Torches, Forks and a Single Banner

I have a dream.  It goes back to the bad old days in the USA during the Vietnam “war” and the naïve children that we were in our “days of rage.”  We were aware that we had been raised on a steady diet of white bread and crappola, and weren’t very happy about it. We had cute little demonstrations and waved signs and stuff. We got whacked on the head with sticks. We all got sucked into the war in Vietnam, one way or another. Except the Black Panthers. They were simply framed and shot.  

We did not stop the war; we didn’t even slow it down.  It tottered toward its own destruction for six more years until it collapsed under its own corruption.  The number of fragged ticket-punching “officers” and otherwise dispatched gung-ho gomers points to the real revolution within the military, a story suppressed to this day.  That’s why the nervous-nellie neocons “privatized” the military; mercenaries seldom bite the hand that pays them.  That’s another story for another time.  Here is the dream.

Suppose about 20-30 citizens organized in every town where there is a TV station (forget “marches on Washington”).  Equipment required: a handful of tiki torches and a couple dozen garden forks (available at any garden store)… plus one 10’x3’ banner that displays a single word: “Nuremberg!” 

That should simply explain what the party’s “demand” is:  an international tribunal convened at the Hague to indict, investigate and prosecute the US war criminals. 

When the station’s “News Director” sends a camera out front (because it’s closer than the local petting zoo), a party member can read the indictments at Nuremberg:

1. Participation in a common plan or conspiracy for the accomplishment of crime against peace
2. Planning, initiating and waging wars of aggression and other crimes against peace
3. War crimes
4. Crimes against humanity

(and it may be necessary to explain what the Nuremberg Trials were, who the Nazis were, etc. Any local History teacher would be glad to do this).

And what is the “name” of the party?  Why the House-Warming Party, of course!  The Party motto: “No more houses in foreclosure.”  Let the camera peep hear the “motto,” eye the tiki torches and put 2+2 together.

Advocating arson?  Why, of course not!  That would be illegal!  Besides, the House-Warming Party advocates Rule of Law, and since the US war criminals only want to “look forward,” US Citizens obviously can not depend on our own legal system to stop the war crimes being committed in our name.  The idea is to put the “heat” on the houses of Congress critters and Senate perps.  Threatening to torch all foreclosed property would be extortion… like when the banksters jack up interest rates.

“Gee… wuddnt it be a shame if sumtin shood happen to yer previous gud credut.  Den youse wuddnt keeps yer job and cuddnt gets anudder one… wuddnt dat be a shaaame.  An besidez… youse signed da kontrak… dint youse?”

Well, the critters and perps did not read the “fine print” either… the Constitution.  And what part of the Declaration’s “alter or abolish it” fine-print don’t they understand?  Did not the President mention that his “administration” is all that stands between the banksters and the pitchforks?  Maybe it’s time to put this meme to work.

Besides, garden forks are more useful.  Rather than pitching hay, they can be used to peacefully plant petunias on the public road-side in front of the local TV station.  Oh, the banner?  Why, we want to establish Nuremberg Roadside Beautification Projects all over the country!  Anybody who believed in Iraq’s “WMDs” shouldn’t have any problem swallowing this horse-exhaust.  Maybe when the banksters actually see the forks and the Obamabots see The Hague, the crooks will let us take what we need to rebuild the railroads and overhaul the energy grid and the “health care system.”

Hey, youngsters… and you young-at-heart: organize a Nuremberg Garden Club in front of your local TV station to support the House-Warming Party!  Me?  Well… I’m way too old and cynical to organize squat.  If somebody ELSE does it, I’ll gladly show up with my fork and petunias.  But I got my head clonked in Chicago in ’68, and this old hippie aint marchin’ any more.  Betcha a garden fork could keep a “riot baton” off one’s head, but what the hell do I know?  I’m just an old man thinking of what might have been.

But I still have a dream.