Slowly and steadily, the drive for the impeachment of George W. Bush is building.

Neil Young’s song, "Let's Impeach the President," has given the effort increasing visibility.

And a story in the Boston Globe by Charlie Savage on April 30 showed just how necessary the impeachment drive is.

“President Bush has quietly claimed the authority to disobey more than 750 laws enacted since he took office, asserting that he has the power to set aside any statute passed by Congress when it conflicts with the Constitution,” Savage wrote. Bush has done so by issuing so-called signing statements on “more than one out of every ten bills he has signed.”

Administration spokesmen told Savage that Bush “will faithfully execute the law in a manner that is consistent with the Constitution.”

But there’s the rub.

It’s not up to him to judge that.

It’s up to the courts.

He is sworn to execute the laws, not to sit on them.

Fortunately, Americans all over the country are rising up against this imperial President.

Thirty-seven members of Congress are now on board the Conyers resolution to create a select committee to investigate grounds for impeachment. (You can find the list at

Three state legislatures have pending resolutions urging Congress to proceed with impeachment, using a procedure that Thomas Jefferson laid out in his legislative manual. Those three are Vermont, Illinois, and California (and the latter has called for impeaching Cheney, too, an eminently sensible idea!).

More than a dozen towns and cities around the country have called for impeachment, according to

And five Vermont townships just delivered petitions to Speaker Dennis Hastert to begin impeachment proceedings.

The cries for impeachment need to grow louder still, though, if we are to restrain this President from even more lawlessness.



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It's finally setting in: Trump is Trump and he’s not going to change because of winning the nomination.

The new head of the Environmental Protection has a history of suing the agency for trying to do its job.

By Wendell Berry

Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front

Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more 
of everything ready made. Be afraid 
to know your neighbors and to die.
And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery 
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card 
and shut away in a little drawer.
When they want you to buy something 
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know. 
So, friends, every day do something
that won’t compute. Love the Lord. 
Love the world. Work for nothing. 
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it. 
Denounce the government and embrace 
the flag. Hope to live in that free 
republic for which it stands. 
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man 
has not encountered he has not destroyed.
Ask the questions that have no answers. 
Invest in the millennium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.

Say that the leaves are harvested 
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.
Put your faith in the two inches of humus 
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.
Listen to carrion—put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come. 
Expect the end of the world. Laugh. 
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts. 
So long as women do not go cheap 
for power, please women more than men.
Ask yourself: Will this satisfy 
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep 
of a woman near to giving birth? 
Go with your love to the fields.
Lie easy in the shade. Rest your head 
in her lap. Swear allegiance 
to what is nighest your thoughts.
As soon as the generals and the politicos 
can predict the motions of your mind, 
lose it. Leave it as a sign 
to mark the false trail, the way 
you didn’t go. Be like the fox 
who makes more tracks than necessary, 
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.

Wendell Berry is a poet, farmer, and environmentalist in Kentucky. This poem, first published in 1973, is reprinted by permission of the author and appears in his “New Collected Poems” (Counterpoint).

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