When stormtroop soldiers arrive in military jeeps with military muscle, and when they are pointing military assualt rifles at toddlers and children, who are at a funeral event, with everyone being ordered to lay on the ground with your hands behind your head, and do not move, this is the T word I am compelled not to spell anywhere on the Internet.
When the US military was following my blogs, I was kept appraised by Google Analytics. It was extremely interesting. Because the military is its own server, you can track them because they don’t really bother to hide much. Who knows what they were looking for. Not a clue.
I immediately turned all those blogs into photography only. They were monitoring me an average of forty times a day toward the tail end of it. That, too, is worthy of the T word.
They have since stopped stalking me.
To think that as an American journalist, and blogs are, indeed, journals, one could ostensibly feel free enough to articulate issues with some depth, but this is hubris.
Their reach is extraordinary, and I feel violated.
But I do rock and roll.
My stuff does go to my kids, but they do a lot of outreach — on their own — I call it the grapevine. Peer mentoring.
So other kids in many places read, and they get it. They become more informed.
What I write is not even cocktail ice on the ICE iceberg. It is molecular. Small. Teeny weeny.
My message to these kids is beware of what you say on the Internet.
ICE isn’t really too concerned with what anyone thinks.
That their tactics are inherently part and parcel of the T word, would only make them laugh because they have the power and they know it. So does anyone who has ever had an assault rifle pointed at their head.
This was a kid who became HIV positive in the STATES.
I call it a culture war, and culture wars have guns, too. I really get why he would not walk through the front door of the AIDS clinic.
Cops and guns don’t belong there. They just don’t.
But this is the South.
Appalachia is another country.