As America was fighting its war against the British in 1812, the commander of Fort McHenry in Baltimore, Major George Armistead, commissioned a local seamstress named Mary Pickersgill to sew a large flag to fly over the citadel. Bringing together her daughter, two nieces, two free women of color and seamstresses from her Baltimore community, by 1813, Mary managed to finish and deliver the 30 by 42-foot garrison flag to the Major.
On one day in the next year, the British unmercifully pounded the Fort from the sea for over 23 hours. Both sides anxiously waited for the smoke to clear to see who had succeeded in the battle. Francis Scott Key was engaged in a prisoner exchange taking place on one of the British vessels when he saw the ragged American flag still flying over the Fort, signaling the survival of the American troops and their determination not to surrender.
Scott Key was moved to write a reflection on that moment, a reflection that became our national anthem. Mary Pickersgill went on to establish a number of social programs and was elected President of the Impartial Female Humane Society.
With July 4th rapidly approaching, I was thinking of the words “and our flag was still there”, since so many people I know are experiencing a growing fear that the dumpster fire in the white house is permanently damaging our ability to govern democratically, as well as regulate through the use of independent agencies.
Fear not. Our flag is STILL there (as our sports fans now shout it) and no amount of battering by a weak and fearful bully will do us in. We’ve seen worse and we have always rebuilt, restored and recovered. He will not succeed because, together, we will take him down and history will accurately reflect every one of his humiliations and the algae in his soul pool.
We came back from the Battle of Baltimore, the Civil War, the Great Depression and all of our wars, justified or not. We will protect the fort and keep our colors flying all the way into the dawn’s early light. Keep the faith.
Every Doge Must Have Its Day
The phrase “Every dog must have its day” is reputed to have been coined in the late 16th, or early 17th, century, to reflect the experience of a breed called the Turnspit Dog, a mix of dachshund and welsh corgi. These strongly-muscled little dogs were tethered to a wheel in the kitchens of the wealthy to turn the spit on which meat was being roasted. It was grueling work and, to keep the dogs working longer, they were rotated out for a rest.
The phrase, at the time, meant, no matter how lowly the dog, each would get his day in the sun to rest. Later, however, it came to mean that even the least of them would have his one day to shine and is now used to describe the experience of our species, as well. That day of fame is short lived, however. You get your day (or, sometimes, your fifteen minutes, according to Andy Warhol) and then, it’s over.
Such is the case with the once-powerful little DOGEy turning the wheels of destruction. When the white house squatter first appointed Elon Musk to head a new agency called the Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE), we knew we were in for a time of insane and dangerous slashing but even we could not have predicted the wreckage left behind.
Musk gleefully wielded a chain saw to symbolize the destruction he was happy to inflict on USAID worldwide, on every government agency that provided services, on every oversight board, on every scientific research group. The results have been devastating. Millions of unnecessary deaths across the globe from lack of medical assistance, loss of medical insurance, education oversight, national parks, you name it.
DOGE, however, has also been decimated and disbanded. Gone. Musk is busily making himself obscenely wealthy at the cost of regular investors and 401ks and we are the ones left with the detritus of his misguided mission. But, let me say again: I believe we are up to the task of restoration, rebuilding, and recovery. And not only that, but we will also make certain that Musk and his white house fan-boy are reviled, replaced and reduced to nothing.
Ah, but both will still be filthy rich you say? Well, yes, but think about the story of Ebenezer Scrooge.
These emotional paupers have billions and no life. As the Beatles so eloquently reminded us: “Money can’t buy you love.” So the white house invader and the martian who just wants to go home are rich and paranoid and hated and reviled and essentially friendless.
Musk has had his day in the sun. Cheeto-face is having his. Soon we will be rid of both. As Nina Simone put it: “You’ve had your day, now you must make way.” You may have been hot dogs, but now, you’re nothing but toast.
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