An Open Letter to my Grandchildren

Dear Frank, Peter, Corriell, Liza, Ella, Norah, Max, Parker, and Molly:

The nine of you (five by blood, four by marriage) range in age from thirties to teens. So, what if anything can I say on this first day of my 92nd lap around old Sol that is relevant to each of you, that might be useful to the life you are developing in these times so very different from mine at your ages? I dare not give advice for an old geezer’s advice is merely quaint. And who am I to advise from the brambles of my life? Actually, for me, my life has been wonderful. Watching you nine is a big part of that wonder.

No, rather than presuming to advise, let me instead tell you what I wish for you.

I wish you good health, of course. Through taking sensible care of yourself; through AI-driven genetic, epigenetic and pharmaceutical science; through research breakthroughs at Universities like our UW, my Harvard, and my newly discovered Cambridge; through the NIH and CDC, your odds of reaching 91 are improving every year. I know, you can’t imagine becoming 91. I recall, as a college sophomore, telling my roommates I hoped to see the arrival of the 21st century. That would have been at a ripe old 65! The odds are you will become 91 and you will be able to do so very much in the 60 or 70 years between now and then. I’m jealous to think what I’ll miss and can’t begin to imagine all you will see.

I wish for you a secure future, i.e., a reliably funded social security system, accessible low cost if not free health care, and low-cost if not free tertiary, technical and vocational education.  And I wish there be smart people among you to figure how to deliver it,

I wish you see restored a democratic republic and these divisive, hate-filled days of dysfunctional politics fade away. I have confidence that they will, that Americans’ sense of fair play and love of problem solving will overcome. I wish that you avoid fundamentalism, the abdication of thinking for yourself and turning over your life to an ideology or creed or holy writ or cult leader.

I wish for you a skeptical turn of mind. Not pessimism or negativism but a thoughtful skepticism about what others want you to believe or think. The skeptic asks what’s the source? Why does this channel or newscaster or op-ed or official want me to accept that? What is their agenda? Does this make sense to me? I’ve also learned that complicated questions are, in a word, complicated; simple solutions and slogans won’t cut it. Simple solutions to complicated questions are almost invariably wrong. Make America Great Again is nonsense; we have always had great potential; we have never fully lived up to it; nonetheless, we are and continue to be a great nation.

 I wish for you the joy of social or public service. Your great-great grandfather served as a YMCA Secretary (their version of CEO) and Chair of the Akron, Ohio School Board. My Dad remembers watching a KKK cross burnt on their front lawn to terrorize and express the Klan’s displeasure at Halley Waller’s welcoming, as the YMCA Secretary (like CEO,) and facilitating settlement of immigrants, migrants and especially Catholics in Akron. In his turn, Fletch Sr, my father/your great-grandfather, served during WWII as the War Dept’s Asst. Director of Civilian Manpower and, during the Cold War, as Deputy General Manager of the Atomic Energy Commission. I have served as officer and/or director of several social service, arts and cultural not-for-profit orgs, and have run – unsuccessfully – for public office (Port Commissioner), all to my benefit and satisfaction. I wish for you to savor the challenge and satisfaction of public service.

I wish you appreciate what a young and resilient nation we are and draw confidence from that. To illustrate, subtract my 91 years and we arrive at my birth in 1934, the heart of the Great Depression, from which we recovered our strength. Go back another “Fletch” and it’s 1843, before the Civil War, in which we purge our original sin of slavery. Just two lifetimes! Had I been born in 1843, I might have been in the Union Army as a 17yr old trooper – I say Union because that side of your family was of Vermont, Massachusetts and New York stock. Perhaps, had I been killed, would you even be here?

Go back a third “Fletch” and it’s 1752, twenty years before the Revolution and our becoming a nation. Had I been born in 1752, I might have been fighting alongside 6x-greatgrandfather Israel Waller and his son Joe in The Green Mountain Boys, Ira and Ethan Allens’ militia. Vermont was just disputed territory then, on  the way to proclaiming itself five years later an independent nation.

Imagine: it takes only 6 generations of Wallers to span the existence of our country: Octavia and Joseph, Philena & Chester, Josephine & Henry, Florence & Hallie, Ellie & Fletcher, and Barbara/Ann & I. Trace the Janes back: you’ll find the same thing, except starting in Canada. We are still a young nation. With your generation’s help and leadership, we’ll muddle through this adolescent rebellion. Have patience, keep the faith, and make your voices heard (oops, there, I gave advice.)

I wish for you my love of history. It gives me pleasure and an understanding of how things have come to be, the better to understand them. I wish for you my love of reading, of discovery. I’m not knocking Tik Tac or whatever the hell it is, or Instagram or The History Channel, but I get my perspective from reading different versions in books. If any of you want some of my library, come and get it!

Going hand-in-glove with history is Ann‘s and my love of travel; I hope you share that and experience the wondrous variety of our world and its peoples. There’s no substitute for going, seeing and listening for yourself. That’s why I went to Nicaragua during the Contra days: to see who was telling the bigger lies, Ronald Regan or Daniel Ortega. (I concluded it was a tie.)

Our goal, and I wish you consider adopting it as well, is to become educated. Become is the operative word, for one never achieves full education. “Lifelong Learning” has become cliché. Ann and I regard Learning as Life. That’s why we go to summer school at Cambridge University, taking fifteen hours of classes a week and attending 25 or so plenary lectures from world experts on every subject imaginable. We’ll go again for two weeks next summer, God granting us good health and stamina. Our thirst to become educated is why Ann took several semesters in UW’s access program; why we sign up for workshops and lectures from all sorts of orgs; why I can’t resist a history book. I wish for you to keep trying to become educated even while recognizing that you never will fully reach the goal.

I wish for you the challenge and satisfaction of putting your mark on whatever institution you are part of – company, church, school, civic org, whatever. Looking back, it appears as if I was intent on getting through Hamilton College without leaving a mark on it; now I am trying to make up for that by serving as class secretary. (I did a bit better at Sidwell Friends, holding the school record for javelin for a few years, being first in my class to earn a varsity letter, being our good field/no hit third baseman, being President of the Boys Athletic Association, while also being the most inept JV football player in school history. Yes, I also got good grades.) Subsequently, I learned to speak up and volunteer, to take charge of a project or program; this has emboldened me and enabled me to make a mark on groups of which I am a part. (That speaking up has also gotten me fired twice, but that’s another story.) And I wish for you the discovery of how enriching it is to work with a variety of people of different backgrounds and values and viewpoints. My projects are always more successful if I have suffered working out differences with and coming to appreciate contributions of folks unlike Fletch.

Lastly, (yes, there is an end) I wish for you the joy of expressing yourself in art, as Frank Sr. and Ann have discovered in their painting; Amy, in her jewelry design; Ella, in her tattooing; Max, with his trumpet. Nothing has brought me more joy than my sculpting, as amateurish as it is.

So, there it is: looking back helps me see what I wish for you.

Get to know and cherish each other.

Ciao for another year.

                                                                                            G’pa Fletch 

PS: Rowing. One more wish is that you discover the thrill and pleasure of crew. There’s nothing else like it. Ann crewed with Martha’s Moms. Amy, Jeff and Norah have crewed on the Mississippi. Rowing for Brown, Cam won an ICAA championship in 4’s. Grant crewed in high school. My crewing and coaching days are now over. I so miss being on the water as the sun comes up over Mt. Rainier, being, as it were, one of The Boys in the Boat. Go crew!

                                                                                                                                G’pa F

We Shot a Five-Week Hole in the Seattle Summer . . .

. . . but no regrets. A month or so ago, I promised to “soon” post about our three-weeks in Germany. In the meantime, we spent two weeks in summer school at Cambridge University. We can't both have our travels and summer at home at the same time, obviously. While I regret missing the shank of a Seattle summer I wouldn’t change anything. (Nor do I have second thoughts about our upcoming week in Ketchum, Idaho, in the shank, to use that cliché again, of September. Clichés are useful, aren't they? They become a cliché because they are so. But I digress; this is not about style or clichés. My style is confounding enough to me, much less to others.)

The two trips, so different in purpose, are curiously entwined and resonate with one another. The German trip was one of Classical KING’s annual music tours, this time to Dresden, Leipzig, and Weimar. Eleven musical performances, some private just for the 17 of us, others public events such as Dresden’s Semper Oper doing Turandot and the Gewandhaus Orchester Leipzig presenting an evening of Bach, Honegger, and Brahms symphonies. Private events ranged from string quartets to 

Sebastian Freitag, the young domorganist of Dresden's 
Kathedral Sanctissimae Trinitatis

organ recitals to leider: eleven musical events in seven days(!) spread out over nine. If you are a classical music fan who supports KING you should take a look at these tours. Ann and I tacked on five days in Berlin. She and I had not been there in decades: I went through Checkpoint Charlie in ’82; she, in ’65!

Breakfast at Boutique Hotel mittendrin Berlin, 
a must-stay if you're in Berlin

-

Our summer school at Cambridge was our second year of this tonic in the shank (OMG, again?) of an English summer. The two weeks of a class each morning and afternoon, punctuated by three daily plenary, campus-wide lectures by Oxbridge experts on every subject imaginable, and having breakfasts and dinners with some 400 students of all ages from 70 countries, is an intense and stimulating experience. My afternoon pint of Guinness helped calm me down. 

Lunch on the patio of Millworks, on its millpond
off the Cam

But the special joy of this was sharing the experience with Ann; of meeting for lunch somewhere lovely, reporting what we had learned that morning, sharing over evening cocktails the ideas to which we had been exposed. Our course choices were varied: she took International Development, The Origin of England and the English, i.e., Anglo-Saxon England from the 5^th to the 12thC., and The Rise of Civilisation (as they spell it; recall George Bernard Shaw’s description of us as two peoples separated by a common language) as seen through comparative archeological excavations in Mesopotamia and Mexico. I also took the latter, as well as Five Famous Trials, The Magna Carta, and Art Movements of the 20thC. We attended an outdoor performance of Shakespeare’s As You Like It, part of the Cambridge Summer Shakespeare Festival. So, much, much, much to talk about. And to savor Cambridge's summer.

Everyone gets out and about along the Cam

How intertwined? In Dresden, we saw the remarkable choices the community made, both before and after reunification, to rebuild, to restore rather than replace the palaces and churches and opera halls and museums that had made Dresden the cultural and artistic center of Germany from the 15^th to the 20thC. 

Dresden's Frauenkirche, 1946 . . .

. . . and today

In Weimar, we saw the destruction of a democratic republic and the rise of fascist autocracy. In Leipzig we learned of the Friedliche Revolution, the people’s Peaceful Revolution that toppled the GDR and its Stasi and brought about the fall of the wall and reunification. 

In Berlin, we traced the rise of National Socialism and its scapegoating of Jews which gave the world the Holocaust, and witnessed German determination that today's youngsters do not repeat our mistakes. 

Between 1933 and 1939, thousands 
of antisemitische Gesetzgebung were passed  

In Cambridge we learned how a people is formed and strengthened by the merging of different folks bringing different values and viewpoints. 

The heterogeneity of Cambridge

We learned how villages and towns and cities form, and how governments evolve in those city centers and attempt by different means – the Stasi, the Gestapo, mythology, divine right, rule of law -- to get large numbers of individuals to conform. We learned how the Great Charter of the English, the Magna Carta, established that no man should be above the law. The treason trial of Charles and the fall of the GDR showed us how autocracies must give way to the people. The Scopes Trial pitted the village values of tradition and shared creed against the city-based elites’ science and skepticism. The same conflict played out in the trial of Penguin Books for making D.H. Lawrence’s Lady Chatterly’s Lover accessible to the mass public. And the history of failed international development efforts demonstrated the limits of top-down governance. Artists calling out such impositions are of crucial value. 

The trial of William Joyce, Lord Haw-Haw, called into question the whole idea of national identity and citizenship. And, of course, Dresden and the English Civil Wars showed the folly of reverting to war to resolve some of these fundamental questions of how societies and civilizations should work. And throughout the five weeks, and since, what we saw and learned and discussed echo every day as Ann and I read the papers and watch the news.

So, yes, shooting a five week hole in Seattle’s summer was no loss. We gained an enriched and broadened worldview together. 

Well, I don't like your tie.

Trump's firing of the Director of Labor Statistics reminds me of a confrontation half a century ago at General Mills. A young market researcher of mine was presenting to our Exec VP results of a comparative consumer taste test between a new product and its competitors. The product team, developers, and all of us sat in a conference room, with slides projected on the screen at one end, the Exec VP, who was very enamored of the product and its market, enthroned at the other.

As disappointingly lackluster results rolled out, suddenly the EVP burst in: "I don't like your numbers." The room audibly inhaled. My research guy, a bit nonplussed, paused and then responded "Well -- I don't like your tie." Now the group inhale turned to a group gasp. 

After what seemed an interminable gap, the EVP burst out laughing. To his great credit. 

The tie is a tie; the numbers are the numbers. So be it.      

What a Difference a Day Makes, . . .

 . . . twenty-four little hours, . . .  Remember that Dinah Washington hit, from 1959? Originally written in Spanish in 1934 (my birthyear) and now a classic of The American Songbook. (Aha! Cultural appropriation! For shame, for shame.) Well, Ann and I have now lived through our own What a Difference a Day Makes in a journey from hell.

It started Thursday morning. I decided to have eggs for breakfast to bank some protein for our trip to Cambridge. I forgot to time my soft-boiled eggs (in honor of Brits) and so just guessed at when. They were perfect! I thought to myself: a good omen for our trip. Do not trust omens.

We had chosen to use United miles for economy-plus. Afterall, we are frugal; my friends call it cheap; they insist on business class at this stage of life but neither Ann nor I, raised by depression-era parents can bear to pay such a premium even though we can afford to; her Swedish accountant father and my fiscally cautious mother are watching. It just isn't in us. So UA -- not our first choice -- and economy plus it is: Seattle to San Francisco to London (for United had long-ago abondoned SeaTac as a hub.) 

We had received an alert from the airline that an equipment change set our arrival in SFO back a bit, shortening the transfer time. That was the start. At SeaTac, we learned of further delays so United had re-booked us through Denver instead. Assured our baggage was also re-booked, we boarded for Denver.

The 90+ degree baking of the plains was cooking up thunderheads in Eastern Colorado. By the time we arrived over Denver, it's airport was closed. We are diverted to Rapid City, South Dakota. Then we learned that UA's flight ops center in Chicago was on fire -- literally! We sat on the ground; no, you can't leave the plane. We are returning to Denver but when is now not known.

Our seat-mate dozing against the window was jolted awake by the touch-down. The nice young entrepreneur was on his way to pick up his grandmother and escort her to a family wedding. He looked out the window, confused by what he saw, or didn't see, perhaps. He turned to us in sleepy wonder, "Welcome to Rapid City" I said. I wish I had had his phone for a photo; the look on his face was priceless: eyes bulging, mouth agape, total bewilderment. 

Time passed. Cleared for take-off. Arrived safely in Denver -- an hour and a half after our London flight had departed.

Gate agent standing by with clip board of re-booked flights and departure times? No. Customer Service desk with helpful problem-solvers? No! Are you kidding? Those customer service desks disappeared years ago, buddy. Point your camera at the QR code on that kiosk labelled customer help (Ha!) and be connected -- by and by. After an interminable wait, we got an agent who said no flights until the morrow, sent us a hotel voucher good for three cheap -- sorry, economy -- hotels from which we could choose, and told us to re-book at ticket counter.

We exited and found a customer service agent at United, which was closing up. No, she didn't know the hotels and had no advice. Yes, she could try and re-book us. Did we have a receipt for premium economy on the London flight? No. Well, I can book economy; the computer shows no premium or economy plus (?? are they the same thing? She didn't know.) But no seats together. So, book two and charge to card; we'll sort out the credits later, and negotiate seat swaps on board the plane tomorrow. What about these two rows further back? OK. Show passport and hit done: the machine spits out four boarding passes for four seats, none together and $450 some dollars charged to card. 

Now it's 10:15; where to have dinner? None of the voucher hotels have restaurants. Best to eat in the airport. We call hotel, make reservation, and set off for recommended restaurant which serves to eleven. It closed at 10:25. Try another. Closed -- no staff, no customers, yet airport is abuzz with abandoned passengers milling about. 

We go off to find shuttle to our blind selection: American Inns by Wyndham. More lost souls, hundreds of them, milling about waiting for shuttles. Midnight: at front desk. agent tells us there's a 7-11 across the street. Over we go, get chicken wings and a can of chardonnay, and back to room to dine in style -- no plate and no forks, but lots of paper napkins. 

In the meantime, I have to alert Panther Cab in Cambridge to pick us up at Heathrow a day later and the Fellows Hotel not to expect us Friday but to hold second day of our two-day stay for arrival Saturday.

Simple night clerk at hotel said reservations wouldn't be open until nine and we'd have to be charged for cancelling after July 20th. Could she leave a note for reservations? No. Reservation was booked through Booking.com; try them. Booking.com on phone proudly announced their adoption of AI and that we'd be helped by a virtual agent. Phone or text? I got a chipper, feminine virtualosity of considerable enthusiasm and no rationality. Did I wish to make a reservation -- press one -- or cancel or modify an existing reservation -- press two. Both. That is not a correct response. Hit 1 or 2. What is reservation code, starting with V in upper left of confirmation e-mail? Confirmation e-mail had no code. Repeat. Repeat, again. Hang up, go to bed.

I call back at 4AM and get car service agent who confirms they have the switch. I get a hotel reservationist -- it's now 11:30AM in Cambridge -- who advises just to suck it up, keep the reservation, have the empty room tonight available whenever you arrive tomorrow.

Breakfast: you've seen the scene: weakly reconstituted frozen orange juice or a peel-it-yourself orange; yoghurt and cold cereal; lumpy, lukewarm scrambled eggs of little taste; paper plates and plastic forks. Coffee was hot and OK. Catch the shuttle and off to terminal and United desk. My vision was to find a mature supervisor who would take us in hand, cancel our four seats, issue refunds, let us use lounge, and sort it all out.   

Cue Dinah Washington: my vision is to be realized! 

We hailed at "Additional Services" desk a 25-year veteran supervisor who takes us in hand. Tammy cancels four economy seats, re-books two together in "Premium Plus" (it's the one thing domestically, another internationally) authorizes refund credit to card, commiserates with us, guides her young agent on making changes, and urges us to use United's Club Lounge, though she can't do so gratis. Still, at $111 for two day-passes, lunch and snacks, free drinks or wine, chocolate chip cookies and a quiet, civilized place to spend the day, a good deal. She says our bags are undoubtedly still here in Denver. "They know exactly where you are and your bags are there." I doubted that but kept my skepticism to myself.

Aboard a 757 Dreamliner, my favorite plane, in two spacious seats in a row by ourselves, we depart on time and have a perfect flight. Excellent dinner served. Got some sleep. For breakfast, good eggs and mushrooms. Cleared immigration. Now the moment of truth: baggage. 

About one minute after arriving at the carousel, out pops my bag! Ann's follows in another two minutes. Oh ye, of little faith.

Sunny, of Veezu, nee' Panther Cab, is awaiting us with his Mercedes. Sunny whisks us away to Cambridge. "Whisks" is hardly adequate; we stay in the right-hand, high-speed lane moving over only once as I recall for an Aston Martin doing at least 170kph.

Check-in at Fellows is by Cecile, who authorizes on her own volition waver of the late cancellation charge. We have a lovely, high-ceilinged room with window looking out into a peaceful patio, solid cabinetry, comfortable king bed. Shower. Crawl into bed. Up in the evening. Cocktail in the patio and out for a walk aside the Cam, with its canal boat/live-aboard homes tied along the banks. 

A fisherman, a Pole, showed me what he catches -- bream and chub, nice 15" fish -- and wonders at our tolerance for Trump. He is traveling to Vancouver, BC and Seattle later this month, his first visit to America. Cambridge, meanwhile, is alive with Saturday strollers and graduation weekend parents and students. So peaceful; so British.

Celine recommended we dine in at the Fellows restaurant. Excellent! Interesting, varied menu, well-prepared food, good service. But noisy with multi-lingual crowd. And to bed. A Good Day -- we are here and ready to put on our student IDs tomorrow. 

What a difference a day makes!

Who Are These Zealots?

Who are these zealots who sit around thinking up this stuff? (Zealot: fanatically passionate about a cause, such as restricting government’s roles to defending its citizens against foreign threats and invasion and protecting free use of private property, leaving social services and education to charities, willing communities, and private citizens.)

Who are these ideologues who believe scholarships for dreamer kids threaten the rights of native-born students? (Ideologue: a person who strongly advocates for and is deeply committed to a particular system of ideas.) 

Who are these jingoists who believe the role of schools and monuments is to foster uncritical thinking about America’s unblemished behavior and beauty, banishing historic truths about slavery, Japanese internment, treatment of Indigenous tribes. and observance of treaties? (Jingoist: someone who expresses extreme patriotism and believes that one's country is inherently superior and has a right to assert itself forcefully on others.)

Who are these libertarians who believe progressive taxation imposes on individual liberty, penalizes productivity and initiative, and fosters class discord. (Libertarian: a person who believes personal freedom of action, association, and belief comes before all else, including community and commonwealth; who believes government has no right to infringe on utilization of owned property or behavior that does no harm to others.)

Who are these Populists who elevate the wisdom of common folk and disdain or dismiss expertise and elite qualifications. (Popullist: one who caters to the mass population and postures as anti-establishment and anti-elitist (no matter how wealthy they become while doing so.) 

Certainly, Trump does not lay awake at night thinking up these radical ways of tearing down institutions that have well served we Americans for 150 years or more. Who are these zealots, anyway? Well, there’s Russell Vought, head of Office of Management and Budget and chief author of the Heritage Foundation’s Project 2025. He has said that only Christians should hold government positions and has condemned Muslims as anti-Christian. He favors making it easier to fire civil servants, despite The Civil Service Act’s protections against politicization.

There’s Stephen Miller, former Communications Director for segregationist Sen./A.G.Jeff Sessions, and now Trump’s Deputy Chief of Staff for Policy and the United States Homeland Security Adviser. Miller is chief architect of the Muslim Ban and Immigrations' family separation tactic. There’s Doug Burgum, Secretary of Interior, who wants to slash environmental regulations and encourages oil drilling on public lands. There’s Lee Zeldin, a global warming skeptic who wants to roll back climate protection regulations while serving as Director of the Environmental Protection Agency! There’s Paul Dans, Project Director of Project 2025, who believes in loyalty tests for government positions and has amassed a personnel list of “deep state” suspects. There’s Chris Wright (no, not our musical friend Chris Wright, but Sect. of Energy Chris Wright) who believes in energy exports, helped freeze Inflation Reduction Act funds for infrastructure, and opposes subsidies for renewable energy projects. There's RFK, Jr. who believes in scientist conspiracies and folk remedies, and disbelieves data-based evidence on wellness and illness.

And so it goes. Trump has surrounded himself with zealots, radicals who seek to tear down, displace, destroy institutions and legal structures and precedents that have served us well for five generations. These aren’t small-d democrats, neither are they the kind of progressive conservatives I wish we had more of. These are malevolent voices to which Trump gives ear. God deliver us from ideologies, from jingoism, libertarianism, populism, and all the other isms (Fascism, Communism, Socialism, Fundamentalism, Sexism, Authoritarianism, Nationalism, etc., etc.) that seek to cloud the minds of rational humanists.(Yes, I know; rationalism. It takes an exception to make the rule. No one can charge me with perfectionism.)

Ya picks yer poison and ya takes yer chances . . .

The Primary race for King County Executive is a microcosm of what is bedeviling Democrate all across the country: is it time for young voices espousing rather bold changes in social systems and priorities, or should Democrats stay with trusted, familiar, moderate voices that might make Independents and moderate Republicans more comfortable? King County is a perfect model for what is happening in New York with mayoral candidates Cuomo vs Mamdani. On the national level, you’ve got AOC pushing both Hakeem Jeffries and Chuck Schumer. In Arizona’s 7^th, it’s Foxx, 25, vs Grijalva, 54. In California’s 11^th and 22^nd the same pattern is emerging. And here in our own King County (the nation’s 14^th largest, BTW) we have Girmay Zahilay, 38, battling it out with Claudia Balducci, 57.

To some of my friends, Girmay is a vibrant, articulate leader with sound values, bold vision for the future, and empathy for those in need. He has raised money and garnered impressive endorsements. To others of my friends, he is a show horse up against the work horse Balducci: former mayor of Washington’s 5^th largest city, former state corrections chief, King County Council member, with a track record of delivering results.  

Ours is a top-two system; it’s quite likely that these two Democrats of two different generations will be on the General Election ballot in November. So, the core question may be which one has the best chance of winning it all in the fall.

Ann and I have voted already because we are off Thursday for summer school at Cambridge University. It turns out we have cancelled each other’s vote. So, there it is . . .

. . . ya picks yer poison and takes yer chances.   

Remove Barrietrs to the American Dream

During our trip in Germany (see tomorrow), I saw a bit of Trump through European eyes and thought about how to beat these guys in '26 and '28. Removing Barriers is still sound but let's reinforce it with an added plank: Removing Barriers To The American Dream, barriers which Trumpenomics is imposing on middle class households: 

• increased costs of imported necessities (e.g., vegetables, diapers, underwear, school clothes, batteries);
• increased cost of student loans;
• closure of technical and community colleges;
• increased costs of autos;
• increased costs of lumber for building homes;
• increased costs for solar and wind power;
• loss of medicare and medicaid coverage;
• increased cost of imported pharmaceuticals;
• closure of small town hospitals;
• closure of public TV-affiliated local stations and their news, weather, and Sesame Street; 

--- and many more obstacles that Trumpenomics is imposing right now on Middle Class America.  

Removing Barriers to the American Dream 

That should be our banner. And note: no talk about elite colleges and university grants, infectious disease research, foreign aid, USAID, tax cuts for the wealthy, income disparity, cult of personality, privacy, freedom of speech, interest rates, deficits, and all that admittedly very important stuff we care about: talk to the middle class about their daily lives. Talk up the backbone of America,