Three Years On

Three years ago, a boy was killed. For no good reason, but for a lot of bad ones. He was murdered and left to bake in the August sun. And after his murder, a lot of people worked hard — and are still working hard — to convince anyone who’d listen that his death was his own fault. After all, they said, he wasn’t a good person anyway. And, they said, the man who murdered him — despite that man’s training, despite his holding all the power in that encounter — should be both lauded and pitied for making it through the ordeal of killing the boy. We should, they said, understand how afraid he must have been as he stood armed with a deadly weapon facing a child.

Three years ago, that boy’s murder was the next in a long line of murders, a long line of dead folks we were instructed to blame for their deaths at the hands of more powerful, deadly people. Dead folks like the seven-year-old girl who had the audacity to be sound asleep when she was shot to death. Dead folks like the the 22-year-old man who thought he had the right to shop for toys in a department store. Dead folks like the 22-year-old woman who seemed unaware that hanging out with friends in a local park was a capital offense. The boy murdered three years ago today was one more in a long, long line. Just one more.

But not just one more. A tipping point. Somehow that boy, that murder, that moment. Changed everything.

Changed everything. Not just for me, but definitely for me. I had spent years being sad and sadder and sadder still. Years waiting for an end to the killing of Black folks by police and their surrogates. Years waiting for killers to be held accountable, to be punished. Years, being sad and sadder and sadder still. Years feasting on disgust, disappointment, despair.

And then Michael Brown was murdered. And my despair turn to rage. And I embraced that rage, and gorged on that rage, and nurtured and listened to and learned from that rage. And I have never been the same.

And I am not alone. Brown’s murder didn’t only spark me. It birthed the Movement for Black Lives, our new Civil Rights Movement. A movement that has grown and continues to grow. A movement that has forced and sustained a focus on this country’s forever-inability to honestly face, acknowledge and dismantle racism.

***

Michael Brown should be prepping for his senior year in college. Should be finishing up the last days or weeks of that summer internship or study-abroad program he was so happy to get into. Should be texting with his mom about whether she’ll have time to run him by the back-to-school sale at Target so he can stock up on notebooks and his favorite Pilot gel pens. Should be thinking about the fact that his favorite professor will be back on campus after a year’s sabbatical. Should be hoping his course load and schedule will leave room for him to work part time at the campus library.

Instead, he is dead.

Instead, he is dead.

Instead, he is dead.

***

But we are not dead. Not yet.

We are still here, and we are still angry, and we are still committed to this fight. These three years have not been kind to us. But we are still here. And we aren’t going anywhere. We aren’t sitting down. We aren’t shutting up.

Today is a sad anniversary, but it is also a thank you. To one boy whose loss helped so many of us find our voices, find our way, find one another.

Rest in Power, Michael. We carry on.

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I’m following Vanessa Mártir‘s lead, she launched #52essays2017 after writing an essay a week in 2016 … and then deciding to keep going.
I’m months behind on my #GriotGrind, but I’m determined to catch up, to write 52 essays by year’s end.

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Randomization Done Right(er?)

A day or so after I hearing the Invisibilia piece that inspired my post about Max Hawkins and his life-randomizing nonsense I saw a kindness.org video of a guy named Joe. Joe has a few things in common with Max. Both are young men, both have floppy hair, both have beards and mustaches, both are slender (though Joe looks a bit more muscular than Max), both are cute (though Joe is more straight-up, conventionally cute as opposed to Max and his nerdboy appeal). There are differences, of course. Max is bespectacled, Joe isn’t. Max is white, Joe is Black.

They share an interest in upending the way they approach human interaction, an interest in bringing more strangers into their lives.

But when I watched Joe’s video, I was left with none of the feelings I had after hearing the NPR piece on Max. Joe’s random acts of service or kindness are putting him in contact with a number of strangers, all kinds of strangers, strangers Max’s apps would never find. Joe is sharing time with some of these people — sometimes only a moment, but other times longer. He is broadening his world, randomizing his life. So why is he not annoying and upsetting me the way Max does?

Well, of course, it’s because he’s not stalking people’s private events and gate-crashing their parties. Of course it’s because he isn’t starting FB groups that encourage other people to disregard folks’ privacy. Of course it’s because he isn’t creating apps that will help abusive husbands and stalker boyfriends and fatal attraction girlfriends and thieves track people’s whereabouts. Of course.

But it’s more than that. It’s “other” than that. It’s the mindset behind Joe’s actions. One of the things that really angered me about Max’s story was his entitlement, his confidence in his right to invade other people’s spaces, his sense that — because he was bored and looking for new and fun things to do — it was okay for him to stride into someone else’s life and make himself at home.

There’s none of that with Joe. Joe’s motivation is to show some human kindness and maybe meet some nice people in the bargain. He approaches strangers and offers himself to them. There’s no sense of his feeling entitled to their time and attention, no inviting himself into their private parties and gatherings.

And he backs away when his offers are rejected. I’m sure Max would do the same if people didn’t welcome him in — he does seem like a nice guy, after all — but the NPR piece gives the impression that he was welcomed everywhere he went, so I’ll just have to have faith that he would have backed off.

In the video, we see a few instances of people rejecting Joe’s offer. A couple in a park can’t think of anything they need. An older woman doesn’t need help with her bags. And we see two women who don’t want to be approached by a man they don’t know.

Joe doesn’t annoy me. He charms me. He makes me wish I was on the street in London being approached by him. I don’t actually need any help, but maybe I’d ask him for directions or a recommendation of someplace nice to go for dinner. Something. Whereas I would close my door in Max’s face.

I want Joe and Max to meet. I want them to talk about their approaches to strangers and randomizing their lives. Would Max be able to see enough of the difference in what they’re doing, the ways that Joe offering himself up to strangers isn’t grounded in what Joe can get from the experience?

Because that’s a thing that speaks to me in these stories. Max’s plans began with his desire to do something for himself, his desire to make his life more interesting, to broaden the focus of his lens. It’s likely that the people who welcome Max into their events and their homes get something from the encounter, from Max. Of course. Imagining that is simple because Max seems likable and interesting. The fact of his random appearance at an event, at a dinner table, would automatically make for lively conversation. So the people whose space Max invades get something in the deal. Yes, but the primary focus of that transaction is Max, the transaction happens for his benefit.

I imagine Joe gets quite a lot from his interactions. And surely a good part of his decision to do this experiment is to feel good about himself, as one of the women in the video says. But it’s more than that. He was inspired because of a friend’s birthday and wanting to honor that day, celebrate the way he valued that person. Notice how there’s nothing in there about what he needs, what he’ll get

I’m not trying to paint Joe as selfless and saintly. He seems like a regular guy, not perfect, not awful. He seems like a kind, gentle man. And he seems like a person who’s able to see beyond himself more clearly than Max can. And his ability to see beyond himself makes all the difference, is a large part of what makes his story endearing while Max’s mostly just pisses me off.

There are more layers to this — as to all things. Seeing Joe’s video made me think about what it means that it’s men in both cases. Are there videos of women running around putting themselves in the hands of strangers? I want to hope there are, though I haven’t found one yet. Because a woman doing this would be different — for her and for the people with whom she interacted. Maleness is something Max and Joe share, and neither man calls attention to or in any way makes clear his awareness of the freedom, the privilege, that comes along with that maleness.

Both present as men. The way men are seen by strangers varies depending on the man. There’s no indication in the Invisibilia piece that Max ran into any negative responses to his maleness. With Joe, however, there are two instances in which young women reject his offer — or attempt to offer. In both instances, it’s easy to imagine that those women are reacting to the discomfort of having a strange man walk up and start asking something.

But then we add race. Would either of those young women who fast-walk away from Joe have paused to hear Max out? Would the woman who tells Joe she’s fine with her bags have accepted Max’s offer of help? It’s impossible to know, of course, but the question sits heavy for me.

Race aside, I’m still thinking about how Joe and Max navigate the response — or potential response — to maleness. We see two young woman give Joe the brush off. In the second instance in particular, we see Joe do a quick about-face away from her. Something in his quickness spoke to me … of his awareness of and respect for her space and feelings.

And I know I said “race aside,” but that about-face also spoke to me of Joe’s awareness of others’ perceptions of and responses to him as a Black man. Where Max, for all that he and Joe share many physical characteristics, might be perceived as harmless, Joe is more likely to be perceived as a threat.

Which isn’t Max’s fault, and isn’t something he necessarily needs to take into account when he makes decisions about approaching strangers. I think we’re meant to assume this is the privilege we’re told Max acknowledges, but there was nothing in the piece to show that awareness. Inherent bias isn’t Max’s fault, but Joe’s about-face — his need to be aware of bias in ways that Max will likely never have to be aware — spoke loudly to me.

In the end, what’s true is that I like Joe and find his video heartwarming. I like Joe. I like that he reaches out to both children and adults. I like his English accent. I like that he’s a pretty brown man with locs and facial hair (my most favorite kind of pretty men!).

Naturally, I wonder if I’m partial to Joe because he’s a pretty brown man with locs and facial hair. I probably am. I am aware of my preferences, my biases. But I’m also able to see them and try to think past them. Beyond Joe’s sweet face and charming accent, I like how invested he is in thinking about his relationships with others — the people who are his friends and people he doesn’t know. I like that he seems aware of the space he takes up, and that he wants to be intentional about how he takes that space.

The differences between Max and Joe are stark in my eyes. And the two men play interestingly off one another in my head. Without Max, I wouldn’t have been able to articulate exactly why I like Joe so much. Without Joe, I would have continued to wonder if I was being too hard on Max. It isn’t the idea of life-randomization that’s problematic. It’s possible to randomize your day to day without the ugly side-effects. Focusing beyond ourselves as Joe does, seems to be the key — thinking about ways we can help other people, not only about how we can make our own lives more fun or interesting.

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I’m on my #GriotGrind, committed to writing an essay a week … except that I’m WAY behind! I’m determined to catch up, to write 52 essays by year’s end.
I’m following Vanessa Mártir‘s lead, she launched #52essays2017 after writing an essay a week in 2016 … and then deciding to keep going.

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Pouring Gas on a Fire

Yesterday, in my casual scroll through my FB feed, I saw a post from a woman I know, and I clicked on it. This woman is someone who usually posts about race, about spirituality, about ways we should live better together as human, about how she feels when people show her how incapable they are of living well together as humans. She also posts a fair amount of live commentary on these topics. She posts funny things from time to time, but when I see her in my feed, I have come to expect a post that has some weight, that will hit on some points that will make me think or share some information I’ll find interesting.

The piece I clicked on yesterday, however, disturbed me. She had posted a link to a piece about the death of George Zimmerman (let’s be clear right now: Zimmerman is NOT dead). I hadn’t been listening to the news — where I assume I’d have heard that story if it was a real story — so I was surprised and clicked through to see what had happened to him. I didn’t read the piece. I didn’t need to. As soon as the link opened, the banner across the page read “Create a Prank!” So the “article” was supposed to be a joke, supposed to sucker us in and then say, “Gotcha!” when we reached the end.

Never mind whether it’s funny to make jokes about people’s deaths (I leave the Kathy Griffin argument on the side for now). This site disturbed me because it encourages people to make fake news … for fun. Now, the site covers its ass by proclaiming that I am 100% wrong. At the bottom of the page is this note: “We do NOT support FAKE NEWS!!! This is a Prank website that is intended for Fun. Bullying, Violent Threats or posts that Violate Public Order are NOT permitted on this Website.” Duly noted. Maybe that means no one can sue you. But you’ve set up a site that creates news-like content for people to post on social media. That would seem to be the textbook definition of fake news.

We are living in a moment when we are actively encouraged to distrust the press, when THOTUS and his masters and minions¹ tell us daily that the press is our enemy and cannot be trusted, when actual purveyors of fake news are given stronger platforms from which to spew their filth. And into this toxic soup someone thinks it’s a good idea to introduce a prank site that will make the fake facts that much easier to produce.

I’m sure many people will use this site to make silliness that will amuse their friends and make for a slew of great comments. Which will be harmless because folks’ friends will be able to tell right off that the “article” is fake, is meant to be funny.

But then there are folks who will use it to make headlines about George Zimmerman’s death, headlines that will catch our attention because they are about people or events that aren’t joking matters. And there are the folks who will use it to make headlines to further their conspiracy theories or insane claims about one political party or another, about one country or another, about one religious group or another.

And maybe that would be fine if people would be able to tell even without clicking the link that they’re being pranked. But the prank “article” is attributed to “Channel 45 News” and, as an FB share, looks the way most shared news links look. As long as the headline and accompanying photo aren’t too outlandish, the prank article will look pretty real. And given the numbers of people who just read headlines and keep scrolling, that could be a problem.

I’m actually not interested in being a killjoy, in keeping folks from having wacky fun with fake news. I just question if this is the time for such wacky fun. When THOTUS and his masters and minions are working hard to make us disbelieve everything we hear from major news outlets, is this really the right moment for adding straight up lies to anyone’s timeline? I vote no.

Public trust in the media has been severely damaged, and nonsense like this won’t help right that ship. I’m not a big flag-waver for the media in general — there are so many things that need fixing, so many ways the media needs to try harder and be better — but we need an independent press. Period. It’s one of the things we’ve always chosen to brag about in relationship to the state-controlled presses in other places. And yet here we are, with a government that is hell bent on driving our somewhat-independent press into the ground.

Do I think this prank site will ring the death knell of real news? No. Of course not. But it’s not helping. There are people in this country who can hear a “news” story about Hillary Clinton running a child slavery ring out of a pizza shop and show up strapped, ready to rescue the babies. I mean. When this is who we are, we shouldn’t be playing with fire.

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¹ THOTUS is still Titular Head of These United States, but I’ve added in his coterie of evil because it’s not enough to only point my finger at him.

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I’m on my #GriotGrind, committed to writing an essay a week … except that I’m WAY behind! I’m determined to catch up, to write 52 essays by year’s end.
I’m following Vanessa Mártir‘s lead, she launched #52essays2017 after writing an essay a week in 2016 … and then deciding to keep going.

 

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I’d like to teach the world to sing …

By now you’ve likely seen and debated the Heinken ad that seems to exist to show Pepsi how social responsibility is done, to show all of us how world peace can be achieved.

You’re not wrong if you’re hearing disdain in there. Maybe you’ve also seen DiDi Delgado’s piece that talks about why this ad sucks.

I agree with Delgado, but I was also totally taken in at first. I want to believe in this ad, in what this ad is trying to sell me (in addition to a cold one). This ad wants me to believe in people’s ability to treat each other with human kindness, wants me to believe when people who have diametrically opposing views are brought together and given the chance to interact one on one, magic will happen. When they face each other in these one-to-one ways, when they see each other as people, the ad assures us, even people with views as extreme as the folks in this ad can see one another’s humanity and treat each other with human kindness and good will. Better still,  the ad suggests that this ability to see an individual’s humanity is the secret sauce, the magic elixir that will change how we look at and treat larger groups of people, whole categories of people.

I want to believe that. I truly, kind of desperately want to believe that. And that’s how the ad suckered me. Of course I want to believe that, so of course I liked this ad when I first watched it. It was almost irresistible. Look how those random, opposing-view-holding, nice English people got their acts together and shared a beer! The world can be saved! Praise be!

Um, no.

I liked this ad, but it also made me incredibly uncomfortable. And, ultimately, made me angry.

My issue with the ad isn’t, as one friend suggested, that there aren’t enough “this type against that type” pairings. They’d have had to make far too many of these ads to cover every possible high-profile, opposing-view pairing. As I said to my friend, however, I think they were cowardly to leave out big-ticket items like anti-Semitism and racism, though I get why they didn’t take them on. The number or type of pairings isn’t why this ad is terrible.

Delgado’s excellent point about “putting regressive ideology on equal footing with progressive ideology” is right on the money. The false equivalencies set up in these pairings is awful. The hateful comments of the transphobic and misogynist men are given to us and we’re supposed to see their comments and beliefs as perfectly acceptable, alternative ideas, we’re supposed to see their comments as the same as a) a woman talking about the need for equality and equity and b) a woman simply stating that she exists. There is no equivalence here. Not even a little, tiny one you can only find with a microscope. No.

We’re supposed to set aside our feelings about the hate these men spew because we see that, oh, hey, they seem like nice guys! Sure. They are nice guys … who believe horrible, horrible things and surely make decisions and treat people according to those awful beliefs – how many women have had to deal with that man’s misogyny in their interactions with him at work or when they’ve tried to be in a relationship with him? The prejudices these men reveal aren’t the equivalent of the thoughts expressed by the women they are paired with – the transgender woman isn’t espousing any view at all. She is simply stating who she is and expecting to be able to live her life. There’s no opposing view for this pair, just one prejudiced person paired with the kind of person the are prejudiced against. Not a shred of equivalency there. These two pairings are harmful and ugly.

Harmful and ugly. And there’s the other false equivalence. We’re supposed to see these pairings as equal to the climate change pairing, and they aren’t. The two men with their opposing ideas and beliefs about climate change are giving their opinions about an idea that isn’t about them as people. The misogynist is talking about women, about people, not about a theory or concept or scientific finding. He’s saying he doesn’t believe in the agency, autonomy, or humanity of a whole group of people.  The transphobic man is talking about people, not about a theory or concept or scientific finding. He’s saying he doesn’t believe in the existence or the right to existence of a whole group of people. Neither of these positions is in any way like not believing climate science.

The other false equivalence is the pairing of women with men being set up as equal to the teo-men pairing. Let’s not pretend it is. Particularly not with the men chosen for the mixed pairs. From the first go, from the second both women duck their heads and let the men move into the space first, those pairs aren’t the same as the climate change pair. And when the dink-or-ditch moment comes, both women step up right away because they are “nice,” and perhaps because of gender-based pressure to be nice. That’s what we’ve been conditioned to be, it’s our role in social situations, particularly those involving men.

And finally we have the big reveal. When that moment comes, yes the climate change guy is surprised by what he hears his build-a-bar partner saying, but he isn’t worried, isn’t afraid. The women are both clearly uncomfortable, and their discomfort seems to come from a place of concern for personal and perhaps physical safety. That moment seems especially awful for the trans woman. Who knows how that transphobic man will respond?

And the “joke” the transphobe plays. It makes for good film, but I can’t imagine the pain that joke caused the woman. It only takes a second for that feeling of rejection to hit, that realization that someone who’s been perfectly nice to you is now repulsed by and turning away from you. Heh. Some joke.

And I’m annoyed by the fact that it seems clear who is expected to have the bad reaction and possibly leave in each pair. The person who is (set up to look) intolerant is assumed to be the wildcard, we don’t know what they’ll do. We assume the other person (who is set up to look like the better person) will be open and conciliatory, ready to have conversation, even with someone who’s just been revealed to have problematic, dangerous, hateful opinions. It annoys me because that is always what’s expected. We are supposed to be open minded, see the other side, listen to what the opposition has to say. And while we may often be the person willing to listen, that’s not always the case and also puts pressure on us to have more open-mindedness than other folks, to leave ourselves in potentially – dangerous situations for the sake of being nice, or polite, or reasonable.

So everyone stays and shares some time over beers. It’s a beautiful thing. Of course it is. The climate denier blowhard decides everything’s fine because he can have a drink with a stranger. The misogynist says, “Smash the patriarchy.” The transphobe gets the nice woman to exchange numbers with him — and immediately makes clear that he is taken, so don’t get any ideas.

It’s not hard to believe that people can get along one on one. It’s not surprising or magic. At my old job, I had to moderate a community meeting in which a lot of angry white people stood up and said hateful things about the immigrants who had begun to outnumber them in the neighborhood, but when I saw those same hatemongers on the street, I’d often see them chatting quite pleasantly with their Chinese, Yemeni, Mexican, Bangladeshi, or Palestinian neighbors — in one case, playing sweetly with a neighbor’s children. Them having good relationships with the people they knew individually didn’t stop them from hating the groups of people thise individuals were part of. I’ve seen this with people I know saying unbelievably racist things to me … and then assuring me that they don’t think of me that way. Liking me as a person didn’t stop them from hating Black people. It just made them think I was an exception to the rule.

Coke wanted to unite us with song, Pepsi with a reality TV star. Now we get arts and crafts with beer. I am irked by the tied-with-a-nice-bow conclusion this ad presents to us and wants us to believe, the completely unrealistic idea that we’d all get along if we could just sit and share a beer. Never mind that I don’t like beer. My life will not be long enough for all the one-on-one drinks that would be required to affect real change. And I’m annoyed by how much I wanted to believe and so let myself be taken in, no matter how briefly.

I’m also annoyed by how quick folks have been to tell me my criticism is wrong, that I should “be happy” because at least Heineken tried. This is part and parcel of the marinated-in-white-tears complaint that folks should get a pass if they’ve tried, that telling them their attempt hasn’t worked makes it less likely that they will try again because we haven’t given them any credit for their messed up attempt, haven’t given them time to bask in the warm sunshine of our love and praise.

Yeah, that.

Look. This is life, not everyone-gets-a-hit little league. I have neither the time nor the inclination to pat people on the back when what they’ve done is make a hash of things.

In an attempt to do something good, something clearly much more carefully conceived and executed than the Pepsi ad, Heineken has, instead, put out something patently disturbing and dangerous. Would “greater progress on ideal scenarios” — as someone in my mentions accused me of wanting — be desirable? Of course they would, but I’d be happy with “first do no harm,” and this ad does harm. So, an entity with worldwide reach had put something harmful into the world. And that’s a) a problem, b) fair game for honest criticism, and c) not something to be overlooked simply because we assume the intent was good.

People have also felt the need to tell me how I should respond to this ad, as if the problem isn’t with the ad but with me being too ignorant to understand what I should be seeing when I watch it. As if.

I was told that I should “recognize it for what it is. Be happy it wasn’t just a callous money grab. That they’re at least TRYING to get it right.”

Yes, well, see above about the back-patting and how inclined I am. And, tio, do you really not think this was a money grab? Also, no. It’s not acceptable for anyone to be telling me how I should consume or respond to … well … anything. Punto. And really, thus harkens back to the anger that flooded my mentions when I had the nerve to admit that folks wearing safety pins didn’t make me feel happy or supported or more safe. As a genre rule, when a marginalized person — particularly one from a group that is presumed to benefit from the behavior or change in question — tells you, “Hey, there’s something wrong here, something is making me u comfortable,” your response shouldn’t be to tell that person to shut up, to tell them how they should be responding, to tell them how very appreciative they should be that someone wanted to do anything for them, no matter how flawed the finished product turned out to be.

It is important for us to acknowledge when folks get thing right, when they try to do something productive and helpful. But, of we ever want folks to actually get it right, criticism is necessary . Without criticism, the people who made that ad only hear praise, get to think they did it 100% correctly, that there’s no need for improvement, no need for them to learn how to do this work better. I’m not interested in patting people on the back because their intention was good. I have, in fact, no idea what their intention was, other than to interest me in buying their beer. I can only judge what they’ve shown me, and what they’ve shown me is extremely flawed and troubling.

So no thank you to anyone who wants to tell me how to respond, how to feel. I’ll keep feeling and speaking and responding in the ways that work for me, in the ways that can foster actual change rather than silencing myself because people want to feel good about a beer commercial.

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Oh, I fell off the wagon completely on this essay challenge, what? But I’m back, friends. I’m back. I’m miles behind, but I’m determined to catch myself up. Sadly, it seems the world is determined to provide me with things to get pissed off about, so there should be some solid essay fodder in all that mess. Welcome to the ride. ❤

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J is for: Jobbery, Jibbing, Jetsam, Joypopping, Jackass, Jape

Yes, all of that. For all the reasons.

First, let me say that, the moment you fix your mouth to tell me that “even Hitler” wouldn’t do some particularly heinous thing … you’ve gone down the wrong path. The very moment it occurs to you to make such a comparison, STOP. Stop, take a deep breath, try to count at least to five. Let a new thought flow into your brain, anything but a favorable reference to Hitler, a reference to the genocide he orchestrated in a way that makes it sound like the Mall of America. Maybe count all the way to ten … and remember that you, in fact, know absolutely not one whit about history, that you half-recall some names, no dates, a few terms of art. Realize that all of this means you should shut the fuck up — all the way up — that you should change course and never, ever attempt to make even the most basic of analogies ever again.

That’s first.

Second, how clear is it today and to how many people, that THOTUS¹ has no respect for anything that is in any way related to the job he has lied and cheated his way into? You tried to pretend it didn’t bother you when Kellyann curled up on the Oval Office couch with her got-damn shoes on to play with her phone before taking a pic of all those school choice advocates who’d come to see her boss. You looked down at your hands and acted as if you couldn’t see when Ivanka sat in on diplomatic meetings, when she officially took on an advisory role. You were suddenly interested in your shoes and their need for a shine when Jared was put in charge of brokering Middle East peace and a thousand other important issues for which he isn’t the least bit qualified.

But now Hitler’s been put on the table, and surely you finally have to admit that you see it. If THOTUS cared at all about the job he has shoehorned himself into, he would make some kind of effort to surround himself with staff who have the first clue about government, about the world, about history, about any damn thing that has to do with leading this country.

But THOTUS doesn’t care. At all. He has never cared. He has only ever been interested in winning, in showing the naysayers that he could walk in and take whatever the fuck he wanted. That was always the goal. What happens to the rest of us now that his aides are sitting around picking their noses and playing with their hair is not his concern.

And so, three. What now? What’s your path forward in spite of, in response to, in solidarity against? Have you found the form that resistance takes for you?

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Jib for the Jobber

I have only this —
anger, an uncontrolled rage,
only this belief
that we will have to survive,
have to save ourselves
step out of the inferno.
I have always rage,
questions, my fierce, ugly hope —
bulked up and ready,
pushing me forward in spite
and in spite of. Yes.
This isn’t my song,
but I have learned all the words.
I can sing all day,
long into the night. Watch me
outlast you, my voice still strong.

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¹ Titular Head of These United States

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A chōka is a Japanese form poem with a specific syllable count per line. The shortest form of chōka  is: 5 / 7 / 5 / 7 / 5 / 7 / 5 / 7 / 7. The 5- and 7-syllable lines can repeat as many times as needed. The poem’s end is signaled by the extra 7-syllable line. The final five lines can be used to summarize the body of the poem.

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Hello … again!

So yesterday there was some unnecessary-but-unsurprising ugliness in the world. There was April Ryan getting scolded and bullied by the White House press secretary. There Representative Maxine Waters being insulted by Bill O’Reilly. It was a bonanza day for Black women. Bo.nan.za. If you missed it, you can get a recap, complete with lame, insincere apologies over at The Mary Sue.

I was feeling that #BlackWomanAtWork hashtag, for sure. This nonsense had me remembering a lot of things that have happened to me during the long course of my work life. I posted some of those thanks-for-the-memories moments on FB:

“Don’t get excited.” Said by coworker when I leaned forward in a meeting as I spoke.

“Okay, stay calm,” said by coworker every time I express displeasure at something.

“Calm down, don’t get so upset,” said by a friend any time I expressed anger, displeasure, concern. Went on a long time until I finally called her out. Hasn’t happened since.

Boss looking at my natural hair and asking if I think it might be “too street.” (Whatever the fuck that is when it’s home.)

HR manager after I interviewed with him (many years ago): “You’re very intimidating, you know. You should work on that if you want to find something.”

“No, you cannot be the director. I need to speak to the director.” Man trying to bully his way into the program I used to direct.

Presenter looking directly at me for the only time during his presentation: “We have programs for single parents and people who didn’t finish college.”

“Hello … again!” Member of another team who thinks he’s seen me already even though he hasn’t … even though there is not a single other Black woman on our floor who looks anything at all like me.

“You’re listening to rock? Black people don’t like rock!” Coworker in ed program where I used to teach.

This crap is ridiculous. And it’s all the time. It’s everywhere. It’s when you expect it, and — best of all — when you least expect it. There’s a reason both April Ryan and Maxine Waters dealt so well with the awful treatment they received. They have had years of these experiences, and they have learned how to brush off their shoulders and move on.

I have to wonder at O’Reilly, though. Coming for Mother Maxine is just foolish, plain and simple. Ms. Waters is not here to play with you and your racism. She is not going to take her ball and go home because you chose to show yourself to be a hateful bag of wind (again). No. Ms. Maxine will take that O’Reilly, raise you a Spicer, lay you and your misogynoir out with a royal flush of proud Black clapback, and walk away with the pot every damn time. (Yes, note the Oxford comma. Just like Ms. Maxine, it is not here to play.)

But I’m not really expecting sense from O’Reilly. Or Spicer. I know better.

And I don’t need to defend Mother Maxine. She can take care of her fine self by herself. And, too, she has R. Eric Thomas in her corner, writing his love for her practically every day. If you haven’t caught up with him yet, you can click over and check out what he wrote about this foolishness. Because of course he wrote about this nonsense.

Here is a scrummy little taste:

Because Bill O’Reilly (whoever that is) can’t come for her. He wasn’t sent for. His hairline doesn’t have the range. She has 40 years of political receipts. He has tired, racist dog whistles about hair. These are not equivalent. If he thinks he was reading her, he needs Hooked on Phonics.

Giving me life. 100%.

As you can see, Ms. Maxine is fine out here without me. Me, on the other hand? Mostly I’m just tired. All the ways we are always and always being pushed down, pushed back, silenced, shamed, erased. Can’t folks just give it a rest already? Can’t we just live? I know this answers to these questions is going to stay “No,” maybe for a good, long while. Knowing the truth of that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow, doesn’t make me feel any better about any of it. As a friend said in response to my FB post: “We call them microaggressions, but what about a constant onslaught on your very being and existing is micro?”

Yes. What she said.

But then I remember Representative Waters. And I remember one of my coworkers telling me that I gave total Maxine Waters in a meeting on Monday. And I feel a little energized. Feel a little more like I can keep standing up, keep clapping back.

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It’s the 10th annual Slice of Life Story Challenge!
Head over to Two Writing Teachers to see all of today’s slices!

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If You Stand for Nothing

Shortly after the election, my coworkers and I had a meeting to talk about the election results and how we imagined THOTUS¹ and his masters and minions administration would impact our work. One of my colleagues talked about the need for us to write down our values, to make a written list of what we hold most dear as citizens … and then to rank that list. At the bottom of the list would be the things that were the “nice to haves,” things that were important to us, but which we could imagine allowing to fall by the wayside in dire times. The middle of the list were the “necessary” things, the values we felt strongly about and would be willing to stand up for. The top of the list, of course, would be for the “MUST haves,” the things on which we would never negotiate, the things for which we would fight. He said we’d need that list, that THOTUS would begin cutting away at everything on the list, and we needed to know where we stood, how far we were willing to go, what we were ready to battle for.

I didn’t make my list then. I thought about it a lot, but didn’t write. I sat down to write it out today, using some of my unexpected snow/ice-day time to focus on it. Because, on practically every one of the last 50 days, I have seen the flame-throwers of THOTUS’ scorched earth policy coming for every single thing I hold dear, everything that means anything about being a citizen of this country.

Earlier today, my mom sent me an article about Customs and Border Patrol agents demanding passwords so they can search travelers’ electronic devices. I told her to be prepared to have me call her from jail after I refuse to give up my passwords.

Let me be clear: There is not one thing on my phone that’s so special and important that only I should be able to see it. I could easily hand over my phone if asked, easily give up my password because I — like every single person who is being searched these days — have nothing at all to hide.  But none of that is anywhere near the point.

As I said to her, this is only the first pass. The first swing of the sledgehammer against the wall of what we think is our personal sovereignty. Once we’ve all gotten past this, gotten used to — if not entirely comfortable with — giving up our passwords on the regular, there will come the next thing. And that next thing will be worse. And suddenly giving up our passwords won’t seem like all that much because now we have to travel with letters from our employers vouching for our legitimacy or some such. And we’ll fight against the insanity of that, but then we’ll get used to it and it will stop seeming so bad because suddenly we’re being strip-searched.

It isn’t surprising that the people facing the worst harassment are people who are visibly Muslim or who have Muslim names. It isn’t surprising, but it’s no less awful. And it didn’t start with Muslims. And it certainly isn’t going to stop with Muslims. You know that, right?

So I took a break today, put other things (like remembering that I had a slice to post) on pause so I could think long and hard about the line I will draw in the sand, think about what I hold most dear, about where I’m not willing to give an inch, about what I’m prepared to stand up for, to fight for. I should have done this in November, when my coworker first said it. I didn’t write my list then because I thought it wasn’t necessary for me, figured I was clear, that I already knew all the items at the top of the list, that there weren’t any questions.

There are questions.

And am I really only talking about one line in the sand? Is it ever just one? When I start to think through all of the possible pieces, all the things that may or may not be hard and fast, I come up with something that’s feels more like this:

I’m still working on my list.

What lines will you draw in the sand? What does it mean if you stand up? What does it mean if you don’t?

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In 2017, I’m on my #GriotGrind, committed to writing an essay a week.
I’m following the lead of Vanessa Mártir, who launched #52essays2017 after she wrote an essay a week for 2016 … and then invited other writers along for the ride!

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It’s the 10th annual Slice of Life Story Challenge!
Head over to Two Writing Teachers to see all of today’s slices!

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¹ Titular Head of These United States — Because yes, I’m one of those people. I won’t say that man’s name if I can help it, and certainly won’t ever put the office title that I respect in front of it. Punto.

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