UUSC's second annual Rights Night, held Thursday, December 10, 2009, was a big success. On the occasion of the 61st anniversary of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR), we honored pioneering activist Mel King. A crusader, educator, organizer, and entrepreneur, King has devoted his life to organizing and advocacy for anti-poverty and urban renewal causes.

King was presented with UUSC's Eleanor Roosevelt Human Rights Award for his commitment to social justice and human rights. Long-time colleague, friend, and fellow pioneer Gus Newport introduced King, and Boston City Councilor Sam Yoon delivered an impassioned keynote connecting King's work with the values embodied in the UDHR. The evening was opened and closed with rousing performances by the vocal group Foxx.

Rights Night attendees were asked to take action for the Gulf Coast by asking their congressperson to support the Gulf Coast Civic Works Act. If you haven't had the chance to do so, you can do it online through our website.

UUSC thanks everyone who attended Rights Night 2009! We also extend special thanks to the staff of the Media Arts Center of Roxbury Community College for helping us make the evening a big success, and to Altman & Altman, LLP, for standing with UUSC a second consecutive year as corporate sponsor.

And last, UUSC is delighted to announce the winner of the Rights Night raffle — for sharing her e-mail address with us, Susan Klimczak of Boston is the proud owner of a UUSC Human Right to Water water bottle and a handsome 2010 planner.

Please mark your calendars for December 10, 2010 — we'll be back with the third annual Rights Night, on the occasion of the 62nd anniversary of the UDHR.

Read an article from the South End news about Rights Night.

The biggest threat to our democracy is posed not by partisanship, but by apathy, cynicism, exhaustion, and intentional barriers to voter participation. These keep our national voter turnout among the lowest in the industrialized world, lower than many developing countries. We have a chance to make our voices and values heard...Let's do it!

For information on your election day polling place, including location, hours, and what to bring for identification, visit http://www.vote411.org/home.php.

Today is a birthday. It's the 43rd anniversary of Medicare, and around the country, people who care about health care — or the lack of it — will be taking birthday cakes to their representatives' and senators' offices, asking them to support Rep. John Conyer's H.R. 676 - Improved Medicare for All.

What a paradox it is that 80 percent of Americans think that the government should guarantee health care for everyone, and, yet, there is little political support for it. It is still considered a socialist-leaning proposition, although we are the only industrialized country in the world without a national health-insurance system.

H.R. 676 would provide: primary care and prevention, inpatient care, outpatient care, emergency care, prescription drugs, durable medical equipment, long-term care, mental-health care, dental services (other than cosmetic dentistry), substance-abuse treatment services, chiropractic services, basic vision care and vision correction, and even services such as hearing aids. Everyone with a government-issued health insurance card would be entitled to these services anywhere in the United States without having to pay deductibles, copayments, or coinsurance.

We have come close to having such a system of national health insurance at least twice in the past century. The first time was under Theodore Roosevelt, who supported national health insurance because he believed that no nation could be strong when its people are sick and poor. Many European countries adopted forms of compulsory health insurance around this time, and momentum was building here too, until WWI. As anti-German sentiments and fear of Bolshevism swept the country, health insurance was denounced as a "Prussian menace" or tarred as a communist ploy. A fatal mistake at that time was to include a funeral benefit in the plan. While popular with the working class, it was seen as a threat to the huge insurance industry, which sucked dollars out of the poor who feared a pauper's burial.

It would be another forty years until genuine momentum built again for a form of national health insurance, under President Harry Truman. But this time it was the American Medical Association that was threatened, and they assessed their members a special war tax to wage a $1.5 million anti-insurance campaign, which was at that time the most expensive lobbying effort in the history of the United States. One of their brochures read, "Would socialized medicine lead to socialization of other phases of life? Lenin thought so. He declared socialized medicine is the keystone to the arch of the socialist state." Advertisements in national magazines showed drawings of a mother with her baby in a physician's office as a menacing jackbooted soldier, with a bayonet, kicked the door down. Tainted again as a precursor to an inevitable communist takeover, Truman's plan for national health insurance died in a congressional subcommittee.

Who opposes H.R. 676 today? Once again, it is the powerful insurance industry. H.R. 676 proposes to finance its plan, in part, with savings from the 30 to 40 cents on each insurance premium dollar that private insurance companies charge for overhead, marketing, and advertising costs.

This is why there is no political will, despite a large majority of Americans favoring the guarantee of health care for everyone. There is huge lobbying money arrayed against H.R. 676, and too few politicians have the courage to stand up for it, lest they be labeled socialist or communist. Despite this lingering fear, however, 90 representatives have signed on to be cosponsors of this bill.

While I was at UUA General Assembly, in Fort Lauderdale, the U.S. Conference of Mayors, which represents more than 1,000 cities with populations over 30,000, met in Miami and unanimously adopted a resolution supporting H.R. 676. Also endorsing it are 34 state AFL-CIO federations, 110 central labor councils, and more than 445 union organizations.

So today, if you don't have time to take a birthday cake to your senator's or representative's office, send an electronic birthday card and tell her or him to celebrate Medicare's 43rd birthday by supporting H.R. 676. We can have national health insurance. The American people want it. It will do more for the poor, more quickly, than any single poverty alleviation program. H.R. 676 is profoundly about economic justice.

The following post was written by UUSC President Charlie Clements. Clements writes from Kenya, where he is leading an emergency delegation to assess the political and humanitarian crisis that has engulfed the country in the wake of the flawed presidential elections of December 2007.

Earlier in the day, someone told me that Kikuyu gangs called Mungiki are being armed by Kibaki’s government and moving around at night dressed in police uniform. It sounded like a rumor. The source told me the Mungiki leave the IDP camps at night in their police guises and take revenge on non-Kikuyu for what has happened to them.

I was told that the burnings and killings that are taking place now seem to be revenge for the events of the past weeks, keeping the violence alive, though the attacks are sporadic compared to the initial violence.

It’s hard to know where truth and rumor end and begin.

I know men in the IDP camp fear what’s outside the camp. And I know Non-Kikuyus outside the camp are afraid that Kikuyus inside the camp are arming themselves and will seek revenge for what was done to them. It seems like a recipe for an escalation of violence.

There are no checkpoints to monitor who is entering the camp, at least in the daytime. Only six armed men in camouflage guard the camp. That’s the security force for 25,000 people, or, at least, that’s the only security I saw…perhaps there are more guards, but there can’t be many more.

Visit our Kenya Crisis home page.

The following post was written by UUSC President Charlie Clements. Clements writes from Kenya, where he is leading an emergency delegation to assess the political and humanitarian crisis that has engulfed the country in the wake of the flawed presidential elections of December 2007.

We are booked on the last flight out of Eldoret on January 25 and the airport is half an hour away. Usually I feel fine getting to the airport half an hour before a flight, but with dusk approaching, fires being lit at roadblocks, and so much at stake, I’m glad to arrive at the airport an hour before our scheduled departure.

As we say our goodbyes, I have to acknowledge to myself the privilege that allows me to leave all of this uncertainty, fear, and tragedy. The commitment we have made to everyone we spoke with, or who assisted us, is to use this information in a way that will increase understanding and aid as well as contribute to a lasting solution.

Soon enough we will write a briefing for the House and Senate subcommittees on Africa; we hope to meet with their staff early next week. There may be hearings soon, and I hope the members of this delegation are asked to testify about what we’ve witnessed and experienced.

I try to think of a sentence or two to sum up our trip, as we fly away from Eldoret.

Kenya feels like it is on the edge of a precipice. Anguish and anger are pushing people into a free fall toward communal violence, which neither the leaders nor the security forces may be able to easily stop once it begins. As Kisumu, and now perhaps Nakuru (if the reports we got this afternoon are true), slip toward economic meltdown, the volatility of the situation will only increase. I fear that both Kibaki and Raila may be too insulated by hardliners to sense that they are engaged in a dangerous game of brinkmanship.

Visit our Kenya Crisis home page.

UUSC President Charlie Clements writes from Kenya, where he is leading an emergency delegation to assess the political and humanitarian crisis that has engulfed the country in the wake of the flawed presidential elections of December 2007.

It was still dark when we arrived in downtown Eldoret. The city looks entirely normal, no burned businesses. I think that must mean that few downtown businesses are thought to be Kikuyu owned, because virtually every charred home or store along the rural roads that we saw were owned by Kikuyus.

We headed downtown to see the market and meet with vendors who are members of the Eldoret affiliate of KENASVIT, the national association that UUSC has supported for several years. We found our guide -- Julius -- and met his sister, whose stall is next to his. He told us that when he started vending, his stall was on the outside of the market, on the street, where vendors sell their goods on blankets, unprotected from the sun. Over the next seven years, he slowly migrated to the central covered part of the market, where he now has a large wooden stand.

As we toured the market, Julius’s wife tended their stall, which relieved me -- we were not keeping him from earning a living. He explained that as the unpaid president of the 900-member Eldoret Urban Alliance, he taught his wife the business so he could do alliance business. As a group, they’ve successfully negotiated for greater transparency in the licensing of stalls, restrooms provided by the city, pick-up of refuse, security that protects them against theft, electricity in the covered parts of the market, and some water spigots. He is clearly well liked and has a good word for everyone.

There were some unattended stalls that still appeared to have produce. Julius explained that the absent vendors have not returned since the violence. He said on a good day he usually can do 5,000 Ks (Kenya shillings) of business, which is about $70. He said that today he will be lucky to do 500 Ks of business, for several reasons: many people are refugees; many are afraid to be out; and people have less money because so many jobs have been lost.

We went to meet some women vendors who sell large, multipurpose fiber sacks. They approach us smiling and exuding energy. They work on the sidewalk of a street corner, where an Indian merchant allows them to sell their goods in front of his store. Before the Kikuyus became the merchant class after independence, most merchants in Kenya were descendents of Indians brought to Kenya to work on the railways or tea/coffee plantations.

Despite their vending on the sidewalk, the women said the city still collects 30 Ks per day (approximately $0.50) from them, providing no services in return.

Visit our Kenya Crisis home page.

The following post was written by UUSC President Charlie Clements. Clements writes from Kenya, where he is leading an emergency delegation to assess the political and humanitarian crisis that has engulfed the country in the wake of the flawed presidential elections of December 2007.

The women vendors led us to a wide alley where large trucks come to be repaired. There, in a shaded corner, was a man with a sewing machine. He cuts open the large fiber sacks and sews them into awnings and other items.

Despite his ready smile, he had a sadness about him. He told us that he’s Kikuyu and that he and his family are living at the show grounds, where we just visited, because their home was burned by a mob. He said he only feels alive when he comes here to be among his colleagues. Yet, his working is not without risk: he has to come after 9 a.m., when some of the roadblocks and small bonfires along the roads are not manned, and return to the IDP camp before dark. The women told me he is one of the few Kikuyu traders around.

One of the women said of him, “He’s our friend and we have to protect him,” even though she had her home burned down by Kikuyu. I asked if she was living in the IDP camp. She said no, that neither she nor her three children would be safe there because it is a place only for Kikuyus. She and her family are staying with friends.

The back alley is also where the women’s sacks are stored, on pallets. I asked them what prevents the sacks from being stolen. They said that during the recent spate of violence, they took their stocks home with them. They also collectively pay for security to patrol the alley. So much of what appears to me as random and chaotic is, in fact, very carefully orchestrated. The pallets of empty bags are large and heavy, appearing very unwieldy for even a strong man to carry. These women are plenty strong and are used to fending for themselves.

A big and burly man, who dwarfs me, came up to me, asking for something, probably money, in a non-Swahili language. The women immediately protected me by surrounding him, like a rugby scrum move, and pressing a coin into his hand. It was done so quickly, so graciously. They were nice to him, but firm. I wondered if the lone Kikuyu vendor felt similar to the way I just did. I had a sense that these women would surround and protect him in the same way.

The Kikuyu vendor was wearing a baseball cap that was labeled “LUCK” in large capital letters. I wondered if he felt lucky to still have his business, which most Kikuyus don’t. Did he feel lucky to be alive? He and his family were being fed in the IDP camp, so I don’t think he was taking the risk of working in the market just to make money. I think that these are his friends, his neighbors, his colleagues, and that his life has some normalcy when he’s around them.

For him, sitting around the IDP camp means being unemployed, hanging out with bruised and angry men who have lost all that they own and now trade horror stories about how someone they knew for decades suddenly turned on them. Worse still for him would be sitting in a small, unventilated plastic tent, feeling hot and claustrophobic.