The classification system for our military operational and logistical secrets (and, don’t forget Operational Security, or OPSEC) is a very serious matter. Serious enough that the lives of our armed forces depend on it, and serious enough that if you misuse or release classified information, you could end up in jail at the very least. The highest punishment for the release of classified information is a charge of treason. In peacetime (that means when we aren’t at war with anyone) being guilty of treason means a very, very long prison sentence. During wartime (that means when we have combat troops deployed and defending assets with live ammunition) a charge of treason can result in your execution.
It’s kind of a big deal.
Hillary Clinton, while Secretary of State for the United States, made the apparently common and unavoidable mistake of setting up a private e-mail server for her official communications, including classified information in those emails. James Comey, the FBI director, found that in spite of this, former Secretary Hillary Clinton should not be prosecuted for mishandling of classified information, setting the precedent of allowing Democrats to flaunt national security at will.
Having just gone through several hearings, briefings, and being reminded that (C) is not just for cookie, Hillary once again disregarded national security and broadcast top secret information in the clear on global television during the October 19, 2016 Presidential Debates. Either she is purposely releasing classified information in the clear, in which case she is unfit for the Presidency, or she is so blind to what security actually entails that she is unfit for the Presidency.
Oh, you need proof?
Skip ahead to the 6:30 mark and listen from there.
Obama(THHO)’s former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton is an amazing woman. She shows so much resilience and the ability to recover from horrific medical conditions that I’m convinced she is either an alien or there are a bunch of her in storage, ready to fire up when a previous model fails. I’m not talking about the medical issues that seem to plague this particular android/clone hybrid (apparently the genes aren’t strong enough to fend off signs of neurological disorders, but I digress). I’m talking about her amazing memory.
As most of America wishes to forget, there was a Presidential Debate Monday evening. Well, it was billed as a debate, but I think it was more of a two-on-one dog pile. Mrs. Clinton (aka Monica’s ex-boyfriend’s wife) could spout off details about Donald Trump’s business history, personal history, and financial history that astounded the “moderator” and wowed her salivating lap dogs the media. It kind of amazed me, too, since she:
The crooning ballads by Cantonese pop stars reminded Yin Ping Wong of his childhood in Hong Kong. Mr. Wong, known to his friends as Steven, immigrated with his family in the late 1970’s to Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, from Hong Kong. He was 12 years old, the sixth of seven children and spoke only a little English. It was a difficult transition for a boy with a gentle soul.
At that time, Brooklyn’s Chinese-American population had not congealed yet and Manhattan’s Chinatown was smaller than it is today. But as the community grew, Hong Kong culture became more accessible, and Yin Ping would buy CD’s and rent concert videos of his favorite singers. He liked Alan Tam and Sam Hui for their poignant lyrics and robust voices. “He liked people who really can sing,” said Nicole Wong, Yin Ping’s younger sister. “He preferred voice over looks.”
Bensonhurst now has its own thriving Chinese community, but Canal Street in Manhattan remains the bustling commercial center of choice. Yin Ping would stop by its fruit stands, bakeries and video stores on the way home from Aon. His mother loved to watch serialized Chinese dramas, but when new episodes were not available, he would bring home American movies.
Another life, cut way too short. Another family, missing a piece that can never be replaced. This nation will always remember you.
At age 7, Joshua Aron would sit at the kitchen table bent over a copy of The Wall Street Journal, analyzing the stock tables with his chocolate milk. “I explained what makes it go up and down,” said his mother, Ruth Aron. “He loved to do puzzles, and to him it was just another puzzle.”
Fast forward two decades. Mr. Aron was an equities trader at Cantor Fitzgerald, facing a bank of computer screens. When there was a break in the action, he sent love notes to his wife, Rachel, by instant messenger. “We were best friends,” Mrs. Aron said. “Everything just came naturally.”
Mr. Aron’s intense, childlike enthusiasm made him a blur of activity in the kitchen, on a bike, or researching new fascinations on the Internet. He delighted in life’s details, repainting his Upper West Side apartment, installing a 200-bottle wine closet and a 90- inch projection-screen television.
Even in the high-stakes world of finance, Mr. Aron, 29, remained playful, quoting liberally from Austin Powers movies (“Would they be ill-tempered sea bass?”). If Mrs. Aron was upset, he would cheer her up by promising to help get back at her tormentors. “You want to get ’em?” he would ask with mock intensity. “Come on, let’s get ’em right now.”
We will never forget the many lives cut short on that fateful day. It is my prayer that Mr. Aron be remembered forever as one of the first heroes in the Global War on Terror. May God continue to give your family peace and strength.
Charles Joseph Houston was 6-foot-1, weighed 225 pounds and had a thick mustache. “He had a rough exterior, but inside, he was such a mush, especially around children.” said Linda Houston, his wife.
He frolicked in his backyard pool with his 2- year-old nieces, read to his 9-year-old nephew, and in general “snuggled with them.” He went for walks with them and took them to movies and malls. “He was like a second father,” she said.
“But he was a pull-no-punches type of guy,” she added. “What you see is what you get. He wouldn’t sugarcoat on anything. If you asked him for an opinion, he’d tell you what he really thought, sometimes even things you didn’t want to hear.”
He and his brother-in-law, Otto Diodato, the father of his nieces and nephew, used to be efficient handymen in their two houses, merely a few yards apart. They’d be constantly concocting projects (redoing the kitchen countertops, building fences, changing the bathroom tiles) and actually finishing them. But shortly before the September attack, they had become more like “Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble,” his wife said. “They would joke around, enjoy each other’s company, and the projects would last forever.”
Mr. Houston worked on the 84th floor of Tower Two, for Euro Brokers, Inc. He was a member of Council 5989 of the Knights of Columbus. May God continue to give peace and comfort to his family.