Vote

V O T E

July 6, 2020

 

Powered by the people…the young people.

July 1, 2020

Y

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! ! !

#November2020

Wisconsin – April 7, 2020

April 8, 2020

These folks are waiting in line to vote during a pandemic; they’re still about 1/3 of a mile away from their polling location.

#SCOTUS

#GOPWisconsin

N E V E R   F O R G E T.

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NOVEMBER 3, 2020

 

“Vote like you’ve never voted before.”

March 1, 2020

Rep. John Lewis in Selma, Alabama for the 55th anniversary of Bloody Sunday.

“We cannot give up now, we cannot give in,” Lewis told the cheering crowd. “We must keep the faith. Keep the eyes on the prize. We must go out and vote like we never, ever voted before.”

The annual commemoration of Bloody Sunday has always had a dual focus: honoring Lewis and the others who marched for voting rights on March 7, 1965, and highlighting issues that continue to face African Americans in present day.”

-The Atlanta Journal-Constitution


 

 

?

January 19, 2020

 

Tuesday, November 3, 2020

January 8, 2020

299 days.

 

January 7, 2020

December 15, 2019

#2020

 

I miss Elijah.

November 1, 2019

 

”My mission is one that comes out of a vision that was created long, one ago. It is a mission and a vision to empower people—to make people realized that the power is within them and that they too can do the things they want to do.”

The ten newly elected U.S. Representative said he couldn’t wait to join everyone on his new journey and shared a poem [1996] that he said defines who he is.

He’d recite it to himself 20 times a day sometimes.

”I only have a minute, 60 seconds in it, forced upon me I did not choose, but I know that I must use it, give account if I abuse it, suffer if I lose it. Only a tiny little minute but an eternity is in it.”

Rep. Elijah Eugene Cummings

January 18, 1951 – October 17, 2019

 

#NationalVoterRegistrationDay

September 24, 2019

Make sure you’re registered to vote. Then, ask 5 friends to register. It’s the most important thing we can for our country.

https://www.vote.org

https://supermajority.com

We must.

June 13, 2019

November 6, 2018

We must. Democracy, we’ve learned, is fragile. Together we rise to protect it.

#VOTE

#2018

Paulette Jordan #NOV6

November 3, 2018

Dayle Ohlau:

Idahoans keep electing the same party and politics and expect different results. There’s a term for that…not important. Here’s what is: ‘D+’ and holding. In 2018, again, Idaho remains 48th in education. Only three school districts were considered ‘best’, ours (Blaine County), Boise Independent, and McCall-Donnelly. We’re tied with North Carolina for a minimum wage of $7.25 (women earn less). Idaho teacher salaries rank the lowest…lowest…in the nation. Idaho has one of country’s highest suicide rates, receiving a solid ‘F’for mental health care. For six years Otter/Little turned their GOP backs on Medicaid expansion that would have insured more than 62,000 working Idahoans. Days before the election? Sure, they say, let’s do it. Knowing it’s the biggest divide between Little and Paulette Jordan we could probably agree it was a political move. But, will they, though? When PROP 2 passes, and if Little is elected, any bets on him saying, “Don’t have the money—let’s try this.”Without any check/balance in leadership, we’ll continue on the same destructive path. We have a chance this year, Idaho, for new leadership. The Idaho Mountain Express may have dangerously encouraged voting party for governor, not endorsing Little or Jordan, yet on her policy platform for our public lands alone should have been more than enough to endorse her for governor. (You know, IME, Obama was a community organizer…not a lot of experience…he did ok.) If we want more of the same for Idaho, vote the same. If we want something better for Idaho, for our kids and their kids, schools, health care, mental health, our public lands, teacher salaries, then let’s just go crazy and put one in the column for Paulette Jordan. What do we have to lose? Seriously, we’re at rock bottom. We can do so much better. Together, beyond party politics, we can do the right thing. “The future of Idaho belongs to all of us.”–Paulette Jordan

#NOV6

#VOTE

Jane Adams co-founded with Ellen Gates Starr an early settlement house in the United States, Chicago’s Hull House that would later become known as one of the most famous settlement houses in America . In an era when presidents such as Theodore Roosevelt and Woodrow Wilson identified themselves as reformers and social activists, Addams was one of the most prominent reformers of the Progressive Era. She helped America address and focus on issues that were of concern to mothers, such as the needs of children, local public health, and world peace. In her essay “Utilization of Women in City Government,” Jane Addams noted the connection between the workings of government and the household, stating that many departments of government, such as sanitation and the schooling of children, could be traced back to traditional women’s roles in the private sphere. Thus, these were matters of which women would have more knowledge than men, so women needed the vote to best voice their opinions. She said that if women were to be responsible for cleaning up their communities and making them better places to live, they needed to be able to vote to do so effectively. Addams became a role model for middle-class women who volunteered to uplift their communities. She is increasingly being recognized as a member of the American pragmatist school of philosophy, and is known by many as the first woman “public philosopher in the history of the United States”. In 1889 she co-founded Hull House, and in 1920 she was a co-founder for the ACLU.

#Nov6

October 14, 2018

#Nov16

October 9, 2018

11.6.18

September 11, 2018

To young people:

“You need to vote, because our democracy depends on it.”

-President Barack Obama

“VOTE. It’s the only thing left.”

August 7, 2018

All that’s left is the vote.

George Packer.

DT’s consolidation of power. None of the other forces that might have checked the rise of a corrupt homegrown oligarchy can stop or even slow it. The institutional clout that ended the Presidency of Richard Nixon no longer exists. The honest press, for all its success in exposing daily scandals, won’t persuade the unpersuadable or shame the shameless, while the dishonest press is Trump’s personal amplifier. The federal courts, including the Supreme Court, are rapidly becoming instruments of partisan advocacy, as reliably conservative as elected legislatures. It’s impossible to imagine the Roberts Court voting unanimously against the President, as the Burger Court, including five Republican appointees, did in forcing Nixon to turn over his tapes. (Brett Kavanaugh, Trump’s nominee to succeed Anthony Kennedy, has even suggested that the decision was wrong.) Congress has readily submitted to the President’s will, as if legislation and oversight were burdens to be relinquished. And, when the independent counsel finally releases his report, it will have only the potency that the guardians of the law and the Constitution give it.

Behind these institutions lies public opinion, and we are quickly learning that it matters more than laws, more than the Constitution, more than the country’s supposedly inviolable founding principles. “If large numbers of people are interested in freedom of speech, there will be freedom of speech, even if the law forbids it,” George Orwell wrote, in “Freedom of the Park.”  “If public opinion is sluggish, inconvenient minorities will be persecuted, even if laws exist to protect them.” During 1973, the year Watergate became a national scandal, facts changed the political views of millions of Americans, Nixon’s approval rating fell from sixty-seven per cent to less than thirty per cent, and his fate was sealed. In our time, large blocs of public opinion are barely movable: Trump’s performance in Helsinki—declaring himself on the side of Russia, against his own intelligence agencies and the integrity of American elections—received favorable reviews from eighty per cent of Republicans. Yet public opinion still plays a central role in safeguarding democracy, and it becomes decisive through voting. Demonstrations can capture attention and build solidarity, books can provide arguments, social media can organize resistance. But if the Republicans don’t suffer a serious defeat in November, Trump will go into 2020 with every structural advantage.

Democrats have a habit of forgetting to vote between Presidential elections. Republican turnout has exceeded or equalled Democratic turnout in very midterm since 1978, no matter which party held the Presidency, with an average margin of three per cent—more than enough to decide control of Congress in a closely divided election. The demographic groups that are least likely to vote—young people, Latinos, and those with a high-school education or less—tend to be Democratic constituencies. This tendency has been especially stark in the past two midterm cycles: in 2014, the turnout among eligible voters aged eighteen to twenty-nine was seventeen per cent—one in six. The disappearing Democratic voter also had an effect on the latest Presidential election, when, for example, African-American turnout dropped almost five per cent from 2012—a crucial difference in the three key states that gave Trump the Electoral College.

Republicans, for their part, don’t always entrust their hold on power to democratic methods. Since 2010, nearly half of the states have passed laws that make it harder to vote—from restrictions on early voting to I.D. requirements, mandatory proof of citizenship, and purges of voting rolls. The purpose of these laws is not to fight a mythical epidemic of fraud but to depress turnout of normally Democratic constituencies. They show incremental signs of success: a government study found that new laws reduced turnout in 2012 in Kansas and Tennessee by two or three per cent, notably among young and black voters. Other states have expanded the franchise, particularly to former felons, but Republican control of two-thirds of state legislatures and the shift of courts to the right give the momentum to efforts to curtail voting.

Gerrymandering is another effective tool for staying in power. The Brennan Center for Justice recently released a report on the effects of redistricting in states like Michigan, North Carolina, Ohio, and Texas. Algorithmic mapping has grown so precise that Republican legislatures have created a sixteen-seat advantage in the House of Representatives that remains impervious to standard electoral pressures. In November, just to achieve a bare majority, Democrats will have to win the national congressional vote by nearly eleven per cent. (Other studies put the number at around seven per cent.) And legislatures elected this year will redraw state and federal districts after the 2020 census. There’s a thick seawall standing in the way of a blue wave.

But it’s self-defeating to exaggerate the external obstacles: in 2016, Democratic turnout declined in states with and without new voter restrictions. Gerrymandering is a time-honored practice of both parties—look at Maryland’s House delegation. Unfettered money in politics doesn’t always favor Republicans, let alone guarantee victory—Hillary Clinton raised twice as much as Trump did. The greatest obstacle to voting is the feeling that it won’t matter, and that feeling seems to be more prevalent among Democrats.

In some cases, that sense may be based on overconfidence and insularity—a presumption that the other party’s outrages will automatically disqualify it in voters’ eyes. More often, it comes from a belief that politics doesn’t change anything in people’s lives. For two generations, the Republican Party has been an expression of grassroots conservatism, most recently the fever that’s ceded the Party to Trump. Meanwhile, the Democratic Party has grown less connected to its voters. It’s like a neglected building, perennially on the edge of collapse, which left-leaning Americans occasionally use for some purpose and then abandon.

This year, something seems to be changing. The new faces among Democratic candidates, the new energy behind them, suggest a party of members, not squatters. But, come November, they will have to vote. It’s the only thing left. ♦

The disturbing world of Jim Carrey’s anti-trump cartoons.

(Holed up in his L.A. home, the actor sketches furiously, and watches lots of cable news.)

George Bethea

House Republicans have called for the impeachment of Rod Rosenstein, the Deputy Attorney General, who is overseeing the Russia investigation, but his defenders are speaking out. Jeff Sessions, the Attorney General, has called Rosenstein “highly capable,” while Sally Yates, the former acting Attorney General, said that the impeachment effort would “undoubtedly fail.” Perhaps the most impassioned testimonial came from the actor Jim Carrey, who drew a picture of Rosenstein as a saint with a halo, invoking early Christian art. Carrey tweeted a photo of the drawing to his nearly eighteen million followers, with an earnest plea: “I hope there are other Republicans like you who will defend us against this thuggish lot.”

Since 2016, Carrey has created more than a hundred cartoons protesting the Trump Administration, a pastime that borders on the obsessive. “I fight him to the end,” he said recently, citing the Bhagavad Gita. “It’s my Arjuna moment—my responsibility to pick up the sword.”

Carrey was at his home in Los Angeles, a one-story ranch-style house where he lives alone. (On this day, two employees and a publicist were on hand.) Now fifty-six, he wore a black T-shirt and cargo shorts. His hair was shaggy. He’s still acting—he’d spent the previous afternoon on the set of an upcoming Showtime series he’s starring in, “kidding”, directed by Michel Gondry—but, like everyone else these days, he watches a lot of cable news.

He sat down near a large television in his living room. “Right now, everybody is laser-focussed on every detail of this Administration,” he said. “And I am, too. I read news online, but mostly I watch MSNBC. They’re flawed, but Rachel Maddow is really good.” He sketches while he watches: wonky portraits, satirical headlines, grotesqueries. “It makes me feel better if I can alchemize all of this,” he said. “Turn it into something creative and make people on the Twitter feel good.”

Besides cartoons, Carrey also makes abstract paintings. The walls of his house are covered in his own work: Technicolor images streaked onto mirrored surfaces, or canvases that have been slashed and stitched. Some are signed “Church of FFC.” (The acronym stands for “Freedom from Concern.”) Though he was an artistic child, he didn’t start painting seriously until seven years ago, he explained, “in the midst of heartbreak.” The cartooning started the day before the 2016 Presidential election. “It was in the middle of the killer-clown phenomenon,” he recalled. He shouted to his art manager, in the next room. “Linda, can you find that killer-clown sketch?”

Linda replied, “The killer clown pressing the button, or the—”

“Pressing the button, yeah,” Carrey said, slightly impatient.

She brought over a drawing of Trump as a clown with a blue nose and fangs.

Politically, Carrey described himself as a “conservative Democrat, because I don’t like boundaries.” As a cartoonist, his humor tends toward the obscene. He flipped through a stack of sketches, and found a picture of Trump with a Russian flag planted in his rear end. “I did that one before the Helsinki meeting,”  he said. “It was a prediction.” There were drawings of all the minor players: Sean Hannity as a manatee, Trey Gowdy as an insect, Adam Schiff as a Ken doll dropping his pants. (Carrey found the ranking member of the House Intelligence Committee to be insufficiently animated on TV. “Show some passion!” he wrote in the caption. “We’ve had it with your calm, reasonable manner! make some f’ing noise!!!”) His position affords some flexibility. “I don’t work for a publication, so I’m allowed to do crude things, which I enjoy,” he said. “Twitter doesn’t mind.” Lingering on two Munch-esque portraits of Rudolph Giuliani, mid-scream, Carrey said, “I love these Giuliani images.” He pointed to his subject’s bridgework: white on top, brown below. “These people don’t bother to dye the bottom teeth.”

Carrey said that, as an actor, he’d most like to play Paul Manafort. “When I see Manafort walking into the courtroom, I’m, like, ‘Does anybody else notice that he’s, like, a frigging alien in a skin suit?’ Hasn’t studied his subject.” He stood up and did an impression, legs and arms akimbo. “He’s an interesting character, because he hasn’t visited his actual being in a long time. He’s been consumed by a maelstrom of future chaos.”

Carrey called out to another employee. “Brogan,” he said. “Can you bring up Roy Moore? You know, the little one? It’s in there.”

Like many people in show business, Carrey has crossed paths with Trump. He recalled meeting him at a New York fund-raiser. “He said, ‘Hey, Jim.’ I said, ‘Hey, Donald.’ Later, I rented his ice rink for a Valentine’s Day skate. He was a fine guy when he was a reality-show host.” He returned to his sketch pad. A more subtle idea had occurred to him. “I started drawing a cartoon this morning that’s just an empty desk and chair on the floor of the Senate,” he said. “I don’t know what the caption will be yet.” ♦

Ron Howard

July 25, 2018

“Keep encouraging friends and co-workers to register and vote. We need to remind the world, the politicians and ourselves that this democracy is supported by its citizens. Big turnout please. Both parties! Massive Turnout”

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