What Price, Freedom?

As we celebrate our nation's independence from tyranny 231 years ago, let us not forget that others suffer.

At Safeway again last night, I saw the walking wounded from America's 'War on Terrorism'--young men and women missing hands, legs, eyes. Shrapnel wounds that have left ugly scars and pock marks in their young bodies. And who knows the depth of their psychological trauma.

And for every one of our soldiers who needlessly dies in Iraq, there are scores of civilians in Afghanistan and Iraq who are dead, dying, or wounded. What a waste.

Photo caption: An Afghan boy cries after learning two of his uncles were killed during a raid east of Kabul. (June 29, 2007)

Photo copyright: The Associated Press, Rahmat Gul.

Not For Me To Say...

...But What Do You Think? (Okay, I'll say. And what I say is, I agree. There, I've said it. And that's all I'm going to say. For now.)

Black Culture Beyond Hip-Hop

As Linda Richman would say, "Tawk amongst yer selves... Discuwss..."


** UPDATE: 5.29.07 **

I promised my buddy, Gunfighter, if he wrote about yesterday's Post article, I would post a link. Here is Gunfighter's response to "Black Culture Beyond Hip-Hop."

I = Imus, I = Idiot

I usually skip over Imus in the Morning on MSNBC, mostly because he always sounds drunk and he never has anything to say that I'm interested in hearing. But, Imus was an idiot the other day and had the audacity to follow the lead of his producer in calling the women's basketball team--most of whom are African-American--"nappy-headed hos." I won't even begin to explain just how patently wrong that is because you'd have to be a few bulbs shy of a full chandelier not to understand just how wrong that is. In other words, if I have to explain it to you, you're an idiot, too.

Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson have both spoken out against Imus' slur. And rightfully so. Referring to people of color as "nappy-headed" is pretty low in the lexicon of racial epithets. I'm going to leave it to my esteemed friends and colleagues, some of whom have been subjected to that pergorative adjective, to comment on hair and its use as a slur. I, however, am going to comment on the last word--"ho."

To express indignation at the first part of the comment is completely the right thing to do and is more than justified. But I'm concerned that there has been no outcry (unless I'm a dolt and have missed it) from women's groups regarding the use of the derogatory label "ho" in describing a group of women. Basically, what Imus did was called these women whores.

That's right. Whores. Oh, sure. When we say "ho" it doesn't seem as bad and we can laugh it off, right? Wrong! It really isn't funny and it isn't as innocuous as it seems. Flat out, bottom line, and not putting too fine a point on it, Imus called women whores. And Imus was as wrong as wrong can be.

Calling women ho's makes me just as mad as having him refer to persons of African origin by a negative characterization of their hair. Both are... how shall I say it? Oh, yeah--WRONG. And not only does Imus owe the African-American community an apology, he owes women an apology, because as a woman, I am offended.

So, Don Imus and whatever the name of your producer is who first called the Rutgers' team "ho's," you guys owe us an apology. I'll take my straight up, in prime time, and would appreciate it if you'd follow it with some community service at a women's shelter or somewhere where the majority of folks are female and/or black.

As for derogatory epithets, when are we going to let go of these words and phrases that are harmful and are meant to be vile? Surely we're far more advanced in this day and age? Or maybe I'm living in a dream world?

Penny For Your Thoughts

Every evening, as I walk out of the office building in which I work and into the bowels of the nearest Metro Station, I pass a man sitting on a bench. He is African American--which hardly seems relevant, but will become so quickly here--and he is holding a cup in his hand. As you walk past him, he calls out, "Don't throw them pennies away."

Occasionally, if I have some pocket change, I put it in his cup.

Tonight, as I walked past him, I checked my pockets for change. Finding I had none and hearing him call out, "Don't throw them pennies away," I said, "I don't even have pennies to give."

"No, he said, "but you're white."

"That's true," I thought, in passing. As I rode down the escalator, I realized I was daft. I'd heard and received his comment in a cursory manner, but the further I pondered it, the more I realized his comment went deeper than just the color of my skin and his. I didn't know whether to be remorseful and apologetic or angry.

To be frank, I'm not sure what to do, think, or make of this experience. I've typed in a number of paragraphs that try to see things from his perspective or that tell you something about my views on homelessness or that try to bridge this divide between privilege and poverty or even between black and white. But then it all sounds trite and patronizing or self-aggrandizing. Worse, most of it sounds and feels empty. And yet, his comment triggered a reaction in me that I'm not entirely able to put my finger on.

I suppose, more than anything, I feel like I've been judged. Maybe I shouldn't have said, "Oh, sorry. I don't even have a penny" and just walked by in silence. Maybe it was the wrong thing for me to say in an effort to acknowledge his presence and relay the message that I wanted to help, but I couldn't that particular evening. (I've given this guy a couple of bucks and loose change here and there before, but after tonight, I'm feeling less inclined.) Or maybe I should have said what I did and he should have kept his thoughts to himself. Either way, something passed between us that just felt wrong somehow.

Any thoughts, oh loyal blogosphere?

Drew Gilpin Faust: The 21st Century's Charlene Wells?

Last week, Harvard University announced it had appointed Civil War scholar Drew Gilpin Faust to be president of its storied institution. Faust, a woman, is noted for her early stand against segregation in the 1950s as a nine-year old Girl Scout growing up in the Commonwealth of Virginia--a very southern, Confederate, Dixiecrat, segregated state at that time.

Faust will replace Dr. Lawrence Summers who came under fire for suggesting that men are innately smarter than women, which is why there aren't as many women in the sciences as there are men. Summers tried to hold onto his job, but eventually the power of public outcry prevailed and he stepped down.

The appointment of Faust calls to mind a situation in the 80s when disgrace fell upon what was then considered an American icon on par with Mom, apple pie, and baseball--the Miss America Pageant. Founded in 1921, the pageant has become schmaltzier and less credible as an institution over the years, but in the 1980s, it was still a highly anticipated and watched event.

In 1984, that year's Miss America was a young woman named Vanessa Williams. Ms. Williams was, like her predecessors and sister competitors, beautiful, talented, intelligent; she possessed all the characteristics of a perfect Miss America. Until six months later, when it was discovered that Ms. Williams had posed for Playboy magazine. The media metaphorically stripped her to rags and public opinion finished the job. Ms. Williams was disgraced (albeit temporarily) and forced to resign her crown.

The next year, Sharlene Wells of Salt Lake City, Utah, won the vaunted title. Ms. Wells was everything Ms. Williams had been portrayed as not being. The most important being she hadn't posed for Playboy. As a lily-white, never-been-sullied, fifth child of staunch, conservative, "moral" Mormons, she was the perfect answer to the previous year's embarrassment. You could almost hear the collective sigh of relief that spread across the nation, saying, "Whew. We don't have to worry about this one." In some respects, it was almost an insult to Ms. Wells and her sister contestants. And yet, was it?

Certainly, the pageant folks knew Ms. Wells, a devout Mormon, would be less likely to have posed for Playboy than her predecessor. Undoubtedly, in the minds of the judges, she was low/no risk.

Perhaps the same could be argued regarding Dr. Faust? She's low/no risk because she believes that women (and all other minorities) are people, too. I dare say, Dr. Faust will be a breath of fresh air at stodgy Hahvahd. Hopefully, she will a bellwether upon which selections by other universities will be based when institutions of higher learning seek new leaders.

To read more about Dr. Faust, go here. And here.

Photo copyright: The Boston Globe

Articulate

Last week, Senator Joseph Biden (D-DE) launched his presidential campaign and got off to a bumbling start. Seems he referred to Senator Barack Obama (D-IL), a fellow contender for the Democratic nomination, as an “articulate and bright and clean and a nice looking guy.” This, of course, means Biden won’t be the Democratic nominee for president in 2008. I’m not a Biden fan, so I’m not trying to defend him here. Mr. Obama, to whom Mr. Biden later apologized, mostly shrugged it off—at least the articulate part. And so should the media—again, at least the articulate part. (Without question, saying a black man is “clean” is a very, very poor choice of words. For that, I say the media should be all over Biden like flies on doo-doo.)

Okay, I know, I know. Telling an African-American they’re articulate is considered a put down by many within their community. Sort of a backhanded compliment. And yet, isn’t it time to stop parsing compliments like this and instead graciously accept them for what they might be: a genuine note of praise? And even if they aren’t genuine, sometimes the best way to shut up a bigoted, racist, sexist, misogynist prat (or, as CreoleInDC would say, “stoopit” people) is to simply say, “Thank you.” It’s disarming and, for the person who’s been the bigoted fool, it’s the ultimate put down. You’re calling their bluff. You’re defying them to say otherwise that you’re really not articulate or smart or pretty or whatever.

I am told quite often that I’m articulate. Should I raise my feminist hackles and think of it as a backhanded compliment meant to subtly send a message that keeps me in my place—in this case, barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen? Or, should I simply take it as a compliment regarding my ability to express myself well both in written and spoken word? When I’m complimented that way, is the conveyor of the compliment saying, “Gee, she doesn’t sound female at all?” implying that the litmus test for being articulate is the bastion of males only?

I hope you’ll pardon me for saying this, but given the degradation and misuse of language by many people, regardless of race, color, creed, or nationality, it’s incredibly refreshing to meet someone who is articulate and able to express themselves well, both in writing and verbally. That’s not to say there isn’t room for dialects and unique turns-of-phrase. There can be an articulateness and eloquence—if not outright poetry—to dialectical language and prose that should be celebrated. Zora Neale Hurston’s book wouldn’t be what it is without its rich, Shakespearian-like language (Shakespearian here meaning, easier to comprehend and better read out loud than read silently, which is really the only way to read Shakespeare. Or Hurston.) But dialects (or Ebonics or gangsta rap or whatever variation you want to call it) isn’t the problem.

What is bothersome are the people—especially young people—who abuse language in ways that make them look stupid and uneducated and, dare I say it, inarticulate. And don’t even get me started on the potty mouths out there. An occasional swear word is fine. A string of invective laced between “likes” and “you knows” is empty, meaningless, and unattractive. Using epithets that are degrading and demeaning to others—whether it’s the N-word or fag or fatty or whore or whatever—is unnecessary and distasteful, not to mention outright racist, homophobic, sexist, and Neanderthal. The use of such words only serves to make the user look facile and foolish. Frankly, I’d rather see someone smoke a cigarette than hear some of the verbiage that comes out of some peoples’ mouths these days.

Mr. Obama is an articulate, eloquent man who might one day be president. I hope we can see past the surface of adjectives and appreciate their depth and the fact that when some of us—perhaps even Mr. Biden (though I doubt it)—pay a compliment, we genuinely mean it as exactly what we’ve said.

Bottom line is, the ability to speak well is a sign of pride and a desire to constantly do better, regardless of one’s station in life. Being articulate shouldn’t be a put down and it ought not to be seen as a "sell out" to the white man. The next time someone pays you a seemingly backhanded compliment, call their bluff, be gracious and say, “Thank you. I appreciate that.” Believe me, you’ll have the last laugh! At the very least, if it is a genuine compliment, you’ll have been appreciative and that always looks good.

My ramblings aside, here are two pieces worth reading—one from Eugene Robinson of the Washington Post and one from Stuart Taylor Jr. of the National Journal.

An Inarticulate Kickoff

The Great Black-White Hope

Which one do you agree with?

Bi-racial

Building on the discussion that's been going on here for the last couple of days, I've decided to accept the gracious invitation of some who have commented on my blog to pose questions I might have about African American culture, characteristics, beliefs, and so on.

In this case, though, I'm going to act as intermediary for a commentor and pose her question. I'm doing so with her permission. This is certainly a topic I'm interested in and I hope those of you out there who are living in similar demographics will once again provide your wisdom and insight.

As a side note, I've decided to change my label for these discussions from "Racism" to "Race and Human Relations." Maybe I'm wrong, but that seems like a more constructive label to me.

Let me introduce you to Rachel. She comes to DC Rush Hour via Sister Mary Lisa, a friend of mine in Montana. You may have seen her comment in the Apologies entry, but it's buried way down in the discussion and I wanted to bring her query to the front page, if you will. Hence, this entry. Rachel lives in Michigan and this is the comment she left on my blog:

I just found your blog and am incredibly glad that I did.

This is such a fantastic post and it brings up some angst that I harbor. I have a question for the African American readers if they would like to answer. I am caucasian. My son's father is African American. I am no longer with my son's (D) father. I am raising a bi-racial child in a mono-racial home. I try and be proactive and discuss things with D so that he can learn more about his diverse heritage and when I inquired, he told me that he percieves himself as black.

I am fine with that and want to embrace that part of who he is and teach him to grow up to be a good man. Whether he perceives himself as black, white, bi-racial or any other way doesn't matter to me, but I want to respect that part of him and encourage him.

How can I, as a caucasian woman, teach my son what he needs to know to survive and thrive in this society if he perceives himself as black? He does have contact with his father's family but I don't feel that this issue should be handled solely by them.

As I have no children--bi-racial or otherwise--I ask you, my readers to share your wisdom and insight. Are there books you would recommend? Are there organizations for bi-racial kids and their families? What would you suggest?

If you want to leave your comments here, that's great! We'll all benefit. If you'd like to email Rachel privately, you can find her email address here in her Blogger Profile.

Languages

I'd like to thank everyone who contributed to yesterday's post on racism and race relations. I really enjoyed all of the comments and e-conversations and hope some of these new found bloggers will become good friends.

Years ago, when I decided to "follow my bliss" and study religion and society in grad school, I would get a lot of folks asking me why I'd chosen that particular field. My response was, and remains, threefold.

First, I chose to study religion because I am fascinated by the need religion fills in peoples lives and the ways in which it manifests itself.

Second, I wanted to learn the languages of faith. In other words, you say Allah and I say God. You say the Holy Trinity and I say the Godhead. You take communion and I take the sacrament. You have a pastor, I have a bishop. You fast and I fast. Each of those terms have significance and meaning within our specific religious context. I want to understand the words you use to explain ideas and concepts, feelings and experiences that are deeply personal and spiritual, while at the same time recognizing that when it comes down to the nuts and bolts, we're all saying the same thing: we believe in something greater than ourselves.

And third, I wanted to find a way to bridge the gap between defensiveness and proselytizing (two elements that often characterize conversations between the faith of my upbringing and others) and creating meaningful, constructive dialogue. In other words, by understanding your language, I'm able to speak in terms that you can hear and that show my understanding and respect for your faith. It also means stepping outside of what is familiar to me, listening to how it sounds to a total stranger, and reframing it in language that can be heard and understood. It's eliminating the exclusiveness and esoteric language and inviting everyone to the table for a conversation.

Does any of that make sense?

I share that perhaps to clarify why I took up the topic of racism on my blog yesterday. I want to learn the languages of race, culture, diversity. I want to understand what certain things mean and why they're important in groups other than my own subcultures. And, most importantly, I want to find ways to create constructive dialogue that allows all sides, but especially the disenfranchised sides, to be heard and respected. I hope, beginning with Creole in D.C. and The Gunfighter, that we started something meaningful and lasting here.

We're still not any closer to being an inclusive society, but I have hope and I hope those who read yesterday's blog or who commented have hope, too.

Apologies

Please note: I'm going to tread very delicately here, but know that you may get your hackles up and feel the need to rant. Before you post a comment, which I encourage you to do, please read carefully, and then read again, and then read again. Then, if you want to comment, I ask, if you must, to please do so respectfully.

Yesterday, in my new feature "In the BIN," I called attention to two bloggers who have engaged the issue of race and racism as a means of opening the door to dialogue. I've watched with interest the comments that have come into Creole In D.C.'s blog. It was rather distressing last night to note on Creole's blog that her objective--opening a conversation--has not been achieved as she had hoped and has resulted in "slings and arrows" being "slung and shot" across cyberspace between blacks/ African-Americans/ persons of African descent and whites/ Caucasians/ persons of European descent.

One recurring theme I've seen is that many people feel white people should apologize to black people for slavery. In many respects, I wholeheartedly agree. And so, right here, right now, let me say, as a white person of European descent, I am ashamed and sorry that my ancestors enslaved your ancestors. I am sorry that my ancestors built their wealth on the backs of your ancestors. It was wrong. It was shameful. And there is no pride to be derived from it.

Likewise, I'm ashamed that the religion of my upbringing saw fit to deny many of the blessings of my faith to its black members because it taught and bought into the doctrine that said God cursed Cain with a dark skin for killing his brother Abel. For decades, my faith denied certain rights and privileges to its black members because it didn't want to side with the abolitionists and risk not obtaining statehood, when in truth, it was polygamy that denied them statehood. For decades after the Civil War and the Emancipation Proclamation, my faith continued to deny certain rights and privileges to its black members because it didn't want to upset the segregationists. Finally, in 1978, my faith--largely as a result of social pressure to extend civil rights to all of its members--extended all the rights and privileges, all the blessings and authority, that were already the purview of white, Asian, and Latino members to its black members. What a blessed day, but what a shame that it took so unnecessarily long. For that, I apologize to my black brothers and sisters of faith.

Having said that, and not wanting to diminish it, I want to ask this: is it possible that, having apologized, we can begin to talk to one another in a manner that allows white people to ask questions without being presumed ignorant or racist and can black people answer those questions in a manner that builds bridges and creates a conversation?

I am reminded of a conversation I had years ago with a German national. His parents had belonged to the Hitler Youth and his grandfather had fought with the Nazis. For decades after World War II, Germany and its citizens carried a burden of collective guilt for what it did to the Jews of Europe. For decades, Germany and its citizens apologized, often and sincerely. And rightfully so. At what point do we, the supposedly civilized nations of the world, accept their apology and begin reconciling and moving on? I would ask the same of race relations between whites and blacks. How long, how often, and how sincerely must we apologize for the ways in which we have wronged not only blacks, but the indigenous peoples of this country? As individual citizens, we cannot make reparations. That rests in the hands of our legislators. But, we can apologize and are apologizing and we can open the door with sincerity to begin talking about how we are different and how we are the same, as well as why those differences and similarities exist.

The heaviest burden for apologies and forgiveness lies not entirely on the shoulders of the apologist or the sinner, but is a shared burden on the shoulders of the one who has been wronged and sinned against. In the Lord's Prayer, we pray, "Forgive us our trespasses, Lord, as we forgive those who have trespassed against us." I can apologize repeatedly and often for the transgressions of my ancestors and of my faith. Those apologies are sincere and heartfelt. But, we cannot begin to have the dialogue or the conversations that will heal wounds until those we have so egregiously trespassed against say to us, "I accept. Let us draw the line here and begin anew." Those of us who have apologized will not soon forget our transgressions and those of us who accept the apologies must set them aside with grace so that we can begin, in grace, to help our transgressors understand who we are, why we think and behave as we do, what we value and why, and so forth. More than that, many of us want to share in the joys and sorrows, the triumphs and defeats, the color and the diversity that make you who you are not only as a person but also as a people. We can't do that, though, if we keep shutting each other out and pointing fingers. Many of us want to end discrimination and fulfill Dr. King’s dream of “judging you not by the color of your skin, but the content of your character.” Please help us to do that.