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Tuesday, May 30, 2023

Gay in Uganda

 

 

People in Uganda who have HIV/AIDS know they have it. The great majority are in treatment and are “virally suppressed.” That’s the good news.

 

The bad news. The Ugandan gummint has another cure. “Ban Homosexuality Or Die!” No, really. To quote Nancy Reagan, “Just Say No.” To your sexuality. Just tell your longings to go away and man up, gay people. “Oh, shit,” say gay Ugandans.

 

Fast forward to today. The Ugandan government is strongly, angrily, opposed to homosexuality. So strongly opposed, if fact, that they have made it illegal!

 

On the lighter end of sentencing for being gay, “Attempting to have same-sex relations,” will get you fourteen years in prison. Attempting? How does that work? In a Ugandan prison? Think about that for a moment. Actually doing the deed will get you life. In a Ugandan prison. For having consensual sex. Life.

 

“Aggravated homosexuality,” defined as when one partner has HIV or involving children “or other vulnerable people,” (skirt down, grandma!) will get you the death penalty. So, if you have HIV, “No sex for you or we’ll kill you both!”

 

Uganda isn’t entirely heartless. The new bill also makes identifying as LGBTQ+ NOT A CRIME! “Free to be me” is the law, as long as you stay in the president’s lane and don’t touch.

 

Frank Mugisha says that instead of targeting LGBTQ people, the gummint “should be focusing on tackling some of the greater social problems of the country.” He also said, “They should target individuals who are engaged in direct human rights violations and undermining democracy, but also corruption and abuse of other human rights as well.” 

 

Frank won’t be heard, sadly. You know Frank, right? He was head of the group Sexual Minorities Uganda. You probably guessed it already. The gummint banned it.

 

I seldom write about gay rights or related controversies, mostly because I don’t understand them and I don’t care that much. I’m in the camp of “You be you and I’ll be me and let’s both go in peace.” You’re gay? Fine with me. You’re straight? That’s fine, too. Go Ducks!

 

But there is no nuance in imprisoning or killing people for having gay sex. No wiggle room. (No pun intended.) No space in the Ugandan universe for that.

 

Biden is reviewing US plans for providing HIV relief to Uganda. Yeah, sure, (thank you for that phrase, my Norwegian Grandma). Cutting back on AIDS relief will help solve the problem by speeding up the deaths of sick Ugandans. That’s his idea. What’s yours?

 

Monday, May 29, 2023

Edited from 2014


The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner


There is a war poem that was once known by most interested and informed Americans.  It's called "The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner."  It was written by Randall Jarrell and published in 1945.  We don't know it today because, I think, it is too real, too graphic, too ugly.  It makes us too uncomfortable.  It makes us pray that our lost loved ones didn't depart like that.  But many did.  It's what war does.

I'd like to know what you think it means or if you think it has any meaning at all.  I think its point was to tell Americans that our military was not dying dignified, quick, clean, comic-book shot-through-the-brisket deaths.  That's a lie told so that we can sleep.

No, they were (and are and always have been) dying deaths of unspeakable horror and terror and pain.  So if we support a war it asks us to at least consider what it is that we support.  Men and women are dying because we asked them to and we knew they would die.  It doesn't seem too much of a burden to ask us to read about or watch what we asked for.  It's little enough.

The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner
By Randall Jarrell

From my mother's sleep I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.



"Do not go gentle into that good night...
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
     -- Dylan Thomas

The day is coming to a close here.  Did I dare enjoy it?  Yes I did, but I also remembered the ball turret gunner, the tanker, the pilot, and the grunt, and those whose pieces we couldn't find.

Happy Memorial Day

 Edited from Memorial Day, 2014

Happy Memorial Day

It's time to mourn them again, we who confine our mourning to government-sanctioned holidays. Today we mourn those who died at the hands of our enemies while defending our freedom, our rights, our traditions, our nation. Your right, in point of fact, to ignore their sacrifices and pursue the pleasures they paid for. But you won't do that, will you? Please?

I have written about this day before. Their sacrifices haunt me. All that I am and all that I have was paid for by men and women whom I never knew. 
Don't be afraid to laugh today, to enjoy, to love, to rest. The day is meant for that, too. That's why we fly our flags at half mast only until noon in their honor and at full mast thereafter to honor America. Oh, you didn't know that?

But remember them today, those who will never again visit us, never go on another picnic with us, never again kiss us. Once they were like us, and they wanted to.

In the last line of the movie The Bridges at Toko-Ri, RADM Tarrant (Fredric March) says, after a successful bombing raid that suffered heavy losses and while launching the next raid, "Where do we get such men?" Where, indeed?

Thank you. I remember. Every day.
____________________
If our soldiers are not overburdened with
money, it is not because they have a distaste
for riches; if their lives are not unduly long, it is
not because they are disinclined to longevity.
Sun Tzu

Saturday, May 20, 2023

Whistleblower Retaliation – My Experience

 

 

I was an IRS tax collector and manager and I was good at it.

 

One day I overheard two other managers discussing a novel idea to increase collection statistics. Problem was, it was illegal to do what they were doing. It was in another IRS district, I thought, but it was troubling nevertheless. I was in the Pacific Northwest Region of the IRS at the time. 

 

My highest direct manager was the Chief of Collection. I wrote a memo to him detailing what I saw as a serious problem and why it was illegal. I thought, it doesn’t behoove the IRS to break the law while enforcing other laws. 

 

It seemed simple. I would tell him in detail what I discovered and why it was illegal, then I’d let the system do its job. Of course, I thought, we’d fix the problem. That was the right thing to do and we tried to do the right thing, didn’t we? After all, we were the government and we were expected to act in citizens’ best interests.

 

I sent the memo up through my branch chief, thinking I had done my good deed for the day. I thought he would be pleased. I was so naïve.

 

A few days later the memo came back with a big NO on its face. Weird, huh? Didn’t anyone care that we were breaking the law and abusing innocent taxpayers? It seemed like no one did.

 

I re-wrote the memo a week later and sent it back up though my boss. I stressed how harmful it would be to the IRS if this ever came out or if the press got ahold of it. I said it was urgent to take steps to stop what we were doing. It seemed obvious to me that we needed to get ahead of the story and stop what we were doing. It was bound to get out, I thought.

 

A week passed. My branch chief visited me in Olympia. He angrily handed me my second memo and told me never to raise the issue again. It finally dawned on me. My senior management was in on the game. They benefitted from the illegally inflated collection numbers and they didn’t want to change a thing.

 

Another week passed. I decided to write a similar memo to our local Congressional representative. She hated the IRS and I knew it would get her attention. At the time, Congress was holding oversight hearings about IRS abuses. This would give her something to say. I expected to be called to testify.

 

My boss made another unexpected visit. I was busy at my keyboard. He asked what I was doing. I said, “I’m writing another memo about that illegal collection scheme.”

 

He was very angry, shouting at me, “I told you not to bring that up again!”

 

I said, “This isn’t for internal consumption.”

 

He asked, “Then who is it for?”

 

“I’m writing it for our local Congresswoman.”

 

He was so angry that he turned purple. He yanked the papers out of my hand and said, “I order you to stay in this building until I get back to you.”

 

Well, OK, I had plenty of other work to do. I could hear him shouting over the phone in another room. He came back to my office. “We want to make a deal,” he said.

 

A deal? The IRS doesn’t make deals with its employees. I was suspicious. He continued, “If we take this to the Office of Chief Counsel, in DC, will you be satisfied with their answer?”

 

That was our highest level of legal expertise. I thought, why not? If I was wrong, I’d have to eat my words but I was sure I was right. I said, “When?”

 

He said, “In two days.”

 

I said, “OK, I can live with that if you can.”

 

Sure enough, two days later a representative from the office of the Assistant Commissioner for Collection sat down with a National Office attorney. He explained the problem and she read my latest memo. She said, “You’re not really doing this, are you?”

 

“Well, yes, we are.”

 

She said, “I order you to stop this immediately. Today. Then give me a list of whom you have subjected to this, how much is involved in each case and what you plan to do to refund their money. I’ll expect your first report by the end of the day.”

 

That’s the story but not the retaliation. National Office was pleased. I was given the highest awards in the IRS and in the Treasury Department. I was an IRS celebrity for a moment.

 

Then came my annual rating report. I was good at my job and, naively, I expected a good rating. That wasn’t the case. I got a poor one. It was grossly unfair. I filed an “Institutional Grievance” in protest. It was upheld, my rating was changed and I went back to me job. Retaliation #1.

 

I was invited to teach an advanced slot at an IRS CPE. I was also an attendee at the conference. A man gave a presentation about a new program he was involved in. I was well versed in that particular area of tax law. At the end he asked for questions. I stood up and said, “I’ve worked with you in that area. Nothing you’ve said here is true. Let me explain.”

 

I was right but because of what I said, my division chief gave me a three-day suspension “for creating a hazardous work environment.” I grieved that, too, and it was reduced to “a verbal warning in writing.” Yes, there was such a thing. Retaliation #2.

 

I transferred to the Eugene, Oregon, IRS office. A new branch chief came in. She called me to say that she didn't like what I was doing and she was going to eliminate my job and send me back to the field. I said, "Do you realize I'm collecting $20 million a year?"

 

"That doesn't matter. You belong in the field working cases and that's where I'm going to put you. That's final."

 

So, she did. One week later she "re-created" the position and assigned one of her friends to it, someone who, of course, knew nothing about estate tax collection. I really hate careerists. Retaliation #3.

 

There is a current scandal about FBI retaliation against whistleblowers. I believe the accusations. I experienced the same bitter pettiness in the IRS from insecure, little people. It’s time to create a government work environment where employees are free to follow their consciences. To the extent there are codes of conduct for managers, they are flawed. Fix them.

 

“If you know better, you do better. If you do better, you get better.” – Philip Bridler

 

 

 

Tuesday, May 2, 2023

Thirty-Five Years of Sobriety

 

Today is my AA birthday, thirty-five years of continuous sobriety. I knew it was coming but I forgot about it until a friend called and wished me a happy birthday.

 

I was powerless over alcohol. My life had become unmanageable. Another friend led me into an AA meeting because, standing in the parking lot, I didn’t know where I was or why I was there. I had been not drinking only since I stopped last night. He told me where to sit. I was surprised at the laughter. 


A young girl walked over to me and said, “You look like shit. But keep coming back, it gets better.” Me? I looked like shit? I didn’t know.

 

I went to a meeting the next morning and, for the first time, I said, “My name is Chuck and I’m an alcoholic.” I dared to hope.