Justice

Biblical parallels with Alex Pretti’s death

“the executioner’s face is always well-hidden”

Once again, I see parallels between what is happening in Minnesota and the teachings of Christ. Alex Pretti’s last words — spoken to a woman whom an ICE agent had pushed to the frozen concrete — were, “Are you okay?”

Jesus said, “Blessed are the merciful.”

There are other parts of the Beatitudes that apply. When Alex addressed the agent who pushed the woman, he said, “Don’t touch her!”

Jesus said, “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst after righteousness.”

It is noteworthy that Alex was a nurse — an RN working in the VA intensive care unit. He died after being beaten by 5 or 6 ICE agents, while on his knees, unarmed, and shot multiple times in the back.

Jesus taught: “Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake.”

Exactly how we die isn’t the main thing; the main thing is how we live. His manner of dying was terrible and in no way blessed. But he and his life were a blessing.

The defining thing in Alex Pretti’s life seems to have been a commitment to practicing mercy. Thank you, Brother.

Make no mistake: Trump did it. ICE and the unspeakably vile Miller and Noem bear responsibility, but this is all on Trump. Resist!

Renee Good: Biblical parallels

Jesus said, “Forgive them for they know not what they do.” Luke 23:34
The soldiers went ahead and killed Jesus.

Renee said, ““That’s fine, dude. I’m not mad at you.”
The ICE agent killed Renee (and he videoed it!).

Renee Nicole Good Renee Good has long, blonde, curly hair and is wearing a red off-the-shoulder top. The ocean is in the background.

The soldiers played at dice for Jesus’ clothes
After he killed Renee, the agent said, “Fucking bitch.”

The agent’s father said, “He’s a committed, conservative Christian…”

Jesus wept.

Her name was Good.

Just following orders: For Senator Mark Kelly

Just not following orders. 

“I was just following orders.”  It didn’t work for the nazis and in the end it won’t work for Trump’s minions. Here is an account of not following orders that somehow became something bigger than a brief altercation. I don’t think it was an unlawful order or even that big a deal, but when it was over I realized we’d been playing for higher stakes than I thought – my soul. What follows is taken directly from my blog post, Vietnam 66-67, Part 2: Hill 55, Dodge City.

The point is to affirm that decisions and actions can have positive and/or negative consequences.

Standing with Senator Kelly 

***

It never occurred to me that I would write this. It was something to keep secret and inside me forever; something to take out now and then, turning it over in my mind like the treasure it is (to me, anyway). I told Jeff a few years ago, but he already knew about it, even though he was not on that patrol.

We were on a long patrol – past even Dodge City. It had been raining for several days or maybe several weeks. I had this raincoat that was far superior to a poncho. I doubt many people ever wore a poncho past their first gunfight with one of those awkward things in the way of everything – I loved my raincoat. We were 3-4 days out, in an area we’d not seen before. We came to a ville (village) and moved around and through it. The plan was to round up everyone in the ville and search the place and people for weapons.

I came to a hooch (hut) with a bunker (all the hooches had bunkers in that neighborhood) and inside the bunker were several women and some children. The interesting thing was that one of the women was wet – even her hair, which told me pretty clearly that she had been doing something in a hurry before we got into the ville, i.e., she was VC. The other woman was holding a baby and the baby was crying, the thin, weak cry of a very sick baby.

I was standing there looking at them and it was like I could see myself as they saw me. I was death – unshaven, dirty death. The only clean thing about me was my machine-gun and

 it was immaculate. The gun oiled, every round in the 200-round belt perfectly cleaned, inspected – all truly perfect. I was looking at them and they were looking at me.

I was thinking, screw this. I’m not going to jack with these people. So I just stayed there, watching them. I had decided not to force them out, but not wanting to be killed, would never have taken my eyes off them. So we’re there, they, no doubt wondering what is going to happen and me, just very comfortable with my decision. At some point I tossed a couple of cans of C-ration ham or whatever into the bunker. They probably thought I was tossing grenades – they never touched the cans.

Then trouble. The lieutenant running the patrol came over and the interaction went something like this:

“Get those people out of there.”

“There’s a sick baby in there.”

“I don’t give a shit. Get them out of there.”

“There’s a sick baby in there.”

“I said, get them out, now.”

I was thinking, I guess I’m going to have to kill him, but he read my eyes and saw what I was thinking before I could act and he pointed his rifle in my direction (he always carried an M1 carbine, a silly weapon for which I had only contempt – but, an M1 pointed at someone trumps an M60 in the other direction, if you know what I mean) and there was nothing I could do because my weapon was already pointed pretty much down and to the left. Even though I was a lot better gunfight-wise than this guy, there was just no way I could get to him faster than he could get to me.

“I’m giving you an order, Marine. Get those goddam mother-fucking people out of there right now!”

Then two things happened.

The Big Hair (Harris) was off to the side and he put his weapon on the lieutenant and said something like, “Be careful, lieutenant.” Whew, what a relief. Then, the people in the bunker started coming out! The lieutenant walked off muttering threats. Harris smiled at me. “Yeah, man – fuckin’-A.” When the woman carrying the baby came out in the rain I stopped her and I took off my raincoat and gave it to her. She had no clue what that was about so I had to drape it over her. It was like the coat of a giant to her. Ridiculous.

I remember leaving the ville with all those people standing there in the rain and that sad-sack woman with her sick baby standing there with my raincoat dragging the ground.

Redemption song. Making a choice. I chose Life.

The reason why

After I came home from the war, I experienced visions—glimpses of a deeper reality, including the realization that we are all One. One outcome of those visions was my decision to take the Bodhisattva vow: to liberate all sentient beings. That vow, and the visions that preceded it, became guiding forces in my life. They made it possible for me to hear—and to answer—a calling to become a nurse.

I returned to school for three years, then began work as a registered nurse, later becoming a leader, educator, and, after further training, a family nurse practitioner (FNP). My career carried me through community health, hospice care, and, in its final twelve years, primary care. Whether working in hospice or with refugees and immigrants, my focus remained constant: to reduce and relieve suffering. I was inspired by Leslie and for many years worked in partnership with her.

Omayra Sanchez. Photo by Frank Fournier

In hospice care, this meant addressing pain, loneliness, fear, advanced illness, family distress, and a host of other challenges. In refugee health, it meant responding to trauma, cultural and personal isolation, poverty, illness, loss, and more. In education, the goals were to help students grasp foundational principles, cultivate responsibility, strive for competence, realize their potential, and embody compassion—along with other essential aspects of caring.

As part of a broader effort to inform and support others working to reduce suffering—and thereby contribute to the collective movement toward liberation—I wrote numerous articles, papers, and chapters, and authored or co-authored three books:

Terminal Illness: A Guide to Nursing Care (1995, 1999, Lippincott)
This book explores the individual, familial, cultural, and spiritual dimensions of the end-of-life experience. It offers practical guidance on managing symptoms such as pain, dyspnea, and nausea, and includes a detailed section outlining the natural progression and metastasis patterns of the 16 most lethal cancers—enabling clinicians to anticipate complications and intervene more effectively.

Refugee and Immigrant Health, with Lance Rasbridge (2004, Cambridge University Press)
The first section addresses the refugee experience—including physical and mental health, spiritual and religious influences, women’s health, and cultural frameworks. The second section profiles 31 cultural groups frequently seen in refugee and immigrant care, including Afghan, Cambodian, Haitian, and Mexican populations.

Leslie taking care of business behind the apartments at 4400 San Jacinto

Infectious and Tropical Diseases, with Tao Sheng Kwan-Gett and Carrie Kovarik (2006, Elsevier Science)
Written for primary care providers, missionaries, and refugee health workers, this compact guide opens with an overview of infectious and tropical diseases, followed by 647 pages covering over 90 conditions—from cholera and malaria to lice infestation and schistosomiasis. The final section helps clinicians link symptoms to geographic regions and likely diagnoses. Designed for fast settings, the book fits in a lab coat pocket and features a soft, durable binding.

Looking back now, at these books and the work in hospice and among refugees – the progression of the work and books and their intent, from the first sentences to the last – I see that I did do my best to live out that early vision of Oneness, to relieve suffering, and to honor the vow for Liberation.

I also remember that there were times when nothing could be done about the suffering and all that was left to do was to bear witness – “My soul is deeply grieved, to the point of death; remain here and watch with Me.”

Non-violent protest movements – what’s the use?

Summary points:

  • There are many examples of successful non-violent protest movements.
  • A relatively small percentage of a population can cause change.
  • Protests can increase awareness and empower people.

A few of the protest movements that have succeeded include:

  • Maidan Revolution (or Revolution of Dignity) in Ukraine, 2014.
  • Civil Rights Movement in US, 1950s-1960s.
  • Suffragette Movement in US and UK, late 18th-early 20th
  • Anti-apartheid South Africa, 1950-1990s.
  • Velvet Revolution in Czechoslovakia, 1989
  • Indian Independence Movement in India, 1915-1947

Did any of the above accomplish 100% of its goals? Of course not. 100% is not in the nature of human endeavors.

What percentage of a population protesting creates the critical mass needed for change? If about 3.5% of a population is actively engaged in a sustained manner, the protests are likely to succeed through:

  • Gaining media attention.
  • Paralyzing infrastructure.
  • Creating division among elites and security forces.
  • Forcing negotiations or concessions.

The 3.5% figure comes from the work of Erica Chenoweth in studying the issue across nations and cultures. BBC published an article on “The ‘3.5% rule’: How a small minority can change the world.” 

Awareness: Participating in protest is empowering and creates opportunities for connection among like-minded people. We are not alone and it is not futile!

Thanks to DK and ChatGPT. Click photo for a nice big one.

Hands Off!

Hands off healthcare, Social Security, the arts, law enforcement, universities, the environment, national parks, our allies, freedom of speech, history, our future, and so much else!

Planning hospice – spirit

I found the first explication of what I was trying to trying to do for most of my life. It is in a memorandum written in 1978 to Elsie Griffith, the executive director of the Dallas Visiting Nurse Association. At the time, I was working on planning and implementing the VNA Terminal Care Program, which was foundational for the first hospice in Texas. In hospice we focused intensively on managing physical symptoms at the end-of-life, such as pain, nausea, shortness of breath, etc.; and on supporting families. The subject here is the spiritual and ethical structuring of this work. It’s hard to believe I sent this and that Elsie accepted it and believed in the vision. Here it is, exactly as I sent it:

——————

June 9, 1978

To: Elsie Griffith

From: Charles Kemp

I feel a strong need to express something that is difficult to express— namely, the spirit which I think should be part of our terminal care program.

I hope we all recognize that the way we die in America is generally poor. To illustrate this let me tell you about a situation I am presently experiencing: Several weeks ago someone called me to say that a friend of theirs was dying of cancer of the breast metastatic to brain, ribs, spine, abdomen, etc. and would I see what I could do to help. The person in question is a 41-year-old woman (Jan) whose 2 teenage daughters live with her husband in another residence. Jan’s mother has been taking care of her for about 7 months and is physically and emotionally exhausted. If relief is not forth coming, Jan will have to go to a nursing home. We have been helping with home health aides and nursing but it’s not enough.

I went to see Jan on a Friday night before I left for a week in California. I found her to be in excruciating pain and to have paraplegia. There were only a few hours left before I had to leave town and although I tried, I could not find any relief. When I returned from California I called and discovered that Jan was on the way to a nursing home.

After visiting her once and seeing what the situation was I committed myself to stay with her 2 nights a week. I can’t say exactly why — I’ve never done this before — sometimes something happens when people meet or when situations present — maybe I ‘m seeing me or my wife — or maybe I have the need to stay grounded (as much as is possible) in the reality of dying as I plan for helping people die as humans.

Staying in a nursing home at night is a strange, sad, and sometimes bizarre experience:

Me: “She needs something for pain”
Nurse: “I don’t work that hall.”
Me: “Where is the other nurse?”
Nurse: “He’s gone.”
Me: “When will he be back?”
Nurse: “15 minutes.”
Me: “She’s really in a lot of pain.”
Nurse: “I don’t work that hall.”
Me: “Are you saying you won’t do anything?”
Nurse: “I don’t work that hall.”

At midnight an aide walks in, turns the light on and off and starts to walk out. I ask her what she’s doing. “Checking the light.” — and out she goes.

Ice pitchers are filled at 5:30 A.M.

And much more. It’s a kind of dumb, passive brutality.

I know you’ve heard and seen a thousand variations on thig sorry tale. You know about the terrible loneliness and dehumanization of dying. You have in your possession some scientifically-oriented things I’ve written about this. So probably I’m trying to touch you with something that is touching me very deeply: The spirit of the terminal care program:

To be touched and to be able to touch people who are lonely and afraid. To be not afraid to feel. To work from the mind and the heart. To experience the personal loneliness and fear that lies within (us all). To care enough not to need to be the hero. To work through the family. This is difficult for me to express. I’ m not looking just for increased services; I’m looking for something that will touch people at every level.

When these things are happening, the people (nurses, aides, social workers, doctors, volunteers, etc.) who are experiencing them need to have to have an incredibly strong support system.

I tell you, I am committed to planning and operationalizing a program which will give what is needed. And I’m firm in my knowledge and belief that this spirit I have so inadequately expressed above is vital to meeting the needs of people who are dying.

Thank you,

—————–

Jan went home a few days later and she died peacefully at home a few months later. She was a brave woman.

The night in the “dumb, passive brutality” of that nursing home was inspirational to me. I’m not saying that over time my colleagues and I ended the ugliness, but at least for people with end-stage cancer, ALS, and other afflictions there are now much kinder, more supportive, and more clinically effective options all across America – and that’s exactly what we were aiming for.