Everything You Need to Know About Socialism in Twenty Quotes

Considering that one of the Democratic candidates is a self identified socialist, we need to expose socialist ideation.  This is just a sample;

1) "The problem with socialism is that you eventually run out of other people’s money." -- Margaret Thatcher

2) "It is the common error of Socialists to overlook the natural indolence of mankind; their tendency to be passive, to be the slaves of habit, to persist indefinitely in a course once chosen. Let them once attain any state of existence which they consider tolerable, and the danger to be apprehended is that they will thenceforth stagnate; will not exert themselves to improve, and by letting their faculties rust, will lose even the energy required to preserve them from deterioration. Competition may not be the best conceivable stimulus, but it is at present a necessary one, and no one can foresee the time when it will not be indispensable to progress." -- John Stuart Mill

3) "Socialism is when government's taking care of you, you send all your money to the government, the government decides how to spend it instead of letting the people spend it and make all those decisions." -- Bob Latta

4) "We are socialists, we are enemies of today's capitalistic economic system for the exploitation of the economically weak, with its unfair salaries, with its unseemly evaluation of a human being according to wealth and property instead of responsibility and performance, and we are all determined to destroy this system under all conditions." -- Adolf Hitler

5) "What distinguished Nazism from other brands of socialism and communism was not so much that it included more aspects from the political right (though there were some). What distinguished Nazism was that it forthrightly included a worldview we now associate almost completely with the political left: identity politics. This was what distinguished Nazism from doctrinaire communism, and it seems hard to argue the marriage of one leftist vision to another can somehow produce right-wing progeny." -- Jonah Goldberg

6) "The goal of socialism is communism." -- Vladimir Lenin

7) "This isn't new. Those who favor socialism always make the moral case for it. The truth is, maybe they actually believe in it, but in the real world, socialism harms, it weakens the economies of countries that have tried it. It just does. Weaker economies hurt everybody in them. Socialism kills incentive, opportunity, freedom. It is the opposite of what America is all about. Look, socialism always harms the people it claims to help the most. It handicaps them, leaving them weaker, less self-determined, less free." -- Bobby Jindal

8) “When plunder becomes a way of life for a group of men in a society, over the course of time they create for themselves a legal system that authorizes it and a moral code that glorifies it.” -- Frédéric Bastiat

9) "Socialism states that you owe me something simply because I exist. Capitalism, by contrast, results in a sort of reality-forced altruism: I may not want to help you, I may dislike you, but if I don't give you a product or service you want, I will starve. Voluntary exchange is more moral than forced redistribution." -- Ben Shapiro

10) “I was guilty of judging capitalism by its operations and socialism by its hopes and aspirations; capitalism by its works and socialism by its literature.” -- Sidney Hook

11) "In 1989, for two hours' labor at the minimum wage, an American worker could obtain, at a corner Sizzler, a feast more opulent, more nutritionally rich and gastronomically diverse than anything available to almost all the citizens of the socialist world (including the elite) at almost any price." -- David Horowitz

12) “In practice, socialism didn’t work. But socialism could never have worked because it is based on false premises about human psychology and society, and gross ignorance of human economy.” -- David Horowitz

13) "I believe that all forms of socialism have been proven over time to result in a loss of both economic and civil liberties, with increasing poverty." -- John Mackey

14) "Socialism values equality more than liberty." -- Dennis Prager

15) "Socialism is for those who think most people are losers. Capitalism is for those who think most people can take care of themselves." -- John Hawkins

16) "Socialism proposes no adequate substitute for the motive of enlightened selfishness that today is at the basis of all human labor and effort, enterprise and new activity." -- William Howard Taft

17) “Socialism provides safety in numbers. And that’s OK, if you don’t mind trading your name—your identity and individualism — for a number.” -- Jarod Kintz

18) “The champions of socialism call themselves progressives, but they recommend a system which is characterized by rigid observance of routine and by a resistance to every kind of improvement. They call themselves liberals, but they are intent upon abolishing liberty. They call themselves democrats, but they yearn for dictatorship. They call themselves revolutionaries, but they want to make the government omnipotent. They promise the blessings of the Garden of Eden, but they plan to transform the world into a gigantic post office." --  Ludwig von Mises

19) "Socialists cry 'Power to the people', and raise the clenched fist as they say it. We all know what they really mean--power over people, power to the State." -- Margaret Thatcher

20) "The inherent vice of capitalism is the unequal sharing of blessings; the inherent virtue of socialism is the equal sharing of miseries." -- Winston Churchill

Sisar Creek Rising

Sisar Creek Rising

Many years ago, 1974 to be exact, I lived in a pocket canyon called Sisar, up Sisar Road.  Of all things, Sisar Creek threaded its way down the canyon, cold and clear.  I lived with a commune called Students of Life.  We had a couple of tent houses, a rock goat barn, three travel trailers and a small single wide trailer.  Oh, and a tent trailer.  There was a garden in the upper flat above the main house, a sturdy thing of cut rock, with a wood burning stove.   Boyd Dron, the owner, was traveling somewhere and somehow friends had found out, leased the property, collected some housing, and there we were. 

I lived in the travel trailer near the spring fed pool and the creek was a stone’s throw away. 

The drive home was always interesting.  From wherever I had been, it was up Dennison Grade to Ojai’s upper valley, and then east up Sisar Canyon Road.  A short stretch of the road was paved but by the time you got near the first gate, it was dirt and rock.  The gate was maintained by the USFS and we had our own key and they had theirs.  So I had to stop, unlock and open the gate, drive in, stop and lock up. 

One evening, likely February when the rains come to southern California, I drove home, anticipating that the three creek crossings could be up.  The first crossing was broad and flat and shallow.  I stopped my VW Bug and stepped on the high beam button, then engaged the parking brake.  I got out and looked and the water, pouring over upstream boulders.  I stood there a minute, calculating.  The creek looked slightly wider than usual, which meant it was deeper.  So I got back into Bug, disengaged the brake and eased into first.  Clutch out, we rolled down the shallow incline and into the water.  There were a few larger rocks that I felt through the tires as we bounced over them and the headlights dipped underwater momentarily.  I was across in about 10 seconds and rolling up the dirt road to the next crossing.  There was standing water in a couple places but since the road was either up or down for most of its length, water tended not to puddle. 

I was dressed as I usually did in those days…ankle high leather work boots, jeans, flannel shirt, jacket. 

The next crossing was narrower.  Was then, still is. With very large boulders funneling the water into a deeper pool.  Again I stopped and got out.  Looked at the water, listened to it rush and tumble.  Felt the rain against my face.  I probably thought something like, what the heck.  Let’s go.  And go I did.

The crossing was no more than 15 feet across, with a sharp descent going in and sharp ascent coming out.  I rolled in in first gear, easy on the gas, lurched upward as the right front tire found a larger rock and came to a dead stop.  Tried reversing, then forward again.  And again.  I. Was.  Stuck. 

Thinking of the water above the tailpipes, I pulled the manual choke out half an inch to raise the rpms and avoid water getting into the exhaust system.  Grabbed a chrome flashlight from the glove box and stepped out into the creek. 

The water was cold, shockingly cold.  I waded around the back of the car and felt around under the passenger side.  Yep, a rock the size of a bread box had flipped up and was firmly wedged against the under pan.  It’s funny to think back on this.  I was never alarmed or scared.  I didn’t curse or fume.  I just worked. 

I popped the trunk open and grabbed the jack and handle and waded back around to the side.  I had to hold the light with one hand, while the other slipped the jack into the jack slot behind the front wheel.  I worked the handle up and down until the jack was fully extended.  No lift.  I felt underneath and realized that the jack wouldn’t reach the creek bed, short by several inches.  Fumbling around upstream, I found another rock, about the size of an unabridged dictionary and relatively flat.  I wrestled the rock into place and extended the jack again.  Success.  The car started lifting and I reached under and pulled out the offending boulder that had trapped me and Bug.  I guess I needed more hands, for as I fumbled with jack and rock and flashlight in the chilly water, I dropped the light and watched it tumble under the car, roll down stream and slip into a deep pool where the light kept glowing.  There was no retrieving it.  Pulled the jack out, put the tools away, dropped the hood and felt the latch engage.  I got back into Bug, slammed the door, first gear, clutch out and rolled up and out of the crossing.

I was wet-soaked and saturated from my boots to my shoulders.  And cold.  Thoroughly chilled.  Water sluiced off me and onto the vinyl seat and down to the rubber floor mats.  We ground up the short grade, rounded a bend and came to a dead stop.  The community stake bed truck was parked up against a small landslide that blocked the road.  There was nothing to be done.  I got my old Boy Scout canvas pack from the back seat, locked the car and trudged up the road. My trailer was about another mile or so, up the dirt road, no flashlight, sloshing water, chilled to the bone and two more crossings. 

The third crossing was like the second, narrow, closed in by boulders.  I waded across water above my knees, and followed the road as it switch-backed one turn up the canyon. I trudged up past Larry’s tent house, then Michael's.  No lights.  They may have opted to stay somewhere in town that night.   There was a fourth crossing was wider and shallower and once across it the trailer was only 50 yards away.

I let my cat, Gandalf, in, he was mostly dry, sheltered under the trailer. Slammed the door shut, shivered.  Inside, I lit the burners on my two ring gas cooker and began to struggle out of the wet clothes.  Gandalf jumped up on my desk that spanned the width of the trailer and watched.  Boots, socks, jeans, underwear, jacket, flannel shirt, t shirt.  All soaked.  I walked the 10 feet to the “bedroom” and pulled out clean dry clothes, took a blanket off the cot and wrapped myself in it.  Back in the kitchen/desk area, I put water on for tea.  By now the trailer was warmed.  Gandalf had curled up on the desk, still watching. 

At the time, I thought my self lucky.  I tend now to think I had divine assistance.  If the car had stalled at any time, the engine would have flooded and that would have been the end of that.  If I’d not put my hand on the right rock the first time, the extrication could have taken much longer.  If I’d dropped the jack or the handle.  If we’d not had a partial moon that night.  If.  If. 

In 2010, for my 60th birthday, my wife Merry and I took a two week vacation to California.  One day, we hiked Sisar Canyon.  Crossed the first crossing with dry feet, using a fallen tree as a bridge.  at the second crossing, I saw not much had changed in the configuration of rocks.  We pulled off boots and peeled off socks, rolled up pants and made our way across.  The water was cold but it was June, nowhere near as cold as that February night.  We hiked further up the canyon, past the gate to Boyd's place, his gate closed with a prominent NO TRESPASSING sign.  The day was warm, lovely in the shade from the oaks, hot in the sun. 

It was a small piece of home, Sisar was. 

Hillside Dream

In a tiny cabin clinging to the emerald edge

of a lush flower strewn meadow

the pale weave of Queen Anne’s lace

bobbing golden poppies

nodding at the breeze

strolling through the purple thistles

and red clover that enticed

the sweet drowsing bees

to dance a mother may I

on the deep warm air

that stirred the golden hairs on my forearm
resting in the sun on the worn wooden railing
splintering with the rise and fall of seasons
of sun and rain and knife edge frost and there,
with the meadowlarks aria,
and the bickering Stellar’s jays
and insistent tattoos of a pileated woodpecker
hammering his way into spongy old bark
and the haze of early morning fog
yet clinging to the dark pond
stirring with water skimmers
and dragonfly nymphs
here I took a breath in with my eyes
as if I had been drowning in the dark dawn
took a breath of this great blessing of stout oak
and leaning fir and long green grass
a lady bug wandering amid my arm hairs
I smelled the heat rising around me
with every beat of my heart
and gorged on the warm air again
scudding gravid clouds
at the horizon shedding promises
of rain at the grass glinting greenly
and took in that last breath
and thought
this is the only life I’ve ever known. 
God, what a thing you have done. 

For My Mother

My mother was

Up to her elbows in dish water,

Her voice husky

As she stared out the window at the evening traffic

Or at nothing.

I stood next to her, drying while she washed.

My father gone but a few short years,

It was Christmas

And the memories tugged at her apron strings,

Pulling her back to grief.

I wish I had a basketful of ironing

Just now.

The calm assurance of routine,

Chores worn into her fingers,

Her tired face.

I could say nothing just then

But felt the tears well up.

I put my arm across her shoulders,

For just a moment.

She glanced at me, saw my tears.

Oh, honey. I’m sorry.

Then.

It’s okay Mom.

Though we both knew it wasn't.

But would be someday.

Meals for the Homeless

Last evening about 15 of us from our church, Bloomfield Hills Baptist Church, went to Star Presbyterian Church in Royal Oak to help serve dinner to the homeless people sheltering there.  We made our way from the dark parking lot, up the stairs, past a few men standing outside, huddled in heavy coats, smoking, laughing.  Inside, we were directed to the church library to drop our coats, get name tags, and register.  From there we were directed to the very warm kitchen where 4 very large pots steamed and simmered on the industrial size stove.  Chicken noodle soup, carrots, corn.  And in the ovens at least 10 pans of lasagna.

Within a few minutes we had rolled up sleeves, washed our hands and picked a task.  Merry and I ladled soup into plastic bowls, set them on trays on a small metal cart, and others began rolling them out to the dining area.  Others dug into pans of lasagna and ladled them onto plates.  In the next minute men and women began streaming past the serving area.  Mostly men.  A handful of women.  They smiled as they picked plates sagging under the weight of generous servings.  There were heartfelt thank you’s, mumbled thanks, “a little more please.”  The food went fast, and within an hour most of the food was gone or nearly so.  That was our cue to uncover the trays of cookies and carry them out.  Some smiled, some asked can I have two?  Some took handfuls.  Others passed, being too full from dinner.  As I circulated, I heard, dessert?  And table service?  There was quiet laughter.  Some asked, what’s in those, pointing to the chocolate macadamia cookies.  Others asked for oatmeal, which we didn’t have.  Some made eye contact, others seemed shy, affects flat, turned inward.

I came to the last table and a large man with beautiful deep dark skin, like really strong coffee.  His beard was short, gray.   His hair covered with a stocking cap.  He looked up at me with a smile.  Saw my name tag.  “Charles in charge.” He said.   I laughed.  “I’ve never heard that before.”  He met my smile with his own, gleaming teeth white in the dark oval of his care worn face.  “My name’s Charles too,” he said.  “That’s a good name, my man.”  I said.  I extended my hand.  “Nice to meet you Charles” I said.  He looked up and took my hand in his, large, dry rough like one hard solid callus.  He squeezed ever so gently and briefly.  “Nice to meet you too.”  I held out the tray of cookies.  He helped himself to a few and looked back down at his plate.  “Thank you,” he said.  “You’re welcome.”

Something moved in me right then.  I turned away with tears welling up and a peculiar feeling in my chest. 

How can one ever know how our lives will turn, how grace will lift us, how what we have is more needed by someone else and so we give it away.  There was a roomful of men and women settling down on thin rubber mats, pulling blankets up over jeans and boots.  Probably 25 or so.  Some looked like my idea of the chronically homeless.  Slightly shabby, withdrawn.  Others were better dressed, even a bit of jewelry, make up.  A couple looked like they’d once been, maybe only a few weeks ago, steady, employed, clean shaven, well spoken, with 4 walls around them in a place that they called home. 

I went back into the kitchen and helped clean up.  We chatted with the pastor of Star and our pastor, Dr. McKay.  We watched diners return for more coffee. Reflected on the opportunity to serve those less fortunate than ourselves, and how many of them showed such genuine gratitude. 

There but for the grace of God go I, I thought.  We made our way to the library, retrieved our coats.  Accepted thanks from church staff and made our way outside.  There, bundled against the 20 degree chill, half a dozen men, smoked, chatted quietly.  I asked if they’d gotten enough to eat. 

Oh yes, said one.  We kept walking, bundled into the car, backed out around mounds of snow 4-5 feet tall, and turned for home. 

Tonight Merry and I had lasagna.  We sat in the carpeted family room, filled up on salad and pasta, a small glass of wine, then cookies for dessert.  And I thought of a homeless man named Charles. 

Maybe he’s still at Star Presbyterian.  Maybe he moved on.  But I hope he’s warm.  I hope others, like Merry and I, are blessed to reach out to him with the abundance that we have been given, and thus bless him.  I hope he’s safe.

Charles in charge. 

It was nice to meet you Charles. 

ALASKA

Uncle Ralph is gone. At the age of 90, he went home to be with the Lord. His funeral was simple with a small crowd come to pay their last respects. Family, friend, members of his church. We sang Amazing Grace and Great is Thy Faithfulness and a minister said kind words about Ralph. but more importantly, the minister preached the gospel of salvation, which we came to understand, Ralph lived and breathed. A handful of us went to the graveside where a prayer was said. Then, two men in full dress US Army uniforms, presided. They folded the flag down to a tight triangle and presented it to Ralph's oldest daughter, Gayle. And offered the following,..."This flag is presented on behalf of a grateful nation, and the United States Army as a token of appreciation for your loved one's honorable and faithful service."

I felt a tear burn in my eye and a lump in my throat. And then Taps was played. What is it about that simple and haunting melody that stirs my heart? Is it the memory of hearing it at sundown while we lived at Fort Holabird, and all activity ceased and even traffic stopped? Does it conjure in my mind the sacrifice of so many men and women who served in the military? I don't really know.

But, see you later Uncle Ralph. Farewell for now. See you again. We love you.