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In Connecticut on Tuesday morning (11/8/16) I voted. That night I got on a plane to Paris and slept believing I would wake up the next day to learn that America had elected its first woman president. Two stunned, stricken women at the baggage carousel broke the news to me. All we could say together was "No... no." One woman got sick to her stomach.
In Connecticut on Tuesday morning (11/8/16) I voted. That night I got on a plane to Paris and slept believing I would wake up the next day to learn that America had elected its first woman president. Two stunned, stricken women at the baggage carousel broke the news to me. All we could say together was "No... no." One woman got sick to her stomach.
To see the date in Paris--day first, month second--it is 9/11/16. Those dust clouds charging down the canyons of NYC in 9/11/01--that's what it feels like internally. Now we know half of Americans are mean and cruel--indifferent to the pain of others--hypocritical Christians--devoid of empathy. They all came out with vicious gusto to vote like a spit. Paris, city of light, is gray today. I spoke to a waitress I know here who told me she cried all day yesterday. A world view lost.
Everybody here is sympathetic and horrified and bracing for Le Pen.
Nightmare. Coup. The worst people are about to take the reins. This is collective suicide. How?
I was hoping not to hear his rude coarse ignorant voice anymore. Now his voice is the voice of America. He is the logical conclusion of the American dream. An approximation of something--a set piece with no anchor or moral code--a cruel ambition with no aspiration or vision. This is not funny. This is tragedy. George W. was an eight year blood soaked embarrassment. This is catastrophe.
I quote the line from the film Reds: "in America, voting is the opiate of the masses." As suggested, don't boo--vote. People did vote. Hillary got the most votes. Trump is president. Occupation afoot. Now the boos. Now the protests. 11/9... 9/11--the new post-9/11 begins.
Dear Common Dreams reader, It’s been nearly 30 years since I co-founded Common Dreams with my late wife, Lina Newhouser. We had the radical notion that journalism should serve the public good, not corporate profits. It was clear to us from the outset what it would take to build such a project. No paid advertisements. No corporate sponsors. No millionaire publisher telling us what to think or do. Many people said we wouldn't last a year, but we proved those doubters wrong. Together with a tremendous team of journalists and dedicated staff, we built an independent media outlet free from the constraints of profits and corporate control. Our mission has always been simple: To inform. To inspire. To ignite change for the common good. Building Common Dreams was not easy. Our survival was never guaranteed. When you take on the most powerful forces—Wall Street greed, fossil fuel industry destruction, Big Tech lobbyists, and uber-rich oligarchs who have spent billions upon billions rigging the economy and democracy in their favor—the only bulwark you have is supporters who believe in your work. But here’s the urgent message from me today. It's never been this bad out there. And it's never been this hard to keep us going. At the very moment Common Dreams is most needed, the threats we face are intensifying. We need your support now more than ever. We don't accept corporate advertising and never will. We don't have a paywall because we don't think people should be blocked from critical news based on their ability to pay. Everything we do is funded by the donations of readers like you. When everyone does the little they can afford, we are strong. But if that support retreats or dries up, so do we. Will you donate now to make sure Common Dreams not only survives but thrives? —Craig Brown, Co-founder |
In Connecticut on Tuesday morning (11/8/16) I voted. That night I got on a plane to Paris and slept believing I would wake up the next day to learn that America had elected its first woman president. Two stunned, stricken women at the baggage carousel broke the news to me. All we could say together was "No... no." One woman got sick to her stomach.
To see the date in Paris--day first, month second--it is 9/11/16. Those dust clouds charging down the canyons of NYC in 9/11/01--that's what it feels like internally. Now we know half of Americans are mean and cruel--indifferent to the pain of others--hypocritical Christians--devoid of empathy. They all came out with vicious gusto to vote like a spit. Paris, city of light, is gray today. I spoke to a waitress I know here who told me she cried all day yesterday. A world view lost.
Everybody here is sympathetic and horrified and bracing for Le Pen.
Nightmare. Coup. The worst people are about to take the reins. This is collective suicide. How?
I was hoping not to hear his rude coarse ignorant voice anymore. Now his voice is the voice of America. He is the logical conclusion of the American dream. An approximation of something--a set piece with no anchor or moral code--a cruel ambition with no aspiration or vision. This is not funny. This is tragedy. George W. was an eight year blood soaked embarrassment. This is catastrophe.
I quote the line from the film Reds: "in America, voting is the opiate of the masses." As suggested, don't boo--vote. People did vote. Hillary got the most votes. Trump is president. Occupation afoot. Now the boos. Now the protests. 11/9... 9/11--the new post-9/11 begins.
In Connecticut on Tuesday morning (11/8/16) I voted. That night I got on a plane to Paris and slept believing I would wake up the next day to learn that America had elected its first woman president. Two stunned, stricken women at the baggage carousel broke the news to me. All we could say together was "No... no." One woman got sick to her stomach.
To see the date in Paris--day first, month second--it is 9/11/16. Those dust clouds charging down the canyons of NYC in 9/11/01--that's what it feels like internally. Now we know half of Americans are mean and cruel--indifferent to the pain of others--hypocritical Christians--devoid of empathy. They all came out with vicious gusto to vote like a spit. Paris, city of light, is gray today. I spoke to a waitress I know here who told me she cried all day yesterday. A world view lost.
Everybody here is sympathetic and horrified and bracing for Le Pen.
Nightmare. Coup. The worst people are about to take the reins. This is collective suicide. How?
I was hoping not to hear his rude coarse ignorant voice anymore. Now his voice is the voice of America. He is the logical conclusion of the American dream. An approximation of something--a set piece with no anchor or moral code--a cruel ambition with no aspiration or vision. This is not funny. This is tragedy. George W. was an eight year blood soaked embarrassment. This is catastrophe.
I quote the line from the film Reds: "in America, voting is the opiate of the masses." As suggested, don't boo--vote. People did vote. Hillary got the most votes. Trump is president. Occupation afoot. Now the boos. Now the protests. 11/9... 9/11--the new post-9/11 begins.