…it’s true. I prefer my water room temperature.
**
THE MOUSE IS DREAMING
In a dark hole behind the washing machine
The house-mouse is dreaming.
Whiskers, body, tail – twitching and trembling,
Paws scratching the air.
That mouse, he’s a dreamin’
Of great chunks of cheese, and whole loaves of bread,
Of a nest made of the finest pieces of cloth and paper –
dry, warm, and snug,
of living out in the open once again, to be sun-warmed
and star-shined,
of walking. Of walking through the territory patrolled
by the Cat.
Of cat traps and cat cages,
And cats without claws and teeth;
Of a world without Cats.And this mouse, she’s a dreamin’
Of acres of loʻi kalo, of nets full of ʻopelu,
Of rocks choke with ʻopihi and limu.
Of forests of Koa and ʻIliahi and Wiliwili,
Of empty and crushed buildings, which no longer
Scrape the sky;
Of living in the open once again, to be sun-warmed
And star-shined;
Of walking through the territory controlled
By the Cat.
Of cat traps, and cat cages,
And cats without claws and teeth;
Of a world without Cats.And the mice dream dreams
That would terrify the Cats.By Puanani Burgess
January 22, 1986
Aloha everyone, happy Monday.
I have a distant second cousin who lives in Minneapolis. His is Mexican American and came to the US as a kid. They have two lovely boys. A new story from their city this weekend reminded me of the concept of the “whole story” and why it’s so important.
The “whole story” has been coming up for me lately; I love this concept of Aunty Pua’s so much. I’m a deeply contextual person—I can see how things are different, but also how they are connected. I can connect almost anything.
You probably know the news story I’m referring to. A man was shot by ICE agents while trying to protect a woman from violence from another ICE officer. He reached out to project a fellow citizen when she was pushed. He was recording. There was a tussle, and he was shot ten times. I saw the video on accident—hard not to see it on social media. Those kinds of images and videos can be hard for me, but I saw it. And I saw how after he was shot, the agents scattered like “oh shit!”. Apparently they rendered aid, but in the intermediate aftermath, they seemed to scatter. This is the second person killed in Minneapolis while trying to be actively witness, and prevent to their fellow human beings. And who it talking about the immigrants perishing in mysterious, insidious detention facilities? Six have passed away this month alone. Or more.
The whole story is important because it provides a counterpoint to every part of the false narrative that the government is emphatically committed to. They say he was a terrorist. He wanted to massacre agents. He attacked them, gun drawn. The evidence is forthcoming, you’ll see. About their entire terror campaign, they also say that what they are doing is warranted and just. That they are taking out illegal criminals here to rape, pillage, maim, steal, and kill.
If you just took their obtuse narratives at face value, even then it would be hard to justify their actions. When you see the whole story, in this case, plain and true in videos and eyewitness accounts from bystanders, you see the cold truth. They have made the ICE agents inhumane. Looking deeper beyond the actions of the agents, you can see the insidious divisiveness and hate being used as a tool to divide and conquer citizens. I believe you have to give up part of your soul to do that kind of work. To abduct small children, separate families, spray citizens in the face with chemicals point blank while they lie helpless and restrained takes a certain kind of disconnect. What happened to you? How can?
Of course, history tells us how this works, how people can become agents of terror. We should pay attention. We are at this sort of tipping point, where the ugliness and hate and violence is so apparent, that I believe as a people, we are being forced to choose. Who will we be, and become? Thousands of people in the streets of Minneapolis in sub-zero temps were people choosing to advocate for, and change the trajectory of the narrative. We are part of the whole story. We play a role. We are somewhere in there, our narrative woven into the (w)hole, the fabric of our torn society. What will we do to change the outcome of the narrative, to shift the tide? How and who can we help, even here?
I keep hearing friends talking about ICE raids here at home. Pālolo Valley, a whole family carted away in the dark of night. KPT, ICE trucks zooming around Linapuni Street last week. Chinatown, two blocks from my office, near the kūpuna housing, swarms of agents in black swirling on the street. They’re here.
We learned that Catholic Charities has a program for unaccompanied minors, largely from Latin America, who have been dumped here by the US government. They are all ages. Some are even young adults, around 18. I don’t know all the details, but we’re finding out more about the program and seeing if there’s something we can do to support. If you’re interested, let me know.
Mahalo,
Dawn
Photo taken 2/20/25 atop an icy Mauna Kea. Calling in a higher power for days of instability and the need to stand firm.