Causerie

Bearing Witness

 

Many of us are talking about it.  In the bedroom, bathroom, boardroom and blogs.  Some of you are fussing, cussing and screaming and praying about it and others of us are scratching, shaking or nodding our heads.   The discussions are heard because the arguments are loud.  It has not been easy, nor pleasant and I'm convinced that fingernails will forever be embedded in the rocky cliffs of that we know as our justice system.

But... we're talking, at least. 

Some of you have articulated your emotions in such a way that it burrows down deep in your gut and settles there, like concrete.  Like Deidra.  Others are quietly seething with rage or rejoicing with relief.   There are some who just don't know what to do, and others embrace destruction and division because it takes less thought and energy.   Real change, real love, and real understanding,  takes time and perseverance.  And "crossing the tracks" takes courage.

 

                          "Small things done with great love can change the world." - Mother Teresa

The Pace of the Day

                
Alarm sounds.  Coffee brews.  Shower.  Brush.  Dress in heels?   The car, the bus, bicycle wheels.  No time for quiet.  No time for prayer.  Out the door, open the door, enter in and it begins.  Another day, not unlike yesterday, though today feels different.  But, only just a little.  Calls and phones and messages on paper, on boards, on scraps of neon colored notes.  Yes.  No.  And so, I'll get back to you on that.  Lunch in a brown bag, in a lunch pail, an insulated box beneath your desk, under your seat, in the floor of your car, in the fridge down the hall.  30 minutes, 45, an hour off the clock.  Time is money and money takes its time.  Email, snail mail, male versus female.  Understand this and misunderstand that while taking a stand for what is right.  Good-bye and good day, a job well done until tomorrow comes when your inbox is full again and someone is impatient for an answer.  Kiss the cheek of your child, the husband's hand you hold, but only for a minute, because meals must be made and bills must be paid.  A moment to rest and a minute to breathe before the night mysteriously comes to this end when you edge quietly into bed because everyone is asleep and has been for a while now.

 And you dream about tomorrow.

Racial Aperture

If you are listening, you hear the sound.  Whispering offenses. And confusing accolades.  

If you're watching, you see the images of white against black. Black against White.  

If you are reading, you bear witness to the breeding and feeding of bigotry in comment sections.

 

In camera terminology, the "aperture" setting is very important.  It lets the light in.  A small number lets in as much light as possible. A larger aperture will put all of your subjects on a level playing field and lets in very little light.

Adjustments must be made.

Eracism

This evening, on one of those entertainment shows, I learned that this commercial is creating such a firestorm, that the Cheerios people had to close the comments on the video version because of the vile, racial and hateful things people are saying.

2013.  A white woman.  A black man.  And an adorable multi-ethnic little girl with hair like a nest of brown wasps.

I don't eat Cheerios, but believe me when I tell you that I'm going to go out and buy a box or two.  And, I'm pretty sure my bi-racial children will eat every last bite. 

Yes, He Does

I'm walking toward the parking lot and I hear, "Jesus loves you."

There's a guy, who in my mind looks like a young, hip Jesus in blue jeans, smoking a cigarette and leaning against the grocery store wall.  Next to him is a grocery cart filled with groceries.  He chose plastic and I'm not sure the real Jesus would have chosen plastic over paper.  Anyway, it appears as though he's waiting for a ride or waiting to finish his smokes.  I'm not sure which.  As I cross the parking lot I yell back over my shoulder "Yes, I know Jesus loves me," and I get in my car.

I back the car out of the parking spot and slowly drive by the young man. Rolling the window down, I ask him, "But do you love Him?"

He smiles.  I mean he really smiles and says, "Oh yes mam, I do love Him.  And I love you, too."

And just like Sandra Bullock's character in The Blind Side, I hear myself say, "Well, alright then."  And smiling myself, I drive away. 

 

 

People Get Ready, There's a Change A-Comin'

All this week I'm attending a conference here in town. We begin early in the morning and it's pretty late when I get home.  My mind is spinning over the enormous amounts of data, statistics and stories I'm trying to absorb.

 

Great minds from all over the country have descended upon our city and together we are addressing some pretty heavy stuff - "Neighborhood Revitalization and Economic Development from the Bottom Up"; "Food Equity - From Policy to Action" "New School, Old School, Closed School".  

We've learned that not too far off in the future, what we know as the white majority population will soon become a minority population.  We were told that over the last decade there has been a 67% increase in people of color (including mixed race) nationwide. (And just between us, I think this really frightens a lot of people).

At the conference we're talking openly about the wrongs done in the past and those that continue. We are hearing from our Native American brothers and sisters and we are told to remember.  

I've heard great words of wisdom: "If you can look up, you can get up."  "If you aren't at the table [in discussions], you're on the menu." And the voices of pain and concern ring out: "The people in my neighborhood can't afford to eat like everyone else."  "Only 26% of Blacks were able to meet the qualifications to get an Associates Degree."

Our cities and towns and communities are at a place where generational transformation is happening, whether you like it or not and now is the time to have honest dialogue, to ask the tough questions, to share your thoughts and visions and to hold on tight, because the ride is going to be a little bumpy.

 

 

The Source

The story goes like this:

There, along the bank of the river people are fishing. Some are having a picnic, others are simply relaxing and enjoying the warmth of the day. 

Suddenly, one person jumps up and begins to point towards the water.

On the other side of the river, a few others are pointing at the same thing. Horror frozen on their faces.

Within seconds all those who are along the water's edge are staring into the river at the dead bodies floating down the middle.  Terrified, some begin to back away, while others are unable to move as more and more dead bodies begin to float by.  A few people run to the water desperate to pull the bodies out and many more are simply too overwhelmed to do anything.

As more bodies begin to fill the water, people are at a lost as to what to do.

And finally, one person looks upstream and says, "We can't do anything here. What is going on up there?  What is causing this?"  And bravely, that person begins to walk towards the source of death.

In low-income communities of color where poverty continues to be only one meal away and dysfunction is as commonplace as the roaches and pimps, there will be dead bodies - literally and figuratively. There's no life in self-destruction and self-hatred and hopelessness.  There's no tomorrow when today is all there is. There is no faith when there is no God.

We've been wading in the water far too long.

It's time we head upstream.