Monthly Archives: February 2014

Can We Just Send Finneran The Bill? Please!

Representative Thomas Finneran will go down in local history for a variety of egregious acts committed against the best interests of the Commonwealth and its citizens. First, of course, he will be remembered as the politician who terminally wounded Clean Elections in our state by refusing, as Speaker of the Massachusetts House, to honor the referendum vote that legally established publicly financed elections and limits on campaign spending for public office.Finneran

Then, of course, the Stalinist Speaker from Dorchester will most be remembered for his conviction on obstruction of justice charges. The obstruction was committed in a trial where he professed ignorance of redistricting decisions that he himself dictated to his dutiful minions. The fact that those decisions discriminated against black and minority voters to the benefit of himself and other incumbent white legislators was a mere coincidence, according to an unrepentant and defiant Finneran.

And most recently, in Federal Court we are witnessing the real legacy of Thomas M. Finneran at the racketeering trial of former Probation Department officials. Though John O’Brien, former Probation Commissioner, and two of his deputies are the ones on trial, it’s really Finneran’s legislative shadow that falls across the proceedings. Because it was Finneran who empowered O’Brien, thus enabling the allegedly rigged hiring system that  favored well-connected applicants over more qualified candidates. A system that fed on a vicious cycle of yearly budget increases voted by a patronage-hungry legislature. A system that poured millions of tax dollars down a sink hole of cronyism. Millions of dollars funneled to friends and relations of politicians rather than the state’s under-funded schools, broken down bridges or its struggling transportation system.

Of course, the biggest cost was paid by those lawbreakers in the probation system who for years were denied the value of honest guidance and supervision by highly qualified probation officers. Who can calculate the price they paid?

But back to our story…

Finneran was Speaker of the House in 1997, when O’Brien was appointed to run the Probation Department. Increasingly frustrated by a system that required the approval by local judges of all probation officers assigned to their courts, Finneran, in late 2001, pushed through a bill centralizing hiring and promotion decisions in O’Brien’s office.

It was Finneran who knowingly created this honey pot for his legislative colleagues. Finneran who enabled John O’Brien and his Probation Department to become the alleged disasters they ultimately became. Finneran who should be sent an invoice for every dollar paid by the state to every under-qualified probation department employee. And if you read the list of the department’s politically-connected employees, you’ll find a select inventory of relatives and friends of the state’s high and mighty, from two sons of former Senate President William Bulger, to children, nephews, friends and campaign workers of more politicians than ordinarily show up for work on a normal day at the State House.

As Finneran explained at the time of his 2001 legislative push to give O’Brien unchallenged hiring authority, “If you scan a list of probation officers, there might be sons and daughters of politicians and judges there. That’s not going to go away. And, honestly, I don’t think it should. They shouldn’t be excluded because of the achievements of their parents.’’

To which I’d like to add, “Nor should a politician be excluded from paying for the cost of his political crime, even if he’s merely its unindicted legislative enabler.

So, please, can somebody figure out how many millions of dollars the Commonwealth has spent in the last dozen years to fund a Probation Department strong on political connections but almost bereft of professional focus or substance?

And then, please, I beg you, send an invoice for that amount to Thomas M. Finneran.

In lieu of our sincere “Thanks!”

I Am A Ukrainian

How can you not stand up and cheer at what we’ve just witnessed in Eastern Europe? To see an entire populace rise up against injustice, autocracy and the armed lackeys of a corrupt police state reminds me of what real courage looks like, especially when it’s bolstered by the adrenaline of outrage and moral authority.Ukraine

I couldn’t watch this impoverished proletariat fighting so valiantly—and risking so much—for their rights, their country and for the future of their children’s children without thinking about how far we Americans have drifted from our own revolutionary and democratic ideals. So far that we would allow George W. Bush to twice steal the presidency of the United States (see michaelparenti.org/stolenelections.html) staring impotently with our mouths open, too afraid of the consequences that might come from shouting out the truth and fighting for our rights. Too comfortable, in all likelihood, with our material possessions and modest successes to risk any of it by standing up and shouting “Fraud! Thief! Liar!” as we should have done—as we have an obligation to do as legatees of our revolution and its democratic values!

And so we turned over in bed, having taken a sleeping pill to deal with any discomfiting after-effects of watching our country hijacked by these lackeys of disgruntled billionaires.

Yes, we’ve fallen so far from our American ideals that we would allow almost every state legislature controlled by Republicans to institute laws designed to deprive citizens of their voting rights in the name of preventing voting fraud. A fraud admittedly non-existent and clearly invoked as a fig leaf to conceal the pathetic conniving of a fastly-shrinking political minority.

Where is our outrage? Where are the barricades we would mount to fight for the democratic ideals our forebears died to secure and preserve? Where indeed! Instead of mounting barricades we sit docilely in front of our TV sets while this minority band of politicians gerrymander themselves into the power of the majority and attempt to dismantle every right and protection built up to protect the poor, the weak and the elderly.

Why do we allow these cynical enemies of democracy to determine the national conversation? Why do we allow them to first dismantle our economy under Bush, raid the treasury to protect the banks and  tycoons who created the crisis, then block almost every attempt made by Obama to prevent the poor and the middle class from falling off the game board entirely?

Once I was proud to say “I am an American.” Admittedly it was a time of innocence. A time before Viet Nam. A time before we unnecessarily declared war against Iraq. A time before banks and bankers were allowed to destroy our economy with impunity. A time before Republicans and their billionaire puppeteers were allowed to dictate the national agenda. And, yes, a time before drones were sent to foreign skies to kill enemies and civilians alike without due process.

It was also a time before the events of this last week. A week when I was able to watch breathlessly—with equal measures of hope and trepidation—as a country of 46 million people shook off the chains of corruption and domination that a small group of tyrants had imposed. This was what a fight for democracy and freedom really looked like. It was a week where true-life heroes, brave enough to challenge bullets and riot police, were arrayed before the world in a laughable contrast to the Olympic ‘heroes’ who captured most of the media’s attention.

There was only one international event truly worth watching this week. One event where the human species was shown to reach its most brilliant and most memorable heights.

And it didn’t take place in Sochi.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Backstage At The Universe

Over thirty years have passed since that summer’s day in late August. A day when sweat stained everything you touched and the slightest breeze might have lifted your hopes but never the heat.

I was on a spiritual retreat, locked away for a week on a country estate with a few hundred others mothwho, like myself, were seeking a sense of order for their lives by briefly escaping the senseless chaos of their worlds. On the day in question I was toiling away in the depths of the estate’s ancient kitchen.

It must have been mid-afternoon when a heavy, languorous droning pulled me from my task, and I found myself staring at, then chasing after, one of those mammoth B-52 moths that seem to live for the thrill of banging into porch screens on sultry summer nights.

He was so fat and ponderous that his evasive retreat seemed to unwind in slow motion through the thick heavy air of the kitchen. Still, he might have escaped had he not flown so close to the window where someone had braced a large portable fan to exhaust the heat of the kitchen ovens.

Fascinated by the sudden drama taking place, I watched as the moth was drawn out of his flight path and pulled—wings flapping in futile resistance—towards the whirling, humming blades of the fan.

It was then that the spectacle took a curious turn. The moth, in a plucky bid for survival, reached for the fan’s safety screen as he was being sucked through. When I stepped up for a closer look, there he was stubbornly clinging with two front micro-thin feelers to a strand of enameled wire while the rest of his oversized torso was lifted into the vortex of the fan’s inexorable draft.

There was something bewitching about this melodrama before me. How else can you describe a moment in your life when a moth becomes suddenly heroic?

I was moved by the moth’s almost human will to survive, and the all-too-human way in which he struggled against forces far greater than his species was programmed to resist. It was as if he understood what waited for him the moment he released his grip and was holding on for dear life like a frightened sentient creature.

In witnessing what seemed to me a triumph over the insect’s moth-like nature, I inexplicably began to view things that lay beyond the ordinary limits of my own human vision. And in that instant of higher insight, I saw that he and I, in some fundamental way, were not really different from each other. In fact, at some core, ordinarily untapped level, we were exactly the same.

This wasn’t knowledge offered up by my intellect, but rather a sense of knowing that came from deep within.

Looking back, I can see that certain qualities shine when manifested, as if containing glimpses of higher truths. What I was experiencing in the drama of the indomitable moth was courage in its purest form. There was something so primal about its nature that it seemed as if I were watching the gears of the universe at work.

I was living in two worlds, and from where I stood I could see them both. In one world, an insignificant moth—one that in the past I could have easily, without thought or regret, flattened with a rolled newspaper—was valiantly fighting for its life. In the other, a moth and a man—he and I—were no different from each other than one actor in a drama is to the next, We had different roles to play, different costumes to wear, but the importance of those differences melted away once you realized they only existed on a stage.

Suddenly my role in the drama became clear.

I placed my index finger within reaching distance of the moth, and he—true to his role—reached for it, pulling himself to the safety of my finger with the first feeler before letting go of the wire strand with the second.

Though he hadn’t the language to express it, he knew what I was offering in that moment of extreme peril, he knew the consequences if he didn’t respond, and knew that I, the giant creature that had maliciously chased him around the kitchen only moments before, was now acting as a benevolent and trustworthy friend.

In that timeless moment I connected with the moth in a way I’ve never connected with any other animal or insect, and only rarely with a fellow human being.

And then, of course, the moment passed.

For awhile, I just stood there, silently staring at this brave little creature who seemed content to sit forever on my outstretched finger. But one can only remain so long in the midst of a busy kitchen staring at a moth on your finger before people begin to murmur vague remarks that grow less vague the longer you remain.

And so I carried my new friend outside where I brought him up close to my face for inspection. As I had feared, the magic was indeed gone. Here again was a moth, fat and ugly as before, a kindred spirit no longer. Whatever door had opened to reveal the clockworks of the universe had closed shut once again.

Just a moth sitting on my finger in a world where moths and humans rarely interact.

I don’t recall any parting words. With a gentle nudge, his fat little body took wing. I envied him the sky to which he rose, but returned without regret to my duties in the kitchen.

There’s a place in the universe – call it a back room, if you wish – where all things share equally in the substance of creation. A place where courage and the will to survive can break down the barriers and divisions we foolishly believe are immutable. A place where a moth and a man can meet on equal terms.

One hot August afternoon I stumbled into that room, and ever since I’ve been trying to find my way back.

———————

This remembrance, which appeared in my book of short insights and fiction flights, “How To Train A Rock” has stayed with me like an old friend. I was recently asked to recount the story and in digging it up to re-read, I thought anew how much I liked it, and how appropriate it would be to share it with you. We live in a world where humans often act as if the universe was created for our benefit, and all “lesser” creatures are given diminished importance and limited rights. For a brief illuminated moment, I discovered the fallacy of such thinking.

Why The Cambridge Residents Alliance STILL Matters

Almost a year has passed since my essay, “Why The Cambridge Residents Alliance Matters,”  appeared on these pages, and though much has changed in that time, much has also remained the same.

NOBODY GOES ANYWHERE!

NOBODY GOES ANYWHERE!

At the time of my original article it appeared as though the powers that be—our city council, our planning board and our Community Development Department—were rushing feverishly towards recommendations and decisions that would further gentrify Cambridge and, by spiking the already unaffordable cost of housing in our city, force out additional families and dismantle our precious but fragile diversity. Decisions that would forever change the face, the personality and character of Central Square and its adjoining neighborhoods. Decisions that would have served a gilded circle of developers, business interests and affluent renters at the expense of the city’s current residents.

Fortunately, there is a new awareness throughout our city that we have been navigating dangerous waters, that we have been traveling much too close to the perilous rocks of gentrification and ill-considered over-development. That rising awareness can be seen in the growing numbers of Cambridge residents who have tuned into city politics, either by joining our organization or by expressing their views and concerns through their votes. And consequently the makeup of this year’s city council has changed in a precedent-setting election that saw incumbents challenged as they never had been before, and new voices of reason brought on; voices that are questioning the council’s automatic green-lighting of almost every up-zoning request; voices that are calling for realistic traffic studies and the development of an honest citywide master plan.

But, as I said before, much has changed and much has remained the same. The same people who bobble-headed “Yes!” to almost every development proposal that came before the Ordnance Committee still make up a majority on the city council. The same Community Development Department whose biased and pre-determined pursuit of apartment towers for Central Square are still advocating for their C2 Advisory Committee recommendations as if those zoning changes represent the will of the people. The same rubber-stamping Zoning Board members who seemingly spend little time questioning the impact of their approvals—Alewife’s almost-terminal traffic congestion being a prime example—are still sitting at their table waiting to approve whatever the CDD puts before them.

Which is why we cannot afford to rest on our laurels. And why it’s increasingly important that neighborhood groups and concerned citizens stay involved. Make no mistake, the folks who put themselves on the line to support the massive rezoning of Central Square are not going to step aside willingly. There’s far too much at stake. From all I’ve been able to see, the C2 advisory process was set up to provide cover to a massive up-zoning of Central Square that will benefit MIT most directly, and a whole host of varied business interests. A lot of money is at stake. Money that will go into developers’ pockets, money that will lubricate the wheels and avarice of business interests and, yes, money that will also go into the city’s coffers and prove what great managers we have running our city.

As we state on our CambridgeResidentsAlliance.org web site…”The Cambridge Residents Alliance represents individuals and neighborhood organizations committed to preserving and promoting a livable, affordable and diverse Cambridge community.” We owe no allegiance to future populations whose interests must be served at the expense of our current families and economically disadvantaged residents.

We are also concerned about the choking of travel on our streets, buses and trains through over-development that is erroneously termed “Smart Development” because it happens to take place near a transit line that is maxed out and gasping for relief.

We also believe you can’t place a value on sunlight, sky views, shadow-free streets or open spaces. But we also know the price we’re being asked to pay when those intangible treasures are whittled away by policies and recommendations wholly unsuited to a city already choking on its density.

And lastly, like those activists who stopped the Inner Belt highway in its tracks all those years ago, we will not be silenced by those who propose development at all costs, who will not learn from the lessons of the past, and who refuse to honestly study the impacts of their proposals. Cambridge is a city of people from diverse backgrounds, economic levels, ethnicities and visions. Rather than put any of those parties at risk by serving the vision of taxes-hungry city managers or profit-hungry developers we’re calling for an unbiased citywide study of development and growth issues from which we can fashion a sensible approach to creating a future we all can share.

For all these reason, and more—much more!—the Cambridge Residents Alliance is STILL of critical importance to the future of our city.

Now more than ever!

 

Paul Steven Stone is a member of The Cambridge Residents Alliance, but is solely expressing personal opinions in the above essay, and not the official views of the Cambridge Residents Alliance.