Tag Archives: racism

From That – To This

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It feels a little as though things have been turned upside down. (Not a Hamilton reference, believe it or not – although the sentiment is the same…) Since the white supremacist flyers were distributed in our town’s neighborhoods, all of the fears and anger and hatred that were happening Somewhere Else, that had seemed almost hypothetical, were suddenly impossible to ignore. It was one of my most difficult parenting moments – my daughters and husband being targeted for their race, knowing others’ privacy had been violated, wondering if we would be next. I began having difficulty sleeping; I awoke every morning anxious to see if our driveway had been hit, if, on the way to school, our girls would find strips of paper disavowing their existence.

Turns out, I was far from the only person feeling this way. Within 48 hours of the initial intimidation campaign, a meeting was scheduled for local residents to discuss a counter-response. Over 50 people showed up on a Sunday afternoon, including Nick and me; we strategized, imagined, and shared ideas on how to organize a visible anti-racist, inclusive message – both in the immediate aftermath and well beyond. A group was formed: Pittsforward. I left the meeting feeling wary but energized, so grateful that others were willing to be brave enough to come together and say, “YOU ARE NOT ALONE!” rather than silently condemning from the safety of our houses.

We agreed that, among other things, a march or walk of some kind was in order. Exactly one week later, all of the details were in place and we gathered for our Unity Walk.

(I always have said I’m not the kind of person who marches for stuff; it’s just not my thing. Turns out, when you literally bring hate to our neighborhoods and driveways, I have a different reaction. Funny, that.)

It wasn’t just the 50 of us, however; hundreds upon hundreds of people showed up to stroll peacefully en masse through our little town, joyfully and resolutely declaring that racism will not be accepted here, that we stand united, that we celebrate our differences, and that everyone is welcome here.

That so many residents in my community wanted to stand with one another and say, NO, NOT HERE! was deeply heartening. That they did so in a steady rain kind of blew my mind. img_7253img_7255

Neither of our girls was particularly looking forward to the walk. Part of this was our waiting until the last minute to tell them about it, and part of this was their relative lack of perspective on why something like this was worthwhile. Often, when Ella or Annie strongly object to participating in a “family” outing, either Nick or I will step in to say, “Hey, maybe this isn’t so important; let’s allow her to skip it.” (Like, I might say this regarding a hockey game and Nick might say it regarding a dance performance. YOU KNOW, JUST AS HYPOTHETICAL EXAMPLES.)

On this, however, we were in agreement: our family would walk, period. It was important. It was necessary. We were going, driving rain or sunshine. (Side note: we would have preferred the latter.)
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So, this is a totally crappy photo… It’s actually a screen shot – from my phone – of a video that was shown by one of our local television stations.
Still, it’s the only photo (such as it is) of us at the walk, so… yeah.

After almost 41 years of tearing up at Budweiser commercials and getting misty over inspirational memes on Pinterest,  you’d think, by now, that I would expect to be emotional at things like this. Apparently I still surprise myself, because I was not prepared to become so choked up at the sight of everyone in their raincoats and umbrellas, coming together to support one another.
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Low bridge, everybody down… (Get it?)

There were families with kids – from babies in strollers to high schoolers. Some were biracial families, like ours. Others had adopted children of mixed race. Others were all people of color. And, alongside them, hundreds of white folks – who, despite being “included” in the “acceptable” list provided in the supremacist flyers, found their rhetoric anything but acceptable.

There were older couples without any children (accompanying them). There were college students. There were groups of adults with signs and placards. There were women in headscarves. There were priests in collared shirts. We passed our local Chabad House, where members were preparing for the start of Rosh Hashanah; despite their preparations, they stepped outside to wave and join our chorus.

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A couple of the many signs from the walk…

We walked behind our local Flower City Pride Band, their 60s and 70s rock songs providing us a cheerful soundtrack. Police had cordoned off portions of our little town to make it safe for the marchers to go by; they were on hand, directing the traffic that inevitably backed up. As we passed them, we leaned into their patrol cars to thank them for being there. And, at the end, we gathered – alongside many of our locally elected officials and members of the school board – in a town park. The display of love in the face of hate, of support in the face of threats, was so incredibly powerful.

We can do this. Together, we can do this. Just look at all the people willing to say so.

I will fully admit it: I cried. More than once.
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Because our little town is, indeed, little, the entire affair lasted only twenty minutes or so… but that was enough. We said what we needed to say. We were where we needed to be. And, whether they understand or not – whether they like it or not – we showed our girls what it means to stand up for diversity, acceptance, and love.

There is a time for deliberate indifference, for willful ignoring. I absolutely believe that, sometimes, the best way to handle an ignorant bully is to not even acknowledge their existence – to not give them the attention they’re seeking. I also believe that, sometimes, when a bully pushes too hard, when they threaten you by coming to your turf rather than spouting their message from afar, a strong, direct, vocal opposition is exactly what’s needed.

The time had passed for quietly shaking our heads in disapproval. We needed to take a stand, to make it clear that not only would we not tolerate this kind of hate and propaganda being delivered to our homes, but we also celebrate our differences and our diversity. Perhaps most of all: we are not alone. 

I’m a silver lining kind of girl (see: yes, the basement flooded, but at least the floor is clean!). The flyers were certainly The Bad. But there is The Good, too: people are no longer content to be complacent. We are making connections, having conversations, coming together. We are recognizing that our neighborhoods are more than just where we live; they’re also the people who live there. If nothing else, the flyers’ aftermath has caused me to want to get to know my neighbors better, because it’s much more difficult to hate and fear someone you’ve talked with face to face.

This isn’t going to change overnight. Yes, the walk was tremendous and important.But there is so much more to do to make our community truly inclusive, safe, and open to other viewpoints. Together, we can make a difference in our community. I have to believe it’s so, because the alternative is just not okay.

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Oh Hell No

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The unthinkable happened – or so I thought*.

(* see what I did there?)

As is well-documented, I love where we live. We moved to our cozy, tight-knit, western New York community because it is exactly where we want to be, and especially where we want to raise our girls. No, it’s not as diverse as I’d like, but we take as many steps as possible to help Ella and Annie understand that there is a world beyond what they know. Life feels good here – safe, supportive, inclusive.

Yesterday, in our cozy, tight-knit, safe, supportive, inclusive community, a man was seen handing out flyers in a residential neighborhood. The flyers were titled, “Make (Rochester) Great Again” and contained the link to a website that is being used as a recruitment tool for white supremacist groups.

According to one of our local news outlets, the website advertises a “network (of) like-minded Whites for the furtherance of the European white races… (It) promotes that European whites should not feel constrained in recognizing their ethnic and racial identities and in promoting its interest. It is thus taken as legitimate for whites to challenge attempts to turn whites into a minority. (The group) is an incipient initiative that aims to Make (Rochester) Great Again, by making Rochester Whiter.”

Um. Hell no. Fuck no.

I shared the story with Ella to get her opinion – she’s usually pretty good at framing things for me from a kid’s perspective (which is almost always better than whatever we adults are thinking) – but I could barely read the words aloud. I am of the European white race. My daughters and husband are not. Looking at my child and saying that my race should be furthered, but not hers… That I should take pains to recognize and promote my ethnic and racial identities above hers… That anyone attempting to promote equality and equity for non-white races (like, say, the Black Lives Matter movement) should be seen as a threat to me…

… was literally stomach-turning. I felt like I was going to throw up.

These are my children that this website is targeting. MY CHILDREN. In MY CUTE LITTLE TOWN. This is not happening in some big city or some podunk nowhere. It is happening in my own backyard. I knew, of course, that there was racism and hatred everywhere, even in my community, but to see it happening exactly here, exactly now, was absolutely chilling.

 

Thankfully, Ella found the article more amusing than alarming – she was so shocked that anyone in 2016 believes such drivel, she was basically speechless. But it still woke me up to the reality of what we in 2016 America are dealing with (I thought I understood; until tonight, I didn’t) and made me vow anew to make absolutely certain that our children are able to do better than we are.
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Our community; soccer game.

In fairness, it’s something I’ve been working at for my whole life.

In elementary school, my first Cabbage Patch doll was black. Her name was Guinevere Camilla and she smelled like baby powder and I adored her from the moment I saw her. I gave not one shit that she wasn’t white.

In middle school, I accompanied a Jewish friend in requesting that a menorah be included alongside the Christmas tree in the school office. The principal called my mother to ask if I was considering converting. The very idea that I, a Christian student, would be supporting this “cause” just because I was, you know, a friend who happened to believe in the radical idea of equality was absolutely beyond his backward brain. Even at age 12, though, I knew.

In 10th grade, a friend asked if I believed gay people were going to hell, which puzzled me. I don’t even think I knew anyone who was openly gay, but I’d never heard or even considered such a possibility before and I was completely flummoxed as to what she talking about. She attempted to explain to me that her religion taught her that homosexuality was against God’s will. I told her gay people were born gay and God loves everyone, so no, they’re not going to hell, good grief.

When I was in college and finally saw, for the first time, racial profiling up close and personal, it rocked me so hard to my core, I never forgot it.

Basically, I think I’m hardwired to believe that we all are deserving of respect and love and kindness, regardless of race, gender, gender identity, sexuality, age, religion, dis/ability, or favorite sports team (although obviously the Yankees > Red Sox). I believe this so strongly, I talk about it – a lot – because one of the ways I think we’re going to combat and ultimately end the horrible cycle we’ve found ourselves in is to feel comfortable talking about this stuff.

Our girls have heard me talk about these things – a lot. They knew what it meant to be gay before they knew their uncles were gay; they never thought it was weird or taboo because they were familiar with it. Ditto gender identity and religion and, absolutely, race.

‘Cause my girls aren’t white. When strangers look at them, they don’t see white kids – even though they’re half-me. They see Asian. (And, if they’ve got eyes, they see awesome, but that’s neither here nor there.) And, apparently, some people in my own little town see my children as Other. As, What Is Stopping Rochester From Being Great. As something to be opposed.

My girls don’t see that. They think that’s insane – and I’m sure most of their friends do, too. But we need to do everything in our power to ensure that none of our children grows up thinking that these thoughts are even possibilities.

So? Have the damned discussions. No, for real. Actually talk about race relations, about what’s happening in America – today, 2016. These flyers aren’t from 1956; they’re from now, for fuck’s sake. Don’t pretend it isn’t happening. Don’t pat yourself on the back for being bummed that the Academy Awards didn’t honor any people of color this year while still shouting “All Lives Matter!” Don’t assume that your community’s goodwill is going to somehow override centuries of overt and covert racist programming.

Don’t be afraid of talking about people’s race. Use terms like white/Caucasian, black/African American, Asian, hispanic/Latino, Native American (“brown” is also widely used and accepted for people of color) to identify people – as you’d describe height or hair color –  not cutesy terms like “people with a tan” (seriously, wtf) or “darker-skinned people.”

Somehow, those of us in our sweet, affluent, mostly-white-but-genuinely-trying-to-do-the-right-thing communities seem to think that it’s, I don’t know, accepting? Supportive? Inclusive? to simply not refer to skin color, period. In fact, we’re doing way more harm than good when we teach our kids that discussing race is shameful. Skin color should not be whispered like cancer. It is not bad or wrong or offensive, and it’s certainly not racist, for the love, to refer to the color of someone’s skin –  any more than it’s wrong or racist to refer to the color of someone’s eyes.
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Our community: summer sunset

I know many people are sick of discussing race; others think it’s still not an issue. To that, I would say, Ask yourself – and really be honest here – how you’d feel if you were pulled over. If you’re white, like me, I imagine that you’d be a bit nervous, a bit pissed that you were caught, the tiniest bit contrite (’cause you recognize that you must’ve done something wrong even if you don’t want to admit it). You might be considering what you could do to talk your way out of the ticket.

If you’re white, like me, there is almost no way that you’d be concerned even a little bit that your pull-over might result in your being shot by the police officer who stopped you. You could yell at the officer. You could swear. You could dance. You could tell them that you’re secretly rooting for ISIS and maybe even Donald Trump. Hell, you could show them the handgun that’s sitting in your lap… and you know damned well that you’d still come out of it alive.

And deep down, you know the same would not be true if you were black. You know equally damned well that people of color, and especially black men, are not afforded this luxury. You’d be scared to death because you know in your heart that these black lives are not treated the same as yours.

We need to talk about these things openly and honestly and without shame. We need to acknowledge the problems that exist – and not be so defensive. Yes, these flyers are repugnant; instead of ignoring them or wishing them away, we need to confront them head on. We need to say FUCK NO and come together and show people who believe that diversity is the problem that it is actually the freaking answer.

Turns out, I wasn’t wrong; Ella did have some words of wisdom after hearing the content of the article (which I had to explain to her, because the very concepts were so foreign). She asked, for the millionth time, why people don’t get it — that WE – all of us, every last black, brown, white, gay, straight, bi, male, female, transgender, able-bodied, disabled, neurotypical, differently-abled, old, young, Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, agnostic, atheist, Yankees-loving, Red Sox-loving, sports-hating one of us… ALL of us – are what makes America great.

We, in our diversity, ARE America’s greatness. We, in ourselves, are our greatest strength.
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Yes, It’s About Race

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Have you seen the videos? The ones of Alton Sterling and Philando Castile being shot and killed? The ones where two black men were shot and killed by police officers? Two days in a row, two sets of videos, two men’s lives lost.

I haven’t seen the videos, and I’m not sure if I will. I have no desire to each two more men’s lives be horrifically taken, right in front of my eyes. I’ve already seen this over and over again – so many of us have – and yet it’s still happening, so clearly watching isn’t helping things, and I need to maintain a small shred of protection around my heart.

To Anton and Philando’s families, I’m so sorry, and I’m sorry that I’m not watching; I simply can’t right now. But I’m here speaking out for them, and I hope that’s one minuscule consolation.

Where is the outrage? Not amongst black and minority communities, but amongst the rest of us? How are we not so aghast and appalled and furious and devastated that we have to take a moment to sit down and then figure out what to do next? (Actually, I cried when I told Nick about it, and now I’m literally shaking, so there’s at least one of us who feels this way.)

Every single time this happens, the number of people who positively stumble over themselves in their rush to say that “race has nothing to do with it” is astonishing. I’m sure the excuses are already in full force: but Anton had a record! He just got out of jail! He was carrying a gun! (He didn’t reach for it, and was on the ground when he was shot, but yes, he had a gun.) He wasn’t complying! In other words, he somehow deserved to be killed, or was asking for trouble, or at least presented an awfully strong case for violence against him.

Nope. Not about race.

But what about Philando? He had no lengthy rap sheet. In fact, he worked for the local school system as a cafeteria manager. (Not sure why this matters? Well, these days, every school employee is required to be fingerprinted and background-checked, so there is absolutely no way that this man had a violent record. Further, do you have any idea of the saint-like patience and stamina it takes to run a school cafeteria??) Those facts aside, he was pulled over for a broken tail light and was asked for his license. After informing the officer that he had a permit to carry a weapon and that, if the officer checked, a gun would be found in his car, he calmly leaned over to reach for his license and registration – fully complying, as he had been asked – when the officer shot him.

So, just to be clear, Philando deserved this, or was asking for trouble, or presented a strong case of violence against him… how?

Think this is still not about race?

A couple of months ago, I was pulled over for speeding. The whole family was in the car and I lost track of how fast I was going. I didn’t even attempt to pretend otherwise; I acknowledged to the officer that I’d been going too fast, apologized, and handed over my paperwork. I explained to the girls that I absolutely earned the ticket I was about to get, and that it would be a great lesson for me (and them, fingers crossed).

When the officer came back to the window, he returned my license and registration… and told me to drive safely, then headed back to his cruiser. That was it. No ticket, not even a warning. I was stunned, and told the girls so. They wanted to know why I hadn’t gotten a ticket when I’d broken the law. Maybe it was because I was only driving fast, not erratically. Maybe it was that I fully cooperated and took responsibility for my actions. I probably just got lucky. But I also told them that I was lucky to be a white woman rather than a black man, because the outcome could have been different.

At the time, this statement – although true – felt extreme.
It doesn’t this morning.

And yet, most people continue to say that race is not an issue.

When a white college student gets only six months of jail time for sexually assaulting, and attempting to rape, an unconscious woman behind a dumpster, and the photos paraded around the media are of him as a shining athlete, rather than his mugshot, I grow a little suspicious. When a white man guns down people in a theater and is not shot and killed on the spot by responding officers, but is arrested and led away, I grow still more suspicious. When a white man deliberately targets a black church, murdering parishioners in cold blood, and is offered a bulletproof vest by police as he is taken to the police car, I am no longer suspicious; I am certain.

Race has a heckuva lot to do with it.

Still unconvinced? Try this. Imagine that you could trade places with someone for a day. You experience life exactly as they would – a Freaky Friday sort of situation. Now imagine that you’ve traded places with a black man, and that you’ve been tasked with driving around. You’re on the highway. You’re in the ‘burbs. You’re downtown… a black man, behind the wheel. Imagine that you’re pulled over – maybe you ran a stop sign, or maybe you just have a broken tail light (did you even know your tail light was broken?). The cop shows up at your window, and there you are, strapped into the driver’s seat behind the wheel.

Be honest: you’d be terrified. You would’t be sure that you’d come out of it alive.

Think this is still not about race?

We cannot begin to fix this if we cannot even acknowledge, as a country, that racism is an *enormous problem*. So I will say it: racism is an enormous problem in this country. Yes, there is also a police brutality problem (although I truly believe the vast majority of cops are good and are trying their best – but our best is a best that is inherently, unconsciously racist). There’s a gun problem (which is another issue that is still not even acknowledged as a problem, so that’s fun). But right now, right here, the biggest issue is race (ever seen this video of how differently a white and black man are treated while openly carrying?).

WE NEED TO FIX THIS. This is not a black problem or a minority problem; it is a human problem for all of us, every race. I know that the United States is facing almost unprecedented division and difficulties right now, but at its heart, I know we are better than this. I believe in America, and I believe that we can do this; I believe that we can truly be the land of the free, where everyone is created equal.

But until all of us would feel safe walking around as a minority (a person of color… or a Muslim, or someone who is gay or lesbian or transgender, or heck – a woman), we have not reached that place. When most of us would be scared for our lives to walk in those shoes, there is a serious, dangerous, heartbreaking, terrible problem.

Please, let’s stop pretending that this isn’t happening. Let’s not avoid talking about it because it’s difficult. And, for the love, let’s stop explaining away violence against black folks and people of color. Let’s acknowledge that racism is a tremendous problem. And then let’s work together – all of us – to make the change.

 

Un-Weird: They’ve Got to be Carefully Taught

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It’s been a heckuva couple of weeks.

Okay, so that’s putting it mildly.
Shit has really hit the fan, hasn’t it?

Last Sunday, after learning about the Orlando massacre, I wanted nothing more than to hole up with my phone and consume as much information as possible; it was almost all-consuming, this desire to know more, to reach out, to stay connected.

Simultaneously, though, was this desire to stay as far from the news as possible. There’s so much going on this time of year – family birthdays, end of school, beginning of summer, my girl “graduating” elementary school (I can’t even) – that I viscerally recoiled from the external forces that seemed intent on taking the little time and energy I had away from what mattered most… Meaning I also wanted nothing more than to hole up with my girls and Nick and the dogs and weed the garden and listen to Ella and Annie read to me and hug everyone as much as humanly possible.

In the end, we wound up telling the girls about the attack – in part because we would be watching the Tony Awards that night (duh) and I knew they were dedicating the show to Orlando, and in part because we thought they might hear about it in school and we wanted them to hear it from us, first.

(During their school’s annual Flag Day celebration on Tuesday, the flag was taken down before the ceremony – as it always is – so that it could be re-raised for everyone to see, followed by The Pledge of Allegiance. This year, the flag crested the top of the pole… and then was lowered down again until it reached half-mast. The jarring juxtaposition of the mourning flag, the kids in their patriotic regalia, and the words of The Pledge – “with liberty and justice for all” – was not lost on the parents in attendance.)

After we shared the basics, the girls asked – as they always do when they hear about hate-filled crimes – why anyone would do such a thing; do they not know that gay people/black people/women/transgendered people/Americans are okay? How do they not get it? We answered honestly that we don’t know; it makes no sense to us. There’s fear that fuels hatred… but beyond that, we don’t know why – not really.

Nick ended our discussion by saying, with resignation, that he didn’t know what the take-away message was — but he was so sorry these sorts of things are reality. At first, I agreed; but upon further reflection, I realized there was a message I wanted to impart:

Be kind.
See other human beings as just that – human beings – rather than “others” simply because they’re different. 
Don’t fight hatred with hate; fight it with love and knowledge and understanding.
And never forget that one individual – who claims to be part of a community – doing evil things does not mean that that entire community is evil, not by a long shot.

The girls looked at me like I had two heads; my “advice” was so basic as to be assumed. “Thanks so much, Captain Obvious. THIS IS ALL YOU’VE GOT?”

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Unrelated annual Memorial Day photo…

The background to all of this fear and hatred and judgment – from nutty “bathroom bills” to the absurd six-month Stanford rape case sentence to ISIS to Orlando to Britain to the lambasting of the parents whose two year-old was tragically killed by an alligator – has been Hamilton. I mean this literally and figuratively: the soundtrack has been on an almost-constant loop in our house, and the storyline is fresh in my mind.

Immigrants coming to America. Native-born residents taunting said immigrants and grousing about how they take away from those who were here first. Disagreements on the size and role of government. Pride causing people to do really stupid things. Women being treated as objects. Gun violence. People attacking one another simply because they see things differently.

The parallels between this 200+ year-old story and the craziness of today have made recent events almost entirely surreal.

The musical ends with Alexander Hamilton’s killer/rival/one-time friend Aaron Burr lamenting that he should have known the world was wide enough for both Hamilton and him. (No, we haven’t seen the show and won’t before Lin-Manuel leaves… but we did snag tickets to a February performance. Only eight months to wait, yo!)

That’s the crux of it, I think – the crux of everything. Somehow, we allow ourselves to fall into the belief that there simply isn’t enough… space, time, energy, money, resources, love, etc. for all of us. It becomes us versus them. We fuel our narratives with fear. If you’re not like us – a different race, another sex, transgendered, gay, a different religion, from another part of the world – we let those fear-fueled stories take over until…

… well, until there are half-mast flags during Flag Day and dancing nightclubbers gunned down by an extremist and people screaming (literally) for a ban on Muslims and folks being harassed just for trying to use the loo.

The thing is, though? Our kids don’t get it. No, I mean it: they don’t understand any of this, because they cannot fathom this us versus them mentality. As Rodgers and Hammerstein so aptly said, “You’ve got to be taught to hate and fear… Before you are six or seven or eight – to hate all the people your relatives hate.” So we’re trying a different approach.

A few weeks ago, I posted on Facebook about the push by some for Elsa to be shown as gay in Disney’s Frozen 2 – and how I thought that was unnecessary, but how I also thought it was nonsensical for people to oppose the idea on the grounds that they’d need to explain it to their children, or it would be too confusing for kids.

My awesome friend, N. – who happens to be a lesbian – backed me up with these fantastic sentiments:

Exposing children to things at a young age is soooooo important. Just like ‘love is an action…not just a word’…so is parenting.

It’s pretty simple. Things are only ‘weird’ to kids because parents make them that way.

YES, this.

Our girls live charmed, privileged lives. They want for little and go to a (wonderful) school that is not racially diverse. Largely because of that – because we know that their personal experience is what will shape their view of the world and of the people sharing this planet with them – we have deliberately made efforts to introduce them to things that are different from their experiences, to make those things un-weird.

It’s much harder to talk disparagingly about “them” when you’ve met them face-to-face.

Also – although their worldview is narrow, we make a point to discuss as much as we can, to give them language and context. Just prior to Ella’s kindergarten year, a friend of mine told me she and her partner informed their son that they were gay. He’d never heard the term before – their life was all he knew – but they wanted him to be familiar with it before he started school, in case the other kids mentioned it. Nick and I thought this was a good idea, so we – casually, matter-of-factly – told the girls that they were half-Asian, lest they hear the word at school and debate it (“I am not Asian!”). They’d never heard that term and were fascinated (Annie wanted to know “which parts” of her were the Asian parts).
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This isn’t good or bad or anything in between; it just is, we told them.

And so it has gone with everything else. They know we’re Christian – but not everyone is. They have classmates who are Jewish and Hindu and Muslim and atheist; none of them is good or bad or anything in between; they just are. We’re straight; their uncles are gay. It’s not weird, because it just is what it is. They have strong opinions about Donald Trump (yes, really); they also know that people they love may be voting for him, and that doesn’t make them bad people; it just is.

None of these differences makes people weird (well, maybe the Trump voters…), and it certainly doesn’t make them worth hating.

The more Annie and Ella learn about people who are unlike them, the more normal – and human – those people become. So, when they hear stories of racism or sexism or homophobia or religious persecution, they are genuinely confused. “But they’re not weird. Why would anyone hate them so much?”

As I said, there’s so much else going on in life right now, I haven’t even begun to process recent current events – and I definitely don’t have any big answers. But I think all of our kids may be the place to begin. If they can be distraught that Burr didn’t realize the world was wide enough for him and Hamilton… they can be distraught that anyone thinks the same today.

We need to teach them that “different” doesn’t mean “bad” or “weird” or “wrong” – it just is. We need to do it before they are six or seven or eight… So they don’t have the hate.

It’s a place to start, anyway.

 

 

 

How Is This Still A Thing?

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On Saturday, Nick and I saw a local theatre production of To Kill A Mockingbird. It was a wonderful performance, beautifully staged and marvelously acted.

Seeing the stage production, I was struck by how powerful Harper Lee’s novel had been when I first read it and how powerful it remains now – not because it brings to mind the struggles of a bygone era, but because of how real those struggles remain today.

The story’s message is simple: black people are not treated the same as white people; they are not given the same chances or opportunities, they are killed for unjust reasons, their very existence is seen as a threat… but we all have the power to make it different and better.

The craziest thing is, half a century later, we haven’t heeded that message. Today, minorities are still not given the same chances or opportunities as white folks, they are still killed for unjust reasons, and their very existence is still seen as a threat – albeit less overtly than before. That so many (white) people are offended by the Black Lives Matter campaign (which, of course, does not proclaim black lives to be more important than other lives but merely asks that they matter equally to white lives) and that they feel the need to counter this movement with All Lives Matter underscores how little progress we have made.

It’s been a long damned time.
How is this still a thing?
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The Geva Theatre production is really outstanding.

For concrete examples of how people of color are not valued equally to white folks, you need look no further than the movies. The overwhelming majority of “regular” people in cinema are portrayed by white actors; black (and other minority) actors are typically relegated to the role of Sidekick, Gang Member, Slave, Athlete. Just a normal ol’ suburban family? Pretty much always white.

This is not because there aren’t enough talented black/minority actors to fill the roles. Rather, producers (the vaaaast majority of whom are white) don’t usually cast black people in “regular” roles… because they feel that we  – the white audience – don’t want to watch movies with people of color playing the starring, everyguy role.

Minority lives matter less. Even on screen!

To Kill A Mockingbird was fresh on my mind as I sat down to watch The Academy Awards on Sunday night. More to the point, I sat down to watch Chris Rock host, to see what he – a black actor – would bring to this year’s all-white celebration.

Simply put: I loved it! I thought Chris’s commentary was biting, real, thought-provoking, and hilarious.

Yes, sometimes it fell flat or didn’t work. That whole Stacey Dash thing was just wrong. The Asians-are-always-nerdy-number-crunching-types joke didn’t belong, period, especially in a night that was (supposedly, according to the host) dedicated to diversity.

And, personally, I didn’t like Chris’s jab at Jada Pinkett Smith. If you want to protest something, boycotting can be a very effective way to do so. Participating anyway and then attempting to change how things are done is also an effective form of protest.  Jada chose the former; Chris, the latter. I understand his desire to explain his choice, and his decision to address Jada directly, but it could have been done without taking a swipe at her.

So, no. His hosting wasn’t flawless. But overall? I think he rocked it. (Sorry.)

I was still a little rattled from hearing the words “lynch” and “rape” in To Kill A Mockingbird when I found myself confronting them only one day later – in Chris’s opening monologue. Only this time, raping and lynching were made into jokes.

I laughed and then covered my mouth, slightly horrified. Was I supposed to be laughing at jokes about raping and lynching? It was very uncomfortable.
Which was clearly his intent:
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That’s what I enjoyed so much about Chris’s hosting: he made me laugh and think at the same time. He made me uncomfortable. Which is okay – good, even – because so often, it’s only when we’re made uncomfortable – when we’re faced with the reality of a situation and asked to view it head-on instead of turning away – that change can occur.

Rape and lynching are not remotely funny. But they were the (horrible) reality for black people in the United States; they are part of our country’s history – a part that, quite frankly, I’d rather not think too much about because I’m ashamed of how minorities were treated by people who look like me. But that’s exactly why I should be thinking about them and why I should be reminded: Hey! Times were REALLY BAD. After that whole Civil Rights thing, y’all said that racism was over… And it’s better, it is. But it’s not over yet. Not by a long shot.

Yes, those lines were over the top. They might have been inappropriate. But they sure as hell got my attention and made me contemplate. If Chris hadn’t gone there – if he had just made expected, appropriate jokes about how black people are treated by Hollywood – I can basically guarantee you that most (white) viewers wouldn’t have given him a second thought. “Look – a black person talking about racism. Again. At least he’s funny!”

No. By making me cringe, I thought about what he was getting at, about why I was uncomfortable. When Chris told the audience that black actors in the 60s didn’t boycott the Oscars because they had “better things to protest… When your grandma is swinging from a tree, it’s kind of hard to get worked up about best foreign film,” I thought looong and hard on that.

By Chris’s reasoning, black actors who boycotted the Oscars in 2016 could have been protesting other, bigger things. I agree with him: there are clearly other, bigger things to protest. I also disagree with him, because all of the other racial inequities and atrocities don’t make it unimportant to speak out against – or boycott – one of the biggest nights in entertainment when minorities have been entirely ignored.

Another take on that statement is that black actors today don’t have better things to protest (unlike their 1960s counterparts) — I mean, public lynchings and rape boasting are no longer acceptable. We’ve come a long way! Yay for tolerance and equality! Except if that were really the case — if today is different from the 1960s — why, just like then, were there still no minority nominations?

How is this still a thing?

Well – for the same reason we don’t see black (and other minority) professionals in numbers that correspond with their percentage of the US population: they aren’t given the chance, because their contributions, their efforts, and – ultimately – their lives are less important than those of white people. We don’t have black or Asian or hispanic or Latino or Native American doctors or lawyers or teachers or stock brokers (or actors ) equal to their percentage of the population; things are skewed ridiculously in favor of white folks, regardless of education or performance or ability or productivity or intelligence.

It isn’t that people of color don’t want those jobs. It’s that, from the time they are born, they are not given the same opportunities as their white counterparts.

That is what absolutely has to change.

I’m just going to quote Chris here because he says it far better than I could:

“It’s not about boycotting anything. We want opportunity. We want the black actors to get the same opportunities as white actors. That’s it.”

I understand that there is still fear. I understand, somewhere inside, in a place that many of us cannot even fully imagine because it is so deeply ingrained, that (white) people are nervous that there is not enough for all of us – that if we truly shared everything, if we were all equal (like for real), somebody would miss out. Having been the ones benefitting from this centuries’ old system, this is freakin’ scary, so we – subconsciously (much of the time) – continue to allow discrimination to continue, to perpetuate it, because it benefits us.

So, I guess I get how this is still a thing.

The thing is, though: there is enough. There always was. We can create those opportunities for everyone – and, instead of some of us losing, we’ll all win.

I’m confident we’ll get there someday. Not this year (the racism coming to the fore in the American election is appalling, to say the least)… but someday. I really believe that – if only because my daughters genuinely do not understand how this is still a thing.

“But mom. Everyone is the same inside. Do people honestly not know that??”

Until that someday, I’ll be grateful for To Kill A Mockingbird and Chris Rock opening Oscars-watchers’ eyes and the ensuing discussion of his effectiveness as host. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: we need to keep talking. We need to keep thinking. We need to create opportunities. We need to stop being afraid.

We need to make this a thing of the past.

A Difficult Truth

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It’s been a relatively quiet week in terms of the whole riot/protest/police cycle we’ve got going on. If you dig beneath the surface, however, tensions are still simmering and “sides” are being taken. There seems to be very little room for middle ground. You’re either with us or against us. It is one thing or the other. Two opposing ideas that cannot coexist.

Quite frankly – it pisses me off. This is not an either/or situation. It’s a both/and.

This concept should not be so foreign to people; it’s how most of us operate, most of the time. Two seemingly opposing ideas can coexist. But somehow, many people seem to have forgotten that recently.

The riots that occurred in Baltimore (or Ferguson or anywhere else) are not okay. They are not the solution.
AND also death of Freddie Gray while in police custody is not okay. It is not okay at all.

Both/and.

Throwing rocks or bricks – or, frankly, anything – at police officers is not condonable.
Neither, however, is it condonable for police to overstep their boundaries and persecute the communities they are bound to protect.

Saying that “black lives matter” does not imply that you are, in any way, anti-police. It just doesn’t – no more than saying, “Doritos are delicious” means that you are, in any way, anti-Pringles. You can believe that Doritos are manna from heaven while also thinking that Pringles are pretty dope. That should go without saying.

Yes, of course police lives matter and white lives matter and all lives matter. But here’s the thing: those statements are basically givens. They’re obvious, omni-present, so we don’t need to continue saying them. Our black and brown citizens, though? Their lives have never mattered as much as non-black or brown lives.

They still don’t.
And so reminders are needed.

We have long recognized this in our society: that we need to celebrate and specially acknowledge the minority, the underdog, the marginalized. When Gonzaga first showed up on everyone’s radar in 1999, they were deemed a “Cinderella story.” Everyone was rooting for them. But while people cheered the Zags on, how many folks were on the sidelines saying, “But what about UConn?? Where are the UConn posters? UConn matters, too!” Because UConn was ubiquitous. Everyone knew them already. They didn’t need the extra support.

Or what about St. Patrick’s Day, when parades are held and people proudly tout their Irish heritage and cities dye rivers green? Do we stomp our feet with indignation that America is not being celebrated, too? “Hey, you guys! We live in the UNITED STATES. Happy St. Patrick’s Day? What about Happy America Day? When you raise that Guinness, you’re basically saying that you hate Americans.” No, of course not. Because we already know that America matters, too. We don’t need a reminder; the Irish can have their day.

Our black (and brown) citizens are told and shown, time and time again, verbally and silently, overtly and subtly, that they are not as important as the rest of us – and by “us” I mean white people. I won’t link to the (literally) hundreds of stories and articles supporting this claim; all you’d need is a quick Google search to confirm it (if you’d like, you can find some of them in this post that I wrote in November). Heck, all you’d need to do to confirm it is ask even one black friend to tell you even one story – of being pulled over when nothing was wrong, of being stopped in their own neighborhood and asked “what they were doing there,” of being followed by a store clerk, of being overlooked at a counter while the cashier or salesperson waited on other non-black customers, of being called racist epithets, of watching as people obviously avoid walking by them on streets…

Or, if you’d rather not do that, perhaps you could ask yourself (if you’re white, or at least non-black or non-brown). Ask yourself when the last time was that you worried that you’d be pulled over by the police while driving through your neighborhood. Ask yourself how often you’ve been walking your dog near your home and have been stopped and asked what you were doing there. Ask yourself if you’ve given your children (especially your sons) “the talk” — not about the birds and the bees, but you know, the one about moving slowly around authority figures, about making sure their hands don’t drift too near their pockets, about keeping both hands on the wheel at all times if they’re pulled over (for God’s sake, don’t reach into the glovebox unless you’re told to) — to help ensure that law enforcement officers have no reason to suspect them of a crime.

I would imagine, if you really asked, and then if you really, truly considered the answers, that you would see – even in this glorious America where everyone can succeed if they only try hard enough, where we have a black President, and where Oprah is the queen –  that black and brown folks are still not treated the same as white folks.

And so, sometimes, we need to be reminded that black lives matter.
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Did you know that even black dogs are adopted less frequently and euthanized more often than non-black dogs? CRAZINESS, you guys!
Yes, I know that dogs and people are not the same. I’m not making a direct comparison. But none of my other photos seemed appropriate… so here you go. Our black and yellow Labs, both of whom are awesome.

But we aren’t asking those questions. Or, if we are, we are jumping immediately to answers without really, really thinking about them; so often, the conclusion is drawn that race doesn’t play a role in how we treat one another. And that, really, is what bothers me the most: we don’t even acknowledge it. We, as an American society as a whole, do not acknowledge that racism still exists — I’m not talking about the overt, name-calling kind (although that exists, too), but rather the systemic, deeply-rooted, unconscious, so-pervasive-we-don’t-even-realize-it’s-happening racism.

I am going to ask, for a moment, that you ignore the riots**. I’m not saying that they aren’t horrible – they are. I’m not saying that they’re good or okay – they’re not. (Which is a rather absurd notion, anyway. Have you really come across people saying, “YAY, RIOTS!!”?) But people get all hung up on the riots (which are shown non-stop by our media), which causes them to miss the bigger picture.

For me, the bigger picture starts with the protests. Tens of thousands of citizens have been peacefully protesting for years now; the protests are growing ever more frequent. There must be a reason for this.

When we look to find that reason, however, there is almost immediately name calling and criticizing. I’ve heard some folks gripe that these protestors “have nothing better to do” – but that’s just untrue. Sure, some are unemployed. Some are looking to simply entertain themselves. But the majority are not. Protests – not the ones that last 30 minutes outside of your local Starbucks, but the ones that take hours and days and are focused and targeted – are not usually what one would consider “fun.” They take people away from their jobs, their homes, their families.

So, then. Why? Why the protests?

Have you ever had something to say and no one would listen to you? Maybe you were in a large group and couldn’t get a word in edgewise. Maybe everyone else was dead set on seeing Age of Ultron but you had your heart set on Pitch Perfect 2; in their excitement, they didn’t hear you. Maybe it was a meeting and no one asked for your ideas even though you had plenty.

Whatever the situation, I think you’d acknowledge that it feels crappy when no one’s listening. Sometimes, you sit back and just let things happen; there’s always next time. Others, maybe you email your boss or try to pull someone aside and explain your thoughts. But what if that doesn’t work? What if it happens over and over again? What if you feel ignored, unheard, shushed? What if you just can’t stand being unseen and unnoticed one minute longer?

Well, then.
You raise your voice.

You yell. You shout. You make noise. You stand up. You do whatever it takes to get people to hear you. It’s very simple, really.

That, to me, is the reason behind these protests. People are not being heard and they are sick of it. Yes, they want change. They want to be treated differently, fairly, better. They want justice. But at their core, they want someone to listen to them, by God.

And then, when they finally begin to raise their voices, we “listen”… and then immediately discount what they’re saying. Racism doesn’t exist anymore; stop complaining. Not all police are bad; stop generalizing. White lives matter too. Stop playing the race card. If he hadn’t tried to run, the cop wouldn’t have pulled his gun. When you dress like a thug, you’re asking for trouble. I don’t even see color.

(That’s a personal favorite, by the way. I understand the supposed meaning behind it – that you treat everyone the same, regardless of race – but if you don’t see color, you should probably get your eyes checked.)

Their concerns are summarily dismissed – there’s nothing more to see here. Which leads to people speaking even more loudly and strongly because they are still not being heard.

Until we can even agree on a topic, we cannot have a conversation.

Which is a problem, because holy sh*t, y’all, we need to have a conversation. We need to talk about racism in this country because make no mistake about it: racism still exists. We are all, almost without exception, racist. Yep, that includes black people. It includes teachers and scholars and human rights activists and historians and preachers. It includes me.

I try very, very hard not to allow skin color to inform my opinions of people. When I think rationally about it, I know – I believe, to my core – that white people are absolutely no better, smarter, harder working, or more deserving of respect that our non-white brothers and sisters. And yet… I still make assumptions. I feel the worry creep in. Not consciously, not on purpose. But it happens.

I am racist.

Until we can acknowledge this – until we can accept that racism is inextricably woven into the fabric of our nation, and until we can accept that non-white people still feel its sting despite our so-called “post-racial” era – things are not going to change. Men of color will continue being funneled into prisons. There will still be a wage gap between minorities and white folks. People will describe themselves as “colorblind” and pat themselves on the back for reading Maya Angelou and watching “Blackish.” Fewer black and brown citizens will attend college than their white counterparts. Police will continue to disproportionately arrest, detain, imprison, or even shoot people of color. Retaliatory shootings will continue to occur. The protests (and, occasionally, riots) will go on. And on. And on.

I’ll be honest with you: I have no idea how to fix this. We’ve been (mostly) trying for hundreds of years and we’re still not there, so obviously it’s a pretty tricky issue. But I do know that we don’t stand a chance at fixing it until we’re honest with ourselves that racism exists – all over, pretty much all the time.

Once we can do that – once we’re all on the same page, or at least in the same book – we can start a meaningful dialogue on how to make it better. It’s going to take all of us to make this change, but it’s one of the most important journeys we’ll ever embark upon.

So, for today, I’ll start with me.
My name is Emily. I believe that police have a tremendously difficult job and I have deep respect for our officers. I also believe that black lives matter. Both/and.
I believe that riots are absolutely not the answer. I also believe that the current protests are meaningful and valid. Both/and.
I believe that everyone should be treated equally, regardless of skin color. I’m also racist. Both/and.

I’d like that to change.
Let’s talk. Let’s listen. Let’s do this.

————

** (If you’re absolutely determined to focus on the riots, I’d also invite you to check out other riots that have occurred over the past five years. Yes, we all know about Ferguson, but how about this one in 2014 which resulted in fires, two shootings, and a stabbing after the San Francisco Giants won the World Series? Or this one in Lexington, Kentucky, where more than 50 instances of arson occurred after the University of Kentucky Wildcats won the national championship? Or this one, after a WVU football game, where participants “pushed over street lights and threw rocks, beer bottles and other items at public safety personnel and their vehicles”? White people are crazy, yo!)

You’ve Got To Be Carefully Taught

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I walk the dogs almost every morning before work and school. Not very far – 15 or 20 minutes, usually – but long enough to get the dogs (and me) off to the right start. On particularly good days, the girls join me, pedaling along on their bicycles, patiently waiting as I grapple with the bags to pick up the copious poops our pups seem to create.

It’s a time when the world hasn’t fully awakened, when the rush of the day has yet to begin; a slower, quieter space that is somehow more open to conversation. So we talk, often about silly things, sometimes about not-so-silly things. It is one of my favorite parts of the day.

This morning (as has been the norm of late), only Ella accompanied the dogs and me, slightly out of breath after having returned to the house to get her jacket (these crazy weather patterns are exhausting, I tell you). As I looked out over our peaceful, comfortable, safe, largely Caucasian suburban neighborhood, I was met by the distinct feeling that this was a Teachable Moment, one in which I could Make A Difference by showing my daughter how important it is to have Difficult Discussions.

Ella?

“Yes, mama?”

Do you think there are a lot of black families in our neighborhood?

Despite the fact that this is entirely changing the subject, she is not thrown off by my question; I take it as a good sign. Clearly, Nick and I have done our job in raising our children to be comfortable discussing race and privilege (which is probably good, considering that our girls are, you know, biracial). Kudos to us!

“No, there aren’t. Do you think there are?”

No, there aren’t. I agree with you. Tell me something, though. If you were to see a black person walking down the streets in our neighborhood – someone you didn’t recognize, a black man, let’s say – would you feel afraid or nervous or uncomfortable in any way?

“No.”

She answers so quickly, it’s obvious that she is confused and taken aback that such a thing is even possible. “No, why in God’s name would you ask such a ridiculous question?” Again, I pat myself on the back. Teachable Moments FTW, boom!

“No, I wouldn’t feel that way, Mom. Would you?”

And there it is. Shit. In that one moment, all of my Making A Difference has flown out the window, because while every part of me wants to answer, “No, not at all. I feel absolutely as comfortable when I see an unfamiliar black man in our neighborhood as I do when I see an unfamiliar white man/woman/teenager/child” I know in my heart that it isn’t true. I can’t even form the word “No” because, despite fervently believing – knowing with conviction – that there is no reason to be afraid or nervous around strange black men, what I feel in those first few seconds is something else entirely. I cannot lie to Ella. Not about this.

Actually… I’m ashamed and embarrassed to admit this… But, yes. A small part of me deep inside does feel afraid or nervous or uncomfortable. It doesn’t last long, and I don’t think that I do anything because of those feelings – I don’t think that I treat people differently*, because I know it isn’t true – but, yes. I do.

She angles her head while turning the corner to get a better look at me. “Why?”

Why. Why, indeed.

* I realize that I undoubtedly do treat black people differently because of those feelings – subconsciously, without meaning to, without malice, yes… But still, I’m sure that I do. I’m not proud of that – in fact, I’m trying damned hard to change it – but, if I’m being honest, I’m sure that I do. I’m sure we (white folks like me) all do.

Well, I suppose it’s because I’m a lot older than you are, so I’ve had a lot more years to live in this country, which means I’ve had a lot more time to live in a society that somewhat subtly but persistently tells me that black men are scary. That was the message I got growing up – definitely not from Papa or Grandma, but just from society as a whole – that, when I see an unfamiliar black man, I have reason to be afraid. And I guess I took those words inside and must have believed them, somehow, because there’s a part of me that still has that reaction even now, even though I’m older and have educated myself and have wonderful black friends and know, without a doubt, that it isn’t true. I have no reason to be afraid. Since I know that, I don’t consciously act on it – I don’t walk away from that person, I don’t avoid them, I don’t go and ask them why they’re in my neighborhood or pretend like I’m giving them directions when I’m really just trying to figure out if they’re up to no good. I certainly don’t act violently or run away or call the police. And, if I do notice that hint of fear creeping in, I get pretty mad at myself – Emily! What is wrong with you! What, a black guy can’t just be walking in your neighborhood? Knock it off, you idiot! And then I stop feeling afraid at all. But in that moment, that first instant, yes, I feel the tiniest bit nervous because that’s what I’ve learned, is to be nervous. I’m working hard to change that.
I’m so glad you don’t feel the way that I do.

Within the span of thirty seconds – the half-minute within which I was supposed to be Departing Wisdom and Making A Difference – my nine year-old has schooled me and shown me that Difficult Discussions are not necessarily the ones we carefully plan out, but the ones that occur when we least expect them. They may be some of the most important ones, too.

I cannot even begin to get into a full discussion about what the lack of an indictment for officer Darren Wilson in the death of Michael Brown means for us as a society. My feelings are complicated and messy and angry and self-righteous and defensive and frustrated and all over the map; I just can’t quite process everything right now. But I do know that one of the most important things all of us, every single one of us – whether we’re black or white or brown or tan or male or female or transgender or old or young or gay or straight or bi and everything else in between – needs to do is to be willing to have the Difficult Discussions, the REALLY Difficult Discussions, and to never stop asking “Why?” until we reach some sort of re-do start-over where we can begin again together.

Why do I feel afraid? Because that’s the narrative that’s been spun for forever; that black men are to be feared. Even though I know it’s not true. But don’t black men commit more crimes than white men? Honestly, I don’t know if they commit more actual crimes (although they’re certainly incarcerated more often than whites) but if they do… Why? Criminality is not inherent in black DNA (which is the same as white DNA, so obviously). Well, maybe it’s because black people face higher rates of unemployment than whites. Why is that? Maybe it’s because they don’t receive college educations as often as whites. Why? Because maybe their parents didn’t receive college educations. Why? Because they grew up in “bad” neighborhoods where education wasn’t valued. Why? Because that was where they were born, and upward mobility, breaking out of the social class into which you were born, is really freakin’ hard, despite what all of the American Dream stories may tell you. Why?

(These are not really what I think are the “right” questions to be asking, nor are these the only possible answers to these questions; the answers are far more multi-layered, nuanced, detailed, and broad. These questions are only to illustrate the point that, for each answer, there is another “Why?” that gets us deeper into the conversation.)

Until we are able to have these discussions, until we’re really able to ask why and really able to consider the answers – no matter how uncomfortable it makes us to face our own prejudices and -isms and fears – we will continue, as a society, devaluing the lives of others, especially the lives of young black men, which does all of us – black, white, tan, brown – a tremendous disservice.

You only need to listen to the opposing, anguished, raging, defiant voices of both Michael Brown supporters and Darren Wilson supporters to understand why our current system isn’t working so well. We need to bring about change. I don’t have any more solutions now than I did when I wrote about this issue more than a year ago, but the gist of my argument remains the same: there needs to be dialogue – with ourselves, with each other, with our kids.

Especially our kids.

There’s a lot that we can teach them, both about how to behave and how not to behave (not that I’d know *cough*), but there’s a hell of a lot that they can teach us, too. After all, they haven’t had the opportunity to develop racial biases (I mean, they don’t come out of the womb with them), unlike those of us who have been around the block a bit longer; maybe if we catch them young enough, they can help us understand their perspective. Wouldn’t it be incredible to look at the world with their lack of fear, prejudice, and judgment?

Talk. Ask questions. Ask why. Listen, even when it’s hard, even when we don’t agree. Try to understand. Take a breath. Move forward, together.

That’s what Ella taught me. I’m going to take her hand (once she’s off the bike) and give it a go.

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Note: I have done a lot of (informal; i.e. I’ve read dozens of Internet blogs, posts, and articles) research into correct terminology and grammar when writing about race – Caucasian and African American or black and white (or Black and White)? – and have come to the conclusion that both are acceptable (it’s really what you’re comfortable with, and what your audience is comfortable with), and capitalization is not required.

Also, I realize I switched tenses from past to present and back again in the middle of this post; it’s on (stylistic) purpose.