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I think of myself as being on a “spiritual” path, on a spiritual quest, that experiencing spirit wisdom and sacred wisdom, whatever they turn out to be, if noting more than a greater attuning of my sensory instruments to feel the vibration of the others’ sensory instruments, the other hearts beating, the other molecules spinning in ritual dance. But let us move on.

Journeys

Many travel books and travel videos are immensely well done, although no amount of reading about or videos of the pyramids at Giza or a village in India can compare to the overwhelmingly physical and sensual experience of being there.

My travel writings all seek to convey something intimate about the setting I am describing, to capture the “feel” of a unique place on the planet as experienced at a unique point in time by a unique narrator briefly passing through.

A reflection on the absence of agreed upon priorities and leadership on the Left

My focus is on organizing ourselves … the Rainbow Left … at this writing … specifically in the lands and with the blessings of the Massachusett and Wampanoag and many more Indigenous people who we owe a debt to and who lead us still.

Who speaks for and to the Rainbow Left nationally? Brother West? Rev Barber? The Abolish Prison and Prison Slavery movement? Bernie? Rise Up? The Squad? Bill Fletcher?

Who speaks to or for the Rainbow Left in MA? Jamie? Jo? Nika, Ayanna? Mahtowin Monroe? Big Mike, Jim McGovern?

We MUST be able to decide on our priorities, on where we can best direct our forces/resources at this critical moment.

There is no single organization on the left that doesn’t want more active volunteers. We all think about recruitment.

My focus is on organizing ourselves. Land back!

What I Left

In the middle of a mild winter on Cape Cod in Massachusetts on the land of the Wampanoag and the Nauset i escaped before the storm of ’22 that turned mild into wild.

I took leave of my home, dog, plants, coyotes, whales, oysters, sunrises, sunsets, birds, bays, and so much more to travel by air across an entire continent and land here – link to “what i found”

Skaket Beach, Orleans, Cape Cod

What I Found

I arrived in Temecula. It is beautiful. You can buy five acres of hillside here with 2 houses and 100s of highly productive avocado, orange, lemon, tangerine, grapefruit and more trees, hundreds!, for less than a bucket of sand on the beach in Orleans. You do not have to worry about sharks. You do worry about water availability and water’s price, especially water enough to quench a growing avocado’s liquid needs.

The U.S. Army – Day One, 1960

         I leave from the Port Authority building in New York City by bus to Fort Dix, New Jersey, where I’ll begin my two months of Army basic training.  I’m just shy of my twentieth birthday.  The Port Authority is like Grand Central Station where I was sent unwillingly to camp at age four.  This is different, a decision I have made.  And although there is a claustrophobic feeling of doors closing and choices made which cannot be changed, there is also the sense of adventure and maturity that is concomitant with actions taken by men.

         Almost everyone on the bus is an inductee from New York City.  The Jersey countryside, a dune-like succession of sandy low hills and chicken farms, rolls by until we arrive at Fort Dix, which is surrounded by barbed wire.  At the entrance to Fort Dix stands a tremendous statue of “The Infantryman,” the ultimate fighting machine I am about to become.

         We are herded into a huge building, formed into lines, and begin our transformation and processing from civilians into army troops, first swearing loyalty and fealty to the United States and then being given shockingly short, dare I say bald, army haircuts.  We put our civilian clothes into bags.  We are marched into line after line where we are inspected, questioned, sorted, and given a series of injections in both arms with air-powered guns.  We move down a lengthy counter where we declare our chest, waist, weight, height, and shoe sizes and are given shirts, pants, belts, underwear, shoes, and socks, more or less consistent with our size declarations.

         At the end of the counter we flow onto another line and approach a sergeant seated at a table filling out forms with the information necessary to issue each man his dog tags.  When I reach the table the sergeant finds my name and military identification number on a card and asks me my religion.  I’m not sure why, but I am just not able to answer him.  I don’t think it’s that I am afraid of anti-Semitism, or ashamed of being Jewish, quite the opposite, I am rather proud of being Jewish and eager to stand up to anti-Semites.  It is much more that I don’t really believe in religion and I’m sort of stunned and offended because I don’t think my religious beliefs are anyone’s business, especially in this context, I mean this is the United States Army is it not, and we were all equals right, brothers in arms.  I mean what does my religion matter?  It seems almost unpatriotic to make such a separatist declaration.

“What’s your religion?” the sergeant asks me again in a Southern drawl as I continue to stand there, in spite of my wish to answer him, quite mute, embarrassed, and dumb.

“What’s wrong with you, son” the peeved sergeant asks, “what’s your religion?”

And I just stare at him, unable to answer, unable to form the words, unable to fully understand what is going on with me.  Maybe I’ll say, “no preference, sir” but I can’t make up my mind and don’t really like that answer either.  So I just continue standing there, struggling with myself about these matters of personal and philosophical significance, as the sergeant grows more and more exasperated, and rightly so, thinking I’m a moron or something, and rightly so again.

“I said, ‘what‘s your religion, boy?'”  he says slowly, very slowly. And I just stare at him … frozen.

“Jesus H Christ,” he growls almost menacingly, “Who are your people, boy? “

People?  The word “people” startles me.  Who are “my People?”  Shit, I know that answer. People?   “Why the Hebrews, sir,” I say.

“Hebrew,” he repeats, and writes it down. “Next,” he says, and smiles.

I receive my dog tags two days later.  They read just that, “Hebrew.”  I still have them, of course.  I don’t imagine there are many other Hebrews in the U.S. Army, but the Hebrews are definitely my “people.” And were there ever to come a time to identify my scarred and unrecognizable mortal remains left on some desolate field of battle I think I would be far more comfortable buried as an ethnic American, dare I say tribal, Hebrew (for all that would matter) than I would be hypocritically declared a “religious” Jew.

Jews / Hebrews

Further explorations of the world as it is and the world as we wish it to be

HEBREWS!?

…one of the unique things about the jewish people is that historically – at least for nearly two millennia – they were not a state/nation per se altho they were and are an ethnically identifiable “people,” independent of their religion … albeit a stateless people … a little like gypsies … members/citizens of many diverse nation states in the middle and far east, in africa, asia, europe, and the western hemisphere – while simultaneously maintaining their jewish identity, but not as a nation with a state/territory as such.  the advent of zionism, the notion there should be an ethnically identified jewish state (designed initially as a nationalist movement primarily to protect jews from centuries of abuse), changed all that.

i personally never much favored the idea of there being a state for jews, especially on ethnically cleansed conquered lands, even as I celebrated the pre-1967 triumphs of Israel.  it is my naïve utopian hope that israel and palestine will merge as one state for all its people – a far better outcome in my view than a jewish national state living side by side in peace with a safe, just, and equitable state for the palestinian people – and equally unlikely an outcome as there being one just and equitable state for all the people of Palestine.  as Gideon Levy says, “the two-state solution is dead (it was never born); the Palestinian state will not arise; international law does not apply to Israel; the occupation will continue to crawl quickly to annexation, annexation will continue to crawl quickly toward an apartheid state; “Jewish” supersedes “democracy”, nationalism and racism will get the stamp of government approval, but they’re already here and have been for a long time.”  in light of that reality i’m left believing israel and palestine are one state already, albeit an apartheid state w a major civil rights problem.” and there is no palestinian state, regardless of the best intentions of the pope.

So how did David turn into Goliath?

Gathering of the Tribes

What made Franklin unique as a commune was our very explicit combination of political activism and back to the land self sufficiency.  To the social ethnographer’s eye Franklin looks a lot like a messianic movement, a contagious social delusion and belief on the part of some segment or all of an indigenous population that believes returning to the old ways, the ways of the ancestors, will serve to bring about heaven on earth.

Lou Andrews and I drove to every commune we could find – one leading to another – traveling the state to spread the word about the Gathering.  I remember doing a brake job on the vehicle.  Learning about brakes.  Very excited by the prospect of traveling around state and seeing what was going on.  I remember going to Packer’s Corner.  It seemed in a very diff place than we.  They seemed citified … less open than other places we visited.  More insular it seemed.  Not as warm a reception we got other places. 

I think the idea must have come from Bruce.  I recall the initial thoughts about it were to find out and connect w all of the other communes in state so we could have a connection and larger impact on our movement to mobilize, help, support, to devel a more active relationship, to build a larger tribal/communal nation.  Related to how we felt about Amer Inds and how we

Treated one another. 

Making it a spec event – espec for kids –

Wanted to estab our role as leader.  I thought that – my impression was that Franklin and Putney – we had diff roles – To Lou I and the commune we were leaders.

Gathering of the Tribes – Bruce

Was a vision.  Not sure where it came from altho I think I initiated.  Mixed reception more enthusiastic political less so more concerned for the farm tasks.  Winter travel.  Expectation folks disappear in sinter.  Winter of ’71 Jan & Feb.  Craig, Fletcher, in California.  Neal lifted gun from a demo – dope in van screwed back tight.  Stopped by police once, but nothing happened. 

The idea of traveling around VT in a van seems almost as if it’s out of the 1830’s not 1970.  We didn’t know phone number, internet, didn’t know where they were located.  Pieced it together

Only had incidental ino. No communication mechanism, but there was a vision.  Can’t say how explicit it was.  Shared fully by Barb, Jim, MP and Bruce before arriving in VT.  Understanding was Jane would buy land and they would go wherever Jim got a job.  Charlie and Lou turned on by it.  He was a Phd psychology with interest in primates.  High school graduate working class 2 kids and kind of empty life.  Who was open and eager for excitement and rescue & adoration.  Nothing excites the male crow more than this.  Formula for narcissistic romance.  One of my favorite memories:      Somehow in the summer after the fire when we were still living both at Franklin & Philo you had found a deserted perhaps hunting shack in the middle of a field somewhere somewhere south of Philo.  We somehow agreed to trip there one day.  Don’t know how we got there ….

Was a vision.  Not sure where it came from altho I think I initiated.  Mixed reception more enthusiastic political less so more concerned for the farm tasks.  Winter travel.  Expectation folks disappear in sinter.  Winter of ’71 Jan & Feb.  Craig, Fletcher, in California.  Neal lifted gun from a demo – dope in van screwed back tight.  Stopped by police once, but nothing happened. 

The idea of traveling around VT in a van seems almost as if it’s out of the 1830’s not 1970.  We didn’t know phone number, internet, didn’t know where they were located.  Pieced it together

Visiting Putney with our newspaper.

         Creating a newspaper was the first thing we all did together in addition to home schooling the kids.  Talking to Roger Albright, Grant Ctichfield – return address for VT RR.  When paper wss finished and Roger rejected we went on road w it.  We knew of existence of Putney. 

We presented our Newspaper – they were very interested bec they were totally political.  Met Robert John, Jane, Erika, other Jane?, next stop was to Juche’ in boston-  Political discussion w those 2 we were aligned.  It was always clear things needed to change.  I didn’t really believe the revo was coming, but that was what most people seemed to believe.

At one point Barb and Lou were selected by Putney to be trained … stayed a week or two.  Learned about first aid.  Shortwave radio.  Rifle practice.  Learned how to shoot a blow gun in prep for the revo.

Visited by Craig & Fletch by early 1970 looking for land.  Bruce Cohn served jail time.  Was set up for marijuana bust.  Nobody sets anyone up for child porn bust.  Not sure of truth.  He was part of lower east side scene.  Was a licensed locksmith – very paranoid.  He Craig& Bruce had an acid trip Jessup’s Audibon in Noyac Bay on the south fork of Long Island near Sag Harbor where MP’s father and his 3rd wife had a house.  Picked up “Horse Feathers Fletcher’s son.   Bruce into cryonics carried survival kit.  Folded down to 1×1” plastic square dime and fish hook inside.  Unfold for catching water.  Fish to eat.  Dime for phone call.

Only had incidental ino. No communication mechanism, but there was a vision.  Can’t say how explicit it was.  Shared fully by Barb, Jim, MP and Bruce before arriving in VT.  Understanding was Jane would buy land and they would go wherever Jim got a job.  Charlie and Lou turned on by it.  He was a Phd psychology with interest in primates.  High school graduate working class 2 kids and kind of empty life.  Who was open and eager for excitement and rescue & adoration.  Nothing excites the male crow more than this.  Formula for narcisistic romance.  One of my favorite memories:        Somehow in the summer after the fire when we were still living both at Franklin & Philo you had found a deserted perhaps hunting shack in the middle of a field somewhere somewhere south of Philo.  We somehow agreed to trip there one day.  Don’t know how we got there ….

Gathering of the Tribes – Bruce

Was a vision.  Not sure where it came from altho I think I initiated.  Mixed reception more enthusiastic political less so more concerned for the farm tasks.  Winter travel.  Expectation folks disappear in sinter.  Winter of ’71 Jan & Feb.  Craig, Fletcher, in California.  Neal lifted gun from a demo – dope in van screwed back tight.  Stopped by police once, but nothing happened. 

The idea of traveling around VT in a van seems almost as if it’s out of the 1830’s not 1970.  We didn’t know phone number, internet, didn’t know where they were located.  Pieced it together

Visited by Craig & Fletch by early 1970 looking for land.  Bruce Cohen served jail time.  Was “set up?” for marijuana bust.  Nobody sets anyone up for child porn bust.  Not sure of truth.  He was part of lower east side scene.  Was a licensed locksmith – very paranoid.  He Craig& Bruce had an acid trip Jessup’s Audibon in Noyac Bay on the south fork of Long Island near Sag Harbor where MP’s father and his 3rd wife had a house.  Picked up “Horse Feathers Fletcher’s son.   Bruce into cryonics carried survival kit.  Folded down to 1×1” plastic square dime and fish hook inside.  Unfold for catching water.  Fish to eat.  Dime for phone call.

Only had incidental ino. No communication mechanism, but there was a vision.  Can’t say how explicit it was.  Shared fully by Barb, Jim, MP and Bruce before arriving in VT.  Understanding was Jane would buy land and they would go wherever Jim got a job.  Charlie and Lou turned on by it.  He was a Phd psychology with interest in primates.  High school graduate working class 2 kids and kind of empty life.  Who was open and eager for excitement and rescue & adoration.  Nothing excites the male crow more than this.  Formula for narcisistic romance.  One of my favorite memories:        Somehow in the summer after the fire when we were still living both at Franklin & Philo you had found a deserted perhaps hunting shack in the middle of a field somewhere somewhere south of Philo.  We somehow agreed to trip there one day.  Don’t know how we got there ….

Musab

I am Musab, six years old
Two days ago Israeli soldiers surrounded our house at 2 A.M. shooting
Helicopter gunships illuminating the night
Their rotors like giant fans hung from the sky
The whine of their rockets like angry birds
Here four bullet holes through the door of the room where my brother sleeps
Here the shattered windows
“Take your clothes off, all of you, even the women” the Israeli soldiers yelled
Then father was handcuffed
Taken as a human shield to the apartment of uncle Hussan
Where their bullets pierced his door
and the chest of the old man opening it
Who bleeds to death for want of an ambulance.
After his body is removed
The soldiers withdraw
But brother is still crying
My city, Nablus, is still occupied
The old man remains dead
And I am Musab, six years old.

Stand off at Gate 927

It is a beautiful sunny morning

At apartheid gate 927

The Israeli soldiers are listening to rock music

They are in their 20s

They have automatic weapons

Uniforms, walkie-talkies

Humvies, tanks

F16 fighter jets, a nuclear arsenal.

We are Palestinian farmers

With donkeys and tractors

With seed, fertilizer, and lunch in plastic bags

We are four Americans over fifty

With cameras, cell phones, and bottled water

We are Bedouin with sheep and goats and identity cards

We dismount from our donkeys and tractors

And wait

Wait long enough to see the falcon hunting,

To see the wild dog with the stolen chicken,

Wait to be admitted through the small gate

To the turnstile

Then into the concrete bunker

To wait at the counter, to show our passes,

To be released into a holding area

To go back through a sliding gate

To get back on our donkeys and tractors

To pass through the big gate

Opened only certain hours

On certain arbitrary days

To get onto our land – our own land –

On the other side of this abominable fence

That separates us from our fields

From our trees and fruit

From our grass, our rocks, and our graves

On the other side of this fence

That separates us from our brothers and sisters

We stand in the sun waiting two hours

On the side of this fence

That separates us from our livelihoods

On the side of the fence

That separates us

© brtaub – 02/08