Bob Schwartz

“Calling actions WAR CRIMES is WOKE!”

Nobody said or wrote that. At least it hasn’t been reported. But it would not be surprising if that was thought or said by some U.S. leaders. Two of the closest American allies, Russia and Israel, have regularly committed war crimes in recent years, yet the U.S. has stood by silent or supportive.

The U.S. has made clear that it doesn’t support the concept or fact of international law. Just as it doesn’t support the concept or fact of American law when it comes to judges who try to stop its illegal or unconstitutional actions.

“Woke” is the overall characterization of anything that seems too tolerant, sensitive or soft, weak initiatives that get in the way of exercising real muscular strength and power. So just because something like international law says that destroying civilian power plants—Trump’s latest in an incoherent series of threats to Iran—is a war crime, that is no reason not to do it. Because those so-called international laws are just too WOKE.

Next up: More pardons for war criminals and genocidal leaders, contemporary and historic. He can do that, he thinks.

Did you notice that spring arrived yesterday?

Yesterday, March 21, was the first day of spring here in the Northern Hemisphere (the start of fall in the Southern Hemisphere). Officially the vernal equinox.

It seems to me that the first day of spring used to be a bigger deal. Maybe with so much going on, so many other big stories to pay attention to, you missed it this year. Yet here it is, springy as ever.

Following is a poem by E. E. Cummings.

Happy Spring and Happy Fall wherever you are. Let us try to keep our priorities straight.


sweet spring is your
time is my time is our
time for springtime is lovetime
and viva sweet love

(all the merry little birds are
flying in the floating in the
very spirits singing in
are winging in the blossoming)

lovers go and lovers come
awandering awondering
but any two are perfectly
alone there’s nobody else alive

(such a sky and such a sun
i never knew and neither did you
and everybody never breathed
quite so many kinds of yes)

not a tree can count his leaves
each herself by opening
but shining who by thousands mean
only one amazing thing

(secretly adoring shyly
tiny winging darting floating
merry in the blossoming
always joyful selves are singing)

sweet spring is your
time is my time is our
time for springtime is lovetime
and viva sweet love

E. E. Cummings