While I am heartened by the election of a black president, arguably the most powerful person in the world, I don’t believe for one second that we are a “post-racial” society. Last night, I listened to a convenience store clerk rant about the “Black House” and speculate that, instead of an Easter egg roll, they’d be having a watermelon roll followed by a chittlin’ dinner.
The clerk obviously hadn’t seen any menus that have been published for State events. They’re impeccable and don’t include any digestive tract organs. He should be so lucky to eat so well.
That the President’s wife is planting a garden with 55 varieties of veggies, fruit and herbs, including arugula and Thai basil, 10 types of lettuce and a berry patch somehow escaped him. That the President himself is highly educated and has never lived in the South or Texas (two totally different places) and has a taste for haute cuisine also escaped him.
The man who was ranting is obviously unhappy and needs someone to blame on a fundamental level. His life went wrong at some point, so now he’s old and bitter. And it’s always easier to assign blame than to accept responsibility for the life one creates when that life doesn’t pan out as expected.
While I can share his frustrations, I cannot share his opinions.
My life has taken me places I didn’t expect. Some of them have been good and others not so much, but the destinations I’ve arrived at have been largely because of my own actions. It’s not the government’s fault or anyone else’s, other than my own.
I cannot demonize the President for the results of things I did long before he was even a Senator any more than I can assume his race matters one little bit. When I voted, I did not vote for a “person of color”. I voted for a person.
Until descriptions like “person of color” or even “African-American” become meaningless, we will not be in a “post-racial” society. Until they’re used simply to describe someone’s appearance without any tinge of implying character or assuming behavior, we won’t be there.
These are difficult times, and we all look for villains to blame for our particular difficulties. Whether it’s a bigoted clerk or someone calling for the heads of AIG on a platter (literally), we’re displacing blame. The blame rests squarely on our collective shoulders; we let this happen, and it’s our fault.
Democracy requires engagement of the people, and as a people, we don’t tend to get very engaged until it hits us in the pocket book. By that time it’s usually too late.
Now we’re playing the blame game. It’s everyone’s fault except our own.
When blame comes up, so does race. And/or religion. It’s always the blacks or the Hispanics or the Catholics or the Jews that are responsible. It’s never us.
As long as scapegoats are necessary, we won’t live in a post-racial society. Inbred bigotry will prevail.
Stereotypes are hard to kill and only die with the people who believe them. So until we have an elderly generation that believes that there’s more to a person than the color of their skin or the god they worship, we won’t be post-racial.
That’s a long, long road ahead.
28 March 2009
22 March 2009
Crush
I don’t usually pay much attention to First Ladies: they all have their pet projects that end up sounding like elitist Junior League attempts to seem compassionate and relevant.While I applaud Laura Bush’s advocacy of reading and literacy, I’m not sure how much good she did or what she actually accomplished. It's one thing to talk about reading, but it's entirely another to convince you husband to spend money to advance your cause.
The only other ex-First Lady’s agenda I can remember is Betty Ford. And she didn’t come out about substance abuse until she was no longer a First Lady. A brave move on her part that I heartily applaud.
Nancy Reagan wore expensive clothes, defended her husband and ignored her children, a pattern that was long-established. She was a bulldog disguised as a fashion accessory.
Hillary Clinton learned that pant suits work best for her and had “It Takes a Village”, but she never really seemed that interested in family life. Politics was always her first love.
Michelle Obama intrigues me, though.
She doesn’t have to defend her husband, and she mixes designer clothes with “off-the-rack”. And as far I can tell, she has no political ambitions. Other than advancing the cause of helping families, military and otherwise.
She has excellent credentials, both as an attorney and an executive, but she doesn’t ever bring that up.
She lovingly mocks her husband—the President—on national TV, and he sits back and grins in a way that says “See why I married her?”
She moved her mother into the White House to help with the kids.
And it was her mother who was sitting by the President when the election was called in his favor.
She was taking care of the kids.
Now she’s planting a vegetable garden on the White House lawn for the first time since Eleanor Roosevelt’s victory garden.
Mrs. Obama’s is a victory garden of a whole other sort. She’s fighting the war on obesity. Reminding people what good food tastes like. The kind I had when I was a kid. The kind I still seek out where I can find.
She’s also fighting a war for families, leading by example. Children need stability and always have. Even the children of Presidents. And it’s clear that the children come first for her.
She was a reluctant First Lady, but she campaigned for her husband, nevertheless. And now that she is, she intends to leverage her position in a way that no First Lady has done in my lifetime.
She talks about real issues that face families every day. And then sets an example for others to follow.
Talk about grace under pressure. She’s got it all.
I have a secret crush on her. I hope the President doesn't mind, but he shouldn't feel threatened by a middle-aged man who is patently gay.
I know why Mr. Obama grins like the cat that swallowed the canary when she ribs him a little.
He’s got it all. And he knows it.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Read more:
NY Green Living Examiner: The White House Kitchen Garden and the power of symbolism
Posted using ShareThis
____________________________________________________________________
07 March 2009
It's the Economy, Stupid
I've been participating in an ongoing survey from PoliticsHome.com for the last several weeks. The idea is to ask a few questions and garner a snapshot of what inoformed individuals have on their minds. It's a noble undertaking, and I never let an opportunity to be mouthy pass.
But today's poll boggles my mind:
06.03.09 Jury Panel Survey
Out of the following list of topics that dominated this week's news, which did you find most interesting? (Please select up to three)
This was my response:
"The most interesting story of the week is the economy. GM traded briefly at the same level as 1933 and closed 47 cents over that. Citigroup is trading for a dollar or so. Bank of America is under three dollars and facing investigations over its acquisition of Merrill. AIG is flirting with bankruptcy since it can't find buyers for its profitable assets. Unemployment hit 8.1%. The Dow is worth about half of what it was a year ago (as is my 401k).
"It's the economy, stupid."
Why they missed that story befuddles me.
Maybe they think that people have had too much economic gloom and doom to care any more. But since people usually vote with their pocket-books, I don't know where they got that idea.
If you can't count on the liberal press to put out relevant questions, who's left? FOX News?
We all have death-and-disaster and bailout-fatigue. But the stories can't be ignored. The questions they didn't ask about will determine the lives of millions of people. Those are the questions that matter right now.
Battle-fatigued or not, we have no choice but to soldier on. And ignoring that as a major news story that was the "most interesting" indicates a total lack of connection with reality.
I'm most interested in whether or not my company will survive, whether or not I'm going to be reduced to unemployment payments and food stamps, and whether or not my retirement money will ever be worth what I've paid for.
That's the most interesting story of the week.
How they missed it, I don't know.
But today's poll boggles my mind:
06.03.09 Jury Panel Survey
Out of the following list of topics that dominated this week's news, which did you find most interesting? (Please select up to three)
- US reached out to Russia
- NFL players Marquis Cooper and Corey Smith went missing, and are presumed dead, after their fishing vessel capsized off the coast of Florida
- Chris Brown charged with two felony counts in alleged assault on girlfriend Rihanna
- Secretary Clinton visited the Middle East and Europe
- British Prime Minister met president in Washington and addressed both houses of Congress
- International Criminal Court issued arrest warrant for Sudan’s President Omar al-Bashir for war crimes
- Democrats and Republicans sparred over Rush Limbaugh and his role
- Congress debated $410 billion spending bill over earmarks
- President Obama began process of healthcare reform
- Economy: unemployment reached 8.1%; Dow fell below 7,000
- Sri Lankan cricket team attacked in Pakistan
- CA Supreme Court heard arguments for and against Proposition 8 in legal case
This was my response:
"The most interesting story of the week is the economy. GM traded briefly at the same level as 1933 and closed 47 cents over that. Citigroup is trading for a dollar or so. Bank of America is under three dollars and facing investigations over its acquisition of Merrill. AIG is flirting with bankruptcy since it can't find buyers for its profitable assets. Unemployment hit 8.1%. The Dow is worth about half of what it was a year ago (as is my 401k).
"It's the economy, stupid."
Why they missed that story befuddles me.
Maybe they think that people have had too much economic gloom and doom to care any more. But since people usually vote with their pocket-books, I don't know where they got that idea.
If you can't count on the liberal press to put out relevant questions, who's left? FOX News?
We all have death-and-disaster and bailout-fatigue. But the stories can't be ignored. The questions they didn't ask about will determine the lives of millions of people. Those are the questions that matter right now.
Battle-fatigued or not, we have no choice but to soldier on. And ignoring that as a major news story that was the "most interesting" indicates a total lack of connection with reality.
I'm most interested in whether or not my company will survive, whether or not I'm going to be reduced to unemployment payments and food stamps, and whether or not my retirement money will ever be worth what I've paid for.
That's the most interesting story of the week.
How they missed it, I don't know.
03 March 2009
Boy in the Bubble
I got an email today from an old grad school friend. How she found me, I have no idea. I Googled myself down to city and state, only to learn that someone who posted something on the Obama blog shares my name.
I know there are at least two of us in town, because someone’s daft grandmother sent me her grandson’s wedding present a couple of years ago. Don’t know where she found the address, but Jeff and Courtney don’t live here.
She called a year or so ago, still under the impression that I was her grandson, and I told her she had the wrong address and phone number. Also, I told her I still had the wedding present taking up space in the guest room closet.
She assured me that she would have the real people contact me (not sure how that’s possible since she doesn’t have the right address or phone number) and retrieve their box. After another year, I donated it to charity.
(We had a garage sale at work to raise money to provide hardcore homeless people that won’t seek assistance at shelter blankets, socks and gloves. I didn’t need fancy napkins or a table cloth that would stain horribly from something as basic as an iced tea glass.)
I don’t know how Ginger (my old friend) found me, but I’m glad she did. Other than hospital waiting rooms and bed-side visits, grad school was about the most intense thing I’ve ever done. And I miss the people I shared it with.
We all went our separate ways afterwards; we’re scattered all across the country. Most of them, I wouldn’t really want to see or talk to. I didn’t much like them then, and I probably wouldn’t like them any better now.
Grad school taught me that, with a few exceptions, I really don’t like academic types.
I did not pursue academia because it seemed to me an insular, closed world that had little to do with the realities of life. It’s also full of smug, intellectual wanna-be’s who wouldn’t know an original idea or a fresh thought if it bitch-slapped them.
Still, my years there were priceless. I wouldn’t trade them for anything. My friends and I were all in the same boat, and we made a boat-sized community among ourselves. We worked, and we talked. We created something out of nothing.
I miss that sense of community sometimes. Often, actually. The sort of informal cooperative where we passed papers around and asked for constructive criticism. Where one person’s strength saw another’s weakness. The honest and open collaboration of colleagues.
I’m not sure that exists anywhere outside the bubble of academia. But I couldn’t then, nor can I now, live in any bubble.
I’ve spent my life trying to learn how to live honestly and authentically. To be the person I really am: To be comfortable in my own skin.
That hasn’t always been easy. The “living-in-my-skin” part, that is.
I was estranged from my family for the better part of a decade, but not being honest about who I was and who I am was eating me from the inside out. I couldn’t do it any more. Not, and sleep at night.
The estrangement wasn’t my choice, but I knew I was finally being honest. Living authentically for the first time in my life.
The estrangement ended in a hospital waiting room in Memphis, TN in July 07. Daddy was in the CCU dieing. Mama turned to me said, “I’ve learned some things just don’t matter.” And I knew what she was talking about.
In a few simple words, she burst the bubble that had kept us apart for far too long. That I was her son had become suddenly much more important than whom I crawl into bed with at night.
I didn’t have any use for bubbles back then, and have even less for them now. They divide instead of unify. They label those outside them as “other” rather than as human beings. They objectify and do nothing to promote the common good.
And I don't have time for that.
I know there are at least two of us in town, because someone’s daft grandmother sent me her grandson’s wedding present a couple of years ago. Don’t know where she found the address, but Jeff and Courtney don’t live here.
She called a year or so ago, still under the impression that I was her grandson, and I told her she had the wrong address and phone number. Also, I told her I still had the wedding present taking up space in the guest room closet.
She assured me that she would have the real people contact me (not sure how that’s possible since she doesn’t have the right address or phone number) and retrieve their box. After another year, I donated it to charity.
(We had a garage sale at work to raise money to provide hardcore homeless people that won’t seek assistance at shelter blankets, socks and gloves. I didn’t need fancy napkins or a table cloth that would stain horribly from something as basic as an iced tea glass.)
I don’t know how Ginger (my old friend) found me, but I’m glad she did. Other than hospital waiting rooms and bed-side visits, grad school was about the most intense thing I’ve ever done. And I miss the people I shared it with.
We all went our separate ways afterwards; we’re scattered all across the country. Most of them, I wouldn’t really want to see or talk to. I didn’t much like them then, and I probably wouldn’t like them any better now.
Grad school taught me that, with a few exceptions, I really don’t like academic types.
I did not pursue academia because it seemed to me an insular, closed world that had little to do with the realities of life. It’s also full of smug, intellectual wanna-be’s who wouldn’t know an original idea or a fresh thought if it bitch-slapped them.
Still, my years there were priceless. I wouldn’t trade them for anything. My friends and I were all in the same boat, and we made a boat-sized community among ourselves. We worked, and we talked. We created something out of nothing.
I miss that sense of community sometimes. Often, actually. The sort of informal cooperative where we passed papers around and asked for constructive criticism. Where one person’s strength saw another’s weakness. The honest and open collaboration of colleagues.
I’m not sure that exists anywhere outside the bubble of academia. But I couldn’t then, nor can I now, live in any bubble.
I’ve spent my life trying to learn how to live honestly and authentically. To be the person I really am: To be comfortable in my own skin.
That hasn’t always been easy. The “living-in-my-skin” part, that is.
I was estranged from my family for the better part of a decade, but not being honest about who I was and who I am was eating me from the inside out. I couldn’t do it any more. Not, and sleep at night.
The estrangement wasn’t my choice, but I knew I was finally being honest. Living authentically for the first time in my life.
The estrangement ended in a hospital waiting room in Memphis, TN in July 07. Daddy was in the CCU dieing. Mama turned to me said, “I’ve learned some things just don’t matter.” And I knew what she was talking about.
In a few simple words, she burst the bubble that had kept us apart for far too long. That I was her son had become suddenly much more important than whom I crawl into bed with at night.
I didn’t have any use for bubbles back then, and have even less for them now. They divide instead of unify. They label those outside them as “other” rather than as human beings. They objectify and do nothing to promote the common good.
And I don't have time for that.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)