LIAR! LIAR! PANTS ON FIRE!

Abbotsford Councillor Henry Braun is a Liar!

I’m Calling Him Out on It!

My E-mail to Abbotsford Council --Sept. 18, 2014

Dear Mayor Banman and Councillors:

While I would like to request that all Council members read this, it is specifically addressed to Councillor Henry Braun for what I believe is an outright lie regarding the safety hazards related to the growth of Medical Marijuana.

Councillor Braun:

This morning I read your statement as reported in the Cannabis Digest on Tuesday Sept 16, 2014 that the privacy policy of Health Canada in failing to disclose the location of Federally Licensed Medical Marijuana grow-ops is costing the City of Abbotsford and its residents “horrendous expense”.

You want all BC Municipalities to demand a change to over-rule the privacy right

You state as a matter of fact “the city has had multiple instances of homebuyers unknowingly purchasing former grow-op locations — leaving them with costly repair bills to fix tampered electrical wires and mould issues.

You sir are a LIAR!

You state two “Facts” that are either outright lies or a monstrous distortion of a minor isolated occasional problem.

I want to know what your city data base has on record to support your outrageous statements. I would like a reply from you and answers to a couple of very simple questions.

If you are telling the truth then you should be able to easily answer with a simple search of city records and come with the following clarifications:

1. What was the “horrendous” expense to the City in Fiscal 2013?
2. What is the “horrendous” expense” so far in 2014”
3. How many “Multiple instances” were reported in 2013?
4. How many “Multiple instances” were reported in 2014?

You state: “Somebody buys a house and they basically have to gut the inside of it. You’re talking $50,000”!

5. How many multiple instance had “tampered electrical wires”?
6. What was the average cost to repair?
7. How many multiple instance had “mould issues”?
8. What was the average cost to repair?

I will wait for your reply

To all you other Councillors:

As I see it Henry spoke for the Council and if he really did, you’re all as stupid and bigoted as him. Take a good look at Henry’s answers and make your own assessment of what is truth!

Best regards:

Blaine Barrett

TheSmeeGoanGuy

Medical Marijuana Advocate and Ethical Critic

http://goan-smee.blogspot.ca/

The Big Footed Snake

 

The Big Footed Snake

A Bringer of Blessings

 

When I was a young man growing up in Alberta one summer I worked for the Forestry Department and was part of Stand by Crew to fight Forest fires. I was stationed at the Entrance Ranger station north of Hinton just up the road from the Entrance Trading Post.

It was a crazy job where you sat around painting rocks along the driveway until the siren went off and we went to work. 6 of us all with 70# of backpack, shovel, pick, food, water plus plus plus pile into the back of the Forestry Truck with Siren flashing lights and crazy Ranger Joe Pasamera at the wheel.

We would race to the end of goddamned nowhere to drag another 100# of Mercury Fire Pump over hill and dale for a couple of hours to get to the fire and then get to work. That was usually non-stop for a couple of days or so but if we couldn’t handle it the major crew arrived to relieve us. We were first responders: First in, first out and back to painting rocks. Hard bloody work but the company guys and a lot of beer made it a good remembrance.

The Entrance Trading post was sort of the community meeting place for all the local Indians. I was fortunate enough to make a large number of them friends and was welcome all over the little village. I was able to join in ceremonies as a welcome guest and had a seat as a front row observer. I am a detail freak and one of the first things I noticed was the beauty of their traditional costumes: Particularly the buckskin, bead work and best of all porcupine quill patterns that were a marvel of precision design. I wanted to have one

I spent almost a quarter of my summer pay ($125 a week and found) and managed to find a friends mother who made me a complete outfit of buckskin with a really beautiful array of bead and quills. It hung in the corner of my bedroom where I could always see it for seven years until marriage forbade its use. I was a dancer and wore my warrior outfit when I was on the hunt at all the local Country dance halls. I was a good looking young guy, a master of bullshit and pretty good with my dukes if any of the local boys resented me trying to romance his baby out to my car. Unfortunately if you take your wife to the dance you put on your good clothes and act nice to everybody. The lady frowned on fisticuffs and there went the Warrior.

I always looked at my breastplate and moccasins and wondered where the designs came from particularly the porcupine quills. Now 50 years later I finally found out the source in a collection of Native America Lore at

http://www.ilhawaii.net/~stony/lore16.html

It’s all the fault of a Snake

 

The Snake with the Big Feet

Native American Lore

---

---

Long ago, in that far-off happy time when the world was new, and there were no white people at all, only Indians and animals, there was a snake who was different from other snakes. He had feet-big feet. And the other snakes, because he was different, hated him, and made life wretched for him. Finally, they drove him away from the country where the snakes lived, saying, "A good long way from here live other ugly creatures with feet like yours. Go and live with them!" And the poor, unhappy Snake had to go away.

For days and days, he travelled. The weather grew cold and food became hard to find. At last, exhausted, his feet cut and frostbitten, he lay down on the bank of a river to die.

The Deer, E-se-ko-to-ye, looked out of a willow thicket, and saw the Snake lying on the river bank. Pitying him, the deer took the Snake into his own lodge and gave him food and medicine for his bleeding feet.

The Deer told the Snake that there were indeed creatures with feet like his who would befriend him, but that some among these would be enemies whom it would be necessary to kill before he could reach safety.

He showed the Snake how to make a shelter for protection from the cold and taught him how to make moccasins of deerskin to protect his feet. And at dawn the Snake continued his journey.

The sun was far down the western sky, and it was bitter cold when the Snake made camp the next night. As he gathered boughs for a shelter, Kais-kap the porcupine appeared. Shivering, the Porcupine asked him, "Will you give me shelter in your lodge for the night?"

The Snake said, "It's very little that I have, but you are welcome to share it."

"I am grateful," said Kais-kap, "and perhaps I can do something for you. Those are beautiful moccasins, brother, but they do not match your skin. Take some of my quills, and make a pattern on them, for good luck." So they worked a pattern on the moccasins with the porcupine quills, and the Snake went on his way again.

As the Deer had told him, he met enemies. Three times he was challenged by hostile Indians, and three times he killed his adversary.

At last he met an Indian who greeted him in a friendly manner. The Snake had no gifts for this kindly chief, so he gave him the moccasins. And that, so the old Ones say, was how our people first learned to make moccasins of deerskin, and to ornament them with porcupine quills in patterns, like those on the back of a snake. And from that day on the Snake lived in the lodge of the chief, counting his coup of scalps with the warriors by the Council fire and, for a long time, was happy.

But the chief had a daughter who was beautiful and kind, and the Snake came to love her very much indeed. He wished that he were human, so that he might marry the maiden, and have his own lodge. He knew there was no hope of this unless the High Gods, the Above Spirits took pity on him, and would perform a miracle on his behalf.

So he fasted and prayed for many, many days. But all his fasting and praying had no result, and at last the Snake came very ill.

Now, in the tribe, there was a very highly skilled Medicine Man. Mo'ki-ya was an old man, so old that he had seen and known, and understood, everything that came within the compass of his people's lives, and many things that concerned the Spirits. Many times, his lodge was seen to sway with the Ghost Wind, and the voices of those long gone on to the Sand Hills spoke to him.

Mo'ki-ya came to where the Snake lay in the chief's lodge, and sending all the others away, asked the Snake what his trouble was.

"It is beyond even your magic," said the Snake, but he told Mo'ki-ya about his love for the maiden, and his desire to become a man so that he could marry her.

Mo'ki-ya sat quietly thinking for a while. Then he said, "I shall go on a journey, brother. Perhaps my magic can help, perhaps not. We shall see when I return." And he gathered his medicine bundles and disappeared.

It was a long and fearsome journey that Mo'ki-ya made. He went to the shores of a great lake. He climbed a high mountain, and he took the matter to Nato'se, the Sun himself.

And Nato'se listened, for this man stood high in the regard of the spirits, and his medicine was good. He did not ask, and never had asked, for anything for himself, and to transform the Snake into a brave of the tribe was not a difficult task for the High Gods. The third day after the arrival of Mo'ki-ya at the Sun's abode, Nato'se said to him, "Return to your own lodge Mo'ki-ya, and build a fire of small sticks. Put many handfuls of sweet-grass on the fire, and when the smoke rises thickly, lay the body of the Snake in the middle of it."

And Mo'ki-ya came back to his own land.

The fire was built in the centre of the Medicine lodge, as the Sun had directed, and when the sweetgrass smouldered among the embers, sending the smoke rolling in great billows through the tepee, Mo'ki-ya gently lifted the Snake, now very nearly dead, and placed him in the fire so that he was hidden by the smoke.

The Medicine-drum whispered softly in the dusk of the lodge: the chant of the old men grew a little louder, and then the smoke obscuring the fire parted like a curtain, and a young man stepped out.

Great were the rejoicings in the camp that night. The Snake, now a handsome young brave, was welcomed into the tribe with the ceremonies befitting the reception of one shown to be high in the favour of the spirits. The chief gladly gave him his daughter, happy to have a son law of such distinction.

Many brave sons and beautiful daughters blessed the lodge of the Snake and at last, so the Old ones say, his family became a new tribe-the Pe-sik-na-ta-pe, or Snake Indians.

I’m So Disappointed I Could Cry.

DO I HAVE FRIENDS(?) ON FACEBOOK? NFW!

FRIENDS HELP EACH OTHER- YOU DON’T

TO YOU- MY SO CALLED FRIENDS

YOU WANT A RANT? YOU GOT ONE COMING

THIS IS DIRECTED AT  YOU

Two Days ago I had a brainstorm that verged on genius. I finally thought I had come up with a Request to all my Facebook friends that would actually get a response. Several times before I have requested your cooperation and help for some sort of mass action mailing as a protest to an atrocity or to let some asshole know what you thought of them. Things like the “Help Alexander Stewart mailing Request”was a failure I cannot comprehend.

All I asked everyone to do was simply send a prewritten e-mail to a Minister with copies to a mayor and a Police chief. It was a simple task. I had written all the text all that had to be done was copy and past a single E-maill address, the subject line, the text and hit send. For me that is less than two minutes and 8-10 clicks maximum.

Imagine the impact of a simple request to simply use your influence to create an exception for a dying man. The political impact of jamming three inboxes and fucking up the system for a while would be enormous. I posted the request and waited.

Google+ is an audience of ??? viewers.

Facebook is an audience of ??? viewers

There are 40,000 Licensees watching,

I was proud to have 3000+ Google friends

and

747 Facebook friends.

I waited to see how my friends would respond? I honestly was stupid enough to believe I would get a flood of maybe 50 in the first couple of hours. Less than one minute after I posted the first Facebook “Like” came from my site: Bonus people are watching me! Then “Like”s hit both Facebook comments as well as my mailbox and my expectations of success soared. If each “Like” meant a Request sent to the Minister and the other two top turkeys: then there were three top mailboxes jammed full of individual fingers up their ass! 

My Heil Harper Salute delivered in person. 

I stupidly had not requested any feedback re sending and I was in the dark for a whole hour before I couldn’t stand it and I posted a request for anyone who had sent a request to confirm it by simply sending me a Yup so we could know what was happening.

I already had two acknowledgements, the Yup’s  yielded 3 more and I knew of five others who had done so. That makes a great bif total of TEN for coming up 3 days now. What makes me so fucking mad is that everyone of you out there who sent me a “Like” took the time to read my request, to hit the like spot and probably made a comment of some sort, then just hit the “Ignore!” button and forgot what I requested!

My question to you all!

What the fuck is the matter with you friends anyway? You can’t take time out of your busy schedule posting photos or links to old news, creating pages (that will do absolutely fuck all) and asking me to like them, or spouting rants about your problems and composing long stupid comments?

All it would have taken you, with no physical effort was take the time to just reach out help a friend who needs it. No more was required but you people just ignored it or simply don’t give a shit about others needs, you’re too focused on your own.

I was so disappointed I honestly didn’t know what to do? Is there anybody listening to me out there? Am I getting through to anyone? I have been publishing my blog for 2 ½ years now and I very seldom if ever get any comments or feedback on any of the topics’. What could be a forum for discussion at the bottom of my posts is just a blank fucking page.

I was seriously considering walking away from you all in contempt and focus on my advocacy but that would be letting a whole bunch of sub-standard friends, who now know I am alive; get away without some straight goddamned talk about Apathy and their indifference to others needs.I am talking to you!

I have decided: What I am going to do is speak my mind, no holds barred, on whatever subject I feel like: pro or con.  If you don’t like it , well I’m TheSmeeGoanGuy and you can Goan! LOL

I started my blog and advocacy for Medical Marijuana to reach out and help people find whatever they needed to keep the home fires burning. I joined Facebook in order to find out WTF was going on with Medical Marijuana and make contacts to help with my advocacy.

 I simply watched what was happening on Facebook and I was impressed beyond belief. I thought I’d hit the jackpot. An enormous circling pool of Energy beyond belief: anger, hostility, fear, hatred, confusion, anxiety, depression, uncertainty: all the stresses from an infinite number of sources bundled together in one great big ball of frustration. One problem that was immediately apparent was that there was no focus for all this emotional power. It expended itself in a continual discharge of rage over injustice broadcast to all the parties in the circle of Facebook friends.

Only a very few politically driven groups had any contact with no impact on any external problem target and nobody was hammering the Press who were busy ignoring it all. When I was ready I started my blog, got my ball rolling and then I got distracted from my initial objective of focusing the latent power of the group into a controllable discharge of power at a political or ethical problem that needed a boot in the ass.

Suddenly I was involved in the Kamermans outrage, and a war with the power groups in play, and a continuously changing focus as things developed. That is now at an end and I have decided on about 5 problems. Asking Facebook to do something gets fuck all for results. I intent to verbally bully you into doing what I am ordering or fuck off and keep your mouth shut. I want to form an Army of typists and techs to do some real things using using the focused port of modern communication to draw attention and shame: to above all Harpo. I am going to be the General and I want to recruit you as a part of my army!  What I propose to do is reasonable.

That is all for now. I will be absent for probably a week or so to write out what I am proposing to do as regards several rot spots and present my plans to you.

I was so disappointed I could cry but I got over that! Now I intend to figure out how to lash your asses into line.

While I am composing my Art of Modern Warfare for Idiots I would like you to look at your index finger and realize it gives you a power that no other generation has had. It gives you and only you the power to express your opinion or opposition to what is going on across the country and the world directly to the asshole you disagree with. You can use the internet to strike at the enemy and let him know you are pissed off. 

You can use it right now! Go ahead! Just send an e-mail to Harpo or phone his office and tell him to fuck off. It will be read or heard before they can hit delete and it won’t do much.

Now! What if you can wait for my target and when told send an e-mail to Mr Xyz at Xyz@asshole.ca and if you have time tomorrow? call this number (1-800-FUCKEM1) starting early in the morning. 

What if the other 2500 other Warriors o the 4’F’ Battalion of My Personal “Grin And Bear It Army” all did the same thing. 

In one day an office of a prominent visible opponent will be out of business and incommunicado. Target? Doesn’t matter: Political, governmental, corporate, commercial, ethical and even personal targets if justified are all fair game. The Flying Fickle Finger of Fate Battalion will show no mercy when it strikes

As I said                                   Think About It 

I will be back with my Introduction in due course

Blaine Barrett

TheSmeeGoanGuy

Chief Seattle's 1854 Oration

 

Chief Seattle's 1854 Oration

".. all things share the same breath - the beast, the tree, the man ... the air shares its spirit with all the life it supports."

Chief Seattle, Dwamish

Now why the hell would I want to publish a speech some Indian made away the hell back 160 years ago in Washington.

Because it is one of the best speeches I have ever read!

It was delivered by a master orator and spokesman and its lesson

is applicable today as it was then. In just under 2000 words this perceptive genius perfectly described the basis for the division between the White Man and Native Americans. Culture clash he foresees and the differences between our two societies.

From

His Native Eloquence, Etc., Etc. by Henry A. Smith

Scraps from a Diary: Chief Seattle - A gentleman By Instinct

10th article in the series Early Reminiscences

Seattle Sunday Star, October 29, 1887

Old Chief Seattle was the largest Indian I ever saw, and by far the noblest-looking. He stood 6 feet full in his moccasins, was broad-shouldered, deep-chested, and finely proportioned. His eyes were large, intelligent, expressive and friendly when in repose, and faithfully mirrored the varying moods of the great soul that looked through them. He was usually solemn, silent, and dignified, but on great occasions moved among assembled multitudes like a Titan among Lilliputians, and his lightest word was law.

When rising to speak in council or to tender advice, all eyes were turned upon him, and deep-toned, sonorous, and eloquent sentences rolled from his lips like the ceaseless thunders of cataracts flowing from exhaustless fountains, and his magnificent bearing was as noble as that of the most cultivated military chieftain in command of the forces of a continent. Neither his eloquence, his dignity, or his grace were acquired. They were as native to his manhood as leaves and blossoms are to a flowering almond.

His influence was marvellous. He might have been an emperor but all his instincts were democratic, and he ruled his loyal subjects with kindness and paternal benignity. 

He was always flattered by marked attention from white men, and never so much as when seated at their tables, and on such occasions he manifested more than anywhere else the genuine instincts of a gentleman.

When Governor Stevens first arrived in Seattle and told the natives he had been appointed commissioner of Indian affairs for Washington Territory, they gave him a demonstrative reception in front of Dr. Maynard's office, near the waterfront on Main Street. The bay swarmed with canoes and the shore was lined with a living mass of swaying, writhing, dusky humanity, until old Chief Seattle's trumpet-toned voice rolled over the immense multitude, like the startling reveille of a bass drum, when silence became as instantaneous and perfect as that which follows a clap of thunder from a clear sky.

The governor was then introduced to the native multitude by Dr. Maynard, and at once commenced, in a conversational, plain, and straightforward style, an explanation of his mission among them, which is too well understood to require capitulation.

When he sat down, Chief Seattle arose with all the dignity of a senator, who carries the responsibilities of a great nation on his shoulders. Placing one hand on the, governor's head and slowly pointing heavenward with the index finger of the other, he commenced his memorable address in solemn and impressive tones.

"Yonder sky that has wept tears of compassion on our fathers for centuries untold, and which, to us, looks eternal, may change. Today it is fair, tomorrow it may be overcast with clouds. My words are like stars that never set. What Seattle says, the great chief, Washington [1], can rely upon, with as much certainty as our paleface brothers can rely upon the return of the seasons.

"The son of the white chief says his father sends us greetings of friendship and good will. This is kind, for we know he has little need of our friendship in return, because his people are many. They are like the grass that covers the vast prairies, while my people are few, and resemble the scattering trees of a storm-swept plain.

"The great and I presume also good, white chief sends us word that he wants to buy our lands but is willing to allow us to reserve enough to live on comfortably. This indeed appears generous, for the red man no longer has rights that he need respect, and the offer may be wise, also, for we are no longer in need of a great country.

"There was a time when our people covered the whole land, as the waves of a wind-ruffled sea cover its shell-paved floor. But that time has long since passed away with the greatness of tribes now almost forgotten. I will not mourn over our untimely decay, nor reproach my paleface brothers for hastening it, for we, too, may have been somewhat to blame.

"When our young men grow angry at some real or imaginary wrong, and disfigure their faces with black paint, their hearts also are disfigured and turn black, and then their cruelty is relentless and knows no bounds, and our old men are not able to restrain them.

"But let us hope that hostilities between the red man and his paleface brothers may never return. We would have everything to lose and nothing to gain.

"True it is that revenge, with our young braves, is considered gain, even at the cost of their own lives. But old men who stay at home in times of war, and old women, who have sons to lose, know better.

"Our great father Washington, for I presume he is now our father as well as yours, since George has moved his boundaries to the north; our great and good father, I say, sends us word by his son, who, no doubt, is a great chief among his people, that if we do as he desires, he will protect us. His brave armies will be to us a bristling wall of strength, and his great ships of war will fill our harbours so that our ancient enemies far to the northward, the Simsiams and Hydas, will no longer frighten our women and old men. Then he will be our father and we will be his children.

"But can this ever be? Your God loves your people and hates mine; he folds his strong arms lovingly around the white man and leads him as a father leads his infant son, but he has forsaken his red children; he makes your people wax strong every day, and soon they will fill the land; while my people are ebbing away like a fast-receding tide, that will never flow again. The white man's God cannot love his red children or he would protect them. They seem to be orphans and can look nowhere for help. How then can we become brothers? How can your father become our father and bring us prosperity and awaken in us dreams of returning greatness?

"Your God seems to us to be partial. He came to the white man. We never saw Him; never even heard His voice; He gave the white man laws but He had no word for His red children whose teeming millions filled this vast continent as the stars fill the firmament. No, we are two distinct races and must ever remain so. There is little in common between us. The ashes of our ancestors are sacred and their final resting place is hallowed ground, while you wander away from the tombs of your fathers seemingly without regret.

"Your religion was written on tables of stone by the iron finger of an angry God, lest you might forget it, the red man could never remember nor comprehend it.

"Our religion is the traditions of our ancestors, the dream of our old men, given them by the Great Spirit, and the visions of our sachems, and is written in the hearts of our people.

"Your dead cease to love you and the homes of their nativity as soon as they pass the portals of the tomb. They wander far off beyond the stars, are soon forgotten, and never return. Our dead never forget the beautiful world that gave them being. They still love its winding rivers, its great mountains and its sequestered vales, and they ever yearn in tenderest affection over the lonely hearted living and often return to visit and comfort them.

"Day and night cannot dwell together. The red man has ever fled the approach of the white man, as the changing mists on the mountainside flee before the blazing morning sun.

"However, your proposition seems a just one, and I think my folks will accept it and will retire to the reservation you offer them, and we will dwell apart and in peace, for the words of the great white chief seem to be the voice of nature speaking to my people out of the thick darkness that is fast gathering around them like a dense fog floating inward from a midnight sea.

"It matters but little where we pass the remainder of our days. They are not many.

"The Indian's night promises to be dark. No bright star hovers about the horizon. Sad-voiced winds moan in the distance. Some grim Nemesis of our race is on the red man's trail, and wherever he goes he will still hear the sure approaching footsteps of the fell destroyer and prepare to meet his doom, as does the wounded doe that hears the approaching footsteps of the hunter. A few more moons, a few more winters, and not one of all the mighty hosts that once filled this broad land or that now roam in fragmentary bands through these vast solitudes will remain to weep over the tombs of a people once as powerful and as hopeful as your own.

"But why should we repine? Why should I murmur at the fate of my people? Tribes are made up of individuals and are no better than they. Men come and go like the waves of the sea. A tear, a tamanawus, a dirge, and they are gone from our longing eyes forever. Even the white man, whose God walked and talked with him, as friend to friend, is not exempt from the common destiny. We may be brothers after all. We shall see.

"We will ponder your proposition, and when we have decided we will tell you. But should we accept it, I here and now make this the first condition: That we will not be denied the privilege, without molestation, of visiting at will the graves of our ancestors and friends. Every part of this country is sacred to my people. Every hillside, every valley, ever plain and grove has been hallowed by some fond memory or some sad experience of my tribe,

"Even the rocks that seem to lie dumb as they swelter in the sun along the silent seashore in solemn grandeur thrill with memories of past events connected with the fate of my people, and the very dust under your feet responds more lovingly to our footsteps than to yours, because it is the ashes of our ancestors, and our bare feet are conscious of the sympathetic touch, for the soil is rich with the life of our kindred.

"The sable braves, and fond mothers, and glad-hearted maidens, and the little children who lived and rejoiced here, and whose very names are now forgotten, still love these solitudes, and their deep fastness at eventide grow shadowy with the presence of dusky spirits. And when the last red man shall have perished from the earth and his memory among white men shall have become a myth, these shores shall swarm with the invisible dead of my tribe, and when your children's children shall think themselves alone in the field, the store, the shop, upon the highway or in the silence of the woods, they will not be alone. In all the earth there is no place dedicated to solitude. At night, when the streets of your cities and villages shall be silent, and you think them deserted, they will throng with the returning hosts that once filled and still love this beautiful land. The white man will never be alone. Let him be just and deal kindly with my people, for the dead are not altogether powerless."

Other speakers followed, but I took no notes. Governor Stevens' reply was brief. He merely promised to meet them in general council on some future occasion to discuss the proposed treaty. Chief Seattle's promise to adhere to the treaty, should one be ratified, was observed to the letter, for he was ever the unswerving and faithful friend of the white man. The above is but a fragment of his speech, and lacks all the charm lent by the grace and earnestness of the sable old orator, and the occasion. - H.A. Smith.



Well said:
Blaine Barrett

TheSmeeGoanGuy

Justice Activists Are the Most Rational People

Post # 141- Justice Activists Are the Most Rational People

Science Reveals that Justice Activists

Are

The Most Rational People Around

 

I have looked at myself and the way I think and make judgements and some of this is like looking in the mirror. I’m not alone in Weirderland

 

 

 Despite how often justice activists and protesters are referred to as day-dreaming, irrational, dirty hippies – science just stepped in to show that all those taking an active place in battling injustice are actually acting the most rationally.

A University of Chicago study published in the Journal of Neuroscience has revealed that people who are more sensitive to the ideas of fairness and equity are driven by logic, not emotion.

Social science has spent decades focused on the role of emotion in activist movements. For example, a 1996 study of the 1960s civil rights movement analysed the use of songs and speeches to express anger, solidarity and hope by Freedom Riders to encourage others to become involved in the movement on an emotional basis. Similarly, New York University sociologist Jeff Goodwin wrote in his 2001 book on the subject that animal rights supporters “describe their journey into activism in terms of their emotional attachment to animals.”

But, as many activists have long been saying, seeking equity in life is not an emotional argument – it just plain makes sense!

According to the study, when people who are more responsive to injustice see things happen that they find morally wrong, such as abuse or race-based inequality, their minds respond by accessing the sections of the brain responsible for logic and reasoning. When they view examples of people acting morally just, such as giving equal rights to a marginalized group or protecting animals from harm, their brains respond in the same way.

As Erin Brodwin explains:
A team of researchers led by University of Chicago neuroscientist Jean Decety monitored participants’ brain activity using an fMRI while they watched videos of people exhibiting morally good or bad behavior. One of the clips showed someone putting money in a beggar’s cup, for example, while another showed someone violently kicking the cup away. Those who said they felt more emotionally triggered by the action on the screen also exhibited more action in the areas of their brain associated with planning, organizing and logical thinking.

“Decety’s contributions are clearly important and potentially foundational,” New York University psychology professor John T. Jost, who was not involved in the study, told Mic. The research could have major impacts on how human rights and environmentalist organizations engage with the public to gather support for their causes.  If they listen to the study, they will appeal to people’s sense of logic and reason rather than to their emotions.

This has been borne out in recent years, with efforts to combat global warming seeing a surge in public support after scientists and statisticians began publishing data about how much sea levels and temperatures would rise instead of sad polar bears on a floating iceberg.

But more than that, this data can be used to combat the appalling treatment of justice activists by the mainstream media – lambasted with the same tired abuse from the Million Man March, through the Greenham Common Women’s Peace Camp, to the Occupy Movement, readily absorbed and reiterated by disengaged and resigned fellow citizens who could and should be providing support and solidarity.  We shouldn’t need science to tell us that standing against injustice is rational, but we do. Consider yourselves told.

http://iacknowledge.net/science-reveals-that-justice-activists-are-actually-the-most-rational-people-around/

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FREEDOM OF INFORMATION, IS THERE ANY?

FREEDOM OF INFORMATION,
IS THERE ANY?

No, and the Cops are Taking Advantage of That!

In keeping with my policy of wanting to put more through this grinder of Information to keep you informed here is what was supposed to be the first short post that will only be announced on Google+ and FB. My advisory letter will only be sent for my major contributions. Anytime anyone tunes in here I hope to have something new to make you question our universe.

This is to clue you in on upcoming material topics I am working on. FOI to start!

This first one started with the seizure of all Dr. Rob Kamermans patients’ files regarding Medical Marijuana. I watched the development and handling of the case and selected Sergeant Mark Duval as the Chief culprit in the whole damned mess and I set out to get him punished. I haven’t managed to do it yet but I’m still alive!

My first attempt at to get him strung by the nuts was a Complaint to the Office of the Independent Police Review Director. That established that Sergeant Duval was guilty of Criminal Negligence under Section 219 of the Criminal Code by intentionally holding those file and causing harm to their owners. The crime is still in process, he holds the files to no purpose today and will not release them.

That failed quickly: A clerk read my complaint; noted that the date of the Complaint was older than the six months but failed to note the crime was still in process. She accordingly wrote a letter advising me the Director had decided to refuse on the Age grounds. She made the mistake of not having the brains to get the director to sign his refusal but ended it with a one squiggle signature, Her name and Title.

I do not die that easily!

For my second attempt I wrote a reply To Director Gerry McNeilly that wasn’t too tactful. I asked him to review the clerical error Override her decision and begin an investigation of the Section 219 charges I was alleging. I further requested that since the crime is still in process could he please contact the OPP and get them to immediately order Sergeant Duval to release the files!

I got an almost immediate reply signed by the Director refusing to grant my appeal, with no other comment re the file release. It was short, terse and about what I expected. I concluded he was surprised by my appeal and the failure to honour him with appropriate language in a deferential tone to a man in his position.

WHO IS THIS GUY?

Who the hell are you to deny me my complaint because I hurt your feelings? I accused your staff of skipping a critical fact when they read my complaint and your nose is out of joint? Why? Because they didn't think you were important enough to bother to get a signature and acted in your role to be the scribbler.

What now?  Well I checked Mr. Mc Neilly out and he’s an old fart Jamaican immigrant. Surprise Surprise. The Master who treated me like a nigger is a nigger. Well that nigger has a master somewhere and I stated looking and found that Mr. McNeilly’s appointment as Director was a mistake made by the Attorney-General- On to Top Dog.

Here we go again. I composed a complaint to the Attorney-General of Ontario and requested a review of Director McNeilly’s second decision because the reason for denial was late submission of my application but the second intentionally ignores the fact that he was now dealing, as we still are with a “Crime In Process”

 

I asked to get copies of all the contents of my Complaint File at the OIPRD. I wanted to see just what when on with the denial; I received an acknowledgement of receipt and since then I have been patient and waited.

That should get some reaction. It did: But not what I had expected.

The other day I got a lovely Expresspost as my reply from The Attorney- General and when I opened it I found a cover letter and a thin attachment of Documents accompanied by a ¼” thick submission package of more.

The cover letter advised the thin attachment was all the documents they could supply me from my file at OIPRD. Nothing but what I had sent and what they had sent me:

1.    My Request for an Investigation

2.    The Director’s first decision with the Clerical Signature

3.    My Complaint and Request for Review to the Director

4.    The Director’s decision his first one was correct.

W!T!F!

The cover advised that this is all that they could provide because it concerned a matter involving an Investigation: and under the Freedom of Information and Protection of Privacy Act nothing could be disclosed.

This whole bloody thing just went TILT

Having received the Ministry's reply to my complaint about Director McNeilly: I do not understand the diversion of my complaint to The Information and Privacy Commissioner/Ont. I have however followed the instructions and the referral is now en route to him.

I do not understand the redirection because my complaint is not about the blatant invasion of privacy involved in the examination of the contents of 4100 medically confidential patient files.

I had not planned to contact the IPC because I thought he would have already been aware of the problem from all the front page coverage in Ontario. If the IPC wasn't aware he now is. Good. Maybe he will actually do something to get the files released. McNeilly wouldn't.

To my understanding the Information and Privacy Commissioner has no power to override a decision of the Director and no authority to do any investigation into the Criminal Negligence of a bunch of rogue cops. I was under the impression that since the Attorney General appoints the Director, he might also have the authority to call him to task when he screws up.

This is not a minor offence: it's Intentional Criminal Negligence by the whole OPP Chain of Command aided and abetted by the Director. Mr. McNeilly knew full well the crime was still ongoing but ignored the fact and denied my appeal on the basis of the six month rule. It was the easy way out and avoided a nasty investigation of a shameful vindictive persecution of 4100 sick people for no reason except Sergeant Duval considered them all a bunch of druggies and decided to punish them. He has done so by holding all the medical information required by the druggies to renew their licenses for both possession and growth until past the renewal date. Sergeant Duval knew full well he was breaking the law but that the OIPRD, his superiors, and brothers would cover his ass even if an investigation was ordered.

This has to change and with common sense change is possible. I am now waiting my reply from the Information and Privacy Commissioner of Ontario and I made a point of questioning her authority to investigate Criminal Behaviour and get the Criminals charged; or does privacy override investigation of Duval’s Intentional Negligence causing a great deal of harm.

To be continued if and when I get some more answers. Stay tuned.

Blaine Barrett

TheSmeeGoanGuy