mobileCategory: civil rights
11/25/14 04:50 - ID#59621
Commentary on the Respectful Prostitute
Warning: The play discussed uses the “n” word. I have not edited the language quoted directly from the play.
I just finished a book of Sartre’s plays. The last play in the book, “The Respectful Prostitute,” really struck me, so I’m writing about it.
At first, I didn’t know what to think about the story. I could see that it was set in the U.S. in the South involving a character described as “the Negro,” so I figured it was based on something having to do with race relations in America. Once I started reading, it became apparent that it was loosely based on the “Scottsboro Boys” case that happened in the 1930’s. If you have never heard of this, PBS has a pretty good explanation and links to other sources here.
A quick version of what happened in the Scottsboro case is that there was a scuffle between a group of Caucasian men and African American men. One of the Caucasian men was injured and reported the incident to the police. A mob of armed Caucasians met the train in the next station and the African American men were taken to the police station. It is actually a misnomer to call them men, because they were boys. The youngest was 12. The oldest was 18. Two poor, white women were also found on the train. To avoid being prosecuted for sleeping with the Caucasian men and to avoid any suspicion of having slept with the African American boys, they lied and said they were raped. The boys received a grossly unfair series of trials, and it became quite evident over the course of the trial that the women were lying. Eventually, much later on, one of the women would admit to as much. The publicity of the trial and their virtue as Caucasian women when compared to the lives of African American boys turned them into overnight celebrities, no longer the low class women found on the train that night. In the end, the boys spent many years in prison. Some of them died, and most of them were unable to recover from the trauma after being released. They weren’t all officially pardoned until November of last year. Up until that time only one was pardoned (out of 9), and that didn’t happen until 1976, forty-six years after the false accusation.
Here the Caucasian men on the train were men of some importance and one of them shoots one of the African American men after getting punched in a scuffle started by the Caucasian men. Furthermore, the shooter had sexually assaulted the woman, Lizzie, in this story. Instead of being found on the train, Lizzie blends in to the town and the play opens on her having finished a one night stand with Fred.
Fred is the Senator’s son and is the cousin of the shooter. Fred is also a scoundrel. His main objective for sleeping with Lizzie is to get her to sign a false testimony. He is aggressive and disrespectful towards women. He grabs Lizzie violently at various points throughout the play. At one point he puts his hands around her throat and fantasizes about killing her, and after lynching an innocent African American man (after failing to find who they were looking for), he goes back to Lizzie’s house undecided as whether to “kill [her] or rape [her].” He also seems blood thirsty in general. He describes his cousin as a good man even though his cousin is a sexual deviant and a murderer.
Lizzie is from a low class background, but she has the same characteristics as women in Sartre’s other plays. She is strong and witty, in a way, often bullying the man in the play, but she is easily confused and unsure of her position. For instance, after the threat of force and jail time have proven insufficient to get Lizzie to sign the false confession, it is Senator Clarke who is successful without employing either tactic. He tells Lizzie to imagine him as the embodiment of Uncle Sam and that if Uncle Sam were there, he would say that that although he loves the Negro, he does nothing to pay him back for raising him with his “dawdl[ing], sing[ing], and buy[ing] of pink and green suits….does he live like a man? I would not even notice if he died.” Then he compares him to his other son, who has, admittedly, done something bad by killing a Negro, but who is “one hundred percent American”; who “studied at Harvard”; who “employs two thousand workers in his factor; and who is “a leader, a firm bulwark against the Communists, the labor unions, and the Jews.” Throughout the Senator’s narrative, Lizzie exclaims how well he talks. He then appeals to her vanity. Saying what a hero she will be to the boy’s mother (the Senator’s sister); saying how his sister would cry with joy at her son’s release; and saying she would always think of her and “love [her], from a distance, as her very own child.”
Lizzie later discovers that she has been swindled when the Senator’s sister sends a one hundred dollar bill in payment for Lizzie’s night with Fred, instead of heartfelt note of gratitude, but she is taken in again later on in the story. Fred discovers “the negro” in Lizzie’s apartment and gives chase. She hears two shots ring out from the street. Believing that Fred has shot the man both knew to be innocent, Lizzie takes the revolver and aims it at him as he comes through the door. She intends to shoot him, and Fred says the following,
“The first Clarke cleared the whole forest, just by himself; he killed seventeen Indians with his bare hands before dying in an ambush; his son practically built this town; he was friends with George Washington, and died at Yorktown, for American independence….My father is a Senator. I shall be senator after him…We have made this country, and its history is ours. There have been Clarkes in Alaska, in the Philippines, and in New Mexico. Can you dare shoot all of America?...A girl like you can’t shoot a man like me.”
Lizzie is overcome by Fred who takes the gun. He then offers to put her up in a house where she will have money, where he will meet her three times a week after dark, where she must never leave, and all this subject to the condition that she is never able to leave the house save the gardens surrounding it. She reluctantly acquiesces, and that is where the audience is left.
Obviously, these passages speak to more than just Lizzie’s naivety and its portrayal of women in general. They speak to two other issues: (1) class systems in America and (2) race in America.
Class
The relationship between Lizzie and the other characters can be viewed as an allegory for class systems in America. Lower class Americans are easily wooed by the elitist talking points that extol the ideas of sacrificing the individual for the greater good of the trickle-down effect. We are awed by “how well they speak” as they cut benefits for the needy, strip away Constitutional protections, and shift the heavy tax burden on to the low and middle classes. We are none the wiser, until, like Lizzie, we receive the cheap offer of a one hundred dollar bill.
Race
The quoted passages also embody the attitude that has been felt and supported in this country for hundreds of years, namely that this country was built by and for Caucasian men, more specifically the elite Caucasian men. Caucasian men came and stole land from the Native Americans, but they are the real Americans. Slaves were brought over to America and broke their backs working fields and other hard labor, but they are not the real Americans, it is the Caucasian farmers who are. Caucasians came here and took advantage of the American dream, but Mexicans who try to do the same are not allowed to do so. Instead, we should put up a big fence to kick all of them out and we have no qualms over separating families and doing whatever is necessary to make sure they don’t get a piece of the pie.
History supports this point of view. Consider the Dredd Scott decision, where the Supreme Court refused to acknowledge an African American man as a citizen. Justice Taney wrote, “with the slave, with one devoid of rights or capacities, civil or political, there could be no pact; that one thus situated could be no party to, or actor in, the association of those possessing free will…He could no form no part of the design, no constituent ingredient or portion of a society based upon common, that is, upon equal interests and powers.” The hypocrisy here is baffling, because to say that slaves could form no constituent ingredient completely ignores that the Constitution provides that they were to be counted as 3/5 of man for the purpose of apportioning representatives.
Further, there are still echoes of this same sentiment today. There is the selective enforcement in the war on drugs, and just yesterday, a Missouri Grand Jury refused to indict the officer responsible for shooting an unarmed black teenager. Every time an unarmed black man is shot and justice is not served, it sends the message that black lives are worthless. It sends the same message that is seen in the Senator’s portrayal of Uncle Sam- the U.S. does not notice when black lives are taken. It is only when the black community cries out for justice that people start to pay attention, and, in response, the media and the responsible party do everything they can to justify the action, so they start to vilify the victim. They note that the person was wearing or hoody, or he shouldn’t have been running away, or he was accused of a crime so that must have meant he was dangerous. This is no different from Fred saying, “[a] nigger has always done something.” We may not be as blunt in our words, but our actions have the same effect.
For this reason, black men, in a sense, have been emasculated. This is illustrated through “the Negro” here. He has no control over his destiny whatsoever throughout the play. He cannot rely on the lack of evidence to exonerate him, so he must plead with Lizzie not to lie in court. After she tells the lie, he is on the run from the angry white mob that is on “the nigger hunt.” He trembles with fear as they approach her apartment to look for “the nigger.” He talks of how they will whip his eyes and light him on fire with gasoline. He refuses to take the revolver offered to him, because he is so petrified by “the white folks” that he is unable to act against them for fear of the retaliation were he to be unsuccessful and remain alive. Lizzie calls him a sucker.
Maybe this is why the unfortunate rioting happened in Ferguson yesterday. Maybe they’re tired of being suckers. So, the people of Ferguson lashed out against the police. Is there no empathy for the plight of these people who were tired of hearing that their lives don’t matter? If the Jews had revolted at the hands of Hitler and burned down buildings, would we say that they were wrong? As a side note, Hitler used America as an example as proof that the success of a nation depends on as little race mixing as possible. Aren’t you so glad that we could make such a great impression?
Obviously, it is not fair to compare all police officers to one deranged man. There are good officers out there. But the history of our Nation and our current situation suggests that, in certain neighborhoods and to a certain population, the police are more of an oppressor, rather than a protector. Do they do this consciously? I would argue for the most part the answer is no, but they see people of color and the stereotypes that have been fed to all of us are immediately at work. The fact that police departments tend to be majority white, even in majority black neighborhoods, only exacerbates this problem.
In the end, I feel sad that I can read a play written in the forties and still feel that it is so relevant. But, in the words of my friend Jamila Lee, I will not give up hope.
I just finished a book of Sartre’s plays. The last play in the book, “The Respectful Prostitute,” really struck me, so I’m writing about it.
At first, I didn’t know what to think about the story. I could see that it was set in the U.S. in the South involving a character described as “the Negro,” so I figured it was based on something having to do with race relations in America. Once I started reading, it became apparent that it was loosely based on the “Scottsboro Boys” case that happened in the 1930’s. If you have never heard of this, PBS has a pretty good explanation and links to other sources here.
A quick version of what happened in the Scottsboro case is that there was a scuffle between a group of Caucasian men and African American men. One of the Caucasian men was injured and reported the incident to the police. A mob of armed Caucasians met the train in the next station and the African American men were taken to the police station. It is actually a misnomer to call them men, because they were boys. The youngest was 12. The oldest was 18. Two poor, white women were also found on the train. To avoid being prosecuted for sleeping with the Caucasian men and to avoid any suspicion of having slept with the African American boys, they lied and said they were raped. The boys received a grossly unfair series of trials, and it became quite evident over the course of the trial that the women were lying. Eventually, much later on, one of the women would admit to as much. The publicity of the trial and their virtue as Caucasian women when compared to the lives of African American boys turned them into overnight celebrities, no longer the low class women found on the train that night. In the end, the boys spent many years in prison. Some of them died, and most of them were unable to recover from the trauma after being released. They weren’t all officially pardoned until November of last year. Up until that time only one was pardoned (out of 9), and that didn’t happen until 1976, forty-six years after the false accusation.
Here the Caucasian men on the train were men of some importance and one of them shoots one of the African American men after getting punched in a scuffle started by the Caucasian men. Furthermore, the shooter had sexually assaulted the woman, Lizzie, in this story. Instead of being found on the train, Lizzie blends in to the town and the play opens on her having finished a one night stand with Fred.
Fred is the Senator’s son and is the cousin of the shooter. Fred is also a scoundrel. His main objective for sleeping with Lizzie is to get her to sign a false testimony. He is aggressive and disrespectful towards women. He grabs Lizzie violently at various points throughout the play. At one point he puts his hands around her throat and fantasizes about killing her, and after lynching an innocent African American man (after failing to find who they were looking for), he goes back to Lizzie’s house undecided as whether to “kill [her] or rape [her].” He also seems blood thirsty in general. He describes his cousin as a good man even though his cousin is a sexual deviant and a murderer.
Lizzie is from a low class background, but she has the same characteristics as women in Sartre’s other plays. She is strong and witty, in a way, often bullying the man in the play, but she is easily confused and unsure of her position. For instance, after the threat of force and jail time have proven insufficient to get Lizzie to sign the false confession, it is Senator Clarke who is successful without employing either tactic. He tells Lizzie to imagine him as the embodiment of Uncle Sam and that if Uncle Sam were there, he would say that that although he loves the Negro, he does nothing to pay him back for raising him with his “dawdl[ing], sing[ing], and buy[ing] of pink and green suits….does he live like a man? I would not even notice if he died.” Then he compares him to his other son, who has, admittedly, done something bad by killing a Negro, but who is “one hundred percent American”; who “studied at Harvard”; who “employs two thousand workers in his factor; and who is “a leader, a firm bulwark against the Communists, the labor unions, and the Jews.” Throughout the Senator’s narrative, Lizzie exclaims how well he talks. He then appeals to her vanity. Saying what a hero she will be to the boy’s mother (the Senator’s sister); saying how his sister would cry with joy at her son’s release; and saying she would always think of her and “love [her], from a distance, as her very own child.”
Lizzie later discovers that she has been swindled when the Senator’s sister sends a one hundred dollar bill in payment for Lizzie’s night with Fred, instead of heartfelt note of gratitude, but she is taken in again later on in the story. Fred discovers “the negro” in Lizzie’s apartment and gives chase. She hears two shots ring out from the street. Believing that Fred has shot the man both knew to be innocent, Lizzie takes the revolver and aims it at him as he comes through the door. She intends to shoot him, and Fred says the following,
“The first Clarke cleared the whole forest, just by himself; he killed seventeen Indians with his bare hands before dying in an ambush; his son practically built this town; he was friends with George Washington, and died at Yorktown, for American independence….My father is a Senator. I shall be senator after him…We have made this country, and its history is ours. There have been Clarkes in Alaska, in the Philippines, and in New Mexico. Can you dare shoot all of America?...A girl like you can’t shoot a man like me.”
Lizzie is overcome by Fred who takes the gun. He then offers to put her up in a house where she will have money, where he will meet her three times a week after dark, where she must never leave, and all this subject to the condition that she is never able to leave the house save the gardens surrounding it. She reluctantly acquiesces, and that is where the audience is left.
Obviously, these passages speak to more than just Lizzie’s naivety and its portrayal of women in general. They speak to two other issues: (1) class systems in America and (2) race in America.
Class
The relationship between Lizzie and the other characters can be viewed as an allegory for class systems in America. Lower class Americans are easily wooed by the elitist talking points that extol the ideas of sacrificing the individual for the greater good of the trickle-down effect. We are awed by “how well they speak” as they cut benefits for the needy, strip away Constitutional protections, and shift the heavy tax burden on to the low and middle classes. We are none the wiser, until, like Lizzie, we receive the cheap offer of a one hundred dollar bill.
Race
The quoted passages also embody the attitude that has been felt and supported in this country for hundreds of years, namely that this country was built by and for Caucasian men, more specifically the elite Caucasian men. Caucasian men came and stole land from the Native Americans, but they are the real Americans. Slaves were brought over to America and broke their backs working fields and other hard labor, but they are not the real Americans, it is the Caucasian farmers who are. Caucasians came here and took advantage of the American dream, but Mexicans who try to do the same are not allowed to do so. Instead, we should put up a big fence to kick all of them out and we have no qualms over separating families and doing whatever is necessary to make sure they don’t get a piece of the pie.
History supports this point of view. Consider the Dredd Scott decision, where the Supreme Court refused to acknowledge an African American man as a citizen. Justice Taney wrote, “with the slave, with one devoid of rights or capacities, civil or political, there could be no pact; that one thus situated could be no party to, or actor in, the association of those possessing free will…He could no form no part of the design, no constituent ingredient or portion of a society based upon common, that is, upon equal interests and powers.” The hypocrisy here is baffling, because to say that slaves could form no constituent ingredient completely ignores that the Constitution provides that they were to be counted as 3/5 of man for the purpose of apportioning representatives.
Further, there are still echoes of this same sentiment today. There is the selective enforcement in the war on drugs, and just yesterday, a Missouri Grand Jury refused to indict the officer responsible for shooting an unarmed black teenager. Every time an unarmed black man is shot and justice is not served, it sends the message that black lives are worthless. It sends the same message that is seen in the Senator’s portrayal of Uncle Sam- the U.S. does not notice when black lives are taken. It is only when the black community cries out for justice that people start to pay attention, and, in response, the media and the responsible party do everything they can to justify the action, so they start to vilify the victim. They note that the person was wearing or hoody, or he shouldn’t have been running away, or he was accused of a crime so that must have meant he was dangerous. This is no different from Fred saying, “[a] nigger has always done something.” We may not be as blunt in our words, but our actions have the same effect.
For this reason, black men, in a sense, have been emasculated. This is illustrated through “the Negro” here. He has no control over his destiny whatsoever throughout the play. He cannot rely on the lack of evidence to exonerate him, so he must plead with Lizzie not to lie in court. After she tells the lie, he is on the run from the angry white mob that is on “the nigger hunt.” He trembles with fear as they approach her apartment to look for “the nigger.” He talks of how they will whip his eyes and light him on fire with gasoline. He refuses to take the revolver offered to him, because he is so petrified by “the white folks” that he is unable to act against them for fear of the retaliation were he to be unsuccessful and remain alive. Lizzie calls him a sucker.
Maybe this is why the unfortunate rioting happened in Ferguson yesterday. Maybe they’re tired of being suckers. So, the people of Ferguson lashed out against the police. Is there no empathy for the plight of these people who were tired of hearing that their lives don’t matter? If the Jews had revolted at the hands of Hitler and burned down buildings, would we say that they were wrong? As a side note, Hitler used America as an example as proof that the success of a nation depends on as little race mixing as possible. Aren’t you so glad that we could make such a great impression?
Obviously, it is not fair to compare all police officers to one deranged man. There are good officers out there. But the history of our Nation and our current situation suggests that, in certain neighborhoods and to a certain population, the police are more of an oppressor, rather than a protector. Do they do this consciously? I would argue for the most part the answer is no, but they see people of color and the stereotypes that have been fed to all of us are immediately at work. The fact that police departments tend to be majority white, even in majority black neighborhoods, only exacerbates this problem.
In the end, I feel sad that I can read a play written in the forties and still feel that it is so relevant. But, in the words of my friend Jamila Lee, I will not give up hope.
Permalink: Commentary_on_the_Respectful_Prostitute.html
Words: 2120
Last Modified: 11/25/14 04:50
10/17/14 11:40 - ID#59490
A Requiem for Sammie
Today is a rainy, blustery, somewhat chilly day, and it’s appropriate weather for how I feel. Today I had to do one of the hardest things I have ever had to do in my life. I had to say goodbye forever to my dear, sweet Sammie.
Sammie came to me by airplane almost seven years ago on a January evening. We had gone online, found a breeder in Mississippi, and had chosen her out of six other puppies. From her pictures, it was easy to tell that she was a special dog. We picked up from the airport in the evening. She almost hadn’t made it because the weather had been so bad, and she couldn’t fly if the temperature dropped below a certain point. She was whimpering in her crate the entire drive home, and she shook as she stepped out for the first time in our backyard. We lived on Humason at the time. From that moment, I loved her. Sammie and I spent a lot of time together as we went to puppy training classes, and I would spend hours on the floor with her, working with her. Early in her life, she also spent a lot of time with Matt. Sometimes he would take her to work with him. In her adult life, she was very patient with Kylie and, later, Madison. She would also develop a very close relationship with Justin, who would sit on the floor and nuzzle her in spite of his allergies.
Sammie was a great dog through and through. She listened well. She was loyal to you no matter what, and she was full of a special energy. People would ask me if she was a puppy long after she had become an adult simply because she was so excited to be alive. She loved other people, and she loved other dogs. She loved to go places. She loved going to the vet. She loved everything. She showed the same amount of excitement for every meal, even though she often ate the same thing. She was also the biggest baby you’d ever want to meet. Everyone who met her loved her instantly. Even Matt loved her, despite himself.
Sammie was also a head turner. Because she was so big, it was hard to walk anywhere with her without someone stopping me to ask what kind of dog she was. This actually happened to me right as we were going into the clinic today. It was heartbreaking.
Sammie wasn’t stupid. She would also find a way to get into things when she wanted to. When she was younger she would find something to chew, no matter what you did, and we practically had to barricade off the room if we didn’t want her to get in. She would give you a look with her eyes when she wasn’t happy with you, and she would grunt at you too. She knew today too. She knew that we weren’t there for a good reason. When I came into the room she moved for me. I knelt down on the floor with her and cradled her in my arms. She stayed in my arms through her very last moments.
In short, there are few dogs that I’ve met in my life that can meet up to her. I am so grateful that I had her in my life when I did, and I know that this house won’t be the same without her. She will forever have a special place in my heart.
So, if you had the pleasure of knowing her, please take a moment to raise your glass, coffee cup, or sippy cup and drink to that kind, gentle soul, known here on earth as Sammie Beatrix Glushefski.
Sammie came to me by airplane almost seven years ago on a January evening. We had gone online, found a breeder in Mississippi, and had chosen her out of six other puppies. From her pictures, it was easy to tell that she was a special dog. We picked up from the airport in the evening. She almost hadn’t made it because the weather had been so bad, and she couldn’t fly if the temperature dropped below a certain point. She was whimpering in her crate the entire drive home, and she shook as she stepped out for the first time in our backyard. We lived on Humason at the time. From that moment, I loved her. Sammie and I spent a lot of time together as we went to puppy training classes, and I would spend hours on the floor with her, working with her. Early in her life, she also spent a lot of time with Matt. Sometimes he would take her to work with him. In her adult life, she was very patient with Kylie and, later, Madison. She would also develop a very close relationship with Justin, who would sit on the floor and nuzzle her in spite of his allergies.
Sammie was a great dog through and through. She listened well. She was loyal to you no matter what, and she was full of a special energy. People would ask me if she was a puppy long after she had become an adult simply because she was so excited to be alive. She loved other people, and she loved other dogs. She loved to go places. She loved going to the vet. She loved everything. She showed the same amount of excitement for every meal, even though she often ate the same thing. She was also the biggest baby you’d ever want to meet. Everyone who met her loved her instantly. Even Matt loved her, despite himself.
Sammie was also a head turner. Because she was so big, it was hard to walk anywhere with her without someone stopping me to ask what kind of dog she was. This actually happened to me right as we were going into the clinic today. It was heartbreaking.
Sammie wasn’t stupid. She would also find a way to get into things when she wanted to. When she was younger she would find something to chew, no matter what you did, and we practically had to barricade off the room if we didn’t want her to get in. She would give you a look with her eyes when she wasn’t happy with you, and she would grunt at you too. She knew today too. She knew that we weren’t there for a good reason. When I came into the room she moved for me. I knelt down on the floor with her and cradled her in my arms. She stayed in my arms through her very last moments.
In short, there are few dogs that I’ve met in my life that can meet up to her. I am so grateful that I had her in my life when I did, and I know that this house won’t be the same without her. She will forever have a special place in my heart.
So, if you had the pleasure of knowing her, please take a moment to raise your glass, coffee cup, or sippy cup and drink to that kind, gentle soul, known here on earth as Sammie Beatrix Glushefski.
Permalink: A_Requiem_for_Sammie.html
Words: 657
Last Modified: 10/17/14 11:43
10/14/14 11:55 - ID#59478
Super challenge
My friend Kemi challenged me to do a “gratefulness challenge” on Facebook a while back. I didn’t do it then, because I was pretty busy and I felt like most of my status updates usually reflect on something that I’m grateful for, so I didn’t think it was urgent. I’m not trying to toot my own horn or anything. It is simply a fact that in recent years I have chosen to focus my life on the positives, rather than the negatives. Nonetheless, I was challenged, I felt bad for not following through, and I’m still recovering from my disabling sickness, so I’m going to do the whole challenge (3 things to be grateful for over seven days) in one fell swoop, minus the tagging additional people. So, here is my list of 21 (yup, those are my superior math skills working) things that I’m grateful for. If religious things make you queasy, there will be some of that here, so you may want to avert your eyes.
1. My kids
Of course, this has to be number one for me. For those of you that know me well, my kids are at the very core of who I am.
With my older sons, I was able to grow and learn with them. It was through them that I learned to prioritize what was really important in my life, and I learned to be strong when things got tough.
With my daughters, I have a second chance at raising young children, and I’m able to appreciate more, because I’m older, wiser, and more patient (still working on it though).
2. My parents
I love my parents more than words can say. I’m so grateful for all they have taught me. My parents are not perfect, but who the heck is anyway?
Both my parents taught me so much in different ways. Growing up, I loved talking to my Dad. We would argue about things for hours while my Dad drank coffee and smoked cigarettes. So if you were ever wondering why you can usually see me with a cup of coffee (decaf of course) and happy to have a five hour debate on just about on anything, there’s your answer.
My Mom is force of nature. It’s so hard to describe her, but in a way she is almost magical. When she cooks, it tastes great. When I’m feeling down, she knows the words to say. When I’m sick, she knows what herbs will help me feel better. My Mom is not Donna Reed by any stretch of the imagination, but when I need her, she’s there.
3. My Matt
Just because he’s at # 3, doesn’t mean that my Matt is not important to me. Matt is one of the funniest people I know. People don’t get our relationship, and that’s perfectly fine. Sometimes I don’t even get it. Matt is one of the most difficult people I have ever had to deal with (no doubt he would say the same about me). He is distant. Sometimes he won’t answer you, and I sometimes wonder how he functions among us humans. However, I can’t say I’ve ever loved anyone more in my life. He is a wonderful father, and sometimes, if you look very closely, you can see how much he cares.
4. FOOD!!
I LOVE TO EAT!!! If you know me, you know how much I love to eat. This should almost be # 1.
5. FOOD OUT!!
Again, if you know me, you would also know that not only do I love to eat, I love to eat out. This is how Matt and I started dating in the first place (see # 3).
6. Going to law school
The joy I felt going to law school is hard to describe, and I’m so grateful that I had the opportunity to go.
7. Free from addiction
No, I’m not an addict or former addict (unless we’re talking nicotine and caffeine), but I’ve seen so many face addiction to drugs and alcohol, and I thank God with every fiber of my being that I am free.
8. My sanity
I also thank God that my brain works. I am thankful that I am able to wake up each morning and function. I am thankful that, while I find certain things to be completely aggravating, I am able to utilize self-control. In short, I am grateful for a brain that makes it possible for me to live independently.
9. Technology
While I feel it can be invasive, I am grateful for technology, because it can be used as a tool to help keep people honest. An example would be people using smart phones to record police brutality.
Obviously, I’m also grateful for other things that advances in technology enable us to do, but that’s what comes to mind for now.
10. My D&D game
I’m so sad I never did this before now.
11. That I can read
Besides loving to read books, I’m so grateful, because watching my daughter who can’t read makes me comprehend how disabling it would be if I couldn’t read.
12. My senses
Some of the things that bring me the most joy in my life depend on my senses working properly. I love looking at my children. I love to taste good food. I love to listen to music. I love to dance. I love to sing. None of this would be possible without the senses in my body working just right.
13. Choices
I’ve heard people argue that choices make people unhappy. I couldn’t disagree more. I am so grateful for choices. I am grateful for a world where I can make different choices based on my mood or how I’m feeling. I am grateful that the beauty of choices is seen in every facial characteristic, every leaf, and every building.
14. Recovering
I’m so grateful to God that I am recovering from my illness. I thought I was going to die, but, thankfully, I get to live another day and I’m no longer miserable.
15. My health
My recent illness has helped me to realize how much I take my health for granted. When I was sick, I felt so discouraged. I couldn’t enjoy things the way I normally do, and I felt so disconnected. I’m so grateful that I normally don’t have to deal with that, and I’m so sorry for people who do.
16. My dreams
You may say I dreamer or that I have ADHD (ha! get it?), but I’m glad for all of my dreams. I’m glad that what I want to do isn’t always practical. I’m glad that I’m in my thirties and I want to take up tap dancing, because, for me, this is the stuff that keeps my life interesting. This is the stuff that keeps me looking forward to a new day.
17. My enemies
The Bible says you should bless your enemies. This seems counterintuitive, but I think I get it, and I am grateful for them. I have come under attack at various points in my life, but what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger, and I refuse to harbor resentment and hate that will only hurt me more in the end. So, thank you enemies. You know who you are.
18. Working with great people
I’m so blessed to work with people that I like, and I’m grateful that my life has taken me down this new road.
19. My siblings
There is a special place in my heart for my sisters and my brother. We may not always get along, we may not always see each other, we may not always talk, but my life would still be incomplete without them.
20. Everyday blessings
I am grateful for the blessings that I see happen in my life on a daily basis. Each day is a new adventure, and each day I can find a blessing if I choose to see one.
21. My friends
Last, but not least, I am so thankful for the many great friends in my life. I have been blessed with so many good friends in my life, and at each point I have had someone there to help guide me, to laugh with me, and to see me through hard times. I am able to remember all those times and to look forward to even better ones thanks to all of you wonderful people.
1. My kids
Of course, this has to be number one for me. For those of you that know me well, my kids are at the very core of who I am.
With my older sons, I was able to grow and learn with them. It was through them that I learned to prioritize what was really important in my life, and I learned to be strong when things got tough.
With my daughters, I have a second chance at raising young children, and I’m able to appreciate more, because I’m older, wiser, and more patient (still working on it though).
2. My parents
I love my parents more than words can say. I’m so grateful for all they have taught me. My parents are not perfect, but who the heck is anyway?
Both my parents taught me so much in different ways. Growing up, I loved talking to my Dad. We would argue about things for hours while my Dad drank coffee and smoked cigarettes. So if you were ever wondering why you can usually see me with a cup of coffee (decaf of course) and happy to have a five hour debate on just about on anything, there’s your answer.
My Mom is force of nature. It’s so hard to describe her, but in a way she is almost magical. When she cooks, it tastes great. When I’m feeling down, she knows the words to say. When I’m sick, she knows what herbs will help me feel better. My Mom is not Donna Reed by any stretch of the imagination, but when I need her, she’s there.
3. My Matt
Just because he’s at # 3, doesn’t mean that my Matt is not important to me. Matt is one of the funniest people I know. People don’t get our relationship, and that’s perfectly fine. Sometimes I don’t even get it. Matt is one of the most difficult people I have ever had to deal with (no doubt he would say the same about me). He is distant. Sometimes he won’t answer you, and I sometimes wonder how he functions among us humans. However, I can’t say I’ve ever loved anyone more in my life. He is a wonderful father, and sometimes, if you look very closely, you can see how much he cares.
4. FOOD!!
I LOVE TO EAT!!! If you know me, you know how much I love to eat. This should almost be # 1.
5. FOOD OUT!!
Again, if you know me, you would also know that not only do I love to eat, I love to eat out. This is how Matt and I started dating in the first place (see # 3).
6. Going to law school
The joy I felt going to law school is hard to describe, and I’m so grateful that I had the opportunity to go.
7. Free from addiction
No, I’m not an addict or former addict (unless we’re talking nicotine and caffeine), but I’ve seen so many face addiction to drugs and alcohol, and I thank God with every fiber of my being that I am free.
8. My sanity
I also thank God that my brain works. I am thankful that I am able to wake up each morning and function. I am thankful that, while I find certain things to be completely aggravating, I am able to utilize self-control. In short, I am grateful for a brain that makes it possible for me to live independently.
9. Technology
While I feel it can be invasive, I am grateful for technology, because it can be used as a tool to help keep people honest. An example would be people using smart phones to record police brutality.
Obviously, I’m also grateful for other things that advances in technology enable us to do, but that’s what comes to mind for now.
10. My D&D game
I’m so sad I never did this before now.
11. That I can read
Besides loving to read books, I’m so grateful, because watching my daughter who can’t read makes me comprehend how disabling it would be if I couldn’t read.
12. My senses
Some of the things that bring me the most joy in my life depend on my senses working properly. I love looking at my children. I love to taste good food. I love to listen to music. I love to dance. I love to sing. None of this would be possible without the senses in my body working just right.
13. Choices
I’ve heard people argue that choices make people unhappy. I couldn’t disagree more. I am so grateful for choices. I am grateful for a world where I can make different choices based on my mood or how I’m feeling. I am grateful that the beauty of choices is seen in every facial characteristic, every leaf, and every building.
14. Recovering
I’m so grateful to God that I am recovering from my illness. I thought I was going to die, but, thankfully, I get to live another day and I’m no longer miserable.
15. My health
My recent illness has helped me to realize how much I take my health for granted. When I was sick, I felt so discouraged. I couldn’t enjoy things the way I normally do, and I felt so disconnected. I’m so grateful that I normally don’t have to deal with that, and I’m so sorry for people who do.
16. My dreams
You may say I dreamer or that I have ADHD (ha! get it?), but I’m glad for all of my dreams. I’m glad that what I want to do isn’t always practical. I’m glad that I’m in my thirties and I want to take up tap dancing, because, for me, this is the stuff that keeps my life interesting. This is the stuff that keeps me looking forward to a new day.
17. My enemies
The Bible says you should bless your enemies. This seems counterintuitive, but I think I get it, and I am grateful for them. I have come under attack at various points in my life, but what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger, and I refuse to harbor resentment and hate that will only hurt me more in the end. So, thank you enemies. You know who you are.
18. Working with great people
I’m so blessed to work with people that I like, and I’m grateful that my life has taken me down this new road.
19. My siblings
There is a special place in my heart for my sisters and my brother. We may not always get along, we may not always see each other, we may not always talk, but my life would still be incomplete without them.
20. Everyday blessings
I am grateful for the blessings that I see happen in my life on a daily basis. Each day is a new adventure, and each day I can find a blessing if I choose to see one.
21. My friends
Last, but not least, I am so thankful for the many great friends in my life. I have been blessed with so many good friends in my life, and at each point I have had someone there to help guide me, to laugh with me, and to see me through hard times. I am able to remember all those times and to look forward to even better ones thanks to all of you wonderful people.
Permalink: Super_challenge.html
Words: 1437
Last Modified: 10/14/14 11:55
10/13/14 04:50 - ID#59476
Journey to the Other Side?
I’m currently recovering from one of the most serious bouts of illness I have faced in my years on this earth, at least from what I can remember. I was unable to eat for five and a half days, and, even now, on the seventh day (of my illness), I am still extremely weak. The experience was a curious one, not only because at one point I seriously considered the possibility that I might die (or at least be seriously injured), but also because it seemed to take me into another world.
I once read a novel, Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norell. The story is set in 19th Century England and follows two magicians (you guessed it…Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norell). At one point in the story, Jonathan Strange is attempting to find this magic being that lives in the magic world. To do this, he ultimately has to take a potion that induces a sort of insanity. He does not lose his mind, but the experience leaves him with a darkness that was not there.
I couldn’t help thinking of this book while I lay in the emergency room at Sister’s Hospital, and since then, because this illness seemed to take me into some alternate universe. I say this, because what I saw and heard did not feel like delirium. I was able to open my eyes and see that what I was hearing and seeing wasn’t actually happening (in this “world”). This happened several times, but the first was at the hospital.
My room was like a normal hospital room, minus the outer wall- there was a large curtain in its place. There were no adjoining doors on the others walls of the room, and a window on the wall opposite the curtain. I laid in this room receiving fluids, and while I laid there I literally saw people come in my room that weren’t there, they lay things on the bedside table that weren’t there either, and had conversations that weren’t taking place. I saw a little sitting gallery where some children sat and others came to collect them from or sit there with them. Yet when I opened my eyes to sit up and look to see if there was at least an adjoining door there, there was none. There was only a wall. I wondered then, and a little now, whether I was seeing dead people. I must point out that I considered the possibility that I was distorting outside noises, but based on my observation, that was not that case.
At this point, you may be saying to yourself, “well, obviously you were dreaming…I mean you just said that your eyes were closed,” but it wasn’t like a dream. After living as long as I have, I know what a dream feels like. This was no dream.
When I got home later that night, I had a similar experience. However, this was more like dreaming, but it still felt other worldly. I was in my bed, but it didn’t feel like my bed. It felt like it took me to a different place (again some other reality or universe). This time I was in the desert participating in some social experiment where we argued over how to organize our new society. The men, one man in particular, was focused on fashioning a very large, imposing weapon, intended to encourage others to follow him. We debated the consequence of this strategy and others (yes, even in delirium/dreaming/alternate worlds/whatever I’m still arguing about these kinds of things).
My next encounter was brief and happened the next morning. I was lying in bed. I closed my eyes and was in a bed still, but this time the ceiling was extremely tall (like sky scraper tall) and the walls were extremely white. Standing above me, about as tall as the ceiling, was a metallic, robot-like, creature. It turned to walk away, and I asked (not really yelling either) whether it was “friend or foe.” It turned back towards me, bent down, and looked at me. Its head was large, metal. There was a little opening where I expected to see eyes, but, instead I saw brown dirty water sloshing around inside. The creature then stood back up and moved on.
I had another brief moment last night, but it was nothing worth describing. After my “encounters,” it makes me wonder if, like Jonathan Strange, once you’ve seen this other world, you are indelibly tainted. In other words, you may not be stuck there, but some part of you will always be attuned to it.
To my knowledge, I am not now nor have I ever been known to suffer from any mental illness, nor was I under the influence of any medication (other than non-hallucinogenic herbs) during my recovery.
I wonder if this is how John felt when he wrote Revelations.
I once read a novel, Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norell. The story is set in 19th Century England and follows two magicians (you guessed it…Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norell). At one point in the story, Jonathan Strange is attempting to find this magic being that lives in the magic world. To do this, he ultimately has to take a potion that induces a sort of insanity. He does not lose his mind, but the experience leaves him with a darkness that was not there.
I couldn’t help thinking of this book while I lay in the emergency room at Sister’s Hospital, and since then, because this illness seemed to take me into some alternate universe. I say this, because what I saw and heard did not feel like delirium. I was able to open my eyes and see that what I was hearing and seeing wasn’t actually happening (in this “world”). This happened several times, but the first was at the hospital.
My room was like a normal hospital room, minus the outer wall- there was a large curtain in its place. There were no adjoining doors on the others walls of the room, and a window on the wall opposite the curtain. I laid in this room receiving fluids, and while I laid there I literally saw people come in my room that weren’t there, they lay things on the bedside table that weren’t there either, and had conversations that weren’t taking place. I saw a little sitting gallery where some children sat and others came to collect them from or sit there with them. Yet when I opened my eyes to sit up and look to see if there was at least an adjoining door there, there was none. There was only a wall. I wondered then, and a little now, whether I was seeing dead people. I must point out that I considered the possibility that I was distorting outside noises, but based on my observation, that was not that case.
At this point, you may be saying to yourself, “well, obviously you were dreaming…I mean you just said that your eyes were closed,” but it wasn’t like a dream. After living as long as I have, I know what a dream feels like. This was no dream.
When I got home later that night, I had a similar experience. However, this was more like dreaming, but it still felt other worldly. I was in my bed, but it didn’t feel like my bed. It felt like it took me to a different place (again some other reality or universe). This time I was in the desert participating in some social experiment where we argued over how to organize our new society. The men, one man in particular, was focused on fashioning a very large, imposing weapon, intended to encourage others to follow him. We debated the consequence of this strategy and others (yes, even in delirium/dreaming/alternate worlds/whatever I’m still arguing about these kinds of things).
My next encounter was brief and happened the next morning. I was lying in bed. I closed my eyes and was in a bed still, but this time the ceiling was extremely tall (like sky scraper tall) and the walls were extremely white. Standing above me, about as tall as the ceiling, was a metallic, robot-like, creature. It turned to walk away, and I asked (not really yelling either) whether it was “friend or foe.” It turned back towards me, bent down, and looked at me. Its head was large, metal. There was a little opening where I expected to see eyes, but, instead I saw brown dirty water sloshing around inside. The creature then stood back up and moved on.
I had another brief moment last night, but it was nothing worth describing. After my “encounters,” it makes me wonder if, like Jonathan Strange, once you’ve seen this other world, you are indelibly tainted. In other words, you may not be stuck there, but some part of you will always be attuned to it.
To my knowledge, I am not now nor have I ever been known to suffer from any mental illness, nor was I under the influence of any medication (other than non-hallucinogenic herbs) during my recovery.
I wonder if this is how John felt when he wrote Revelations.
Permalink: Journey_to_the_Other_Side_.html
Words: 834
Last Modified: 10/13/14 04:50
Category: feminism
09/24/14 09:15 - ID#59408
The Joy of Cooking
Last Monday, my friends and I got together to make freezable dinners for a neighbor (actually their neighbor- I live in a different neighborhood). My friend Janelle had gathered us together on this mission, and, not too long before that, she had rallied the others to do the same thing for me. We were not gathered together for some freezable dinner of the month club, rather we were gathered together because the neighborhood woman is expecting within the month. I didn’t know this woman very well, but, nevertheless, I was thrilled to be there. This may seem strange to some, but it felt good to “pay it forward.” When I had my daughter, earlier this year, I was finishing my last year of law school. Those meals that my friends gathered together to make were a saving grace, because for a whole month I didn’t have to worry about what was for dinner.
While I was in my friend’s house cooking, it just hit me how great that moment was. It also hit me how cliché the moment seemed, at least at first glance. However, this moment was anything but cliché. We were all gathered together in one kitchen to cook, to drink beer, to talk about husbands, children, business, work, and a whole host of other topics. The sad thing is that I think, for some, moments like these are under appreciated. We live in a society that praises all these typical “male” characteristics of keeping our emotions to ourselves, not letting others get the upper hand, and maintaining a “kill or be killed” kind of attitude. Maybe those characteristics are overrated. Maybe we need to do better to appreciate more “feminine” characteristics like nurturing others, showing affection for others, and having a more cooperative attitude. Put another way, I think the true picture of feminism is not only that women can perform just as well as a man, but also that women don’t have to do things the same way that men do in order to prove that.
So, what am I saying exactly? Well let’s talk about what I’m not saying first. I’m not saying that women are just nurturing, hormonal, chocolate lovers, who love to be in the kitchen, and that women should focus on cooking meals instead of negotiating the sale of a business, etc. What I am saying is that, as women, we don’t have to be ashamed if we want to get together, talk, and cook a meal for the pregnant lady across the street so that her family can focus on more important things than dinner, and doing so does not mean that we can’t negotiate the sale of a business, etc.
So, thank you, Janelle. It was truly my pleasure.
While I was in my friend’s house cooking, it just hit me how great that moment was. It also hit me how cliché the moment seemed, at least at first glance. However, this moment was anything but cliché. We were all gathered together in one kitchen to cook, to drink beer, to talk about husbands, children, business, work, and a whole host of other topics. The sad thing is that I think, for some, moments like these are under appreciated. We live in a society that praises all these typical “male” characteristics of keeping our emotions to ourselves, not letting others get the upper hand, and maintaining a “kill or be killed” kind of attitude. Maybe those characteristics are overrated. Maybe we need to do better to appreciate more “feminine” characteristics like nurturing others, showing affection for others, and having a more cooperative attitude. Put another way, I think the true picture of feminism is not only that women can perform just as well as a man, but also that women don’t have to do things the same way that men do in order to prove that.
So, what am I saying exactly? Well let’s talk about what I’m not saying first. I’m not saying that women are just nurturing, hormonal, chocolate lovers, who love to be in the kitchen, and that women should focus on cooking meals instead of negotiating the sale of a business, etc. What I am saying is that, as women, we don’t have to be ashamed if we want to get together, talk, and cook a meal for the pregnant lady across the street so that her family can focus on more important things than dinner, and doing so does not mean that we can’t negotiate the sale of a business, etc.
So, thank you, Janelle. It was truly my pleasure.
Permalink: The_Joy_of_Cooking.html
Words: 470
Last Modified: 09/24/14 09:15
Category: civil rights
08/16/14 10:43 - ID#59307
10 Things Black People Can Do With Their Anger
Yet another unarmed, young black man has died in Ferguson, Missouri. We are, yet again, angered by the blatant disrespect for black life here in America. We are tired of the candlelight vigils, marches, etc. We are tired of the perpetrators vilifying the victims of these unwarranted killings. We are tired of being attacked and arrested. While this situation may seem hopeless and we may be powerless to control certain events, there are things that are within your control that you can do. More accurately, I’ve itemized two things you should not do and eight things you absolutely should do.
1. Violence is not the answer
First off, violence is usually never the answer. As someone said yesterday at the #BuffaloForFerguson vigil, there are examples all over the world (e.g. the Israeli-Palestinian conflict) as proof that violence does not work. Not only that, we have thousands of years of history (including the Bible) that demonstrates the same thing. If you needed any more reason than that, it should be your own freedom. The law is unforgiving, especially for People of Color, and if you break it, you are going to find yourself in prison somewhere serving some outrageous sentence, behind bars, with less control over your own body than you have now.
2. Dehumanizing others is also not the answer
Not only is violence not the answer, but neither is dehumanizing the police or any other person. If we do that, we’re no better than them. Just as not all black people are criminals, drug addicts, or any other stereo type, not all police are bad. One police officer in Buffalo lost her job for standing against a fellow officer. It’s important to remember that the issue here is more subtle than one of white supremacists vs. black people.
So, with that established, let’s look to what is a productive response.
3. Get organized
One of the biggest obstacles to making a true change is to get organized. The one percent, in addition to having lots of money, have been highly organized. They have strategically placed men and women in places of power who support their agenda. From that structure, they are able to get tax breaks and other benefits that the average person doesn’t get.
While you may not have the same kind of money, it is still possible to effectively mobilize. You cannot be complacent. Join a block club, create an organization, support each other, campaign, help support representatives that you know and are willing to support your interests, right letters to existing local and national representatives, peacefully protest, make sure the media is reporting on what you want to know about, and work together.
While this may be somewhat of a tall order in a world with fading inter-personal contact and a culture of fear, it is possible and necessary. You’ll notice that the rest of my suggestions depend heavily on this part being in working order.
4. Get educated
Know what your rights are. What you may intuitively think are your rights and what your actual rights are under the law can be two very different things. The ACLU and similar organizations have information that can give you a head start. Law review articles are thorough and give you a good background on the relevant law (you can try using Google Scholar for this). To go to the source of the law try Legal Information Institute for this or your local law library. Lawyers in the community, you can do your part to help. Get involved in an organization that offers legal advice to those who can’t afford it, and, if one doesn’t exist, create one yourselves.
5. Be a mindful consumer
One of the best ways to protest, is to boycott businesses that support the same structure that continues to oppress black people. If you live in a predominantly black, urban neighborhood, you probably have certain stores in your area that continually exploit the black community (e.g. rent-to-own stores, etc.). So, if that business is not helping your cause, don’t go there. This includes fast food restaurants that do more harm than good.
However, this is not the only thing you need to pay attention to. Be a mindful consumer of media. Don’t accept garbage news. Don’t accept music and movies that perpetuate harmful stereo types of black people. If necessary, get rid of your cable (it makes it easier to control the content coming in to your house). It may sound militant, but there are ways to entertain yourself that aren’t detrimental to the black community.
6. Create your own opportunities
Relatedly, if you’re finding it hard to find employment or business opportunities in your neighborhood, create them. This is especially important if your or someone you know is dealing with a prior conviction.
If you are fortunate to have money, then fund the people and businesses in your area that traditional banks won’t lend to.
On the consumer side of this, instead of supporting businesses that are harmful to your neighborhood, support locally owned businesses in your area.
7. Educate your children
With many inner-city schools failing, impossible economic conditions, and host of other issues, it’s hard to ensure that our children are receiving a proper education and that they’re being treated with respect from day one. We can organize to change the system (see item # 3), but while we are waiting for the system to change, we can use self-help measures. Home schooling is an option. The conservative right has been using this is as a tool for many years, and it has worked.
If you can’t do this yourself, try to find someone in your community who is willing to do this (again, see # 3).
If this is not an option, show up to school board meetings, talk to other parents, talk to the principal. In short, do whatever you can, no matter how small a step it may seem. '
8. Help debunk stereo types
Things like “Dear White People” and College Humor are working toward this goal, but you can do your part. Don’t fall into the trap of “acting black or white.” White people do not have a copyright on correct grammar, white collar professions, or country music. So be yourself and do what you have to do. Not happy with our first black President? Then become the next black President.
9. Be patient
It’s hard to encourage people to be patient at this stage of the game. After hundreds of years of oppression, this seems unimaginable, but we also have to realize that this type of lack of respect for black lives has been present since the very inception of this country (e.g. the Constitution only recognized slaves as 3/5 of a man). This state of mind was not helped by our government’s lack of enforcement of our civil rights (the first civil rights act was not passed until close to 100 years after slavery was outlawed and even then it was hardly what was needed).
In short, this is going to take time, but the good news is that we’ve been at this for a while now and each day that we stay strong and take positive steps forward is one more day toward progress.
10. Work your faith
With the news of Mike Brown’s murder, the many others before him, and the assault on peaceful protesters, I was feeling overwhelmed and discouraged, but I want to thank my Mom for reminding me that it is not by my might that this situation will be resolved (Isaiah 4:6). So, work your faith. Pray for peace. Pray for your enemies. Pray for the courage and strength to take what steps you can against the odds. And don’t just work your faith for yourself, encourage others in your community (again, see # 3). In my own life, this has been the most important step.
If you don’t believe in God, then tap into whatever resource you have to give you courage and strength during this battle.
1. Violence is not the answer
First off, violence is usually never the answer. As someone said yesterday at the #BuffaloForFerguson vigil, there are examples all over the world (e.g. the Israeli-Palestinian conflict) as proof that violence does not work. Not only that, we have thousands of years of history (including the Bible) that demonstrates the same thing. If you needed any more reason than that, it should be your own freedom. The law is unforgiving, especially for People of Color, and if you break it, you are going to find yourself in prison somewhere serving some outrageous sentence, behind bars, with less control over your own body than you have now.
2. Dehumanizing others is also not the answer
Not only is violence not the answer, but neither is dehumanizing the police or any other person. If we do that, we’re no better than them. Just as not all black people are criminals, drug addicts, or any other stereo type, not all police are bad. One police officer in Buffalo lost her job for standing against a fellow officer. It’s important to remember that the issue here is more subtle than one of white supremacists vs. black people.
So, with that established, let’s look to what is a productive response.
3. Get organized
One of the biggest obstacles to making a true change is to get organized. The one percent, in addition to having lots of money, have been highly organized. They have strategically placed men and women in places of power who support their agenda. From that structure, they are able to get tax breaks and other benefits that the average person doesn’t get.
While you may not have the same kind of money, it is still possible to effectively mobilize. You cannot be complacent. Join a block club, create an organization, support each other, campaign, help support representatives that you know and are willing to support your interests, right letters to existing local and national representatives, peacefully protest, make sure the media is reporting on what you want to know about, and work together.
While this may be somewhat of a tall order in a world with fading inter-personal contact and a culture of fear, it is possible and necessary. You’ll notice that the rest of my suggestions depend heavily on this part being in working order.
4. Get educated
Know what your rights are. What you may intuitively think are your rights and what your actual rights are under the law can be two very different things. The ACLU and similar organizations have information that can give you a head start. Law review articles are thorough and give you a good background on the relevant law (you can try using Google Scholar for this). To go to the source of the law try Legal Information Institute for this or your local law library. Lawyers in the community, you can do your part to help. Get involved in an organization that offers legal advice to those who can’t afford it, and, if one doesn’t exist, create one yourselves.
5. Be a mindful consumer
One of the best ways to protest, is to boycott businesses that support the same structure that continues to oppress black people. If you live in a predominantly black, urban neighborhood, you probably have certain stores in your area that continually exploit the black community (e.g. rent-to-own stores, etc.). So, if that business is not helping your cause, don’t go there. This includes fast food restaurants that do more harm than good.
However, this is not the only thing you need to pay attention to. Be a mindful consumer of media. Don’t accept garbage news. Don’t accept music and movies that perpetuate harmful stereo types of black people. If necessary, get rid of your cable (it makes it easier to control the content coming in to your house). It may sound militant, but there are ways to entertain yourself that aren’t detrimental to the black community.
6. Create your own opportunities
Relatedly, if you’re finding it hard to find employment or business opportunities in your neighborhood, create them. This is especially important if your or someone you know is dealing with a prior conviction.
If you are fortunate to have money, then fund the people and businesses in your area that traditional banks won’t lend to.
On the consumer side of this, instead of supporting businesses that are harmful to your neighborhood, support locally owned businesses in your area.
7. Educate your children
With many inner-city schools failing, impossible economic conditions, and host of other issues, it’s hard to ensure that our children are receiving a proper education and that they’re being treated with respect from day one. We can organize to change the system (see item # 3), but while we are waiting for the system to change, we can use self-help measures. Home schooling is an option. The conservative right has been using this is as a tool for many years, and it has worked.
If you can’t do this yourself, try to find someone in your community who is willing to do this (again, see # 3).
If this is not an option, show up to school board meetings, talk to other parents, talk to the principal. In short, do whatever you can, no matter how small a step it may seem. '
8. Help debunk stereo types
Things like “Dear White People” and College Humor are working toward this goal, but you can do your part. Don’t fall into the trap of “acting black or white.” White people do not have a copyright on correct grammar, white collar professions, or country music. So be yourself and do what you have to do. Not happy with our first black President? Then become the next black President.
9. Be patient
It’s hard to encourage people to be patient at this stage of the game. After hundreds of years of oppression, this seems unimaginable, but we also have to realize that this type of lack of respect for black lives has been present since the very inception of this country (e.g. the Constitution only recognized slaves as 3/5 of a man). This state of mind was not helped by our government’s lack of enforcement of our civil rights (the first civil rights act was not passed until close to 100 years after slavery was outlawed and even then it was hardly what was needed).
In short, this is going to take time, but the good news is that we’ve been at this for a while now and each day that we stay strong and take positive steps forward is one more day toward progress.
10. Work your faith
With the news of Mike Brown’s murder, the many others before him, and the assault on peaceful protesters, I was feeling overwhelmed and discouraged, but I want to thank my Mom for reminding me that it is not by my might that this situation will be resolved (Isaiah 4:6). So, work your faith. Pray for peace. Pray for your enemies. Pray for the courage and strength to take what steps you can against the odds. And don’t just work your faith for yourself, encourage others in your community (again, see # 3). In my own life, this has been the most important step.
If you don’t believe in God, then tap into whatever resource you have to give you courage and strength during this battle.
Permalink: 10_Things_Black_People_Can_Do_With_Their_Anger.html
Words: 1353
Last Modified: 08/16/14 10:43
Category: feminism
02/21/14 09:44 - ID#58714
Thoughts on Mrs. Jellyby
So, I've been reading Dickens' "Bleak House" lately and made it to chapter four where the reader is introduced to Mrs. Jellyby.
Mrs. Jellyby is a philanthropist whose latest project involves coffee cultivation in Africa that is meant to be for the ultimate good of the natives as well as those who have settled there. Mrs. Jellyby is described as a woman of "remarkable strength of character" by Mr. Kenge before the main character reaches her house to find many young children, dirty, with one who has gotten his head stuck between two iron railings. After the main character helps this boy out, they are led upstairs to meet Mrs. Jellyby, and as they are going up they hear another little Jellyby falling down the stairs. They are introduced to Mrs. Jellyby, who is not at all bothered by the sound of one of her children falling down the stairs. She is described as having eyes that have a "curious habit of seeming to look a long way off...as if...they could see nothing nearer than Africa." She is extremely unkempt, her house is a wreck (with the curtains in one of the rooms being fastened with a fork), she has relegated her eldest daughter to do nothing but dictate letters on her African project, and her husband is an inconsequential man who doesn't say anything and fades into the background. In short, she has focused her efforts on everything else but her home.
When I was reading this, I couldn't help but wonder if I was a Mrs. Jellyby. It made me wonder whether I have sacrificed too much on the domestic side of things in order to focus on my passions. I'll openly admit that I have an "I want to save the world" complex, and this is a long running between me and Matt at home. I'll also openly admit that domestic tasks are not my first priority, but I can't go so far as to say that's a fault. Do I think Mrs. Jellyby is right to ignore her children and the house around her to the degree she does? No. But, my answer would be the same if this were Mr. Jellyby we were talking about. Further, it's my opinion that men who sacrifice everything in their home life, even if they leave it to their significant other to pick up the pieces, are no better (but there hasn't been much criticism about that form of neglect).
I think that it's good to have passion, and to stand up for what you believe in. I think there is more to life for women than cleaning up and taking care of children. I think that children are better off when they have a strong female model that has passions but also is there to be a guide, and I don't believe women have to choose between having a career and having children.
As for Dickens' Mr. Jellyby, the book seems to paint him as a victim of his wife's disinterest in her house, but I can't agree there either. He has a responsibility not to sit idly by if he is so miserable. If your wife isn't good at taking care of kids, don't have so many, get a nanny, or do it yourself!! If you don't like that your household is a mess, than get off your ass and clean it. Yes, I said it. Men, you can get up and clean your household if it's not as clean as you would like it. Allowing yourself to become nothing but an afterthought is no one's fault but your own. I have no patience for this theory that strong women=neutered men.
Why am I ranting about Dickens' views on feminism as illustrated in an 1852 novel? I'm ranting because this line of thinking is still prevalent today. How many times must we hear about how things are so horrible today because women have gone to work? There are lots of things, other than the rise of feminism, that can be attributed to that.
So, while I may be like Mrs. Jellyby in some respects, I know that I've done my best to balance my home life with my other passions, responsibilities, etc., and I will not feel guilty about my choices simply because I am a woman.
Mrs. Jellyby is a philanthropist whose latest project involves coffee cultivation in Africa that is meant to be for the ultimate good of the natives as well as those who have settled there. Mrs. Jellyby is described as a woman of "remarkable strength of character" by Mr. Kenge before the main character reaches her house to find many young children, dirty, with one who has gotten his head stuck between two iron railings. After the main character helps this boy out, they are led upstairs to meet Mrs. Jellyby, and as they are going up they hear another little Jellyby falling down the stairs. They are introduced to Mrs. Jellyby, who is not at all bothered by the sound of one of her children falling down the stairs. She is described as having eyes that have a "curious habit of seeming to look a long way off...as if...they could see nothing nearer than Africa." She is extremely unkempt, her house is a wreck (with the curtains in one of the rooms being fastened with a fork), she has relegated her eldest daughter to do nothing but dictate letters on her African project, and her husband is an inconsequential man who doesn't say anything and fades into the background. In short, she has focused her efforts on everything else but her home.
When I was reading this, I couldn't help but wonder if I was a Mrs. Jellyby. It made me wonder whether I have sacrificed too much on the domestic side of things in order to focus on my passions. I'll openly admit that I have an "I want to save the world" complex, and this is a long running between me and Matt at home. I'll also openly admit that domestic tasks are not my first priority, but I can't go so far as to say that's a fault. Do I think Mrs. Jellyby is right to ignore her children and the house around her to the degree she does? No. But, my answer would be the same if this were Mr. Jellyby we were talking about. Further, it's my opinion that men who sacrifice everything in their home life, even if they leave it to their significant other to pick up the pieces, are no better (but there hasn't been much criticism about that form of neglect).
I think that it's good to have passion, and to stand up for what you believe in. I think there is more to life for women than cleaning up and taking care of children. I think that children are better off when they have a strong female model that has passions but also is there to be a guide, and I don't believe women have to choose between having a career and having children.
As for Dickens' Mr. Jellyby, the book seems to paint him as a victim of his wife's disinterest in her house, but I can't agree there either. He has a responsibility not to sit idly by if he is so miserable. If your wife isn't good at taking care of kids, don't have so many, get a nanny, or do it yourself!! If you don't like that your household is a mess, than get off your ass and clean it. Yes, I said it. Men, you can get up and clean your household if it's not as clean as you would like it. Allowing yourself to become nothing but an afterthought is no one's fault but your own. I have no patience for this theory that strong women=neutered men.
Why am I ranting about Dickens' views on feminism as illustrated in an 1852 novel? I'm ranting because this line of thinking is still prevalent today. How many times must we hear about how things are so horrible today because women have gone to work? There are lots of things, other than the rise of feminism, that can be attributed to that.
So, while I may be like Mrs. Jellyby in some respects, I know that I've done my best to balance my home life with my other passions, responsibilities, etc., and I will not feel guilty about my choices simply because I am a woman.
Permalink: Thoughts_on_Mrs_Jellyby.html
Words: 722
Last Modified: 02/21/14 09:44
Category: firsts
02/25/13 05:53 - ID#57290
Officially Quoted
I was quoted in the UB school newspaper earlier this month on my experience visiting prisons.
Permalink: Officially_Quoted.html
Words: 25
Last Modified: 02/25/13 05:53
Category: life
02/18/13 09:31 - ID#57262
Life is F****** Hard
Things have been really rough lately. To top things off I spoke to my sister, who is not doing well. She can't find a decent job, is behind on her rent, and feels like giving up. She also has been sick and she said the doctor's found a lump. I don't know what I would ever do if I lost my sister, and this scares the crap out of me. I told her to consider moving up here. I really wish my family wasn't so spread out.
Permalink: Life_is_F_Hard.html
Words: 91
Last Modified: 02/18/13 09:31
Category: law school
01/17/13 10:18 - ID#57143
Down and Out
Well I've had a really crappy few days. I am officially crashing and I can't seem to get anything meaningful done. I also think that I'm starting to come down with the sickness that's been going around my household for the past week (another obstacle that's been in my way). To top it all off I feel extremely guilty because it's not as if I'm simply on break and my stagnant behavior effects no one. I'm supposed to be helping to finish this research project that I'm helping on, and I just feel frozen. Not fun. On the upside, I'm back into practicing my Spanish. :)
P.S. I did take that tour of Albion and I plan to write about my experience. Much different. Also, I'll be doing the Prison Task Force this semester, and I get to teach legal research and writing to prisoners at Wende. So psyched.
P.S. I did take that tour of Albion and I plan to write about my experience. Much different. Also, I'll be doing the Prison Task Force this semester, and I get to teach legal research and writing to prisoners at Wende. So psyched.
Permalink: Down_and_Out.html
Words: 152
Last Modified: 01/17/13 10:18
Author Info
Category Cloud
- User must have at least 3 blogs in one category for categories list to show.
hiking recovery 
Hummus ? 
Nephew's Art 
Spring Feelz 
Hello hello 
moz://a
But as someone who hold existentialism & Nihilism dear to their heart, I just embrace the fact that life is absurd.