Cancer on My Mind - November 1, 2012

Part 6 – Fighting Cancer with a Plant Based Diet, November 1, 2012

I’ve been a vegan for more than seventy days now, and the part of the transformation most surprising to me is that I’ve made the change with few misgivings – it might be somewhat due to the fact that I like beans, any type of beans, cook a big pot nearly every week, and can eat them every day – my substitute for meat. I’ve discovered that beans are some of the most nutritious in the vegetable diet. They supply a higher quality protein (meat is over-rated), and three types (red, kidney and pinto) are listed in the top four of those plant foods having the most antioxidants (wild blueberries are #2). Pintos are my favorite, so I tend to choice them more often. Having cancer has, of course, been the primary incentive toward my transformation.

I continue to feel quite well, have a lot of energy, and noticed that the swallowing difficulty that alerted me to the problem has greatly diminished over the last few weeks. I harbor no doubts about my decision to skip surgery – time will tell if I’m right. According to statistics I have less than one chance in five to be alive five years from now. That’s if I elect to have surgery, the final procedure of three that the medical establishment recommends. I recently completed the other two (five weeks of chemo and thirty-three sessions of radiation). Tests had shown that very little metastasis had occurred (the Chemo was to kill any wandering cancer cells), and I wanted to shrink the tumor to nothing (so I opted to have an additional five radiation treatments).

My Oncologist, Dr. Spencer, said I was the first she had heard of to opt out of surgery. She had seen the video Forks over Knives, was quite impressed by it, and seemed curious and supportive of my one-man experiment. Doctor Spencer appears to be very religious and we got into a short discussion about the Bible. She mentioned that the Garden of Eden had two trees, the other being the Tree of Life and she recited scriptures in the book of Genesis: “And God said, Behold, I have given you every herb bearing seed, which is upon the face of all the earth, and every tree, in the which is the fruit of a tree yielding seed; to you it shall be for meat. And to every beast of the earth, and to every fowl of the air, and to every thing that creepeth upon the earth, wherein there is life, I have given every green herb for meat: and it was so.” It seems that Adam and Eve started out as vegans.

My naturopathic doctor, Markian Babij, is also supportive of my decision. I think he occupies a sensitive position since he works within the medical establishment of oncologists and radiation therapists, and has to walk a fine line of balance between his own philosopy and theirs – which at times must be in conflict. He was the one who told us about the video Forks over Knives. At a later appointment, I told him I’d read the book The China Study, and he said I need not look at the video as the book was in more detail. We told him we had bought the video and were lending it to interested friends. He has made many valuable suggestions of suppliments that I might take during the different stages of my treatment. I think that is mainly why I came through the Chemo and Radiation with so few negative side effects.

There may be others like myself who have opted out of surgery, but I assume their numbers are small, and it is unlikely that any studies have been conducted, so no statistics are available to calculate my chances of survival over the coming years. My story will be anecdotal.

My thinking is really simple and straight forward. I reason that an animal based food diet caused my cancer, and to continue that diet after treatment is to invite its return. I decided to eliminate all animal based foods from my diet; I even cut out fish. I’m as complete a vegan as its possible in this modern world of refined foods, food additives, and genetically altered foods. For example, I love chocolate and have tried to switch to dark variety, but have been unable to resist milk chocolate now and then. I consider myself a 99 percenter - economically, politically, and veganly. Peruse any grocery food isle and notice how much the selection is limited if you are vegan. The shelves might as well be empty, and there are far more choices today than there was just a few years ago - people are catching on. The Natural Pantry here in town has just broken ground for a large new store on 36th Avenue. It will do well.

Conversely, a whole food plant-based diet offers more than just changing to a nonpoisonous food source. The diet is vastly superior, not only in the variety, but also the quantity and quality of nutrients. Animal foods are mainly protein and fats – not really a whole lot more – not when compared to plant foods. There are literally thousands of nutrients in the world of plant foods that are not to be found in the animal based diet. The problem seems to be that no one knows which nutrients do what. That’s because most money for cancer research goes into studies to cure the disease; little to nothing is directed into research that might demonstrate how cancer can be prevented or even cured by a nutritious diet. This is also typical for research into the other major “diseases of affluence”.

I think this is why one reads and hears of the many anecdotal stories about miraculous cures credited to specific plant foods, or extracts from exotic tropical plants. Many despairing people fall victim to scam artists promising salvation. I am certain there are curative nutrients out there, but like everyone else, I don’t know which ones they are, so the solution for me is to eat great variety, to awash my body in the most nutrition mixtures of food and spices that I can discover.

There are hundreds, probably thousands, of antioxidants in the world of plant foods. It was long thought that they functioned mainly to latch onto and deactivate free-radicals, thus preventing them from damaging cells. Now researchers are beginning to think the chemical behavior inside cells may be more complicated, that many of those antioxidants may work in unison, a choreographed dance, while others regulate gene expression. So I am, little by little learning to cook vegan. We attended a seminar a few days ago on, “Spices: A Key Ingredient for Cancer Prevention and Treatment”, and I checked out a library book about cooking with spices, The Spice Merchants Daughter.
Parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7,

Cancer on My Mind – October 1, 2012

Part 5 – An Eye Opening discovery about Nutrition, Disease and the world of Veganism

Vegans and the world of veganism have always been foreign to me, like aliens from Mars. I never felt animosity toward them, but looked upon their practice with a bit of curious puzzlement. Like most Americans, I grew up starting my day on bacon and eggs washed down with a big glass of milk. There was fried chicken on Sundays, turkey at Thanksgiving, ham on Christmas, and corn beef for New Years. In between there was pork chops, meatloaf, hamburgers, hotdogs, and the occasional steak. We always had a green vegetable and potatoes, often smothered in gravy, but meat, milk and potatoes made up the centerpiece. Everybody knew that meat provided protein and milk made for strong bones and teeth.

I grew up believing that animal based foods were superior, later I changed my thinking to accept the idea that vegetables were probably better for you, but by only a degree. Now I’ve come to the conclusion that animal based food diets are slow poisons that are instrumental in causing many of our diseases. I’ve come full circle; I’m a vegan, and feel I should explain the why of that decision and the reasons for other choices I’ve made concerning my cancer treatment.

I have come through the Radiation and Chemo therapies with fewer of the side effects than predicted. I completed them with remarkable continued good health. I’ve had a couple days of being slightly constipated, had a slight nose bleed a couple mornings, noticed a bit more hair than usual in my comb, but nothing of the other ill effects that I was warned to expect: no nausea or vomiting, no periods of sudden and extreme fatigue, and only a moderate weight loss (10 pounds – down to a trimmer 185). I believe the weight loss was due more to the change in diet than to cancer. On the contrary I have a feeling of well-being I did not possess six months ago when I first noticed I had a problem. That is not to say I felt bad six months ago. I considered myself to be in good health and living a vigorous life style for someone my age. I now feel even better than when I started the treatment. That’s not supposed to happen. The doctors seem, like me, to be pleasantly surprised.

The present medical establishment’s recommended treatment for esophageal/stomach cancer consists of three steps: 1. Radiation Therapy; 2. Chemo Therapy, and 3. Surgery (after a resting period of a month or two). Surgery would remove a third of my stomach and a portion of my esophagus, and it is one of the most invasive. My surgeon would make two incisions, one from the side, and the other from my abdomen, lop off the parts close to the malignancy, pull the stomach up and staple it to the esophagus. This procedure adds a further peril to my survival. After heart disease and cancer, medical care is the third leading cause of death in this country. I already have cancer, number two killer, and medical care (surgery and its aftermath) is to be piled on top. I’m nearly seventy-three years old, and though my constitution is presently strong, it will not stay that way. There is the chance of infection or that the staple job will leak, necessitating more surgery. And then there is the recovery, six months or more. During that time I’m told that I will lose a good fraction of my weight – maybe forty or fifty pounds. I will be weakened, and my immune system will be further compromised, thus making it possible something else might come along to take me.

All this reminds me of a dog I once owned. Kody was a wolf/husky mix, an alpha type with lots of character, friendly to people and other dogs, but one that exhibited a self-possessed independence, and would abide crap from no human or other dog. He was still in prime physical shape at fifteen until he got into a fight with another of our dogs. Liquor (the other dog), a beautiful golden retriever, was not so smart, and psychologically damaged because he had gotten lost and was on his own for four months. He would jump Kody on occasions – sneak attacks. I didn’t know about the fight until Kody collapsed several days afterward. Liquor had bitten him near the groin and it had become infected. I treated the wound and he recovered, but lost a good deal of weight. After that Kody was an old, old dog, and lived less than a year. I think that type of outcome is similar to what I might face. Originally I expected to do the surgery, but I’ve been doing research and reading on the subject, and found enough information to give me another idea. I’m going to skip the surgery and go a different direction. I did elect to take five more radiation treatments for a total of thirty-three. This is to better insure that the tumor is shrunk as much as possible and the cancer is well devastated. I finished chemo two weeks ago and the completed radiation therapy last Friday.

I was in college for nine years, and loved it, nearly becoming professional student. Half of the courses I took were science classes, mostly biology, but I had a wide selection in chemistry, physics, math, geology, astronomy, and physiology. When I taught biology, I switched from the traditional approach to one that concentrated on biochemistry, cellular structures and their functions. I included a small section on basic nutrition – protein, carbohydrates, fats, vitamins and minerals, etc. I didn’t bother with diet or which foods to select. It was meat, milk products, vegetables, fruits, and grains – balance was the important thing.

I can therefore read a complex medical research paper. I may have to look up a few words, but am able to make since of it. I don’t have to rely on the authority of the medical establishment to make up my own mind of the efficacy of information. One of the things I did while researching was to read a book that was a real eye opener; one that changed my outlook on diet, nutrition and disease. A young friend of ours, Holly Glenn, gave me the book in August, about the time I started treatment. She is interested in vegetarianism, but said the book was a bit too academic, with more charts and graphs than she cared to wade through. She thought I might be interested, and passed it on to me. She was right. I couldn’t set it down. The book is The China Study by T. Colin Campbell, one of the most renowned nutrition researchers in the world. There is also a related documentary, a ninety minute video titled Forks over Knives that covers the same information.

The premise of the book is that an animal based food diet causes the “Diseases of Affluence” that plague the western world (USA and Europe). Those include heart disease, cancer, obesity, diabetes, and the many autoimmune diseases that afflict western populations. And, conversely, a whole-food plant based diet will prevent those diseases; in some cases reversing their trajectory. Dr. Campbell sites one study after another, scientifically controlled experiments on laboratory animals and people that have been conducted over the last fifty years as he weaves a convincing argument backed up by a mountain of evidence.

The China Study was the clincher. It was ultimately made possible by Chou EnLai, one of the last survivors of the Communist Revolution that defeated the Nationalist Chinese and took over the country in 1949. He came down with cancer in the early 1970s. As premier he ordered a vast survey of the death rates of twelve different cancers. The survey was nation-wide, involving over half million data collectors and covering 96% of its population. A resulting colored map of the cancers showed an interesting distribution of the diseases: some areas were devoid of certain cancers while others revealed a high concentration. This in a country where 87% of those surveyed were of the same ethnic group, the Han people, and most were poor farmers whose family had lived in the same locales for generations. That survey lead to the China Study a decade later.

The China Study was made possible after the United States and China re-established diplomatic relations in the late 1970s. It was conceived when the Deputy Director of China’s health research laboratory came to Cornell to work in Dr. Campbell’s lab, and they began discussing the possibilities of an in-depth health study. The study became a reality in 1982. The two published an 896 page monograph in 1990. It described the study, led by Dr. Campbell, of 6500 subjects (100 from each of 65 chosen counties spread across the country), weekly blood test for all, weekly urine tests for half, and food samples collected to be analyzed. There were 367 variables, and when completed, the results provided 8000 statistically significant associations on life-styles, diet and various diseases. There has never been a more thorough study, before or since, on human nutrition and its impact on disease.

I get disturbed when I think about this study and the many others which show a direct link between an animal based food diet, commercially processed foods and our over-weight, diseased citizenry. It’s like someone has been keeping a secret from us for nearly a quarter of a century. Vegetarian diets and restaurants seem to be more popular these days, but I’ve yet to find many people who have heard anything about the connection. Two of my doctors have the book; one seems to have read it. Only a few other people have heard of the book or of its main points – An animal based diet is causing our diseases, and driving our escalating health costs; a whole-food, plant based diet will lower both.

Why hasn’t my government beat the drum of public awareness? Where is a Surgeon General like Dr. Charles Everett Koop who would take on such a political hot potato? Why does the Food and Nutrition Board (a government agency) continue to put out that silly food pyramid which includes meat, dairy and refined food products? Could it possibly be monetary? The big food related industries like Monsanto, Con Agra Foods, Kraft, Archer Daniels Midland, McDonalds, etc. stand to lose big money should the population change its diet to a more healthy one. The industry is represented by powerful forces in Washington, lobbyists that push their agenda, fill campaign chests, and influence government policy. The members on the Food and Nutrition Board have deep ties with the food industry, and the industry finances the board. It’s a conflict-of-interest.

Why did my doctors not instruct me that it was meat, dairy, eggs, and refined foods, consumed over my life-time, that caused the cancer, and maybe I should think about eliminating them from my diet as it might just help me cure? Complete silence from them. It’s like they never heard of it, and maybe they haven’t. Few medical schools stress the subject of nutrition, offering at best a cursory survey. And it’s money again. The emphasis of the medical establishment is to treat diseases already established, not to prevent them, and there is lots of money to be made, in heart bypass surgery, chemo, radiation, expensive medical equipment, and drugs produced by the pharmaceuticals. They wouldn’t be able to make nearly as many sales to a healthy population – they’d take a hit in their bottom line on blood pressure medicines, cholesterol medicines, blood thinners, and the myriad of other drugs that make for such great profits.

The people have a right to know this information, but twenty-two years have passed, and most of the nation is yet ignorant. Many would not change old eating habits anyway – but people have the right to know, the right to have the information so as to make their own decisions. The official message is silence in a vacuum - we are being lied to – they’re lying by omission.
Parts: 1,  2,  3,  4,  5,  6,  7,

 

Cancer on My Mind - September 6, 2012

Part 4 - Financial Costs... and other Things

I have amassed a short stack of medical statements in the last three months. They total $21, 290 to date. More are coming. This is twenty-one thousand dollars just to find out what’s wrong with me. I started treatment, the “cure”, on August 13th, but haven’t, as yet, received any of those statements. I expect the total cost to dramatically climb.

I’m one of the lucky ones in that I have grown old enough to have Medicare and the State of Alaska offers supplemental insurance, so my out-of-pocket costs each year is limited to $800. I have enough reserves that I could have paid the bills to date, but doubt that my resources run deep enough to cover that which is coming. Many in the country do not have that peace of mind. I don’t know exactly how many are without insurance, but they count in the millions, and showing up at Emergency will not get them the serous treatment they need for catastrophic illnesses. Most bankruptcies and financial ruin are a result of the enormous bills that pile up when an “unexpected” illness befalls a family that lacks adequate coverage. The financial burden and emotional anguish must be overwhelming.

And then there is the “cure”: Chemo, Radiation, and Surgery - two poisons and a dagger. Granted, the radiation machinery is impressively sophisticated, and the chemicals are refined and targeted. But the best modern medicine can presently deliver is, in a way, indistinguishable from the tools of a medieval alchemist. I have to get sick before I can get well. The radiation is to shrink the tumor - the chemo to kill any wandering cancer cells. I may be free of the cancer after that.

I feel fine now but it’s an irony that when the first two stages of therapy conclude in another month I may be weak, nauseas, bald (more so), somewhat emaciated, and need to recover before I can go under the knife. The surgeons will remove a good portion of my stomach and esophagus in hope of preventing the cancer from returning, but there are no guarantees.

I have a blood draw on Tuesday and am injected with two Chemo drugs on Wednesdays. I sit in a comfortable leather recliner for Chemo, in a room with eight other patients, all reclining in theirs – some reading or on their computers, some sleeping, and a few eating snacks.

The nurse puts a warm bean bag on my arm and then hunts for a large vein in which to insert the needle. The larger the vein the larger the needle can be, and the faster I get the dosage. I’m going to be there two and a half to three hours. A saline solution is first to flow, then a pain killer, and then the first drug, Paclitaxel (trade name: Taxol). Paclitaxel functions by causing abnormal microtubule formation in cells. That inhibits cellular replication and causes cell death.

When that bag empties it is replaced with one of Carboplatin. (trade name: Paraplatin). This one produces its anti-cancer effects by binding with DNA, damaging it, and killing the cell. I am told they kill healthy cells along with the cancerous, but fewer cancer cells survive each week. I completed the fourth of five treatments this week – one to go. So far, I cannot claim any ill effects from Chemo. I continue to have plenty of energy – cut the grass, cleaned the rain gutters (on an extension ladder), and varnished the front door recently. Mary has had to take over the dog and cat poop as the doctors say I need to avoid such things.

I go to radiation every weekday at 3:30pm, and am scheduled for 28 treatments. It’s in the same hospital complex as oncology so I have just a short walk. The spacious radiation facility congers images of a medical temple with a sacrificial alter centered in the middle of the room. It is the Siemens Oncor Impression Plus Linear accelerator, an external cone beam radiation device coupled with a CT scanner. I remove my clothes from the waist up and lay down bare chested, and am offered a warm towel which I always decline. They tattooed several reference points on my abdomen and sides (not really noticeable) which are used to ensure I’m properly aligned when I lay down on the alter, my head resting in a cup. X-rays are taken at the beginning of each week to ensure nothing has moved around. The machine then rotates around me, stopping to beam radation at my tumor from seven different angles. The procedure takes only about 15 minutes. I’ve had sixteen treatments so far – twelve to go. So far, so good - no ill effects that I can claim.
GO TO: 1,  2,  3,  4,  5,  6, 7,
 

Cancer on My Mind – August 14, 2012

Part 3 - The Doctors

Dr. Timothy Miller, a native of Oregon, has been my primary physician for the last two years. I have a lot for which to thank him. When I went in about my swallowing problem he jumped on it, ordered a Barium Swallow test that revealed a jagged growth at the junction of my esophagus/stomach.

Dr. Miller is up here doing his internship at Providence Family Medicine. I was one of his first patients, and we got along from the beginning, but he will be my primary for only another year. He is the fourth intern I’ve had in 5 years, and will, like the rest, move on after he finishes his residency. I’ll then have to break in another, so I may change to a new Medicare unit that just opened – would like to see the same doctor from now on.

That test launched us on a quest in which it now seems that I’ve seen as many doctors as in all my previous life. Dr. Charles Shannon performed an upper endoscopy a week later, didn’t like what he saw, and ordered a CT scan for the next day. Once the biopsy came in he told me to find an Oncologist.  Normally I would have looked up the word, but under the circumstances the meaning was obvious – cancer doctor. Mary and I have been on the Internet these past two months. She has concentrated on getting names and looking up info on doctors. I focused more on my cancer, how it would likely be treated, and by what type of doctor.

One of the first things I discovered was that three doctors would work as a team while treating my cancer. One specializes in Chemo therapy, one in Radiation Therapy and the last is a surgeon. I assumed all three would be working out of one office, so all I had to do was decide which team I liked and just settle in for treatment. It doesn’t necessarily work that way. We found several “Oncology” clinics, one at each major hospital, but all the doctors in those offices were Chemo specialists. Radiation therapists had their own clinics, with several radiation specialists working at each. Surgeons worked independently. Once we made our separate selections the three doctors would then coordinate their work.

We chose the oncologist (Chemo) first. Dr. Verneeda Spencer is a likable, down-to-earth, physician, without pretention. She is a African American/Choctaw native of Alabama who left that state for medical school in New Jersey some years ago. I got the impression she never looked back other than to visit family. Doctor Richard Chung became our Radiation specialist. He is a native of Taiwan and San Francisco who came to Alaska soon after completing his residency in 1994.

We settled on Dr. Richard Peters as my surgeon once his assisting physician, Dr. Peter Marbarger, a specialist in vascular surgery, said he would want Peters to operate if he were in my shoes. Dr. Peters was a career military doctor, certified in trauma surgery, and the most experienced in the state for the type of surgery I require. The two physicians are a “Mutt and Jeff” combo, Peters being the short one. He is military tidy, sports a neatly trimmed mustache, dresses sharply, and jokes with a biting sense of humor. Marbarger is tall, scruffy, sports a shaggy beard, wears casual clothes that seem ready to fall off his body, but evinces a comfortable, nonchalant presence.

The last member of my “team” is a Naturopathic doctor. I decided I would cover all bases. Doctor Markian Babij, a certified naturopathic oncologist is a native of Canada, has worked at several cancer treatment centers, and provided tips and a list of supplements to help alleviate the undesirable effects of Chemo and Radiation. I now swallow a fairly large number of pills throughout each day.

I started radiation yesterday and have my first chemo injection tomorrow. I am as ready as I’ll ever be for what comes. 

I have a twenty percent chance of being alive five years from now. That’s the survival rate for those with stage three esophageal cancers. That’s a statistic, a number average drawn from a pool of thousands of similarly diagnosed cancer patients. That number has little significance to me or any other single individual in the sample - we are all different. Most people are diagnosed when they are in their seventies and I‘m seventy-two. Many stomach/esophageal cancer sufferers have no symptoms until they are in an advanced stage. I’ve had a bit of luck with early detection. Some people are already sick when they are diagnosed, either with the cancer or other ailments, but I’m basically in good health. Some have lost a lot of weight by the time the cancer is discovered. I weigh in at about 195 pounds. That’s been my minimum weight for several years. I had wanted to lose ten pounds (without success), but the doctor now gives me orders to eat healthily and whole- heartily (which I happily comply), and even to supplement it with Ensure or other high protein drinks. Some patients respond better to chemo and radiation treatment than others. I don’t yet know how that will go.

There are other factors. My wife, Mary, offers a legion of support and that’s boosted by the concern shown by friends, neighbors, and family. Lastly, I think a huge factor is a person’s outlook on life. I’m a “What! Me Worry?” sort of guy. I refuse to fret over the infinite possible realities that can spring from a situation. I’d rather just deal with things when they arise. I try to control my mouth and bowels, and have lived long enough to know little else in this world can be managed with certainty. So, my bottle is half-full, and the sun follows rainy days. There was that initial shock upon hearing the word “Malignant tumor”, but now I’ve gravitated back toward my usual attitude of taking life as it comes. It surprises me though of what one can get used to.
GO TO: Part 1,  2,  3,  4,  5,  6, 7,

Cancer on My Mind – July 15, 2012

Part 2 - Test Results and Other Discoveries

It has been nearly six weeks since my cancer diagnosis. The hard part of dealing with it has been the realization that I did not know what I was dealing with. Dr. Shannon told me that I had an ulcerated growth when I came out of the endoscopy on May 30th. He said it didn’t look good, but we’d know more when the biopsy came in. For a whole day I comforted myself with the hope that it was nothing more than an old fashion ulcer. That delusion lasted only till evening. Then the bad news came. The “growth” at the top of my stomach was a malignant tumor. That’s about all I knew. Many questions began to trample through my mind. How big was it? How long had it been growing there? What stage had it reached? Had the cancer metastasized? How long before I would I feel pain? How long was I going to live? Questions without answers create vacuums - empty spaces for the imagination to fill.

I am nearly without symptoms. I have a little trouble swallowing – have to consciously chew my food and chase it with water. I sleep a bit longer than I use to, but can’t say that’s due to the cancer. I have plenty of energy for chores and projects. I feel no pain. I’m super-tuned to the least stomach grumble, but can’t claim any definitive activity in that area. In short, I feel fine. I wouldn’t know I had cancer.

I visited the surgeon the other day. Dr. Peters estimated it has been growing down there for around five years - about the time I had my last colonoscopy - seems I was looking at the wrong end.

A PET scan on June 29th revealed the cancer might have spread to nearby lymph nodes, but not much further. My radiologist and oncologist took my case to the “Tumor Board” on July 5th. The board, made up of about twenty local specialists, came to the consensus that I had a stage three esophageal cancer. Its recommended a five week treatment of radiation and chemo therapy. The two work in a synergic manner to shrink the tumor and kill cancer cells throughout the body. Surgery will follow with the removal of a part of my stomach and a portion of the esophagus.

So, why me? Why stomach cancer? I’m not overweight. I exercise regularly, follow a good diet, limit alcohol to only two or three glasses of wine in the evening, and my blood tests range in the normal. I’m supposed to be healthy. Stomach cancer is rare in the United States, but quite prevalent in Japan. Doctors routinely screen for colon cancer here, in Japan its stomach cancer. I’ve been delving into my genealogy for twenty years and am assured that no Japanese were hiding in any of my ancestor’s woodpiles, but my Cousin Sarah in California reminds me that our grandfather, John Harrison Buckingham, died of stomach cancer. He passed in 1939 at 58 years - just six months before I was born.

My reaction upon learning of the stomach cancer could be likened to that of a prisoner being sentenced to death. The condemned has the advantage of knowing his impending date. I suspect my mortality has also been scheduled, sometime earlier than I have always expected, with the exact moment shrouded in the future. From my perspective this seems unfair because it doesn’t reflect my own made-up lifeline. Others may not have chosen the age at which they expect to expire, but mine has been set somewhere around 85 years. That is probably because my mother and maternal grandmother died at that age, just short of 86. The two were the longest survivors of my birth family (Grandma lived with us from a time before my birth). Uncle Charlie (Mom’s brother) lived into his 90’s. He has the record for several generations - including my own. I’ve had this number stuck in mind for some years, so I’ve always been focused on how many I have remaining (for example, 85 minus my present 72 equals thirteen years - at a minimum). So there was yet plenty of time to accomplish the things on my “bucket list”. It’s a bit of a shock to disover that I’ve been using a faulty system all these years.
Go to: Part 1, Part 2,  Part 3,  4, 5, 6, 7,

Damn Cancer - June 1, 2012

Part 1 - The discovery

It was Friday, June 1^st when Dr. Shannon finally reached me at nine in the evening to tell me that I had stomach cancer. He had been trying since early afternoon. He said the preliminary report had come in, and that was enough to make the call necessary.

The first indication of trouble occurred on about March 22, a little over two months before. Mary and I were in San Diego eating dinner at the hotel. I noticed food went down with some difficulty, seemed to stick, water helped. I thought maybe I had neglected to chew. Thereafter the same thing happened at times and I made a point of chewing more thoroughly. In April I started to have a “heavy” feeling in my stomach at times.  This was mostly a distraction, not uncomfortable, but definitely different that any sensation I’d felt before. It was irregular in timing. I cannot say that it occurred right after eating or followed any set activity - maybe toward evenings.  We heard that the stomach flew was going around, and Mary seemed to have symptoms similar during this period, but lacked the swallowing problem. The “heavy” stomach sensations decreased by May. I still felt it once in a while but it was pretty light – haven’t felt it at all now for several weeks.

On Tuesday, May 8, Mary and I were having lunch at the Lucky Wishbone. My favorite dish is the three-piece-all-white fried chicken (two large wishbones and a breast). Mary usually eats one of the wishbones but declined so I consumed all three.  I thought I chewed adequately and didn’t notice any back up, but a big drink of water went down real hard though, and it hurt. Then I started gurgling and turned very pale - scaring the holy heck out of Mary. Water was sitting on top of my chicken and nothing seemed to be going up or down. I spit some into a napkin - clear water and white chicken fragments.  Mary wanted to know whether she should call 911.  I said “no” and left her to pay the bill while I retreated to the parking lot to spit up more water and chicken.  She stopped twice on our way to meet a friend (to walk our dogs), and I spit up more chicken and water. I was alright by the time we got to the dog play area.

I got an appointment with my Primary Doctor, Timothy Miller at Providence Family Medicine Center, and he ordered a Barium Swallow. That revealed an irregular growth at the junction of my esophagus and stomach. That lead to a Upper Endoscopy on May 31 by Dr. Shannon who then ordered a CAT SCAN the following day, and then the call came.

My primary physician looked over the report and concluded I have a Stage One or Stage Two adenocarcinoma. That is an early stage of a type of cancer that starts in the inner lining of the stomach. He said the oncologist could pin-point the staging more exactly. I have an intake appointment with the Oncologist at Alaska Oncology & Hematology the June 25 and the first working appointment three days afterward. I’ll know more then. Meanwhile, Mary and I are going camping for a few days and hope for some sunny weather.
GO TO: Part 1, 2,  3, 4, 5, 6, 7,

My High School Graduation - June 6, 1958

I was ambivalent about getting out of high school. I liked the social part of it: attending ball games, the after-game dances (at which I never danced); and the teen canteen that opened for a couple hours after school and on weekends. I belonged to the Hi-Y, ran cross-country and high jumped during track season. The municipal swimming pool attracted me during summers. I swam nearly every night those last two years. Brian Cossell, the number-one high jumper on the track team (I was a distant second), and I were into diving, and chanced a number of fancy flips off the three meter board.

The canteen was my favorite during school session. The place occupied the second floor of a building on the corner of Buckeye and Walnut of the town square. The canteen opened its doors for a couple hours after school. I started going there in my junior year after Don left for college. It lay only two blocks from the Moose Lodge, where Mom and Dad worked, and closed about the time they headed home. The canteen, one big room on the second floor, had a free jukebox, a dance floor (on which I never danced); card tables, ping pong, and a couple of snooker tables. I was pretty good with a pool cue, and so was often sought after as a snooker partner.

I was indifferent about academics though. I took four years of math and science, and even had a semester of Latin before deciding, rightfully, that it was a waste of time. I enrolled because a high school counselor told me Latin was required to get into college. That might have been the case a century earlier, but colleges had moved on, but apparently failed to inform my counselor. The misinformation was an example of the crap we were often fed in the 1950’s. I have no memory of ever taking a book home to study, but still managed a grade point average placing me in the upper half of the class (barely). I didn’t get interested in learning until I’d been in college for a couple years. If the university had been anything like high school, I’d have probably dropped out, but something seemed to have sparked my interest about then.

I remember few specifics about my high school graduation in 1958. We held it in the gymnasium, a facility that filled eight thousand seats during basketball games. I don’t remember if it were at capacity that particular night, but four hundred and fifty of us graduating seniors sat on folding chairs on the main floor while proud parents, family and friends perched above to watch a tradition that probably hadn’t changed for generations. Six family members attended for me: Mom, Dad, brother Don, Grandma Frank, and my Uncle and Aunt, Joe and Gail Frank, who had come up from Connersville for the happy occasion.

Each row of graduates stood on cue and filed to the right forming a long line that snaked its way onto the makeshift stage. A dignitary clasped each graduate’s right hand as he thrust a diploma into the left, while uttering a perfunctory “congratulations“. The procession continued across the stage, off the far side, and back to the assigned beginning. I managed to hook a size twelve shoe on the leg of one of the folding chairs as I entered our row and was mortified to see the chair wobble along in front of me for a couple of noisy steps. The main speaker droned on for period, but none of his imparted wisdom lodged as it passed between my ears. And then it was over. We went home.

There were probably graduation parties, but I had not heard of any and received no invites. I wasn’t exactly a loner, but I was extremely shy. I went to most of the events but tended to hang in the background - the proverbial wallflower. I remember years later, at our twentieth high school reunion, several told me they thought I was probably the most changed of the class - they remembered my shyness, of how I could turn crimson so easily.

But I had my own party that night. I recall being so pumped that I went out for a walk after midnight. It was one of those magic evenings in June with clear starry skies and shirt sleeve weather. I felt invigorated with the thought that I‘d crossed a major threshold of life. I walked over much of the town, fearlessly through Crown Point Cemetery, around the town square, south along Washington Street, by closed stores, by factories, and by dark houses. I walked alone through the world till the light of a new day began to glimmer.

Road Kill on a Dark Country Road

I really liked driving country roads on pitch dark nights. The universe seemed to shrink to a singularity as the headlights exposed a road that unfolded in quick time with a blur of shadows on the periphery. The blinking center line and the engine hum combined to cast a hypnotic-like spell. One such night was in the fall of the mid nineteen sixties. I was heading home to Kokomo from Smithville, a small town where I taught in southern Indiana. I skirted Indianapolis by taking county roads west of the city. It was after midnight and most other cars had bedded down. I was deep within myself when a sudden intrusion broke the trance. A fox stood frozen in the middle of the road, and then a light thud sounded as the car went over it. I’d never hit a fox before, and I had no wish to view a dead one, but I slowed to a stop, turned around and went back.


I don’t know why I stopped. I had never bothered to before. I knew positive outcomes are greatly diminished when hard projectiles collide with soft flush. Trying to miss them seldom succeeded as they were too soon in harms-way. Besides, I’d seen road-kill enough to know what it looked like. I had converged with birds, ran over rabbits and squashed squirrels. This one would register as just another sad ending. One of many.


I hit a skunk once. Its redolence chased after my car for miles. Its ghost lingered for days. Another time, when driving through desert country at night, I kept seeing these giant jack rabbits. They sat by the side of the road, on their haunches, tall and slim, like fence posts. I thought they were hallucinations. It was my second night without sleep and I’d already witnessed several impossible events, so I knew they weren‘t really there. I enjoyed the spectacle though, and started counting the specters until number fifteen ran under my car producing a racket that rattled me from my revelry.


One collision bothers me to this day, a dog I hit in southern Indiana. We were driving through gently rolling hills. I crested one to see a young pup, nearly grown, just off my side of the road. It was on the shoulder, preoccupied with something, probably an earlier road kill. Its home, the only dwelling in sight, lay directly across the road. The dog, a Sheppard breed with light brown hair had its back to me. I eased into the oncoming lane. I thought the car would pass by before the dog knew we were there, but tapped the horn at fifty feet out as a warning. That startled the young dog, and it bolted for home. I honked with more insistence but it kept converging with me. I swerved to the very edge of the road but the dog ran blindly into my front wheel. I saw its spinning body reflected in the mirror as it skidded back across the road and came to a stop where it had started. There was no use going back. The same thought haunts me whenever I recall the incident, “It would have lived if I‘d not honked”, but I couldn’t go back and undo it.


The headlight shown on the fox’s twitching body. Its position in the middle of the road made me wonder if I had swerved to miss it, but I didn‘t remember. Surprise! The fox was alive. Its head rose, bobbed, and then lowered. I don’t think it was aware that I stood over it. A closer inspection revealed it to be a mature young Red Fox with the classic bushy tail. I had barely grazed its head. A small part of it scalp was torn loose, but there was no other apparent damage.




What to do? I had stopped, found it still alive, and now had a moral dilemma lying at my feet. If it could get some rest in a safe place it might recover. But it was not likely to get it laying in the middle of the road. I took my handkerchief, placed it over the wound, and carried the fox to the car, lying him on the floor board of the passenger side. I sat behind the wheel for a while looking at him. He quieted. I didn’t know whether he was sleeping or dying. I started the car and headed toward home.


I drove on for half hour when the handkerchief suddenly came rising off the floor, a specter floating upward through the dark. Was it coming after me? I turned on the dome light and saw immediately that the fox’s eyes were shut. It was comatose and wreathing in pain. It laid down again, and I turned on the dome light now and then just to check, but it didn’t move the rest of the drive. When I got home my parents helped me prepare a box with a towel in the bottom. We placed it by my bed and Mom asked what I was going to do. I told her that if it was having trouble in the morning I would put it out of its misery.


Morning came and the fox slept peacefully with its nose tucked under its bushy tail, so I loaded the box in the car and took it to a veterinary. I called a couple hours later and the office told me the vet had not touched the fox as he did not know its background. I explained the circumstances, that it was not rabid, and most likely a very healthy animal before I hit it. They called back in late afternoon saying I could pick up the fox. I don’t remember the fee so it was probably reasonable.


I have no memory of seeing or dealing with the fox thereafter. I likely headed back to my teaching job a day or two later, leaving my parents holding the bag… with the fox in it. It recovered rather quickly, but I don’t know how long they kept it as they had no cage. I suspect its stay in Kokomo was rather short.


Dad owned a lot on Palestine Lake at which he liked to visit and putter around. He’d go up to cut weeds, clear underbrush, and toy with the idea of building a small cabin, which he eventually completed. The lake was on state road 25, only sixty miles north of Kokomo so he could get there in an hour. He met an old guy who lived on the lake that was interested in having the fox. Dad said the man was a natural, had the fox eating out of his hand in moments, so he left it with him. Then someone poisoned it not long thereafter.

The Do-It-Your-Selfers

The Do-It-Your-Self Cabin as finished in 1981

I don’t believe there is a government agency that issues certificates of Do-it Yourself, but I could have qualified for one by high school graduation. I came from a family of such creatures. My parents were born when most people drove horses, when “fast food” was a carrot plucked from the garden, and when the aroma of fresh baked bread wafted through homes. They entered their teens as the country sank deeper into the Great Depression, and had barely reached adulthood when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. Mom quit school in 1930 to help her family. Dad worked his way through college. Hardship tempered their youth, instilling in them an independent self-reliance. I like to think they passed a small portion on to me.

 Dad and Mom introduced brother Don and me to everyday fix-it tasks shortly after we left diapers by mentoring with example rather than instruction. My brother and I witnessed them doing things around the house from an early age. I remember Dad standing between floor joists as he remodeled our kitchen, and of him moving an inside wall a few feet to enlarge a room. Mom and Grandma cooked all our meals, did the laundry in a tub with a mounted roller-wringer, and made their own laundry soap using reclaimed cooking lard. They taught us persistence eventually gets rewarded, that if you tinker long enough with something and didn’t get electrocuted, or cut a finger off in the process, then you could eventually fix it, or get the job done.

Don and I became Dad’s gofers by age ten, learning the name of tools and how to use them by fetching and watching. We entered our apprenticeship as teenagers. Our school was an old building the family bought in 1953. It was a derelict whose upper floors had gone empty for decades. Brother Don and I got the job of rebuilding the old boiler that sat in the basement. We were then promoted upstairs to remove generations of wall paper, help repair broken plaster, paint rooms, wire, and plumb - all under Dad’s direction. It became ingrained in us to try to fix or build things on our own. To this day I will call a plumber or an electrician only after having exhausted alternatives.

Fast forward twenty years to a time when I sat in a skiff drifting in a beautifully protected cove in Seldovia Bay, Alaska. Another teacher and I were commercial fishing for halibut that summer. The cove, calm and serene, struck me as the most idyllic place I’d ever seen. The thought flicked through my mind of how neat it would be to have a cabin there. But I didn’t own the land, it was not for sale, and besides, my immediate need was a boat, so I replaced the fleeting image with a vision of boat building.



Boat building 101, building a jig

I bought plans for a 22 foot double-ender with a small cabin. A sorry fact soon became apparent - I had more confidence than experience. There are some endeavors in which its prudent to tread lightly, at least in the beginning, and boat building is one. The first line in the directions stated simply, “Loft the plans”; the second followed with “build the jig”. What the hell does “loft the plans” and “build the jig” mean? Those questions sent me to the local book store, to find further instruction on the subject.

Boat builing 101, Lofting the Plans

“Loft the plans” meant one draws the measurements out full scale. Most boat builders draw them on the floor. I connected six pieces of plywood and lofted the plans onto them. The jig is the structure on which the boat is assembled. The plans called for fourteen boat frames with the dimensions taken from the lofted plans. I mounted each finished frame on the jig, and the jig aligned them in the correct position to one another. It took me two days to make the first frame but just two hours to complete the last. That is a short version of my life. I’ve done many things, but did most of them only once, and never became accomplished at any. The skeleton of the upside-down boat slowly took shape. The keel came next. I looked through my wood pile to discover the board had gone missing, I was stymied. I began cutting and laminating pieces to fabricate the keel when I discovered the land on Seldovia Bay was for sale.

The Cabin, front view at end of summer, 1979

I wanted a cabin on the ocean more than I wanted a hole in the water so I abandoned the boat project, bought the land, and started designing a cabin. The full story of that experience is beyond the scope of this essay, but the location was problematic, no road, no electricity, and only water access. I pre-cut the lumber, labeled the pieces, loaded my cabin-kit, tools and supplies onto a rented van, drove to Homer, caught the State Ferry, and sailed for Seldovia in early June of 1979. 

The Cabin from the water, end of first season, 1979

A number of friends converged at the Seldovia boat harbor to help empty the van in a helter-skelter fashion. The van went back onto the ferry in twenty minutes for its return to Anchorage. My commercial fishing friend helped transport the material in his bigger boat. It took eight or ten trips to get it to the site a mile from town. We dropped pile after pile above tide line and I spent the next two days carrying the cabin up the small incline and stacking it around the building site.
I worked alone most of the summer. The pre-cut cabin assembled without a hitch, and the framing was completed by August when my parents came to visit. The original Do-It-Yourselfers helped me put on the wood siding and roof. I finished the gable over the door after they left and put tarpaper on the roof. That is how I left it at the end of the first year.

Dad visited the following summer. He fished, helped wire the cabin and install the metal roof. Mom came the year after to help insulate it. I did most of the work, but I had help at crucial times, help from friends, my parents, and my wife, Mary. No man is an island, but its good to be able to do-it-yourself

The Underside of Corporate Personhood

There are “natural persons” among us who: can live forever; do not need air or water; possess neither a soul nor a moral compass; may own others like themselves; enjoy limited liability, cannot be jailed or put to death for their sins; value profit and growth but distain sustainability; are rich beyond most dreams; use their wealth, anonymously, to commandeer our political and legal systems; and exhibit behavioral patterns that psychologists describe as psychopathic. One can appreciate how Dr. Frankenstein must have felt when he realized the nature of the creature he had loosed on the world.

I. The Founders Distrusted Corporations
“We The People”…  Those first words of our Constitution signal its essence. It was created as a governing framework to “…establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty”.  The Founders seem to have had only us humans in mind when they wrote about people, but corporations have morphed into person-like forms, and  made us secondary in the process.

There is no mention of “corporation” or “company” in the Constitution. The word “business” occurs once, but only in reference of congress needing a “Quorum to do Business”. “Commerce” appears twice, both concerning the government’s power to “regulate Commerce”. “Person”  and “People” are found two dozen times. So how did corporations manage to become one of us?

I don’t think the framers had any intention of extending the same protections to corporations. After all, the American colonies, like others established around the world, were formed and governed by corporations, proxies of Imperial Europe. Years of experience had given the colonists little reason to trust their self-serving dominance. The Boston Tea Party, harbinger of the Revolution, had not only been a protest against the short-sighted policies of the British Crown, but a violence committed against the abuses of the East India Company. Thomas Jefferson, wary of corporate power, voiced his concern of the need for a bill of rights that included “freedom of commerce against monopolies“.

The Constitution reserved the powers for controlling corporations to the states. Many included strict corporate regulation in their own constitutions. Only state legislatures could issue corporate charters. They were quasi extensions of the state, granted for specific purposes, limited in operation to the issuing state, and constrained in the amount of capital they could raise. They were allowed neither to buy stock in other companies, nor own property unless needed to fulfill their charter. Shareholders were personally and individually responsible for debts incurred. Charters were granted for a set number of years, had to be renewed, and could be revoked.

Corporations were rare during the early years of the America union. Charters were granted to do the “people’s business”, to built roads and canals. Banks and insurance companies had to be chartered. Most businesses were not incorporated, but existed as sole owner and partnerships. That model proved adequate. By 1860 total American production rose to one of the highest in the world, second only to Great Britain. The system, by no means perfect, did work for nearly three-quarters of a century.

Railroads arose in the 1830’s. Charters were granted to the new form of transportation, and it grew swiftly over the next thirty years, replacing canals as a major form transportation. That was also when the charter system began to break down. Business boomed and railroads grew rich and powerful. They lobbied state legislatures for changes in the charter system, and people favored a fairer system. That started in the 1850’s, and accelerated after the Civil War. The original charter system was dismantled by 1880, replaced by a general incorporation process that was simple, easy to obtain and none-restrictive. The benign form of the corporate system was killed. Unwittingly, a virulent form was conceived.

II. Corporations Commandeer the Constitution

“Slavery is the legal fiction that a Person is Property. Corporate Personhood is the legal fiction that Property is a Person”. There is more irony in this quote than the truth it speaks; corporations gained personhood by commandeering the Constitutional Amendment that was meant to provide the rights-of-citizenship to former slaves.

The Fourteenth Amendment was passed in1868. In part it read, “...nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.” Note that the Amendment refers to “any State” in its admonition. The amendment was directed toward the states, specifically the formal Rebel States. The federal government had little to do with regulating industries in the early days, leaving it to states and local governments.

Railroads counted among the richest and most powerful corporations to arise after the Civil War. With the adoption of the 14^th Amendment they became strident in their insistence that they were “persons” and should have equal protection of the law. Time and again their lawyers brought the argument to court, all because corporations had been referred to as “artificial persons” in the earliest charters. Time and again their cause went down in flames, but great wealth allowed them to play the Phoenix…and they had friends in high places.

In 1886 yet another case came before the Supreme Court, Santa Clara County vs. Southern Pacific Railroad. If not for a brief statement by Chief Justice Morrison Waite at the beginning, before argument commenced, the case would have been assigned, along with the many others like it, to the dust bin of irrelevance.

He remarked, “The court does not wish to hear argument on the question whether the provision in the Fourteenth Amendment to the Constitution, which forbids a State to deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws, applies to these corporations. We are all of opinion that it does”. The court‘s final decision, like the many cases before, did not include a ruling on the question of “corporate personhood”. The headnote (a summary of the decision) included Justice Waite’s statement, and that headnote seems to have launched our democracy on a path toward destruction.

It is yet a mystery as to why the Chief Justice made that statement. Speculation persists to this day. Several of the Supreme Court justices had been railroad attorneys - one Associate Justice, Stephan J. Field, was an unabashed supporter. Nearly every talented lawyer had worked for railroads in those days. The Court clerk, Bancroft Davis, who wrote the headnote, had also been a railroad attorney. That headnote subsequently set court precedent - corporations were “persons” as far as the Law was concerned.

Justice Hugo Black observed that, of the cases in which the Court applied the fourteenth amendment during the first 50 years after Santa Clara, "less than one-half of 1 percent invoked it in protection of the Negro race, and more than 50 percent asked that its benefits be extended to corporations".

During those fifty years corporations won numerous Supreme Court decisions that granted them Bill of Rights protections: First Amendment guarantees of political speech, commercial speech, and negative free speech; Fourth Amendment safeguards against unreasonable regulatory searches; Fifth Amendment double jeopardy and liberty rights; and Sixth and Seventh Amendment entitlements to trial by jury. The virulence usurped the Constitution, and there was yet more to come.

III. Corporate Control of Government with Money

In the 1970’s corporations opened another front. This one was aimed directly at controlling legislation passed by Congress and state legislatures (see: Powell Memorandum). It has been a highly organized campaign propelled with money - lots of money. Cash flowed into the political system in unprecedented volumes creating and financing organizations whose aim were to influence government policy. The operation has been hugely successful.

The Business Roundtable, one of the earliest and most powerful, was formed in 1972, and made up of CEOs from several hundred of the largest corporations in America - big table laden with money. One of the Roundtable’s early victories was the defeat of The Labor Reform Bill backed by labor unions in 1978. The bill was expected to easily pass because both Houses and the Presidency were controlled by Democrats. Congress was confronted by an unparalleled lobbying effort. Defeat came as a devastating blow to labor, and its been down hill for unions ever since.

The American Legislative Exchange Council (ALEC) arose in 1973. This operation is more subtle. It professes to be a nonpartisan provider of technical services to understaffed state legislators. In reality it is an association of over three hundred corporations that writes “model” legislation presented to several thousand state legislators who attend its sponsored meetings. Of course it goes without saying that these “nonpartisan” legislative “models” are anything but... Its recent endeavor, vote suppression in the guise of voter ID laws, has been passed in numerous Republican controlled State legislatures since 2010.

The Roundtable and ALEC are only two of the earliest associations. Billions of dollars fund many other corporate financed entities: Foundations, Think Tanks, Coalitions, Litigation Centers, PR agencies, Judicial Education Seminars, and K Street Lobbies. Phalanxes of lobbyists write “White Papers”, authoritative reports, to sway congress to “special interest” view points. Fifteen thousand K Street lobbyists are registered to push corporate agendas on Capitol Hill. That’s twenty-eight for each member of congress, and each lobbyist is supported by a gaggle of aides. For every public sector lobbyist in Washington there are a hundred speaking for Corporate America and the superrich.

Corporations also finance scores of front groups that pose as “grass roots” movements. Many public TV announcements are deceptive attempts to sway public opinion. The National Wetlands Coalition was sponsored by oil and gas companies and real estate developers to ease restrictions placed on wetlands. Consumer Alert fights government regulations on product safety. Keep America Beautiful, sponsored by the bottling industry, actively fights mandatory recycling legislation. The Center for Indoor Air Research was funded by the tobacco companies to mislead the public about the danger of tobacco smoke. American Coalition for Clean Coal Electricity is an association of coal producers, utility companies, and railroads trying to convince us that the phrase “Clean Coal” isn’t really an oxymoron.

Huge sums flow into political action committees to finance campaigns and manipulate elections. Fund raisers add millions to politicians’ campaign chests insuring corporate access and the best democracy that money can buy. In 1976 the Supreme Court ruled that political money was equivalent to First Amendment free speech (Buckley v. Valeo), and the 2010 decision (Citizens United v. The Federal Elections Commission) freed corporations to pump unlimited funds, anonymously, into politics. So, as the old saying goes… “You ain’t seen nothin yet”.

Vast resources enable corporations to broadcast limitless “free speech” over the airwaves. No mortal voice of dissent can match the deafening output. Corporate media interject opinions from “talking heads”, “think tanks” add their “learned and wise” voices, and coalitions chime in on specific issues. We are immersed in corporate “white noise” to the relative exclusion of all others.

The forty year campaign has enabled corporations to achieve overwhelming influence in government. A revolving door, by which individuals move back-and-forth between government and corporate jobs further enhances their dominion. The lines separating government from corporate power have become so blurred its difficult to tell which is the dog and which is the tail or which is wagging which. The malignancy has captured the machinery of government.

IV. Corporate Pursuit of Deregulation

The early American corporation was an entity chartered for public good, to serve people. That intension has been inverted. In the present economy it is people who serve and are expendable. The only reason for a corporation’s existence is profit, and that which limits it is anathema. A guaranteed way to maximize profit is to externalize costs (pass them off to people, society, government or the environment). If modern corporate political activity can be distilled to its essence, it is the endeavor to squash regulation, and return to a “Gilded Age” where its possible to destroy competition, cut wages, disregard working conditions, inflate prices, and foul the environment - all in pursuit of profit.

An endless bombardment of anti-regulation noise emanates from the corporate world. TV infomercials and media “talking heads” amplify the often repeated message, effectively shaping public opinion by transmitting a continual stream of propaganda into homes.

A balance between government regulation and corporate activity is obviously needed in a functioning system, but it is the “Big Lie” that government regulations are strangling business. Corporations simply don’t want to pay the full cost of doing business in the modern world and the financial sector is the biggest player.

It has spent millions to successfully nullify banking regulations, some enacted in the aftermath of the Great Depression. The Glass-Steagal Act of 1933 was passed to guard against the repeat abuses that brought the economy down in 1929. Congress effectively scuttled safe-guards by 2000 enabling banks to gamble with derivatives, credit default swaps, and other risky financial instruments that contributed to the Great Recession presently afflicting people.

The financial sector’s share of the Gross Domestic Product has dramatically increased over the last decades. That gain is not from productive investment, but from an extractive process conducted by speculators, arbitrageurs, and corporate raiders who do not create wealth, but extract and concentrate existing wealth. Other investors and society are the losers.

Bankers currently battle the potential effectiveness of the newly established Consumer Finance Protection Bureau. The bureau was formed to shield people from the predatory practices of the industry, requiring it to write contracts in plain, understandable English for example. The bankers say the Bureau doesn’t have enough congressional oversight, it will be bad for business, hurt the economy, or the consumer, …or something. They aren’t able to provide a convincing argument, but that doesn’t matter. Their lobbyists are busy in Washington, and have paid handsomely to get the attention of Congress, and successfully delayed the Senate confirmation of a head for eighteen months. The financial sector will continue trying to emasculate the bureau. Congress could provide a fair deal to the people by making it difficult for the moneyed interests to continue gaming the system, but the outcome isn’t certain.

Fracking, a process that dislodges natural gas from shale rock, has generated extensive activity in several states. The process involves pumping millions of gallons of water, under high pressure, into the rock strata - water no longer available for farming or drinking. The solution is 98 percent water, but the other 2 percent amounts to millions of pounds of chemicals, some toxic, and industrial secrecy surrounds the exact composition. Some residents are making fortunes leasing drilling rights, but others complain of ground water contamination (faucets catch on fire), poor air quality, noise, health issues, and a curious up-tick of earthquakes. The EPA gave its blessing in 2004, but is looking at it again. The gas companies say that it will alleviate our energy needs, and boost the economy. That’s probably correct, but what costs will corporations divert to the public and the environment in the process? Their coalitions say its perfectly safe, but we’ve been told things like that before.

Energy companies, think tanks, and associations wage a disinformation campaign over scientific evidence warning of climatic change. They follow the tactics tobacco companies used earlier in a long-running effort to discredit studies revealing the health hazards of smoking. Slick “public service” ads touting the corporate agenda enter American homes via the ubiquitous television. Many sponsors have innocuous names, like Americans for Prosperity, another of those front groups, this one belonging to Koch Industries, big in the oil industry, repeatedly fined for environmental violations, and one of the big backers of climate denial.

If regulations are likened to a democracy’s antibodies, then the corporate malignancy is destroying the immune system. Recent history is replete with examples of enormous costs being passed on (i.e. externalized) to people or society or the environment as a result of deregulation and/or lax regulation - the Fukushima Nuclear plant disaster, The Deep Water Horizon Spill, and The Great Recession to name three recent ones.

V. Modern Corporate Colonialism

The World Bank and International Monetary Fund (IMF) were created in 1944 to integrate the world‘s economies into one global market, a process known today as “Globalization“. In many ways this “Free market” economy has been a great success. Corporations and a relative few wealthy individuals have done fine. Poor countries and most of the world’s people have faired less well.

The Bank and IMF are mandated to provide loans to poor countries, stabilize exchange rates, do research, offer advise, and facilitate an international payment system. But the economically powerful nations are the ones who run the show and choose the leadership - who happen to be corporate executives. They therefore have a systemic bias in favor of rich countries and multinational corporations.

Policies, set unilaterally and in secret, have resulted in mounting criticism. Strategies required poor countries to abandon traditional economic structures and adopt western practices so raw materials could be supplied to the industrialized nations. Small farmers were displaced by estate sized agribusiness. Other export industries, logging and mining, caused environmental devastation due to poorly regulated operations.

The Bank demands draconian restructuring as a debt crises continues to overwhelm the Third World. Sharp cuts in social services are considered necessary so the impoverished governments can continue making interest payments on balances they will never repay. The net effect on indigenous people has been the disruption of their social fabric and fracturing of communities.

The North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) was signed in 1994 by Canada, United States and Mexico in a major step toward removing trade barriers. “Globalization” and “Free Trade” became the catchwords in the run-up to Senate ratification. Corporations and their political shills praised it, assuring skeptics that all was for the best. But those guarantees proved hollow as thousands of our factories have since been closed, dismantled, and shipped to Mexico, India or China, or elsewhere.


The World Trade Organization (WTO) was created in 1995 to manage the global economy and arbitrate trade disputes between countries. The arbitration panel, staffed by multi-nation corporate personnel, is the most powerful legislative and judicial body in the world. They are the unelected whose decisions go unchallenged because of treaties entered upon by the United States and 186 other countries. The panel, unaccountable to the people, can nominally overrule national laws by laying heavy sanctions against noncompliant countries. Their actions have generated anger. Large, sometimes violent, demonstrations occur wherever they conduct meetings (Seattle in 1999).

Fifty-one corporations count among the hundred top economies of the world. The combined sales of the two-hundred largest corporations equal more than 28% of World Gross Domestic Product, but employ less than one percent of the world‘s work force. The corporate work force is a body that continues to shrink, blue collar workers made up earlier cuts, management counts among the latest. Innovations in computer and robotic technology may eventually position corporations where they no longer need humans. Who then will buy their products?

The present global economy, dominated by multi-national corporations, resembles the imperial colonial system of yesteryear in that it extracts wealth from the “colonies” and concentrates it in the hands of a relative few. It may be less brutal than its forebear, but human depravation still follows in its wake.

Fifty years ago the middle class was a robust segment of the U.S. population. The economy boomed with a plethora of good paying jobs, and wealth was more evenly distributed than at any time in history. The middle class is now shrinking, and the populace begins to mirror the “haves and have-nots” of the third-world. Instead of other nations catching up to us, we are joining them. The virulence has metastasized.

GO TO: Movetoamend.org