Muskeg Press

Why is stupidity such a difficult thing to put up with?

At some time or another, we’re all guilty of it, right? But, boy, when someone else is stupid it’s either funny or – the result I find most interesting – infuriating.

I was watching the Cowboys vs Redskins game Monday night and I was on the verge of blowing a gasket as Cowboys centre Phil Costa repeatedly snapped the ball when quarterback Tony Romo wasn’t ready – and it was usually off-target.

Grainne asked me, after the fourth surprise snap, “Why does he keep doing that?”

Flabbergasted, all I could say was “because he’s a frickin’ idiot!”

What, he just can’t remember the number? After the third bad snap, he can’t think to glance back and at least be sure where his quarterback is standing?

I watched as a flustered Romo berated Costa. It reminded me of the times I’ve done that to some of my receivers in flag football whom had run the wrong pattern. And then I recognized the look on Costa’s face; the look of hurt and embarrassment and . . . that other look.

He wasn’t stupid. He just didn’t know.

For whatever reasons, perhaps changes in Romo’s cadence, perhaps some distraction tactics by the defensive line, or too long verbal lulls by Romo as he checked the defense, Costa was confused. In my frustration at my ’Boys flirting with another heartbreaking loss, I called Costa (among other things) stupid but I doubt he is. I just needed an excuse, a scapegoat.

It made me think of my late father. To listen to him, he was the smartest man in the world. “Doctor, lawyer, Indian Chief,” us kids called him (behind his back, of course – and it was funny because he actually was a Chief). He was never wrong and, when anything did go wrong, it was never his fault.

Despite the fact that he only reached Grade 6, he professed to know everything. If we ever corrected him or made a mistake, he would get angry and tell us we were stupid.

Unfortunately, although not to the same cruel extent, I have inherited that from him. When people make “stupid” mistakes, it riles me up. But, unlike my dad, I don’t look at myself as perfect – quite the contrary.

No, I save my worst insults for myself. I hate messing up, forgetting things – the times I’ve called myself an idiot and worse is countless, and it’s usually for the smallest things. I hate stupidity in others and in me as much as he did.

I was in a course a few years back and the instructor noted that of all the inner discussions we have with ourselves, about 70-80 per cent of them are negative. It was striking when he said it but I could see in everyone else’s face that it had registered as true.

Why do we beat ourselves up?

I think religions play a big part as they make rules that are hard to follow and constantly remind us of our failings (wait a minute: Jesus preemptively paid for my sins?). Institutions and society also set ridiculous standards, brainwashing us into believing that being a waitress is not a worthy occupation and that anything bigger than a size 4 is a cow.

So it just makes sense that, rather than rip on ourselves 100 per cent of the time, we like to give ourselves a break by ripping on others. And, for many, not only does it give them a break from their inner criticism; it has the bonus of making them feel better about themselves.

Some people are more educated than others. Some people are smarter than others (there is a difference). But few people are truly stupid.

Are babies stupid? Isolated cultures? Someone who didn’t graduate from high school? Or me, because I haven’t fixed a darn thing around the house ever? No.

Some things, we just don’t know; some things we don’t care to know.

Other times, we just make mistakes. And therein lies the poetry of it all: our “stupid” mistakes actually make us smarter.

As Benjamin Franklin said, “I found 100 ways to do it wrong.”

Haven’t we all. Haven’t we all.

~Written by Rudy Kelly

The first time I saw the footage that day, on September 11, 2001, of the second plane coming into the Towers, it was the most stunning moment of my life. I can’t recall struggling so hard to believe what I was seeing, while at the same time knowing that this would change the world.

I was in Friendship House, just getting to work, and stopped to see what everyone was watching on the small TV in the lobby. My initial thought when I saw the first plane hit was that it was a simulation, a mock video, a what-if disaster scenario.

But then came the footage of the second one coming in. along with the commentary about it being a suspected terror attack, and I could only look at it, mouth agape and mutter: “No f-ing way.”

The most striking thing for me was the audacity of the attacks. That anyone would choose to strike against the U.S. was one thing but to do so in such a bold, theatrical and symbolic manner was another.

It was simultaneously impressive and horrifying, like those clever serial killers in movies. That I would later find out that they also struck the Pentagon and had another plane intended for the White House further heightened that impression.

The next reaction was to the inhumanity; the gut-sinking images of people jumping from the buildings and dying within them, and the thought of those innocent passengers helplessly headed to their doom.

And then I felt anger, anger at the terrorists and . . . at the U.S. – not the country itself but at the culture of imperialism and conflict that has existed in almost every administration in the past half century, which I felt was just as responsible for that terrible day as the murderous animals who orchestrated it.

I wrote about this in a Daily News column, just days after 9/11 and it provoked an angry response from some readers, some of them good friends of mine. One guy stopped me in the street; he seemed on the verge of popping me one as he roared, “You don’t know Americans! I have a lot of American friends! You have no right to write that sh*t!”

I was taken aback as he – and several others – had interpreted my words to mean that I thought those 3,000 people deserved to die. It was ridiculous, of course. No one but the most vile and radical could think that.

But so high was the emotion on the attacks, it not only brought on such an outpouring of compassion and support for the U.S. but it wiped the slate clean for it as well. Forget Hiroshima, forget the Bay of Pigs, forget Vietnam, forget all of the tyrants the U.S. has supported.

They were, in a rare instance, the victims now and my first and greatest fear about the consequences of 9/11 came true: a free pass. A free pass to move to war.

The rest, as they say, is history. Not one but two wars. Between Afghanistan and Iraq, U.S. and coalition-caused deaths (meaning not caused by insurgents), depending on the source, number somewhere between 150,000 and 200,000 and counting – and most watchdog/humanitarian groups question those numbers as being much lower than the reality.

Did the U.S. need to seek out and punish Al Qaeda? Absolutely. Did it need to start two separate wars, though? It was definitely a time for force, but well thought-out and precise force, not the usual flamethrower sweep.

But it was also a time for reflection; reflection on why there is such a strong anti-U.S. sentiment in many parts of the world, so strong that it can give birth to groups of people like the ones that committed the heinous crimes of 9/11.

This past weekend, I saw many tributes and TV specials on the 10^th anniversary of 9/11. I saw a lot of bravado. A lot of nationalistic boasting. A lot of crass exploitation (collector plates, 9/11 wine, business promotional deals).

But sincere reflection and restraint, any consideration that maybe, just maybe, they need to re-think foreign policy? I’m still waiting to see that.

~Written by Rudy Kelly

It’s kind of odd, having both boys away. I’m used to having one or the other around.

Dylan is with his mom on a trip to Saskatchewan and Alberta, while Eli is off on the biggest trip of his life, to the Land of the Rising Sun, Japan.

Being little, Dylan is never gone too long or too far away, with most of his summer spent home, save for the odd camping trip or visit to P.G. His biggest trip was to San Diego last summer. Eli’s biggest trips have been with me so this jaunt of his has me quite nervous.

I remember my first big trip, to Belize, and how nerve-wracking it was navigating airports, particularly Los Angeles’, which was so huge and confusing that I almost curled up in a ball and cried at one point.

Eli had a couple of anxious moments en route to Japan but, if ever I was grateful for cell phones, it is during times like this.

Even if my directions weren’t as helpful as I would’ve liked them to be, I think it was calming for him to be able to be in contact with me during his travels and not feel alone. At times, I felt like Cpt. Kramer in the movie Airplane, talking Striker through the dramatic landing.

You’ll be happy to know that Eli, after a couple of nervous moments, made it safe and sound to Japan. It must be very humid because he described the heat, listed today at 27 degrees Celsius, as making “Kelowna feel like Alaska!”

Dylan, meanwhile, has called a couple of times but the conversations are short as he is always excited on trips and hits the ground running first thing in the day. I can’t wait to hear about his trip to the big pool at West Edmonton Mall.

And so, here we are, Grainne and I, with the house to ourselves for a week or so –  to play! To entertain! To go out! To . . . oh. Really? Apparently, it’s the perfect time to get some work done around the house. Sigh.

Grainne is painting the porch and laying down some new flooring. Unfortunately (?), I don’t have a handy bone in my body (of course, if she comes up with a writing project, I’ll be all over it!), so I’m not very useful when it comes to renos. My friend, Dave, though, is still threatening to come over and show me how to do that overdue insulation job in the basement.

We also still have some junk that needs to be disposed of/garage sold and Eli’s room needs to be transformed back into a storage room/video room for Dylan. Then there’s that bush island in our front yard – anyone got a good scythe or machete I can borrow?

This also opens up the chance for more chick flicks and she doesn’t have to close the bedroom door to shut out the noisy carnage in the “weird” movies (Asian horror) Eli and I enjoy.

A friend of mine told me that, eventually, you get to the point where, when your older kid visits you, you can’t wait for him or her to leave. I wasn’t sure if she meant it but I have a hard time imagining that.

I suppose as Eli gets older and has gone through all of the rituals of adulthood, it will be easier to see him go. But, at the age of 20, he still has a lot of boy in him and a lot to experience and things to learn and I appreciate the opportunity, as short as it has become, to share my wisdom with him in person.

He may be gone from the nest but he has not yet, truly, learned to fly.

Dylan, of course, has a long ways to go. Then again, time seems to be flying ever so much faster, teaching me again, and driving it home harder, that we must cherish the time we have with them.

I end this with words from one of my favorite songs, written by Lachlan Clement about his kids leaving home, which always puts a lump in my throat:

Two sweet salmon,
Free . . . in a river to a sea,
You swim away,
You must promise to return one day,

. . . You’re gonna suffer,
You’re gonna burn – burn and learn,
But you’ll recover, you’ll return . . .
You must promise . . .  to return to me.

~Written by Rudy Kelly

Sometimes, while watching the rehearsals for my latest play, I’ve caught myself laughing just a little too much.  I’ll shush myself and look around to see if anyone is looking at me, obviously thinking “what an ego, howling at his own play!”

Oh sure, since I wrote it as a comedy, of course I would think that it is funny but, knowing it so intimately, an observer might think that I wouldn’t react to it as freshly as I do whenever I see it. But that’s the thing: it is fresh to me when it gets on stage. It becomes fresh to me when I first hear a line come out of someone’s mouth.

It all starts at the reading, when I’m able to hear different voices, live voices, instead of the ones in my head, spout lines.

Of course, it usually takes time for actors to find the right tone, the meaning behind a line but, often, I am astonished when someone immediately hits it right on the head. In this play, the broad instruction of “makes wacky noises” was immediately delivered just as I had imagined it!

The experience becomes even greater when the product moves to the stage.

I remember when I wrote my first play, Equator Woman, what a thrill it was to see it come to life. It’s kind of like watching a child grow up in fast forward.

First, you see the actors just say the lines and then slowly develop the characters; the tones, the expressions, the physicality, the costumes. Then the set and props start to take shape; a table here, the casement window, the back porch, and just the right colors. And then it’s the feel, so that what you hear and, even, smell, tells you that you are in that place.

Finally, it is all put together, each scene linked with carefully chosen music, pushing you eagerly into the next one so that you can’t wait to see what will appear when the lights come up again. Well, at least, that’s what we always try to achieve.

Even weeks after Equator Woman finished its run, it was so cool to be driving along and see my characters walking down the street. It took some time to start seeing them as Leah (instead of Equator Woman) and Rich (instead of Steve); for a time, it was as if they had jumped off of the pages and into the real world of Prince Rupert.

Then, as now, I could not adequately express my gratitude to the cast, crew and director, for taking something that started as mere thoughts in my head and brought it to life.

These past couple of weeks, I’ve been going to the Tom Rooney Playhouse and watching the cast trickle in . . . one by one, a real person walks in and, one by one, they become someone else, a character in a story. Half of them, I had never even met.

And then Treena, the director, puts them to work. Occasionally, she’ll make an executive decision and veer off of the script a bit, saying to the cast “I don’t care what the writer said.” And we’ll have a laugh . . . because I know she does care, as most good directors do. After all, they are trying to bring a vision to life, to honor its spirit and intent.

I’ve been fortunate to see my work brought to life not only by some good directors but good friends and to Laura, Peggy, Rod, Lyle and Treena, I say, from the bottom of my heart: thank you.

Each time a play of mine gets put on stage and I’m able to hear audience members laugh . . . or gasp . . . or cry . . . or even sit in solemn silence, a dream is realized.

This week, another one comes true and I am grateful to everyone that has made it happen.

~Written by Rudy Kelly

Every now and then, we need to “escape to the big city” – an odd term since it is bigger, brighter and louder. Well, in the last couple of weeks, I made my way to three of the biggest and oldest on the continent.

Things started in “the greatest city in the world,” New York. Although we had but three short nights to spend there, what I saw convinced me that it was every bit worthy of its lofty title.

When we first got off the bus and headed for Times Square, Grainne made me avert my gaze until we reached it. When she finally allowed me to look, it was one of the most stupendous sights I’d ever seen: an immense canyon of concrete, lights, pictures and people . . . people everywhere.

For those first few moments, all you can do is stumble about wide-eyed and slack-jawed and, when you look around, it will amuse you to see that everyone else is in the same state.

They call it the city that never sleeps and how could it? There are too many bright lights, too much noise, too much going on, and so many people, of all shapes, sizes and nationality. When Grainne and I stepped out of a show at 10 p.m. back into Times Square, I exclaimed “Why can’t you all just go home?”

I definitely plan on returning to get a closer, longer look at this great city. At first blush, though, my favourite things: all of the great theatre available, Greenwich Village and, oddly enough, the sense of community.

Next up was Boston, to which I carried a still-fresh feeling of disdain towards because its hockey team ruined the Canucks playoffs run, scuttling the awesome party that would have ensued here. That feeling quickly evaporated, though, because it is a beautiful city or, as one local described it: “New York’s pretty little sister.”

Being at the heart of the birthplace of America, Boston is steeped in history and is vigilant in ensuring that all modern additions do not upset that look. My favourite example was a new office building that was designed so that its windows acted as mirrors that gave perfectly-centred reflections of the historic buildings around it, so that “when you walked into the future, you also walked into the past.”

Oh, and did I mention there were some great pubs there? Hey, it’s an Irish town!

My main purpose, though, for going to Boston, was to see a baseball game at “America’s Favorite Ballpark,” good ol’ Fenway. I’ve gone to see the Blue Jays play in Seattle and Toronto and the atmosphere was nowhere near as festive at those places as it was at Fenway. Even though this just game 86 in the 162-game schedule, it felt like a huge event which, I assume, it always is.

Outside, there were numerous vendors and a band played Ragtime music, while a man dressed as a player on stilts played catch with children. There are statues, one being one of my favourite sports monuments: of Ted Williams in the process of placing his baseball cap on a little boy, the cap just hovering over the boy’s head.

Sloppy food, uncomfortably small, wooden seats, some bad sightlines, obnoxious fans . . . yeah, it’s as good as baseball gets!

Next stop: Montreal.

My biggest worry was that it would disappoint me; especially after a Maxim magazine writer/drunkard, charged with exploring and then ranking the top party cities in the world, put Montreal at the top of his list. I mean, if there is one media source whose word means anything when it comes to partying, it’s Maxim!

Well, rest easy, Montreal. You had me at bonjour!

It was easy to see what that Maxim writer saw because it seems the city is in permanent party mode. One festival overlaps another – and they are all big, international festivals: Jazz, Just For Laughs Comedy, ZooFest (musical comedy theatre), African, Fantasia (horror movies) . . . when they run out, they probably hold ones honouring individual days of the week, just to keep the party going.

And the party bug is an octopus, with its tentacles touching all districts of the city, each with its own look and personality. If you can’t have a good time in Montreal, someone should be giving you a just-the-front haircut.

There is also great food in Montreal and the establishments all have charm; old school, new, and just plain weird. It offers the best of New York and Boston: great things to see and do in a setting that is both modern and historic.

Now, though . . . I am home.

It is always a little sad to leave such amazing places – not to mention the new friends I met – but it usually feels right, even though I was returning to the rain, work, and other responsibilities and problems that – surprise! – didn’t go away.

But I love Prince Rupert and, even though I returned to some matters that needed to be dealt with before I could even relax for a moment, that’s okay.

New York, Boston and Montreal did not even notice me. Here, I’m needed and wanted, which we all want to be – and that’s a lesson and reminder that I always get from these trips.

~Written by Rudy Kelly

In answering the question in the headline above, do you consider it as Margaret Laurence did: “In some families, please is described as the magic word. In our house, however, it was sorry.”

Or, do you consider it as Oliver Wendell Holmes did: “Apologizing is a very desperate habit – one that is rarely cured. Apology is only egotism wrong side out.”

Rarely has an apology been as polarizing as the one delivered by Nathan Kotylak, the 17-year-old who was caught on camera trying to light fire to a police car that fateful night when Vancouver endured two insults: the convincing Stanley Cup loss to the Boston Bruins and the horrendous riot that followed.

I had mixed emotions about the apology but, in the final analysis, I was impressed. Most others, though, reacted with ridicule and scorn.

“He’s only apologizing because he got caught!”

“He’s apologizing so he’ll get off lightly on the charges!”

“He’s doing it to save himself from a butt-kicking!”

All of these comments are valid.

Had he not been caught, chances are very small that he would have confessed and apologized. But, then again, who would have?

If you committed a serious crime, would you confess, knowing that it could ruin your life? Even if it was deeply regretted, unless someone had been hurt, most people would not turn themselves in. So just because he was caught does not automatically negate his apology.

Certainly, there is something to be gained by the apology.

His apology will be considered when he faces prosecution, but that is always the case. He will have to apologize to the judge — who represents us — in person and the judge will base his decision on the sincerity of it. Judges are pretty good at that; looking at the circumstances of a case, observing the accused and deciding if, indeed, he or she really is remorseful and unlikely to re-offend.

If Kotylak was hoping to save himself from an ass-kicking, it sounds as if it has backfired as he and his family have fled their home in Maple Ridge due to numerous threats they have received.

I find that interesting and just as embarrassing and demoralizing as the riot; that, in response to stupid violent acts, people would threaten violence in retaliation. The lynch mob that has taken over Facebook and other social media sites is just as ugly as the one that smashed windows and torched cars June 15.

I guess the main reason I believe Kotylak is because I want to, partly because I have been there myself. As a youth, I was a vandal. I was also violent. My vandalism never physically hurt anyone but only because I was lucky; it easily could have. And of all the fights I got into, I was lucky that none of them ended in tragedy.

I see myself in other kids on our streets, in our schools. Nathan Kotylak is not an aberration. I agree that he should not get off lightly and it sounds like he hasn’t already, having been booted out of the national water polo program, not being able to participate in his graduation ceremonies, disappointing his parents and shaming his family and, now, being run out of town. This is all before whatever legal penalties he will face.

Actions such as his are what we demand apologies for and, yet, when we get it, we disdainfully turn it down. We cast him aside.

I’m glad there were some people who saw in me a salvageable person, despite my behavior, despite my crimes. Most of us mess up, some worse than others. In judging people, I prefer to err on the side of optimism, the belief that most of us want to do good.

One more thing to consider: Kotylak did not need to make what is, essentially, an international apology – but he did. By doing so, he has put himself under a media microscope for the rest of his life, virtually promising to the world to never commit a crime like this again.

And that’s got to be worth something.

~Written by Rudy Kelly

And so it begins.

Canucks fans have waited 40 years for this day – some would say 17 years, but that was just the last time they were in the final. Then, they were good but they were underdogs, a surprise. On this trip, the bags have been packed since the season started; this is their year, the one true time they can be called the best team in the NHL.

Being a Habs fan, I have enjoyed several Stanley Cup runs but I’ve never had the pleasure of being in the place where it was happening, surrounded by other Habs fans, sharing the giddy thrill of victory with a community.

Yes, the Canucks will actually be starting their quest for the Cup some 1,500 kilometres away in Vancouver, but they are without question British Columbia’s team and Rupert’s support probably stacks up with any other town – as evidenced by the big vehicle parade and celebration on Third Avenue following their Western Conference championship win over the San Jose Sharks.

You see it all around town: the caps and jerseys, the flags on vehicles, homes, businesses and in the workplace.

Even in my home, the home of a Habs fan, my youngest and I both have Canucks jerseys.

For me, it’s because I was born and raised here and, thus, the Canucks became a strong second favourite and I have lots of friends and family who root for them, and so they just kind of grew on me – plus, the jersey was a gift to me so I could get a free beer by wearing it on game nights at the Crest!

Should the Canucks defeat the Boston Bruins, it will be something special, especially when the wait has been a long one. When it takes decades, fans believe their team has been wronged and persecuted; hence that faction of Canucks fans that think referees hold Orca burnings every week and that NHL president Gary Bettman simply has to raise his hand and curl it into a fist to bring about a timely Canucks penalty.

A Canucks victory would bring a collective smile to the community – easily overwhelming the sneers of the haters – that we won’t have seen in some time. It’s funny how the fate of a group of millionaires you don’t really know can affect people.

Of course, I recently wrote about how I was retiring from avidly following my sports teams, from watching them play, because it was too much of an emotional investment when I’ve got more important things to worry about. But I have experienced championships with my teams and that makes it easier to walk away.

For those who may experience it for the first time, especially here, where the Canucks are essentially the home team, it will be a feeling of tremendous joy and relief – even catharsis, in a time when jobs are few and money is tight.

In a sense, like the slogan says, supporters here are Canucks. They have been wronged and persecuted; they are the downtrodden, part of a revolution against the establishment.

So Go Canucks! Dispose of those Bruins and lift that Cup as well as communities across this province!

It will be a celebration like no other that will allow us to enjoy big smiles on the faces of our friends and neighbours for some time. And what could be wrong with that?

~Words & photo by Rudy Kelly

I’m always suspicious when a new tax is introduced. I’m even more suspicious when that new tax is introduced after an election – especially when, before and during the election, the government said it wasn’t on the table. And I’m more suspicious yet again when it is the consumer that shoulders the burden and is being asked to trust business to repay him in lower prices. Mm-hmm.

Now I know a recent report says that British Columbians will have to endure short term pain for long term gain, but that “independent” report was commissioned by the B.C. government. Yeeeah.

I have been commissioned a number of times to write something too and, on every occasion, I was always mindful of what the people signing my cheque wanted to see in the document. Whether the panel was actually directed to or not, it’s only natural to want to please a purchaser of your product, especially in this case, where I’m sure the pay was very good.

Of course, there is a counter-report. It comes from the Fight the HST group. Both reports toss out economic statistics and forecasts, and Fight the HST says that the government report is way off on many counts and based on best case scenarios. You should read that report here, as well as the government report, here.

I’m not here to throw lots of numbers and cases at you but, in fairness, to counter those quoted by my esteemed colleague in Saturday’s Muskeg News, here are some I think that are worth considering:

• In Europe, their version of the HST has decimated the economy, with evasion of the tax driving the economy underground. Greece, Ireland, Spain, Portugal and Italy, with rates between 18% and 23%, are basically insolvent with excessive taxation and stagnant economies creating declining tax bases and shrinking government revenues.
• The Atlantic provinces of Newfoundland and Labrador, New Brunswick and Nova Scotia have had the HST for decades yet unemployment and per capita debt are the highest in the country.
• 5 of the 6 provinces, including B.C., with the current highest unemployment have the HST; the three provinces with the lowest unemployment: no HST.

One of the government report’s more misleading lines is that the middle class pays less in HST than the rich. This makes one think they somehow have different rates – of course, they don’t. The middle class will pay less because they will spend less due to the increased tax. The wealthy will pay more than the middle class because they can afford to keep on spending as they have.

Oh, but, hey, those earning under $10,000 will get a tax rebate and, thus, the tax will cost them marginally less. How nice. In other words, the government is saying, “yes, I’m going to punch you in the gut, as always, but I’m not going to kick you in the cojones.”

Another misleading statement is that we will still have a consumption tax if we go back to the PST, so it’s no different. Excuse me? The HST considerably broadened what is taxed now, with estimates ranging between an additional 20-50 per cent of what we buy. Been to a restaurant lately? Got a haircut? Gym membership? Renovated? Built a new home? Ding!

And then there’s this bit about having more money for health and social services. The government itself has called the tax revenue neutral, and it is because the additional revenues go to big corporations and business that get big tax breaks that you’re paying now for. Sound familiar?

Oh, and you can trust business to bring down their prices in appreciation for the tax break. It says so in the report . . . but I wouldn’t hold my breath on that dubious assumption.

Finally, we hear a lot about the $1.6 billion we’ll have to pay Ottawa as a “penalty” for going back to the old system. Dudes, it’s money being paid back, money that wasn’t ours in the first place, that Ottawa paid the province to give up control and get this done.

And what is $1.6 billion dollars anyway? It’s nothing, really, when you consider the province has a $200 billion economy and the countless times our government (whoever was in power) has misspent or went horribly over budget on projects. We’ve survived one financial debacle after another – so many that, if we added them up, it would be an unfathomable amount.

The price to abolish the HST is a pittance when you think that, in return, we get the boot of yet more consumer taxes off of our throats and the satisfaction of being able to say no, you can’t get away with that because, yes, we still live in a democracy.

~Written by Rudy Kelly