Open Memoir - Caught in the Avalanche of Disinformation, Joy and Depression... Thoughts on Selection of a President...

 

Are you as fed up with what is happening in America as I am? Several days ago I tried to finish a book review, but I just could not get into the book itself... My brain is now overloaded with both the good and bad of the political rhetoric that gets worse and worse every day... You know what I mean--such as the two sample videos above and below.

When you move from moments of JOY learning about what could happen in America if we vote for the first woman in the nation to become president; and then move to what is happening with MAGA who continues to show support for one of our last presidents who has become a blight on just how bad it could get under another term, it is hard not to drown in the blizzard of emotions that comes  with all the lies spewed by MAGA. Yes, I feel comfortable enough to say who is doing the lying, given that we see the individuals actually screaming them out to everybody! One of the authors I'm now reading broke from talking about his book, The Christian Case Against Donald Trump, to speak out against Tucker Carlson and others... (above) But I wanted to add a little more about his first book, MAGA Seduction, simply as a reminder of exactly what we went through during his previous stint in the White House...

...it’s only since the election of Donald Trump that I’ve felt compelled to raise my objections to the level of public discourse. Pat and I share a common concern and, dare I say, grief over our white evangelical brothers and sisters in the United States who have opted for the
dehumanizing and debasing politics of the right wing under Donald Trump’s leadership. I’ve been Pat’s mentor in ministry for 15 years. We’re now both retired from leading churches, which gives us a greater freedom to speak than active church pastors enjoy. So rather than becoming demoralized by the way so many evangelicals have followed after Donald Trump, we’ve both chosen to do what we do naturally – speak pastorally into the situation, for the benefit of Christ’s people. Over the past four years, Pat and I have spoken frequently and at length about the eerie resemblance the current white American evangelical church bears to the German Evangelical Church of 1934 Germany, which became complicit with the nationalistic fascist agenda of Hitler. We both yearn for the Confessing Church of Martin Niemoller and Dietrich Bonhoeffer to rise out of the evangelical morass that we see today. Having formed an alliance with Trump, the white American evangelical church is poised to relinquish all claim to moral authority; indeed, to authority of any kind. In a painful departure from the father of the Protestant movement, Martin Luther, who abhorred the mixing of political will with church doctrine, white American evangelicals have doubled down on Trump’s political rhetoric, baptizing phrases like “Make America Great Again” and “Build the Wall” into ecclesial vernacular. And while on the one hand what is chaff should be allowed to blow away in the wind, I fear that what is true and wholesome wheat is also about to be trampled into permanent disrepute by our own devices. The words “unprecedented times” have perhaps been overused in 2020, but I do believe that we American evangelicals find ourselves at a critical crossroads as we look toward the 2020 election. The course of our future will be directed by whether or not we continue to collectively align ourselves with the depravity of Donald Trump’s vision for our nation. And most thinking individuals know what happened on January 6th, when Insurrection occurred! 

But when 81% of white American evangelicals vote for Donald Trump, and, four years later, appear poised to vote for him again, something terrible has happened to the church I love and gave 40 years of my life to serve. In my years of friendship with Pat, I have been regularly impressed with the way his Jesus style of spirituality and pastoral heart meshes with an incisive mind and a quick wit. He writes and speaks with wisdom and clarity yet doesn’t talk down to his audience. His disarming affability has a way of bringing complex topics into accessible focus. This is why I’m so thrilled that he has chosen to write this book, on a topic that crucially needs to be brought into clear focus without being alienating. I believe that Pat is up for this task. He wrote this book out of passion for the church of Jesus Christ and its call to stay true to the values of the Kingdom of God, including a commitment to the sanctity of all life, from conception to the grave. Calling forth the American Confessing Church may be too lofty a goal for one book, but I believe it is a prophetic voice during our painful current wilderness.

A Note to Those Who Support Donald Trump When you read this and find yourself disagreeing with me, which you certainly will at some point, let this first thought be the most important thing you hear: I love you and I respect you. May our relationship not be defined by our difference of opinion about President Trump. Christians who disagree ought never to be enemies, nor even to harbor secret disdain for one another. We can be angry. We can (and sometimes should) give voice to that anger. But in our anger let’s not sin against one another,[1] neither by overly harsh words nor by undue silence. When we oppose one another, let’s show each other the honor of a sharp disagreement, speaking with clarity and listening with charity. May our model be Jesus Christ, himself, who somehow managed to exhibit both grace and truth in a world that despised him.

But there's only so much of this stuff that you know is written for somebody else (MAGA members) who may never even have heard about the book(s) I mention... So I went out looking for a different angle. And I have to say that I was actually shocked when I started reading.

First, I want to point out that MAGA Seduction was published in 2020, so we know that the brief excerpt was based upon Trump's first presidency. since then, Kahnke has written another book which I've been talking about earlier--The Christian Case Against Donald Trump. This book is even more comprehensive and, in addition, the author has created videos on YouTube for each of the chapters of the book. If you wish to gain further information on this author, you should subscribe to his site there, Culture, Faith, and Politics

Being dumb’s just about the worst thing there is when it comes to holding high office. —HARRY S. TRUMAN

...but Reagan’s talent as a television performer, in an electoral process increasingly dominated by that medium, papered over his ignorance beyond Spencer’s wildest dreams: he thumped the incumbent governor, Pat Brown, by an astounding million votes. This should have been cause for jubilation, since it meant the definitive end of Reagan’s acting career, but some saw it as ominous. Newsweek’s Emmet Hughes wrote that Reagan’s win “dramatizes the virtual bankruptcy, politically and intellectually, of a national party.” Such scolding couldn’t have mattered less to Spencer. If he could make Reagan look knowledgeable enough to be elected governor, he would be the go-to Svengali for dumb candidates everywhere. According to Spencer, he wound up managing more than four hundred Republican campaigns. The victorious Gipper offered Californians a vision of their state that was as lyrical as it was incoherent: “A wind is blowing across this state of ours. And it is not only wind; it will grow into a tidal wave. And there will be a government with men as tall as mountains.” He didn’t explain how he planned to retrofit government buildings to accommodate such gigantic civil servants. And though he nailed the audition, California’s new governor was unprepared for the role. Lou Cannon wrote, “He did not know how budgets were prepared, how bills were passed, or who it was in state government who checked the backgrounds of prospective appointees… [H]e didn’t know what he was supposed to be doing, or how he was supposed to spend his time.” Cannon recalled an early press conference where a reporter asked Reagan about his legislative program: “The novice governor did not have a clue. Turning plaintively to aides who were attending the news conference, he said, ‘I could take some coaching from the sidelines if anyone can recall my legislative program.’ Aides piped up and told Reagan some of the items in ‘his’ program.” Thanks to those trusty 5 x 8 cards, Reagan convinced voters he was well-informed enough to govern, but not a pointy-headed know-it-all like those intellectually curious hippies at UC Berkeley. The former TV pitchman infantilized the electorate by selling it simplistic solutions. “For many years now, you and I have been shushed like children and told there are no simple answers to the complex problems which are beyond our comprehension,” he said. “Well, the truth is, there are simple answers.” Reagan could deliver this anti-intellectual message with compelling sincerity because he believed it. The man who never cracked a book in college preferred solutions that didn’t require any homework, and so, apparently, did millions of Californians. According to his longtime adviser Ed Meese, “Reagan wanted to be known as a person of the people, not like an Adlai Stevenson.” Ah, Adlai Stevenson. We’ll hear that name a lot as we explore the Age of Ignorance. But before we meet Adlai, let’s consider what his party, the Democrats, were up to during the Ridicule stage. If the Republicans have been conducting a perverse experiment seemingly designed to answer this question—Who’s the most ignorant politician the U.S. is willing to elect?—in the 1950s, the Democrats started asking a perverse question of their own: Who’s the most flagrantly cerebral politician we can nominate? Adlai Stevenson II, the grandson of Grover Cleveland’s vice president, Adlai Stevenson I, was governor of Illinois when, in 1952, Harry Truman urged him to run for president. Unlike the plainspoken Truman, Stevenson was a fire hose of lofty rhetoric. In actuality, he was probably less intellectual than Truman, who read a ton and amassed a large personal library. Stevenson, on the other hand, died with only one book on his nightstand: the Social Register. He wasn’t much of a scholar, either: he had to leave Harvard Law School after failing several courses. But no one appeared more intellectual than Adlai. Throughout his political career, he cultivated the image of an egghead. In fact, the journalist Stewart Alsop coined the term “egghead” to describe him. Although political adversaries such as Richard Nixon soon adopted that word as a term of derision, Stevenson took pride in it. “Eggheads of the world, unite: you have nothing to lose but your yolks!” he declared. His personal motto was “Via ovicapitum dura est”—The way of the egghead is hard. Yes, Adlai was not averse to inventing Latin quotations in his effort to pander to the highest common denominator. All this eggheadedness was catnip for Democrats, as were his dizzying flights of oratory. It was no accident that Stevenson’s speeches were distinctive, since his stable of speechwriters included John Kenneth Galbraith, Archibald MacLeish, John Hersey, and Arthur Schlesinger Jr. They crafted high-minded if overwrought pronouncements such as this: “[T]he victory to be won in the twentieth century, this portal to the Golden Age, mocks the pretensions of individual acumen and ingenuity, for it is a citadel guarded by thick walls of ignorance and of mistrust which do not fall before the trumpets’ blast or the politicians’ imprecations or even a general’s baton.” Such verbal gusts make one suspect that Stevenson paid his speechwriters by the word, but his Democratic audiences ate this stuff up. During one speech, a woman shouted, “Governor Stevenson, you have the vote of all the thinking people.” His response: “That’s not enough, madam. I need a majority.” Stevenson’s rueful comment reflected an awareness of his low electoral ceiling, a concern that delegates at the 1952 Democratic National Convention didn’t share. They nominated him for president, despite his weakness for vocab words like “imprecation.” In the general election, he lost by a landslide—442 electoral votes to 89—to Dwight D. Eisenhower, who, in spite of a spell in the groves of academe as president of Columbia University, kept his speeches Latin-free. “The knuckleheads have beaten the eggheads,” the columnist Murray Kempton declared. As president, Ike would be a role model for future anti-intellectuals like Reagan and George W. Bush, with comments like this: “I heard a definition of an intellectual that I thought was very interesting—a man who takes more words than are necessary to tell more than he knows.” He disdained “wise-cracking so called intellectuals going around and showing how wrong was everybody who didn’t happen to agree with them.” But Eisenhower, whom his secretary called “deathly afraid of being considered highbrow,” was more of an egghead than he let on. While he projected the image of a man who preferred golfing to reading, he often stayed up until 11:00 p.m. poring over government reports and other documents. This was just the kind of subterfuge that the John Birch Society expected from a commie spy like Ike. Stevenson’s defeat didn’t cool the Democrats’ ardor. They nominated him again in 1956—and this time, when the general election rolled around, he did even worse. By then, Adlai’s original booster, Truman, had decided that he was too eggheaded to win. “I was trying as gently as I could, to tell this man—so gifted in speech and intellect, and yet apparently so uncertain of himself and remote from people—that he had to learn how to communicate with the man in the street,” Truman wrote. “I had the feeling that I had failed.” Surely, after two electoral thrashings, it was time for Stevenson to abandon his futile effort to connect with voters. Nope: he gave the nomination a third shot, in 1960. This time, however, possibly having looked up the definition of insanity, Democrats put Stevenson out of his misery (miseria, in Latin) and chose John F. Kennedy...

“Politics is just like show business,” he said. “You have a hell of an opening, coast for a while, and then have a hell of a close.” If his first gubernatorial campaign was a hell of an opening, Reagan’s White House years would provide him with ample opportunity for coasting—before he achieved a hell of a close, with Iran-Contra. It’s commonplace for commanders in chief to age visibly from the burdens of the office, but not the Gipper. As Cannon noted, “Reagan may have been the one president in the history of the republic who saw his election as a chance to get some rest.” He could’ve used all that downtime to acquire the knowledge necessary to fulfill his constitutional duties, but his laziness and incuriosity put the kibosh on that. At press conferences early in his presidency, he sounded like an actor who hadn’t bothered to learn his lines. When asked about the placement of U.S. missiles, the best he could ad-lib was “I don’t know but what maybe you haven’t gotten into the area that I’m going to turn over to the secretary of defense.” As the Sound of Music incident suggests, Reagan’s interest in briefing materials might have peaked when he acquired Jimmy Carter’s debate prep. Frustrated by his aversion to reading, cabinet members resorted to bringing him up to speed—or, more accurately, half speed—by showing him videos and cartoons about the subjects at hand. But even these Oval Office versions of Schoolhouse Rock! bored Reagan, who spent briefings doodling. Though a team of psychologists gave him a semblance of sentience when he ran for governor, by the time he became president his semi-informed veneer was wearing thin. The journalist Elizabeth Drew, who covered him during the 1980 campaign, observed, “Reagan’s mind appears to be a grab bag of clippings and ‘facts’ and anecdotes and scraps of ideas.” Embarrassingly, he often appeared stupidest when talking with or about foreign leaders. In a 1979 interview, Reagan told NBC’s Tom Brokaw, “If I become president, other than perhaps Margaret Thatcher I will probably be younger than almost all the heads of state I will have to do business with.” When Brokaw noted that he’d be considerably older than French president Giscard d’Estaing, Reagan replied, “Who?” (After Reagan was elected, Brokaw, demonstrating a gift for understatement, called him “a gravely under-informed president.”) After a half-hour briefing by the Lebanese foreign minister about his nation’s factional conflicts, Reagan’s only contribution was “You know, your nose looks just like Danny Thomas’s.” (The former star of the sitcom Make Room for Daddy might have been the only other person of Lebanese descent he’d ever met.) In a photo op with the Liberian ruler, Samuel K. Doe, Reagan called him “Chairman Moe.” Welcoming the prime minister of Singapore, Lee Kuan Yew, to the White House, he said, “It gives me great pleasure to welcome Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew and Mrs. Lee to Singapore.” During a meeting with Pope John Paul II, at least, he didn’t mangle the pontiff’s name; he just fell asleep. Reagan sometimes seemed like Voltaire’s Candide, an innocent in a constant state of wonder about the world around him. He called a 1982 trip to Latin America “real fruitful,” having gleaned this mind-boggling insight: “They’re all individual countries.” Reporting on this tour, Lou Cannon wrote, “Over and over again along the way, he expressed enthusiasm in what he was seeing for the first time, and his aides found it appealing and naive.” A foreign ministry official in Brazil was less enchanted by his wide-eyed ingenuousness. After Reagan suggested that Brazil could be “a bridge” for the U.S. in South America, the official noted, “If you look at a map, you will see that we cannot be detached from the South American continent. We are not a bridge from South America; we are in South America.” It’s possible the Brazilian was still sore after Reagan, raising a glass at a state dinner in Brasília, offered a toast to “the people of Bolivia.” Belatedly recognizing his goof, he tried to explain it away by saying that Bolivia was where he was headed next. His next stop was Colombia; Bolivia wasn’t on his itinerary. But the Brazilians shouldn’t have felt singled out. Reagan’s ignorance spanned the globe. He demonstrated unquestioning devotion to the government of apartheid South Africa, possibly because he rarely asked questions about the place. When he did, the question was rhetorical, as in “Can we abandon this country that has stood beside us in every war we’ve ever fought?” It’s true that South Africa had been steadfast in its support, but not of us: many of its officials had ties to a party that supported the Nazis, and John Vorster, who led the country for thirteen years, had been jailed for cozying up to Hitler. Incredibly, Reagan claimed in a radio address that South Africa was a bastion of racial equality: “[T]hey have eliminated the segregation that we once had in our own country—the type of thing where hotels and restaurants and places of entertaining and so forth were segregated. That has all been eliminated.” This would have been welcome news to Nelson Mandela, had it reached his prison cell. Turning to a country he presumably knew more about because he despised it so much, Reagan said, “I’m no linguist but I have been told that in the Russian language there isn’t even a word for freedom.” Reagan was half right: he was no linguist. The Russian word for freedom is svoboda. Reagan might be best remembered for saying, “Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall,” but many other quotable nuggets emerged from his piehole: “Nuclear war would be the greatest tragedy, I think, ever experienced by mankind in the history of mankind”; “All the waste in a year from a nuclear power plant can be stored under a desk”; and the admirably candid “We are trying to get unemployment to go up, and I think we’re going to succeed.” As the gaffes piled up like banana peels in Bonzo’s dressing room, it was time to call in the man who had disguised Reagan’s obliviousness before: Stu Spencer. Summoned to the White House, the Gipper’s trusty cornerman revealed his agenda to a reporter: “I’m here to see old foot-in-the-mouth.” Reagan’s mythologizers have worked hard to bury this image of him as an object of ridicule, but early in his presidency that’s what he often was. Their preferred narrative—that his White House tenure went from strength to strength—is false. Two years after he first entered the Oval Office, perhaps checking under the desk for nuclear waste, Reagan was struggling. As the economy proved obstinately resistant to the miracle of Reaganomics, his approval rating sank to a woeful 35 percent, barely higher than what most of his films would have notched on Rotten Tomatoes. Reagan’s refusal to take responsibility for his failures frustrated Pat Schroeder, a Democratic congresswoman from Colorado. In August 1983, she took to the floor of the House and coined a political cliché: “Mr. Speaker, after carefully watching Ronald Reagan, he is attempting a great breakthrough in political technology—he has been perfecting the Teflon-coated Presidency.” Her remark proved tragically prescient. Two months later, 241 U.S. military personnel stationed in Beirut as part of Reagan’s confused Lebanon policy died in the bombings of their marine barracks. He changed the subject. In what should have been called Operation Expedient Distraction, he ordered the invasion of the minuscule Caribbean island nation of Grenada, a mission roughly as challenging as the conquest of a Sandals resort. His approval rating soared. As his popularity grew, the press cowered. In On Bended Knee: The Press and the Reagan Presidency, Mark Hertsgaard documents the Fourth Estate’s wariness about roughing up Reagan. “We have been kinder to President Reagan than any president that I can remember since I’ve been at the Post,” said Ben Bradlee, the executive editor of the Washington Post. His colleague at the paper William Greider theorized that the press, in its obsequiousness to Reagan, was compensating for being blindsided by his election: “It was a sense of ‘My God, they’ve elected this guy who nine months ago we thought was a hopeless clown.’ ” Reagan’s burgeoning status as Teflon Ron owed much to the media’s decision to handle him like a glass unicorn. “I think a lot of the Teflon came because the press was holding back,” his communications director, David Gergen, said. “I don’t think they wanted to go after him that toughly.” “Teflon” became an overused label for politicians, as journalists employed it to describe not only Reagan but every president since. Fearing the damage this practice could inflict on its trademark, in 1985 the manufacturer of Teflon, DuPont, pushed back. “DuPont simply wants users of Teflon to add a little circle with an R inside to denote that Teflon is a registered trademark,” the New York Times reported. “A printed message being sent to reporters all over the capital adds, ‘It is not, alas, a verb or an adjective, not even when applied to the President of the United States!’ ” Despite this stern warning, Teflon® Ron never caught on. Given the press’s reluctance to fact-check Reagan, it’s no surprise that the public gradually stopped caring whether anything he said was, well, factual. In 1983, the New York Times devoted an entire article to this chicken-or-egg mystery, titled, “Reagan Misstatements Getting Less Attention.” “[T]he President continues to make debatable assertions of fact, but news accounts do not deal with them as extensively as they once did,” the Times reported. “In the view of White House officials, the declining news coverage mirrors a decline in interest by the general public.” No one seemed to care when Reagan indulged in one of his favorite vices: attributing fake quotations to Lenin. “Mr. Reagan said at a news conference three weeks ago that ‘just the other day’ he had read an article quoting ‘the Ten Commandments of Nikolai Lenin’ to the effect that Soviet leaders reserved the right to lie and cheat to advance the cause of socialism,” the Times noted. “After the statement, the White House acknowledged that Lenin did not issue ‘Ten Commandments’ as such. Lyndon K. Allin, a deputy White House press secretary, said Mr. Reagan got the reference from a clipping sent by a friend citing 10 different ‘Leninisms.’ ” The Times didn’t point out that Reagan, while arguing that the Soviets reserved the right to lie, was reserving the right to lie about the Soviets. As journalistic oversight shriveled, Reagan’s childlike solutions to the nation’s problems went virtually unchallenged. His decades-old binary oppositions, us versus government and us versus communists, yielded made-for-TV catchphrases. “Government is the problem” and “The Evil Empire” became as ubiquitous as “I pity the fool” and “Watchu talkin’ ’bout, Willis?”VII He added another rhetorical empty calorie in 1984, when his reelection campaign inanely declared that it was “Morning in America.” Speaking to business leaders in 1985, he’d apparently run out of catchphrases of his own and borrowed one from Clint Eastwood: “Go ahead, make my day.” The quote had an interesting provenance: Clint’s cop character, Dirty Harry, had said it while pointing his gun at a Black man. It earned Reagan a thunderous ovation from his largely white audience. But there were bumps on the road to Reagan’s Hollywood ending. His approval rating plunged twenty points after news of the Iran-Contra scandal broke. Wisely, Reagan didn’t try to brand this illegal arms deal as Morning in Nicaragua. He deployed a potent alibi instead: his ignorance. When he swore that he had no idea what had been going on at the White House, right under his nose, millions found the explanation plausible. His numbers ticked back up. After Iran-Contra, some in the media wondered whether their decision to coat Reagan with Teflon® had done the country a disservice. Newsweek’s Robert Parry groused that the press corps “seemed to be a little fearful that if it wrote stories that were perceived as tough on this president, the public would not like them.” The media’s unilateral disarmament during Reagan’s presidency didn’t mean the Ridicule stage of ignorance was over, however. Just as Ronnie the actor had granted a “blanket waiver” only to his own talent agency, the media issued a free pass only to him. Reagan’s ignorance defense during Iran-Contra was the rare instance when he highlighted his obliviousness instead of trying to hide it. Another of his glaring flaws, however—his laziness—became his favorite topic for self-roasting. He owned his sloth and, with his trademark grin ’n’ nod, let the nation know that he was in on the joke. Reagan managed to be both a bumbling sitcom dad and his own laugh track. “It’s true hard work never killed anybody, but I figure why take the chance?” he jested. After four years of Carter, that annoying grind who always did his homework, Americans seemed to enjoy having a president who didn’t even bring his homework home. “I am concerned about what is happening in government,” he said, “and it’s caused me many a sleepless afternoon.” Returning to this seemingly bottomless well of hilarity, he cracked, “When I leave the White House, they will put on my chair in the Cabinet Room ‘Ronald Reagan slept here.’ ” What a kidder! Even with the president napping, doodling, and watching Julie Andrews, the White House was in no danger of becoming rudderless: the ship of state was being guided by the stars. His wife Nancy’s belief in astrology—specifically in a San Francisco–based astrologist named Joan Quigley—filled the leadership vacuum. In his memoir, For the Record, Donald Regan, who served as both Reagan’s chief of staff and treasury secretary, made palpable the trauma of working in an administration under Quigley’s cosmological control. In 1985, arrangements for the crucial first summit between Reagan and the Soviet leader, Mikhail Gorbachev, in Geneva, couldn’t be solidified until Quigley had done her planetary due diligence. “As usual, Mrs. Reagan insisted on being consulted on the timing of every presidential appearance and action so that she could consult her Friend in San Francisco about the astrological factor,” Regan wrote. “The large number of details involved must have placed a heavy burden on the poor woman, who was called upon not only to choose auspicious moments for meetings between the two most powerful men on our planet, but also to draw up horoscopes that presumably provided clues to the character and probable behavior of Gorbachev.” But Quigley wasn’t the only one pondering the heavens during the Geneva summit. According to Gorbachev, at one point Reagan turned to him and said, in all seriousness, “What would you do if the United States were attacked by someone from outer space? Would you help us?” This scenario, lifted from the 1951 sci-fi flick The Day the Earth Stood Still, was an obsession of Reagan’s. In an appearance before the National Strategy Forum, in Chicago, he was asked to name “the most important need in international relations.” He replied, “I’ve often wondered, what if all of us in the world discovered that we were threatened by a power from outer space—from another planet. Wouldn’t we all of a sudden find that we didn’t have any differences between us at all—we were all human beings, citizens of the world—and wouldn’t we come together to fight that particular threat?” Got it: The most important need in international relations is an attack from outer space. These extraterrestrial musings were so frequent that, whenever Reagan uncorked one, his national security adviser, Colin Powell, would roll his eyes and say, “Here come the little green men again.”

I want my president to be smarter (and better read) than myself!

I began to think about this after talking with Professor and Chair of Political Science at West Virginia University who, when we were discussing those individuals who were running for office, it was my first thought that they really weren't different than he was as a university faculty and administrator, he quickly pointed out that he personally expected more from those running for a national position--they needed to be better informed than he was! I soon saw that this was a great rule as we look at the federal level candidates...

In fact, there were many issues that I'd come to think was important that were, indeed, NOT happening... My first open-eyed awakening was when I was working in Personnel at WVU. I was privy to the entire budget listing for all employees there. But, the faculty and administrators had been blacked out... Well, it you are like me with an abundance of curiosity, I simply took a page, held it up to the light and read the salaries of some of those individuals who were blacked out. What amazed me was that their salaries were lower than many non-faculty! Now, I could be wrong, but when I realized that, starting, with grade school teachers, there was a major inequity for those who were actually teaching us, I began to question just how "dumb" were those who were responsible for teaching us subjects that we would need in the future... Simply due to their low salary.

Then I started to realize that even a "personnel classification system" could be inequitable...For instance, when I first was promoted into what in essence was the second highest level of secretaries/assistants which was those who responded to the needs of vice-presidents/provosts, there was a difference in what actually was being performed for each of those senior administrators. And it affected me! I had been working for the Provost for a number of years. Then an organizational change occurred and new vice-president positions were created and the title of Provost was eliminated. By that time I had transferred to the vice-president for Instruction. While at the same time, a higher level staff support plus a secretary was added to respond to the needs of another vice-president. Thus I was performing all support staff for my boss while the other vice-president's secretary was only doing secretarial support... When I asked about it, I discovered that a classification system cannot adequately provide for individuals getting assigned higher-level responsibilities, at an institutional level...

In effect, there was always going to be some level of inequality and the only way to advance would be to move into a different higher classification...And, even then, it was only as good as it could get to compare one individual's worth/responsibilities, versus another's...

As I grew older and more involved, I learned that this type of basic inequity could get even more of a problem. Individuals were being asked to actually train a new individual/supervisor, even though they would be making more than that individual. One of the ways that organizational changes were made was my promoting an individual that they wanted to replace, but moving them upward, but into a staff position... It is not my intent to explore all of these variables in which I was personally involved, other than to note that, often, new employees were not even qualified to handle the position. Or, worse, had been hired as a favor to the superior, much like was being done in the federal government. Therefore, the result of this process created extremely difficult situations where an individual, even one that held a degree, could not handle the job in which they were hired... Been through that fiasco!

Therefore, it is quite clear to me that we are indeed becoming or have already become a dumber and dumber nation... Fortunately for me, there are a number of videos that can explain just how one comedian/author chose to explain just how and when millions of Americans have chosen to elect a dumb president(s)!

And, of course, we all know who the last one was...The man who never even read the morning briefing slaved over by his gofers, who were angry or even just use to that particular president not doing much reading or anything else... Why read when you can create a cult of those who are concerned more about their own biases, their own failures, or their own desires to play soldiers who were allowed and praised by that president... And who cares, if he suggested drinking bleach to kill the coronavirus... Hey, he's entertaining, so he must be qualified to be our leader...Right?

Me, I'm going to vote for a woman who is fully qualified to be our president.

Kamala Harris (born October 20, 1964, Oakland, California, U.S.) is the 49th vice president of the United States (2021– ) in the Democratic administration of Pres. Joe Biden. She is the first woman, the first Black American, and the first Asian American to hold the post. She had previously served in the U.S. Senate (2017–21) and as attorney general of California (2011–17). Biden pulled his bid for reelection and endorsed Harris as the Democratic Party’s nominee in the presidential election of 2024. In early August, Harris was officially named the Democratic Party’s presidential nominee following her victory in a virtual vote of party delegates.

Vice President Kamala Harris attended Howard University, an HBCU, as an undergraduate student.

She later attended the University of California, Hastings College of Law where she earned her JD degree.

Despite graduating more than 30 years ago, Harris continues to praise her experience at Howard as one of the most important in her life.

As she campaigns as the Democratic nominee in the 2024 presidential election, learn about the role her education plays in her career.

Vice President Kamala Harris takes pride in her educational journey — so much so that she credits her experiences as an undergraduate college student for propelling her career in politics and public service.

Her political career may be taking a new route now that President Biden has dropped out of the 2024 presidential race and has chosen to endorse Harris, who has secured the Democratic nomination. So why did the California native choose a college across the country, in Washington, D.C.? The vice president has said she knew she wanted to attend a historically Black college or university (HBCU) and enrolled in Howard University in 1982. Attending Howard was a dream come true, Harris has said, as she grew up hearing stories about the institution from her aunt who is also an alum. While at Howard, Harris represented first-year students on the College of Arts and Sciences Student Council, became a member of Alpha Kappa Alpha Sorority, Inc., and served on the institution’s debate team. She graduated from Howard in 1986 with a bachelor of arts degree in economics and political science.

Today, she frequently looks back at her time at Howard as one of the most important aspects of her life. “The thing that Howard taught me is that you can do any collection of things, and not one thing to the exclusion of the other,” Harris told Howard Magazine. “You could be homecoming queen and valedictorian. There are no false choices at Howard.”

Following her journey at Howard, Harris returned to California to attend the University of California, Hastings College of Law, which has since been renamed the University of California College of the Law, San Francisco. While in law school, Harris served as president of the Black Law Students Association. She graduated in 1989, earning a juris doctor (JD) degree and was admitted to the California Bar in 1990.

How Vice President Harris Continues to Celebrate Her Education

Though it’s been more than 30 years since Vice President Harris graduated from both Howard and law school, she continues to celebrate her education today. She frequently returns to her undergraduate alma mater to support and encourage current students, as well as to host campaign events. Harris visited Howard in April 2023 to criticize lawmakers who are seeking to restrict and ban reproductive rights across the country.

Beyond her many visits to campus, Harris regularly speaks of her experiences in college as ones that were not only formative for herself but also for her peers who looked like her. “That was the beauty of Howard,” she wrote in her 2019 memoir. “Every signal told students that we could be anything—that we were young, gifted and Black, and we shouldn’t let anything get in the way of our success.”

Whoopie Goldberg and the View members have done their research and have made their decision to vote for Kamala Harris and Tim Walz... Now is the time you should have already watched or read as much as you needed to do to make your decision for whom your vote will be made. We already have seen that Trump will be planning to not accept the final voting millions of us have already submitted their votes or will do so next Tuesday... If you, too, are looking for joy, freedom and toward the future, do take time, right now to read and share this basic information!

God Bless,

Gabby

Overview of Books 1-3 of the Erin McCabe Legal Thrillers by Author Robyn Gigl

 

Five minutes later, as the opening notes of “Mercy Mercy Me” began floating out of the speakers, she carried two mugs of coffee into the living room and gently placed them on coasters on the coffee table. He walked over and sat next to her on the couch. “Good pick,” she said. “I cheated. It was already on the turntable. Although I do like Marvin Gaye,” he added with a grin. He picked up his coffee and took a sip. “Nice,” he offered. “Thanks.” They sat there, awkwardly talking about music, sipping their coffee. “So, can I make an observation?” he said, putting his coffee down and shifting his body on the couch so he was facing her. She nodded. “For two thirty-somethings we’re both acting as nervous as a couple of high school kids.” He stroked the stubble on his chin with his hand. “Why is that?” She laughed. “Are you serious? Why? Maybe it’s because—” She never got to finish her thought because at that moment he leaned in and kissed her. It wasn’t a great kiss, mainly because he caught her in mid-sentence, but it did stop her from talking. And when he kissed her again, she slowly relaxed and let his lips cover hers, putting her arm around his neck so she could pull him closer. She was surprised by how different it was. This wasn’t her first kiss. She had loved kissing Lauren and must have kissed her thousands of times, but as she pulled him close, his smell, the feel of his skin on hers, the taste of his lips, all seemed so much more intense. It was as if she had suddenly awakened in the Land of Oz—the world now filled with colors. She closed her eyes and slowly stroked the back of his neck, enjoying his reaction, her own body reacting in a way that she had never experienced, the warmth of his lips spreading throughout her, her body tingling in an unfamiliar but wonderful way.

~~~

Going back to catch up on an exciting new legal series is exactly what I'm prone to do... If you didn't catch my review of the fourth in series, you might want to click back once you read today's post. Given my various health appointments, I decided to provide an overview of the first three since the primary thing that changes is the specific legal case that will be featured...

And this first one was a doozy! Here's the Prologue:

April 17, 2006 

HIS BROWN EYES WERE OPEN, THE SHOCK OF BEING STABBED STILL reflected in his dilated pupils. Sharise pushed his naked, lifeless body off of her, and he tumbled heavily from the bed to the floor, landing on his back. Fxxk, she thought, breathing heavily, I got to get out of here. No. Take your time, don’t panic. It’s two in the morning, no one will miss him for a while. She leaned up on one arm so she could look over the side of the bed at his body, the blood pooling beneath him on the cheap mustard-colored motel carpet. Fxxking bastard. You got what you deserved, you piece of shit. Turning away from him, she looked down at her own blood-soaked body, and the wave of nausea came without warning. She retched over the side of the bed, adding a final indignity to his corpse. Shaking, she pushed herself to the far side of the bed and swung her feet to the floor, hoping she could stand, hoping the nausea would retreat. She steadied herself by bracing her hand against the wall, and slowly felt her way to the bathroom, where she found the light switch and the toilet just as she vomited again, grabbing her cornrows with her right hand to protect them from the insides of her stomach and the murky waters of the bowl. As she heaved and gagged, her mind drifted back to when she was little and her momma would sit next to her when she was sick, comforting her through the ordeal. God, she could use her momma now, but it had been four years and there was no going back now. When there was nothing left to come up, Sharise lay on the cold tiled floor, her body trembling, not wanting to budge from where she was. Finally, the reality of what she had done began to settle in, and she knew she had to move. She dragged herself into the shower, where she watched his blood swirl down the drain, and desperately tried to come up with a plan. Her fingerprints would be all over him and the room, not to mention they’d probably be able to get her DNA from the vomit, which she had no intention of cleaning up. She had been arrested enough to know that Homicide would find a match in the system before their coffee even cooled. So not only would she have to somehow disappear, she had to avoid getting arrested for the rest of her life; not likely in her line of work, and especially since her mug shot would be plastered all over the place. She found her dress in the far corner of the room and put it on sans underwear, which she’d left in the bathroom, soaked with his blood. She sat on the edge of the bed and zipped up her thigh-high faux suede boots. She looked in the mirror, dug her lipstick out of her purse, and reapplied it. The only other makeup she carried was mascara, but she decided to forego reapplying that for now. Why the hell had this white boy picked her, anyway? She found his wallet still in his pants pocket. William E. Townsend, Jr., age twenty-eight, according to his license. Great, she thought as she rifled through the wallet, one of those guys who carried no cash. Besides the fifty dollars he had already given her, he only had another thirty dollars in his wallet, not even enough to pay for what he wanted. She grabbed the money and his Bank of America ATM card. Then she found his phone, flipped it open, and scrolled through his contacts. Stupid motherfxxker. There, under the name “BOA,” was his ATM PIN number. That should be good for three hundred, she figured. Taking the keys to his BMW out of his front pants pocket, she looked at his phone again. Two forty-five. She wasn’t exactly sure where they were, but she knew it wasn’t too far from Atlantic City; maybe she could still grab a change of clothes and get to Philly before daylight. She could ditch the car there and hop a train to New York. It was a long shot, but she couldn’t think of any better options. Studying the scene, she tried to figure out if she should take the knife with her or not. It’s not like it mattered if they found it. They sure as hell were going to be able to put her in the room if she ever got caught. Might as well take it, she reasoned, just in case. She walked over to where he was lying. His face was already pale, the blood that had provided the color now in a puddle under him. His hands still clutched the knife protruding from his chest. She unclenched his hands to pull the knife out, then rinsed it off in the sink before stuffing it in her purse. Time to go. She turned off all the lights and hung the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door. With a little luck, she’d be in New York before they found his body. Maybe if she was really lucky, it would never make it beyond the local news. She took a deep breath and headed out the door.

Yes, the McCain and Swisher legal team has taken the case for a young lady known as Sharise...Once the body of Bill Alexander is found, there is enough evidence in the motel room to arrest Samuel Emanuel Barnes for the murder. But right at the start, Ms. McCain brings a motion for the assigned judged to recuse himself... Citing he was homophobic... Wow! McCain starts each and every case with a major issue to be addressed and moves on from there to prove exactly what she intended to prove. Her client's innocence. This character, along with her partner, a former FBI Agent who was removed from office on a false claim... Is quite a pair!

The thing about the case against Sharise is that the father of the victim is a successful highly influential political officer and has his goals to move higher and higher... And a murder case about his son is NOT what he wants to deal with! Thus begins the lies...

ARON TINSLEY STUDIED HIS CLIENT’S COMPUTER. HE MISSED HIS days as a hacker, something he had started doing when he was fifteen. While the prospect of five years in prison for hacking into the NRA’s emails had been a convincing enticement to get on the straight and narrow, it was still hard for him to wrap his head around the fact that at twenty-two he was now a white hat doing IT security. While his boss was a decent guy, a former hacker himself, and it did have the advantage of a regular paycheck, it meant his days were mostly filled with boring stuff. Still, every once in a while, he came across something that provided him with the same thrill as hacking. Today was one of those days. Up until about 6:00 p.m. last night, Aaron hadn’t even known where Westfield, New Jersey was. But his boss had called him with what he said was a “special assignment” for a guy by the name of Charles Parsons who was having computer problems. Must be real special, Aaron had thought if they were willing to pay him double time to go out on a Sunday. Surveying his surroundings, Aaron had no idea how much Parsons’s house was worth, but it was easily the biggest house he had ever been in. The home office he was working in probably had more square footage than Aaron’s entire one-bedroom apartment in Queens. As he searched deeper through the mostly unseen files on his client’s laptop, he had to admit that he was enjoying the hunt. He examined the computer’s registry, trying to find the hidden program he had begun to suspect was buried in the software code. Whoever had done this was a real pro. He was almost envious. “I need to get on my computer. Are you almost done?” Charles Parsons asked, startling Aaron. Aaron had been so engrossed in his search he was surprised to see Parsons standing in the middle of the room. Parsons, who was well tanned even though it was early April, appeared to be around six feet, with broad shoulders. Aaron couldn’t even hazard a guess at his age, but his wrinkle-free face, contrasted with a shock of wavy gray hair, left the impression that Parsons was well acquainted with a plastic surgeon. Catching Parsons’s annoyed stare, Aaron realized that he was still grinning in admiration for the cleverness of the hacker. “What are you smiling at?” Parsons snapped. Aaron willed his face into seriousness. “Sorry. Um, can we go talk in another room?” he said. “What the fuck are you babbling about?” Parsons shot back. Aaron powered down the laptop, closed it, and took Parsons by the arm, escorting him out of the office. “Mr. Parsons, please let’s go into your kitchen.” “What the hell is going on?” Parsons said, yanking his arm from Aaron’s grasp as they left the room. “I asked you to check to see if I have a virus, and you’re acting like my computer has the bubonic plague.” Aaron sat on one of the stools in front of the marble island in Parsons’s massive, well-appointed kitchen. “That’s actually not a bad analogy,” he offered, nodding his head. “Yeah, you have a virus, which it looks like you picked up from some porn website. That’s easy enough to fix. Unfortunately, you have a much bigger problem. How long have you been running the encryption software?” “Why? What’s that got to do with anything?” Parsons asked, his eyes narrowing as he gazed suspiciously at Aaron. “I’m not sure yet, but I think that may have a rootkit embedded in it. Which means your laptop, and probably any other computers you use that are running the same software on them, are infected with the same rootkit.” “What the fxxk is a rootkit?” Aaron shook his head from side to side. “In layman’s terms, it’s a program that allows whoever installed it to monitor everything you do on your computer.” “Wait, are you saying someone can see what websites I visited?” Parsons said, cocking his head to the side and rubbing his forefinger across his lips, his tone suddenly less defiant. “Yes, but . . .” Aaron hesitated. “Well, it’s much worse than that. It means that whoever is watching can record every keystroke you make. So that if you go to a website where you have a password, they can steal your password and lock you out. I think they’ve also taken over the microphone and camera to watch and listen to you. That’s why I wanted to speak to you in here.” Parsons’s stare conveyed disbelief. “Watch me? From my computer? You can’t be fxxking serious?” “Yeah,” Aaron nodded. “Unfortunately, I am.” “What’s that got to do with my encryption software?” “As best I can tell, the rootkit is embedded in it. So if you have the same software on your desktop, or any other computers, you probably have it on those as well.” Parsons’s blank stare conveyed his failure to grasp the full impact of what Aaron was telling him. “Look,” Aaron said, speaking slowly now, “if this is what I think it is, it means that as long as you’ve had this software on your computer, whoever’s responsible for it has seen everything you’ve done. Every email, every transaction, every download—everything.” “But everything’s encrypted. That’s the whole purpose of the software. So only people with . . .” He stopped mid-sentence, panic spreading across his face with the realization that the encryption software was compromised. “Whoever this is, they can see everything?” “Yeah, most likely,” Aaron repeated. “No. No, that can’t be possible,” Parsons said, his face suddenly ashen. “When did you have it installed?” Aaron asked, enjoying the sudden shift in power as he watched Parsons’s desperation grow. Who knows, he thought. Maybe if I play this right and fix the problem, Parsons might pay me something extra under the table. “Um, I don’t know—about a year and a half ago, I guess,” he replied. “And where did you get it?” Aaron said. “I mean, it’s not something you bought at Staples.” “Some friends recommended it.” When he saw Aaron’s skeptical look, he got defensive. “I trust these guys. We do some business together and the business they’re in requires secrecy, like mine. They said this software was the best.” “Any changes to it since then?” “I got a new laptop about a year ago.” “Anything else?” Aaron asked. “Yeah, about six months or so ago the guy who designed and installed the software came back and installed an update saying they needed to patch some potential security issue.” “Bingo,” Aaron said, the final piece of the puzzle finally dropping into place. “It looks like whoever designed it built in a little something extra when they installed the update, because as good as it is as encryption software, it’s even a better rootkit.” “I need this fixed now,” Parsons said, growing angry. “I need access to my data. If someone has been watching me for six months, I need to secure things before someone steals my information.” Aaron didn’t feel like incurring Parsons’s wrath by telling him it was probably too late. The hacker had access for six months. Plus, they either already knew Aaron had been reviewing the computer’s registry and that he had likely uncovered the rootkit, or they’d know soon enough. Not to mention that the only way to retrieve the encrypted data was to use the infected software. As Aaron weighed the options, he couldn’t help but admire how thoroughly this mystery designer had fxxked his client. “You understand,” Aaron started cautiously, “there are basically two pieces to the encryption software: One encrypts any emails you send and receive, the second encrypts any data that you’re storing so no one can read it unless they have the same software.” Parsons nodded. “Here’s the problem,” Aaron said slowly. “I’m assuming you encrypted and downloaded a lot of data you don’t want anyone else to see.” Aaron didn’t wait for Parsons’s response—his face told him the answer. “Assuming that’s true, you can’t access the information without unencrypting it, which requires you to use the program. So what we need to do is get you off the Internet so whoever is running this thing will lose access to your computer. Then we need to unencrypt all your data and get a brand-new laptop.” Parsons’s head was bouncing like a bobblehead toy. “This can’t be happening! Motherfxxker!” he spat out, then started grabbing things and throwing them against the blue tiled walls. He started with the fruit in a ceramic bowl on the island, then the bowl, then anything he could get his hands on—a glass, a coffee mug. He finally stopped, his breath coming in short staccato bursts as he wrapped his hands behind his head, holding it as if trying to keep it from exploding. He looked at Aaron with the look of a cornered wild animal. “I need that data. I have to make sure . . .” He stopped. “There’s a lot of important financial information that I’ve downloaded. I can’t let that fall into the wrong hands.” Aaron scratched his head. “Where’s the data now?” “I have it on four external hard drives.” Aaron took a deep breath. “As I said, the easiest thing to do is get you offline, connect your hard drives, open and unencrypt the data on them, move it unencrypted to a new computer or hard drive, and then resave it using new encryption software.” “Can I do that on my own?” “How good are you on a computer?” He shook his head in disgust. “Can you show me how to do it? There’s a lot of sensitive data, so once you show me, hopefully I can handle it from there.” “Sure. But in the meantime, whoever installed the rootkit has access to your data. So time is of the essence.” Parsons mumbled under his breath. “There may be another solution,” he said. “I have an idea. I’ll call you later. But in the meantime, go get me a new laptop and do whatever you have to do to get some new encryption software, so you’re ready to show me how to do it as soon I need you.” Aaron let himself out through the front door and headed out to his car, happy to be getting out of the house. Any thoughts of making Parsons happy and getting a few extra bucks under the table had evaporated as he’d watched Parsons explode. This was not a guy he wanted to deal with any more than he had to. Get the job done and get out of town. He wasn’t sure what Parsons was thinking when he said he might have another solution, but, by the look on Parsons’s face, Aaron was sure he didn’t want to know. * * * Parsons walked into his bedroom and pulled out the four hard drives, stared at them, now aware that someone else might know everything that was on them. Who the fxxk would do this to him? He didn’t trust his partners, but he couldn’t imagine any of them would risk incurring his wrath by hacking him. He tried to remember the name of the guy who had installed the software and who had recommended him. He needed answers and he needed them now. He picked up the phone and dialed her number. Of all of them, she was the one who had always been loyal to him. “Cass, it’s me. I . . . we have a major problem. I just had an IT guy in here and he tells me our encryption software has some fucking rootworm or something in it.” “What the hell is that?” she asked. Parsons hesitated, weighing what he wanted to tell her to avoid giving her too much information. “It allows someone to see what I’m doing on my computer,” he replied. “Charles, are you serious? This could be devastating.” “Listen to me. I don’t need you to tell me how fxxking bad this could be; I just need you to find the guy who installed this. Do you remember the little shit’s name—McKay or something?” “Mackey,” she said. “Yes, that’s it. Justin Mackey. Tell Max and Carl to find him and bring him to the warehouse in Elizabeth. We need to have a little chat with him.”

I DON’T NEED THIS ON A MONDAY MORNING, ERIN THOUGHT, STANDING at the entrance and scanning the nearly empty diner. This being New Jersey, the diner capital of the world, there hadn’t been a problem finding an open one even at the ungodly hour of four thirty in the morning. After spotting Justin in the far corner, she slowly made her way over and slid into the booth opposite him. Mackey had called in a panic forty-five minutes earlier, telling her that he had to talk to her. Although Mackey might not have been the brightest bulb in the luminary, he had never been an alarmist, so she managed to drag herself out of bed, splash some water on her face, throw on some clothes, and make her way to the Lido Diner. She ordered coffee, too tired to be angry. He looked like hell, his eyes bloodshot and puffy, an indication that he had gotten less sleep than her. His stained T-shirt and jeans looked like he had grabbed them off his bedroom floor. “I’m sorry,” he said before she could ask him anything. “I would never have bothered you at this hour if it wasn’t important,” he said, running his hands through his uncombed hair. “I needed to see you to let you know that I have to disappear for a while.” “Disappear for a while? Justin, what are you talking about?” “I’m not coming to court today, or probably for the rest of the trial. I have to get out of town.” Erin wasn’t sure if it was the coffee kicking in or her client telling her that he was jumping bail, but she was suddenly awake. “Justin, you understand you’re on bail. If you don’t show up not only will the judge revoke your bail, but you’ll be committing a separate crime: bail jumping. I know the trial isn’t going the way you hoped, but even if you’re convicted, I don’t think Judge Fowler will give you more than two or three years tops. And because it’s your first offense, you’ll probably serve less than a year before you get parole. But if you run, you’re really going to piss off the prosecutor and the judge, and assuming at some point you get caught, there’s no telling what sentence you’ll get.” “You don’t understand, Erin. It’s got nothing to do with this case,” he said, nervously looking around the diner. “Despite what I’m charged with, I didn’t design this software. Some guy named Luke, who I’ve never even met, designed all of it. He hired me and I just did what I was told.” Erin motioned for him to lower his voice. Between his emotions and the empty diner, it sounded like he was using a megaphone. “It’s Luke who did this, not me. It’s not my fault.” “Stop! Justin, you’ve got to slow down. You’re not making any sense. Who’s Luke? What does any of this have to do with your case or with you disappearing?” “I’m sorry. I’m just a little rattled.” As he took a sip of his coffee, Erin noticed that his hand was shaking...

One of the worst type of cases to deal with are related to computer fraud. Sadly. Computers can be wonderful--or they can be nightmares for people who know only the surface utilization of this powerful machine. Any computer can be hacked. The benefits of computers far outweigh not using them, but, depending upon how and why some people decide to use equipment, they should never feel so secure that absolutely nobody can get to what is on your system.

For Charles Parsons, it was already too late when he was told, by a hacker working to help people, that his entire system was corrupted and totally visible to whoever had taken over the computer files...

An interesting little twist that is given to readers was that an inside police officer had contacted Erin and shared that he didn't think that the defendant in a recent murder had actually killed the man--Charles Parsons! While the McCabe-Swisher team was nobody's fool, Erin decided to act upon his tip and at least talk to the woman accused. Based upon her story, they decided to take the case... And they had no idea what they really were getting into!

“You okay?”
Mark asked. “I don’t know,” she replied. “It’s just really hard to hold on to the hope that someday who you are or who you love won’t matter to anyone. People just have so much hate."

~~~

“How’d things go in Cape May?” he asked as he stirred the rice one last time and plated it. “Ah, not so great,” she replied, uncertain about how to respond. “Por que?” he asked innocently. She watched as he spooned scampi sauce over the shrimp and rice. “Looks great,” she said, taking the two plates to the table and waiting for him as he washed his hands. “Bon appétit,” he said, taking his seat and picking up his fork. “So what happened?” “Well . . . they think I murdered my client,” she responded with a shrug. His look betrayed his skepticism. “You’re kidding—right?” “Not really,” she answered half-heartedly. “What!” he said, dropping his fork on his plate. “Apparently, from his home security system, we’re seen leaving his house together, and he never returns. According to the medical examiner, his time of death is around the time we were together.” Mark got up, walked over to her side of the table, and gave her a hug. “Are you okay?” he asked. “Thanks,” she said, leaning her head into his chest. “Yeah—I’m okay, I guess. I know he was very much alive when I left, but I will confess it’s disconcerting to know I’m in the crosshairs of the prosecutor’s office.” “What are you going to do?” he asked. She gave him a weak grin. “Eat before it gets cold. It looks really good.” “You seem pretty unfazed about this. Aren’t you concerned?” he asked, going back to his seat. She thought for a moment. “Yeah, I am, but probably not for the reason you might think. I can’t help but think that Senator Townsend is somehow involved, and if he is, I know he’ll do anything to get back at me for defending Sharise. I’m not worried about the truth—just that the truth has never meant much to Townsend and those who do his bidding.” She took a forkful of shrimp and rice. “Thank you for cooking, by the way.” “My pleasure.” “This is delicious,” she said, as she considered how to broach the next difficult subject—their current living arrangement. Back in January, before she had moved in with Mark, she had renewed the lease on her apartment, and it ran for another seven months. “I still have my apartment in Cranford,” she said. “Maybe I should move back there until this blows over. If I’m right about Townsend being involved, I may be in his crosshairs, and I don’t want you to get caught in the middle. He’s dangerous.” This time, he gently placed his fork on the side of his plate. “And you living by yourself is somehow supposed to make me feel better?” he said wearily. “We both know that if someone wants to come after you, one of the ways is through me, even if we’re not living together. Neither of us has forgotten that you saved my life,” he said, referring to an incident when Erin was able to surprise two thugs posing as police officers just as they were about to abduct Mark in an attempt to silence her. “And don’t you dare go to where I think you’re going. You broke up with me once trying to protect me from my own family’s transphobia. Breaking up with me again isn’t going to protect me from crazy people out to get you. We’ve been through this before. You don’t get to make decisions for me—only I do.” She rubbed the back of her neck with her hand, hoping her expression didn’t reveal that she was guilty as charged—that’s exactly what she had been thinking. A little over a year earlier, she had called time on their relationship because Mark’s family had given him such a hard time about dating her. Now, with the exception of his sister, Molly, and her wife, Robin, things were still tense. She already felt guilty enough about his estrangement from his family; the thought that he might also be hurt or killed because of her was horrifying. “Let’s hope this is over with quickly and we never have to worry about it,” she said in a tone that was neither encouraging nor convincing. He squeezed her hand reassuringly. “I’m sure it will.”

Having the main character, who happens to be a criminal defense lawyer, being charged with murder is, maybe, a step too far. But not for Robyn Gigl! She's already gotten high praise by The New York Times Book Review, who says that this is "A groundbreaking series that is poised to become a definitive one," and all Gigl has done is create main characters that many people choose to...hate..." You know, folks, I would guess that if Jesus was born in these chaotic days, his mother, Mary, would be accused of having sex prior to her marriage to Joseph. And people would never let her forget that she was an unwed mother... After all, she apparently can't identify any man who fathered her son... After 2000+ years, there is still controversy! Why?!

I am loving these books, but not necessarily for Gigl's celebration of LGBTQ characters, but because her legal cases simply blow me away with the reality of what these characters are forced to endure from the people in their family, close friends, or, even strangers who have no interaction with people, except through gossip, disinformation, and simply hate those who are perceived as being different... I think of a passage from The Light of the World which I am also reading at this time. It was Jesus who cried out "Permit the children to come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to them..." The book goes on to say that only Jesus knows the "why" of each issue, so that we who are His children need not be concerned, but just love all of our neighbors...

Which leads to one of the cases that is in Remain Silent. Erin was asked to take on a case regarding a child of 11 who had herself declared that she was a girl. (Yes, this is exactly what had happened in Erin's life, except when she was older). Hannah had a father who had never wanted to be involved with a child, but had financially contributed to her life. When she started telling her mother about her inner feelings, her mother was supportive and had sought Erin's help in dealing with the details. However, a local politician, who is found in the first three books, had taken on transgender activities as a source of political fear mongering and Hannah was caught up in the political rhetoric, that was being fed to her biological, but absent father. Hannah was taken away from her mother and placed legally with her father, a man she had never known!  It gets worse...

At the same time, another man who had seen himself as a different sex all of his life, had contacted Erin because of seeing her information in a local news article. He had invited her to share her life and, in turn, talked about his being a closeted trans woman. During that time with Erin, he had received telephone call and had told her, that, perhaps, it was better that she left by another way from his home. It was after Erin left, that he was murdered. And that visit turned into a political nightmare as she was placed in jail based upon circumstantial evidence. During that time in jail, she was physically assaulted by the guards!

You know, folks, I found myself placing the past-president into the villain of these books. One of the reasons was because of a comment that the man never got his own hands dirty, but paid to get whatever he wanted--his final goal was president of the United States. I have never seen such hateful words pouring out in America--for purely political reasons! We've all heard his agitation--his incitement of hate and violence while playing the part of a man who wants to help people. Hearing it--reading it--from the point of view of those who suffer from such damaging rhetoric is startling at first, but, worse, a chilling awareness of just how much the words of one person can ultimately reach across the nation and the world...

This book had a, frankly, welcomed closeout because the individual leading all of the damage was stopped...  In reality, too many times an acceptable ending never comes... I am thankful for these books. I have learned much about those who find themselves born into a body that was mixed up in a way that can occur unknowingly. Most of all, I have come to understand the turmoil of the lives they have been forced to live, either by hidden crossdressing, or by acting to legally take charge of something that was clearly a mistake in the first place. Gigl has shown through her books an outstanding sense of love and concern for herself and for those in the same position. If you are worried about all the hate and rhetoric being thrown around purely for political power or hate of others, recognize one thing--only God understands the why and He loves all of us who have opened our minds and hearts to His Love and Truth... 

Aside from all of that, these legal thrillers have been extraordinary in the twists and turns that only a fantastic author knows how to weave such tales! The cases are made to teach us, but also to help us learn that Love is the primary goal in interacting with anybody who doesn't act like "we" want them to act... 

God Bless

Gabby