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"Guest Viewpoint"

At a recent City Club meeting, Oregon’s Chief Education Officer Rudy Crew passed up a great opportunity to peel his hands off a “cow” that’s sacred in some circles — opposition to school choice — and make current investments in public education work a little more efficiently.

A “no-kill” shelter is run by staff that consistently demonstrates passion for saving the lives of all adoptable and treatable animals. “Kill” shelter managers save some animals, and try to justify to their employees and community why they can’t save them all. In fact, they can.

If you’re a hunter who goes into the woods in order to put food on your family’s table, you can relax. Government agents won’t be coming around trying to confiscate your rifle – unless you hunt out of season or without any required licenses.

I want to violate the American taboo on socialism in response to the Weekly’s Jan. 17 Slant column that asks are we really listening to Martin Luther King Jr.’s message. “If so, why the growing disparity between rich and poor?”

As the fight over genetically modified canola and other GM crops escalates in the Willamette Valley, a group of farmers and neighbors in Benton County have spent the past year talking about how to stop GMOs.

The best way to win any debate is to define the debate topic and establish the rules to be followed. The firearms industry and its lobbyist organization, the NRA, are working 24/7 to do just that.

I keep hearing the question, “Why are farmers so worried about canola?” For the last seven months I’ve studied the topic, spoken with diverse farmers, read books on seed-saving and vegetable development, and researched canola. Here’s what I’ve learned and what you should know.

The U.S. military has a well-kept and shameful secret. It is called military sexual trauma, and it is of epic proportions, with over 3,000 reported rapes or sexual assaults occurring each year.

H. Rapp Brown once quipped that “violence is as American as apple pie.” It seems we’ve spent the last fifty years proving he was right. With each massacre of innocents we rekindle our resolve to do something, to change something to, somehow, prevent the next tragedy. Everyone of us has an idea, a plan, a cure; yet, it seems nothing changes.

It seemed to happen overnight. A new uprising for Indigenous rights and environmental justice has begun. Most of us heard about it through social media first. Flash mob Round Dance videos uploaded to YouTube of First Nations in Canada reclaiming public spaces to send their message of un-honored treaties have now reached all four corners of the globe.

1. Hurricane Cassandra (aka “Sandy”) will again send advance warning of her return to the East Coast but no one will believe her.

2. Ice skating in hell will create new converts to the seriousness of climate change.

3. PERS retirees will be forced to wear a scarlet P on their chests, and retiring members in the private sector will be arrested for showing inadequate envy.

4. Walmart executives will lobby for a change to the U.S. Constitution – the part calling for “a more perfect union.”

All of us feel the pain of the parents, families, neighbors and friends of the children and educators who died at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Conn. Such senselessness is unfathomable.

It’s time we face some uncomfortable truths. Last Friday, as the news poured in about Sandy Hook, I was teaching my peace studies class with my high-schoolers. It’s a class that investigates the roots of violence and war on personal as well as international levels. If that doesn’t sound important to you this week, I’ve got some questions for you. 

The Nov. 29 cover story by Camilla Mortensen on carrying concealed pistols, “Born To Gun,” while entertaining, leaves out more reality than it presents.

No. That is not why you lost. You lost because retrograde movement only works for planets. We think it’s wonderful that 1952 was such a great year for you, but your Mamma’s not in the kitchen in shiny pumps and an ironed apron waiting to serve you meatloaf and cookies.

“Good black don’t crack,” my grandma always said. By which she meant we age well, not always “looking our age,” as well as having a certain apparent resilience in the face of continuous stressors.

You’ve heard of the cart before the horse? This is the property sale before the plan. It’s also swift action to forestall any prolonged controversy over the Courthouse Garden.

It seems that Eugene city government, both appointed and some elected, wants to seal a deal on the Courthouse Garden site (triangle site) before the general public knows what we’re losing. The agenda item selling the nearly two-acre site for $1.23 million plus many perks was so rushed that EW knew about it before at least one councilor.

I read with great interest this past week about the city agreeing to sell the “triangle site” east of the new U.S. Courthouse. A great deal of the comments centered on the relocation or suspension of the “garden.”

They broke the mold when Betty was born — she’s one of a kind! Deciding to support Betty Taylor’s re-election to the Eugene City Council Ward 2 is fairly simple: Not only is she a home-town hero, respected across Oregon and in Washington, D.C., she’s really the only qualified candidate in the race, by far.

History has conspired to place you at the presidential helm during a turning point moment of unprecedented global significance. The climate crisis preceded your presidency and will still be with us when it ends.

In the week before Oct. 15, 2011, word spread faster than anyone in Eugene expected. We knew something terribly wrong had been developing in America, but it took a Canadian activist group, Adbusters, to rivet attention on Wall Street — Ground Zero for the economic meltdown.

The presidential candidates talk about taxes and budget cuts but they don’t clearly state the trade-off. That is the purpose of this article.

Walking down a long hallway of the Rayburn Building in Washington, D.C., a pair of tall, open double doors at the end framed by flags focused my attention. Just past the doors, a large desk made a stately picture. As I got closer, I saw it was my daughter, Kelsey, at the desk. She looked up and flashed a professional, somewhat intimidating smile before jumping up to greet me like a kid on recess.