Political Musings

 

Some thoughts on Thursday, January 7:

--White privilege was on full display at the Capitol yesterday. BIPOC protesters would have been slaughtered.

--This was clearly another battle of the Civil War, which has not ended in the minds of so many. I hated seeing the Texas flag along side the Confederate one, but not surprised. I was actually surprised there wasn't more Neo-Nazi insignia (though, there was the Camp Auschwitz shirt.) And the Vikings were there, too. It was a free-for-all for any white Christian Nationalist identity that appeals to 20-40 yo white males (and yes, some women.)

--25th Amendment for #45 and sedition charges for terrorists.

--Yes, terrorists.

--It's too little too late, Mitch McConnell. You get no points.

--Why are there videos of Capitol police opening the barricades to these terrorists? Were there some sympathizers? I'd like to see more about what happened. But clearly the Capitol police were outmanned and most did a courageous thing in trying to protect our Capitol.

--I imagine the win of the two GA senators and the idea of Garland for AG were fuel to the fire.

--It could have been so much worse and I expect we will see more violence around the country in the months ahead. Part of me believes that as a nation we are at or approaching rock bottom and that this violence will have turned some away from #45 and his ilk (and not just his wife's social secretary!) In many ways, I think the terrorists will have defeated their own cause.

--There's more swirling in my head but this will do for now.

Here, this morning, I am saddened but not shocked. I am angry and somewhat desirous of punitive, retributive justice. As a family, we had solemn discussions of white supremacy and racists systems, treason and terrorism, and my kids know more about government than I ever did. But day before yesterday, Bud spoke truth to power when one of his teachers used a slur for the virus and the teacher apologized. I have faith in the younger generation, but I'm sorry we've created so much mess and chaos and division for them.

My thoughts this morning, Friday, January 8, 2021:

--In the 21st century, we do not need 2 months between election and inauguration so people can travel by horse or rail to get to DC. Shorten the time! It was shortened before.

--All those resigning cabinet members who have been complicit in #45's misdeeds are only leaving so they don't have to invoke the 25th Amendment and betray their master. They are not having an attack of morals but the need to protect their own skins. No points for you, Elaine Chao. And buh-bye Betsy.

--Where are all of the arrests?

--You go, Nancy Pelosi. Impeach #45 again and disqualify him from further office or we will be facing his return in 4 years. And hearing about it everyday until then.

--Too little too late, Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter. Especially Twitter letting him back on in 12 hours. Still, so far, these are the only repercussions he's faced for sedition.

--What to say about the terrorist who was killed? I am sorry for her family and friends. But, she was knowingly invading a government building in order to interrupt and prevent a Constitutionally required certification, which goes against her oath as a member of the armed forces to uphold the Constitution; this wasn't a question of first amendment protection here. And then she did not comply with orders from law enforcement. Isn't that what white supremacists always say about black people who are shot, suffocated, etc for driving, sleeping, walking, shopping while black? I don't know where it comes from, but I'm hearing a lot about "play stupid games, get stupid prizes." But you can't bring guns and bombs and Molotov cocktails to a protest and expect impunity . . . unless you're white, which is the only reason she was the only terrorist killed. I'm sorry there was any loss of life--particularly now that we are hearing that a police officer has died from injuries.

--I want #45 and all his bullies arrested and tried. And no self-pardons. I think he shouldn't be able to pre-emptively pardon everybody, much less himself. (In fact, the whole presidential pardon thing needs to be re-evaluated.) And I don't want Biden issuing a pardon to heal the nation like Ford did. Nope. I want hearings and I want justice. It's not on the same order of the Nazis, but the Nuremberg trials were important for justice being seen to be done, from the top officials all the way down to the guards. So, from the administration all the way down to complicit Capitol police and that newly-elected WV lawmaker.

Okay, that's my mental purge for this morning. And I haven't really even read the papers yet this morning.

Black Lives Matter

As a white woman of privilege and the descendant of Confederate slave owners, I am ashamed and horrified by the continued police murders of black men and women.  That peaceful protesters are being tear-gassed and attacked by quasi-military troops for the exercise of their first amendment rights is similarly disgusting.  I lay much of the blame at the feet of #45 and the cohort who bows to his immoral will for domination, including spineless and corrupt politicians, greedy billionaire and millionaire backers, and all the people who still believe these actions Make America Great Again.

I would love to say that this is not my America and he is not my president, but neither are true, unfortunately.  He was elected via the electoral college (though not the popular vote, because of GOP gerrymandering) and the racial hatred and violence spewing forth is at the very heart of the American idea of capitalism and exceptional individualism.  BIPOC activists and writers have said it better than me and we should listen to their words, not mine here. 

I write to acknowledge my own complicity in systemic racism as well as my personal incidents of acting from internalized racism.  I have clutched my purse when I've seen a black man at night on the street; I didn't go to the 8th-grade dance with a black friend because I worried what others would say; I've locked my car doors when pulling up to a corner with a black man on it.  But as a friend says, I know better now so I do better.  I am sorry for my thoughts and actions in the past.  I will do better.

I am staying in touch with the news, beginning to read Ta-Nehisi Coates's Between the World and Me, and protesting peacefully when the opportunity arises, as it did on Saturday in my town.

Enough is Enough.
If you're not outraged, you're not paying attention.
No Justice, No Peace.
Black Lives Matter.

Racism

"You wouldn't believe how bad these people are. These aren't people. These are animals."--#45

Sure, the argument has been made that this quote is taken out of context from a discussion of MS-13 gang members, but it will be embraced by people who believes it applies to anyone without "white" skin.  

There has been some discussion on the FB pages of my friends about racism, in light of everything happening in our country and around the world.  And this was before #45's comment (no, I don't say his name.)  A friend commented that she didn't think most people were racist.  And I posted this below because I disagree.

I think most people are racist. Not in the way of the KKK or white supremacists, but in the lock-your-car-doors-when-you-see-a-black-man-on-the-sidewalk way--they might not even recognize they do it. Recently, it was pointed out to me that hotel shampoo is for white people's hair; I'd never considered the implicit bias that hotels would stock that instead of something else (or even shower caps, which they don't do much anymore--I didn't know that shower caps were often used by African-American women.) It's just enough privilege and then racism that when Black Lives Matter started, people argued "all lives matter" or when violence happens, white people start saying "they" meaning black people (as in, "well, they commit more of the crime, right?") It's the racism that assumes that when it's just white people around, jokes, little asides, and such statements can be made ("slavery wasn't that bad in the North.") It's insidious and perhaps even more dangerous than the KKK because it goes unremarked. It's this racism that supports systemic racism in our society. I know I struggle with racism, having grown up in Texas where there were few African Americans in my neighborhood and none in our circle of friends. I come from a family with ancestors who fought for the Confederacy and, I believe, probably owned slaves in Louisiana. And sometimes I'm locking my car door before I even recognize the gesture. It's why I encourage a diversity and variety of friends and experiences plus trying to stay informed via media and education--to give me the understanding that I lack, to render visible my implicit racism and prejudice and so I can teach my children better. "You have to be carefully taught . . . "

All's Well That Ends Well

Let me begin by saying that everything is fine.  The threat was only perceived, no real.

So, here's the story.

On Monday, when I picked up the mail, there was a playing card in the mailbox.  A Barack and Michelle Obama playing card, the ace of spades.  I thought this was odd and wondered what was going on.  Bud, who must have been reading about mushrooms, told me it could be laced with mushroom bits that would seep in my skin and kill me.  Huh.  Of course, then I thought of the anthrax scare in the mail that killed a woman here in Connecticut after September 11th.  But Bud didn't know any of that.  Still, I laughed and put the card in the recycling.

On Tuesday, I came home from taking the kids to the doctor for vaccinations and noticed the flag on the mailbox was up, which I would swear it hadn't been when I left.  There, inside, was another playing card.  Barack and Michelle Obama, king of spades.  What the hell was this?  Who was leaving these?  What did it mean?  We've lived here 15 years, have had no trouble with the neighbors.  But, when I posted my question to FB, most of my friends encouraged me to call the police and the postmaster, viewing it, like I did, in a suspicious light.  It wasn't kids--kids were at school during the day.  Why spades?  The ace of spades, I learned quickly, was not only a racial slur but a folkloric indication of death.  Was it a countdown, from aces to king to . . . ?  What would happen at the end of the suit?  But why black racism?  I would understand something to do with our being lesbians and a bi-racial Chinese-Caucasian family, but spades?  Was it a general comment on our being Democrats?  Only people who know us know that--there were no political signs or bumper stickers outside our house.  So, did this person know us?  Questions swirled, fears grew.   It escalated.

The police came and made a report, also being suspicious and cautious.  They handled the playing card very carefully but said there was nothing they could do.  Yet.  The postmaster was shocked and concerned, promising to alert the postal authorities and our mail carrier.  These kind of things often get escalated to the FBI because the mailbox is federal property.

Meanwhile, on FB, concerns and suggestions mounted.  Mama came home and installed web cams so we could find out who was leaving the cards.  We pondered options, decided not to alert the children that we'd received a second one; we wanted them to feel safe in their own home.  I spoke to the school social worker, as a precaution; she was worried.  I contacted our minister, who suggested we leave the person a note.  I called my parents, who were ready to come at a moment's notice; grateful, Mama and I debated when that would be.

It was a restless evening, though I think we faked it well.  Early the next morning, I got a text.  A mom had spoken to a child to see if anything odd was in their own mailbox.  Like what, the kid wondered.  A playing card.  Information came out.  Two friends on the way to the bus stop.  A card found on the way.  Placed in our mailbox, because we are the bus stop house, and I didn't notice right away that it was there.  Another card the next day, again placed in the mailbox, flag up.  I didn't see the flag until later.  The mom read the child the riot act, but I was relieved.  The friend confirmed it at the bus stop.  Two different cards, two different days.  An innocent act that sparked a wildfire of anxiety and concern in the dangerous conditions liberals know that we live in.  Had we acted too hastily?  What if it had not been random and meaningless?  When do you know you are in danger?  To you risk it, with children?  We could have spared ourselves much anxiety if we hadn't worried.  What will we do next time?

We were relieved.  We told everyone that it was okay.  We didn't identify the children.  We were just glad.

And yet.  This was just a taste of the threats, insinuations, discrimination, prejudice, inequality, and violence that many people in minority and religious groups face now in our country, led by the man who leads our country.  We had a whole community of support, here and across several states; we had resources; we had the cooperation of the authorities; we had options.  This is privilege.  Many aren't so lucky.  The mail carrier told me she'd been through a similar incidence with a Muslim family in town receiving threats in the mail.  What happened to them, I wonder?  And we only had 48 hours of it--long enough for us, and it was innocent--some have a lifetime.  This is not the America I want.  And so my family will take this opportunity to commit ourselves to those who are threatened, harrassed, intimidated, and hated.

Few Words

Black Lives Matter.

Blue Lives Matter.

Driving while black.

The Talk.

Racism.

Privilege.

Reverse racism.

Allyhood.

Protests.

Snipers.

What could I possibly add to all the words, emotions, even blood that have spilled and been spilled this week?

I see the racism within me.  I see my own privilege.  I'm afraid for the future.  I'm angry about the present.   I don't think all the easy talk of kindness, love, and unity is the answer.

But I don't know what is.

Allegiance

We took a break from our kitty hospice here (we had someone feed the patient, though) and went into the city last night to see Allegiance, the musical about Japanese-American internment camps during WWII inspired by the life story of actor and cultural icon George Takei.  We had been on the fence about going anytime soon, but the closing of the show was announced and I realized how much I wanted to see it, especially after a few friends really recommended it.  So, Mama found this great opportunity through her audience rewards membership (for frequent Broadway attendees, and we're not all that frequent) to attend a Q&A with the tree main cast members, George Takei, Lea Salonga, and Telly Leung.

Musically and structurally, it is not the strongest of shows--I've seen worse (Whistle Down the Wind, anyone?)--but emotionally it was extremely powerful, especially in light of current world events with Syrian refugees and the vitriol spewed against them (and Mexicans and Muslims and women and people with disabilities) by Trump.  The musical follows one Japanese-American family's experiences and reactions to its experiences when they are incarcerated in miserable circumstances after Pearl Harbor; the son is very patriotic and joins the Army but the daughter comes to resist the internment, pulling their family apart and separating them for the rest of their lives.  Gaman, a Japanese word from Zen Buddhism meaning "to face the unbearable with dignity and patience"--a kind of mindfulness in the face of crisis--is a key tenet (and song.)  The show also addresses the worth and dignity of all human life, the importance of social justice, the scourge of racism, difficult decisions in times of war, standing up for one's beliefs, the nature of loyalty and allegiance; you could say it's a very Unitarian Universalist musical.  But it doesn't give easy answers--both the patriotic son, the resistant daughter, and ancillary characters are often sympathetic--and, even though there is a technically happy ending (when the now aged son is reunited with his niece), as Bud put it, "it wasn't a very happy show."

The performances were marvelous, though.  Takei, of course, is best known for Star Trek and his work as a gay rights advocate and now leading cultural figure.  He was in turn funny as the old grandfather and touchingly tragic as the aged Army soldier son.  Salonga, whom Mama saw in Miss Saigon some 22 years ago, has an amazing voice and sings many of the show's most touching songs.  And Leung was an exuberant and then devastated young man.

Best yet, we got to hear from all three of them after the show!   It was fascinating to hear them talk about the different iterations of the show. Apparently at some point there were two brothers and no sister, a mama, the nurse was actually just the daughter of the warden, Sammy was a minor character with asthma who only had one song. Leung talked about all the changes in the six years he's been with the workshop and the show. Salonga talked about how her Chinese-Japanese husband has relatives who managed not to be sent to camps because they moved to Colorado where the governor refused to lock anyone up. And of course Takei talked about the seat he is leaving open for Trump  to come learn about the very real effects of discrimination and racism in our world today (Trump even recently said he would have supported the camps during WWII.)  I saw the seat--it was down the row from us during the talk-back--and it had remained empty.  It wasn't very long, but it added an extra-dimension to the narrative and to our understanding of the process of the creation of musical.  

On another note, beyond my beliefs in social justice and anti-racism and my appreciation for Takei's work (I've donated to Takei's legacy project), I was just so glad to see a musical about, created by, and performed by a mostly Asian team.  No other show has that.  And with my two half-Asian children, it's very important to me that they see beyond stereotypes (of Asian doctors, science geeks, straight A+ students, prodigy violinists, and wimpy conformists who always follow the rules) and also that they see strong role models standing up for what's right in the world.  

And so, while I can't hum any of the songs this morning, the story and images will stick with me for a long time.

-=-=-=-=-

I'm going to try, later, to fold the origami flower that played such a role in the show.  

On Hoodies

Watch this video, "Am I Suspicious?" from Howard University students (apologies, I can't figure out how to embed non-You Tube videos.)

The black men in hoodies in the PSA, if I had come across them at night, would have made me think twice.  Would I have feared for my life?  No.  But I would have thought they might be suspicious.  Like many people (especially white women in the South), I have been conditioned with a fear response of black men, though I have never had any personal reason to fear them, as well as racism about African Americans (and, in truth, all non-whites, like Asians and Hispanics, plus prejudice against "white trash," people in the working classes, etc.  And, of course, in the 1970s, we weren't really talking about gays!  Only because of early and frequent interactions with people with special needs, did I not have entrenched stereotypes about them. "You have to be taught . . . .")  I know I profile (this became especially clear to me when I flew after 9/11 and worried about a woman in a burqa and the man with her.)  I'm not proud of any of this; nor do I mention this because I am somehow "post-racial" (even as a white person married to an Asian person and with biracial children.)  As a white adult with liberal beliefs, I try to recognize my racism and unravel it, to "check my privilege" and realize how being white affects and influences everything I experience (and don't), but it is more prevalent and harder than I thought.  Because I can understand how a jury of 5 white women would absolutely believe that George Zimmerman could reasonably fear for his life when attacked by a black man in a hoodie, even though Zimmerman himself had the gun and initiated the confrontation.

The Howard University men in the video ask, as they pull hoodies over their eyes, "Am I suspicious?"  They have to know that many people, that I, would say yes.  And then they say, "I'm a law student" or "I'm a history major," to undermine the racist stereotype.  Because an educated black man in a hoodie looks like a criminal black man in a hoodie.  And we assume the latter before the former.

And so I showed the video to Sis and Bud so that we could talk about Trayvon Martin, hoodies, Skittles, the verdict, and racism.  As half-Asian, they'll confront racism in their lives, but the assumption that they are good students is not deadly like the assumption that black men are criminals.  We talked about the inherent worth and dignity of each person.  I reminded them about slavery and discrimination and Martin Luther King, Jr.  I even mentioned Hitler and the Holocaust.  One person, one set of attributes, does not represent a whole race. We should no more stereotype Jews than we should hate all Germans because of Hitler, or all Muslims because of terrorists on 9/11 or in Boston or in London.  Did we all hate white men after Newtown, I asked?  Of course not.  It doesn't work that way.  

I don't know how much the kids comprehend, except in the barest historical terms, about it all, but I know it was worth discussing.  And that we'll need to talk about it again and again.  I've tried really hard not to pass on any prejudice as well as to expose our privilege.  Each generation, I hope, improves upon the last.  And so I post this as a teachable moment for us.

Light in the Darkness

Yesterday at Daisies, we hand-rolled beeswax candles for Mother's Day presents.  The girls really enjoyed picking their moms' favorite colors, rolling the candles, and putting together the decorative cards.  Sis chose purple for me and green for Mama, but I wasn't supposed to be watching!

But as we were enjoying our craft, I saw one little girl standing before the others and pulling at the corners of her eyes, "Chinese, Japanese . . ." and I knew where she was going.  An old rhyme from childhood, that ended with the speaker pulling up her skirt and showing her underwear, but not before slanting her eyes up and down.  "Chinese, Japanese, dirty knees, look at these!"

I hurried over to the other side of the room, thankful that Sis was nowhere nearby, and sat the girls down for a talk.  I told them that rhymes like that could hurt people's feelings because it made fun of them and the way they looked.  I knew they didn't want to do that--I'm not sure they even realized what was wrong with pulling up and down on your eyes with a singsong verse.  And I wasn't about to talk about racism and prejudice particularly; I just wanted them to be more sensitive and compassionate.  They of course denied saying anything of the sort, as kids would, and then said they didn't even know that Sis was Chinese.  And then they seemed to feel bad.

On the way home, I had to talk to Sis about it because if girls are reciting this in Daisies, no doubt it's spreading around school.  I remember it going around my school when I was about that age . . . and we didn't know it was insensitive and hurtful; racism never occurred to us.  Sis hadn't heard of the rhyme and wasn't sure what it even meant.  We talked about the inherent worth and dignity of everybody and how talking about how people look or act or where they come from isn't respectful.   We talked about what to do if people said such things that hurt her feelings, how she could say that wasn't nice or appropriate, walk away, and then tell an adult.  As they always do, Sis nodded in understanding, and probably in some boredom, as did Bud when I repeated it all to him later.

I knew such things would eventually rear their ugly heads.  Teasing, mocking, insults, tinged with racism, sexism, sizism, homophobia, are common on American playgrounds.  I'm glad I got to talk to the kids before it was directed at them, though no doubt when the time comes it will still be painful.  For now, they are mostly innocent of it all, untouched by some of the ugliness in our world.

Just like her candles, to paraphrase Willy Wonka, so shines a bright light in a weary world . . . .