If you are an honest, hard-working individual hoping to find a better life for yourself and your family because you happen to have been born in an impoverished, famine-plagued country; or because your children are at risk from government-backed drug lords where you live; and if you possess a skill that would allow you to obtain gainful employment to support your family . . . well, I’m sorry, but you’re out of luck. Because you have, without cause or any sort of justification, been pre-judged to be a murderer, rapist, or pet-eater, and not a desirable addition to the U.S. population.
But if you have, say, $5 million to spare, regardless of your background or how you came into that amount of money . . . well, then, you are more than welcome. And here is your Gold Card Visa, compliments of Uncle Donald.
No, not that Uncle Donald! The one in the White House, who has usurped the place of the old Uncle Sam, because Sam welcomed everyone who wanted to become a legal, wage-earning, tax-paying, America-loving citizen. And that is no longer the case.
“Uncle Don Wants You … That Will Be $5 Million, Please”
Now he’d like you to buy your way in. He thinks that enough of these so-called “golden visas” issued to wealthy emigres would substantially pay down the national debt.
I guess it never occurred to him that he could accomplish the same thing by requiring his fellow billionaires (and himself) to pay their fair share of taxes every year.
“Yeah . . . right! Like that’s gonna happen!”
*. *. *
Fortunately, our immigration laws don’t allow him to unilaterally create a new visa category. The autocracy he has built thus far is already tearing this country apart. Imagine what a bunch of imported gazillionaires would do to us.
And, judging from the initial worldwide reaction to the announcement of this latest mad scheme from Uncle Donald, there doesn’t seem to be any rush on the part of the world’s wealthiest to claim U.S. residency status. It appears as though we’re just not that desirable anymore.
On a mild August day in 1988, my travel buddy and I were strolling with our American tour group along the Old Arbat, an historic street in Moscow, USSR, when I happened to look up at the intricate architecture of a corner building and noticed an anomaly: an ugly, boxy-looking camera, aimed downward at the street. We weren’t surprised — we were, after all, in the Soviet Union, where we assumed that even our hotel rooms were probably bugged. But it was nevertheless disturbing to realize that, no matter where we went or what we did, we were under constant surveillance.
Now — some 37 years later — it’s everywhere. In the United Kingdom, CCTV has been in use since 1960, and is so widespread today that you can only find moments of privacy in your own home. The same is true in most of the modern world, including the U.S., and we have — like the citizens of George Orwell’s imaginary Oceania of 1984 — come to accept it as a fact of life in the cyberworld of the 21st century.
There is no question that security cameras are of immense help in solving crimes, identifying fugitives from justice, preventing acts of terrorism, and nabbing traffic violators. And to that extent, I support their use for legitimate law enforcement purposes. But as a private citizen of the non-criminal variety, I have to say that it has become altogether too pervasive — and invasive — for comfort. I feel as though there is always someone looking over my shoulder, and that they’re going to know if I have to scratch an itch, or adjust a wedgie in my underwear.
And this omnipresent feeling of unease was not helped by a description I read this week of the security measures in place for the annual Bacchanalian event in New Orleans, Louisiana, known as Mardi Gras.
That has to be a massive undertaking. And a local, private security company known as NOLA is making its network of 10,000 security cameras available to New Orleans law enforcement this week to help keep the largely intoxicated masses of revelers safe from harm . . . as well as to prevent any manmade disasters. These cameras are mostly affixed to private homes and businesses, and will be of enormous help in supplementing the existing citywide security systems.
But . . .
Here is where it gets creepy. These cameras — ordered, along with NOLA’s monitoring service, by private citizens to protect their own property — are, or can be, “outfitted with facial recognition, license plate reading and clothing recognition software.” [Chris Boyette, CNN, March 2, 2025.]
In other words, the individuals who contracted for NOLA’s services to protect themselves and their loved ones from home invasion and vandalism no longer have the right to an expectation of privacy in their own homes. Do you really want to broadcast what time you leave for work in the morning and come home in the evening, or who was invited to your party last Saturday? Do you want to be seen tiptoeing out in your skivvies to pick up the mail? Or sneaking a smoke outside the house when you promised your family you’d quit?
None of those things are illegal, and they are no one’s business — certainly not law enforcement’s. But there it will be, forever on file in their data bank, alongside the pictures of the postman delivering the mail, the UPS guy petting your dog, and your teenaged daughter sharing a goodnight kiss with her boyfriend.
Nobody’s business.
*. *. *
So, where do we draw the line? Where does the benefit to national and local security intersect with a citizen’s right to privacy? And when the lines cross, who has the right of way?
And there he is: the man who is charged with looking after your health and well-being for the next four years.
Robert F. Kennedy, Jr.
His father, his mother, and every one of his uncles and aunts would be scrambling over each other to be the first to disown him . . . and possibly to beat the living shit out of him. Their generation of Kennedys — while as imperfect as any of us — were loyal Americans who loved and served their country. And they were sane.
Bobby Jr. is unworthy — not just of his new job as head of Health and Human Services — but of the Kennedy name. He is a loose cannon, a disgrace, and a danger to the health and wellbeing of all Americans.
He is a Trump appointee, approved by Congress only because both houses are controlled by Trump’s Republican advocates. Even after a prolonged, contentious hearing process, during which his lack of qualifications and his harebrained beliefs were laid bare for the world to see, not a single Republican had the guts to swing the vote the way it should have gone. (To his credit, Mitch McConnell did, but it wasn’t enough by itself.)
Kennedy has no medical training; he is a rabid anti-vaxxer; he is a well-known conspiracy theorist. Yet he is charged with overseeing the Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services, the Food and Drug Administration, the National Institutes of Health (NIH) — all of the agencies that have protected the health of this country’s citizens and advanced medical research for decades.
The Court Jester
In November of 2024 — three months before his confirmation as HHS Secretary — Kennedy announced that he planned to shift NIH’s research focus away from infectious diseases such as COVID-19, toward chronic diseases like obesity, telling an anti-vaccine group:
“I’m gonna say to NIH scientists, ‘God bless you all. Thank you for public service. We’re going to give infectious disease a break for about eight years.’” [Ryan Quinn and Kathryn Palmer, Inside Higher Ed, November 15, 2024.]
In one chillingly Dickensian moment, Kennedy has summed up the current administration’s prevailing attitude toward the people of the United States: that it is, in their opinion, time to “decrease the surplus population.” [Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol, 1843.]
Ebenezer Scrooge
*. *. *
The “new level of stupid” of which I speak applies, not just to Bobby Kennedy, Jr., but to the entire Trump administration: the White House contingent, both houses of Congress, and the Supreme Court majority. It is the first two who have selected and approved the disastrous Cabinet and other appointments to this administration; and it is the Supreme Court that permits their unconstitutional decimation of our government agencies to continue unabated.
Even Charles Dickens knew, almost 200 years ago, who the bad guys were, and he dealt with them in his stories. But this is the real world. Where is the Ghost of Christmas-yet-to-come now, in 2025, when we really need him?
Never heard of it? Don’t feel foolish; there are probably few people outside of Ukraine, Poland and the Baltics who have. And, while I recall learning about it in a long-ago class on Russian History, I had frankly forgotten the details until today, when I read that this is the 107th anniversary of its signing, and I was reminded of its significance to the present-day conflict between Russia and Ukraine.
Because — irrespective of anything Vladimir Putin may claim — Ukraine does not belong to Russia.
Signing of the Treaty at Brest-Litovsk – March 3, 1918
Over the course of centuries, wars have been fought and treaties entered into that have altered the borders between nations, and often the hegemony of one country over another. And — as with an individual’s last will and testament — the most recent treaty has always been the operative one.
With the advent of the Russian Revolution of February 1917, the Russian Empire under Tsarist rule ceased to exist. A provisional government was formed by then Minister of War Aleksandr Kerensky, which was subsequently overthrown by Vladimir Lenin’s Bolshevik party in November of the same year. One of Lenin’s first acts was to withdraw Russia from participation in World War I, with a formal cease-fire being declared by Russia on December 15th.
Vladimir Ilyich Lenin (nee Ulyanov)
But terms of the peace treaty between Russia and the Central Powers (Germany and its allies) were complex, and the final agreement was not reached until March 3, 1918, at Brest-Litovsk, in what was then part of Poland.
“Under the terms of that treaty, Russia recognized the independence of Ukraine, Georgia and Finland; gave up Poland and the Baltic states of Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia to Germany and Austria-Hungary . . .”; and ceded other regions to Turkey. [“This Day In History,” History.com, March 3, 2025.]
Lenin was humiliated by what he called “that abyss of defeat, dismemberment, enslavement and humiliation” [id.], and always hoped “that the spread of world revolution — his greatest dream — would eventually right the wrongs done at Brest-Litovsk.” [Id.]
Without going into excruciating detail, there followed several years of conflict among the Soviet Union (“Russia” having ceased to exist as a political entity), Poland and Ukraine, culminating in Ukraine becoming — not by its own consent, but by force — the UkSSR: the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic. Until 1991, that is, when the Soviet Union finally splintered into 15 independent nations, not the least of which is Ukraine.
The 15 Former Soviet Republics
Thus — while it was forcibly under the rule of the Soviet Union for some 69 years — it was never again, after 1918, part of Russia. And it still isn’t . . . nor should it be.
*. *. *
And if you’re one of those who appreciate ancient history and its continuing relevance to modern times, then I suggest you read up on Kievan Rus — the true ancestor of today’s Ukraine, and the cradle of both Ukrainian and Russian history. If you can get through all of the names of the principals — the Vsevelods, the Sviatopolks, and the Yaroslavs — you’ll be in for a fascinating read.
As of 12:01 a.m. on this Monday, March 3rd (U.S. Eastern Standard Time), I find that I am empty . . . blank . . . hollow . . . a complete thesaurus of synonyms for blah.
Sunday Morning (11:59 a.m.)
Oh, there’s plenty in the news to write about . . . too much, in fact. And that’s just the problem. I reached the point on Sunday where I couldn’t face another article about Donald Trump, Elon Musk, Russia, China, Ukraine, Israel/Gaza, or the self-aggrandizement of the Academy Awards.
For relaxation, I binge-watched an entire season of Shetland on BritBox — a wonderful series about murder and mayhem on the rocky, wind-swept islands off the coast of Scotland. I love that show; but it’s not exactly designed to catapult a person into a cheery mood.
Monday Morning (12:01 a.m.)
But I didn’t have the energy for anything else — just sat around in my pajamas, nibbling junk food, thinking I should pick up my iPad and try to direct my mind elsewhere. But nothing happened. Even the historic events of this date in years past that I usually find so interesting didn’t move me.
The well is currently dry. And I blame Donald Trump. Because I need someone to blame, and his name is at the top of my list of people to hold responsible for just about everything these days, from the price of toilet paper to the increased speed with which my fingernails have been growing.
So I’m going to hit the sack now, because I’m beginning to ramble. Hoping for a better day after I get some sleep.
Language is a beautiful thing. It is incorporated in your genetic makeup, almost as though it were a part of your DNA. It defines who your parents and grandparents were, where you were born and raised, and how you view the world.
Most countries — all but a handful — have an official language. But not the United States, likely because of our multi-ethnic makeup. Around 75-80% of Americans speak only English at home; the other 20-25% speak their native language amongst people of their own original nationality.
And we’ve gotten by just fine for the past 250 years. ESL classes — English as a Second Language — are taught in public schools and community colleges throughout the country to make it easier for recent arrivals to acclimate to their new home.
There needs to be a prevalent language in any country in order for people to be able to communicate. And — with Americans coming from countries where as many as 350 different languages are spoken — it is essential that there be one common language to bring us together. That language is English. And I am frankly surprised to learn that it has never been designated as “official” — though it really hasn’t been an issue in the past.
The Many Faces of America
Yesterday, Donald Trump signed an executive order addressing that very subject, and designating — for the first time ever — English as the official language of the United States. The order reads:
“From the founding of our Republic, English has been used as our national language. It is therefore long past time that English is declared as the official language of the United States.” [Gabe Gutierrez and Rebecca Shabad, NBC News, March 1, 2025.]
Okay, fine. There is absolutely nothing inherently wrong with that. Except for the timing.
Why — with all of the major issues and imminent crises currently facing our country and the entire world — would it even have occurred to a sitting president of the United States to worry about the fact that, for a quarter of a millennium, we have gotten by without an “official” language designation?
Quite simply, because it is another piece of his obsessively nationalistic, ethnocentric, xenophobic outlook — a moral defect that has led to his recent, outrageously excessive attacks on immigrants. It is ethnic profiling under the clever guise of patriotism.
In Nazi Germany, if you were not of Hitler’s imaginary “Arian” race, you were inferior, not quite human, and therefore disposable. He managed to dispose of more than six million so-called sub-humans. But how would that work here in the U.S., where everyone who isn’t 100% descended from Native American tribes would fail Hitler’s “Arian” test?
We Americans are all, to a greater or lesser degree, of some “foreign” ethnicity. If our ancestors hadn’t come here on a ship from somewhere else, there wouldn’t be a United States of America. We “foreigners” — or our forebears — built this country.
Donald Trump’s father was the son of German immigrants from Bavaria. His mother was a Scottish immigrant. If we allow him to eliminate the birther right that was granted to their children, perhaps he would also have to “go back where he came from” . . . to Germany or Scotland . . . if they’d even have him.
Another week with no hostage news, which I suppose is more good news than bad. So, to keep this reminder going as promised, I will fill these quiet weeks with photos of some of the prisoners still being held hostage in Russian and Belarusian penal colonies.
Lest we forget . . .
*. *. *
But we need to continue working on bringing back all of those remaining in prison:
David Barnes Ales Bialiatski (in Belarus) Gordon Black Andrei Chapiuk (in Belarus) Robert Gilman Stephen James Hubbard Ksenia Karelina Ihar Karney (in Belarus) Vadim Kobzev Uladzimir Labkovich (in Belarus) Michael Travis Leake Aleksei Liptser Ihar Losik (in Belarus) Daniel Martindale Farid Mehralizada (in Azerbaijan) Marfa Rabkova (in Belarus) Igor Sergunin Dmitry Shatresov Robert Shonov Eugene Spector Valiantsin Stafanovic (in Belarus) Siarhei Tsikhanouski (in Belarus) Laurent Vinatier Robert Romanov Woodland Vladislav Yesypenko (in Crimea) Yuras Zyankovich (in Belarus)
*. *. *
And once more — though you may call me a cockeyed optimist — I reiterate my message to Donald Trump:
“Amidst all of the hubbub of your new administration, it is imperative that these innocent men and women not be forgotten. Negotiations for their safe release have been underway for some time. President Joe Biden succeeded in bringing home 16 innocent people on August 1st of last year, and you have added two others to that list. But you should be trying to do even more. Whatever else you do, this should be high on your list of priorities. The people you promised to represent are counting on you.”
Well, that should come as no surprise to anyone . . . anyone other than Donald Trump, Elon Musk, JD Vance, and Tulsi Gabbard, that is.
I have to wonder: is there a single functioning brain among the four of them? Did no one think that, gee, maybe a disaffected employee — suddenly with no job, a family to support, a mortgage or rent payment coming due, and little or no savings — might be, oh, say, desperate enough to be vulnerable to an offer they might otherwise never have considered?
Did any one of the four even imagine that there might now be thousands of people fitting that description searching for jobs online? Or that there could be — oh, I don’t know — possibly some intelligence officers in other countries, like maybe Russia or China, able and all too willing to help out those people with offers of ready-made jobs? Jobs that probably pay way better than the ones from which they were just terminated?
Anyone? Like, say, Director of National Intelligence and Genius-of-the-Year Tulsi Gabbard, who — when cautioned by career CIA officers that there might be risk involved — had this to say to . . . who else? . . . Fox News:
“I am curious about how they [the CIA officers who issued the warning] think this is a good tactic to keep their job. They’re exposing themselves essentially by making this indirect threat using their propaganda arm through CNN that they’ve used over and over and over again to reveal their hand, that their loyalty is not at all to America. It is not to the American people or the Constitution. It is to themselves. And these are exactly the kind of people that we need to root out, get rid of so that the patriots who do work in this area, who are committed to our core mission can actually focus on that.” [Natasha Bertrand, Katie Bo Lillis and Zachary Cohen, CNN, March 1, 2025.]
Tulsi Gabbard
In other words, she thinks they’ve invented a threatening scenario in order to justify their own jobs.
How, in the name of all that is holy, was that woman ever judged to be qualified as national intelligence director? Who in their right mind takes a risk assessment from career intelligence officers and not only ignores it, but twists it into a threat against the country?
Tulsi Gabbard . . . that’s who.
Has she never heard of Aldrich Ames, Robert Hanssen, John Walker, or any of the others who sold out to our enemies for cold, hard cash? And they hadn’t lost their jobs when they found the temptation too hard to resist.
*. *. *
Those ex-employees who have been recently fired were not all lower-GS-level clerks and maintenance workers; many were people with security clearances and access to valuable information about U.S. critical infrastructure and government bureaucracy.
And the threat assessments have come, not only from the CIA, but also the Naval Criminal Investigative Service (NCIS), which has stated with “high confidence” that foreign adversaries are trying to “capitalize” on the mass layoffs by recruiting federal employees, and that foreign intelligence officers are searching for potential recruits on LinkedIn, TikTok, RedNote and Reddit. [Id.]
One CNN source said: “It doesn’t take a lot of imagination to see that these cast aside federal workers with a wealth of institutional knowledge represent staggeringly attractive targets to the intelligence services of our competitors and adversaries.” [Id.]
Apparently, it takes more imagination than that possessed by the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse in Washington.
*. *. *
What we have here is a massive dung heap of screw-up piled on top of screw-up on top of screw-up that has, in just over a month, placed this country in peril of being so deeply mired in incompetence, inefficiency, and outright corruption that we may never recover.
Remember Murphy’s Law? That was an adage — much repeated in the 1950s and ‘60s, as I recall — that said that, in all probability, anything that can go wrong . . . will.
Well, guess what. It just did. Again.
The Body Language Says It All
The whole world was privy to yesterday’s boxing match at the White House between Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky on one side of the ring, and the double-team of Donald Trump and JD Vance on the other. (I cannot bring myself to address the last two by their assigned titles because I just don’t believe they deserve them . . . but let’s not go there right now.)
To say that it was a complete debacle is a gross understatement. I had read various reports of the meeting, but did not want to rely on the viewpoint of any particular news source. So I watched the video, which I urge everyone to do in order to form your own opinion as to who disrespected whom. And if this were a high school debate, and I were the moderator . . .
*. *. *
First, let me say that I have been trying to wean myself from further discussions of U.S. politics. But this White House meeting involved more than just Trump’s decimation of the U.S. government; it was truly a matter of the greatest international significance.
Am I somewhat prejudiced in favor of Ukraine . . . a sovereign nation that has been invaded by the Russian tyrant Vladimir Putin in an undisguised effort to reclaim former Soviet territories? Absolutely.
Am I naturally inclined to distrust an American autocrat who lies, cheats, and openly sides with Putin? You’re damned right, I am.
But in watching yesterday’s White House melee, I tried to see it from a more personal vantage point, rather than purely political. So you’re not supposed to raise your voice to the American president in his home . . . or so they say. And I say, why not, when you too are president of your country? Would Trump hesitate to argue with Zelensky if they were in Kyiv? Of course, he wouldn’t. He’s a bully, no matter where he is.
And what ever happened to mutual respect? Both Trump and Vance treated Zelensky as though he were a pauper begging in the street for alms. They talked down to him, they berated him, they ridiculed him, they accused him of being “unappreciative” . . . and they gave no consideration to the fact that this man has fought valiantly for three years to defend his country against a hostile takeover (a term that should be more than familiar to a rapacious businessman like Trump).
Was Zelensky emotional? How could he not be? He is physically and mentally exhausted. He is battling for the lives of his people. And he is, in effect, now being told that he has no right to speak up, to negotiate the terms of a peace treaty that will determine the future of his own nation, and that he himself is responsible for the devastation of his country because he will not unconditionally surrender.
I tried to put myself in Volodymyr Zelensky’s place at that meeting, and — knowing myself and the limits of my patience — I concluded that I probably would have thrown the nearest water glass at Trump and stormed out on my own, uttering a few obscenities along the way.
But I’m not a diplomat. Instead, Zelensky — swallowing his pride — is seeking a way to repair the damage because he knows it is in the best interests of his country to do so. And in that, as in all things, I wish him Godspeed.
*. *. *
As for the Killer in the Kremlin . . . well, I can only imagine his reaction to this latest gift from his friend in Washington.
And it was as though that writer from 400 years ago was talking about me. Because that’s exactly what yesterday — and a lot of other days — turned out to be like. It was just one more of those days in a week of “spuddling.”
You know how, when you get up in the morning (or, in my case, around noon-ish), having made a to-do list before turning in last night, you think you’re raring to go. You’ve got the whole day to yourself. You’re going to toss a load of laundry into the washing machine, clean out the fridge, and — time permitting — get those boxes of clothes you haven’t worn for the past two years over to Goodwill. So you head for the bathroom, do whatever it is you do first thing in the a.m., and go to the kitchen for a bit of breakfast.
While you’re eating, you have time to check the 122 email messages that have popped up overnight, deleting all the ones from companies you once bought something from eight years ago who want you back as a customer; the pleas for political contributions that may or may not be from the actual candidates; the reminder from your dentist that you’re six months past due for a cleaning; the offers that start out “Congratulations, you have been chosen …”; Amazon telling you they’ve found something you absolutely, positively must have or you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life; and the extra special ones about medical conditions you probably don’t have, like irritable bowel syndrome, psoriasis, or — my personal favorite — erectile dysfunction. (I’m female . . . okay?)
So, what’s first? Oh, yeah . . . the laundry. But wait a second. What was that news flash about Ukraine, or China, or the White House? Maybe you should take a few minutes to catch up on the day’s news.
Finally, you make it to the laundry room and get the washer going, when you hear the dog whining and you see her standing by the door with her hind legs crossed. So out you go for a little fresh air while the princess sniffs out the only spot in the entire county that is worthy of receiving her poop. Ten minutes ago she couldn’t hold it for another second, but now she has time to check every tree and bush and grassy spot between here and Guam.
And by the time you get back home, you’re hungry again, so you pop into the kitchen to make a sandwich . . . which, of course, you eat while again checking and deleting the 47 new emails that arrived while you were out on poop patrol. As you’re putting the rest of the lunch meat back into the fridge, you remember that you were supposed to be cleaning it out today, but you can’t do it right now because you just have to write something for your blog about that news item you spotted.
However, on your way back to your desk, you realize you’ve snagged a fingernail on something, so you detour to the bathroom to fetch your nail file, and decide you may as well go for the full manicure while you’re at it since your nails have gotten too long to type anyway. That’s kind of annoying, so you turn on the TV to take your mind off the boredom of clipping and filing your nails, and you get involved in this movie you know you’ve seen before but can’t remember how it ends.
Two hours later, as you’re watching the credits roll to try and catch the name of that one actor who looked so familiar, it’s time to fix dinner. What . . . already?!! The fridge hasn’t been cleaned out, the article for your blog isn’t written, the boxes of clothes are still in the corner, the dog is whining again . . . and you realize that you’ve spent the past six hours doing this . . .
. . . and accomplishing next to nothing. So you vow at least to get the blog taken care of after dinner tonight, and tend to the fridge tomorrow. What you need — after cleaning up the dinner dishes and posting a few well-turned paragraphs for your very small handful of readers — is a nice hot shower and a good night’s sleep.
And as you lie back in bed and pull the blankets up to your chin, your eyelids begin to feel heavy, and you’re thinking happy thoughts about all you’re going to accomplish tomorrow, and . . .
OH, SHIT!!! . . . the laundry! It’s still in the washing machine!
But what the hell . . . it will still be there tomorrow. I can give it another rinse before putting it into the dryer . . . right after I clean out the fridge.
*. *. *
Let’s face it: some days are just like that. We all have them. There’s no use agonizing over it; better to go with the flow.
In the words of the immortal Scarlett O’Hara: Tomorrow is another day.
