West Virginia Coal Miners Stay Home To Protest a Film Crew From the NRA Interviewing Union Members To Attack Sen. Obama
It's become one of the oldest tricks in the cynical political playbook: manipulate working class union households to vote against their own economic interests by dividing Americans along "social issues" such as guns, religion, gay marriage, and even civil rights issues.
But perhaps there is hope that at least some "Reagan democrats" are tired of being lied to by the right-wing. In desperate economic times, union households are seeing how the gun lobby is vainly trying to carry the water for the GOP to distract working families with cultural politics.
A West Virginia station reported:
Blacksville #2 Mine Idle After 440 Workers Stay Home -- UMWA Workers Took Memorial Day in Protest
BLACKSVILLE -- Coal production at a mine in Monongalia County came to a halt today when every union miner stayed home, as part of a political protest.
It was an idle day Monday at the Blacksville #2 Mine.
More than 440 workers who are members of the United Mine Workers of America took what's called a Memorial Day instead of going to work.
Union officials say they took the day to protest after a film crew from the National Rifle Assocation showed up at the Consol mine last week to interview union workers.
They say the crew tried to get union coal miners to speak out against Barak Obama.
The UMWA has endorsed the democratic presidential nominee.
3 comments:
Civil Countercommunications
I find auspicious
dawns awning,
at the nation’s restless capital.
And in the forecast of
a favored senator,
a lobbyist finds
new outlets to fight ‘never’.
In distant caskets
silent dwellers
heave gasps of
settled dust.
Upon scooped-out lungs
An official report
masks mans maiden’s cancer:
A growth,
A fungus,
wrapped in a dead white
lab coat.
Cancer is but a pseudonym,
keyed onto the side of a black box,
population de-intensifier,
A matchbook full of sparks,
once lit,
to penetrate, multiplying in force
a supplement to
toxify the heart.
picture this
faucets of clockwork,
substantiate tales,
tones, trail
tearfully of time.
drones of prosperity,
in moans, etched
so long-
so silently,
as to leave no memory
of traitors wrongly hung.
a mist
amidst an
absence
of a birth
of ingenuity,
displaced is the context
from which ones love
may be sprung.
dabble in art,
which may only
be added to,
for frivolous anxiety
renders
all feelings existent,
already present-
blooming in art existing.
it is in the spirit of
calm confidence
from
which one’s Niagara
may fall.
and yet
such a predisposition,
or inherent
concurrence
of opportunity~
hardly
is fated at all.
with what cancerous
apprehension
for a plot
to be pre-picked,
does the legacy, of playgrounds
of the mightiest,
or tallest stones-
become as it is,
a means by which to focus
on a class,
already fixed.
Some Sunday
I. surrender to the wind~
that not yet primped,
as an inhibition.
single the pidgin,
whose marriage
will invent, a less
concentrated religion.
summer the entirety
of your amassed days~
injuring not a one,
but reveling principally in
self-astute questioning.
surmising all the while,
which dusty
entrapment will greet
that crooked plaster.
which mile will river
and day returns to me- my origin.
II.
when time’s camouflage
evaporates,
its minutes
don’t simply dissipate.
i have yet to sensibly anticipate
which algebraic
proposal
causes a stolen
breath to be both
innately woven,
and woefully satiated.
i’ve succumbed to staunch,
a hand that’s lead
a statute in human
a nature both strongly,
and loosely held.
safe in approved ideas; galaxies
weaved, into the difference
inseamed by the living
and living dead.
a statue of exhilarating
coincidence, as the wind
waves in stone,
just enough to
slowly chip away.
a play date with the wind
which required no appointment
ascending into a prism
of callously concocted
measurements of a line,
is a life.
pages flip-flapping away…
how daunting
they should be mine.
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