in cuícatl

son recordados por siempre.

 

A los cuarenta y un años

compusiste palabras eternas.

Por toda la tierra tus cantos dejan huella.

 

La poesía te reclama, Macuilxochitzin,

tu noble formación se refleja en tus versos:

mujer de palabras de jade.

 

Macuilxochitzin: poeta con sangre de obsidiana.

¡Que comiencen los cantos!

¡Que comience la danza!

¡yn in cuicatl!

¡yn maconnetotilo!

 

          En este poema, como en todo el poemario, podemos contemplar la importancia de la mujer en la cultura azteca. La noble mujer puede ser una poeta “que registra las crónicas de la guerra”, o sea, una mujer que escribe historia dejando su huella indeleble; puede ser también, una mujer-guerrera, una guerrera-águila, que es el rango más alto de los guerreros. Sus palabras son eternas, sus palabras son de jade y su sangre es de obsidiana; las piedras preciosas tan características de Mesoamérica y, junto con ellas, sus colores que dan un tono de lujo y belleza a los versos de la poeta mexicana. La historia perdida, las culturas destrozadas durante la Conquista, la búsqueda de una identidad propia, perdida durante los años pasados, componen parte del poemario.

 

Ciudad de Atenas, Grecia

Julio de 2024

 

Tejerás el destino / You Will Weave Destiny de Xánath Caraza

FlowerSong Press, 2024

Traducido por Sandra Kingery, Aaron Willsea

 

A Few More Hot Books

 

Here are a few more hot summer books - especially for those who study things like the Cuban Revolution or want to read a debut novel from a promising new author.  

____________________________

Out of the Rain
J. Malcom Garcia
Seven Stories Press - July 16

[from the publisher]
Out of the Rain takes us into the growing world of the homeless in the United States, particularly in San Francisco. Here we read their powerful stories, which examine not just poverty but bottom-of-the-barrel destitution, and in many cases self-destruction.

Tom, who runs a social services agency, doesn’t play by a book of rules as much as try to bring some humanity to his work. Then there is Walter, a homeless man who can’t save himself from booze but is ready to help others. Throughout this novel told from various perspectives, the reader is introduced in intimate detail to the lives of social services workers trying to find open shelter beds and simultaneously navigating federal programs. Homeless men and women are battling sobriety and addiction and simply trying to find sustainable work and decent housing.

Based on the author’s experience working with homeless people in San Francisco as a social services worker in the 1980s and 1990s, this novel vividly takes the reader into the heads of combat veterans, junkies, prostitutes and the unemployed. J. Malcolm Garcia left social services to pursue journalism so he could write about the people he worked with and share their stories—and humanity—with the broader public.

“There weren’t enough shelter beds, weren’t enough detoxes, weren’t enough jobs, weren’t enough anything for the people I wanted to help.” —Tom, social worker, in Out of the Rain

________________________________________

Remembering Che: My Life with Che Guevara
Aleida March - Translated by Pilar Aguilar
Seven Stories Press - July 9

[from the publisher]
When Aleida March first met Che Guevara, she was a twenty-year-old combatant from the provinces of Cuba, he an already legendary revolutionary and larger-than-life leader. And yet there was another, more human side to Che, one Aleida was given special access to, first as his trusted compañera and later as the love of his life.

With great immediacy and poignancy, Aleida recounts the story of their epic romance—their fitful courtship against the backdrop of the Cuban revolutionary war, their marriage at the war’s end and the birth of their four children, up through Che’s tragic assassination in Bolivia less than ten years later. Featuring excerpts from their letters, nearly one hundred never-before-seen photographs from their private collection, and a moving short story Che wrote for Aleida, here is an intimate look at the man behind the legend and the tenacious, courageous woman who knew him best—a story of passionate love, wrenching sacrifice, and unwavering heroism.

Later.

______________________

Manuel Ramos writes crime fiction. Read his latest story, Northside Nocturne, in the award-winning anthology Denver Noir, edited by Cynthia Swanson, published by Akashic Books.

Chicanonautica: Apocalyptic Independence Daze

by Ernest Hogan

Not many signs of the apocalyptic holiday as we drove up. Only one flag along the I-17. A modest sprinkling of them in Sedona. And we were still free enough to have tacos on the 4th of July.

From our hotel balcony, we watched the clouds change color on the Red Rock Mountains as dragonflies and bats flitted by.

The night was quiet. No fireworks. No manifestations of a deranged election. Just what we needed as Phoenix cooks in the killer heat.

The next morning I looked at photos and videos that my family texted me from California.

On our way to the Coffee Pot for breakfast, a coyote dashed across the road. Emily saved its life with horn honk. I had huevos rancheros. MuyAmericano.

The streets were empty, quiet. Everybody was still asleep. What do they do here for the 4th?

At a Goodwill, I found a copy of Man and Impact in the Americas by “veteran space reporter” E.P. Grondine about “the effects of asteroid and comet impacts on preColombian cultures, including the Maya, with “eyewitness accounts” of Hopewell societies and the Mississipians. Like someone left it there for me. Again.

We did a quick hike along Midgley Bridge until it got too hot, then cruised Oak Creek Canyon.

What a beautiful country. Too bad all these assholes want to convert it all into liquid assets. Assets for assholes. What ya gonna buy when the planet's gone?

Once again, the Sedona political signs were names, smiling faces–and female!--and Wild West iconography.

We approached Cottonwood, ZIPPERMAN, CONSTITUTIONAL CONSERVATIVE country. On the road to Jerome a brand-new house flew the traditional stars and stripes and the black, white, and blue fascist version underneath.

In Prescott, the World’s Oldest Rodeo was still going on, Whiskey Row was a mob scene with flags, but not as much as it’s been in the past. There was no parking, so instead of having lunch there, we went to Bill’s Grill and had burgers.

As we left, there was a LET’S GO BRANDON sticker on a pickup. All the political signs were local. One candidate declared TRUMP APPOINTED in small letters.

There was one Kari Lake sign. Kari who?

Gigantic flags did look majestic billowing in the wind.

At the newly remodeled Sunset Point Rest Area there was a poster reminding us what to do in case of a disaster. 

It got hotter as we returned to Phoenix. No sign of asteroids or comets. Or Maya or Hopewells or Mississippians. No hints about the future, either.

Ernest Hogan is the Father of Chicano Science Fiction. Read his Guerrilla Mural of a Siren’s Song while it’s still legal. In October, he will be teaching his “Gonzo Science Fiction,Chicano Style” online at the Palabras del Pueblo Writing Workshop—apply now!

FREE TWO NIGHTS OF MACONDO READING

  

From https://macondowriters.com

 

The Macondo Writers Workshop is an association of socially-engaged writers working to advance creativity, foster generosity, and serve community. Founded in 1995 by writer Sandra Cisneros and named after the town in Gabriel García Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude, the workshop gathers writers from all genres who work on geographic, cultural, economic, gender, and spiritual borders and who are committed to activism in their writing and work.

 

 

JOIN US FOR TWO NIGHTS OF MACONDO READING THIS SUMMER. 

Macondista Open Mic reading

Thursday, July 25, 7:00-9:30 pm

Dicke Hall 104 at Trinity University

San Antonio, Texas

 

Guest Faculty Reading

Saturday, July 27, 7-8:15 p.m.

Ruth Taylor Recital Hall at Trinity University

San Antonio, Texas

 

Free and open to the public. Free parking is available. We are committed to ensuring our event is accessible to all participants. If you have specific accessibility needs or require accommodations to fully participate, please contact us at macondowriters@gmail.com as soon as possible. Your request will help us create an inclusive and welcoming environment for everyone.

Women Who Submit: 2024 Submission Conference

Michael Sedano's La Bloga-Tuesday shares a close-up look at stellar workshops featured in the August 10 "Submission Conference" created by a dynamic association of writers supporting writers, Women Who Submit (link).

This year's Conference theme gives the WWS event an important distinction unique to this Los Angeles writers conference:

Beyond the Writing: Building Community, Advocacy, and a Literary Career

The 8:30 to 6:00 day of literary panels, workshops, and performances takes place at historic Plaza  de la Raza in Lincoln Heights on the second Saturday in August. 

Follow the links to learn the hourly schedule, scan the list of vendors participating in the trade show element of this public event. From the linked page:

The 2024 WWS Submission Conference on Saturday, August 10, 2024 at Plaza de la Raza in Lincoln Heights will feature a day of literary panels, workshops, performances, and vendors centering women and nonbinary writers, editors, publishers, community members, and business owners. 

The third in a series, the 2024 conference is the first to be offered in person thanks to a partnership with Plaza de la Raza and a grant from the Latino Community Foundation and California Arts Council. 

Select remote options will be available for those experiencing barriers to attending due to health, finances, travel, family care, and more. 

The Women Who Submit Submission submission conference is a biennial one-day speaker program created by women and nonbinary writers for women and nonbinary writers to empower marginalized voices to submit work for publication and achieve success in publishing and academia.

Click this link to register for the conference.

Audience in 2023 WWS event a

Click this link to register for the conference.

Click this link to register for the conference.

Click this link to register for the conference.

Click this link to register for the conference.

Click this link to register for the conference.

Click this link to register for the conference.

Click this link to register for the conference.

Click this link to register for the conference.

Click this link to register for the conference.

WWS: Women Who Submit

 Attention Writers. An outstanding, unique, opportunity heads our way, from the Women of Women Who Submit.

Saturday, August 10, 2024

https://www.eventbrite.com/e/beyond-the-writing-building-community-advocacy-and-a-literary-career-tickets-925621206947?aff=oddtdtcreator

Things We'll Never Know and Never Understand

                                                                                     

Some things, like beauty, we'll never understand

     I didn’t see the attempted assassination of Donald Trump live. I heard it on the car radio, an interruption of regular programming. The announcer knew enough to tell listeners the former president’s ear had been grazed by a bullet, but initial reports said he was fine. Of course, the D.J. (I was listening to a rock ‘n roll station) said more information was still coming in. 

     He didn’t need to remind me of J.F.K.’s assassination, when preliminary reports said the president had been shot. Severity? Unknown. There was still hope. Later, news reports said President Kennedy had died. And, here we are, sixty-two years later, after piles of books, documentaries, and movies of the assassination, we still don’t know why Lee Harvey Oswald killed Kennedy, maybe R.F.K.’s investigation into the Mafia, maybe Cuba, or even LBJ’s obsession for the presidency. We’ll never know. 

     I’ve chosen not to dig into the attempted assassination of Trump, just what I hear on the news. A twenty-year-old kid (at my age a 20-year-old is a kid) climbed onto a roof of a commercial building 148 yards away from where Trump was speaking, shot several times with an AR-15 (the civilian version of a military M-16), wounded the former president, and, tragically, killed a bystander, a firefighter, we’re told, protecting his family, and left others wounded. 

     One report said the kid’s dad bought him the weapon a few days earlier. Another report said it was the dad’s weapon, and he let the kid use it to go to the shooting range. A few days earlier, the kid had purchased 50 rounds of ammunition. An AR-15, like an M-16, of which I’m more familiar from my days in Vietnam, takes a magazine, a metal container the size of a narrow paperback novel. It’s spring-loaded and holds twenty-rounds, 5.56 mm, able to penetrate a steel helmet at 500 yards (required by the Army). As each round is fired, another round springs upwards, into the chamber and closer to the firing pin. 

     The Colt Company, supposedly, recommended we didn’t fill the magazine to capacity. Better to put in 18 rounds, not so tight, and less chance of the rifle jamming, for which it was famous, many a soldier losing his life because of it. I remember seeing an image of a dead U.S. soldier, in the heat of battle, smoke all around him, his M-16 broken down, and a cleaning rod sticking out one end, notorious for jamming when dirty. News flash! Most jungles are dirty, and muddy. The U.S. military had a rock-solid contract with the Colt Company. 

     Some people said, lucky for the former president, the kid was a bad shot. I agreed the former president was lucky but, respectfully, disagreed the kid was a bad shot. Unless, he was trained, like a soldier, with the AR-15, he was a pretty damn good shot but not very sabe of weapons. Like the M-16, the AR-15 is an assault rifle, and, as our drill instructors had informed us, good for Vietnam, and guerilla warfare, because, chances were, if we made contact, the enemy would be within a hundred meters of our position, a hundred-meters, about the length of a football field, often, separated by dense jungle. We didn’t need to be good shots, just good enough to spray the jungle, single-shot or full-automatic, and kill anybody shooting back at us. 

     I knew some guys, soldiers raised in rural America, hunters, who could pick off a target at one, even two-hundred yards with an M-16. They were rare. Snipers in Vietnam never used an M-16. They chose the heavier, trustier, M-14, with a scope, accurate up to 500 yards. Some chose WWII carbines. Today, it’s high-tech, like the Remington M24, yup, a sure thing. At 200 yards, hitting a target is like a pro hooper making a layup. 

     So, I think to myself, why didn’t this kid, the attempted assassin, take a more accurate hunting rifle or carbine? Maybe he knew the AR-15’s rounds tumble when they hit targets, ripping and tearing everything inside, and upon exiting taking out damn near a body’s entire back. That’s why doctors who operate on patients after a shooting, when an AR-15 is used, especially if children are involved, often say there’s little left to stitch back together. So, maybe the kid figured even if he got close to his target that would be good enough to do the job. 

     To confuse things, politically, reports say the kid was a registered Republican who recently gave $15 to a Democratic political operation. Was he messing with us? It does make for interesting propaganda, for both parties, in today’s America, where each party is ready to pounce on the other. I will say, here, at this point in my brief meandering, I was relieved to hear the shooter wasn’t black, Latino, Muslim, Asian, gay, or in the country illegally, or we might be witnessing an ugly retaliation against the innocent. We (yes, I include myself since I tan deeply in summer), in cities across the country, have already been targeted by those who consider themselves America's gatekeepers, those who believe the myth that the country was meant only for “whites,” and, somehow, they “whites” are not immigrants. Yet even the term "white" is suspect.

     For those who think such a statement lends to some sort of racist bent, let me remind folks, Irish, Scots, Italians, Slavs, even Germans, in the past, weren’t considered “white.” In Europe, and in the colonies, they were “less than,” ripe for serving others, for turning into slaves and indentured servants. Some Europeans considered Irish “black.” The British colonists warned their brethren to stay free of the German (or Prussian) rabble who would do nothing more than taint their pure bloodline. 

     Yet, if one considers the majority of recent violence -- by recent I mean within the past ten years -- specific ethnic and religious groups have been targeted, their neighborhoods, stores, churches, temples, and mosques. Then there are the lone rebels, those who target children in schools, some, emotionally disturbed shooters, often children themselves, taking their hatred out on teachers and students they believe made their lives a living hell, the ones Alex Jones calls “fabricated,” as in none of it ever happened. It was all a hoax, like Sandy Hook, a hoax. 

     What I do believe, though, the attack on the Capital on January 6, exposed many Americans operating in the shadows, the ones who can't be designated as domestic terrorists, those committed to white supremacy or white nationalism, those who don’t think twice about using violence to meet their ends. Nobody knows who they are, until they appear.

     To call a people “vermin” is to equate them with rabid animals. To label them, collectively, as “murders” and “rapists,” is to place targets on their backs. To push conspiracy theories, about child sex plots in pizza parlors, and Jewish space lazars, sets the crazies free. 

     Yes, I know, some argue, like with “love,” all is fair in “politics and war.” The vile language is simply part of the propaganda, whether the person believes it or not. You can say anything to win. If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen, kind of thinking. 

     Was there something someone said about Mr. Trump, something hateful, wildly hyperbolic, or even poignant that resonated in the head of his possible assassin? We’ll never know. Maybe he just wanted to make a name for himself. So much we’ll never know, not really, like why they executed Jesus, Socrates (though he chose his own poison), Abe Lincoln, JFK, MLK, RFK, or Malcolm X. Yeah, we know what “they” told us, what “they” wanted us to know, thought we could handle, or how our competing religions interpreted in verse, as in Jesus’ case. 

     So many secrets we’ll never know, like why some assassinations fail, why some live and some die? Maybe some just aren't martyr material. Malcolm X might have gotten closest to the truth when he said, after President Kennedy’s assassination, “The chickens have come home to roost.” Another way of putting it, I guess, is "you reap what you sew." Is there some sin deeper in our society that we're missing, that our leaders keep from us?

     What gives me hope is what I’ve experienced, wherever I’ve travelled in this country, and outside of it, are that most Americans, regardless of our differences, are accepting, decent people who want the best for each other, will, sometimes, die for each other, as I saw in combat. That’s something we must hang onto.