Showing posts with label Patricia Calloway. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Patricia Calloway. Show all posts

Monday, March 7, 2011

Enron, Moms Mabley, Modern Thieves, and the Fraudulent Nature of Corporate Capitalism


The Hippie and the Snake


Everything I ever wanted to know about the Enron scandal I learned from Moms Mabley.

By Patricia Calloway

One of my greatest childhood pleasures was to secretly hang out at the top of the staircase in my family’s home and listen to my parents listen to dir, uh, party records.

Redd Foxx was a big favorite of my dad’s, so was Pigmeat Markham, Slappy White, Flip Wilson, Nipsey Russell, Godfrey Cambridge, Dick Gregory and of course, Richard Pryor. Their acts ran the gamut from vaudeville (Pigmeat would sometimes appear in blackface) to personal observation (Redd Foxx), social commentary (Nipsey Russell and Slappy White), to political commentary and black consciousness (Godfrey Cambridge, Dick Gregory and Richard Pryor).

These kings of comedy played in our living room late weekend nights after we all had been sent to bed like good little children and with good reason; things could get a little raw in there. My father turned the volume up a notch on particularly raunchy jokes; he and my mother would howl with laughter and wouldn’t stop, even when my father had to get up and turn the LP over to hear the rest of the record.

In the midst of all this kingly raunch and bawdiness was Moms Mabley.

Jackie “Moms” Mabley is the undisputed queen of comedy and the only girl who could stand with those guys and hold up her end of the deal. Moms told dirty jokes in a very funny way; she was hardly ever vulgar, in fact some of her funniest jokes were ones in which she was the butt:

They sent for me to come down to Washington in an airplane ... Sure enough, no sooner I got on the plane they strapped me down. The stewardess come by. I say, "Honey, my ears is all stopped up." Ohh, I was so sick!

She say, "Here's some chewing gum." I chewed that.

“That ain't unstopped 'em”, I said, "Do something for me, honey, I'm dyin'."

She said, "Drop your jaws." And I misunderstood her.

They grounded me in Baltimore!

That Moms, what a card.

This past summer as I followed the appeal of former Enron CEO Jeff Skilling's appeal of his 24 year prison sentence for wire fraud, I couldn't help but think of Moms and all she'd taught me and how much the drama surrounding the appeal resembled a Pigmeat Markham routine.

On June 24, 2010 the U.S. Supreme Court handed down its decision on whether to uphold part of Skilling's appeal of his conviction on 19 of 28 wire fraud counts based on an issue of venue. He felt he did not have a shot in hell at a fair trial in the town he basically murdered and that the judge should have known this; he claims that Enron's disintegration brought on a number of whiplash effects that may gotten him wrongly convicted.

A paltry 15 of 283 prospective jurors answered in a questionnaire they had no connections to Enron. This is because Jeffy and the Smashgrabbers involved as many Houstonites as possible in their fuckery, namely Enron employees.

The employees were sweet talked into buying Enron stock with their own salaries and pensions and once the jig was up Enron blocked them from selling that stock and saving themselves. Meanwhile Skilling and others at the top leapt from the roof wearing parachutes made from these retirement and pension funds.

In a 6 to 3 vote Skilling’s challenge on venue was rejected; it was the other half of his appeal that I was interested in--the court had to decide whether Skilling sought to achieve “private gain” rather than advance his employer's interest and if not, whether the fraud statute is unconstitutionally vague.

From 1941 to 1987 wire and mail fraud was defined by law as schemes to defraud victims of not only money and property but also intangible property and “honest services”. In 1987 the US Supreme Court ruled that mail and wire fraud strictly pertained to cases where the victim was defrauded of tangible property, including money. In 1988 Congress enacted a law that narrowed the definition of mail and wire fraud to schemes to defraud victims of intangible property and “honest services”; tangible property and money was kicked out.

Skilling claims he never sought to defraud Enron of his (intangible) honest services to the company or to benefit financially from his pyramid scheme, no, he was trying to save the company--kind of like the guy who kills three people while attempting suicide. That half of Skilling’s appeal was remanded to the lower court to be decided again.

Here come de judge, indeed

Moms Mabley’s “The Hippie and the Snake”

A hippie was walking down a country road in the winter when he came upon a nearly frozen snake lying in the road. It had turned blue and it called out to the hippie for help. The hippie was no sucker, however.

“No, maaaan, you’re gonna bite me, maaaan”, the hippie said.

“No, no, I won’t bite you”, said the snake. “I’m sssso cold. Pleasssse help me. Take me inssside, let me get warm. Then I’ll be on my way.” The snake was frozen straight like a stick so the hippie took pity upon him and put him inside his jacket.

“Just don’t bite me, maaaan”. The hippie took the snake to his pad where he put him in front of the fire to thaw. Once the snake thawed out he coiled himself up and struck the hippie.

“Ow, maaaan! Why’d you bite me, maaaan? I’m gonna die, maaaan!”

“Why are you sssurprisssed?”, asked the snake.

“I took care of you, maaan. I let you get warm. I thought we were cool”.

“You knew what I was when you picked me up”, the snake said.

***

Jeff Skilling came to Enron proper after working as an analyst for First City Bank of Houston which was owned by Enron. Just before the bank failed, Skilling quit his job and landed at McKinsey & Company, a global management consulting firm.

What McKinsey & Company does is teach corporations how to screw people. They also jinx the people who hire them with bad advice, bankruptcies, financial collapse and scandal. The “m” in McKinsey really should stand for malacosa.

McKinsey & Company’s advice put both Swissair and Kmart into bankruptcy; AT&T lost billions and got swallowed up by SBC Communications after McKinsey told them that cellphones were a niche market and wouldn’t last (even though their Bell Labs invented cellphones). Britain’s Railtrack railway system went straight to hell and collapsed after McKinsey advised them to take the money they were using to maintain their infrastructure and pay it out to shareholders; a chain of terrible rail accidents and lawsuits followed.

The Louisiana State Attorney General is suing them; it appears that they instructed several insurance companies on how to undervalue Hurricane Katrina policies using “deny, delay and defend” tactics to avoid paying life, home, auto and business claims.

And they’re accused of advising both State Farm and Allstate Auto Insurance companies on how to avoid paying soft tissue injury claims, making State Farm a bad neighbor and Allstate’s hands kind of clammy.

So when Kenneth Lay picked Skilling up and put him in charge at Enron in 1995 it wasn’t like he didn’t already know about the chaos, disaster and recklessness that followed this man.

Brrrr, Stickup, Hahaha Stickup!

“I was walking down 126th Street on my way to work. Met a fella. He said, ’Moms, I hate this, I really hate this, but, Moms, gimme some money! I ain't got no home. I ain't got no family, no children, no wife! My mother, my father are dead! Moms, gimme some money! I ain't got nowhere to eat, I ain't got nowhere to sleep. I ain't got nothin', Moms--but this gun’”.

Under Skilling, Enron’s stock value went up 90 percent in five years. Employees were paid in stock, basically, so money didn't circulate much. Skilling kept them all in line by posting stock prices to a lighted screen inside elevators so when they rode up to their deaths, uh, cubicles in the morning they could see how much “money” their “money” was “making”.

Skilling picked up Andrew Fastow and made him Enron’s CFO; he helped him to perfect the art of hiding debt by taking it off the books and tucking it away in “special purpose entities” giving Enron the look of high profitability; loans looked like assets. When lenders discovered the ruse, they called in their notes. Employees panicked and tried to cash out but were blocked. The price of natural gas and electricity went bust, Enron couldn’t pay its debts and its stock prices crashed.

Enron posted a third quarter loss of $619 billion dollars; $1 billion was stockholder’s equity. Skilling quit his job and Lay was back in the Enron hot seat trying to act like his ass wasn’t burning.

Watching the Lights

“[When your child get a little older], old enough to go to school you throw that child out in to the streets by itself, talkin’ bout “Go ahead to school baby, be careful, watch the lights”. Damn the lights, watch the cars, the lights ain’t never killed nobody!”

Twenty thousand Enron employees, working people with children and mortgages and cars and medical bills and taxes and utility bills and grocery bills and tuition payments were left in financial ruin. A good number of them were age 50 and up and had been with Internorth, the company Enron was created from by merger, for decades. Enron left them unemployed and just about penniless. They had been watching the lights and not the cars; if they had, they'd have seen Ken Lay behind the wheel.

Lay began lobbying for federal deregulation of natural gas during the late eighties. Until then energy was tightly regulated but energy suppliers could still cover costs and make a profit. Natural gas was delivered at set prices on fixed routes. After deregulation Enron took advantage of suppliers by offering themselves as middlemen who could keep prices stable—for a cut. Eventually Enron took over a large portion of the energy trading markets yet never created a single drop of energy.

Lay contributed large amounts of money to both G.H. and Dubya Bush’s campaigns. By the time Bush was inaugurated in 2001, Enron, Lay and his buddies had contributed close to $1 million dollars to various Bush campaigns and committees. After showering money on both Democrats and Republicans it was like shooting fish in a barrel. With connections like those he was unstoppable.

The End

“They say you shouldn't say nothin' about the dead unless it's good. He's dead. Good.”

After much wrangling, fingerpointing and perjury, Lay was convicted on 10 of the

11 counts against him but died before sentencing. Just plum dropped dead while on vacation in the remote, rural hills of Colorado where nothing lives.

His conviction was vacated because, well, the guy was dead. Civil suits against his estate took a hit because claimants can’t pursue punitive damages, only compensatory damages, from a dead guy. He was cremated; George H. W. Bush attended the funeral.

Snake Junior turned informant and talked his seventy-eight indictments down to two. Fastow palmed Enron for tens of millions of dollars without their knowledge while working his magic on their books. He plead guilty to two counts of wire and securities fraud and took ten. He wore a wire and got that knocked down to six. He gets paroled in December 2011. His wife did a year on tax evasion. Fastow deposited embezzled money into his childrens' trust funds and told her they were gifts. She didn't file on them and when the IRS figured it out he didn't want to incriminate himself so he let the mother of his children take the fall and go to prison.

With his hippie dead and his snake having chewed his leg like a Doberman, Skilling is playing the lower court waiting game. He’s close to Dick Cheney but the last guy close to Cheney took a shot to the face. As it stands, he’s liable for punitive damages so unless he dies the only chance he has is to get his conviction vacated or overturned. Then he'll have limited liability and won't have to pay back anything near what is owed to the stockholders.

I Don’t Think So

“My brother is dead on account of one of them fairy lies. My grandmother and them up in North Carolina, there the boy 15 years old, they still tellin’ him “Ding dong bell, p----’s in the well” and he got drowneded like a fool when he jumped in”.

Two-thirds of the $60 million Skilling made off with from Enron went to his defense team and $45 million went to court ordered restitution; then there's the Supreme Court bill. Really expensive attorneys are preparing his case for the lower court. Where's the bottom of his well?

On the same day Skilling’s case was sent back to the lower court newspaper publisher Conrad Black’s conviction for defrauding Hollinger International a.k.a. Sun-Times Media Group was remanded on the same “honest services” argument Skilling brought before the court. The Seventh Circuit Court of Appeals in Chicago vacated two of his convictions but upheld Black's conviction on two counts of fraud and obstruction of justice; that case was sent back to the lower court where he will be re-sentenced on June 24, 2011. Meanwhile, he is hanging out in Palm Beach on $2 million bail.

On February 3, 2011, Skilling's youngest son, John Taylor “JT” Skilling, 20, was found dead in his bedroom at Chapman University in California. Although prescription meds were found near his body no one can seem to decide whether to call it accident or suicide. A comedy movie was queued up and ready to view in his computer. His friends say he would never kill himself, that he was not at all depressive and they don't know what the drugs were for. He had recently broken up with a girlfriend. There were no signs of violence.

Will Skilling make it? Who knows, but if Jeffy does he will have escaped justice and prison having paid for his cadre of millionaire attorneys with the ill-gotten gains plucked from the retirement nests of 20,000 Enron employees. If he pulls it off he really would be the smartest guy in the room.

But somehow I don't think he will be.



Patricia Calloway is a writer who paints, blogs and listens to clean dirty jokes in Detroit, Michigan

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

The Triumph and Tragedy of Michael Jackson: 1958-2008

All,

This is an outstanding personal essay by Detroit-based writer and cultural critic Patricia Calloway on the heinous nexus of money, fame, drugs, exploitation, and "entertainment" in the gigantic corporate matrix that tragically became known to the rest of us as the global commodity called "Michael Jackson, Inc."--which predictably destroyed and dismembered the brilliant human being of the same name (without the quote marks and incorporated copyright sign of course). My wife and I saw the man and artist Jackson this past weekend in "This Is It", the new tribute documentary film now playing in over 18,000 theatres nationwide, and it is a wonderful and thoroughly inspiring examination/celebration of a genuine musical genius and extraordinary dedicated artist of the highest caliber. What the film proves conclusively is that Michael Jackson was an absolute master of his musical idiom who truly deserved the encomium "King of Pop." I enthusiastically recommend that everyone see the film. I guarantee you won't be disappointed. It really is that good...

Kofi


MILK AND ASHES

Losing Michael Jackson was like losing a brother in more ways than one.

By Patricia Calloway


There once was a king of pop
Who took milk going back to the top
His doctor was wit' it
But he overdid it
The milk, and the king of pop stopped.

On August 29, 2009--which would have been his 51st birthday-- Michael Jackson was finally interred at Forest Lawn Cemetery, his body committed to the ground by his family after weeks of lying in a freezer being chipped at, drained and sampled in the search for the cause of his death. Two culprits have emerged; one, Dr. Conrad Murray, who caused the death proper, and the anesthetic drug propofol, his weapon of choice. Accomplices include the tranquilizers midazolam and diazepam, with lidocaine and ephedrine acting as lookout and getaway driver, respectively.

That week in class we studied the action of the drug propofol as part of a course lecture in veterinary anesthesia; I am a second year veterinary nursing student who has recently completed an Associates degree in General Science. Our instructor talked about Michael and the drug in the most offhanded and disinterested manner. During our class break I went to a stall in the ladies' room and inexplicably burst into tears. I was quite surprised by that.

Michael's Milk of Amnesia

Propofol is a central nervous system drug used for anesthetic induction. It works very fast; it is highly lipid soluble, so it goes in and runs through the body, is metabolized then dissipates within five minutes. Its action produces unconsciousness and is painful when administered to humans.

The drug is suspended in a soybean oil and egg lecithin emulsion, hence its milky whiteness. It must be used quickly and completely because of its poor storage characteristics; any remainder must be discarded within six hours of opening because the proteinous emulsion supports bacterial growth and could become contaminated.

Dogs and cats do very well under propofol. Onset is usually less than 60 seconds and the duration of anesthesia is 5 to 10 minutes. Dogs recover quickly and smoothly from propofol with no hangovers even after multiple injections. Cats, while their recovery is a little longer, recover quickly as well. Humans are supposed to recover from propofol with a minimum of problems, except when your doctor is Conrad Murray; in that case, you've got a world of problems.


A Brother From Another Mother

My brother Rodney JoWayne Young was born in the same month as my brother Michael Joseph Jackson and they would have been the same age. My brother was a Detroit Police officer, a sergeant with over 20 years on the force. He had wanted to join the police force since high school; he graduated then worked at the Ford factory while taking classes at a local college. When the police academy called him he threw down his work gloves and apron and never looked back.

June 20, 2006 my brother was out after work riding his motorcycle with three other off-duty officers when he lost control of his bike on a freeway entry ramp. The bike went under an eighteen wheeler truck; he was crushed beneath its wheels. The driver drove another five miles before he knew he had even hit my brother.

When I visited his body in the hospital morgue the first thing I noticed was his peace vibration. I touched him; he was cold, of course, but there was no hint of last moment angst, no residual fear. I knew he hadn't been afraid in his final moments. How could that be?

For months I was tormented by the thought of the eighteen wheeler crushing the life from my brother's chest. An autopsy was scheduled to determine cause of death. He was a police officer; they had to make sure no foul play was involved (he worked in fugitive apprehension). The state police conducted the autopsy but the results weren't final for another sixty days. In the meantime he was laid to rest in a funeral fit for a head of state.

Then came the questions: How did Rodney, an experienced rider, end up under the wheels of an eighteen wheeled truck? How did Michael, a seemingly healthy man, end up in cardiac arrest under the nose of a licensed physician?

These were million dollar questions and it dawned on me as I watched Michael's memorial service, along with millions of others, that his family was on that same road toward to discovering exactly what happened to their loved one because things just weren't adding up.


Dr. Dootoomuch

When I first read the list of drugs administered to brother Michael in the early hours of June 25, 2009, I couldn't believe it. What the hell......? Who gives an entire family of drugs to a patient within hours of each dose? Who gives CPR on a soft bed instead of a hard surface? Why were there needle marks in his neck and what was injected into him? Why was he in the doctor's room and not his own? None of it made sense.

This doctor was clearly the most inept, negligent and downright stupid practitioner to ever hold a license if he gave Michael CPR on a soft bed. People Magazine reports that not only was Michael given cardiopulmonary resuscitation on a soft surface, but that the doctor used one hand to massage his heart.

In veterinary emergency CPR, we wouldn't dream of using one hand on a dog. In canine CPR, the chest is compressed between both hands, one under the chest, one over the heart, while the patient lies on its side; or, when chest up, one hand over its heart, the other under its back. The patient is always, always on a hard surface. In human CPR both hands are placed over the heart and compress the chest while the patient lies on his back.

According to his own attorney, Conrad Murray administered CPR to Michael Jackson the way I would give chest compressions to a dog in cardiac arrest. A dog. The King of Pop got substandard emergency care even by family pet standards.

The family pet would have received flumazenil, a benzodiazepine antagonist which would have reversed the effects of the Valium, Versed, and Ativan that Conrad Murray (for I refuse to call him “Doctor”) administered to him damned near every hour on the hour from one o'clock to seven thirty a.m. CNN.com reports that Murray allegedly told emergency personnel at the hospital that he had given Michael flumazenil, but I don't buy that. I don't buy it because Michael is dead; I am of the opinion that Murray threw that in to cover himself only after he finally remembered he should have used it.

The family pet also would also have been immediately ventilated, put on an ECG and given IV fluids. Not one report states Michael Jackson got any of this from Conrad Murray; that's why I'll never call him “Doctor”. When sister LaToya demanded to see Michael's doctor to “ask what the hell happened” to her brother, he didn't identify himself. Paris-Michael, Michael's daughter, had to point him out to her; after that he disappeared from the hospital. That's why I call him....well, you know, other names.

And AEG Makes Three

Who books a man for three months running in 2009 and another two months in 2010 for a total of 50 dates at an outdoor entertainment venue? Anschutz Entertainment Group, that's who.

AEG is a global sports and entertainment promotion outfit; it is the world's largest owner of sports teams and venues and the world's second largest concert promoter behind LiveNation. AEG makes its money by promoting concerts and live shows in the sports venues they own. The Staples Center is just one example of the strategy that has propelled them to the top of live entertainment.

It was AEG who held the $4 million dollar memorial service for Michael Jackson, stiffing Los Angeles taxpayers for the bill while at the same time garnering international attention for the Staples Center. Angelenos weren't the only ones left holding the bag, however.

It was AEG who pulled a fast one on its advance ticketholders when it announced that any of the 750,000 tickets sold for the “This Is It” concerts could either be refunded upon request or ticketholders could receive souvenir tickets instead. The souvenir tickets, which AEG has carefully pointed out will become collector's items, have a holographic 3D face, kind of like those Topps baseball cards of the 1970's that moved when you moved them. The tickets sold for from £50-£75; 750,000 refunds would cost AEG about $85 million dollars in tickets and booking fees.

AEG was looking to save $40 million dollars by running this “All 750,000 tickets will be valuable, just wait and see” scam. Never mind that since AEG prints the limited edition tickets they control the market for and the value of the souvenirs. Luckily, Brits aren't stupid and many of them went for the refund. Good for them.

Quick, where's the remaining piece of the historic Berlin Wall? Don't know? Me, either. AEG had it removed because it blocked the view from one of their stadiums. Ask them where it is; they had it last.

The Jackson family suspects that several of the people surrounding Michael before his death were put there by AEG and looking at this Berlin Wall and ticket thing, I can't put it past them. Their biggest concern right now is how to best “monetize their asset”; that's “make money” to me and you.

These are the people Michael agreed to work for.


“G” Is For Greed


Published reports say Michael didn't want to do fifty dates, he only wanted to do ten. AEG sold and sold and sold until he relented. Michael loved his fans and didn't want to disappoint. According to LaToya Jackson, AEG exploited his love by planting people within his camp to monitor him. She feels that Conrad Murray helped others to control him with drugs. According to AEG, a “significant amount of money” was to be advanced to Murray by them and he would be with Michael in England for the concerts. Murray had given up two cardiology practices to work with Michael. If AEG was going to advance him “substantial amounts” of money, then Murray's ship had finally come in; millions of dollars and several baby mamas in debt, he was determined to sail.

Michael passed AEG's physical like a champ and the latest coroner's report backs up their findings; he was a little thin but he was healthy for a 50 year old man. Was the reason Michael couldn't sleep because Murray had him on stimulants so he could dance and sing for hours on end in preparation for the concerts? Sedative cocktails were used to put him down at night. Sam Goldwyn used and abused Judy Garland in the same way.

There's a “g” in his name, too.

The Light Of Day

When I had you, I treated you bad and wrong, my dear

And since you've been away

Don't you know I hang around with my head hanging down

And I wonder what I'm gonna do

The Los Angeles Coroner's Office has ruled Michael's death a homicide. In his official statement, the coroner found that Michael was a healthy 50 year old man whose weight was within normal range for his height, and though he had a few tics here and there, namely a little arthritis, a little chronic lung inflammation (probably from his lupus) and no skin cancer (it had cleared up!), he was in good general health. No, he was not bald, emaciated or covered in scar tissue and puncture marks, although there were some on his arms (fresh, obviously) and one on his ankle. Now that the wait is over we all know that Conrad Murray killed our brother.

“Acute Propofol Intoxication” is another way of saying Michael was overdosed on anesthetic. In veterinary nursing what Murray did to Michael is called euthanasia; he lost consciousness then, aloft, floated away peacefully and never knew a thing.

The Michigan State Police ruled Rodney's death an accident. In their official statement, they found that my brother had suffered cardiac arrest on the freeway ramp. He lost consciousness, then control of the motorcycle which crashed into the rear side of the truck; he went under the wheels from there.

That's why he had a peace vibration; he never saw his death coming and for this I am grateful.

The driver of the truck was from the state of Wisconsin, just a family man who was on his job. He did not know he had run over my brother until the officers my brother was riding with arrested him. When he learned what happened he became hysterical. He cooperated fully with police and after the autopsy findings all charges were dropped; it wasn't his fault, it was nobody's fault.

I was never angry at him; somehow I knew he hadn't hurt my brother willfully. I prayed for his peace of mind, something so scarce during that time. It was hard for us all, the family, the officers, everybody. We held no ill feelings toward him; it was just one of those things, one of those sad, tragic events that test us and our strength in times of crisis.

I will not be praying for Conrad Murray. It's just not in me. Conrad had better pray for himself; between the Jackson family, the states of California, Nevada, and Texas plus AEG, there won't be a scrap of meat left on his bones when he goes to prison. And he will go to prison. The only thing that can save him right now is the hand of God and I don't think he will get even that.

AEG had a $40 million dollar insurance policy riding on the outcome of the autopsy; now that the death has been ruled a homicide, they can collect. A pre-existing condition would have knocked them out of the money, so I'm sure they're relieved for their bottom line that Conrad Murray poisoned Michael with propofol instead of some unseen ailment suddenly rearing its head. They sold their rights to “This Is It” to Columbia Pictures for $60 million dollars and ten percent of the film's box office. The remaining ninety percent will go to Michael's estate, as it should.

However, AEG made a side deal with worldwide merchandiser Bravada for ring tones, trading cards and apparel which the Jackson estate is seriously frowning upon. This is going to be good, so strap yourselves in. In the meantime Michael's will designates twenty percent of all income generated after his death for various charities; he will be healing the world long after you and I have gone away from this place.

My Blue Heaven

I see Rodney in dreams. He has that same peace vibration about him and I'm never sad or scared when he comes to me. He is always dressed to the nines. Gianni Versace is obviously on the other side still making clothes, fabulous, fabulous clothes.

I hope Omar, Prince, Paris and Blanket aren't afraid when their daddy comes to them. They shouldn't be; he loved them more than life itself. It's the love that brings them to us, it's called a soul tie and it lasts forever. For as long as he loves his children and they love him the King shall remain.

Long live the King.



“Michael Jackson's This Is It” opens in theaters October 28, 2009. Patricia Calloway lives and blogs in Detroit, Michigan and will be in attendance with bells (and a sequined glove) on.

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Have a Book and a Beatdown: Abuse of the Homeless in Detroit


Want a kick with that Karamazov? How about a shove with that Shakespeare? You can get that and more at the Detroit Public Library, just fall asleep inside. Oh, and be homeless.


By Patricia Calloway

It’s happening everywhere:

• In Toms River, N.J., five high-school students were charged with beating a 50-year-old homeless man nearly to death with pipes and baseball bats — throwing hockey pucks at him for good measure — as he slept in the woods.

• In Butte, MT, a 53-year-old homeless man was killed at a Greyhound bus depot because he refused to give another man a cigarette, according to court records. The man's skull was fractured by his attacker.

• In Spokane, WA, a one-legged, 50-year-old homeless man was set on fire in his wheelchair on a downtown street; he died as a result of his injuries. Police charged a 22-year-old man with first-degree murder in his death.

• In Nashville, TN, a homeless woman sleeping on a boat ramp was shoved into the Cumberland River, according to witnesses. Two men were charged with homicide in her drowning; authorities say the attack was unprovoked.

The homeless of America are under attack at record rates. According to the National Coalition for the Homeless, of 142 homeless people who were attacked in 2006, 20 attacks resulted in death. This was a 65% increase from the previous year, when 86 attacks resulted in the deaths of 13 people.

In its November 2008 study, "Hate, Violence, and Death on Main Street USA," the NCH documents that from 1999-2007, 774 acts of violence were perpetrated against the homeless. Of these violent acts, 217 resulted in death; the remaining 557 were non-lethal attacks, which basically means the victims didn’t die. These reports were collected from 235 cities in 45 states and Puerto Rico.

In Fort Lauderdale, FL, three men mercilessly beat a homeless man sleeping on a bench on a college campus with baseball bats, an attack caught on videotape.

In Los Angeles, CA, a homeless man was beaten with an aluminum bat as he slept on the sidewalk, an attack which cost him the sight in one eye and put him in a coma for three weeks.

And in Detroit, MI, a homeless man was kicked off a chair and onto the floor as he slept at Detroit Public Library by a DPL security officer. I witnessed that one personally.

A PERFECT PUMMELING

On March 7, 2009, I was doing research for a writing project at the Main Library when I looked up and saw a security guard approach a gentleman who appeared to be asleep in a chair. The gentleman was unresponsive to her attempts to rouse him from his sleep. I suggested to the guard that he may be on meds; many Detroiters are on prescription medications and this would explain his unresponsiveness.

After a few more attempts to rouse him from his sleep, and when she thought I wasn’t looking, the security guard delivered a low, quick side kick to the sleeping man’s legs, causing him to slide off his chair and topple over onto the floor. He landed on his head with a loud “smack!”. I cried out and ran to where he had fallen. The man never awakened.

And so it began.

“HE DRUNK”

Just as she delivered the kick to the man’s legs, the security guard looked up and saw me looking at her. This prompted her, like a guilty child, to walk toward me as I ran toward the man and explain to me that he was drunk (as if that could possible justify her kicking him). The man lay there on the floor, still unresponsive. After a few minutes he began to awaken, and then he sat up. I asked him if he was alright, did he need any help, etcetera. I was concerned because of the sound his head made when it hit the cement floor. He sat up and was talking and once I was satisfied that he was not seriously hurt, I went back to my seat where I could watch out of the way.

The security guard did radio for help, but, strangely enough, disappeared off the floor immediately after the incident. After another ten minutes or so, a male officer came to the area and stood watch while waiting for a second officer, who joined him near the man, who was still on the floor.

After twenty minutes or so of enduring his insults, the guards were able to get the man to his feet and escort him from the library. Yes, he did smell of liquor when he passed me. However, the sight of the guard kicking him onto the floor was so disturbing to me that I went home and e-mailed Uzoma Oenymaechi, Director of the Main Library, and complained bitterly about what I had witnessed. And what did I do THAT for?

GEE, THANKS. NOW BEAT IT.

Oenyamaechi assured me that it was not the library’s policy to pummel its patrons and that he would look into the incident and report his findings to me.

Approximately thirty days went by before I emailed him inquiring about the outcome of his findings. He assured me that he was still investigating and that he would get back to me with his conclusions.

Another thirty days went by without word from Mr. Oenyamaechi; I decided not to contact him, but to give him another 30 days.

Finally, one week short of 90 days after the incident, Mr. Oenyamaechi contacted me via email to report his findings.

WHATCHA TALKIN’ ‘BOUT, WILLIS?

Mr. Oenyamaechi informed me that he found no wrongdoing on the part of the guard in the incident of March 7, 2009. He stated that he found no impropriety in the way the incident was handled and that he had concluded that the guard did not kick him, that she only tapped his shoulder and that he fell getting up out of the chair on his own (presumably under his own power).

After playing “Blame the Victim” (supposedly the man made subsequent visits to the library where he was drunk and disorderly and had to be escorted out again), the library director claimed he had videotape of the incident which did not show the officer kicking the man. His investigation complete, he thanked me and encouraged my continuing being “an advocate for the less fortunate” (his exact words), and sent me on my way.

NO GOOD DEED GOES UNPUNISHED

I explained to Mr. Oenyamaechi that his investigation was flawed because he had not interviewed me, the eyewitness. I pointed out that no one confesses to something like assault, and that since the other guards arrived after the fact, they are flawed witnesses.

The other witness, the victim, was unconscious at the time he was assaulted; to this day he has no idea the guard kicked him out of that chair. He never got out of the chair, as the DPL director claimed in his email to me, because he was unconscious at the time. He fell out of the chair and went straight to the floor from the momentum of the security guard’s kick.

He explained to me that the videotape confirmed no wrongdoing.

I argued that I did not believe he viewed a videotape, because he would have seen what happened and contacted me to confirm what he saw. I offered to view the tape with him and show him how and where this happened. He claimed to have seen me on the videotape attending to the man, but claimed that he did not see the officer kick the man from the chair. I find that odd, very odd indeed.

As of this writing, I have not been interviewed by anyone at Detroit Public Library regarding this incident, and I am the eyewitness to the assault on this man. I have been available to make a formal statement regarding this matter since the day it happened, and continue to be available for interview. However, I doubt if I will be called; the Detroit Public Library feels it has concluded its investigation, glaringly obvious flaws and all.

WHAT’S GOING ON?

Michael Stoops, Executive Director of the National Coalition for the Homeless explains: "Homeless people are the newest minority group in America that is 'OK' to hate and hurt," he said. "It's as though, somehow, they're viewed as less deserving, less human than the rest of us."

Some homeless advocates say that city ordinances that restrict where the homeless can sleep, beg, congregate or bathe unintentionally reinforce the negative stereotype of homelessness and contributes to violence. It is this criminalization of homelessness that encourages the abuse. They are perceived as having no rights (because they are outdoors), which, in the mind of a social deviant, means they are unprotected under the law (since laws target the homeless specifically) and are therefore easy prey.

TURNING A BUCK: CORPORATE VIDEO EXPLOITATION OF THE HOMELESS

The CBS News magazine “60 Minutes”, in a story about the upsurge in violence against the homeless, reported on the phenomenon called “bum hunting”, in which teens stalk the homeless and hunt then down to be savagely beaten, sometimes to death. The NCH estimates that as many as 500 homeless people have died as a result of this “sport” since 1999. The popular video series “Bum Fights”, in which the homeless, some of whom are mentally ill, are bribed with liquor and small amounts of money to fight each other, light their hair on fire and hurt themselves on camera, has been named as the inspiration for many of these attacks by the actual perpetrators in court proceedings. The exploitation of the weak, powerless and homeless has become genuine home entertainment.

You haven’t seen anything until you have seen The Bum Hunter. The Bum Hunter is a sick parody of Steve Irwin’s Crocodile Hunter, only the Bum Hunter hunts bums.

He sneaks up on them while they are asleep, referring to them as “creatures” and “fine specimens”, then falls upon them and restrains them by duct taping (yes!) their feet, hands and mouths. Sometimes he rolls them over and makes remarks about their skin, hair, nails and once he opened a homeless man’s mouth (yes, he did!) to inspect his teeth on camera.

He then ransacks their buggies, carts and bags, holding them up and describing their contents to the camera.

What did the producer of “Bum Fights” have to say for his sorry, perverted self? And I quote:

“We’re merely exposing something that people didn’t know exists. I think it’s interesting. I can’t imagine what would make somebody do the things that Rufus [a homeless man paid by the producer in alcohol and a ten-spot to humiliate himself on-camera] has done to himself……..”

Not only could he not see why Rufus would do these things, he couldn’t see the connection between his videos and the upswing in violence against the homeless by teenagers, even though his videos were cited as inspiration by millions of teens who engage in bum hunting.

In 2004, nine national retailers, including Target, Borders, Blockbuster, Barnes and Noble, Tower Records, Best Buy and Amazon saw nothing wrong with selling these “Bum Hunter” videos in their stores or on their websites. After the NCH called these national retailers out for their exploitation of the lost and unsheltered in a Cleveland press conference, they immediately stopped selling them.

These videos have found a second life on YouTube, but then you knew they would, didn’t you? Check it out and be sickened.

DON’T HATE ME BECAUSE I’M INDIGENT

Should assaulting a homeless person be considered a hate crime? The Southern Poverty Law Center, which monitors hate groups and their activities in the United States, certainly thinks so. According to The Intelligence Report, formerly known as Klanwatch, crimes against the homeless resemble hate crimes.

Brian Levin, a criminologist and hate-crimes expert at Cal State San Bernardino, says attacks on homeless people "fit the category like a glove" and should be punished as severely. He explains that hate crimes and attacks on the homeless bear an uncanny resemblance to one another: stereotyped victims, offenders who act on latent prejudices, offenders who seek thrills or feel superior to their victims (like, say, a uniformed security guard in a public library), and a mob mentality.

"And on all these points the attacks against the homeless are really indistinguishable from other hate crimes except for one difference — there are a heck of a lot more of them", Levin says.

According to the FBI, which has been collecting hate crimes data since 1990, between 1999 and 2005, 82 people were killed in the United States of America because of their race, ethnicity, or religious or sexual orientation.

There were 169 homeless people murdered-more than twice as many people-during that same period, the National Coalition for the Homeless says. In the next 2 years 56 more homeless people would be murdered on the basis of their lack of housing.

By 2007, 26 members of Congress had asked the GAO to determine whether attacks on the homeless can be classified as federal hate crimes, and six states, Maryland, California, Massachusetts, Nevada, Texas and Florida, put homeless hate crimes bills into their legislatures.

BACK TO THE STACKS

I don’t look at the incident of March 7, 2009 as a tragedy, because it’s not. I see it as an opportunity to inform the public about the seriousness of this problem that few people even think about. A society is judged on how it treats its lessers; its poor, its uneducated, its children, its elderly. Detroiters should know that their fellow citizens are being abused and mistreated.

The fact that the abuser, in this situation, is a municipal employee or perhaps a contractor, just makes it all that more difficult to understand.

Strangely enough, this is not the first time I’ve witnessed the callousness of a City of Detroit employee toward a homeless person.

IT’S DÉJÀ VU ALL OVER AGAIN

A little over a year ago, I was riding the Fort Street bus when a homeless man tripped off the curb into its path. He hit his head on the pavement and was knocked unconscious.

As a tiny but slow river of blood flowed from and puddled under his head, the bus driver remained behind the wheel of the bus while staunchly refusing to see about the man. “I don’t want to get sued”, she said. Instead of calling EMS, she called her dispatcher and told him she couldn’t move her bus because a man was laying in front of it.

She didn’t want to get in trouble for being late on her bus route, so she cleared herself with a DOT supervisor first. Myself and another passenger called EMS for him. She radioed for an ambulance, but only after we had already used our cell phones to call.

So when I saw the DPL guard kick the sleeping man, I knew I had a job to do.



WHEN YOU GET RIGHT DOWN TO IT

The recent collapse of the American dream has revealed the ugly truth, that a society that worships money, material possessions, youth and beauty is not so rich, accomplished, young and pretty after all, but a seriously deluded collective who must keep the hoax going by any means necessary.

The homeless are a staunch reminder of what a joke the American dream really is, how unattainable it really is and how quickly it can become a nightmare. We see how far and how fast one can fall after losing a paycheck, and our wage slavery becomes apparent. We feel cheap and gutless, like frightened whores standing in the rain.

The homeless reflect the truth about the society we live in, a society that would spend trillions of dollars killing people on the other side of the world instead of spending millions saving lives at home; the brutality of our socioeconomic system is oh so very obvious and becomes glaringly apparent, but we can’t stop worshipping it.

We can’t look at the homeless, lest we see who we really are. Besides, it might be catching, so wemust run away from it as fast as we can.

And maybe that’s it; maybe the sight of ourselves if not for the grace of God disturbs us on some primal level. We have to ignore them (us) and if that doesn’t work, destroy what they represent (our true selves outside of God’s mercy and grace) even if it means destroying them, period.

That is why the man at the Main Library ended up on the floor. He was appropriately feisty and belligerent toward the guards when he came to himself. I was relieved to hear from the library director that he had returned to the library, all piss and vinegar and insult and trouble, because it meant he had survived his fall and was alright. I’ve wondered in the 80 or so days since he crashed to the floor if he was okay.

Nothing is coincidence; I witnessed the injustice done to the sleeping man for a reason. Perhaps it’s because I’m like him, all piss and vinegar and insult and trouble, appropriately feisty and belligerent and unafraid to stand up and speak truth to power; maybe I’m the only one who could write this editorial not for the glorification of self, but in the hopes that it will spur someone to action and bring about a change.

And if that is so, then God’s mercy and grace has not been far from him at all; His mercy is my witnessing what happened and standing up for the homeless man, His grace, the man’s ignorance of what was done to him in the library that day.

God is good. All the time.

You can contact Uzoma Onyemaechi via email at uonyema@detroitpubliclibrary.org, or you can call him at (313) 833-1000. Drop him a line; let him know you read this and tell him what you think. I told him I would write this, so you won’t be surprising him. Go ahead, email the guy; after all, he, like the security guard, is a public employee.

Mr. Onyemaechi has this weird habit of referring to Detroiters who use the DPL as “customers”; I had to correct him on that. People who support libraries and other institutions through tax dollars are not customers. They are patrons; he and his employees are on the public’s dime. It’s that corporate crap they’re teaching to public institutions these days.

Go ahead, email him and let him know that in light of the foreclosure crisis that has touched every city in this country and the many families that have been displaced from their homes that you don’t appreciate his lack of compassion for our most vulnerable citizens.

There but for the grace of God go us all, and he can go, too. Tell him that.

Call Onyemaechi and tell him to respect the dignity of the homeless.


Patricia Calloway writes Citizen Pat’s Blog at
www.thepatshow.wordpress.com. She lives in Detroit, Michigan