Wednesday, August 21, 2019

Page 154 of the paperback edition of The Defenseless

  Sample from my novel The Defenseless - Washington DC and a classroom in Colorado during the protests against US president Richard Nixon

  Chapter seven

  The May sun cast its light and heat at the huge gathering. Major banners swayed in the wind. The slogans written on the banners were steadily repeated by the masses:
  – AMERICA OUT OF VIETNAM. WE AMERICANS ARE FED UP WITH OUR SONS SACRIFICING THEIR LIVES FOR A DICTATORSHIP.
  And then:
  – PRESIDENT NIXON IS CORRUPT, PAID FOR AND BOUGHT BY THE MILITARY/INDUSTRIAL COMPLEX. GET RID OF THE PRESIDENT AND WE GET RID OF THE WAR. KICK NIXON OUT OF THE WHITE HOUSE.
  Several men and women stood on a platform in the midst of the seething humanity and screamed through megaphones. In the background one could glimpse the White House, surrounded by policemen and units from the army. A small, brown-haired young woman screamed:
  – Behold the Commander in Chief in his house of cards, protected by his soldiers. He doesn’t dare come to us, to descend from his throne. What a poor, pathetic coward.
  – COWARD, COWARD, COWARD.
  The TV-cameras were instantly directed at the Oval Office in the White House. Behind the impossible to break glass the familiar, wrinkled face of Richard Nixon appeared.
  In a classroom, on a TV-screen, half the country away they could all see every furrow in that face.
  – Damn, Linsey Kendall said very pleased. – That girl certainly gave him a nice slap in the face. Too bad we’re not there with her, with them, don’t you agree?
  Ted Cousin grunted something unintelligible, but another boy, who couldn’t avoid hearing what Linsey said virtually jumped from his chair, his face red in anger.
  – So, you would have wanted to be there, huh? He asked furiously. – So, you’re siding with those freaks?
  – They’re not freaks, Linsey protested. – They’re…
  – Linsey, Paul, the teacher interrupted them sharply. – We’ll discuss this broadly and thoroughly afterwards. I think most of

Tuesday, August 13, 2019

Time for a new Artists against Apartheid

  I remember it well. Margaret Thatcher, Ronald Reagan and all the world’s reactionary forces were furious and the very air sizzled and burned before, during and after the event.
  Thirty-one years ago, at Wembley in London the world’s foremost rock musicians performed at a concert in honor of Nelson Mandela and his 70th birthday called Artists against Apartheid. Mandela was still imprisoned at the time. He was released less than two years later, and the South African apartheid-regime disappeared from the government in 1994.
  A similar concert directed at the Israeli apartheid regime is overdue. If many musicians and performers told the Zionist government of Israel to fuck off, many others would dare to do so as well. There might even be a watershed moment where Israel could no longer dictate international politics, and the Palestinians’ freedom and return from exile would be that much closer.
  BDS is important, and has worked well, but it is time to take the fight against the beyond cruel and brutal Zionist regime one step further. Zionist hasbara (propaganda) must be challenged head on.

  A bit of paraphrasing here:
  «Israel is the only country in the world that has apartheid enshrined in its constitution. There is a message from all of us, all of you, from the sons and daughters of Palestine to the Israeli government and establishment that it is time for a change».

  Palestine has many victims and freedom fighters similar to Steven Biko and Nelson Mandela, men, women and children that have been kidnapped, imprisoned, tortured, maimed and killed by the Israeli colonization and occupation regime.

«You can blow out a candle
but you can’t blow out a fire
once the flame begins to catch
the wind will blow it high»
Biko - Peter Gabriel


Thursday, August 08, 2019

page 88 - The Defenseless

  Sample from my novel The Defenseless - Chicago during the protests in August 1968



completely, not even close to completely.
  – We’ve done nothing wrong, Bobby Seale cried. – Nothing but exercising the constitutional right and duty to protest we are given at birth as citizens of a supposedly free country. We have been attacked verbally for months now, through media and from fat politicians seeing their «hard won» positions threatened. And now the oppressors and their eager servants have come full circle, by attempting to break every bone in our body, in last ditch attempts to finally break our spirit. People of all colors, all «creeds» are rising up against injustice, against oppression, all over the world. We are not alone, people. Our brothers and sisters are with us… In short… pick up a gun, pull the spike from the wall, because if you pull it out and you shoot well, all I’m gonna do is pat you on the back and say: Keep on Shooting.
  The Black Panther Chairman held up a fist, and a lot of the people present, black, white, yellow or red did the same.
  – Let’s pay a visit to the fine building over there. David Dellinger bent over the microphone and raised his voice. – Where the decision-makers, the insane makers are having a fit, sweating their heart out. It’s about time.
  Well over a thousand people divided from the main body and followed up on Dellinger’s calling, and joined him on the east sidewalk on Columbus Drive on his way to the hotel. The crowd filled the sidewalk. Not long afterwards the police stopped the march. A man several policemen would later swear was Abbie Hoffman, (in spite of him being in custody at the time) instructed the crowd to disperse into units of five and ten people and then do their utmost to penetrate any shielding, any defense put up by the police or security guards, and generally do as much disruption as possible. Then, the police attacked in force and superior numbers, once more using clubs and teargas grenades. Everything turned red and gray.
  Ted and Linda had sought refuge in an abandoned building south of the park. They were both shaking in rage and turmoil raged inside them.
  She touched his head with a shaking hand.
  – You’re injured, let me…
  – No, no, it isn’t my blood. Believe me, I can tell.