Current Read: Erik Larson's "In the Garden of Beasts"

 Perhaps hundreds of books have been written about the terror associated with the reign of the National Socialist German Workers' Party. Is it because we continue to be fascinated by proof that no matter how nightmarish the dream, the dream becomes reality if enough people willingly follow the tune? Given the United States' unwillingness to halt the genocide inflicted by the State called Israel on the Palestinian population, the book serves as an excellent reminder.

In Larson's tale, William Dodd was employed as the United States Ambassador to Germany when Hitler and company began to cast their magic on a receptive population. The US did not want Germany to default on money the European country owed to the States; it was easier not to make a fuss about what Germany did to its citizens. The followers did not limit their violence to Germans, though. Dodd learned Americans tasted Nazi fandom, and German officials did not seem overly interested in ending the violence. After all, that happened to those who did not want to conform to the cause. Eventually Dodd caught the attention of Party members and believed he and his family fell under the State's surveillance machinery. Acquaintances met a nasty end. Perhaps fortunately for Dodd, the governments of the United States and Germany thought it best if Dodd left Hitler Country.

In "In the Garden of Beast," Larson paints a tale worthy of the creepiest of horror movies. A land known for its musical and artistical talents morphs into realm where the wrong friendship might land a man or woman in prison known for its torture. The neighbor that you invited for the morning breakfast might be the neighbor that revealed your poor choice of conversation by evening to the State police. Colorful with the occasional  not-quite-polite humor, the book shows that infamous Party members have been painted larger than life by Hollywood movies, but the ring leaders were frightfully human.  

Current Read: The Assassination of Fred Hampton by Jeffrey Haas

 Even at my young age, I was aware of the community's indignation at the news that  Chicago's cops had murdered Fred Hampton. People weren't exactly shocked. Hadn't Martin Luther King Jr, been murdered a year earlier? Hadn't Malcolm X been murdered three years earlier? Anyone who openly championed self-empowerment of an oppressed population received a prison sentence or a bullet. Because Chicago Police Department had carried out the assassination, it was within the realm of possibility that the United States Government had a hand in the murder. At the same  time, the CPD went on a rampage, arresting those they believed associated with the Black Panther Party. I recall how a gnawing fear threaded its way through the community. If you openly supported the Black Panthers, then the cops painted a target on your back. 

Memories of that period convinced me to purchase a copy of Jeffrey Haas' "The Assassination of Fred Hampton." As a lawyer for the Hampton family, Haas challenged Ed Hanrahan (the State's Attorney who organized the murder), members of the CPD (who carried out the hit), and members of the FBI (who relayed the orders that the hit must take place). CPD had no intention of admitting they carried out an assassination. In his book, Haas relays his battle to win the case against homicidal law enforcement personnel supported by judges who seemed as hostile toward the lawyers who represented the BPP as they were hostile toward the BPP, and unethical lawyers who acted as though no behavior was too low in their defense of the cops.

Last Book Read: The Plot To Save South Africa by Justice Malala

Strip the United States to its rawest, most horrific form of  racism, and you'll have something that looks like apartheid-era South Africa. Spawns of the loathsome regime, two Afrikaners came up with the idea that if they killed the perceived leaders of the anti-apartheid movement, then South Africa would erupt in civil war. I'm baffled at how these descendants of  Dutch immigrants convinced themselves that the assassination of Chris Hani would work in their favor. It wouldn't be much of a spoiler if I revealed the murder of Chris Hani gained the two men nothing except prison time. And they were awarded prison time only because they lied during hearings of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. Perhaps had they told the truth, they would have slithered their way to freedom. Much to the Conservative Party's dismay, South Africa and her sons pounded the stakes into apartheid, a system created by a government that had counted  the US's president Ronald Reagan and Britain's Thatcher among its allies.

In The Plot To Save South Africa, journalist Justice Malala reports on the days in the wake of Hani's murder. Nelson Mandela, Cyril Ramaphosa, and other comrades of the ANC were not going to relinquish the goal of a fair election. Their steadiness survived the maneuvers of a organization and its blood-soaked, murderous secret police who were not going to give up grisly power readily. This book illustrates how the Afrikaners' "terrorists" liberated South Africa,

Travel Buggy: City Lights Bookstore

Not knowing my way around San Francisco, I had no idea how to get to this bookstore. On a return trip to our hotel via Chinatown, I spotted City Lights Booksellers, and was pleased that the bookshop was within walking distance of Union Square. I was hell-bent on visiting the store the following day,

Iconic is a appropriate description of City Lights. I found navigating San Francisco streets weren't the easiest streets to  navigate and within a short amount of time, I was lost. Keeping the mission in mind, I asked four people how to get to the store, and every one of those pleasant folks gave me directions to City Lights. The first man said, "I haven't been in that bookstore in 30 years!" The fourth man said, "I'm headed in that direction. I'll walk you there." This place must have been as famous as the Golden Gate Bridge! I thought how easy it was to fall in love with San Francisco -- from its ain't sweatin' it vibe to its mesmerizing terrain to its delicious food! And I had even found a wellness shop!

City Lights reminded me of the bookstores found in 60's and 70's -- crammed with books for those who want to know about the history of human beings that suffered under bullwhips swung by human traffickers, the US military's attempts to clear out indigenous populations, and whims of those who saw labor unions as forces that undercut profits. I saw popular titles, but time was limited. Had I more time to spare, I would have walked away with more books than Zora Neale Hurston's Baracoon, Thich Nhat Hahn's The Art of Communication, and Justice Malala's The Plot to Save South Africa. A tee shirt from this book shop made as good a souvenir as any. According to the bookmark that accompanied my purchase, City Lights celebrates its 70th anniversary this year, and they'll post what they have in store on social media.. 

 

Travel Buggy: San Francisco

 

(If you look closely at the photo and to the right from the passenger's point of view, you'll see the iconic Golden Gate Bridge semi-concealed by mist. This business trip for Hubby was a pleasure trip for this twitchy travel buggy)

Roughly twelve years ago, San Francisco's vibrancy and trappings of wealth bewitched me. The smell of money and self-indulgence perfumed Union Square's air. This district hosted retailers with names like Armani and Burberry. Feeling giddy in a carnival of splendor and glamour, oh how I wished I could afford to live in San Francisco. 

About a week ago, I wrinkled my nose at the stench in Union Square. The place smelled like a public urinal-- and I witnessed one denizen's treating a corner in a vacant storefront as such.  A noticeable amount of storefronts lay grey and vacant. Macy's retained its elegant wine bar on the 3rd level of its handsome building, but at street level of this community, the homeless had staked out litter-strewn territories. Some of the homeless population seemed to have minds wrecked by pathological racism, all-consuming madness, and the rage fueled by despair. Perhaps the rumors of the wealthy fleeing the city were true. But who could blame them? Who wanted to be stalked by a predator who had reckoned the easiest route to a fast buck was to hide among the homeless and get a bead on an unwary pedestrian with a fat purse? San Francisco possessed mesmerizing terrain and spellbinding architecture, but who would pay such a high price to live in a place inhabited by cut-throats and thieves? 

The city held on to some of its jewels, though. Along Chinatown's main strip for tourists, I stumbled across a wellness shop that sold kimonos, wellness books, and crystal bundles. I'm not sure if the palo santo was genuine, but the bundles consisted of a crystal bound to a palo santo stick. Dried flowers decorated the stick. The sales rep explained that the flowers were strictly for decoration, and only the stick was to be burned. Why not? I bought a bundle with a clear quartz crystal, an amethyst crystal, and a deck called "Calm the Chaos."  The deck provided tips and meaningful advice on de-stressing -- something a traveler might need after being considered a potential easy mark by a tattooed, ill-kept joker who seemed pissed that a traveler might have one more nickel than he the joker carried.  We stayed at the Grand Hyatt which possessed delicious food and excellent customer service. Fortunately, not every eatery found in the district demands such a rich price for its meals, and with a bit of planning and research, a visitor to San Francisco may squeeze in three meals a day.