When I finish my latest mystery novel I plan on reading a book I just took from the library today. It is called The Heritage by Howard Bryant and focusses on black athletes, and the politics of patriotism in the sports world.
I am deeply disturbed by the recent NFL ruling that players on the field must stand for the national anthem. White folks are telling POC once more to do what they are told. The "yes massa" mentality reeks in this decision. These men can be paid highly for their skills but this decision makes it clear that they are performing at the whim of white owners. White owners can make them wear pink accessories for breast cancer month (and frankly, I think there is nothing that looks stranger to me than guys playing football with pink socks and gloves) They can wear things to honor our veterans. None of these are bad. My point is that they are expected to put forth the agenda of the owners and the NFL. They are not allowed to use their positions to put forth respectfully, an agenda of their own.
The rise of nationalism in our country all ready scares the be-jesus out of me. I have friends who have been stopped at checkpoints while on vacation in the Northeast. They were stopped strictly because the family "didn't match." They were relieved they carried birth certificates showing they were related.
Really? In 2018 in the USA we need to carry papers. There are no words for how this chills me. The "real ID" license also chills me. I will have to get one. I need to get into federal buildings for my work and as of 2020 I can't without it. But the whole national data base things runs counter to the foundation of freedom that exist(ed) in our country and which I interpret as the intent of the much touted founding fathers. "Having papers" sounds a lot more like Nazi Germany to me and makes me worry for my children and their future. Somehow all this feels intertwined to me and I hope that reading this book will be part of helping me sort out my feelings and opinions more cogently.
Showing posts with label politics. Show all posts
Showing posts with label politics. Show all posts
Saturday, June 2, 2018
Saturday, February 10, 2018
Scare Others
I keep wrestling with the changes I see in our country. I have a hard time wrapping my head around the incredible unkindness that I see in people's posts. In the policies they want our elected officials to enact. In their support of the things that are being done. This video came through my Facebook feed and I was appalled. It was a Jimmy Kimmel bit where he brought together Dreamers and people who are totally against DACA. Google it if you haven't seen it. I couldn't make the link copy properly into my blog and am not sufficiently techie to fool around with it.
Despite meeting a family and seeing their situation (woman who is an employed mother, a nursing student and the fiancee of a military National Guardsman) the vote was overwhelmingly to deport her. I was stunned, because I think in my heart I always thought if people could put a name and a face to the situation they would think differently. That this would remove the "other-ness" that seems to permit some folks to look at the situation so harshly. Kind of like when gay marriage was not legal and people would say "those people--but not YOU, YOU are different." I wasn't different, but I was known. I was a face that was everyday normal to them and therefore people who knew us well were apparently moved to consider our situation through a different lens.
I'm not sure they would now, because somehow the climate of our country has changed so radically. I can't even wrap my head around it well to write cogently what I feel in my heart, so bear with me. The closest thing I can come up with is that we used to operate on the American Dream. A belief that virtually anything was possible and that it was not harmful to lift up others in their quest for their dream. We believed our possibilities, our resources were limitless and available to all and that we could achieve the most by working together for a greater good.
Now, I best describe our country's mindset as operating from a position of scarcity and "otherness". Somehow we have become convinced that there are not enough jobs in this country for both immigrants and american citizens to build healthy, meaningful lives. If we allow immigrants ,we suspect our own jobs will be lost. If we allow Dreamers a path to citizenship, we foresee negative consequences, a perceived reward being given to a child who had no choice in what happened to them. That perceived leniency is not possible because they are "other." They are not Americans and therefore their existence is a threat. I have yet to read an arguement that made sense to me of how and why this was a threat but clearly the perception is that they need to be punished.
I know some Dreamers in my real life. They are hard workers and have tried their best to correct a situation that was not of their making. They want to continue to build their lives here. What truly IS a waste is to send smart, contributing young people away so they can make a living in some other country. I can't see how that benefits us.
I know some immigrants in my real life. A lot of them actually because of the work that I do. They are hard working, contributing members of society. They do jobs at pays that no one else wants to. Frankly if they were not there to hire, I am not sure that the jobs would get filled because us real Americans are not all quite as fond of some of those types of jobs. We've got the education and the birth right but not an over whelming desire to pick the fruits in the apple orchards or the lettuce in the fields. We sure like to eat though so this could become interesting somewhere down the road.
Why don't we think there is enough to go around? My guess is that our scarcity model is fueled ironically by the excessive consumption that is encouraged by the advertising nowadays. Ever try to buy a regular sized anything these days? It's kind of hard because everything is large, supersized,etc. So we spend more than we need, we want more than we need and we become hard hearted because we are all out to "get ours."
A sad legacy for our children.
Despite meeting a family and seeing their situation (woman who is an employed mother, a nursing student and the fiancee of a military National Guardsman) the vote was overwhelmingly to deport her. I was stunned, because I think in my heart I always thought if people could put a name and a face to the situation they would think differently. That this would remove the "other-ness" that seems to permit some folks to look at the situation so harshly. Kind of like when gay marriage was not legal and people would say "those people--but not YOU, YOU are different." I wasn't different, but I was known. I was a face that was everyday normal to them and therefore people who knew us well were apparently moved to consider our situation through a different lens.
I'm not sure they would now, because somehow the climate of our country has changed so radically. I can't even wrap my head around it well to write cogently what I feel in my heart, so bear with me. The closest thing I can come up with is that we used to operate on the American Dream. A belief that virtually anything was possible and that it was not harmful to lift up others in their quest for their dream. We believed our possibilities, our resources were limitless and available to all and that we could achieve the most by working together for a greater good.
Now, I best describe our country's mindset as operating from a position of scarcity and "otherness". Somehow we have become convinced that there are not enough jobs in this country for both immigrants and american citizens to build healthy, meaningful lives. If we allow immigrants ,we suspect our own jobs will be lost. If we allow Dreamers a path to citizenship, we foresee negative consequences, a perceived reward being given to a child who had no choice in what happened to them. That perceived leniency is not possible because they are "other." They are not Americans and therefore their existence is a threat. I have yet to read an arguement that made sense to me of how and why this was a threat but clearly the perception is that they need to be punished.
I know some Dreamers in my real life. They are hard workers and have tried their best to correct a situation that was not of their making. They want to continue to build their lives here. What truly IS a waste is to send smart, contributing young people away so they can make a living in some other country. I can't see how that benefits us.
I know some immigrants in my real life. A lot of them actually because of the work that I do. They are hard working, contributing members of society. They do jobs at pays that no one else wants to. Frankly if they were not there to hire, I am not sure that the jobs would get filled because us real Americans are not all quite as fond of some of those types of jobs. We've got the education and the birth right but not an over whelming desire to pick the fruits in the apple orchards or the lettuce in the fields. We sure like to eat though so this could become interesting somewhere down the road.
Why don't we think there is enough to go around? My guess is that our scarcity model is fueled ironically by the excessive consumption that is encouraged by the advertising nowadays. Ever try to buy a regular sized anything these days? It's kind of hard because everything is large, supersized,etc. So we spend more than we need, we want more than we need and we become hard hearted because we are all out to "get ours."
A sad legacy for our children.
Sunday, October 15, 2017
A House Divided
The NFL has brought the sharp division of beliefs in our country into focus with the many players kneeling during the national anthem. I support the protest; I know many who don't. However I was literally chilled last night to hear that there would be efforts starting at the White House to make standing during the national anthem mandatory.
Regardless of whether one feels this is "disrespectful" or any of the other terms I have heard and seen bandied about, this should frighten all of us. Compelling us to stand is not the beliefs our country was founded on. Such dictates bring to mind facist governments and dictatorships around the world where terrified citizens stand at rigid attention.
It has also been another learning experience for our family, as my brother in law unfriended both myself and my wife because our profile pictures on Facebook indicate our support of the protest. I was sad that he did this without dialogue. That seems emblematic of the divisions within our country now. I felt worse when my wife texted him privately and he harshly answered in ways that made her deeply sad. My BIL is a funny guy much of the time. He is possessed of biting wit and a facility with words that lends itself to riotious laughter at family meals. However his belief system is very rigid and I always hoped that our life was just a quiet way to help open his heart to the fact that everything is not that black and white. He refused to come to our wedding for instance, but was willing to come to our reception at the house. I was okay with that then, although my wife was angry. "we're good enough to eat our food" she ranted. I was sure that it was a step toward understanding that opportunities to break bread together would help him see that we are not so very different.
He has always been a generous uncle to our children, yet I can not overlook the racist tenor of his posts. When I talk to him about kids shot in playgrounds by police, unarmed black men shot when they are doing what the police told them to do--I am always told "my kids are different." They aren't. Sure my kids are smart cute and talented. But they are black. They always will be black. And the only reason he can see the other facets of them is because he knows them and has known them all their lives.
He can't accept that. He can't accept the fact that my kids have been followed in stores, called poop face and worse and other racially based things. Probably more I don't even know about because as much as i strive for open dialogue I am deeply aware that no kid tells their parents everything. They have hurts they have chosen not to share, of this I am sure.
And so for the moment, we are a family divided. Thanksgiving is typically at our home and I am not sure what that will look like this year. Sometimes I think we should attempt to gather civilly and build on that which is common and good to us--the love that we all share, the memories, the laughter and the pie. Sometimes I worry that this is just perpetuating a lie and that my kids will see this capitulation as white family being more important. Part of me is sad because I suspect he must have always felt this way, and how could I have not known? I feel stupid, and duped, angry, afraid and alone.
And if I feel that way, it is only a fraction of what my kids, my friends who are POC feel. These are deeply disturbing times.
Regardless of whether one feels this is "disrespectful" or any of the other terms I have heard and seen bandied about, this should frighten all of us. Compelling us to stand is not the beliefs our country was founded on. Such dictates bring to mind facist governments and dictatorships around the world where terrified citizens stand at rigid attention.
It has also been another learning experience for our family, as my brother in law unfriended both myself and my wife because our profile pictures on Facebook indicate our support of the protest. I was sad that he did this without dialogue. That seems emblematic of the divisions within our country now. I felt worse when my wife texted him privately and he harshly answered in ways that made her deeply sad. My BIL is a funny guy much of the time. He is possessed of biting wit and a facility with words that lends itself to riotious laughter at family meals. However his belief system is very rigid and I always hoped that our life was just a quiet way to help open his heart to the fact that everything is not that black and white. He refused to come to our wedding for instance, but was willing to come to our reception at the house. I was okay with that then, although my wife was angry. "we're good enough to eat our food" she ranted. I was sure that it was a step toward understanding that opportunities to break bread together would help him see that we are not so very different.
He has always been a generous uncle to our children, yet I can not overlook the racist tenor of his posts. When I talk to him about kids shot in playgrounds by police, unarmed black men shot when they are doing what the police told them to do--I am always told "my kids are different." They aren't. Sure my kids are smart cute and talented. But they are black. They always will be black. And the only reason he can see the other facets of them is because he knows them and has known them all their lives.
He can't accept that. He can't accept the fact that my kids have been followed in stores, called poop face and worse and other racially based things. Probably more I don't even know about because as much as i strive for open dialogue I am deeply aware that no kid tells their parents everything. They have hurts they have chosen not to share, of this I am sure.
And so for the moment, we are a family divided. Thanksgiving is typically at our home and I am not sure what that will look like this year. Sometimes I think we should attempt to gather civilly and build on that which is common and good to us--the love that we all share, the memories, the laughter and the pie. Sometimes I worry that this is just perpetuating a lie and that my kids will see this capitulation as white family being more important. Part of me is sad because I suspect he must have always felt this way, and how could I have not known? I feel stupid, and duped, angry, afraid and alone.
And if I feel that way, it is only a fraction of what my kids, my friends who are POC feel. These are deeply disturbing times.
Tuesday, September 26, 2017
Take a knee, white America
I stand with the protestors. I stand, or would kneel with those players who are trying to quietly and respectfully say to White America--"Wake Up! Check your privilege. Black Lives Matter." As a mom of children of color I worry for my kids when they are out. I worry about the young teen who loves hoodies now and is sooooo into the color black. I worry for my 21 year old who is sure he knows it all and is often walking home from a late shift at the restaurant. I worry that my young 10 year old daughter will be accused of "asking for it" Her lovely pre-teen body looks older than her years. Black girls want it, don't you know?
I am appalled that our country is even in this place. I am still trying to figure out how we got here--or worse, if we were always here and I was so privileged I didn't know it. I am so scared by the fact that there seems to be no way to even talk about this issue. People either support BLM or they don't. Those that don't, at least in my experience don't want to talk. From the few I have managed to engage in dialogue this is what I got:
*no one owns slaves these days so this is a non issue. Everyone has the same opportunities.
*football players make millions of dollars and have no right to express their views on the field. aka they are naughty employees
*taking a knee is disrespectful to our flag and our country. (I find this one particularly interesting as kneeling is a common posture in prayer. Also it is somewhat subservient (such as swearing fealty to a lord or king long ago.)
*if they want to protest they should do it off the field (but they should not block traffic, they should not shout, they should not use violence, they should not. . . the list is endless)
*it should be All Lives Matter
*if they did what the police told them, if they obeyed the laws of our great country, there would be no problems.
The problem is in my eyes, that for there to be a solution, white America has to be prepared to be uncomfortable. We have to own that we are the problem. The fact that my extended family can't see that and quietly unfriend me on social media for my views is emblematic of how divisive this is--of how unwilling the empassioned are to hear another view. The people who did this love my kids, but they see them as somehow "other." As in, my kids would never get shot by the police because I raised them right.
I hope to all the gods people pray to that the folks who say that are right. But statistics show that they may not be. And is it even reasonable to assume that EVERY single unarmed black person who was shot was not raised correctly. It just surpasses the bounds of reason.
I won't let my 13 year old son play outside with a cosplay decorated water gun. I won't let him wear a Halloween costume that looks threatening and is dark colors. Being seen by traffic is only part of it. He could also be seen by a nervous home owner, or a rookie police officer who views the world through a skewed lens. He will be out with friends on his own for the first time. What if they do something silly? They are 13 and I didn't always make the best choice at that age. But I didn't worry about getting killed either. My son will go as a vampire rabbit. His choice when I nixed all the others and it is funny. It is white. It is safe.
But that situation is part of the dialogue of life for black America. How to stay safe. How to be heard. May we somehow hear what is really being said.
I am appalled that our country is even in this place. I am still trying to figure out how we got here--or worse, if we were always here and I was so privileged I didn't know it. I am so scared by the fact that there seems to be no way to even talk about this issue. People either support BLM or they don't. Those that don't, at least in my experience don't want to talk. From the few I have managed to engage in dialogue this is what I got:
*no one owns slaves these days so this is a non issue. Everyone has the same opportunities.
*football players make millions of dollars and have no right to express their views on the field. aka they are naughty employees
*taking a knee is disrespectful to our flag and our country. (I find this one particularly interesting as kneeling is a common posture in prayer. Also it is somewhat subservient (such as swearing fealty to a lord or king long ago.)
*if they want to protest they should do it off the field (but they should not block traffic, they should not shout, they should not use violence, they should not. . . the list is endless)
*it should be All Lives Matter
*if they did what the police told them, if they obeyed the laws of our great country, there would be no problems.
The problem is in my eyes, that for there to be a solution, white America has to be prepared to be uncomfortable. We have to own that we are the problem. The fact that my extended family can't see that and quietly unfriend me on social media for my views is emblematic of how divisive this is--of how unwilling the empassioned are to hear another view. The people who did this love my kids, but they see them as somehow "other." As in, my kids would never get shot by the police because I raised them right.
I hope to all the gods people pray to that the folks who say that are right. But statistics show that they may not be. And is it even reasonable to assume that EVERY single unarmed black person who was shot was not raised correctly. It just surpasses the bounds of reason.
I won't let my 13 year old son play outside with a cosplay decorated water gun. I won't let him wear a Halloween costume that looks threatening and is dark colors. Being seen by traffic is only part of it. He could also be seen by a nervous home owner, or a rookie police officer who views the world through a skewed lens. He will be out with friends on his own for the first time. What if they do something silly? They are 13 and I didn't always make the best choice at that age. But I didn't worry about getting killed either. My son will go as a vampire rabbit. His choice when I nixed all the others and it is funny. It is white. It is safe.
But that situation is part of the dialogue of life for black America. How to stay safe. How to be heard. May we somehow hear what is really being said.
Monday, January 23, 2017
Womans March Weekend
The changing of the guard has happened and our country has a new president. It has been a strange week for me emotionally. I have felt (and still feel) that the results of this election showed me that I needed to be in meaningful dialogue with those who don't see the world through the same lens that I do. The majority of my friends IRL and on social media do, but there are some Trump folks that I am friends with.
What shocks me is that they aren't really interested in meaningful dialogue. In a long thread with a friend on FB the gist of his responses was that "the election is over. Get over it." Obviously this is not what I and a number of other respondents were saying. We voiced our fears. I reached out and said that I wanted to know why he felt good about the result. What great changes did he expect and look forward to. Crickets. Seriously. Just more rhetoric of getting over the election and no response to the concerns that I and others shared about health care, LGBT rights, the environment, the black community etc.
Obviously this left me disheartened. I have pretty much always avoided talking politics and religion with my friends. I feel that people share many different interests and we don't need to agree all the time but we also don't need to make each other uncomfortable. I have since come to feel that this is not a good stance to take. I need to share why I am concerned for my family in a Trump presidency. I need to respectfully share why I am opposed to anumber his ideology. But I also believe firmly that if you do believe that things will be better I want to know why. And how. Because clearly I have lived for too long in my blue state bubble and now I am faced with what seems like an incomprehensible reality.
So on the heels of that rather depressive situation came a weekend where our country protested. So many marches in so many cities. I had friends marching in Boston, NY, Washington, KY and OH and TX. It was a strong and powerful message sent across our country and around the world as marches of solidarity took place in other countries as well.
It is only the beginning. There is much work to be done. I will find a way to be part of that work. (My daughter had commitments on Saturday that I could not back out of and no way for her to attend them if I was not there.) But this is not, and can not be, a one off event. Our church is all ready looking at ways to organize not just our church but with other churches in our county. The work will not be easy. But we will be heard and we will not stay silent.
What shocks me is that they aren't really interested in meaningful dialogue. In a long thread with a friend on FB the gist of his responses was that "the election is over. Get over it." Obviously this is not what I and a number of other respondents were saying. We voiced our fears. I reached out and said that I wanted to know why he felt good about the result. What great changes did he expect and look forward to. Crickets. Seriously. Just more rhetoric of getting over the election and no response to the concerns that I and others shared about health care, LGBT rights, the environment, the black community etc.
Obviously this left me disheartened. I have pretty much always avoided talking politics and religion with my friends. I feel that people share many different interests and we don't need to agree all the time but we also don't need to make each other uncomfortable. I have since come to feel that this is not a good stance to take. I need to share why I am concerned for my family in a Trump presidency. I need to respectfully share why I am opposed to a
So on the heels of that rather depressive situation came a weekend where our country protested. So many marches in so many cities. I had friends marching in Boston, NY, Washington, KY and OH and TX. It was a strong and powerful message sent across our country and around the world as marches of solidarity took place in other countries as well.
It is only the beginning. There is much work to be done. I will find a way to be part of that work. (My daughter had commitments on Saturday that I could not back out of and no way for her to attend them if I was not there.) But this is not, and can not be, a one off event. Our church is all ready looking at ways to organize not just our church but with other churches in our county. The work will not be easy. But we will be heard and we will not stay silent.
Wednesday, January 11, 2017
Farewell Pres. Obama and my take away
I watched President Obama's final address last night. I was very emotionally moved by it. I remember the joy I felt 8 years ago when he won his first term. He was so classy, he had such vision, he was articulate. He was BLACK. He was from Chicago. He was proof to my children that anyone of any color can reach for the stars and grab hold of them.
Throughout his administration I was never ashamed of the actions of his administration. He spoke and acted with thought. His kids weren't in the news for doing things they shouldn't. His wife, was the most amazing First Lady of my remembered life time. His presidency was for me, how my parents felt about JFK.
His closing address never wavered from that bar of civility and class that he set so very high from day one. He didn't encourage negative sounds from the crowd when talk turned to the new administration. No "going low" he "went high" all the way.
I have great fears surrounding the Trump presidency. I worry that he will surround himself with people whose sole purpose is to dismantle the freedoms that have been so hard won for so many. I worry that those all ready marginalized will be even more so. I worry for those whose health care while imperfect, has been far better with the Affordable Care Act. I worry for the rights of women to choose freely what happens to their own bodies. I worry that as a country we will no longer be seen as wise and--well--important to the rest of the world. I worry that wrong choices by those in power will ultimately be a financial and environmental price that are paid for by my children.
Yet worrying can do little. So I try to spend a small amount of time acknowledging these concerns, validating their realness. I spend a lot more time, figuring out what I can do. How i can live my life in a positive meaningful way that lives out my personal values, and that does what i can to ensure the rights of others.
Part of that will happen Monday afternoon and evening as the kids and I volunteer with the United Way to package food for those who would not eat other wise. A staggering number of children are "food insecure" in our country. I personally know what it is like to wonder when you will eat next. I remember hiding the fact that I didn't really have food in my house when I first went out on my own. I didn't want others to know that all I had was one bag of potatos and food for my cat. To this day, a full pantry makes me smile and feel safe. There are too many people without that feeling of safety. I can help. I can teach my kids that they can help, that when we have enough to get by we can and should reach out and give a little more to those who don't.
My other take away was that I need to have more conversations with the people who don't believe as I do. This is harder for me than volunteering and giving of myself. I don't like arguments. I don't like listening to words that sound hateful, or bigoted or flat out illogical. Additionally I live in one of the bluest of the blue states. I think that the only Trump supporters I have actually met can be counted on one hand. But I may be wrong. Maybe they are as afraid of dialogue as i have been and we have been politely ignoring each other, to our detriment.
I know I can not support the ideology of this adminstration, but I need to understand those who did. We all need to. Because if it really was out of work white workers who were Trump supporters, or gray haired ladies who remembered the 50s fondly or whatever, we need to talk. I need to know how they think this will be better. I need to know what CAN be better,with or without a Trump. I think that is the only way we can move forward, toward that illusive "greatness" that became a slogan in a campaign that will be remembered for years to come.
Throughout his administration I was never ashamed of the actions of his administration. He spoke and acted with thought. His kids weren't in the news for doing things they shouldn't. His wife, was the most amazing First Lady of my remembered life time. His presidency was for me, how my parents felt about JFK.
His closing address never wavered from that bar of civility and class that he set so very high from day one. He didn't encourage negative sounds from the crowd when talk turned to the new administration. No "going low" he "went high" all the way.
I have great fears surrounding the Trump presidency. I worry that he will surround himself with people whose sole purpose is to dismantle the freedoms that have been so hard won for so many. I worry that those all ready marginalized will be even more so. I worry for those whose health care while imperfect, has been far better with the Affordable Care Act. I worry for the rights of women to choose freely what happens to their own bodies. I worry that as a country we will no longer be seen as wise and--well--important to the rest of the world. I worry that wrong choices by those in power will ultimately be a financial and environmental price that are paid for by my children.
Yet worrying can do little. So I try to spend a small amount of time acknowledging these concerns, validating their realness. I spend a lot more time, figuring out what I can do. How i can live my life in a positive meaningful way that lives out my personal values, and that does what i can to ensure the rights of others.
Part of that will happen Monday afternoon and evening as the kids and I volunteer with the United Way to package food for those who would not eat other wise. A staggering number of children are "food insecure" in our country. I personally know what it is like to wonder when you will eat next. I remember hiding the fact that I didn't really have food in my house when I first went out on my own. I didn't want others to know that all I had was one bag of potatos and food for my cat. To this day, a full pantry makes me smile and feel safe. There are too many people without that feeling of safety. I can help. I can teach my kids that they can help, that when we have enough to get by we can and should reach out and give a little more to those who don't.
My other take away was that I need to have more conversations with the people who don't believe as I do. This is harder for me than volunteering and giving of myself. I don't like arguments. I don't like listening to words that sound hateful, or bigoted or flat out illogical. Additionally I live in one of the bluest of the blue states. I think that the only Trump supporters I have actually met can be counted on one hand. But I may be wrong. Maybe they are as afraid of dialogue as i have been and we have been politely ignoring each other, to our detriment.
I know I can not support the ideology of this adminstration, but I need to understand those who did. We all need to. Because if it really was out of work white workers who were Trump supporters, or gray haired ladies who remembered the 50s fondly or whatever, we need to talk. I need to know how they think this will be better. I need to know what CAN be better,with or without a Trump. I think that is the only way we can move forward, toward that illusive "greatness" that became a slogan in a campaign that will be remembered for years to come.
Wednesday, November 9, 2016
Trumped
Like many in this country, I am still mentally reeling after this election. I speak cautiously in my work environment, unsure who may be quietly celebrating the win of their candidate. Inside, I feel like wailing and screaming.
I worry for my children. Strong beautiful children of color, in a country whose president elect seems to respect only those who are male white and powerful. I think of my Rob, coming of age in a world that suddenly seems more bigoted and narrow than I ever thought our country could be again. I think of KC and Lissa whose optimism and belief in a wonderful future was rocked this morning at breakfast when we talked about election results.
I worry for myself. I worry that rights I have been able to enjoy as a married lesbian woman will somehow be curtailed, or lost entirely.
I worry for the work I do. I work in an industry that provides housing to the more vulnerable members of our society. Those who are socio-economically deprived. I have worked in this industry long enough to know that our work is always under funded and harder during Republican administrations. I have never had the misfortune of working during a trifecta of Republican control.
I worry for the women of our society. It is hard to feel that someone who espoused what was charitably called "locker room talk" will really champion equality, will embrace breaking the glass ceiling. Will women even be continued to choose what happens to their own bodies?
The world is never a certain place but I have always idealistically believed that justice and right could and would prevail. Today, I am not so very sure of that.
I worry for my children. Strong beautiful children of color, in a country whose president elect seems to respect only those who are male white and powerful. I think of my Rob, coming of age in a world that suddenly seems more bigoted and narrow than I ever thought our country could be again. I think of KC and Lissa whose optimism and belief in a wonderful future was rocked this morning at breakfast when we talked about election results.
I worry for myself. I worry that rights I have been able to enjoy as a married lesbian woman will somehow be curtailed, or lost entirely.
I worry for the work I do. I work in an industry that provides housing to the more vulnerable members of our society. Those who are socio-economically deprived. I have worked in this industry long enough to know that our work is always under funded and harder during Republican administrations. I have never had the misfortune of working during a trifecta of Republican control.
I worry for the women of our society. It is hard to feel that someone who espoused what was charitably called "locker room talk" will really champion equality, will embrace breaking the glass ceiling. Will women even be continued to choose what happens to their own bodies?
The world is never a certain place but I have always idealistically believed that justice and right could and would prevail. Today, I am not so very sure of that.
Saturday, July 9, 2016
And Again. . .
48 hours and 2 more black men murdered. I am probably the most positive person on the planet. "Sail your ship with positivity" has been laughingly declared by my family to be my personal motto. But I have no positivity tonight. I have anger. I have fear. I have an overwhelming sense of helplessness.
The repeated unwarranted killing of people of color keeps replaying like some bizarre twisted version of that old movie Ground Hog Day. And I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do to keep my children safe. I literally don't go to sleep till I know Rob is home from work. I have turned this into my reading time and I do enjoy that. But keeping things honest? I am worried that something would happen and i would not know till there was a knock on the door. I don't want to miss a call, a text, a chance to try and help if the need arose.
I worry that my kids, despite my oft repeated dictates of what to do if an officer stops, will push the envelope. They are good kids. But they are kids. At Rob's age, despite all my comments to the contrary, he is sure he is immortal. I was his age. I was once immortal too. But I am white. And while I have faced discrimination in regards to my gender or sexual identity, I have not been targeted the way people of color are. I don't have to worry about DWB.
In a rather shocking wake up call I recently watched a video to share to my son's wall on how to make it home alive if a POC is pulled over by the police. One of the tips? Keep your license and registration on the dash or the visor or the cup holder. Reaching for a wallet can be interpreted as reaching for a weapon. In my white privilege world,I can keep those two items where ever I choose as long as I can reach them from the drivers seat of my vehicle. My questions to police officers when I am pulled over are answered with courtesy as long as I ask with courtesy. (disclaimer: I received my first moving violation in 25 years because I got wildly confused at a round about over Memorial Day weekend.) I honestly had to ask the officer what I did wrong as I knew speed was not a factor.
Will the video save his life? I have no idea. All I can do is try and that feels so much like tilting at windmills these days.
I am frightened by the fact that I can't come up with an action plan. This is so systemic and so big, I can't figure out what to do to help change to come about. I am not a stick my head in the sand kind of gal. But Facebook meme's are woefully inadequate. Roll calls of the killed scroll through my feeds. I worry that someday one of my kids, or one of my extended family will be on the internet with a "Say their name, don't forget" tag. But the pictures, the stories, most woefully the same, somehow this is not scrolling through the minds and hearts of people who do have the power.
I was brought up to respect officers of the law. And I know many officers in the city I live and work in. I like them. I respect them. But I look at them and wonder what they will see if my son walking home from work at midnight. I am tired of dash cams going silent, body cams mysteriously loosening and not filming. I am tired of reading the dirt that gets thrown into the fray after every shooting. Rap sheets from years past, as if prior mistakes justify death today.
I actually don't even know how to finish this post, that's how saddened and fearful my spirit is at this moment.
The repeated unwarranted killing of people of color keeps replaying like some bizarre twisted version of that old movie Ground Hog Day. And I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do to keep my children safe. I literally don't go to sleep till I know Rob is home from work. I have turned this into my reading time and I do enjoy that. But keeping things honest? I am worried that something would happen and i would not know till there was a knock on the door. I don't want to miss a call, a text, a chance to try and help if the need arose.
I worry that my kids, despite my oft repeated dictates of what to do if an officer stops, will push the envelope. They are good kids. But they are kids. At Rob's age, despite all my comments to the contrary, he is sure he is immortal. I was his age. I was once immortal too. But I am white. And while I have faced discrimination in regards to my gender or sexual identity, I have not been targeted the way people of color are. I don't have to worry about DWB.
In a rather shocking wake up call I recently watched a video to share to my son's wall on how to make it home alive if a POC is pulled over by the police. One of the tips? Keep your license and registration on the dash or the visor or the cup holder. Reaching for a wallet can be interpreted as reaching for a weapon. In my white privilege world,I can keep those two items where ever I choose as long as I can reach them from the drivers seat of my vehicle. My questions to police officers when I am pulled over are answered with courtesy as long as I ask with courtesy. (disclaimer: I received my first moving violation in 25 years because I got wildly confused at a round about over Memorial Day weekend.) I honestly had to ask the officer what I did wrong as I knew speed was not a factor.
Will the video save his life? I have no idea. All I can do is try and that feels so much like tilting at windmills these days.
I am frightened by the fact that I can't come up with an action plan. This is so systemic and so big, I can't figure out what to do to help change to come about. I am not a stick my head in the sand kind of gal. But Facebook meme's are woefully inadequate. Roll calls of the killed scroll through my feeds. I worry that someday one of my kids, or one of my extended family will be on the internet with a "Say their name, don't forget" tag. But the pictures, the stories, most woefully the same, somehow this is not scrolling through the minds and hearts of people who do have the power.
I was brought up to respect officers of the law. And I know many officers in the city I live and work in. I like them. I respect them. But I look at them and wonder what they will see if my son walking home from work at midnight. I am tired of dash cams going silent, body cams mysteriously loosening and not filming. I am tired of reading the dirt that gets thrown into the fray after every shooting. Rap sheets from years past, as if prior mistakes justify death today.
I actually don't even know how to finish this post, that's how saddened and fearful my spirit is at this moment.
Friday, October 2, 2015
Black Lives Matter
I feel lucky when I know people who can say with far more eloquence than I why the phrase "all lives matter" bothers me so much. Yes. All lives matter. But we are talking about the lives that are minimized, jeopardized and flat out ended daily in ways that "all other" lives are not. It is a worry for me as a mom of kids of color. I send my strong handsome young teen off to the Big City for college with a smile on my face and worry in my heart. I watch my phone for the text that he is ready for me to pick up at the train. I worry that the natural "immortal" feeling that teens have (and yes, I remember feeling that way too) could translate into a situation far more dangerous to him than any of mine were to me.
I worry that I have not prepared him adequately enough for being black in a world that does not see him the same way it sees me. I know that to some extent my presence over the years has lent him an inadvertent corner of the white privilege blanket. He isn't likely to be accused of shoplifting if he is standing with his white mom. The same is not necessarily true if he is hanging out with skater pals in the big city. This is not to say we have not had some issues; there have been. But by and large, the world has been pretty kind to him.
I am lucky that I have friends of color because my white friends don't see what I worry about. They think "black lives matter" is obvious and that "all lives matter" is more reverential to life and speaks to inclusiveness. My efforts to explain are dismissed. "But YOUR son is so friendly and polite; nothing would happen to Rob" I hope with every facet of my being they are right. Statistics say other things though.
But a 12 year old playing in a park is not exactly a huge threat. Yet he was shot and killed without a word. My Rob is kind and smart and handsome. He also works out and hangs out with kids who skateboard and may look "sketchy" to a certain segment of the population. They will not see his smile. They will see his strength, his blackness, an implication of a threat that does not exist.If a 12 year old at play can be gunned down, what about strong 19 year olds?
Family members who love my kids have told me my worries are meaningless. That because I brought my kids up "right" I don't have to worry. They seriously think all the other instances are a result of bad parenting? Rendered speechless, I grew silent about the subject on line. And I grew angry at myself because if I as my kids parent can be rendered voiceless and powerless, how must so many other parents feel. Parents who have lost children and who have found their children vilified in the media, their home lives and values questioned.
So, yes people. BLACK lives matter. And please. Go read Kevin Hoffman at www.mymindonpaper.wordpress.com Because he says it all with much great clarity than I do.
I worry that I have not prepared him adequately enough for being black in a world that does not see him the same way it sees me. I know that to some extent my presence over the years has lent him an inadvertent corner of the white privilege blanket. He isn't likely to be accused of shoplifting if he is standing with his white mom. The same is not necessarily true if he is hanging out with skater pals in the big city. This is not to say we have not had some issues; there have been. But by and large, the world has been pretty kind to him.
I am lucky that I have friends of color because my white friends don't see what I worry about. They think "black lives matter" is obvious and that "all lives matter" is more reverential to life and speaks to inclusiveness. My efforts to explain are dismissed. "But YOUR son is so friendly and polite; nothing would happen to Rob" I hope with every facet of my being they are right. Statistics say other things though.
But a 12 year old playing in a park is not exactly a huge threat. Yet he was shot and killed without a word. My Rob is kind and smart and handsome. He also works out and hangs out with kids who skateboard and may look "sketchy" to a certain segment of the population. They will not see his smile. They will see his strength, his blackness, an implication of a threat that does not exist.If a 12 year old at play can be gunned down, what about strong 19 year olds?
Family members who love my kids have told me my worries are meaningless. That because I brought my kids up "right" I don't have to worry. They seriously think all the other instances are a result of bad parenting? Rendered speechless, I grew silent about the subject on line. And I grew angry at myself because if I as my kids parent can be rendered voiceless and powerless, how must so many other parents feel. Parents who have lost children and who have found their children vilified in the media, their home lives and values questioned.
So, yes people. BLACK lives matter. And please. Go read Kevin Hoffman at www.mymindonpaper.wordpress.com Because he says it all with much great clarity than I do.
Sunday, February 2, 2014
First World Guilt
Well I am certainly not going to hurt my wife by refusing a date, so I womaned up and agreed. But, oh, it was such a weird experience. Not the gawking actually. I found I didn't notice all that as much. I found I am not much for massage chairs. I think they felt sort of creepy. I rediscovered the fact that I actually dislike sitting still for longer than about 15 minutes. I discovered I did love the hot rocks that got rubbed up and down your calf and over the arch of your foot. My feet were warm, people warm I tell you!
But what I did not like and could not get past, was the creepy feeling with someone crouched on a stool below me, doing all this stuff to my feet. All the employees of the salon are asian, and it just felt exploitative for all these caucasian women (all right I will give you one black and one latina woman came in but the vast majority were white) to be pampered and have all this attention to our feet in this way. There was something that was both so intimate and so subservient in the relationship.
I will give you that my feet look amazing. Well as amazing as my feet could possibly look. Years of dance, years of hiking, they are sort of misshapen but hey, the polish is really super! But despite how I love the way they look, despite loving the fact that my feet were warm for a few hours, I really don't want to go back. I want my relationships to be on more equal footing, if you can pardon the pun.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
The election is over!
The rhetoric will be (mostly) done. I love politics and thinking through issues but even I am exhausted by the amount of advertising and blitzing that has occured with this election. What I am pleased about though is the increasing involvement in a very open manner in politics by movie stars. For my kids, listening to JayZ do a PSA is cool to them. Frankly for me, listening to Matt Damon do one is kind of cool too! ::-) For the kids and I these announcements were a springboard for talking about how important voting is. It is more than a right, it is a privilege. One that many people die for in countries around the world. Knowing that people who they admire or think are "cool" feel that voting is important is helpful.
We have also always brought our whole family to the polls when we vote. We want our kids to see the process, to see our commitment to it. We talk in age appropriate terms with each of them about who and what we support and why. I am also vigilent that we do not speak disparagingly about a candidate or issue even if I feel strongly against them. I want them to understand that there will always be differences of opinions but we don't have to be hateful about it. Some of the things I read on social media that so-called adults say to one another when they disagree make my hair curl!
Something else that makes my hair curl. . . in our next presidential election, my son Rob will be old enough to vote and Fiona was old enough to vote in this one. Where does the time go?
We have also always brought our whole family to the polls when we vote. We want our kids to see the process, to see our commitment to it. We talk in age appropriate terms with each of them about who and what we support and why. I am also vigilent that we do not speak disparagingly about a candidate or issue even if I feel strongly against them. I want them to understand that there will always be differences of opinions but we don't have to be hateful about it. Some of the things I read on social media that so-called adults say to one another when they disagree make my hair curl!
Something else that makes my hair curl. . . in our next presidential election, my son Rob will be old enough to vote and Fiona was old enough to vote in this one. Where does the time go?
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Of Politics and Voting
I have struggled to order my feelings around the election and I find myself repeatedly babbling, even inside my own head! :-) It was historic. It was mind blowing. It was for the first time in more years than I care to count, the candidate I believed in, who won. And won decisively. Won in a way that there can be no talk of recounts and faulty machinery, etc. A candidate who won on a mandate from America. And that candidate is a black man.
One of my ministers growing up marched in Selma. The civil rights demonstrations, the changes in our laws, really it was not so long ago. Martin Luther King Jr. had a dream. But I wonder if he ever dreamed that a black man would become president of this country. Would he, could he, have dreamed that large in those years?
At the beginning of the campaign, although I was a pro-Obama person, I had a hard time dreaming that large. Truth to tell, I would not have been surprised if Hillary Clinton had won the democratic nomination. I watched in awe as the Obama campaign kept rolling on, gathering momentum. I listened to him speak and I felt hope. OK I know that being a stirring orator does not make one a great president. It doesn't mean you will make the right decisions day to day. that comes from surrounding yourself with intelligent people and I hope that this happens. But there is nothing wrong in my mind with feeling hope either. With feeling that the person speaking, is carrying me along in their dream, that their vision will help our troubled, hurting country. If we don't hope, if we don't dare to dream, elections such as Tuesdays can not come to be.
And as I fed my children breakfast the day after the election, I was able to smile (OK grin foolishly) and remind them that really, truly if you work hard, and dream large, that anything is possible. It felt good to be able to say that to my children. As black children I have the unpleasant duty of explaining things that are not right and fair. That they have to achieve more than a white counterpart to be viewed as just as qualified. That though all pre-teens are prone to mumbling, that young black men who mumble get looked at differently. They are sometimes viewed as uneducated, as thugs, etc. I have had to explain to my asian indian eldest son that he looks like he could have Iraqi heritage and that after 9/11 there was a real need for him to try and control some of his eccentricities while in public in order to remain safe. I have had to explain the realities of DWB, of gangs.
But on Wednesday morning, I could put those harsher issues aside for a time. We could bask in possibilities and opportunities, and talk about dreams fulfilled and promises kept.
One of my ministers growing up marched in Selma. The civil rights demonstrations, the changes in our laws, really it was not so long ago. Martin Luther King Jr. had a dream. But I wonder if he ever dreamed that a black man would become president of this country. Would he, could he, have dreamed that large in those years?
At the beginning of the campaign, although I was a pro-Obama person, I had a hard time dreaming that large. Truth to tell, I would not have been surprised if Hillary Clinton had won the democratic nomination. I watched in awe as the Obama campaign kept rolling on, gathering momentum. I listened to him speak and I felt hope. OK I know that being a stirring orator does not make one a great president. It doesn't mean you will make the right decisions day to day. that comes from surrounding yourself with intelligent people and I hope that this happens. But there is nothing wrong in my mind with feeling hope either. With feeling that the person speaking, is carrying me along in their dream, that their vision will help our troubled, hurting country. If we don't hope, if we don't dare to dream, elections such as Tuesdays can not come to be.
And as I fed my children breakfast the day after the election, I was able to smile (OK grin foolishly) and remind them that really, truly if you work hard, and dream large, that anything is possible. It felt good to be able to say that to my children. As black children I have the unpleasant duty of explaining things that are not right and fair. That they have to achieve more than a white counterpart to be viewed as just as qualified. That though all pre-teens are prone to mumbling, that young black men who mumble get looked at differently. They are sometimes viewed as uneducated, as thugs, etc. I have had to explain to my asian indian eldest son that he looks like he could have Iraqi heritage and that after 9/11 there was a real need for him to try and control some of his eccentricities while in public in order to remain safe. I have had to explain the realities of DWB, of gangs.
But on Wednesday morning, I could put those harsher issues aside for a time. We could bask in possibilities and opportunities, and talk about dreams fulfilled and promises kept.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Is it a New Day?
I remember as a teen all the discussion among adults about the glorious years of Camelot. The short time in our country's history when a handsome youthful president and his attractive family occupied the White House. It was historic in so many ways. He was young. He was Catholic. He was from Massachusetts. I remember my mother crying the day that JFK died. But I couldn't grasp much of what was going on. I was truly a wee, wee child. All I knew was that the whole house seemed gloomy and none of the regular things that happened in our home and even on television seemed to be taking place.
I understand now more of the hope that my parents must have felt back then. I feel that hope today with an election taking place which could put the first black man in the White House. Is Obama the best candidate? I don't know. For me, he is a better candidate than John McCain. I admire McCain. He is a POW. He is a blunt and plain spoken person. He is in every sense a true patriot. There was a time when I would have voted for McCain. Unfortunately for him, that is not this year. I hope that by voting for Obama that a number of things happen.
* I hope that his presence as a leader in our country's highest office will allow other children of color to dream, to strive and to achieve this and other great goals. Our future can not and should not be predicated on having anglo european ancestry. Great minds, great visionaries are not bound by gender or color.
* I hope that his presidency will lead to a higher approval rating for our country in the world at large. I am upset by the fact that our country presently seems to feel it has the right to tell other countries what to do and how to do it. We are not one, though we all inhabit the same planet. Our needs and our solutions for those needs are often fundamentally different. Though I am grateful to live in a democratic society I honestly don't believe democracy is the answer for everyone. Democracy is hard. It requires a level of participation and of education that isn't possible in every situation. There are situations where other forms of government provide well for their constituants.
* I hope that President Obama will work more actively than I think a President McCain would, to end our military involvement in Iraq. I see no way for us to win this in the long term sense. I feel that we entered the situation under false pretenses (those infamous WMDs) and without fully understanding a culture so different from our own. As a mom of 3 boys, I don't want to see a draft where my babies are required to serve in a war I don't believe in. McCain has indicated a tentative openness to restoring the draft if needed. I know recruitment levels are down. It was enough to make me refuse to vote for him even if I wasn't supporting Obama.
Two weeks ago when I was at our local library an older African American gentleman saw me there with 3 of our 4 kids. I noticed him eyeing us in the library but was a bit too busy with the children to do more than smile at him. Part of me wondered what he was thinking. Black children raised by white people are a hot button topic for some people of color. The majority of people I meet respond positively but there are always a few who don't. Anyway, at the end of our library visit I was pushing our double stroller out to the car while attempting to carry one of the two bags filled with books which are a standard for our library visits. We are a family of active readers. Rob was with me, carrying the other equally heavy bag. As we approached the car the same gentleman was there, and it turned out that he was parked next to us. I smiled and said good morning as I loaded books and children into the van. He smiled back and said "are these future Obamas?" I smiled more widely and said I certainly hoped so. He said something about how good that was and how beautiful the children were and drove away.
I want that for my children. I want them to know they can reach high, dream big, and live largely and well.
I understand now more of the hope that my parents must have felt back then. I feel that hope today with an election taking place which could put the first black man in the White House. Is Obama the best candidate? I don't know. For me, he is a better candidate than John McCain. I admire McCain. He is a POW. He is a blunt and plain spoken person. He is in every sense a true patriot. There was a time when I would have voted for McCain. Unfortunately for him, that is not this year. I hope that by voting for Obama that a number of things happen.
* I hope that his presence as a leader in our country's highest office will allow other children of color to dream, to strive and to achieve this and other great goals. Our future can not and should not be predicated on having anglo european ancestry. Great minds, great visionaries are not bound by gender or color.
* I hope that his presidency will lead to a higher approval rating for our country in the world at large. I am upset by the fact that our country presently seems to feel it has the right to tell other countries what to do and how to do it. We are not one, though we all inhabit the same planet. Our needs and our solutions for those needs are often fundamentally different. Though I am grateful to live in a democratic society I honestly don't believe democracy is the answer for everyone. Democracy is hard. It requires a level of participation and of education that isn't possible in every situation. There are situations where other forms of government provide well for their constituants.
* I hope that President Obama will work more actively than I think a President McCain would, to end our military involvement in Iraq. I see no way for us to win this in the long term sense. I feel that we entered the situation under false pretenses (those infamous WMDs) and without fully understanding a culture so different from our own. As a mom of 3 boys, I don't want to see a draft where my babies are required to serve in a war I don't believe in. McCain has indicated a tentative openness to restoring the draft if needed. I know recruitment levels are down. It was enough to make me refuse to vote for him even if I wasn't supporting Obama.
Two weeks ago when I was at our local library an older African American gentleman saw me there with 3 of our 4 kids. I noticed him eyeing us in the library but was a bit too busy with the children to do more than smile at him. Part of me wondered what he was thinking. Black children raised by white people are a hot button topic for some people of color. The majority of people I meet respond positively but there are always a few who don't. Anyway, at the end of our library visit I was pushing our double stroller out to the car while attempting to carry one of the two bags filled with books which are a standard for our library visits. We are a family of active readers. Rob was with me, carrying the other equally heavy bag. As we approached the car the same gentleman was there, and it turned out that he was parked next to us. I smiled and said good morning as I loaded books and children into the van. He smiled back and said "are these future Obamas?" I smiled more widely and said I certainly hoped so. He said something about how good that was and how beautiful the children were and drove away.
I want that for my children. I want them to know they can reach high, dream big, and live largely and well.
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