Be a rebel, practice radical empathy

Or: I was a five-year-old Jesus freak

In these trying times, I harken back to the most radicalizing political force of my youth: the Just for Me preschool.

Perhaps it will surprise you, dear reader, to learn that I wasn’t schooled at a commune in Berkeley with a dog-eared copy of Marx in hand, listening to rock and roll jazz music next to some long-haired beatnik urging us all to “cool out” …

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