The events of the last few weeks have left me thunderstruck. I have zero tolerance for malicious hate. Further, I have zero tolerance for megalomaniacs–folks consumed with wealth,power, and omnipotence. Folks, who don’t play by societal rules, for they are above the law.
I’ve witnessed first hand the ascension of the former Sheriff. Over time, he morphed into a madman, fueled by a large campaign chest and national media attention. He bragged about his inmates wearing pink underwear, eating green bologna, and sleeping in tents in Phoenix summers. Now, anybody who has taken a criminal justice course knows rehabilitation or habilitation is not accomplished through humiliation.
As time went on, he focused on Latinos. His deputies routinely stopped brownish, innocent American citizens. He spent a million investigating President Obama’s birth certificate. He staged an assassination attempt against himself. Clearly, he was hell-bent on furthering his national image. Over and over, he was accused of racial profiling, defiance of the law, and ignoring court orders. He thumbed his nose and proclaimed, “I’m just upholding the law.”
I could cite countless examples of his grandstanding, like the $92 million Maricopa County wasted on his defense in the racial profiling case. Months ago, he was found guilty and awaited sentencing. He asked the President to pardon him. Friday afternoon, it was delivered. He said he and his wife planned to celebrate with spaghetti, calamari, and red wine at their favorite Italian restaurant. “I’m not through with politics; I have a lot to offer.” After 24 years as sheriff and at 85-years-old, that seems preposterous! But I’ve never danced in the spotlight. Some egos must not die until their last breath.
Mr. President, while I find your acceptance of proven, institutional racism unconscionable, I abhor your pardon of a man who failed to investigate hundreds of sex abuse cases, many of which involved children. Guess rape or sexual molestation didn’t feed the world’s toughest sheriff’s megalomania.
A few weeks ago, I shared the story of Bob, my current cabana boy. Bob and his burly dog, Max moved into my guest house over a year ago. For a year, Max only ventured outside when my dogs were in the house. If they happened to see him, they’d chase him back through his doggy door. They’d gnash their teeth if they spied him through the sliding glass door. I would go and visit Max; I felt sorry for him, for his dad was gone much of the time. He spent endless hours alone–unhealthy for a pack animal. Dogs want to belong.
The mantra of my maternal grandmother, probably my clone. She lived to be 99.5 years, had a great sense of humor, and was overtly willing to try most everything–even a second marriage at 80 years old.
Dr. Suze Espouses 