Table It

Pulling out the paper on the invasion of mainland Europe, I place it on the table before me.

 

This is what they came for.

 

“The British Chief of Staff’s Committee would like to table the paper on the topic of invading mainland Europe.” I announce to the Combined Chief’s of Staff Committee.

 

Half the room, the Americans, erupt in surprise and disappointment.

 

“What do you mean table it?” General Marshall, the Chief of Staff of the United States Army replies, representing the American side.

 

I thought they’d want us to talk about this. It is their bailiwick, after all.

 

“Yes, we’d like to table the motion of invading mainland Europe in 1942.” I repeat.

 

They may have simply misunderstood me the first time.

 

“We can’t table that” General Marshall retorts, almost instantly. “That is a primary topic we came to discuss.”

 

Of course it’s what we all came to discuss. That’s why we brought it up. Why are they fighting it.

 

 

The entire American delegation huddles together. Chief of Staff of the Army, Chief of Naval Operations, Chief of the Army Air Corps. (Why is their Air service part of their Army? They’ll learn.) and their Secretaries of their Army and Navy. So much brass and pinstripes, one would almost feel sorry for the marching band from which they must have pilfered it.

 

“The invasion of mainland Europe is of prime importance to our side. We must insist it not be tabled at this time. Otherwise, we have nothing further to discuss today.” General Marshall announces in a commanding, yet gentle, voice.

 

If it’s so important to you, and us, then why must we not table it at this time?

 

“Yes, the invasion of mainland Europe is of prime importance to our side as well, which is the very reason we wish to table it at this time. There are other topics which can wait until we address this one.” I reply, still not understanding the American’s insistence to prevent it from being discussed.

 

“Perhaps, I may offer a point of clarification.” Air Marshall Harris chimes in.

 

“It appears to me both sides which to discuss the invasion of mainland Europe. Is this correct?” the Air Marshall asks the room.

 

“Yes, that is correct.” General Marshall replies.

 

“Yes, right then.” Harris quickly retorts.

 

You’ve got it Harris, that’s it!

 

“Then perhaps we are on the same page, and simply the definition of ‘Table It’ is what’s ruffling the matter.” Harris offers.

 

Slowly the American delegation retakes their seats.

 

“So, we’ll discuss the invasion of mainland Europe next then?” General Marshall asks.

 

“If by next you mean now, then yes.” I reply. “For us, next means after what we’re doing right now.”

 

General Marshall looks at me.

 

General Arnold of the United States Army Air Corps slams a cigar on the table.

 

Major General Thomas Holcomb, Commandant of the United States Marine Corps, slams his fist in a laugh.

 

“Gentlemen, may we proceed with discussing the invasion of Mainland Europe?” I ask.

 

In unison, the room erupts. “YES!”

 

“Let’s Proceed.” I declare.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Turns out the same words don’t always mean the same thing. During the Second World War the British and Americans came together at multiple conferences to plan the conduct of the war. One of the first, ARCADIA, took place from late 1941 through early 1942 and formed the foundation of the British American alliance, which persists to this day. Yet, at that conference not everything went as smooth as it could. Here is a quote from Winston Churchill discussing the event:

 

 

The enjoyment of a common language was of course a supreme advantage in all British and American discussions. The delays and often partial misunderstandings which occur when interpreters are used were avoided. There were however differences of expression, which in the early days led to an amusing incident. The British Staff prepared a paper which they wished to raise as a matter of urgency, and informed their American colleagues that they wished to "table it." To the American Staff "tabling" a paper meant putting it away in a drawer and forgetting it. A long and even acrimonious argument ensued before both parties realized that they were agreed on the merits and wanted the same thing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This story is from my upcoming book Threads of The War, Volume IV. If you like what you've read here, please consider Pre-Ordering the book here.

 

 

Table (parliamentary procedure)

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

 

Look up table in Wiktionary, the free dictionary.

In parliamentary procedure, the use of table, as a verb, has two different and contradictory meanings:

●   In the United States, to "table" usually means to postpone or suspend consideration of a pending motion.

●   In the rest of the English-speaking world, such as in the United Kingdom and Canada, to "table" means to begin consideration (or reconsideration) of a proposal.

Motions which use the word "table" have specific meanings and functions, depending on the parliamentary authority used. The meaning of "table" also depends on the context in which it is used.



 

Difference between American and British usage[edit]

Both the American and the British dialects have the sense of "to table" as "to lay (the topic) on the table", or "to cause (the topic) to lie on the table". A related phrase "put on the table" has the same meaning for both dialects, which is to make the issue available for debate.[1][2][3] The difference is when "table" is used as a verb.[1]

The British meaning of to "table" is to begin consideration of a proposal.[1] This comes from the use of the term to describe physically laying legislation on the table in the British Parliament; once an item on the order paper has been laid on the table, it becomes the current subject for debate.[4]

The American meaning of to "table" is to postpone or suspend consideration of a motion.[1] In this meaning, to begin consideration of the topic again, it would have to be "taken from the table". The use of terms such as "tabling a motion" in connection with setting aside or killing a main motion can cause confusion with the usage of this term in the United Kingdom and Commonwealth countries, where it has an opposite meaning—that is, to propose a motion for consideration.[5][6] To make the intent clear internationally, Congressional Quarterly and its associated CQ publications, in reporting congressional votes, usually follow the word "table" (as used in Congress) with the word "kill" in parentheses.[7][8]

Use in the United States[edit]

In the United States, use of "table" as a verb usually refers to the motion to "lay on the table". Different parliamentary authorities describe such a motion in different ways. It also depends on whether the assembly is anorganization or a legislative body.

Organizations[edit]

Robert's Rules of Order Newly Revised (RONR)[edit]

Lay on the table (RONR)Class

Subsidiary motion

In order when another has the floor?

No

Requires second?

Yes

Debatable?

No

May be reconsidered?

Negative vote only

Amendable?

No

Vote required

Majority

Under Robert's Rules of Order Newly Revised (the book used by most organizations), the subsidiary motion to lay on the table is properly used only when it is necessary to suspend consideration of a main motion in order to deal with another matter that has come up unexpectedly and which must be dealt with before the pending motion can be properly addressed.[9] It has, however, become common to misuse this motion to end consideration of the pending main motion without debate, or to mistakenly assume that its adoption prevents further consideration of the main motion at all, or until a specified time.[10][11] Using "table" as a verb usually indicates misuse of this motion.[12] The book states, "It is preferable to avoid moving 'to table' a motion, or 'that the motion be tabled.'"[12]

Take from the table (RONR)Class

Motion that brings a question again before the assembly

In order when another has the floor?

No

Requires second?

Yes

Debatable?

No

May be reconsidered?

No

Amendable?

No

Vote required

Majority

A main motion that has been laid on the table may be taken up again by adoption of a motion to take from the table.[13] A motion can be taken from the table at the same session (or meeting) or at the next session (or meeting) if that session occurs within a quarterly time interval.[14] Otherwise, the motion dies.[14]

The use of the motion to lay on the table to kill a motion is improper; instead, a motion to postpone indefinitely should be used.[11] Similarly, it is improper to use the motion to lay on the table to postpone something; a motion to postpone to a certain time should be used in this case.[10] If debate is not desired, a motion to close debate (the previous question) should be used.[11] One of the disadvantages of trying to kill a measure by laying it on the table is that, if some opponents of the measure subsequently leave the meeting, a temporary majority favoring the measure can then take it from the table and act on it; or they may do so at the next session if held within a quarterly time interval.[15]

Although the motion to lay on the table is not debatable, the chair can ask the maker of the motion to state his reason in order to establish the urgency and legitimate intent of the motion or the maker can state it on his own initiative.[16]

 

Congress[edit]

In both houses of the United States Congress, the motion to table is used to kill a motion without debate or a vote on the merits of the resolution.[20] The rules do not provide for taking the motion from the table, and therefore consideration of the motion may be resumed only by a two-thirds vote to suspend the rules.[21]

Mason's Manual of Legislative Procedure[edit]

Most state legislatures use Mason's Manual of Legislative Procedure. In this book, the motions to lay on the table and to take from the table have the same characteristics as under RONR.[22] Mason's Manual has another motion, take from the desk, which a member uses when they desire to take up a matter that is on the desk, but on which no action has yet been taken.[23] The differences between the two motions are that the motion to take from the table is used after an item has been placed on the desk by a previous use of a motion to lay on the table and the motion is given a preference over new main motions offered at the same time. Take from the desk is used when an item is taken up that has not yet been introduced and this motion has no preference over new main motions that may be made at the same time.[23]

Example of Anglo‐American confusion[edit]

In the Parliament of the United Kingdom and other parliaments based on the Westminster system, to "table" a measure means to propose it for consideration, as in bringing it to the table.[4][5][6] In his book (The Second World War, Volume III, The Grand Alliance), Winston Churchill relates the confusion that arose between American and British military leaders during the Second World War:[24]

 

to table

In the US, meetings are often held according to Robert's Rules of Order, a popular guide to 'parliamentary procedure'. (We may not have a parliament, but we have the procedures! The Congress has its own set of rules.) In the parlance of Robert's and AmE generally, if a motion has been made and is up for discussion, it is on the floor, as in the following quotation from thePrinceton Union Eagle:
 

After a few minutes, Weisenburger said to Girard, "There's a motion on the floor, it's been seconded. Do something."

If you want to remove the motion from the floor--that is, to postpone discussion of it until a later time, you can put it on the table, or table the motion. (You'd then say that the motion is or has been tabled.) So, a tabled motion is not on the floor--it cannot be debated.
 


In BrE (where parliamentary procedure--or Standing Orders--seems to differ depending on the type of bill being debated and in which House), a motion that is being discussed is on the table. So, you table a motion when you want to bring it up for debate. You can also table questions (bring them up for discussion), according to the House of Commons Standing Orders for Public Business:
 

 

 

 

St. Louis

Staring up at the well built two-funnel German cruise liner, I can’t help but feel the desire to leave this place.

The heat, the debauchery, the lack of faith. I don’t belong here.

My small launch pulls up alongside the huge ship. Giant white letters on the bow call out for all to see SAINT LOUIS. Similar lettering was visible as we passed the stern just moments ago.

What a beautiful site, these grand ships that travel the seas, taking people on adventures far from their lives; far from who and what they know.

As we near the lowered stairway, I stare up at the crowd of people standing on the mid-deck, where I will be entering the ship.  

They look happy to be here. 

Gingerly, so as not to aggravate my sciatica, I make my way up the stairs.  One foot at a time, step by step, leaning to the left as the pain from pinched nerves stabs down my right leg.

To be free of pain. To be free of this job where I must ascend ship stairs. To be free to leave would be nice.  But I can’t because I have to take care of my family and cannot afford to get out of Havana.

Step by step up toward the waiting crew, I pay stern attention to the freshly cleaned steps so as not to slip.

Chains from a job I cannot leave hold me here. Were I to have any skill I could leave this place, leave this job, take my family on a ship like this. 

Almost at the top step I look up from below to see who is on deck to greet me.  Just as I do my right toe catches the step.

It’s so hard to raise that foot to the same height as the left with the pain!

Luckily, one of the crisp-white uniform clad crew, who is standing right at the top of the stairs, catches me as I stumble.

“Are you ok?” he asks in perfect Spanish.

“Of course, just a little misstep” I reply, hiding my pain behind a facade of clumsy.

A fall at this point, so high on the stairs, could have been very ugly.  I must be extra careful.  I cannot lose this job.

“Will you please follow me to the Captain?” the clean member of the crew, still holding my arm, offers.

“Certainly” I mumble while looking around at all of the smiling passengers who have gathered to see me board.

Usually passengers are not aware when the immigration official boards the ship. It’s nice to have them notice me.

I can’t help but look at the strong leg muscles of the crew member as they portrude from the starched white shorts. Each muscle flexes and releases in time with the steps of this young German man who is taking me to meet the ship’s captain.  

He doesn’t know the pain of sciatica. He’s so young. He has a future.

“May I help you up these stairs?” he asks, standing before another set of stairs leading up to a higher deck.

Pausing for a moment, I assess the staircase.  

Seeing my hesitation, the crew member offers “Let me have the Captain meet you here.”

“Yes, that may be best.” I agree.

He runs up the stairs, strong muscles taking leaps over every other step so that he ascends the case within a brief moment. After admiring his agility, I turn to my right to look out over Havana.

I love seeing the city from a ship.  It’s as if I’m looking at a completely different world. One bereft of my squalid existence, one with no history for my family, one with a future.

Behind me I can sense an encroaching mass, so I turn away from the city into a collection of faces, each with a story of his own.  Men, women, small children all stare at me.

“Sprechen Zie Deutch?” one man asks.

“No” I reply, briskly.

The mass pauses, then begins a slow retreat as I hear the sound of shoes clanking on the metal steps above.  Turning back to the steps my eyes rise to meet well-shined black shoes connected to a starched white trouser leg, a slim fitting belt, and a captains jacket before settling on the calm face of a man clearly in charge of all he surveys.

I wish I was in charge of something! To have power. To give orders. To determine the fate and actions of others. 

“Greetings, Senor Echazabal, it’s a pleasure to have you aboard the Saint Louis.” The Captain offers.

“The pleasure is mine, Sir.” I reply.

“We have the passports and visas for our passengers right here” he says while turning to one of the crewmen who stands behind him, one leg on the staircase.  That crew member hands the Captain a large black book filled with plastic pages.  The Captain sets the book down atop a gray ship vent, balancing it so that he can open its jacket to reveal plastic pages, each holding eight passports.

“Do they all have landing permits?” I ask, getting to the point rather quickly.

Everything looks in order, but I have to be thorough. It’s how I’ve kept this job for so long.

“Yes, they are all right here.” He says, offering me a manifest from the back of the book. Each name on the manifest has a document title next to it, outlining what kind of permit the individual has to enter Cuba.

Perusing the list, I notice only a few names have official Cuban Visas.

Most of them have the wrong documents.

“I’m sorry, Captain, but these people have the wrong permits.” I exclaim with authority.

I have something over this man in charge.

“What do you mean, wrong permits?” the Captain replies in disbelief.

“Earlier this month decree 937 was issued, proclaiming a change in our permit policies, and retroactively invalidating all previously assigned landing permits, except for Americans. It appears that only a few of your passengers have Cuban Visas.  They can land, but the rest of your passengers cannot.”

“This is the first I’ve heard of this new rule. What are these people to do?” the Captain pleas.

I surprised him.

“Captain, I cannot let them land here. They will need to leave Cuba.”

I love these moments of authority amended immigration laws offer.

The Captain looks me in the eyes, his hard face softening. 

“Sir, I implore you, these people have documents, and NEED a place to land.”

Now I am in charge.

“I am sorry, Captain.  These are new rules.  I cannot, and will not, offer any exceptions.”

“Sir, please show compassion.” He pulls in close to me, putting his mouth just inches from my ear.  
“These people are escaping NAZI Germany, do you know what that means to them?” 

Turning so that I can look him in the eyes again, I respond “Yes Captain, but my hands are tied.”

At this, the Captain turns his back on me to face his crew member. In a stern voice he orders “Finish dealing with SENOR Echazabal, I will be on the bridge.”

His face now crimson, the Captain storms up the stairs. His shiny leather shoes smashing against each step with power I can only imagine coming from my weakened legs.

“Sir, please make this quick” the sailor snarks at me. “We have to find these people somewhere to land.

“Of course” I reply, picking up the manifest book to compare with the document list.

 

 

 

On May 5, 1939 the government of Cuba changed its immigration laws to prevent non-Cubans who were not Americans from entering the country.  This was a surprise to the crew and passengers of the SS Saint Louis. Of the ship's passengers, 937 were Jews escaping persecution in NAZI Germany. Each, with difficulty, had obtained visas to leave in hopes of starting a new life in the Americas.  Unfortunately for these people, Cuba would not allow them to enter.  The United States did not allow them in either. Canada also prevented them from entering.  The ship returned to Europe, where they were scattered across The Netherlands, France, The United Kingdom, and Belgium.  After the war a manifest of the passengers was compared with those still living, revealing that of the 620 Saint Louis passengers who returned to Continental Europe, 254 died in the Holocaust. The banality of evil comes from those simply doing their jobs, as they are the hands of the few who threaten or commit violence against the innocent. 

 

 

Bus Ride

Turning my underpowered bus on this Kansas red dirt road, I see the next set of passengers waiting to board.

 

A mix of folks stand at the stop, awaiting my arrival in the dry rust colored summer dust.

 

I glide the bus to a stop, gently opening the door just as the wheels release their rotation.

 

Another masterly stop.

 

Uniformed soldiers and made-up ladies ascend the staircase as they smile at me.

 

I don’t want to smile. I want to drive.

 

They walk past me, filling in the rows behind my seat.

 

Reminds me of driving back in Memphis, cept for the roads here ain’t as good.

 

A negro officer and lady take seats in the second row, in front of white soldiers and ladies.

 

“Son, you’ll have to move back” I announce to the boy, figuring the woman will move with him.

 

He looks at me, jaw dropping.

 

What, ain’t no one ever talked to you like that nigger?

 

“You looking at me boy?” I say.

 

He don’t stop lookin’

 

“I am not moving. You see this uniform? You see this bar? You know what they mean? They mean I’m in The United States Army, and I’m an officer at that. You have no right to tell me to move from this seat,” the boy replies.

 

Back home I’d haul off and slap that boy. Here, well, there’s other ways to deal with the uppity.

 

“Have it your way, Son.” I reply, turning back around to finish the route.

 

I look back in the mirror at the negro and his female companion, sitting in the second row.

 

Ain’t you comfy boy?

 

A few more stops, we get to the end of the line. I stop the bus in another smooth glide home, parking it right in front of the base hospital.

 

Before the passengers have a chance to get off, I leave my seat, walk out the just opened doors, and head over to the nearest Military Police Officer.

 

“Sir, I do say. I just suffered insubordination of a young soldier on my bus. Please deal with him accordingly.” As I point to the negro who was so proud of his little bar.

 

I’ll show you yet, you uppity boy.

 

The MP walks with purpose toward the chatting negro, apprehending him while pushing the woman to the side.

 

“You talking back, boy?” the MP says as he cuffs the negro.

 

“What are you doing? I’ve done nothing wrong.” The boy protests.

 

“That’s not what I heard, boy. You’re coming with me.” The MP says as he yanks against the cuffs, pulling the negro soldier with him.

 

Ain’t no negro talk back to me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


The Court martial of Jackie Robinson.

by dirkdeklein


 

Jack Roosevelt Robinson (January 31, 1919 – October 24, 1972) was an American professional baseball second baseman who became the first African American to play in Major League Baseball (MLB) in the modern era.Robinson broke the baseball color line when the Brooklyn Dodgers started him at first base on April 15, 1947. The Dodgers, by signing Robinson, heralded the end of racial segregation in professional baseball that had relegated black players to the Negro leagues since the 1880s. Robinson was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame in 1962.

In 1942, Robinson was drafted and assigned to a segregated Army cavalry unit in Fort Riley, Kansas.


 

Having the requisite qualifications, Robinson and several other black soldiers applied for admission to an Officer Candidate School (OCS) then located at Fort Riley. Although the Army's initial July 1941 guidelines for OCS had been drafted as race neutral, few black applicants were admitted into OCS until after subsequent directives by Army leadership. As a result, the applications of Robinson and his colleagues were delayed for several months. After protests by heavyweight boxing champion Joe Louis (then stationed at Fort Riley) and the help of Truman Gibson (then an assistant civilian aide to the Secretary of War), the men were accepted into OCS.The experience led to a personal friendship between Robinson and Louis. Upon finishing OCS, Robinson was commissioned as a second lieutenant in January 1943. 


Lt. Robinson was an officer with the 761st Tank Battalion.  That unit of African-American soldiers - later dubbed "The Black Panthers" (and "Patton’s Panthers") - became famous when they fought for 183 straight days in Europe (including at the Battle of the Bulge).  Their motto was "Come Out Fighting."


 

If an eventful bus ride had not sidetracked Jack Robinson, during the summer of 1944, the 2nd Lieutenant could have been with his men when they shipped-out to Europe.  Instead, he faced charges of insubordination, resulting in a court-martial.

An event on July 6, 1944 derailed Robinson's military career.While awaiting results of hospital tests on the ankle he had injured in junior college, Robinson boarded an Army bus with a fellow officer's wife; although the Army had commissioned its own unsegregated bus line, the bus driver ordered Robinson to move to the back of the bus.Robinson refused.

The driver backed down, but after reaching the end of the line, summoned the military police, who took Robinson into custody.When Robinson later confronted the investigating duty officer about racist questioning by the officer and his assistant, the officer recommended Robinson be court-martialed. After Robinson's commander in the 761st, Paul L. Bates, refused to authorize the legal action, Robinson was summarily transferred to the 758th Battalion—where the commander quickly consented to charge Robinson with multiple offenses, including, among other charges, public drunkenness, even though Robinson did not drink.


 

By the time of the court-martial in August 1944, the charges against Robinson had been reduced to two counts of insubordination during questioning. Robinson was acquitted by an all-white panel of nine officers.


 

The experiences Robinson was subjected to during the court proceedings would be remembered when he later joined MLB and was subjected to racist attacks.Although his former unit, the 761st Tank Battalion, became the first black tank unit to see combat in World War II, Robinson's court-martial proceedings prohibited him from being deployed overseas; thus, he never saw combat action.

After his acquittal, he was transferred to Camp Breckinridge, Kentucky, where he served as a coach for army athletics until receiving an honorable discharge in November 1944.While there, Robinson met a former player for the Kansas City Monarchs of the Negro American League, who encouraged Robinson to write the Monarchs and ask for a tryout. Robinson took the former player's advice and wrote to Monarchs' co-owner Thomas Baird.

 

 

 

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